I'm sitting at the top of Mount Batur. It's 5:30 in the morning and the sun is rising magnificently. I know what your thinking: Flora has mastered the skill of levitation and time control, and with these skills she has taken herself to the top of an active volcano to watch a sun rise. Unfortunately the only time control was setting my alarm for 2am and the only levitation miracle was me actually getting up at that time. But it happened. I crawl out of bed, wondering if it's going to be worth it and take my ride to the bottom of Batur, which I shall climb in complete darkness to see the miracle of day. Guides are a must, I'm told there is a Mt Batur Mafia that doesn't let you hike alone, an extortion which I find slightly hilarious, so a group of four of us are grouped together with a guide for the walk. After an exchanging of names and handshakes we start our trek. And blimey we are speedy. Subconsciously as a group we've decided that we are going to get up there as fast as we can and with as little breaks as possible, and in team spirit we make it up the first hike, despite pitch black and rocky terrain, very quickly. 'Here we are, well done'... But it's cloudy and disappointing and Team Trek are having none of it. 'To the summit!' we chime (guides often don't want to/think people don't want to go the whole way up). But we do. And the summit trek is difficult. It's steep and gritty, and we are fighting gravity doubley as we slip and slide in the sand-like-lava-rock-mush. But it's doesn't dampen our spirits us, and soon the summit is ours. And suddenly the two in the morning levitation is all worth it. Because up here, with this view and that sunrise, it does feel like I've levitated. It's absolutely sublime. Clouds surround the lower section of the mountain that we appeared from and the sun raises it's head, a red orb, welcoming me to day. An hour is spent just taking in this beauty. And then it's along the crater edge, a way back no one seems to want to venture. With its tiny path, burning rising steam, and steep drops, it's not somewhere you want to trip, which makes the booby traps of loose lava rocks and sandy gravel path a real treat. But it is a treat. It's wonderful. Astounding views fill my head and a satisfying feeling fills my gut, they overpower the shaky feeling in my knees. Our descent is rocky, in many senses of the word, and intuition is a key tool here when stepping on a path that can't take my weight. But it's all worth it. It's great. A sleepy journey takes us by beautiful rice fields and villiages back to Ubud. What a morning. Now to bed.
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Ubud is blissful. There is so much to explore. Over the past days, in between writing angry emails to my estate agent, I have filled my time with walking in the blazing heat, skirting around cooled galleries and museums, strolling around the market, dance lessons, cooking lessons, ceremonies and dances. At this low season the only annoying thing are the taxi drivers strewn about the street shouting 'taxi! motor! transport!' at me. No, I don't need transport, I've got legs, and feet on them, and paths before me. These paths take me to wonderful places. Off a main road of Ubud I find more beautiful rice paddies. All in different a states, some newly worked, some newly growing, some ready to pick, which can only be done on a certain day of the month. These paths take me through the life of the market, budding with sellers ready to take me to the cleaners. And too to the Neka and Arma museum, both full of Balinese art which once again a shows the inspiring spirit of this beautiful land. Another takes me to the Puppet and Mask Museum, a huge and slightly eery collection of, you guessed it, puppets and masks. The walk there is long and hot and well worth it for this incredible collection. On these paths I find leaflets for cooking courses. Not the tourist information, 20 people to a class, $40 for two hours kind of course; but one on one, meet you by the market at 8 kind of courses, where I'm shown the ropes of Indonesian cooking in Putu's family kitchen. Like I say, we meet at the market, which is a different sight in the morning than the sarong selling afternoon. Vegetables and boiled fish and flowers are everywhere (mum you would love it). Putu is a natural here, she goes to her usuals and takes me down paths I've never noticed before. Then off home we go, and there I meet her family, her mother proudly proclaiming to me that she is 70, and showing me photos of her husband and children and grandchildren. It's lovely, and the food we cook is bloody fantastic. The rest of our time is spent chatting, about Putu, her family, her culture, her country; and mine as well. Our lives are very different, a Balinese couldn't go away for more than a week she says, 'otherwise they'd miss a ceremony' she says. So I guess two months and ten days is out of the question then. We talk about the corrupt government, how kindergarten (or kinder garden as she says it) is meant to be free, but they often have to pay for it. My anger at our government, at it's corporate corruption and petty politics, seems wholly different to Putu's basic worry for the education of her children. Still, it's wonderful to learn from such an open person, and after jotting down the recipes I'm on my way. My path of dance lessons closes, sadly, after I'm taught the welcoming dance (the most basic, my teacher kindly points out). I'm glad to practise in a corner when a version of the welcome dance happens at a ceremony I attend. That's where another path leads. Down to Champuang, where the two rivers meet, is a temple. And there is a four day ceremony, people from all over Ubud attend when they can. It's magical here. Orchestras of traditional Balinese music play over each other. Peering into the prayer area I can hear the God-like tinkle of the sharp bell that sings over the priests instructions. Women file in balancing beautiful decorated boxes of offerings on their head. They sit in groups and pray together. The priest and helpers finish the session blessing everyone with holy water. It's beautiful and tender. And social. It's very social. Praying together is the start of it. The musicians don't quietly sit and play, they chat and laugh together, their words nearly drowned out by their sounds. One player is climbed over by his daughter and her friend who giggle and steal food from the offerings. A teen asks her dad something while he is playing and then rushes off to her friend, dejectedly unsuccessful in her venture. Elders sit on a raised platform like the musicians platforms, pots of tea brewing untouched around them. They sit murmering in a circle, only the ones at the centre speaking. Others listen, some half listening, younger men at the edge hang their legs off the platform, bored and uninterested. It feels like a South-East Asian version of The Godfather. Large groups of women cook and laugh together, they bring food to the security/men with walking talkies who make sure all the Barongs (large puppets o f good spirits carried from the villiages) don't come all at the same time. They happily thank them and eat laughing with each other. This doesn't feel like just a religion, it's a culture, a community, an activity, and a way of life. No wonder they can't swan off for a couple of months. These journeys all around Ubud are wonderful, it is a place full of life and wonder if you find the right path. |