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So we finally took some time off work and went on a proper vacation last week, to Bali (which many people don’t realize is part of Indonesia).

First stop was Ubud, the cultural and artistic heartland of Bali. In Ubud we saw many mesmerizing paintings, impressive stone- and wood-carvings, metalwork, and jewelry. We watched a traditional Balinese dance performance called legong that was hypnotic for me. We took a long walk in rice paddies, and got trapped in a unbelievable deluge of a downpour that flooded a nearby bridge (picture below). We walked through a “Monkey Forest Sanctuary” with temples honoring the dead - very Indiana Jones (pictures below).

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We also enjoyed some world-class dining. Bandung’s efforts at recreating Western cuisine can often be disappointing. Not so in Ubud, where we finally satisfied our cravings for dishes we’d been missing. We also had full breakfasts, including bacon, which is hard to get in Muslim Bandung (by contrast, Bali is predominantly Hindu).

Next, we spent several days in the Kuta/Legian/Seminyak area. Kuta Beach is the most popular, most famous, and most touristy area of Bali. A long easygoing beach stretches the length of these three cities. We swam many times, and I tried to surf. Oddly, we managed to take almost no pictures of this area. We just wanted to relax anyway. Many boardwalk-like streets, with hundreds of street stalls selling everything under the sun. The hawkers were extremely aggressive. If you showed any interest at all, suddenly they were all over you. And the guys hawking transportation just wouldn’t quit. Here’s a typical conversation:

Hawker: “Excuse me, you want transport?”
Us: “Oh… no thanks.”
Hawker: “Okay, yes?”
Us: “Uh, no. Thanks anyway.”
Hawker: “Yes, cheap price, yes?”
Us: “Thanks anyway!”
Hawker: “Maybe tomorrow?”
Us: “Well, maybe, I don’t know.”
Hawker: “Okay, you sign up now!”
Us: “No, argh…”

I understand their motivation, but it got tiring after a while. Things are just so different in Bandung, where you get genuine smiles because you are unusual-looking, not because you represent money. I found myself craving real interaction with an Indonesian.

Last stop was Dreamland Beach, a quieter place recommended by several of Denise’s students and mentioned briefly in our Lonely Planet guidebook. It was fun, but it wasn’t what we expected. There were big 6- or 7-foot waves crashing just 15 feet from the water’s edge. To go swimming, you had to run headlong towards the water and dive through the first wave you saw, otherwise you risked getting knocked off your feet if you strolled leisurely toward the water. Denise and I sat at beach cafes, drinking beer, and laughing our heads off as “newbies” got knocked on their butts and stood up shocked.

Even if you made it past the first waves to the actual ocean, you had to keep on your toes, and be alert for additional monster waves that came every 30 seconds or so, and could be 10 feet tall or higher. Denise somersaulted to the shore after one massive wave, and then repeated twice more immediately after. Time for a beer. But if you wanted to leave the water, the riptide made it hard to leave, until a big wave came and slammed you onto the beach and filled your shorts with sand. Seriously, that was the only way to leave the water. I found it all kind of thrilling (the waves, not the sand in the shorts), but I think it was a bit much for Denise.

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Our “hotel” in Dreamland was more like a surfer’s dive. Shared bathroom among five rooms. Semi-hot room with old fan. Everything was sticky from the salty breeze. But hey, it was right on the beach (see the views from our porch, above), and super cheap. Unfortunately, it was so close to the beach that when the waves increased during the night, it became impossible to sleep. To be honest, the waves were so huge it was terrifyingly loud, sometimes making the bed vibrate, and encouraging thoughts of tsunamis and rogue waves. Finally the waves calmed down and we got some sleep.

In all, the trip to Bali was not what we expected, but what vacation ever is? Bali was great in its own way, and I can’t wait to go back.