Not your “Eat, Pray, Love” Bali

As we sail toward Bali, I spot clumps of floating debris.  In closer to the harbor, various forms of water sports take place around us, parasailing, jet skiing, and speeding motorboats with rafts of people in tow.  All this, amidst floating logs and other unidentified patches of garbage.  Inviting.

We dock at The Port of Benoa in Bali, Indonesia and are greeted by Balinese dancers and musicians. 

We arrived around 2 PM, quickly boarded the buses and set out for what we expected to be a six hour day.  The destination is Uluwatu Temple, followed by a seafood barbecue dinner on the beach at sunset.  Sounds good.

As soon as we take off, it’s apparent that half of those six hours is going to be taken up by sitting in traffic with all of the 4 million plus residents.  Scooters weave in and out amongst cars and buses, making better progress than we do.  We’re heading toward the southernmost point of Bali where the temple is perched on the cliffs overlooking prime surfing waters.  One community seems to blend into the next.  The street scenes are fascinating. 

 I’m astonished by how homes and businesses are packed together with no bit of ground unused.  It seems as if everybody has a business with their home or family compound in the rear, each Hindu family with their own temple.  Hindus leave small offerings to the gods outside their homes and businesses. 

Although Indonesia is primarily Muslim, Bali is a Hindu enclave.  Uluwatu, a Hindu temple, is known for its resident monkeys.  Bob is anxious to meet the monkeys.  Our guide cautions us that the monkeys are aggressive and are prone to stealing glasses, sunglasses, and hats.  He suggests that we leave our glasses and hats behind on the bus.  Well, that’s not going to work.  If I leave my glasses behind, I won’t be able to see to climb the treacherous steps.  I won’t be able to see to dodge the hordes of Chinese tourists that threaten to push me down the steps.  I think maybe it’s better to leave me behind on the bus, but it’s too late.  The bus has disappeared.  I try making my way along without my glasses and clinging to Bob’s sleeve.   That’s not working, so I take my chances.  I packed a second pair of glasses (just in case of a monkey attack.) 

False alarm.  The monkeys left us alone so I forgot about them and just worried about being crushed by Chinese tourists.  It’s the Chinese New Year.  I probably mentioned that before.  Everywhere we’ve gone we encounter the Chinese, all young and affluent looking.

At the top of the outer temple are views of the cliffs and the ocean below.  We aren’t allowed to enter the inner temple.  Signs of “Worshipers Only” appear in front of gates.  I can see a young man sitting inside the gates, worshiping on his iPhone.  Missed the photo op, though.

As usual, it’s sweltering and everyone is anxious to get back on the bus, away from the heat, the monkeys and the crowds.

Next stop is Garuda Wisnu Kencana Cultural Park where the Balinese government is constructing a huge statue of Vishnu which is supposed to be completed by next year in time for the anniversary celebration of Indonesian independence.  Vishnu’s copper head and the head of his companion Garudu are already completed and on display.  I’d like to be around to watch them being lifted into place.  

We leave the park and hit traffic on the way to the beachside restaurant.  It’s gotten dark and has started to pour.  We inch along through neighborhood after neighborhood, following a string of buses.  The guide passes out rain ponchos which we all don.  Forty-five minutes in traffic, while we watch locals, also in their rain ponchos, sometimes three to a scooter, passing us by on the way to their weekend.  We’re all starting to grumble and I’m expecting a mutinous outcry for a return to the ship for dinner.  Finally we arrive and are dropped at the door to the awaiting umbrellas.  Not a drop of rain on the ponchos, we sit down in the open-air seaside restaurant to a plate of assorted Indonesian seafood and side dishes.It looks good and mostly tastes good, but I don’t like to get messy nor work for my food, so I give most of mine to Bob.

The trip back to the ship took an hour and a half, most of it waiting in line to pay the toll to cross the causeway.  These people could use EZPass.  I could see our ship not far in the distance as I sat there regretting that I had had too much beer with dinner.  Our six hour day took about 8 ½ hours.