First of all, I would like to offer a formal apology to our fans (and by "our fans" I mean my father) for having not updated in so long. We are still alive, I promise.
So, where was I (erm, literally)...
With our health and gumption restored after indulging in western-style malls and Starbucks (shh), we left Jakarta-the-city-that-colour-forgot for Jogjakarta, it's fitter, brighter younger sister. Jogjakarta is the city that feels like a town, with plenty of lush palms peeking over roofs and fences and brilliantly coloured flags lining the streets, flapping camply in the wind.
Using Jogja as our base, we ventured to Borabadur and Pramadan--Jogja's friendly neighbourhood ancient temples. Borabadur, which is "comparable to Angkor Wat" (according to the Bible--read: Lonely Planet), is the largest Buddhist temple and is estimated to have been built in the eighth century. It consists of four levels built into a pyramid shape around a square base; each level has stone reliefs in the walls depicting both traditional and fabled scenes of Indonesian Buddhism, as well as statues of Buddha sitting crossed legged with a serene expression--well, on the statues that still had heads, at least. Pramadan is a Hindu temple made up of many tall, intricately built stone towers dedicated to the various deities. Both temples had that good ol' temple-ish air of peace and tranquility about them--although, to be completely honest, after this many months on the road, we're somewhat templed out. I know, I know, poor little backpackers, right? "There are starving children in Africa who don't have Any temples... now finish your potatoes!" ...or something like that.
Next, after a very long drive that was rather stingy on the toilet stops if I do say so myself, we hit up Mt. Bromo. Alright, "hit up" may be a somewhat optimistic interpretation of events. "Trudged up in angry silence" is perhaps somewhat more accurate. Hey, it was three-thirty in the morning (we have never, ever had to contemplate 3:30 am as the beginning of a New day before--and frankly, we did not care for it) and it was cold--layers a'plenty! However, the view of the sunrise from the top made it all worthwhile... as did the Oreos Sara had packed to pacify me (aww, she always knows just what I need). To be fair, the sun did rise more adjacent to the volcano as opposed to over top of it, and pretty much all of France was there to witness the event, but it was pretty nifty nonetheless. What was more spectacular, however, was afterward when we actually had the opportunity to climb the smoking crater. Well, the climb itself wasn't all that wonderful--all the sweating and muttered swear words made me feel that I was back in Nepal--but being able to stare into the rocky bowl as an unending plume of white smoke mushroomed endlessly into the sky definitely was. Nature had yet again caught us off guard and blunty reminded us how much cooler it was than we were.
Goodbye Java, hello Bali--Kuta Beach, primo destination for sun-worshippers from all walks of life. It was by far the most touristy place we've been to this entire trip and we found ourselves suddenly overwhelmed by 24 hr McDonald's and Aussie surfers with tattoos that are funny the first time you see them but then seem less funny over time. It's what I imagine Cancun to be like--stunning beaches writhing with bronzed bodies slowly sizzling in the south asian sun, more cheap neo-hippy backpacker souvenirs than you could shake a sarong at, colourful eateries serving fusion food ranging widely in price and insect content. Strangest thing spotted being hawked on the beach: a bow and arrow, and a blow-dart pipe thing. Apparently tribal weaponry is the new t-shirt??
But, the most exciting bit about Kuta Beach? We suddenly found ourselves Aim-less no longer. You guessed it (or maybe you didn't)--Aimee and her boyfriend Andy flew out to meet us! The squealing, needless to say, was epic.
The four of us decided to dive right in to Kuta culture and go surfing--or should I say, go swimming with surfboards. Despite swallowing half the ocean and inhaling the other half (I felt like some sort of carnie doing crude tricks with a cigarette--it goes in my nose, comes out my mouth, goes in my ear, comes out my ass...) and essentially engaging in bumper cars with the other newbie surfers, we had an absolute blast. Though the fact that we emerged with scraped knees makes us think that we was doing something wrong. Whatever, dude, the breaks were way gnarly. It was tubular to the max.
Once we felt we'd gotten all we could out of surfing (or, once we developed significant limps) we opted for something a little more chilled and headed inland to Ubud. Ubud, for all you yoga-in-the-expensive-pants/spirituality-lite people out there, is the "Love" spot featured in the book Eat, Pray, Love. I'd been imagining a sort of cultural oasis, off the beaten track enough to feel authentic but still popular enough to have western toilets (a gal can dream, can't she?). In this regard, I hate to admit, Ubud proved to be a bit of a disappointment. The streets were lined with expensive boutiques. Along with small stores selling expensive local handicrafts, there was a Dolce and Gabanna!! There is no emoticon available to express my appallment. Eat, Pray, Shop, indeed.
However, it wouldn't be fair to write Ubud off completely. The hotel we stayed at was wickedcool. Built to look how the ancient rich lived, there was intricate stonework and small alters covered in moss and blossoms. Little woven baskets of flowers, fruit and incense were scattered like Easter eggs, daily offerings--which we kept accidentally stepping in. Whoops. We did go on a temple-fest as well. I couldn't tell you the name of any of the places we saw, but they were generally surrounded by forest with faces of dragons carved into stone, popping out of the ground (surprise!! God is watching!! ...or some sort of similar mentality??), and praying people in sarongs, and colourful statues with animated expressions. All of the temples were Hindu, but bore little to no resemblance their Indian counterparts.
We also took in a traditional Kecak dance, which was all sorts of awesome. Men wearing only sarongs and flowers in their hair sat in a semi-circle chanting and waving their arms while dancers in elaborate gold costumes and eccentric masks enacted Hindu fables around a fire. We couldn't tell you for the life of us what was going on (well, maybe Sara could, seeing as she actually read the pamphlet... pfft, cheater) but it was extremely entertaining to watch.
But then... there was the Monkey Forest.
I would like you all to take note: I am only going to discuss the Monkey Forest once. After this, you are not to make any reference to the Monkey Forest, nor to the events that occurred within the Monkey Forest, as they are too awful and traumatic to reiterate. Is that clear? Alright, good.
We entered the Monkey Forest with high hopes. And at first, our expectations appeared to be actualized. Hundreds--nay, thousands--of small grey monkeys were frolicking about playfully, making faces and picking their noses and behaving in other cute monkey-esque ways. But then, things took a dramatic turn. It started when Aimee was posing for a photo--all of a sudden, a monkey ran up and BIT HER ON THE ASS!! It is important to note: she did not invade said monkey's personal space to then have it deliver a defensive snap. She was minding her own beeswax when the culprit ran up to her and lunched her rump!! Fortunately, she was wearing pants, or else a) that would have been weird and b) it would have pierced the skin, and that would have resulted in rabies and tears. As it was, she bruised up almost immediately. It wasn't long after that that we witnessed another monkey scramble up a woman and perch on her head, refusing to vacate. A second monkey soon joined it. Then, Sara was chased by yet another monkey (its motives, though unclear, were undoubtedly sinister) and then... ugh, I don't even want to have to write this. We saw a monkey holding a kitten that couldn't have been more than a week old. And it was treating this poor thing as if it were a rag doll. It was standing on it and pulling it and flinging it into the air, watching gleefully as it smacked onto the concrete. The poor kitten was obviously in dire pain and angst, but there was nothing we could do, given the monkeys' vicious demeanor. In the end, we just had to leave, and ignore the haunting meowing that followed us onto the street. It was really a horrible experience, and I believe we are quite justified in our new found hatred of monkeys.
Now, let us never speak of it again.
One strange highlight of Ubud was the cat-weasel poo coffee. No, that wasn't a bizarre series of typos. There actually is a type of very fancy Indonesian coffee which is brewed from beans that have been eaten by the civet (an animal which is, as I said, a cross between a weasel and a cat) and then excreted whole. Said coffee "cherries" are then collected, washed (VERY thoroughly, I hope) and brewed into rare and exquisite (read: expensive) coffee. So we decided to try a cup. Sara, our coffee connoisseur, found it to be rich and flavourful--she gave it rave reviews. I, on the other hand, prefer Tim Horton's, but that's just me.
Once we'd checked the cat-weasel poo coffee from our bucket list, we left Ubud and returned beach side, this time to the Gili Trawangan Island. Gili T. is like what Kuta must've been like twenty or thirty years ago. Since arriving, we've mostly scube'd. Sara and I have decided to become Open Water certified, and Aimee and Andy joined us on a Fun Dive (meaning Sara and I are spending a few hours in the pool practicing skills as well as partaking in four ocean dives, and A-squared joined us on the first dive just for the halibut--I can make that awful joke because I'm talking about the sea...). Our dive yesterday was terrific. The coral wasn't as incredible as in the Philippines--flatter, more uniform--but there were many fish and LOTS of green and hawkbill turtles! The turtles were quite chilled out. They didn't seem to mind a bunch of bubbling tourists in ridiculous outfits bumping clumsily around them, and when they swam above us they looked truly majestic.
And that, my friends, is what's been going on with us. And now I'm going to go lie down, because my fingers are cramping and my eyes are crossed. Much love to you from us, salty and windswept... xxoo.
0 comments:
Post a Comment