Day 3 in Ubud, Bali, Indonesia. I already fell in love with this place the day arrived, and it hasn’t ceased to amaze me yet.
We left early in the morning for the mountains, joining a tour of four to bike through the villages of rural Bali. Our two tour buddies are from my new favorite country, New Zealand. Our guide’s name was Putu, which means first born in Balinese. Putu explained that there are only 4 names in Balinese, based on the birth order. The first born is called Putu or Wayan, the second born is Made, third is Nyoman, and fourth is Ketut. Parents will add the prefix of Ni to distinguish the girls from the boys. If there are more than four in the family? They will start over, calling the fifth boy Putu Balik, or Second Putu, and so on. Even though all the Balinese people introduced themselves to us using their proper names, if you really want to get to know them, you should ask for their nickname, which is the only way to distinguish one Pudu from the other million on the island!
As Putu the First educated us on the various traditions of Balinese people, we reached our first destination – breakfast. The meal itself was simple and nothing to blog about, but the view was breathtaking:
This is the Batur Volcano, which last erupted in 1968. It over looks Lake Batur, which supports a large population of fishermen. Our breakfast conversation turned somewhat morbid when we started talking about the people who live on the other side of the lake. The Balinese usually have a slightly strange burial custom for the dead. The body is buried in the village’s common burial ground for 3-5 years, after which the bones are dug up, washed, and cremated with a great ceremony. After the ceremony, the ashes are spread into the ocean or lake, and a symbol which houses the returning spirit would be brought back to the family temple. This is true for most of Bali, except the Trunyans living on the other side of the lake. Their forest is rich in sandalwood, which is an expensive resource coveted by many. To deter outsiders from pillaging their sandalwood forest, the people would leave the bodies of their dead relatives under sandalwood trees to scare away the thieves. In a sense it would be like the spirits of their dead are protecting their property?
Our next stop was the coffee plantation. I’m sure coffee aficionados are all aware of kopi Luwak, supposedly the most expensive coffee in the world made from coffee beans found in the feces of the Asian palm civet, a furry cat looking animal.
The plantation tour was actually much better than I expected. We walked through a lush green garden of coffee, herbs, and fruits, as Putu explained to us what each plant was. I made the amazing discovery that pineapples grew in the ground. Shows you how in touch I am with nature… T_T This below is what coffee bean looks like!
After ripe coffee beans are collected from the trees, they are roasted by hand over an open fire like so:
With luwak coffee, the farmers must go search in the forest for droppings left by the nocturnal cats, and clean the beans (many many times I hope), before roasting them. I had a cup of this cat-poo-ccino (as the locals called it) for free, after purchasing way more coffee and tea than I anticipated. I’m no coffee expert, but I would definitely not pay $50 for it!
We did try a set of 10 different coffees and teas, and there were some that were much better tasting than cat poo. So even if you are not interested in luwak coffee or buying any for souvenirs, it’s still a good experience.
After that we soon started the biking part of our journey. Putu mentioned that about 90% of it was downhill, and he wasn’t kidding! We probably pedaled about 10 times in the first hour as we rode through narrow streets lined with terraces of rice fields on both sides. The sun was scorching, but the breeze followed us the entire way, and made the heat quite tolerable. Don’t worry about safety or equipment problems, since we had not one but two vans following us the entire way, one with extra bikes and one for passengers. We also had two guides, Putu in the front, and his third uncle Nyoman in the back, who were both very knowledgeable about their home island and its culture and ready to answer any of our questions. They were also extremely attentive, offering cold water every few stops, cold towels at the end of the ride, and even pushed me uphill when I couldn’t figured out how to switch gears properly (we really only had to ride uphill 3 times the entire duration of the trip, and I take full responsibility for being a weak sauce).
Between fields of green we also traversed through many small quaint villages. The streets are only wide enough for one car, but one rarely came through anyway. Patches of newly harvested rice still wrapped in their kernels were left outside houses to dry, and people only had to chase away the occasional chicken. The village was quiet yet vibrant. With a brilliantly blue sky as the background, a mix of bright green leaves and dark green moss squeeze their way over and between the orange red brick walls. Family and village temples are around every corner, and offerings of flowers, plants, and food in dainty plates are arranged artfully as anything else on this island.
The best part of it all is when we rode pass the locals. Whether they were working in the field, riding a motorbike in the other direction, or sitting in a group enjoying the afternoon, they will yell “hello!” with the biggest smiles on their faces. Children will run from their homes to the door just to wave and tell us good afternoon, which indeed made it a very good afternoon. In a world where people are used to protecting themselves with expressionless faces and lowered heads when encountering strangers, it was a refreshing experience to genuinely greet a complete stranger and wishing them a good day. “I can’t believe this! It’s like we are in a Travel Channel video!” Our tour mate Sarah exclaimed ecstatically at one point, and we concur.
We also got to try our skills at rice harvesting, getting the spikelets to drop from the stem by beating the bunches against a wooden bench.
At the end of the tour Putu invited us into his home, where a meal prepared by his family awaited us. He thanked us for being there on behalf of his family, especially since the family only eats chicken on days when they have a tour group. Out of curiosity we asked how much it costs for the whole family to live for a week, and the answer was about $100 for his family of 22, including food, education, and entertainment. That made us all a bit silent as we thought about our extravagant vacations and the things we took for granted.
As we left Putu’s home, we said bye and thank you (properly in Balinese, as Putu taught us) to his family, and even asked for a group picture. Our time together was short, and not all of them spoke English, but through nods and smiles, we all exchanged our appreciation for each other I hope.
Ubud was our first stop in Indonesia, and still my favorite. If you are there, sign up for a tour with Putu and Nyoman at Jegeg Cycling! 🙂
Leave a Reply