bedugul, BALI, INDONESIA

2017-02-21, 16:32, JASON

BUDGET , STAY: BUKIT KEMBAR ECO VILLA

The first time I went to Bali was last June with my roommate and partner. We went to Ubud. The second time, I went with my partner to visit my cousin in the Canggu / Seminyak area. This time, I went alone to visit my cousin, and we were going to go to Bedugul, a place in the north. Most people will know it for the Lake Temple that makes its way onto Balinese postcards.

Since Bali's international debut via Eat, Pray, Love, as well as being Australia's playing ground for the past decade, there's a considerable amount of riffraff you have to sort through. For those that have been to Bangkok, or any other big city in Southeast Asia in which young Asian women are exploited, you'll know what I mean. In places like Kuta, it's known to be a backpackery, hosteling vibe where there are a lot of tourists that overexploit the area and locals. In areas like Canggu, you have the hipsters and the surfers, and in Ubud you have the ones who are on their own spiritual trail / journey. Bali caters well to each of these groups, and I can see, after coming here a few times, why people love it so much. Compared to the West, the concept of Bali, especially being in Southeast Asia, is so dramatically different than anything they've seen, that it really feels like some idyllic, isolated playground.

I love a good party. Actually, last time we were in Bali, we went to a club called La Favela (is this a problematic name..?) and actually had a really good time. Most of the people there were foreigners, but the crowd was good, and most people were down to party. The music was on point too. On the other hand, I do like cultural traveling as well; trying to understand the local culture, or at least get an appreciation for how the locals live while I'm there. In Bali, I knew it was out there somewhere, I just had to dig a little bit deeper; get out of the main parts. So, when I came to Bali this time I made my cousin and I go to Bedugul, an area in the north. Don't get me wrong, it's not "off the beaten path" and there are still tourists there, it's just that more of the tourism is there to appreciate local culture as opposed to just go for the cheap Bintang Beers and get wasted. Well, there's still Bintang up there. It's not like we're in the boonies. Tourism has a way of penetrating even the most remote areas.

We take off on a Friday, with my backpack strung on me, and my cousin in front. She's driving and I'm sat on the back. I'm a bit nervous, only because none of us know the way, yet I was charged with the task of navigating. I put in our hostel to the address, and just go. The first 30 minutes is making our way through the traffic and being able to get out of the city center.

Bali has a dramatic, changing landscape. When we drive out of the city center, we pass by all the small shops that line the streets. Usually, these are not large chain stores, but rather, independent labels in which people are selling their crafts or clothes (most generally). Some are opened by foreigners, and some are opened by locals. The shops remind me of the small ma and pa style shops that you used to see more often in suburban U.S. growing up before market giants like Target and Walmart, offering their one-stop-shop experience, took over. These shops all have a personality and a flare to them, such that when they're placed side by side, there's no organization to it; there's a natural quality to the construction. Some buildings are more newly refurbished, and some are older. The ones that don't have any business inside them are usually dilapidated or hollowed out. However, the exterior may not always be indicative of the interior decoration. I see this a lot in Southeast Asia: although the exterior of the building may not seem as polished, the inside is usually very nice. If you go into a shop opened by a hipster, it'll usually have a post-modern quality to it with a tinge of that Balinese, fresh-air ambience. And so, the natural landscape and culture also molds these shops. 

As you transfer between towns, you'll see pockets of agrarian culture. The occasional rice field here or there, stuck between two large buildings, with farmers in their classic pointed straw hats plowing the field for harvest. Often, there will also be some people walking through the fields and picking the rice by hand. I love these rice fields. Something about looking out into the fields that usually span for acres is such a profound feeling. The way the sun strikes it perfectly, and the pockets of water not occupied by the plants reflect the blue sky, and give it a magnificent quality. The rice is usually planted in perfectly straight rows, and the water tension that cusps around the base of the rice plant breaks the fluidity of the water in a way as to add texture, giving it a richer quality. These aren't 'attractions' per se, like the Ubud rice fields, but just people getting on with everyday life. To them, I don't know if it's something to marvel at or just a plot of land for survival. Either way, it's still beautiful. But, the period that it lasts is short. It happens for about 10 seconds and then you're in the next town. 

When the traffic thins out, the roads become windier as we head up into the mountain. Here, there aren't many tall buildings but trees. But, it's not just one kind of tree. If you imagine a Southeast Asian landscape, say Malaysia or Singapore, most of the vegetation we imagine is a dense, richly green jungle landscape. This is largely true, but as we head up into the mountain the air gets considerably cooler. The temperature drops to about 20 degrees Celsius (compared to a 30 or so temperature on the floor), and the foliage changes from the lush forested earth to thinner, taller trees. A dense fog occasionally sets in and blows past. It begins to feel like we're not even in Bali. The hot weather that we're used to, and the noise of the motorcycles slowly fades into the distance, as the two of us drive up this mountain road. There are many 'ooh' and gasping moments as we continue the drive. Occasionally, we drive by peoples' houses built on the side of the road, and occasionally we will also pass by the Hindu temple. Pictures would do a better job describing the landscape.

So, Bali doesn't just change in terms of landscape, but we can feel the temperature changes and air changes; how much colder it is, how much less polluted it is from scooter and car emission. The noise and bustle from the 'city center' below seem like a distant memory. 

Bedugul is not actually name for a region, but rather a 'city' up in the north. I put that in quotes only because I'm not sure if they call it cities or villages. If you look at the map, Bedugul is at the southwest corner of one of three lakes: Lake Beratan. If you follow the road up north, you'll curl around the other two lakes in a U shape: Lake Buyan and Lake Temblingan. As our hostel is between Lake Buyan and Temblingan, we decide to keep driving. After we pass Bedugul (the more tourist parts of Northern Bali), we re-enter the mountain roads. We can't do anything but just marvel at the scenery up here. The roads curl around the lakes at a higher altitude so that when you look down, you see clusters of villages and the lake. Occasionally, the sun peeks out and strikes the lake and the lake reflects the clouds and the sun. When we arrive it's nearing sunset, too, and so there's a reddish, orange quality to the sky. This, reflected in the body of water, looks stunning. I'm so jealous that people that live here get to live and wake up to this view everyday. I begin to understand why people come to Bali for a cultural experience. It's not only the local culture that you feel at home with, it's the scenery that swallows you in. 

When we reach lake Buyan, we stop to take some pictures. There are locals sitting in the local huts, just staring out at the lake, also appreciating the northern terrain. For those that have not been to Bali, there are usually small, stilted overhangs that are built at some vantage points. They're usually made out of some bamboo, or wooden material (probably rattan), and there is a lofted area where you sit on. There's usually also a small table -- also made out of rattan / wood / some tree -- placed in the middle. These structures are often used for hanging out, but they'll also be seen in restaurants and dining areas. The best part is that they are always open-air. 

The sun is setting nicely now as we reach our destination. A slow fog rolls in past the mountains as we look out into the ocean, and it's as if we're standing above the clouds. The greenery is different than before; it doesn't feel like we're in the jungle anymore at this altitude. Then, we get on our way to the hostel. We travel down the one-lane road and keep an eye out for the name. We pass by the occasional warung - a local dining place - on the way, as well as the occasional house-cum-shop. Finally, we arrive.

Bukit Kembar bills itself as Eco-tourism, and that's what it offers. A basic room, and some dining options. It's run by a local man, Papa Jero, who wears his traditional Balinese head wear and loose-fitting clothes. He walks around all day with a dolphin blanket around his shoulders, in a bright blue 'ocean' color and thick cotton material. It's cold up here, probably around 18 or 19 Celsius, and so he has the right idea. There is a woman who I presume is his wife, a chubbier woman with a round, welcoming face, who smiles. They both speak English very fluently, and have a certain welcoming quality to them. In fact, I've noticed this with most of the Balinese we've encountered. They're very welcoming, and they're genuine in their welcome and smile. I call it the Balinese smile, that kind where they don't do it for pleasantries but because it's in the nature of being Balinese.

A man greets us at the counter and we check in. He seems to be a son or brother of someone here, and we're not quite sure. He checks us in, smiles, and then shows us to our room. It's a basic room. One bed. One sink. Toilet, shower. It's run down, but it's what we signed up for. It's Eco-tourism, not a 5-star villa or hotel. We spend the rest of the night there, exhausted from the drive up and navigating, and in preparation for tomorrow. All is quiet up here, and there's little noise. There aren't constant sounds of engines revving. There's the sound of insects, and the calmness of the vast Bali sky above us, full of stars.

The next day we wake up and eat breakfast. Papa Jero is already out there with his dolphin blanket. We ask him for some advice to go to a hike around a lake and he directs us to Lake Tembolingan temple, and so we head off on our scooter. It's a one-way road along the way, but there are some turns that we don't know and so we stop to ask the locals who are going about their day. This is where the local hospitality really shines. Everyone smiles - that warm, Balinese smile again - and is willing to help. This man who is carrying a load of leaves on his head stops in his laborious endeavor to assist us to getting to Lake Tamblingan. All the fears of getting lost on the way are dissolved because the locals are great guides and generous with their time. We stop by to get some snacks and gas, and the lady cranks a lever attached to a cylindrical tube. When the crank pumps the oil into the tube -- with markings on it -- she measures out how much we need and dispenses the oil. I go in to buy some snacks, and the people are all asking us where we're from; if my cousin is my wife; if I'm her husband; where we're headed. There's a genuine curiosity to them, and I imagine it must be the weirdest feeling to see your land become a popular tourist destination within the past 10 years. To go from their idyllic, isolated life to seeing people in all walks of life either enjoying or exploiting their land. But, they still greet us with a smile that day. 

We finally make it to Lake Tamblingan, park our car, and then take a look at the map. According to the people at the parking lot, we weren't allowed to actually hike around the lake without a tour guide. The only place we could check out was Pura Ulun Banu Tamblinga, which was the lake temple based in Lake Tamblingan. IF we were to take the tour, we could walk around the lake, and then take a traditional canoe across back to our starting point. Being the stingy people that we were, we skipped out on this and decided to take a walk instead. 

The walk passes by some dense forest, and you pass by some famous stone-wall pagoda entrances (classic Balinese) along the way. It almost looks like an old Hindu ruin, with the mossy stone and intricate etchings planted on its face. As we continue walking, for no more than about 10 minutes, we hit the lakeside. There is a man flying his drone with a few mates, trying to figure out how it works. There is also the "Bali Hangout Structure" - the small tent propped up on four legs - and people are sitting their relaxing. There is also a bride, in a Western, white wedding dress with a veil, chatting with her friend, and her husband not too far off. She's part of a photoshoot I guess for her wedding photos. All around us is nature, large, green mountains with few brown spots, and we're located in the valley surrounded by them. In front of us is Lake Temblingan with a few canoes parked in it. It's a clear day so far in the mountains, the water is reflecting the richness of the blue sky. To our right is the Lake Temple. It fits so nicely into the scenery, contrasting the modern Balinese woman's wedding dress, but blending in effortlessly into the lake and mountain ambiance. 

We approach the temple and there is a man sitting at its entrance. We're unsure as to whether or not we can go in, but we ask and he smiles and says yes, a puff of cigarette smoke coming forth as he exhales with permission. We walk in and it's an understated temple: a small grassy patch in the center, with a few offerings. There are three temple structures inside that mirror the three pointed edges on the outer face of the temple. And so, we take some pictures and enjoy the sun up here today. Despite its strength, it's feels like a cool, balmy 23 or 24 degrees, and the mountain air is fresh as ever. 

Because there are no paths that surround the lake, and we weren't given permission to walk around, we decide to walk back up and take our scooter back to the hostel. Papa Jero speaks of an interesting waterfall that we can hike to. He says to walk down the opposite way from which we went to head to the lake, and then in "about 800 meters turn left." And, so we decide to go chase waterfalls based on his advice.

Directions in Bali are pretty hard to follow, only because there are no formalized street signs. On Google Maps, there are streets with names, but it's difficult to spot the label and give the place we're going to a formal address. Likewise, things are tucked away in the jungle and so you only know you're going the right way if you constantly ask along the way if you're going the right way. It can be a discouraging process, but there's also that feeling of "YESSS" when you realize you're on the right path. While we're walking down the main road, we see a small poster at the corner of the main road and small road intersection that details a 'cool waterfall' that we can walk to, and says to go down the subsequent street to find it. We ask a lady at the top of the hill across the main road if this is where the waterfall is, and she smiles (that Balinese smile) and says yes, yes! So, we take her advice. We're not totally sure if she knew what a waterfall was, but trust the locals, and trust the ripped signs. We head down the street.

The street is nice. It goes through a really local part of Bali, with small houses lined throughout. 

Most people along this road are planting their own food and working an agrarian lifestyle. Each house has a dog that barks at us while we walk across the entrance, and it's actually a bit terrifying that they all start barking and alerting each other when we approach. But, they never bite. They bark loudly we ignore them, and just keep walking. Some of them follow us and keep barking to guard their space, but we just put our head down and go forward. All along the way, we see small children with the families, and they are curious. They look at us and smile and say "Hallo!!" everytime we pass. I think again how weird it must be for these kids to grow up seeing so many foreigners in their own homeland, and how different their lives and upbringing must be from their parents. 

The transitive space that is Bali (in my eyes) must be so weird for its constants (its local residents). I see a kid rubbing a frog on his skin randomly. I love kids.

As we get to a fork in the road, we totally miss the sign that says 'waterfall' and end up heading into a dead end. It's not until we head backwards, ask for another set of directions, that we head towards the right way. There are some locals headed there on scooters and they confirm the path for us. So, we continue walking through the jungle. As we get closer we hear the falling of the water, and we finally come across a ticketing point. The ticketing point is four guys sat on one of these bamboo structures, playing some card game not from the standard 52-card deck, as we know. They are small pieces of rectangular cards with designs on it, and there is a mat with four of them sat on it playing. One man is smoking. Upon sight of us, he just says "15" indicating 15,000 Rupiah to enter the waterfall. We had already been walking for 1.5 hours at this point and so we weren't turning back. We pay the fee, and then begin the descent to the waterfall. 

Heading down, you scale along a small path with a sharp rock formation to your left, covered in leaves. There are small drippings of water from the leaves hanging from the rock, as well as some smaller rock waterfalls along the way. It feels like we're really in the jungle now, with the pitter patter sound of the water hitting our ears and the moisture in the air condensating on our skin. And then, we come across the large waterfall. There are four tourists there who reached there by car (we saw them on the way down in a car), and the rest are Indonesian tourists who have taken their scooter down. There is a small bamboo overhang so people can sit and rest as well as leave their clothes. Everyone else is headed towards the waterfall. The falls are absolutely roaring from the previous rainfall the night before, and depositing into the pool below. The current is pretty strong from the entry of water into the pond, and so swimming on the outskirts is possible. It's almost surreal. The water is clear, and it's a perfectly natural formation just tucked away in the forest. We dip in and relax for a bit, then sit on the shores eating some junk food. The sun suddenly appears through a crack in the open air above. 

The walk back is similar. We know the way, and so greet all of our old friends, and ignore all of our angry dog friends. When we finally get to the top, we take a break at a local warung and have a nasi goreng on the side of the road, as well as a Balinese coffee. There's a small vantage point where we take some pictures outlooking Lake Buyan. Then, we head back to the hostel. 

The most famous temple is Pura Ulun Danu Beratan, which is the Lake Beratan temple. Most postcards in Bali will feature this tower if not one in Ubud. We decided to go there next, which would require looping back around the road we took to get up here. No problem.

The scenery in Bali changes quite often, I've talked about that, but so do the sounds and smells. We go from the top of our little Ecotourism hub to the city center, and from there we can see the breaking of silence and the beginning of organized tourism. Along the way, you're able to hear some traditional Bali music playing in the background, coming from somewhere. I can't explain the music, but it's a flurry of sounds that, when coming together, make a tribal sound. I'm no musicologist, but it has percussion and wind instruments, mixed in with some chanting and the classic 'bouncy' drum sound that you hear sometimes in Indian style music. Actually, it sometimes sounds like a music soundtrack for a videogame if you were out in the forestn (Banjo Kazooie). A stream of melody cuts across all the background noise and ties it all together.

But, not only that, the smells change. Down in Ubud, Canggu, and Kuta we're used to smelling petrol all the time. When you walk out into the rice fields, you can smell the wheaty goodness of the harvest. When you go up into the mountains with less traffic, the smell of petrol occasionally lingers from a car that needs a smog check, but the air purifies with the help of all the trees. When the fog sets in or the breeze blows by, you get a whiff of fresh air. Often in Ubud, you will walk across some offerings or places that have put out incense, and you're inundated with incense. Driving up the mountain, we also occasionally pass by pockets of incense that smell so good and smell especially sharp against the mountain air. Every once in a while, too, we will smell burning wood from a fire nearby, but afterwards, have it be interrupted again by the smell of petrol. Then, mountain air. So, the smells in Bali are always changing, and contribute heavily to the atmosphere. How dynamic.

On the way to Pura Ulun Danu Beratan, we come across all these smells, until we finally pull in to the parking lot and go frequent the temple. It's overcast now - a contrast to earlier at the waterfall - but there are still tourists out. The temple is a unique structure, with its layered roof structure and "Balinese style" architecture. But, there's not much really to do than to look at it. The temple is just a small part of the attraction, and there is a small park to walk around as well. You can't actually walk to the temple as its on an island, and I'm sure it's sacred and protected, so we take pictures and admire from afar. 

Afterwards, we walk around the park. There is a man who has bats and snakes and is charging money to photograph with them. We just stand and admire our distant cousins, the bats. Feeling particularly tired, we decide to stop on a cafe before heading back up. Needless to say, when we head back up, it starts pouring down and we put on our rain gear. Even out on a scooter, getting wet, the rain falls and it feels refreshing, like you're being washed anew. Absolved of.. sin.

The weather gets cloudy that night, and so most of the guests had the same idea as us and have decided to huddle in the common area and have dinner, a few Bintang beers, and just smoke while the night rolls by. There are four Italian guys smoking and on their phones, and there are also two travelers, a boy and a girl, both Western as well, sitting and chatting. My cousin and I are playing cards, when two girls come and decide they want to play with us. One girl is Yuna, a young, 4 year-old who is the baby of the household and walks around all day in a rainbow dress. She occasionally lifts it up and shows everyone her underwear and thinks it's hilarious. The other is Koming, a 'big sister' to Yuna, 11 year old, wise beyond her years and helpful and mature. She's going through the awkward stages of adolescence and so is initially shy, but when she warms up she has a great character and a friendliness to her. They're both fluent in Bahasa, the national language, and because these two girls also come across the every-so-odd traveler that stops by, their English is impeccable.

We play card games with the two, and they learn quickly and pick up all the rules. I wonder again how weird it must be for these girls growing up. Every week, they're used to seeing new people come in and out of their house, from all walks of life. I mean, just within their reach that weekend there were Italians, some people of another European country, and us. That must've been just the weirdest experience, to be able to have a UN-style meeting of different people being from this island. I think that's something culturally interesting in Bali's legacy: the transformation of a place from a small, any-other-island to an international tourist destination for everyone. And so, the opinions and ideas that the locals form about foreigners must also be very strange. I wonder what they think. I've yet to ask. Anyway, on this night, we're playing cards. The girls are warming up to us and they play happily. I find out later that Koming, 11, is Papa Jero's daughter, whereas Yuna, 4, is his granddaughter. I'm not sure as to how that's possible given their ages, but it's not unheard of. As we play, the clouds still remain and a cooling wind brushes by the house. The fire is on now in their fireplace, and we occasionally huddle around there. For dinner, we have their nasi campur - mixed rice. Without fail, nasi campur (pronounced champoor) is still one of my favorite dishes, especially in Bali. It's just rice, a mixture of their fresh, homegrown vegetables, often some tempe (soy based food, think a rice cracker that's chewy), and then the famous spicy sambal sauce with peppers. It feels so much like home. 

Papa Jero pulls out a portable mic halfway through the night and makes an announcement, thanking us for all being here and spending time with his family. I don't know what prompts this speech, maybe it's the fact that everyone who's staying at the hostel is out there, but he goes on, saying that he welcomes all of us to his home. He says he's glad that he's able to be running this hostel to meet all the interesting people in different walks of life along the way. He also thanks us for taking the time to play with Yuna and Koming, and being good guests in his hostel. And, that's it. Nothing more after that, just an acknowledgement of us. When I asked him how long he's had the place open for after he finishes, he says, "three years."

On our last day in Bali, we had a couple of options, such as going to Angseri hot springs or Jatiluwih Rice Fields. As I had a huge backpack on me, and haven't seen rice fields before (which Bali is famous for), we decided to skip the hot springs and go for the rice fields instead. We pack up our bags, and prepare to check out. Upon checkout, only Koming is at the front desk and so I ask her if I can check out. She's such a young working professional, says "Yes, sir", and then proceeds to hang the key up in the correct spot. She says we don't need to do anything else and then, I ask her, "Will you always remember us?"

She smiles in her sheepish, girly way, looks away, smiles in her Balinese way, and then says "Yes, of course." Yuna is nowhere to be found, neither is Papa Jero. So, Patricia and I hop on her bike and then speed off, with Bukit Kembar Ecotourism now a cherished memory. I think about the family one last time. Although they get to meet so many people from all walks, they also never stay, and so it's constant hellos and goodbyes. A transitory place, despite calling it home.

We snake through back down the way we went to the temple, and then ask for directions to the Jatiluwih Rice Terraces. After about 4 or 5 stops to ask for directions, we finally make it there, after about an hour of winding through the mountains and seeing only occasional, interrupted signs of rice fields. I'm amazed at the scenery. Hundreds of years of history, of lifestyle and culture, preserved here. The fields weren't abandoned or set up to be a tourist site (although it was). Farmers were still trekking along the fields and picking grass, and children were still playing in the irrigation ditches that went throughout the entirety of the rice fields. Finally, I was observing outside, from afar, into Balinese culture. None of the catering to tourism, and none of the furnishings of party culture like in Kuta, none of the hipsters in Canggu, nor the Eat, Pray, Love find-yourself spirit of Ubud. It was just Bali as I will always remember it: a place where people got on with their lives, but created this beautiful structure for subsistence in the meantime. It's UNESCO, actually, but it wasn't so touristy just given its location and distance. 

As we finished taking pictures and drove further down, there was a checkpoint. The man did kind of a double take at us, not sure if we were local or not, and we asked how much it would cost to get in. Big mistake - we should have used our passing privilege to just drive by. "40,000 Rupiah" he said. Yikes, about 2.5 USD each to get in. It really was UNESCO - I'd recognize those entry fees anywhere. We weren't really willing to pay, as we just wanted to drive through and 'experience' the rice field, and so I asked him, "If we want to just pass through to Denpasar, can we go this way?" He said, "Oh, you will not stop for photos?" We both shook our head, looking disappointed at the price and the notion of payment, but also wearing an intention to just drive by. "OK then, sure, just go through." So, he didn't collect 40,000 each from us. But, we still stopped to take pictures after turning into the mountains. Karma will be knocking soon. 

When we get further into the rice field area, there is another ticket checkpoint. This time, we're a lot wiser. We both ignore the checkpoint and just keep on driving, and the guy standing there makes nothing of us. We just drive on by and keep on doing our thing, having used our passing privilege twice and avoided the law, all in the name of being able to see this UNESCO site. So great. We stopped to get food at this wonderful place serving locally grown red rice with fresh Bakso Ayam - chicken soup. The lunch was absolutely great. More of these bamboo hangout structures propped up outside, with locals sitting on them and eating. My cousin and I took one and were just sitting there, enjoying our food. We had fresh red rice, but also tried their red rice tea which was brewed with the rice to infuse wheat flavor into the drink. As we sat there in the quietness of the mountains, we looked out across the road and just saw rice fields. The rice fields that we later went into to explore.

To abuse our power even further, we actually took the scooter *into* a portion of the rice fields that curled around and took a few pictures of being actually physically in the rice fields. I will never forget that day. The Jatiluwih rice fields were beautiful. We were the only ones standing there at that moment, with a few farmers going about their business. This massive acreage of grassland was surrounding us, and the stepped architecture gave it texture; an edge, almost as if to say Man can mold the terrain that Nature has provided for its use. We took a few pictures, but, in the interest of time, decided to head back up and then head back to Denpasar before the sun went down. 

On the way back, the landscape changes again. We pass by some suburban neighborhoods that almost remind me of being from suburban California, with the one-lane road and houses all lined up on one side of it, except the houses were built in their Balinese style.

The air begins to heat up. We pass by the occasional incense-smelling air, but so quickly it begins to smell like petrol back down in the city. The rice fields that we see don't go on for acres, but expand over small plots of land sandwiched between two houses estates. And, the honking of the horns and revving of the motors fills the air with noise. We were approaching the center, just after 1.5 hours of traveling. And slowly, we faded back into the city.