December 26
We got plenty of riding around done
yesterday. One of the disadvantages of Bali is like home: it’s hard to get
anywhere without wheels.
We decided to go to the Elephant
Safari Park near Ubud. The price includes pickup and delivery.
The van took us on a two-hour drive
through town, city, and jungle, giving us an overview of the southern part of
the island, which is where the tourist trade is concentrated.
The trip is 47 km. What is that? Five
miles? Twenty five? Most of it is in stop-and-creep congestion with suicidal
motorcyclists slipping between the lanes of traffic.
Then there are several miles of
twisting hill roads. You zoom down the road for a few hundred yards and then
brake because the drivers have to take turns passing parked vehicles and other
obstacles. Our driver hit the horn each time he went into a blind curve.
Holding your lane is kind of optional here.
There were some hardy souls out
walking. Some of them balanced bundles or baskets on their heads. People were
carrying leaves and branches—maybe for cooking fires—that way.
Out in the country, I saw a few
people, mostly foreigners, on bicycles, but not many. I assume most of the
bicyclists have been killed off.
The hill country is lined with terraces
and rice fields, and we could see peaks in the distance surrounded by clouds.
Small egrets were stalking in flooded paddies.
Many people were out harvesting.
Others were breaking the soil. They were using small sickles and mattocks with
steel blades, but the farming methods probably date largely to the Stone Age.
Joanna says the harvester cuts the
rice plant low, close to the root because the grass is useful for making
baskets and other domestic articles. As with most primitive agriculture, there
is little or no waste.
Several times we passed tarps spread
with drying rice. Some were laid out in the road, and the drivers actually went
around them.
Chickens and dogs strayed into the
road, and the drivers went around them, too.
One really strange sight, and I only
caught a glimpse of this: A man going up the steps into his house was leading a
full-grown hog on a leash. I guess they had been out for a walk.
We passed several gatherings of
people in traditional dress. There may have been a coincident Hindu holiday, or
maybe the Balinese have adopted Christmas. At one temple, there was a
procession in progress. We could see the top of a ceremonial parasol above the
wall, and through the open panels could see people in robes.
The local architecture in Seminyak is
a mish-mash. On this trip it was even more so. Traditional structures are built
of brick, stone, and dark wood. They have roofs of terracotta with low-hanging
eaves. Some are blackened, others covered in layers of moss.
The classics can stand next to newer,
utilitarian structures that look like dental clinics. And then there are places
that seem thrown together, built of raw cinder block, corrugated metal, and
found materials.
Over all, however, there is a general
sense of rust and decay. It is colorful certainly and in its way beautiful. But
God, you know you’re someplace else, and it surely isn’t Los Angeles.
After my elephant adventures in
Chiang Mai, I promised Joanna that we’d take an elephant ride together at the
next opportunity. So the Elephant Safari Park was high on my list.
They started us out with the buffet
lunch. I took chicken satay with peanut sauce, some kind of beef curry with
little potatoes, and fried rice with sliced red chilis.
This was about three in the afternoon
and breakfast was far in the past. I was actually starting to feel wobblier
than usual, so it’s just as well that we started with food. I also had a plate
with several kinds of sweets.
The show was going to start in a few
minutes, but I didn’t want to see elephants forming a conga line or pretending
they could add. Elephants are clever, and they may even enjoy showing off like
that, just as people do, but I’m not sure. Besides, I had promised Joanna a
ride on an elephant.
So they brought one over. We mounted
the seat on its back, and the lady jockey started us off.
Now I know why the rajas sat on
pillows. It’s quite different from sitting on an elephant’s neck. The rigging
and the extra height add leverage so you really get rocked back and forth up
there.
Joanna found that pressing firmly
against the seatback made the ride easier, and after that it got much better.
The driver asked where we were from.
“New Jersey.” “The United States.” “America.”
“America. Obama. OK.”
The driver told us that the elephant
was a grandmother, and one of the oldest in the park. Grandmother certainly was
temperamental.
Much of the ride goes through a grove
of rainforest. As luck would have it, I was on another hungry elephant. It
would stop every once in a while to pull at the vegetation. The driver tapped
it behind the ears or prodded its head with a little pickaxe, and the elephant
would usually trumpet or snort and then move on. Sometimes it would growl
instead and try to shake the driver off. I remembered what that felt like.
At one point on the way back,
grandmother lost it. She took off for a pile of palm leaves on the grass. The
driver finally got her to move on and we entered the pond at the end of the
ride.
At the end of the ride, Joanna got to
feed Grandma.
As a final touch, the elephant drops
a floral wreath over the passengers.
It had been overcast with occasional
rain the whole time we have been in Bali and Singapore, until Christmas Day. It
was bright but not too hot. I was sitting outside in the morning at the
computer and actually got goose bumps on my arms.
How the hell do you get cold in Bali?
It’s not even a full nine degrees south of the Equator.
The van brought us back from the
jungle to the city. We had Joanna’s birthday cake for dinner and that’s about
the last thing I remember. I was so tired I felt drunk, and I hadn’t taken
anything stronger than sugar all day.
Elephants. Wow. Another good day someplace else.
It’s still Christmas where most of
you are. Be well, all, and be merry.
Dec. 30
Pretty cool to be riding an elephant, Harry. Sounds
like a very interesting day.
Sorry to learn your gout has been bothering you. I
remember seeing you limp around with a cane. No fun.
We just got back from taking our kids and grandkids
to a resort on Marco Island, Fla., across the state from where we are. It was a
nice little vacation.
Peter
Dec. 30
Sounds like fun for you too, Peter.
My grandson is still a lump who
protests once in a while. I may have to learn how to throw a ball so I can play
with him. Of course, once he turns 16, he'll be old enough that I can take him
to Amsterdam and buy him a beer. Hell, I'll only be 83.
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