Jackie & Andy Steves Blog Southeast Asia — Part 4
To the Gili Islands
Tourists eagerly go out of their way to visit the three small Gili Islands, where they can escape the motor traffic and development of Bali and to enjoy a more intimate island paradise. Getting there from Ubud involves an hour's drive down the mountain and a choppy, hour-long fast boat ride east off the coast of Bali. To me, this boat ride was a thrilling rollercoaster ride. To my poor friend on her honeymoon, it was a torturous hour of nausea and vomiting.
On the islands, we settle into our hostel on the main island, Gili Trawangan. A Frenchman with piercing silver eyes, who can't bring himself to leave this party island he's fallen in lust with, gave us a tour of his hostel. The builder built like a painter, adding extra rooms here and there in a hodgepodge. Lounging areas are piled on top, in treehouse fashion. Banana pancakes and group activities are available all day, every day. This place is so social you can't walk to the bathroom without meeting someone and striking up a conversation. They emphasized how secure the place was while inputting the code for the safe right in front of us. Bali truly does feel remarkably safe — I feel more comfortable leaving my things unattended here than most places I've traveled.
This island has two faces, like so many warm-weather vacation destinations: the expensive resorts and the raw reality of local life. As Andy and I walked past the posh resorts with modern architecture, pristine pools and an excessive number of staff, I couldn't help but wonder about the times I've sojourned to such resorts without venturing to witness the other side. But this time, we're living in that other world. Our hostel is on a dirt road, tucked between ramshackle local huts, and just down the road from a garbage dump. The power shuts off frequently, a sign that infrastructure is lacking.
Through an American's eyes, the local lifestyle looks like poverty. But they don't seem poor in spirit. Do they actually have what they need to be healthy and happy? Are litter, sewage smells, mangy dogs, and tin roofs compatible with a good standard of living? Is the tourism and development taking place on the island good or bad for most locals? Is it trickling down to everyone? Is it pushing them out?
Tourists bring with them a demand for marijuana and alcohol, which leads to more locals supplying and also imbibing. This phenomenon is offensive to the local religion, Islam. We went to a club where I was glad to see locals joining in the dance party, but I'm afraid many of them looked isolated and stoned. I just sincerely hope partying tourists aren't introducing greater vices or creating any type of poverty in spirit in this wonderful island community.
It's bittersweet for Indonesians like our guide, Nyoman. He told us he was happy for the economic benefits of tourism, but very sad for the accompanying development that tramples communities and commercializes traditional culture.
When you venture down the back alleys of Gili Trawangan, you find the local women preparing food outside their homes. The shade can't save them from the heat as they work peeling onions, extracting peanuts, shredding chicken, stewing beef, rolling spring rolls, boiling noodles, and concocting curries. By 4 p.m., they are setting up shop in the town's central "Art Market," which transforms into the "night market" in the evening — my favorite place to grab a bite. It's Indonesia's version of Panda Express, but a million times better, as hungry backpackers point to the object of their salivation. Heaps of rice, fried noodles, grilled fish, sweet corn fritters, baby sardines mixed with peanuts, green beans, chicken wings, and chili oil sauce are piled on a plate costing just four dollars. Diners share long tables in the open air. This region's cuisine is, in a word, satisfying.
While the Gili Islands ban motor vehicles, they do have <em>cidomas</em> — horse-drawn carriages. They careen down the dirt roads, forcing people to leap out of the way, narrowly avoiding getting jousted by the carriages' protruding poles.
Like a wine connoisseur who can no longer enjoy house wine, I am spoiled with some experience in beaches. And I find that Gili Trawangan's beaches have two cons and two pros. First, the cons: The 1998 El Nino wiped out five-sixths of the coral reefs here. As a result, the snorkeling is underwhelming. (After enjoying snorkeling in the extreme biodiversity of Costa Rica, everything since hasn't even come close.) The other con is the broken coral pieces lining the shore, making dips in the water a literal pain. On the bright side, I've never experienced awesome beach chairs so easy to come by — and free. Also, pine trees draping over the shore provide lovely natural shade.
Today I'm allowing myself a full day of nothing but reading and writing on the beach. Yes. This is the good life.
— Jackie
Posted on June 30, 2015
A Posh Yoga Retreat
Andy and I ventured outside of central Ubud to visit a temple at the site of ancient stone shrines cut into the cliffside. We walked down a highway of pollution and speeding vehicles. The sight of litter everywhere and the smell of intense exhaust sharply contrasted against the pristine refuges available to tourists who can afford the resorts, spas, and yoga retreats in this town.
As we passed by, children loved to practice their English on us with enthusiasm: "Hallo! Good morning! How are you? Good morning! Hallo!"
We indulged in massages. It was the kind you suffer through, rather than enjoy, hoping that the painful kneading of knots is beneficial therapy for your whole body.
Beat and relaxed, we slowly made our way to a renowned yoga barn. Entering down a long alley and many sets of stairs into a forested oasis emphasizes the sense that we were retreating from the rest of the world. I was not surprised at what we encountered there: lots of gorgeous, fit, white women sporting Lululemon. This is the quintessential yuppity yoga retreat, with all sorts of commercial offerings: fruit juice cleanses, gluten-free baked goods, trendy yoga gear. They know how to make money here, offering classes with titles like "Reawaken Your Feminine Sexuality!" and "Free Dance: come as you are and let the music and the spirit move you."
We opted for Vinyasa Flow. I had trouble focusing my practice on gratitude when I was overcome by envy toward the women in front of me who were absurdly fit and flexible. Our dreadlocked Brazilian instructor pulled out his acoustic guitar to play us a peaceful ditty during our Shavasana.
Our excitement to visit the market faded when we realized every stall sold the same junk. But hey, my junk is another person's treasure. I just can't figure out how 50 stalls of the same stuff all stay in business.
I'm going to miss our Ubud hotel. It's simple, except for the ornate, traditional Balinese detailing in the architecture and furniture. Like most buildings here, they did a spectacular job of building around nature in a preserving, reverent manner, so that you feel like you are in and among the forest
— Jackie
Posted on June 29, 2015
A Pre-Dawn Volcano Climb
The last time Andy and I woke up at 2 a.m. for a mountain hike, we were summiting Machu Picchu and Waynu Picchu. This time it was Indonesia's most active volcano, Mt. Batur. We hoped it would be similarly worthwhile.
Our guide drove us one hour to the base to hand us off to another guide. We trusted him, nature, and God as we worked our way up the mountain, seeing nothing but the stars and the circle cast by our small "torches" (thanks for calling them that, so I feel more rugged than a mere flashlight-carrier). We rose above the evolving flora, from basic "woods," to tropical jungle, to volcanic rockiness and no more trees.
Andy and I enjoyed the huffing and sweating exercise of the steep climb and noticed our fit guide was never out of breath. He's from a village that's actually inside the crater. His village clearly made a calculated risk building their homes and farms inside the crater of a volcano that has erupted 26 times in the past 200 years. Apparently, the rich soil for farming is worth it.
The top of Mt. Batur is probably the only time on this trip we will be cold. The fog was wisping along with the wind around us. Our guide cooked our breakfast on the hot steam of this active volcano: soft-boiled eggs and cooked banana slices sandwiched between Wonder bread. As Andy put it, "breakfast of champions." We warmed our hands on our glasses of sweet, milky coffee, staring at the still-night sky eager and waiting for sunrise.
When it came, it wasn't the electric oranges, reds, and purples of a polluted sky, but instead a pristine, celestial sunrise, ushered in by the parting of majestic clouds, and singing clear notes of gold and ethereal blue. It felt good for my soul to simply stare. Opposite the sunrise was a crater brimming with foggy abyss. The coming sun illuminated the terrain, letting us see for the first time the mountain we had climbed. But her friends, the clouds and the fog, allowed us only glimpses of the verdant fields and farming villages below.
We let ourselves slip and slide down the volcanic debris, ploughing through it like fresh powder. We laughed at the dirt that poured out of our shoes when we tipped them like teapots.
Our humble, compassionate guide asked us "Are you ok?" each time he heard us slip just a little. He didn't speak English as well as Nyoman, but just being in his peaceful, assured presence felt like an honor.
We proceeded to rest and bathe our bodies in the warm pools heated by the volcano's hot springs. Soaking in these baths made for a queen, and soaking in the view of the adjacent lake nestled in the basin of the crater, helped me more deeply appreciate Bali's reverence for water.
— Jackie
Posted on June 28, 2015
Video: Out to Ubud
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— Video by Andy Steves for Weekend Student Adventures
Posted on June 25, 2015
Coffee-Fed Cats, Playful Monkeys, and Balinese Dance Traditions
On day three, we were eager to head to Bali's cultural capital, Ubud, in the mountains near the center of the island.
We saw the traditional Kecak dance, a story of vivid personalities and the fight between good and evil. Monsters, tigers, monkeys, servants, and kings sparred comedically with one another. Rather than the good goddess winning out in the end, the moral was that the battle between good and evil always carries on.
Parts of the show made me uncomfortable, with little people acting as fools and other buffoonery reminiscent of minstrelsy. I asked Nyoman if this traditional dance was perhaps developed, in part, to entertain the Dutch colonists. Nyoman said no, no, it's nothing like that. He said he is known to be a very sensitive person, and in his judgement, the practice is totally respectful. Those little people can make very good money this way, and they are just joking the whole time.
I want to take his word for it, and not just impose American political correctness that doesn't fit. But I'm not so sure. Is objectification of little people justified if it helps them make a living and they don't mind it? Are portrayals of native people as dimwitted all good and fair, just like the self-deprecation common among American comics that I find acceptable?
We visited silver jewelry and decorative woodwork shops. Thanks to Nyoman, we knew we weren't expected to buy, but could just enjoy dreaming about bringing home that delicate silver ring and that ridiculously ornate wooden chess set. I have a feeling I can distinguish between the traditional wooden depictions of Hindu gods and the boobalicious, exotic women statues catering to pervy tourists.
We had to try the famous "cat poop coffee." Nyoman pointed out the ferret-like snoozing cat, with coffee berries and poop all around him. Apparently these cats love to eat coffee berries. And, while they are unable to digest the coffee beans, their stomach enzymes work some magic on them. People collect the poop and separate out the coffee beans with outer shells intact. Pop those beans out of their shells, roast 'em, grind 'em, mix 'em with water, and you get "cat-puccino!" It took some convincing for us to try it. But we were glad we did. As Andy remarked, this is the best cat poop coffee he's ever had!
Lunch was crispy duck and fresh vegetables with spicy peanut sauce, served amidst a rice paddy under quaint thatched roofs.
We frolicked along a ridge overlooking lush, terraced rice paddies, with ancient irrigation so brilliant, it's still used today.
We obviously had to see the monkey sanctuary. I could not get over the strutting, macho bosses and the wee little babies catching a ride, clutching to their mothers' bellies. A pesky fella leaped atop my head, aiming to grab my blue headband. Andy caught me on camera doing that thing when you are trying to keep still and calm, but you are completely freaking out.
— Jackie
Posted on June 24, 2015
A Crash Course in Balinese Culture
Bali is a relatively small island — about the size of Delaware — but there's plenty to see and do. We're following the typical speedy tourist's itinerary: Ubud, South Bali (Kuta, Seminyak, or Bukit Peninsula), and the Gili Islands. And our first three days have been non-stop, with privately guided tours and no time left to write until now.
TripAdvisor led us to "Bali Tours Private" and our favorite guide, Nyoman. Why so good? He patiently, clearly, and thoroughly answered each of our million questions on Balinese culture, religion, politics, history, social issues, and everything else. We enjoyed this amazing walking-Balinese-encyclopedia for two full days through South Bali and Ubud.
Our first day's tour included water sports. We were presented with an extensive menu of options, including water skiing, tubing, banana boating, parasailing, fly fishing, speed boating, and more. The water was twenty times more crowded with boats than what would be permitted in the United States. I am used to assuming recreational activities in the States are safe because worries about liability lead everyone to be overly cautious. But in Bali, the government isn't there to shelter and impose limits. It's up to me to avoid those life-threatening decisions. I was tempted to parasail, but the six parasailers in crazy-close proximity to one another looked about due for a crash. So I party-poopered out. We had so much else we wanted to see anyway.
We dabbled in three beaches, all with incredible surf. We climbed up to the iconic Ulu Watu Temple, with its unique location at the top of a cliff overlooking the ocean. We sipped lychee martinis at a posh cliffside bar. Then we enjoyed a "romantic" seafood dinner in Jimbaran. And no, for the tenth time, we are not on our honeymoon. Gross — he's my brother. We picked out our just-killed mussels, prawns, and grouper, which they grilled in spicy "Balinese sauce." Our candlelit table, just 15 feet from the water, was completely romantic — I'll admit — even with brother by my side. ;)
Nyoman, our trusty guide, was truly trustworthy. He let us in on all the secrets of what things should really cost, what is expected of visitors, the proper thing to say, the downlow on all things Balinese, and so on. Here are a few tidbits we learned from Nyoman:
In Bali, for your firstborn child, you have just three choices of names: Wayan, Gede, or Putu. The second-born is named Made or Kadek, the third is Nyoman or Komang, and the fourth is Ketut. The name selection for your fifth child is the same as for your first, for your sixth child the same as your second, and so forth.
While Indonesia as a whole is predominantly Muslim, most Balinese are Hindu, sometimes blended with Buddhism. The way he explained Buddhism neatly stacking on top of Hinduism in history reminded me of Christianity offshooting from Judaism with the addition of a Messiah and New Testament.
Balinese especially focus on the Hindu deity Shiva, the god of destruction. Destruction is not necessarily a bad thing, because death is simply a part of life: You are born, you live, you die.
Indonesians widely support Democratic candidates for US president because they know from experience that their relations are better with a Democrat-run United States. This has to do with Indonesia being a partially Muslim nation, according to Nyoman.
Bali is remarkably safe because the tight-knit communities do not tolerate crime. Once you marry, you have many responsibilities to the community, such as helping out with temple ceremonies, taking care of neighbors in need, and supporting the community through other roles. For these reasons, everyone in the community is taken care of and rarely left homeless or hungry.
Tourists can and usually should bargain down to about 40 percent of the original asking price. For example, he instructed us to say we only had 500,000 rupiah ($38) to spend on our fancy seafood meal on the beach — the most expensive meal of our trip. When we did so, we could tell we had narrowly escaped paying twice that.
Wrapping a cloth around your legs before entering a temple was actually a Western idea that replaced Balinese customs of dressing freely and sometimes topless. Apparently, we Westerners love to spread our shame of our bodies around the world.
Bali's nickname, "The Island of a Thousand Puras (Hindu Temples)," is an understatement. Bali actually has over 10,000. They adorn mountains, considered the abode of the gods. They mark all sources and bodies of water, appeasing sea deities and symbolizing the importance of irrigation and cleansing rituals. They are found in all villages and cities as centers of religious activity.
In addition to temples galore, everywhere you look on Bali streets, you'll see daily offerings to the gods nestled in betel leaf box trays the size of a teacup saucer. Contained inside might be lime, tobacco, betel nuts, flowers, and paper money. Be careful where you step, because each Hindu Balinese sets one out each day!
— Jackie
Posted on June 23, 2015
A Stressful Arrival, a Spicy Dinner, and a Family Reunion
When I experience a new place for the first time, I want to find all of the reasons to love it and to embrace even the apparent "negatives" as opportunities to step outside my comfort zone. From what I have heard (from friends, pop culture, and Eat, Pray, Love), Bali was going to be heaven on earth. My first evening here, however, was less than blissful.
Airport ATMs that take Visa — all broken. Seas of men approaching me, saying, "Taxi? Transport? Where you going?" "No thank you," I would reply. But then they would follow me. Dude, no means no.
So did you think traffic in Rome was crazy? How about Istanbul? Casablanca? Well, those are the three craziest I can think of that I've seen with my own eyes. Bali outdoes them all. I absolutely love fast, crazy driving, but Bali driving is almost too much even for me!
Imagine streams of motorcycles and cars braiding in and out. No one bothers to check their blind spots. At multiple-lane intersections with no stoplights, cars don't stop — and barely yield — creating a massive convergence of vehicles absent rhyme or reason (at least, to my Western eyes). I don't understand how I didn't witness a car crash yesterday. I did see a motorcycle fender-bender that apparently ain't no thang, because both drivers just kept on zooming. This driving style seems antithetical to an island known for spiritual retreats and yoga. Perhaps all the rushing carves out more time for prayer and meditation. ;)
After checking in at our hotel, I set out to explore the beach zones of Seminyak and Kuta. I was walking down narrow streets with no sidewalks and plenty of blind corners. My attention was consumed with not getting hit. I made it down to the beach just in time to catch the overcast sunset. Several of the beachfront restaurants offer sandy beanbag seating. Sitting at the bar looking out upon all the canoodling couples made me miss my own boyfriend.
I walked for at least a couple of hours — exploring, darting out of the way of motorbikes, and making my way to a hole-in-the-wall gem for "real" Indonesian food (not pandering to tourists' mild taste buds, according to my guidebook): rice with coconut curry, (barbecue?) beef, potato pancakes, stewed greens, a rice/peanut cracker, and extra chili oil on the side. It was satisfaction on a plate. All the men chilling at the restaurant kept stealing glances at the foreigner, seeing if she could take the heat. Yes, I could, and moreover, I loved it.
By the end of the evening, these puppies at the ends of my legs were ready for a rest!
This morning, I woke up and chuckled at yesterday's cranky self. I let my rookie mistakes get to me because I was tired from jet lag. All those hawkers I let get under my skin are just trying to make a living. I remember my own poor neighbors answering the door when 10-year-old Jackie knocked to sell her homemade soap (really the jelly from popped seaweed scented with bubblegum mouthwash — truly lovely). The guys bugging me at the airport were just on their grind, trying to put food on the table for their families. I decided to shift my attitude to being grateful for a social encounter with a local, and admiring their determination and work ethic. I also needed to turn away from my annoyance about the crazy traffic and consider it a fun challenge and a spectacle. Now I am free to fall in love with Bali!
I spent the morning and early afternoon doing nothing but sunning and reading on Seminyak's soft, yellow beach. The high school English teacher in me loves a literary foray into the culture I am visiting. I am reading This Earth of Mankind, an Indonesian classic by Pramoedya Ananta Toer. He composed this historical novel while he was a political prisoner forbidden to write, by telling it to fellow inmates who transcribed it for him. It offers fascinating insight into Dutch imperial rule of Indonesia, characterized by severe oppression, racism, and social inequality. I highly recommend it.
After such an exhausting day at the beach, it was time for a massage and a mani. Two hours of spa treatments cost a whopping $15.
The cherry on top of this sweet, luxurious day was my brother Andy's arrival. Not having seen the man since Christmas, we had some catching up to do over Bin Tangs (local beer) on beach beanbags at sunset.
We were fairly warned: Kuta is where Aussies go to party. We somehow found the exception: a quirky local surfer party. Balinese surfing instructors rocking Billabong and long wavy locks. Love it.
— Jackie
Posted on June 20, 2015
Video: Bali - Bukit Peninsula
[We're sorry, the video(s) are no longer available.]
— Video by Andy Steves for Weekend Student Adventures
Posted on June 19, 2015
Video: Arrival in Bali
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— Video by Andy Steves for Weekend Student Adventures
Posted on June 19, 2015
One Night in Hong Kong
You would think that the well-traveled Steves clan would be immune to travel error. Evidently, we are not. Andy mistakenly thought his 1:50 flight was in the afternoon when it was actually a.m.! I can’t give him too much of a hard time for two reasons: First, since when do airlines operate flights that depart between the hours of 1 and 4 a.m.? I was unaware this happened! And second, earlier this year I made the mistake of booking a return flight from Arizona to Chicago on March 17 when I needed to return February 17...and did not realize this error until I showed up at the airport on the morning of February 17. Are we getting too big for our britches? (Note to self: Please don’t make any more stupid mistakes during the next 5 weeks.)
Andy will now arrive 24 hours later than originally planned. While I can’t wait to see him, I’m actually excited to take on Bali independently for a day. I’m the type of person who prefers not to eat alone at restaurants. Breaking bread, for me, is a social affair. I do envy those people — especially women — who thrive alone at restaurants and bars. So I want to work on cultivating in myself the panache that empowers one to strike out on her own.
To get to Bali, I had an overnight in Hong Kong — the first Chinese city I have visited. Unfortunately, I didn’t get into the city until 10 p.m. Hong Kong’s airport is the most efficient I have ever encountered. I walked into the warm embrace of a hostel filled with backpackers so eager and happy to meet you, find out where you are from, and hear about your travel plans. But I escaped from their lovely clutches as soon as I could because I had just one night to explore this urban center.
I wandered down a thoroughfare of Kowloon to the city’s famed harbor. The "Avenue of Stars" is a double-entendre — a tribute to the stars of the silver screen, and a salute to the bright lights of Hong Kong Island’s skyline across the water. My Chicagoan ego suffered a bruise. We boast tremendous, glimmering skyscrapers, but I’m afraid Hong Kong still outdoes us. It made me feel like a member of the Enlightenment; rather than focusing on a God who, on the seventh day, looks upon His creation saying it is good, this manmade spectacle inspires any member of the human race to say, “damn, we did good.” And even as a liberal who loves to disparage the drawbacks of capitalism, I had to acknowledge that this massive symbol of modern materialism — riddled with names of brands and banks — was just plain beautiful.
I was brought back down to earth by a man asking if he could take my picture. I laughed and looked around for a celebrity who he might actually be interested in photographing. Oh, I thought, he just wants a pic of a funny, interesting-looking white girl. “Sure!” I said. Then he called on the rest of his family to get into the picture with me. This was cracking me up. I love it. Posing with absolute strangers for photos. I have to get one of these myself.
— Jackie
Posted on June 18, 2015
The Longest Plane Ride of My Life
I can't think of anything more cathartic than tying up all the loose ends of my life and sailing away for two months. Yesterday, my 47 precious students graduated high school. In hindsight, I should have failed them...because I'm just not ready to let go of them! After pictures and hugs goodbye, I rushed to UPS to ship a box of clothes to New York. After this trip, I'll fly straight there to continue working on my Masters of Education in Secondary English at Columbia's Teacher's College.
I'm writing this in the middle of the longest plane ride of my life so far: 15 hours and 50 minutes. Shortly before takeoff, my dad joked over the phone, "Your toes are going to swell up!"
I am grateful to my dad for helping make this trip possible. We have an agreement: He'll help finance this trip in exchange for me writing this blog. This is obviously a win-win for me. I tend to be self-conscious (for example, I'm not on Instagram or Twitter — but I love following other people there). So this is a good excuse to get out of my shell and share my travel experience with all of you. Thank you for giving my writing purpose. My aim is to not bore you.
I'd like to humbly ask for your patience. I know very little about Southeast Asia. Planning this trip has already multiplied my puny knowledge base many times over. My hope is that my embarrassing ignorance makes my writing more accessible for the reader who doesn't know everything about this corner of the world...so, for those of you who do, please bear with me.
So why travel to Southeast Asia? Well, I asked my neighbor/mentor/high school global studies teacher, "If you were me — a young woman — and you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you go?" He said Indonesia. Coming from a man who traveled the world for more than ten years of his life, that suggestion carried weight. And perhaps I'm seeing echoes of the hippie trail among my own generation. A handful of my friends, after backpacking through these countries, have returned only reluctantly, already longing to return. Southeast Asia has plenty of appeal for the young backpacker: cheap, gorgeous, exotic, traveler-friendly, spiritual, pho, phad thai, beaches, parties...and I can't wait to discover what else!
As the minutes tick by, I'm filled with excitement. It's more positive, giddy nerves than actual fear. The trip begins with an overnight in Hong Kong by myself. China hasn't been at the top of my travel aspirations list. I know China has more treasures to behold than I can even imagine, but I have this irrational fear of experiencing an existential crisis there. I picture millions of people in a big square, and myself shrinking into insignificance. And the silly side of me just hopes I don't get trampled by the seas of people crossing the street on those crazy-wide crosswalks I've seen in videos. One way or another, my adventure begins when I step off this plane.
— Jackie
Posted on June 17, 2015
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