As always, though, in Bali the journey is as important as the destination. Unless you’re asleep in the back of the car, it’s impossible to drive around Bali without being devastated by its raw, unfair beauty.

Besakih Temple

I have confessed, to my shame, to a notable case of Temple Fatigue towards the end of our ten weeks in Vietnam. There are just a fuck ton of temples and pagodas slathered thickly throughout the land, and they do get a little samey after repeated viewings.

And I’m going to get myself in trouble here, but I’m expressing a personal esthetic, not assaulting a sovereign nation’s cultural patrimony. I find the Vietnamese temples a little twee. Not at first. But on repeated exposure their delicacy starts to feel a little forced. Like how Brits seem so polite until you remember they were all caned at school for speaking up. Not Piers Morgan, obviously. Some folk clearly weren’t caned enough.

My point being, if I can crawl out of the hole I just dug, that we are having no such problem in Bali. Maybe after ten weeks we would, but I doubt it. For one, we’re not temple chasing here. We’re taking a more measured approach after our Vietnam experience, so that should reduce our risk. But I also just love the ferocity and joy in the Balinese temples. Their guardian gods are locked and loaded, ready to defend to the bitter end, if necessary, with nothing but love for their followers.

If we’re going to be choosy about our temple excursions in Bali, then we can’t miss Besakih, the largest and holiest temple in Bali Hinduism. Built on the slopes of Mount Agung, Bali’s largest active volcano, it’s not even one temple. It’s a complex comprising 23 separate temples. It’s also very, very old. It dates to at least the 8th century, but the stone bases of several temples, including the main temple, Pura Penataran Agung, resemble megalithic stepped pyramids. That would place the oldest structures at about 2,000 years old.

As you enter the temple grounds, the first thing you notice is Mount Agung looming over the meru towers and the tropical foliage.

The courtyard before the first temple has a massive fountain, featuring dragon heads and clawed feet.

Just past the fountain is the reveal, Pura Penataran Agung.

The temple’s plaza is used for prayer and is off limits to tourists. There are ceremonies going on all the time, so some parts of the complex will always be in use and inaccessible. Our guide, as a native, was permitted in, and took this 360° video for us.

We were able to get a look at the main plaza on our way up the side of the temple. The umbrellas are meaningful, as they collectively represent the Trimurti: Red represents Brahma, Vishnu is black, and Shiva is yellow and white.

Once you get to the top you can see the Gates of Heaven up close. We learned in Vietnam that the Gates of Heaven shape represents hands raised in prayer.

As we ascended further up what felt more like a small city than a temple complex, we reached the area where visitors are allowed to pray. We had purchased small pre-fab offerings on our way in, which is why we were able to enter the area. Our guide lit the incense for us, and we placed the offering where directed and knelt on the stone floor. A priest chanted and sprinkled us with holy water. Money was stuffed in a donation box. It’s almost like we knew what was expected.

Getting to the top also gave us access to spectacular views…

And a closeup look at the Besakih’s defining visual feature, the pelinggih meru towers. These are the primary shrines in Balinese temples, built with a masonry base, a wooden chamber, and thatched roofs.

The thatching is replaced every ten years, and the towers require ongoing maintenance. We were unsurprised to find construction going on while we visited.

The entire site was chockablock with interesting things to see wherever your eye happened to stop for a moment.

And of course, no visit to a Balinese temple would be complete without visiting the gods, who always seem delighted to protect and serve. Just like the LAPD.

There’s something about the culture of polytheistic Hindu animists that really speaks to us. The monotheists seem closed down and locked up by comparison. I suppose when your theology acknowledges multiple right answers it’s easier to relax into a lifestyle with a more expansive definition of normal behavior.

Sidemen: Textiles & Silver

This was the whole reason for the day trip. Songket is a ridiculously rich, complicated brocade only made on backstrap looms. There is no way to manufacture songket; it has to be made by hand. Thankfully, Sidemen, one of the few places that makes songket, was close at hand.

Pertenunan Pelangi Traditional Weaving

We’d researched shops and studios in advance, so we knew we wanted our first stop to be Pertenunan Pelangi. They explained that almost all songket weaving is done in women’s homes, because of the backstrap looms. Pelangi sells their finished pieces, but their onsite weaving studio produces ikats.

Which is fine, because watching ikats being woven is plenty fascinating. A large room was filled with over a dozen looms, a handful of which were in use while we were there.

What’s ikat? I’ll quote myself, from the post on Tenganan’s double ikat.

Pelangi specializes in endek, which is a weft ikat. That means that the warp (vertical) threads are a solid color while the weft (horizontal) threads are dyed to make the final pattern. That information is important in understanding what we saw on the second floor. There, a young man wove colored plastic strips into frames to create patterns. It took a few minutes to understand what we were seeing.

He was creating templates for dying the thread used to weave a particular pattern. They can weave from their library or create custom patterns on demand. This method, which we had never seen before, allows for mind-bending precision, permitting traditional ikat weaving to mimic complex brocades.

Later, when we went to Ubud, we visited Threads of Life, a high-end textile boutique, where they had examples of the hand-tied thread, ready to dye.

Minds completely blown, we staggered into the shop. There’s one section for the songket brocades they carry for local weavers.

And another section for their own ikats. Which were just fucking spectacular.

Kupu-Kupu Traditional Weaving

Our second stop was, as it happened, right across the street from Pelangi. Where we found a woman, a backstrap loom, and songket in progress. We got to see songket being made after all!

What’s the big deal with songket? Well, it’s an ancient weaving technique, dating back to the 7th century. It originated when Chinese traders brought silk thread to Indonesia and Middle Eastern traders brought gold thread. It is rich and luxurious, almost decadent, and another weaving technique it’s difficult to wrap your head around.

I am thrilled we got to see it being made, as there’s no way to appreciate it otherwise. I watched the weaver work for several minutes before I figured out she was weaving. I thought she was setting up the loom, because I’m used to seeing weaving where the shuttle moves back and forth on each weft row. Instead, she was taking individual warp threads and wrapping gold and colored supplementary weft threads around them to create the brocade pattern.

Every time I think I’ve seen the full range of complexity in weaving, shit like this happens.

Would anyone like to place a side bet on whether Dorothy bought a piece of songket? I thought not.

Agung Silver

Sidemen is actually best known for its custom silversmiths. You have to be a textile nerd to know it for its weaving. Since we were there, we let our driver take us to a place he knew, Agung Silver. The shops all have tourist classes. They give you seven grams of silver and a couple of hours to make a ring for about $30. Which is fine if you want the silver equivalent of a handprint ashtray. I have never understood the desire to make something badly yourself instead of spending that money on an artisan’s labors.

It was unprepossessing, but full of lovely things. Dorothy got earrings and I got a ring. I have decided, in my dotage, to becoming a ring wearer. Do not judge, lest ye be judged yourself.

Just Add Water

Technically this was a different day trip. Perasi Beach, known as Virgin Beach, had been suggested as part of this day’s itinerary, but we passed on it for the Sidemen trip because we’re old and weak. Dorothy’s craving for a white sand and turquoise water experience, however, was not to be denied. Our black sand beach in Amed was amazing, but tropes are tropes, and they are disrespected at your peril.

For those of you keeping score, this is what happy looks like.

Cremation Creations

On our way back, our guide pulled over so we could get a look at these astounding funerary sculptures being constructed. They are custom built to order for cremation ceremonies, and are lit up along with the loved one, to ease them on their journey. It’s a shame to see this much craft and devotion go up in flames, but they are purpose built, so they know their fate going in.

We were most taken with this piece. The fish part swam you to your destination, and the fierce beast head protected you on the way.

A new note for Sam and Ruby. In addition to daily altar offerings, we may require a Balinese style sendoff when we’re finally done. I’d had something more Viking in mind, but how can this not shift your perspective?

We had driven through the mountainous inland on our way to Amed from landing in Denpasar, but we’ve been on the beach since. Now that we had our bearings, the drive into the backcountry was a delight.

But what’s a roadside without monkeys? Didn’t know we were going to get all existential, did you?

There was an entire roadside monkey village. These guys may have been meant to stand guard, but they were notably derelict. They just let us past.

I did get out of the car to capture pictures, but I never approached them and never made eye contact. I’m not that stupid. Although Dorothy stayed in the car, so maybe I am.

Our first official stop on this tour was, of course…

Tenganan

Tenganan, like many of the traditional villages we’ve visited in Southeast Asia, has an entrance fee. Or in this case, a donation of your choice. Whatever you donate gets you in and assigns you a local guide. Which is good, as there’s a lot going on and no obvious way to parse it without an expert.

Tenganan is over 1,000 years old, Bali’s oldest village, and is one of the homes of the Bali Aga, the original indigenous Balinese. It holds about 250 families, around 750 people total. There are no homestays or Airbnbs. If you weren’t born there you can’t so much as spend the night, let alone move in.

About half of their economy is agrarian, primarily rice, with the other half handicrafts, mostly textiles and basket weaving. They are almost completely self sufficient. They do their own construction, carve their own wooden ornaments and stone statues, grow their own food, and raise their own livestock. The entrance donations go directly to the village, to help them sustain their atavistic culture. They aren’t untouched by modernity so much as uninterested.

But they will happily take a credit card.

The setting is, unsurprisingly at this point, idyllic. Bali, am I right?

The village is full of wonderful statues and carvings, all of them made by villagers at one time or another. I asked how old the doorway guardians were, and our guide laughed. No one knows.

The carved friezes in the public square depict various scenes and rituals associated with village life. This is where we learned that cockfighting was an important cultural and religious component of Balinese life.

Which explains this. Kind of.

That is a hand-dyed rooster, caged for our protection as it’s been trained as a fighter. While cockfighting is a Bali thing, dying the roosters ridiculous colors is a Tenangan thing. I couldn’t figure out a reason. I think it just amuses them. I stole this from Flickr, because I wasn’t able to enjoy the caged rooster in all its natural glory. No reason for you to be denied.

The wood carving is also present in elaborate doors and fanciful tools.

But I’ve buried the lede. We came for the traditional crafts and so did you. I’ve kept you waiting too long. Thank you for indulging me.

Geringsing Double Ikat

After touring the village, the guide took us to a weaving shop. Which, surprise, turned out to be his home. Hey, we’re there to support the economy however we best can. But the lovely side effect is that, after looking at the outside of the village, we got to go inside someone’s home.

Part of the home was set up as the workroom and shop, where both husband and wife worked and displayed their creations.

So what’s all the fuss about? Why is geringsing double ikat such a thing? First you have to understand how ikat creates woven patterns.

There are a variety of ways to create patterns in textiles. You can take a solid fabric and embroider over it. You can print patterns on it, either through modern printing techniques or through older methods like batik. Brocades are made by layering solid colors of thread in various patterns in both the warp (the threads running top to bottom) and weft (the threads running side to side).

Then there’s ikat. In ikat, the warp or weft threads are resist dyed in a pattern, so each thread is multicolored in stripes. The distance between the colors and the pattern of the thread’s color repeat defines what the finished weaving will look like. You design the finished weaving when you dye the thread.

Single ikats use the resist-dyed thread in either the warp or weft direction. Double ikats use different resist-dyed threads in both warp and weft directions. This is considered the single most complicated weaving technique of all, so difficult that only a handful of locations all over the world are capable of producing it (without going mad). Three villages in India, one in Japan, and Tenganan.

Tenganan has been making its double ikat, geringsing, for at least 700+ years. The earliest known citation is from 1293, but some theories tie it to the Indian Gujarati double ikat going back 2,000 years.

But wait. Geringsing isn’t just a double ikat. It’s a powerful, magical double ikat, capable of providing its wearers protection. It’s right there in the name. Gering means sickness and sing means no. There are rituals and practices associated with the weaving process that imbue the Geringsing with its powerful properties.

Warriors have worn geringsing into battle, but its more common use is to protect villagers during rites of passage and important transitions. Death is one of those transitions, and a geringsing may no longer be used after it’s helped a villager over the final boundary. That’s how antique geringsings get sold.

Our guide’s wife only made single ikat, although he had vintage pieces his grandmother had made fifty years ago. He still had the components of her backstrap loom, although his wife doesn’t use it.

Our guide told us that no one made geringsing anymore, that it was too hard. That was, how do I say, untrue. His wife didn’t make geringsing and he had us in his shop and didn’t want to lose a sale. Rather than take us to another workroom that made modern geringsing, he pimped his grandmother’s vintage pieces.

Which was fine. The antiques are more expensive than the new pieces, but they’re also antiques. We could have insisted on being taken elsewhere, and chose not to. That’s on us, not him.

We started by looking through his wife’s single ikats. Maybe she wasn’t up to the rigors of geringsing, and who can blame her, but her single ikats were beautiful.

She even had a couple of brocades to show us.

Then we asked for geringsing, and that’s when the private stock came out. They had a few more pieces, but they were similar enough that they just showed us these two.

Palm Leaf Books

Our guide’s wife was the weaver, but our guide made palm leaf books. There were two styles, one a calendar and one a retelling of the Ramayana. We picked the epic, of course.

The method was fascinating. Palm leaves are trimmed to serve as the book’s pages, and the design is etched into the palm pages with a stylus. Burnt macadamia nuts are then rubbed into the pages as an ink, sinking into the etched lines. The excess is cleaned off, bringing the drawings to life.

Stick Ikat

Having selected an antique geringsing, a modern single ikat, and a palm leaf book, our guide walked us and our haul to the lady who had the credit card terminal. And her own workroom/shop. While ringing us up she encouraged us to look at her work, but we demurred. Having just spent Berber carpet money, we were tapped out.

Then we looked at her work. Fuck.

Ikat is hard enough to wrap your head around, and double ikat requires a willing suspension of disbelief. The artisan referred to this as stick ikat, and while this is a single ikat, it’s almost as mind-blowing as the geringsing. How? Just… how?

I could find out almost nothing about this technique online. But seriously. How?

Ata Reed Basket Weaving

Just when we thought our last shekel had been surgically extracted, we came to a basket weaving shop on our way out of the village. I’m sure our route was entirely coincidental.

All the work had been produced by the man sitting in front and his family. The baskets are woven from Ata reeds, which grow in abundance in Tenganan. The work is tight, precise, and elegant. How could we leave empty handed? We’re not monsters.

We wound up enjoying the rest of the tour, but Tenangan had been the motive force for the trip, and it was 100% the highlight. We were expecting spectacular weaving, and were still blown away, but we weren’t expecting the delightful peek into ancient village life. Thanks, Bali.

Lebah Agrotourism

Lebah Agrotourism, a coffee plantation and honey farm, sits just outside Tenganan. It wasn’t on our itinerary, but our driver said it was worth our while. Who are we to argue?

Well, we did try to argue. The sign on the front said their specialty was Kopi Luwak, which is civet coffee. Civets, which are just weasels with airs, eat coffee cherries and poop them out, fermenting them in the process. The cherries are harvested and then made into coffee the usual way. As if nothing untoward had occurred.

Dorothy is a hardcore omnivore who will eat just about anything, but she has, entertainingly, drawn the line at Kopi Luwak. Not a chance, which made the stop seem superfluous. But our driver insisted that fun was to be had, so we relented.

Like, I suppose, the entire island of Bali, Lebah was a lush jungle paradise. We started with a walk through the coffee plantation. It’s not a plantation in the rows-of-trees sense, more just a place with lots of coffee trees.

A lot of the large-scale Kopi Luwak providers keep caged civets and feed them coffee cherries, like a caffeinated goose, but Lebah does it the old-fashioned way: they scour the jungle for civet scat and scoop it up for the partially digested coffee cherries. Free range, y’all. Also, world’s worst job?

The honey operation is likewise not an industrial operation, just a jungle with a lot of beehives. They keep two kinds of bees and make two kinds of honey. There’s the standard bee (Apis Cerana), which they call the Asian Bee, and then there’s these tiny little bees, almost gnat-sized, which they call friendly bees (Apis Trigona, or the Kelo Honey Bee, locally), because they bite instead of stinging.

The friendly bees live in forests, which means that harvesting the honey is a foraging operation. Lebah has been able to breed them, which is much harder to do than breeding standard bees, so they have their own population and can harvest honey onsite.

As their size suggests would be the case, the friendly bees produce much less honey than a standard bee. Each friendly bee colony produces only 1-2 kg/year, whereas a standard bee colony produces up to 10 kg/year.

But the differences really show up on the tongue. The tour ended with a tasting, meant, I believe, to part us from our cash. The standard bee honey was very good honey. If I’d tasted it on a farm in Wisconsin I’d have said, “That’s very good honey,” but I wouldn’t have gone all Tex Avery on it.

But the friendly bee honey was… something else entirely. It was way more complex than regular bee honey, with more going on than just sweet. It has an almost sour undertone, and is much less viscous than standard honey. It’s also eyepoppingly expensive. They don’t make enough to export, so it’s pretty much only available at Lebah. 60 ml was $20 USD.

It’s in a sealed bottle, so we’re confident we can get it past customs.

But the highlight of the tasting was shaming Dorothy into trying the Kopi Luwak. I don’t drink coffee, and I’m remarkably more squeamish than she is about what I put in my mouth, but I told her that I’d have some if she did. I was as good as my word. Joint verdict: Good coffee. Less alkaline than coffee that hasn’t passed through a digestive system. Not worth the weasel poop.

Taman Ujung Water Palace

Water palaces are a thing here, and they are, sadly, not grandiose, palatial water parks, which is certainly what I was hoping. Rather, they are palaces in which water is a critical part of the site design. Taman Ujung was constructed from 1909 to 1921 by the last king of Karangasem. He leveraged a site the previous king had built for exorcisms. So, no bad vibes. Nope. None. Everything fine here. Fine. Everything is fine.

The grounds and structures are, well, fit for a king. They are gracious and serene and beautiful, and less ornate than you might think. Luxurious, yes, and grand, but more stripped down than expected. It’s hard to think of a site like this as tasteful and restrained, but we’re grading on a curve here.

Belying that whole restrained thing, the compound is stuffed to the gills with fabulous carvings and sculptures.

We didn’t spend a ton of time here, but it was a lovely, relaxing interlude in an objectively stunning setting.

Maha Gangga Valley Rice Terrace

This was a funny place. On the one hand, it’s a working farm, growing rice, vegetables, and flowers, as well as managing livestock. On the other hand, it’s a roadside attraction, offering a curated experience and leveraging its natural beauty for tourism.

We were kind of expecting to be underwhelmed by the visit, due to the theme park undertone, but we were charmed by the setting and our guide.

The guide is part of the experience, and is included with the entrance fee. There’s no just wandering loose. When you arrive at the gate, you’re presented with a menu of options. You can go for a simple trek, you can swim in the pool under the waterfall, you can have lunch at their restaurant or visit their spa. You can stay in one of their huts. We chose a guided trek, which was least expensive and took a couple of very enjoyable hours.

While they’ve tarted up the fields with follies for the tourists, Maha Gangga is first and foremost a rice producer. There’s something about the green of rice paddies that seems to be its own particular color.

Beyond that, the site was truly stuffed. The valley it sat in was gorgeous.

They had ponds with both catfish and koi. We enjoyed the feeding frenzy for both of them.

There was a little stone temple just sitting in a field.

Hut-el rooms.

There was a lovely valley with a waterfall and a pond. And, for no identifiable reason, this:

There were lots of amazing flowers and plantings, some decorative and some planted and harvested for sale.

This is bola adil, a traditional Balinese gambling game. It looks like Twister, but it involves rolling a ball on a custom-made board until it falls into one of the shallow indents (it can take awhile), with betting on where it will land. We played a few rounds, with victory ever out of reach, but it was fun.

And finally, there was this. For scale, I’d say it was about 20′ tall. Other than that, your guess is as good as mine.

Where We Didn’t Go

As usual, where we chose not to go says as much as where we did visit.

When we proposed a trip to Tenganan, our driver immediately suggested two other stops in that direction: Tirta Gangga and the Penataran Agung Lempuyang Temple. He proposed both locations because they’re top bucket list stops for tourists. We declined, for the same reason.

Tirta Gangga is a water temple, like Taman Ujung. Taman Ujung is older, larger, and classier, but it’s much less traveled because it lacks Tirta Gangga’s Instagram pedigree. Which is why we didn’t go. I don’t even feel guilty about scraping this photo.

I love almost everything about our lifestyle, but one thing I definitively hate, besides the French, is what Instagram has done to travel. How long did that shot take to stage? How many people couldn’t enjoy themselves while it was happening? How can someone be so aware of the frame’s composition and unaware of their surroundings? On the other hand, it was pretty cool to learn that koi can be fed with self-regard. It’s the unexpected lessons that really hit home.

We passed on Lempuyang Temple for pretty similar reasons. It’s heavily touristed, and even more Instagram-degraded than Tirta Gangga. In fact, when you pay your entrance fee you’re assigned both a photographer and a number for the iconic photo spot, the Gates of Heaven. You queue up and wait for your number to be called, hand the photographer your camera, and pose for your Instagram photo. You get a couple of minutes to get your shot, at most, before the next number is called.

Instagram has made a photo factory out of a holy site. It’s stomach-churning.

Somehow even worse, there’s no reflecting pool. The local photographers hold a mirror under the camera to get that effect. To be fair, though, the choice to be good tourists was pretty easy. It requires over 1,700 steps to visit all of Lempuyang’s temples.

We were having a conversation on the topic of physical limitations the other day, lamenting that Bali seemed to offer a number of adventures we’d aged out of. Ziplining through the jungle. Hiking to the caldera of an active volcano. Whitewater rafting…

Then we realized that we wouldn’t have done those things when we were younger. It felt good to know that our age and fitness weren’t keeping us from adventure, just our natural aversion to things that might be fatal. It was very affirming.

On the other hand, it’s not a very interesting topic. Other than “It was pretty and here’s what it looked like,” there isn’t really much you can say about it. There’s no particular cultural relevance, no bigger story to be illuminated by its details, no moral to be teased out of its ambiguities.

So I guess this post is for Dorothy and I, using the blog as outboard memory for when we’re old and forget shit. It’s just pretty pictures, so feel free to pass. But they’ll keep us warm in our dotage, allowing us to remember back in the day, when we could move.

Dive One

Our first stop was the furthest away, a place we definitely couldn’t walk to, and it was all about coral.

Except for the turtle.

This spot was interesting, as there was little or no sand, and you could clearly see how the black sand beach got that way. That’s hardened lava on the sea floor.

Dive Two

Our second spot was right off the beach in Jemulek Bay, a small harbor. It was definitely close enough to shore to swim to, which was extra meaningful, because it was also the highlight of the day’s locations, no question.

This location had it all: interesting coral formations, a superabundance of fish, and even a submerged temple. It’s not a real temple. It was sunk as an art project, but that doesn’t keep it from being pretty fucking cool. The only downside is that it’s so close to the beach it attracts quite a crowd. When we were there it had the most people I’d ever seen in one place in the water outside a pool. But that truthfully did not detract at all from the experience.

But still photos can only tell so much of the story. We also got video. Here’s a look at the coral formations.

A turtle in flight.

The underwater temple, and all those fish.

And here’s the absolute highlight. Of this location, of the day, possibly of Dorothy’s life. This whole experience was like swimming in an aquarium, and feeding the fish by hand was the pinnacle of what was already a peak experience.

Years ago, on our first trip to Guatemala, we spent four days on Ambergris Cay in Belize before coming home. The barrier reef there is right off the Cay, only a short boat ride away. Swimming on the lee side of the reef, in water that was probably only six feet deep, was the epitome of the swimming-in-an-aquarium experience, and we’ve been chasing that high every time we’ve snorkeled since. Unsuccessfully.

There was always something. The coral was damaged, there weren’t many fish, the water was murky… Any kind of snorkeling is beautiful, but we hadn’t managed to recreate that Belize experience until now. Jemeluk Bay was superb.

Dive Three

Our third location was specifically for turtles. Neither fish nor coral to be seen. We did see a couple of turtles, but they were munching on the sea floor, and the pictures weren’t nearly as good as what we’d captured earlier. So, no pictures for you.

Bonus Content!

As promised, we went back to Jemeluk Bay, Dive 2 above, for a beach entry, and it was even easier than expected. We found a place that rented equipment and even had lockers and showers right at the entry point. It’s a couple of kilometers from us, so we took a cab out and walked back. Total cost, with equipment and taxi, was 200,000 Rupiah, about $12. We wound up going on solo snorkel tours four more times.

It was also an opportunity to spend some quality time with my camera rig. At first I didn’t think it would zoom. Then I figured out how to toggle the zoom on, but this happened:

Then I figured out how to use the zoom properly, and this happened:

And this:

Much better.

Then we swam in the aquarium.

As swell as they were in quantity, we also captured excellent individual fish. Don’t worry, just their souls.

More coral, please.

And here’s the panoramic view.

We cannot believe our good fortune. This is top shelf snorkeling, perfect for beginners, only a five minute swim from the beach. It doesn’t get any better.

After much searching, we found Amed, a quiet beach community in East Bali known for its accessible snorkeling. It’s one of the few places on the planet where you can walk into the water and swim a reef, perfect for those of us not up to the rigors of, you know, actual swimming.

Technically, I am a NAUI-certified scuba diver. Realistically, I received my certification when I was twelve and haven’t exactly kept up. I have a memory of being competent in the water, but now I can’t quite figure out what prevents drowning. Are you supposed to just naturally float? Tread water the entire time? Swim uphill to keep from sinking? I see people do it, and it’s just baffling.

Bali Fun Facts, or The Parade of Ignorance

Bali is not a country. It’s an island in Indonesia. Bali is not one of the Spice Islands. They are also a part of Indonesia, but you can’t name a single one of them. While Indonesia as a whole is Muslim, hosting the largest Muslim population on the planet, Bali is Hindu and marches to its own offbeat drummer.

While Bali is a single island, the nation of Indonesia is home to… well, nobody knows exactly how many islands. Everyone has agreed to the oddly specific count of 17,508, while also agreeing that the correct number could be anywhere between 13,000 and 25,000. The count of inhabited islands is… about 6,000. Or 922. Or 10,000. Is mystery. Wrapped in rising sea levels.

In an unforeseen plot twist, Bali and Indonesia were not primarily fucked by the French. Say hello to the Dutch East India Company. Although Napoleon did have control of Indonesia for five years, because if there’s one thing the French can’t stand it’s being shut out of fuckery. Not to be overlooked, the US supported an Indonesian dictator because he was anti-communist. Did not see that coming.

In fact, our Southeast Asia tour has been a cavalcade of nations willing to overlook American sins in the service of being gracious to American visitors. I get the self interest of tourism-based economies, but most of the tourists we’ve seen seem to be European or Australian. They could easily shun Americans without tanking their tourism industries. So, points for being nicer than we are.

On the other hand, there’d be no tourist economy anywhere on the planet if they locked out the citizens of countries that had fucked them. Easier just to open their doors and our wallets. It’s like reparations.

I still say they’re nicer than we are, but that’s an admittedly low bar to clear.

Our Homestay

Our homestay in Bali feels like we’re living in a jungle next to a farm. Or farms. I think that’s because we’re living in a jungle next to a farm. Or farms. The grounds here are lush and full of tropical flora as well as a rich ecosystem of birds, bugs, reptiles, and cats. The farm(s) next door is (are) chockablock with chickens, roosters, pigs, geese, cows, and goats. Who all appear to be early risers.

And that thing about roosters crowing at dawn is bullshit. They go off all day and night.

Here’s a panorama of the grounds, with the morning soundtrack. It’s almost like you’re here with us.

Breaking Waves In The Hot Sun

Our homestay is across the street from the beach, a mere five minute walk to the water. The beachfront is littered with resorts with swimming pools and palapas for shade. The closest one to us is the Seamount, which has an outdoor shower for cleaning the black sand from our feet and a ridiculously warm pool.

Our first day here we were good citizens and paid for a day pass to the pool and the lounges, 50,000 rupiah ($3) each. Now we feel like regulars. We walk to the beach, swim, come back through Seamount’s pool area, wash our feet and rinse the salt off. Maybe we take a quick dip in the pool, maybe not. A couple of times we’ve drafted behind a group of guests moving from beach to pool and just blended in. But there are 24 hours in a day, and we did buy a day pass, so we figure we’re good until we’ve used up all 24 hours.

The beach in Amed is blessed with beautiful, volcanic black sand beaches. There isn’t a definitive count of black sand beaches around the world, but it’s a countable number. 20? 40? So it’s our first, and an unexpected treat.

The beach here is known for, aside from the black sands, a few things. First, it’s known for its very, very calm, clear water. The surf here ranges from pacific like a sheet of glass to adorable Shetland breakers with tubes scaled for a Surfer Barbie. Perfect for just bobbing. We’ve found that a morning bob is dramatically enhanced by an afternoon bob. There is no shortcut to this kind of knowledge. You just have to put in the hard work.

The other thing it’s known for, as noted earlier, is how close the coral is to the shore. There are multiple spots right on our beach where you can walk into the water with a mask on and be swimming in the equivalent of an aquarium in short order, no boat necessary. We’d read that about Amed, which is why we landed here, but that scarcely prepares you for the experience.

Unsurprisingly, given the quantity of black volcanic sand on the beach, there is a volcano nearby, Mount Agung, which looms over both beach and town. Its last major eruption started in 2017 and ended in 2019. So, yeah. Active.

Amed is a traditional beach village with a main drag following the shoreline. Officially, Amed is Bali’s second largest city, but they got there by cheating. They added six other adjacent villages to Amed and called it Amed. Right. The Greater Metropolitan Amed Conurbation. But Amed proper, pretty small.

The Neighborhood

Most of the shops along Main Street are dive shops, small restaurants (warungs), spas, and tour providers, with a smattering of minimarts, produce stalls, and retail sarong and authentic! cowrie bracelet shops. The closest thing to a central market is in a village three kilometers away. There’s not much by way of art or handicrafts or culture, which is fine. We’re here for the fresh fish, both as companions and entrées.

There’s plenty of neighborhood just off Main Street. Walking the residential streets provides a beautiful window into daily life here, as well as gorgeous views of the jungle vistas.

One of the things we noticed is that vernacular residential architecture is structured around compounds with multiple, discrete buildings. A kitchen, a common room for dining and gathering, a residence/bedroom for each couple, and a temple for the ancestors.

We obviously weren’t invited into anyone’s home, so the most we were able to see from the street were the temples. Echoing the larger compound, each temple had specific altars for each ancestor. Designs ranged from humble to ornate, but all of them were well cared for and well maintained. The daily connection to the ancestors is a real thing here, and kind of cool. Sam and Ruby are now hereby notified that we expect no less than altars tended daily when we’re gone.

We also learned that they use bamboo for everything here.

Other Things We’ve Seen In The Neighborhood

JFC: Jaya Fried Chicken. It’s really good.

This is a thing we haven’t seen anywhere else. Yet. Manufactured products and snacks are made in a string of connected packages. They’re perforated, so the bottom one gets torn off to sell. The benefit of this arrangement is that you just toss them over a string or a piece of bamboo and they display themselves. They don’t need counter space or a fixture, and it’s easy for customers to see what you have on offer. Very clever merchandising that benefits everyone.

Reggae Bars

For reasons necessarily opaque, Amed is flush with reggae bars. We met a guy in Hội Án who was also on his way for a brief stay in Amed, and he said he had a reggae bar he loved, and maybe we’d see him there. Not even close to enough information to locate him, even if we’d wanted to. Which we didn’t. There are a lot of reggae bars here. OK, not dozens, but way more than should be plausible outside of Jamaica.

Which is more than a little cognitively dissonant, as the Rasta religion forbids alcohol. No problem for the flexible Balinese.

One of these joints, Rasta Bar, is right next to the Seamount, where we swim, and I have to confess that it’s not at all unpleasant to bob in the ocean to the hypnotic reggae rhythm. Perhaps it’s that Bali and Jamaica share a laid back island vibe, but it almost makes sense.

But not the karaoke reggae bar. That’s just wrong.

You can join us for drinks on the beach at Rasta Bar, and enjoy the slinky reggae vibe.

Balinese Hinduism

Hinduism first came to Bali around the 1st century, but it didn’t stay put. Balinese Hinduism adds a soupçon of Buddhism to Indian Hinduism and wraps it around a meaty core of traditional Balinese animist beliefs, arts, and rituals. That was fine for centuries, but then it got weird, thanks to the Indonesian government.

On independence from the Dutch in 1945, the new constitution enshrined freedom of religion as a core right. However, Islamists took control of the Indonesian Ministry of Religion in 1952, and severely restricted what could legitimately be considered a religion that citizens had the right to practice. Aimed specifically at Bali’s Hindu population, the new rules required that a religion must be monotheistic, have a Holy Book and a prophet, and have a codified set of religious laws, among other strictures.

Having none of those things, the Ministry of Religion declared that Balinese Hinduism wasn’t a real religion. To which Balinese Hindus replied, “OK, we have all of those things. Now leave us alone.” So Balinese Hinduism is technically monotheistic and practically polytheistic. This makes Balinese Hinduism, in a roundabout way, much like Santeria, which coated Yoruban beliefs with a thin veneer of Catholicism, so no one got huffy.

I don’t know if the 1952 regulations were ever rescinded, but as a practical matter Balinese are still very much practicing their bespoke brand of Hinduism, seemingly unfettered by the long arm of the state. We spoke to one of our drivers about the differences between Bali and the rest of Indonesia, and he offered up a list of behaviors that would be unacceptable under Muslim law, such as premarital sex and drinking. It’s no wonder, I suppose, that Bali is Indonesia’s party capital.

Canang Sari

Canang sari, set outside of homes and businesses every morning, are a small but lovely manifestation of Balinese Hinduism. From simple to elaborate, they are sometimes tucked into altars, but are often just left on the sidewalk. They are a deeply felt thank you to Sang Hyang Widhi Wasa, the supreme being in Balinese Hinduism (or at least the one they picked to mollify the Muslims), for the gifts of peace, prosperity, and the harmony of the universe, weaving the ineffable into a daily ritual.

Penjor

Penjor flank the entrances to homes and businesses, and line the streets. Like the canang sari, they are devotional pieces dedicated to Sang Hyang Widhi Wasa. Unilke the canang sari, they are not a daily ritual, but are for special occasions and ceremonies, acting as a spiritual conduit connecting the mortal and the divine.

They are made, as a thank you, of the natural products that sustain Balinese life, such as bamboo, coconuts, bananas, and sugarcane. We saw many penjor with sprays of seeds attached all up and down, to also provide sustenance to bird life. While you can have them professionally made, people here take pride in making their own.

This is yet another example of the ways in which a shopping culture, as opposed to a making culture, impoverishes its inhabitants. It’s hard to put your soul into an Amazon cart, and lord knows I’ve tried. But when you make things, you have an incentive to make them well and make them beautiful. And then you’re surrounded not just by beauty, but by meaning. Or you could be surrounded by receipts. That’s OK, too. God loves all his children.

Bedogol

Another visual representation of Balinese Hindu beliefs is the presence of fierce gate guardians at the doorways to temples and homes. These Bedogol, or Dwarapala in Original Hinduism, are always in pairs surrounding the gate. The right hand Bedogol represents active energy and masculinity, while the left hand Bedogol signifies passive energy and femininity. The one is good for strength and protection, and the other provides intuition and gentleness. Together, they keep their charges safe from evil creatures and bad vibes.

I’m sure our Homeowners Association couldn’t possibly object if we put a pair in the hallway around our door. Who doesn’t need evil kept at bay?

Murder Most Fowl

There are a ton of free range chickens and roosters here, but also a surprisingly high population of caged roosters. There are shops that make and sell rooster cages, and then there are all the places with the caged roosters. It’s a thing. A weird thing.

It turns out that cockfighting is an ancient ritual connected to Balinese Hinduism. I told you the Balinese had made up their own brand of Hinduism, but you didn’t believe me, did you?

The roosters are caged because they’ve been trained to fight and aren’t safe wandering loose. And also because they’re super valuable. They start at 1,000,000 rupiah (about $60) and go up from there with pedigree and wins in the arena.

Cockfighting is actually a religious obligation at Balinese festivals and ceremonies. The losing rooster’s blood is meant as an offering to placate evil spirits. Legally, cockfighting is permitted in Bali only as part of religious ceremonies. And, hey! No gambling!

But we saw way more caged roosters than temples on their own could possibly have required. 100% there is non-religious cockfighting and gambling. We are shocked — shocked — to find that gambling is going on in here!

It’s also yet another layer of feigned compliance on the part of the Balinese. “Sure, we’ll be Hindu. We just need to add a few local spices. You need us to be monotheists? No problem, we’ll just pick one of our gods to be the Kahuna. We can only cockfight in the temple? You like our new temple?” Culturally they’re made of jello. Push on it and it seems to give, but the moment you let up it pops back to its original shape. They are Jedi masters of the Okey-Doke.

Roosters!

It’s hard to get a good look at the caged roosters, at least partially because it feels dangerous to get too close, but the loose roosters are spectacular. I know nothing about rooster genealogy, which I’m sure comes as a shock to y’all, but there seems to be a stunning range of rooster morphology on display here.

By The Way…

I got scuba-certified at twelve because my parents, Jackie and Stan, decided they wanted to dive and it became a family affair. It was a ten-week class, mixed between classroom (gas physics) and pool. The first three weeks in the pool were all swimming exercises, but we were permitted to put on scuba gear in week four and just sit underwater in the shallow end, to get used to the equipment.

At which point Stan stood up and tapped out. Give him credit for knowing himself. He found the experience claustrophobic and unsettling, and couldn’t think of a reason to shoulder past that.

Jackie and I continued, but I failed the final swimming exam. I did fine on the classroom test, and Jackie passed everything, but the swimming exam was hard. Among other soul crushing tests, you had to: swim two lengths of an Olympic pool underwater on a single breath; tread water for seven minutes with your arms out of the water, only legs; swim multiple laps, I don’t remember the actual number, in full gear, but only using your snorkel. They weighted you so you had negative buoyancy and had to swim uphill while someone walked at the edge of the pool and randomly poured buckets of water into your snorkel, to simulate all of your failed relationships waves. It was a lot, for a twelve-year-old.

I was technically too young, as thirteen was the NAUI cutoff, so I shouldn’t have been surprised to fail. But I was humiliated. It took me two more tries, but I did finally pass.

When I was thirteen and on our North American wanderjahr, we wound up in Acapulco, where Jackie and I took a dive boat together. We were the only certified divers aboard, so the guide provided training to the others: “OK. Exhale on the way up. Do you know what urchins look like? Great. Don’t touch them.” And off everyone went to enjoy their new skills. It really made me appreciate all the hard work I’d put in.

Then I touched an urchin.