Bali, Indonesia Part 3 of 3.....The monkeys attack!!!
Can I add monkey attack to my list of experiences? Yes!
An hour drive from our place on the beach we walk thru the famous Uluwatu Temple.No one ever mentioned monkeys. So, I was surprised to see them everywhere. Our guide tells us as we approach, “Temple monkeys can be ‘very aggressive’ compared to the Monkey Sanctuary in Sanur”. Neat. We are asked to remove our glasses, earrings, and any loose items. And soon enough we saw a monkey quickly sneak up on a woman, take her glasses and destroy them. Soon, another monkey ran by with a baseball cap in his grubby little hands.
The monkeys sometimes can be persuaded to return items with offerings of food. They have learned the ways of the bartering system. Most times it does not work.
A couple tried to get back the first glasses stolen back but only failed. Then as I was writing these thoughts down a second woman lost her glasses to another one of the thieving devils. I was 3 meters away. Geez! The couple found one of the lenses on the ground and were hoping to find more pieces. Diane and I moved from under the trees to another spot in the courtyard. As we were walking a monkey hanging upside down from a branch tried to steal a hat off a woman’s head who was walking in front of us. Fortunately, she had a string on the hat to give her an advantage and was able to keep it.
I did not envy Diane walking to the toilet building by herself, surrounded by aggressive primates stalking her. I walked with her as long as I could and pretended to admire the tree a short distance away as I kept watch for the gang of monkeys.
Three pairs of glasses were destroyed within an hour. These were not just sunglasses, these were all expensive prescription glasses.
As we walk down a 1-kilometer path to get to a viewpoint monkeys are on the trail in front of us, beside us on the right in the jungle, and sitting on top of the rock wall to our left. The wall protected us from a 100 meter drop to our deaths into the Indian Ocean below. Was tip toeing thru monkeys comfortable? F-No. Do I no longer like monkeys? Yes. Did it remind me of several creepy movies with characters attempting to walk slowly by scary creatures? Hells, yes!
Then the ‘incident’ happened. Walking to the viewpoint ahead I must have been walking too close to the 4-foot safety wall to my left. I didn’t see him, but as I walked by, he put both paws (and nails) on my head, scratching for something, maybe glasses which I did not have. It was not done softly at all. I jumped, yelped, and looked around for the culprit. By then he was gone. From then on, I walked down the middle of the path. Later, I did check if he broke skin or not. Luckily not. I’m contemplating a rabies shot when we return to Chaing Mai.
Worthwhile? Oh, for sure! New attitude on monkeys? Yep.
Fire Dance Show
The six o’clock show was sold out so we had to wait for the 7pm show. We found a decent spot, out of the sun, and away from most of the monkeys. Park rangers used sling shots to keep the monkeys at bay in the main courtyard. Time was going a little slow as we waited. The trauma of the brazen monkey attacks still fresh on our minds, my brain began the process of storing them for future nightmares. (great…)
The Fire Dance show was certainly worth all of the hoopla. In the form of dance and chant it told the Hindu story of Rama and Sita.
I don’t have the necessary skillset with words or pictures to give this show justice, so I’ll just share a few videos to give you a small glimpse.
Dinner on Jimbaran Beach show
After the Fire Show we had a surreal experience on the beach for dinner. This was a 30-minute drive away. It’s 9pm, 85 degrees and a good 10 mph wind off the water. Toes in the sand, food and beer on the table. When the Mariachi type band approached the table asking for requests, I did suggest Bruno Mars, then they immediately started playing Just The Way You Are.
Pregina, the crispy duck place
The next night we had crispy duck on our minds. As we walk from our hotel on the beach towards the busy street, the loud sing-along Irish music is obvious. My knee jerk reaction is… nope. As we walk by, I see the ‘Irish band” is made up of one Irish guy and 3 Indonesians. They do sound good but singing along with folk songs is not for us tonight.
We judge traffic whizzing by and cross the street. Any day we don’t get run over by a car or a scooter is what I call a good day. We walked into Pregina, my new fav restaurant. There were some nice tables outside, but I could see a woman smoking. Pass. Later I noticed she had smoked continually for over an hour. Our seats inside were more conducive for listening to musician anyway.
Once we were situated at our table, we then ordered a mojito and a local beer. The beer turns out to be the coldest beer I have had in my life. I imagine if the beer fell to the floor it would shatter like those slow-motion videos of roses shattering at absolute zero of minus 459 degrees F. Luckily, they served it with one of those Styrofoam holders so the glass wouldn’t adhere to your fingers. Yes, that cold. The guy playing acoustic guitar opened with the U2 song One Love. I’m in. He had a most excellent voice and played well.
He asked for requests. An artist popped in my head because of the evening before on the beach and I knew it would make Diane happy to have him play a Bruno Mars song. I’m usually not that guy, but I’m one beer in, I’m in Bali and still trying to impress Diane. So, in an uncrowded bar, I scream out at the top of my lungs “Bruno Mars” followed by a ‘wooo hoooo!’
If you think I really did that, then you don’t know me. Ha! I said my request so softly that I believe Diane sitting next to me barely heard me. I had to say it three times until the musician was able to read my lips.
If you ever want to long for home, just come to this place, have a couple of beers, and listen to this guy sing all the songs that conjure up ‘home’. When on the road, lyrics take on a stronger meaning, they hit close to home and deep down. Words that speak to your soul in places you usually don’t dwell. I ordered a second beer. The first one seemed medicinal and much cheaper than a therapist.
Who writes about breakfast? I do.
On ‘day one’, our breakfast dining area strongly reminded me of a retirement home. Old gray-haired, slow-moving people drinking lukewarm coffee and eating typical breakfast items like poached eggs and dry toast. The ancient ones shuffled their feet, looked forward with 1000-yard stares. Maybe this is a glimpse of my future. If I did see someone younger, I imagine a great grandchild visiting, complete with sullen looks and indignant attitudes.
“The future isn’t what it used to be” because by morning three I have acclimated and now am one of them. Shuffling my feet but with a little zip. I high five the British octogenarian, then do a quick boogie dance with the woman in a pink muu muu, followed by leading everyone in a sing-along ending in “da doo ron ron. I tend to exaggerate a tad sometimes, but I did nod to a fellow American once. I like having a slow breakfast with the surf of the beach not 35 meters away. The attractive staff was helpful. The fruit is good, coffee hot and strong. I say “suksma” and the staff replies “mewali”: If they would add Mr. Bennett we would move in permanently tomorrow.
If you have ever joined me at a buffet, you hate me, of this I am sure. I tend to take 6 or 8 or more trips to the buffet area and return to have that single item. A glass of juice, plate of fruit, a single croissant, a bowl of cereal, a single slice of bacon with another croissant, a small scoop of rice with a single over easy egg placed on top, a helping of roasted potatoes and onions with some tomato goo, then a final glass of mango juice.
As I am between plates 6 and 7, Diane learns from our friend Trish, via a FB post, she is having success with her move from the small town of Dumaguete in the Philippines to the 8th largest city in the world, Beijing. She impressed us as teenager in our travels a decade ago and we have kept in touch ever since. She is enjoying her fruits of natural wit combined with hard work, and years of speaking to world travelers every evening at the bed and breakfast she helped run with her mom Charisse (who also rocks). She is now doing some work in the film industry in front of and behind the camera. To read the words “I’m experiencing snow for the first time” coming from a woman in her mid-twenties, I am charmed.
Lastly...
Each night when returning from dinner we’d walk through the hotel grounds to return to our room. With all that was going on it was easy to forget that we are living inside a postcard.
I have some final thoughts on Bali. With 70% of the industry geared towards tourism they have got it perfected. Should you go here? Definitely. Will we return? Probably not. I’m not complaining just stating my thoughts. We arrived in January which is normally the monsoon season. The numbers of tourists were less than in the busy season. We had excellent timing. We had a couple of well-timed rainstorms while on our jungle portion of the show, but most days were sunny and hot. The problem that enters is humidity. We found ourselves hiding from the sweltering sun in the same way we did when we were in The Philippines a decade ago which took it off the possible future retirement list. When we return to Chiang Mai a few days later, it was the same temperature, but it was pleasantly just warm and sunny in comparison.
The food was well prepared and delicious. Because of tourism and where we were staying it was very much geared toward having many western options. The local dishes were slightly on the spicy side, but nothing like Thailand.
Diane and I discussed over dinner when we returned to Chiang Mai, what portion of the trip did we like better, beach or jungle. With a little talk we both agreed on the beach. On the beach we had a billion coffee shops and restaurants were a short walk away. In the jungle, near the city of Ubud we were a 10-minute taxi ride away from the town center. Other than the hotel restaurant, meals had to be planned. The rice paddy trek can’t be beat though.
I loved my time in our jungle portion of our stay. It was lazy in a wonderful way. We had most of our meals, breakfast and dinner for sure, in the Atta Mesari Villa restaurant. The staff got to know us a little and knew what we liked. I would prop myself up in bed and read while having the most incredible view of the jungle. The trek across the rice terraces is one of those once in a lifetime adventures. The only thing that happened in a negative way was the group of ‘comrades’ singing patriotic songs (and a few pop songs) until almost 2 in the morning. I would guess a dozen or more people singing at the top of their lungs. Later Diane and I both agreed the harmonies were actually pretty good. But not when you are attempting to sleep. Imagine a dozen young people (remember I’m old, so I’m unclear on the definition of ‘young people’) and one with an acoustic guitar screaming as loud as they can “zombie, zombie, zombie” (the chorus from a Cranberries song) while gathered around a fire pit on the other side of a fence from you… I should move on.
Whether writing travel notes or now blogging I sometimes debate with myself on documenting negative events. In time negative things fade in my mind and eventually they did not even occur. But with my writings they live in perpetuity.