Chapter 2 Indonesian Story (1)

Never in my life have I been more unplanned than when I arrived in Bali.It was the most hasty landing in the history of my careless travel.I didn't know where to live, what to do, the exchange rate, how to hail a taxi at the airport -- or even where to hail a cab.No one expected me to come.I have no friends in Indonesia, not even friends of friends.Traveling with outdated guidebooks and leaving them unread created a problem: I didn't figure out that I wasn't allowed to stay in Indonesia for four months even if I wanted to.I only found out about this when I was in the country.As a result, only a one-month tourist visa was approved.It didn't occur to me that the Indonesian government wasn't happy to let me stay in their country as long as I liked.

The kindly immigration inspector stamped my passport and allowed me to stay in Bali for only a full thirty days.In the friendliest manner I asked him if he could let me stay longer. "No." He replied in the most friendly manner.Balinese people are known for their friendliness. "I should be here for three or four months," I told him. I didn't mention it was a "prophecy" - two years ago an old and probably insane Balinese medicine man, after reading my palm for ten minutes, predicted that I would be here for three or four months .I don't know how to explain this.

But now that I think about it, what did the pharmacist tell me?Did he really say that I would go back to Bali and live with him for three or four months?Did he really say to "live with him"?Or he just wants me to stop by to see him and give him another ten yuan to check his palm if I'm nearby?Did he say I "would" come back, or that I "should" come back?Did he really say "see you later" or "goodbye"? Since that night, I have not had any contact with the pharmacist.Anyway, I don't know how to contact him.Where is his address? "The Apothecary on the Balcony, Bali, Indonesia"?I don't know if he is alive or dead.I remember meeting him two years ago, he seemed pretty old; after that, anything could happen to him.I only made sure that his name was Lai Ye, and I remembered that he lived in a village on the outskirts of Ubud town.But I can't remember the name of the village.

Maybe I should have thought about all this earlier. However, it is quite simple to travel through Bali.Unlike Sudan, which landed in Africa, it is completely unclear what to do next.Bali, which is about the size of the US state of Delaware, is a popular tourist destination.The whole place is organized to assist you, allowing Westerners with credit cards to come and go.English is widely spoken here. (This makes me feel guilty, but also deeply relieved. My brain has been overloaded by trying to learn modern Italian and ancient Sanskrit in the past few months, and there is no way to learn Bahasa Indonesia, or even more difficult. Balinese--this language is more complex than Martian.) Live here without trouble.You can change money at the airport, find friendly taxi drivers who recommend nice hotels - it's all easy to arrange.It's much easier to travel here these days, thanks to the massive decline in tourism after the bombings two years ago (weeks after I first left Bali);

So I took a taxi to the town of Ubud, which seemed like an appropriate starting point for my trip.I stayed in a nice little hotel on the wonderfully named Monkey Forest Road.The lodge has a lovely pool, gardens filled with tropical flowers bigger than a volleyball (tended by a highly organized colony of hummingbirds and butterflies).The staff are Balinese, which means they automatically start admiring you and complimenting you on your beauty the moment you walk in the door.The room overlooks the tropical forest and includes fresh tropical fruit breakfast every morning.Simply put, this is one of the nicest places I've ever stayed, and it cost me less than ten bucks a day.It's good to be back.

Located in the center of Bali, Ubud is located in the mountains, surrounded by terraced rice fields and countless Hindu temples, with rivers running through deep jungle valleys and volcanoes on the horizon.Ubud has long been considered the cultural center of Bali, where traditional Balinese paintings, dances, carvings and religious ceremonies thrive.Ubud is not near the sea, so the tourists who come here are a self-selected and stylish people; they would rather watch an ancient temple festival than surf and drink pineapple juice on the beach.No matter what the apothecary predicted, it was a good place to stay for a while.The town is a bit like a smaller, Pacific version of Santa Fe, except it's full of monkeys strutting around and Balinese families in traditional costumes.There are good restaurants and a nice little bookstore here.The whole time I was in Ubud, I could do what good divorced women in America have done to kill time since the invention of the YWCA - sign up for classes on batik, drumming, jewelry making, pottery, traditional Indonesian dancing and cooking Classes... Just across the street from the hotel where I live, there is even a place called "Zenzao Shop", which is a small shop that offers meditation classes from 6 to 7 o'clock every night."Peace Remains," read the sign.I totally agree.

It was still early, just after noon, when I unpacked, so I decided to go for a walk, reacquaint myself with a town I hadn't seen in two years, and then I had to figure out how to find my pharmacist.I suspect this is a daunting task, perhaps taking days, or even weeks.I wasn't sure where to start looking, so before heading out I went to the front desk and asked Mario if he could help me. Mario is one of the hostel staff.I had made friends with him when I checked in, mostly because of his name.It wasn't long ago that I was traveling in a country where there were plenty of men named Mario, and none of them were short, stocky, breezy Balinese boys in a salon silk dress with flowers behind their ears.So I had to ask him: "Is your name really Mario? Doesn't sound like an Indonesian name."