Bumpy landing in Ubud

After a bit too much reality in Jakarta, our landing in the Bali resort city of Ubud turned out to be a bit more real-world than we had bargained for. The tourist haven was known as the alternative to the beaches of south Bali, converted over the last 20 years into a ghetto of drunken Australian college students in the best style of a Florida spring-break beach scene. What would ultimately become a fantastic five-day stay turned out to have a bit of bumpy landing.

We checked into a hotel room that was so humid that within minutes my passport had started curling up into a ball and my nasal passages were filled with mold. We went out to look for another hotel just as a downpour broke out, so we jumped into a taxi. Two hundred yards down the road we were stuck in parking brake traffic. The two-lane road chock-a-block with cute boutiques and hip cafes was flooded with motorbikes that couldn’t get through the morass. Ten minutes later a full-sized tourist bus roared pass, a coterie of motorcycles following behind it like a wedding gown trailing a bride. We still didn’t budge. The driver stuck his head out the window and had a quick interaction with a passing biker that seemed to illuminate what was going on?

“Is there an accident ahead? The road blocked?”

The driver offered a more prosaic description of the problem.

“Traffic.”

He finally told us to get out and walk to the restaurant.

This turned out to be our mechanism for getting reality out of the way quickly. Ubud turned out to be more like Jakarta than we had expected, with its often impassable and constant insufferable rumble of motorcycles and delivery trucks.

But it’s worth it. Ubud entertains tourists with an endless combination of biking tours, volcano hikes, cooking classes, walks through rice fields, dance and music courses. It gave me an essential element that I find often lacking while I’m on vacation – physical activity to help burn off all the food I eat and all the booze I drink. 

We walked through fields were farmers still shake grass off the plant by hand and dry it in the sun. A hike up to the top of mountain to watch the sunrise over the top of a volcano was well worth the 2:30 a.m. wake-up call. We got to learn the basics of making (and eating) Balinese curry, which effectively ensures we’ll be replicating parts of their culture to friends and family. I spent two hours learning to play a gamelan, a xylophone-like instrument that accompanies Balinese dance, which Isa spent two hours studying.

I’m impressed with Bali. It’s got its corporate beaches that are overrun with sunburnt tourists,  but it’s got a lot to offer. I can’t say I even scratched the surface.