Kindness of Strangers

Tuesday, September 30, 2008

That mesmerizing song from South Pacific has been running through my head the past three days:

“Bali Ha’i will whisper
In the wind of the sea:
‘Here am I, your special island,
Come to me, come to me.’”

I keep looking around and thinking to myself, “I can’t believe I’m in Bali!” We’ve done nothing but rest and relax the last 72 hours, and our colds have high-tailed it out of our weakened immune systems. We stumbled into our hotel on Friday night after 26 hours of travel and, despite our extreme exhaustion, were immediately enchanted. Our thatched-roof bungalow is tucked away in a lush garden of tropical plants. Unreal palm trees sway in the breeze, as lilac and snowy orchids drip from earthen pots perched in the trees. An inviting pool takes centerstage, surrounded by a stone fountain of stacked frogs spouting water. Delicate cloth parasols, looking vaguely like something out of New Orleans, are pitched every which way throughout the property. Small altars, lined with banana-leaf cups offering incense and grains, are everywhere. (Much like Bhutan, religion plays a huge part in the life of the Balinese; in this case their own brand of Hinduism. When Balinese aren’t at work they are usually participating in some sort of ceremony.) The soundtrack to this whole affair are tiny, tuneful birds, the likes of which I’ve never laid eyes on in my entire life.

We are sleeping 10 hours a night under our gauzy mosquito netting, napping during the days by the glassy pool, and are finally beginning to feel human again. Each morning we are treated to breakfast under an open thatched-roof building. Airy ocean breezes float through as we dine on typical Indonesian far: mie goreng, fried noodles with minced chicken and vegetables. Plates of artistically carved tropical fruits. Fresh-squeezed juices in every flavor imaginable, including watermelon, papaya, pineapple, banana. (I even enjoyed honeydew melon juice at dinner one night!)

The price to stay at this fabulous resort? Sixty-five US dollars a night which, while a splurge on our backpackers’ budget, would score me a night in the Hotel 6 back home.

To top it off, I was able to meet up with my old-time pal from high school, Amanda, who will be traveling with us through Bali for the next week. We reconnected a few years ago through MySpace (still the best replacement for actually attending your high school reunion), and she currently makes her home in Singapore, so it was a snap for her to meet up with us. We have been able to catch up on Auburn High School gossip, reminisce about our years in Drama Club, and bemoan Mrs. Billings’ chemistry class. Amanda also lived in India for a year and is able to commiserate with us about our recent experiences there. She reminded us of the country’s slogan for their new ad campaign, “Incredible India.” (”It’s ‘incredible’ alright,” we laughed.) And, it’s always nice to have a third party to break up the constant string of “Maikael and Me” time.

For the first leg of our time in Bali we are staying in Seminyak, the supposedly flashy part of the island, but even then there is still an island charm. True, the beach is packed with bronzed bodies, umbrellas for rent, and women and men hocking everything imaginable, from bracelets to foot massages. I watched one woman balance a giant tub of fruits on her head, slicing fresh pineapple on her haunches for willing customers. But there are no high-rise mega resorts, and men still skit around on scooters as they munch on satay from smoky roadside stands. The Balinese are famous for their genuinely friendly and laid-back attitude, and even in this highly touristed area, which usually brings out the worst in people, we are constantly greeted by smiling faces and a barrage of “hellos” as we amble down the poky avenue.

I can safely say this is the closest I’ve ever been to paradise.