And so it begins ....

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Who am I and why should anyone care?  My name is Richard.  Nice to meet you.  I expect no one to care and few to view this blog.  So why do it? Why bother?  Vanity.  Self-edification.  Obsessive-compulsive disorder.  I am honestly not sure. Writing makes me feel good.  Writing helps me remember.  I really want to remember.

I have been trying to write a book for some time but it is like extracting blood from a horseshoe.  Maintaining this space might get my creative juices flowing.  Then again, maybe not.  There will be rants.  Prepare for non sequiturs. I will probably grow tired of the whole fucking thing. Time will tell. Follow me, will you?  Let us make this a collaboration, shall we?  [Insert uplifting theme music here]

The contours of my trip are amorphous to say the least.  I am starting in Indonesia sometime around January 12th, 2009. No idea how long I will be gone, where I will go, or what I will do.  I do not know what this is. I know what it is not. It is not a vacation. An escape?  Maybe.  An adventure?  Definitely.  One man's search for nothing? Everything? The 'everything' inside the 'nothing'...ness?

I will use this as a travel log.  I will document shit.  Add pics and video. Insights, ponderings, and autobiographical tidbits may find their place.  I have been known to be random on occasion.

I hit up The Thorn Tree Forum on the Lonely Planet website to garner info about the visa situation in Indonesia.  I approached it with a bit of joviality and playfulness, an approach unappreciated by some of the folks that answered my query.  You can check it out the thread here.  You may find it mildly amusing. Most of them did not.

You may not like me. I'm not sure I like me. If you do, thanks a bunch. If you do not then go ahead and fuck yourself with a cinnamon stick...but in a good way.

12/08

Just an Idiot…

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Since the travel log aspect of this blog (i.e. the more interesting portion) will not develop until I leave for Indonesia, I am forced to hone my blogging skills with background info and pointless tangents. One may wonder how I have the time to wander aimlessly for a prolonged stretch. Am I wealthy, retired, a traveling salesman? Negative. Just an idiot. Inveterate moron, really. I spent two and a half years working as a civilian in Baghdad. I was able to pay off my debts and squirrel away a bit of coin. Civilian contractor in Baghdad, you ask? It's true. I might be a dirtbag.

I'm not married and own neither a house nor an automobile. I am rootless. If there was ever a time to roam the earth this would be that time. I'm about to buckle my safety belt. Get ready. Get buckled.

I use the word 'idiot' because now may not be the best time to be unemployed. The world economy is in the shitcan (Author’s Note: As of June 11^th, 2011 world markets are still pretty much in the shitter. Hindsight is mocking me). Pissing away my savings on Happy World Fun Tour ‘09 may be ill advised. Welcome to my world. Prudence? Not one of my strengths. I've always wanted to travel at my whim. Here's my chance. Have you buckled up yet?

And now for a bit of random...Did you know that a human head transplant is theoretically possible? It’s been done with puppies and monkeys. I shit you not. In the Soviet Union in the 1950s a scientist (perhaps of the mad variety) named Vladimir Demikhov grafted puppy heads onto the necks of live dogs. The dogs survived for up to twenty-nine days. The grafted heads drank, bit, and tried to tug themselves from the recipients' bodies. 

And in Cleveland (I knew that place was shady) in the '70s a neurosurgeon named Robert White severed the head of one monkey and connected it to the body of another decapitated one. PETA would be very, very disappointed. 

Why not humans? According to Robbie (still alive I believe)? Possible. Of course, the technology does not exist to reconnect spinal cords. This means any person benefiting from the surgery would still be paralyzed from the neck down. Hey, you can’t have everything. Where the hell did I read this? Mary Roach's Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers. Worth a read. 

12/08

What the F#@% is a plight?

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December 2008 - There is a bit of irony with my use of the word ‘plight’. Plight-less would be more accurate in describing my current state of affairs. (Author’s Note: There's more irony in the fact that I erroneously believed ‘plight’ to be synonymous with ‘quest’ or ‘aim’ as opposed to its actual definition of ‘predicament’ or ‘pickle’. Although the true meaning is just as, if not more apropos than my misunderstood one, it does not excuse my ignorance. It does, however, make me look like an idiot. Somebody spank me…in a disciplinary fashion.)

The fact is I have no clue about what I want to be when I grow up, sort of an issue when you're thirty-three years old. (Author’s Note: More of an issue when you're thirty-six.) My life as a civilian gov't contractor could transfer stateside (as opposed to Baghdad), but it is not my cup of tea (organic). After more than two years working in a war zone, it's break time. What next after Operation: Indonesia? Who knows? I am hoping for an epiphany where my true path is revealed to me in a dream-like, incense-induced coma punctuated with colorfully clinquant lights. And if it was narrated by David Attenborough, that would be tremendous. (Author’s Note: Still waiting.) 

Gov't work (or any type of humdrum, daily slave-to-the-grind existence) is no bueno. Too many restrictions (especially with a security clearance). Too much structure. I do not want to sit on a couch and take bong hits all day, but I'd like to know I could without losing my job. (Author’s Note: I have yet to purchase a bong at weGrow). I want to visit Cuba, North Korea, and a bunch of other nations that would otherwise be verboten with a government paycheck.  

Dress shirts and slacks can bite me. Bagel Mondays and casual Fridays blow. Nine to five with two weeks of vacation can go 'F' itself. I do not want to talk about how Rachel from accounting blew chunks into the punch bowl during the Christmas party and then gave the head custodian a hand job in the utility closet. No. No. No.

I know how this sounds. You are probably thinking I should go boo-hoo myself. And you would have a point. It is not that I do not want to work. It’s just I would like to have an occupation that makes me feel somewhat alive and have at least a modicum of satisfaction and fulfillment. Perhaps I ask too much, especially when the economy appears to be swirling down the shitter at an alarming rate (Author’s Note: Still swirling). Good thing my friends have stable lives, and more importantly, spare bedrooms.

18 rum and cokes?

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December 2008 - I do not really drink that often but lately it seems when I do I tend to try and make up for lost time. My friend organized a Christmas party for the people with whom she works and kindly invited me to tag along. The scene was laid back and her peeps rather friendly. The food was free but we all paid for our own drinks. Each person or couple was assigned a number. I was number five (666 would have been more fitting). Towards the end of the evening (between 10:30 and 11:00 I think) I received my tab. It was an unsolicited bequest. As I glance at the bill I see a tally of seventeen rum and cokes. Seventeen? I arrived at this shindig around 5:00 or so and, admittedly, threw down four or five in the first hour. As I had not taken repast at that point I decided to slooooow down. Considering my inferior tolerance for the drink this was a wise decision. I am roughly 6'4, 195lbs so weight is a factor and I have been known to suck down a rum and coke or two but seventeen is a bit excessive. My estimate was around 12 or 13 at the most.

I mentioned this to the servers who assured me that the number was accurate. So I pointed out that if I had thrown down seventeen rum and cokes in a five hour period the likelihood of communicating intelligibly would be extremely slim. The truth is if that were the case I probably would have been sitting in the corner sucking my thumb in a puddle of my own urine. Luckily, I was not there yet. They persisted. The manager said it was so. In fact he showed me two empty bottles of rum to prove it. Absolutely irrefutable.

As it turns out I was the topic of discussion throughout the evening. Apparently, when I hit twelve they asked the manager if they should keep serving me. When asked about my demeanor they said I seemed fine. Game on. I guess I did not start getting 'louder' until rum and coke number sixteen. So at seventeen I was handed the bill. Muchas gracias.

As the discussion took on a slightly acrimonious undertone I was invited behind the bar where my tab was brought up on the touchscreen. There it was in black and white. If the computer says so it must be true. No way could a human input a drink in the wrong account. Not possible. Just more irrefutable evidence that completely castrated my defense.

Now I am not going to argue I was sober. Clearly, I was not. At this point I had not the energy to struggle any longer so I said something like, "F it! give me another one." So they actually handed me my eighteenth. Seriously? I just finished arguing over the bill, a bill they apparently gave me to cut me off and here they are offering me more juice. Are you shitting me?

A friend of my friend steps in, takes the drink from my hand, and says, a bit more diplomatically, WTF!!! She defended my position and then asked what the hell they were doing. I applauded her for this for she did what I know longer had the strength or mental stamina to accomplish.

But, alas, this revitalized me and the exchange continued, much to their chagrin. Reno 911 was invited to stop by and mediate. When they appeared I did my best to explain my position, pointing out that had I drank the amount they claimed I would probably not be having that conversation. They were having none of it. They said I had two choices: Pay the bill and take the tavern to civil court or not pay the bill and be taken to jail. I chose the former and completely backed off when the 5-o with the less pleasant disposition kindly offered to Taser me. Now I know I was in an excited state made all the more irrational by eighteen rum and cokes (thirteen real, five imaginary), but I can assure you that I had not earned the privilege of being Tasered (Don’t Tase me bro!).

Sooo I backed off and paid the bill ($80). One of our servers informed me in hushed tones that perhaps the alcohol was not of the pure and unadulterated variety. Super. So I probably drank as much water as I did rum. No wonder I felt hydrated.

I love the Christmas season. Nothing warms the cockles of my heart more than being able to spread my unique brand of joy by being 'that guy' at the party. I don’t even work there. Excellent.

Giddy as a School Girl

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January 2009 - Soooo... it is the night before my departure to Indonesia and I'm as giddy as a school girl. Well...not really but the excitement is building a bit. Not really sure what I am going to do when I get there but I'll probably figure something out. I am hoping to wrestle a Komodo Dragon and tickle an orangutan (Author’s Note: I saw both but did neither).

I have one carry-on bag. It is nothing short of a packing miracle. I am not sure how long I will be gone and I packed one pair of pants. You might think it’s crazy but they are awesome pants. Awesome.

I leave tomorrow morning (Jan 12th) and arrive on the 14th. It is going to take somewhere in the neighborhood of 40 hours to get to Bali. Half a box of Benedryl ought to help. Maybe a little sudoku to mix it up. I can't wait. Buckle up.

Singapore Airlines

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January 12^th, 2009 - So my actual flight itinerary is Orlando – San Francisco – Inchon – Singapore – Bali. Shoot me. Singapore Airlines is decent but the seats are designed for little Asian people. Perfect for lower back pain. I might be more comfortable if I stuffed myself in the overhead compartment. It really is almost impossible to guess an Asian woman’s actual age. I can narrow down most of them to somewhere between 16 and 60. I’ll tell you what is cool (literally) and that is the serving of ice cream sandwiches for lunch dessert. I don’t think I’ve ever had ice cream on an airplane. I’m a fan. There is nothing like being served a delicious ice cream sandwich by a petit Asian woman at 35,000ft. Nothing. They ought to work that into their ad campaign.

At Long Last (Bali, Indonesia)

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Bali at last. Upon arrival at the airport in Denpasar I immediately hopped a taxi to Ubud, supposedly the cultural hub of the island. Jet lag is fun. After arriving at my lodging I had intended to take a small nap and soldier on until nightfall. Nuh-uh. I crashed like a speed freak after a weekend in Vegas. It is 2 am and I am wide awake. Stellar.

A few observations. The group of tourists I arrived with at the airport was not at all what I expected. I guess I envisioned the twenty-something live free or die demographic. Instead I was presented with what I can only describe as the Eastern European version of white trash. Terrible I am.

No judgment as to character, only presentation. There was the woman in front of me with the tight-ass jean shorts (complete with little hunks of ass protruding from within) and a tank top. I had all I could do to contain my inner sexual beast. There were numerous males at varying stages of mullethood and females with hair that I’m fairly certain was never ever in style. Gold chains, wily chest hair, and manboobs all made an appearance. It’s like the whole trailer park won an all-inclusive vacation to Bali.

Eddie & Indo (Slideshow a la Indonesia)

Indonesia Facts (U.S. Department of State)

Geography
Area: 2 million sq. km. (736,000 sq. mi.), about three times the size of Texas; maritime area: 7,900,000 sq. km.
Cities: Capital--Jakarta (est. 9.7 million). Other cities--Surabaya 2.8 million, Medan 2.1 million, Bandung 2.4 million.
Terrain: More than 17,500 islands; 6,000 are inhabited; 1,000 of which are permanently settled. Large islands consist of coastal plains with mountainous interiors.
Climate: Equatorial but cooler in the highlands.

People
Nationality: Noun and adjective--Indonesian(s).
Population (2010 est.): 237,6 million.
Annual population growth rate (2010 est.): 2.7%.
Ethnic groups (2000 census): Javanese 40.6%, Sundanese 15%, Madurese 3.3%, Minangkabau 2.7%, others 38.4%.
Religions (2000 census): Muslim 86.1%, Protestant 5.7%, Catholic 3%, Hindu 1.8%, others 3.4%.
Languages: Indonesian (official), local languages, the most prevalent of which is Javanese.
Education: Years compulsory--9. Enrollment--94.7% of eligible primary school-age children. Literacy--98.3% (2010).
Health: Infant mortality rate (2007)--34/1,000. Life expectancy at birth (2009 est.)--70.76 years.
Work force: 117.4 million (2011). Agriculture—39.3%, industry—20.9%, services—47.8%.

Government
Type: Independent republic.
Independence: August 17, 1945 proclaimed.
Constitution: 1945. Embodies five principles of the state philosophy, called Pancasila, namely monotheism, humanitarianism, national unity, representative democracy by consensus, and social justice.
Branches: Executive--president (head of government and chief of state) elected by direct popular vote. Legislative--The People's Consultative Assembly (MPR), which includes the 560-member House of Representatives (DPR) and the 132-member Council of Regional Representatives (DPD), both elected to 5-year terms. Judicial--Supreme Court is the final court of appeal. Constitutional Court has power of judicial review
Suffrage: 17 years of age universal, and married persons regardless of age.

Massage and Mackeral (Ubud, Indonesia)

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Today, I received a foot massage from a Balinese man named Wayan. My second hotel (Kebun Indah, still in Ubud) has a shop that sells various types of crafts and offers massages, reflexology, and what have you. It was raining and I had nothing better to do so when the woman working in the shop asked if it was a good time for a foot massage I thought, Is it ever a bad time for a foot massage? I guess I thought she would be doing the honors but it was her male coworker’s (Wayan) turn. It wasn’t bad but a foot massage is kind of like a tease for the rest of the body. I thought about explaining this to my new friend but I seriously doubt he would have appreciated the nuances of my humor.

Unfortunately, I did manage to get a full massage later that day. Now for those of you thinking shady massage parlor this is not necessarily the case. Health and wellness-type establishments area as common as souvenir shops in Ubud. From what I’ve read you can seriously pamper the hell out of yourself here. So far I wouldn’t know. When a gentleman outside one of these places said I could get a massage for roughly six dollars I thought, I’d be an asshole not to. What I did not realize was that I was about to be vigorously caressed by another man for the second time in one day, two times too many I should think. Perhaps, there is a societal taboo here against massaging members of the opposite sex (Author’s Note: Nope. Guess I was just lucky). 

So there I am lying on a table practically naked (except for some rather flattering paper tissue bikini underwear) getting oiled up by Indonesian male massage guy (I did not catch his name). Talk about relaxing. All I could think was, This needs to end NOW!! But it kept going, mostly because I rarely have the courage to hit the eject button in situations where misunderstandings might lead to hurt feelings. Basically, I did not want to insult the guy and felt the language barrier would prevent me from explaining myself effectively. I would be lying if I said he did not come dangerously close to the kids and I have to believe that the occasional brush of his elbow against my konker was completely inadvertent.  Please let that be true. Please.

No homophobia here. Gay As You Wanna Be! That’s my motto. However, a woman’s touch is just so much more relaxing. It’s like black licorice. I hate it. The very smell makes me want to vomit. Can’t do anything about it. It is part of my psyche. And so it is with receiving a massage. Nothing like a woman’s touch.

I am writing this from the Pundi Pundi restaurant. I ordered the garlic mackerel. It smells like smashed asshole. Yum.

My Balinese ‘Hog’ (Ubud, Indonesia)

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January 17^th, 2009 - I decided to rent a motorbike. This was not a decision taken lightly as riding through the streets of Ubud on one of these ‘hogs’ is akin to running across a four way intersection blindfolded. I believe in the existence of a twenty minute window of death. If you can get through the first twenty minutes on one of these bad boys without serious bodily injury you will probably be okay . . . . . probably. 

As I mentioned before adherence to traffic laws is not a Balinese pastime and it’s nothing for fellow motorbike enthusiasts to be driving down the wrong way of a one way street. (Author’s Note: It turns out that the ‘One Way’ designation only applies to larger vehicles, not motorbikes. Why would it?). It seems ludicrous until you start doing it yourself. Yesterday, I was getting passed by nine year old girls. Today, I was pushing Mach 1 (40 mph).

Leaving aside the learning curve it is actually a great way to get around Ubud. For the past day and a half I’ve been cruising all over and getting lost in the countryside. I met a kid on the side of the road who happened to be a guide. He took me for a short jaunt through rice fields down near a river and to his village. And yes, I thought it perfectly reasonable to go tramping through the countryside with a kid I met on the side of the road. Never mind the fact that I visited the ATM and had three million rupiahs in my pocket (roughly $300 US at the time). He did show me a large Banyan tree (one of the biggest trees in the world according to my new friend). It looks like a small forest of individual trees but is actually one organism connected by single root system. Many of the roots hang like vines from the branches and take hold once they reach the ground, so on and so forth until you have what appears to be many individual trees. Of course, he probably made that up to screw with me. I’d have taken a picture but like a doof I forgot my Nikon. Dumb.

Monkey Forest (Ubud, Indonesia)

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January 18th, 2009 - I went to Mandala Wisata Wanara Wana (or Sacred Money Forest Sanctuary to the layman) today. It is right in Ubud and is a bit of a tourist trap but it does have monkeys. Everyone wins with monkeys, especially when they are aggressive nasty banana/fruit hoarding little bastards. Inside the forest is Pura Dalem Agung (Temple of the Dead). Unfortunately, I did not happen to see any dead people walking around which is a real shame as I have a lot of questions. Maybe next time.

I refrained from feeding the monkeys as it is clear doing so turns them into raging assholes. However, if I was going to feed the little heathens I would sure as hell buy only the ‘official’ Monkey Forest bananas. Frankly, they are the only bananas I trust and, more importantly, the only ones the monkeys trust. Do yourself a favor. Do the monkeys a favor. Buy the official fucking bananas.

Bali Belly and o-BAMA! (Bali, Indonesia)

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January 21^st, 2009 – Yesterday I was sicky-poo. Nothing too serious, just a slight feverish delirium punctuated with nightmares and bizzaro dreams. A little bit of weakness and a fair amount of diarrhea completed the circle. Better now but still a little weak. I have managed to avoid crapping in my pants, a significant achievement.

I went rafting (actually it was quasi- kayaking ) the day before last. No adrenaline rush there. Borderline Class II on a windy day. It was still an enjoyable trip down the river through the jungle. And there were the Russians, a raft with four of them cruising along in my general vicinity. At one point it turned into some sort of contest. In the end my two man kayak was too quick for their bulky raft but they did best me in a splash fight. Damn commies. One of the more comical moments involved my guide screaming, “U-S-A! U-S-A!” only to earn the reply, “RUS-SIA! RUS-SIA!” from the opposing guide. It then turned political when my guide started to scream, “O-BAM-A! O-BAM-A!’ which, of course, drew “PU-TIN! PUT-IN!” in response. The cold war is back. Brrrrrr…….

Speaking of Obama they love him here, as much if not more than in the US. He attended grade school in Jakarta so many Indonesians feel a fairly significant connection to the US Pres. I suspect he may even be more popular than their own president, Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono (SBY).  Perhaps, his popularity diminishes somewhat outside Bali. I really wish I’d thought to bring an ‘Obama Rocks!’ t-shirt. I probably could have traded it for a vehicle or maybe even a pig.

I was eating breakfast on the veranda outside my room (at Alam Indah, my third hotel) the other morning when an audacious, if not insolent, macaque monkey emerged ninja-like out of nowhere, nonchalantly strolled up to my table, and removed a piece of fruit from the bowl sitting there. My screams of,”Heeey!! Get outta here!!” followed by a slew of threatening gestures did absolutely nothing to deter my little friend. It only served to make him fumble with the fruit a second longer than necessary and grimace with annoyance. He then went on his merry way as if he and I had established this routine long ago. Maybe if I had it to do over again I would tackle the fruit pilfering miscreant just to get his attention, although I probably would have found myself on the losing end of that wrestling bout. 

Gunung Kawi, Me, & Enri (Bali, Indonesia)

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January 22^nd, 2009 - So I spent the day with a French dude. We had a lovely time. Encountering another solo traveler is not so common here. Lots of couples, families, and groups but loners such as myself have been few and far between thus far. I visited a few holy sites today to include Goa Gajah (Elephant Cave), Yeh Pulu, and Gunung Kawi. I ran into Enri (actually his name is Emorie but Enri just feels right) at Gunung Kawi.

I could bore you with inane details but let’s just say these sights are fairly ancient and that no one is quite sure what the hell they really are. At Yeh Pulu I had an old woman smile at me, compliment my sarong (I did look rather fetching), bless me with holy water, ask me for a donation, and then dismiss me as if there was nowhere else for our relationship to go. I felt used and dirty.  

A word about fees. At these sites they pretty much charge you for everything. I paid to park, paid an entrance fee, and paid to piss. One guy was charging people to fondle his python (reptile that is). I declined. Now all of these fees combined were less than a dollar but it really turns into a minor hassle as small denominations are sometimes hard to come by. Life’s a bitch.

I had a rather involved political discussion with a guide about the Palestinian-Israeli situation, not the first one I might add. The Balinese really like to stay current. I also had another ‘How-awesome-is-Obama-on-a-scale-of-one-to-ten’ conversation. If I get myself into trouble I need only scream ‘OBAMA FOREVER!” and I believe all will be well. I am so glad he was elected. He increased the ease of Americans travelling abroad by a factor of five zalliion (roughly). GOBAMA!!

A Peek at Mt. Batur (Bali, Inodnesia)

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January 23rd, 2009 - Yesterday, I went for a spin north on the motorbike to Gunung Batur. This is one of the numerous volcanoes on the island. Although I do plan to climb it at some point this was more of a scouting mission. I just felt like riding. On the way a local woman stopped me at an intersection in order to bequeath the requisite blessing and extort the requisite 10,000 rupiah. 

Afterwards, a gentleman on the side of the road informed me that I got screwed. Normally, blessings run 1,000 rupiah. Maybe I needed the more potent version. After all, my soul is ablaze with countless indiscretions.

It is the wet season which means of course that the tip of the volcano is frequently obscured. I did get a picture but it is not so crisp. You will also see the one of me on my hog. Born to ride. Born to raise hell (hence the necessity for the deluxe blessing).

I took a detour on occasion down roads that few tourist appear to venture and received the well-recognized ‘What-the-hell-are-you-doing-around-here?’ glances. Some rather cute little girls beguiled me out of a few rupiahs. Diabolical.  It was worth it as one of them graciously allowed me to snap a photo. Generally speaking, it is a terrible idea to hand out cash to anyone as it sets a bad precedent but they melted me like butter. I handed over less than a dollar but they were extremely appreciative. What can you do?

The whole area around the volcano is covered in lava rock. There have been numerous eruptions over the years, although I believe it has been some time since a major one.

Absolut Petrol (Southern Bali, Indonesia)

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January 26^th, 2009 - Drove all over the south of Bali today. I would like to reiterate that driving a motorbike here is just a tad nerve racking. I am flabbergasted about the conspicuous lack of mass casualties on the roadways. Pleased, but flabbergasted. I think they start riding before they start walking. Imagine stacking your entire family (father, mother, two kids) on a moped and going out for a casual spin.

And you know you are good when you can negotiate traffic at 40mph while chatting on the cell phone or with four mattresses somehow rolled and strapped to the back. Or how about chickens, a food stand, or ten to twelve crates? Ain’t no thang.

How can driving the wrong way down the highway seem like a good choice? Are they intentionally playing chicken with whitey (i.e. me) or is it normal to come as close as you can to a head on collision before swerving? Dunno, but it sure gets the heart pumping. What do you do when there no actual gas stations nearby? Sell gas out of Absolut Vodka bottles, silly.

Tegallalang (Bali, Indonesia)

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Jan 27th, 2009 – Whilst trolling the streets of Ubud on my 125cc mega-hog I cannot fight the urge to hum the theme from Sanford and Son (Listen here). It is irrepressible and I do it relentlessly. Kooky. I did a little rice paddy hopping today in the vicinity of Ubud (Tegallalang to be precise)….which was lovely. I have a tendency to detour frequently, exploring the nooks and the crannies I see along the way.

My deviations usually occur right after thinking, ‘Hmmmmmm….I wonder where that goes?’ It is mucho divertido but I normally end up riding down some small village road rarely seen by tourists (at least that’s how it feels).
Curious glances from the locals abound. I suppose I might react the same way if a stranger made their way down my little back road in Upstate NY doing three miles an hour on a moped and gazing around like a toddler in a fun house. Being a mega-mutant (by their standards anyway) probably does not help.

As I was taking a photo today a gentleman came out to the road and invited me to his home for coffee and bananas (In the immortal words of Gwen Stefani, That shit was bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S!!). Ketut was proud of his bananas and I have to admit they were delicious. And Balinese coffee is quite good as well, if not a bit strong. It was interesting to speak with him. His English is not all that good but we could communicate well enough. I am attempting to mutilate another language (this time Indonesian) so it was useful to be able to ask him how to say this or that in his native tongue. 

Balinese Tallywacker (Bali, Indonesia)

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January 28^th, 2009 - Saw a Balinese man’s tallywacker today. Didn’t mean to. As I rounded a corner on my motorbike I encountered a man standing basically in the road going wee wee. It just so happened that as I came around my eyes rested squarely upon his junk. Awesome. Sorry, no pictures. I seriously wish I could erase the one in my head. Blaaaaahck!

Mt. Agung (Bali, Indonesia)

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Jan 29th, 2009 – No trip to Indonesia would be complete without climbing a volcano. That’d be like going to Vegas and not dressing like a preacher before getting stupid drunk and gambling like an asshole. I lost my ‘Ring of Fire’ virginity on Mt. Agung, a still active stratovolcano located in east Bali. It is the holiest mountain on the island and, not surprisingly, the location of the most important temple (Pura Besakih). 

In fact, I was told that there was an important ceremony today at that very temple. It is constantly jamming and, if you can believe Wikipedia (I do implicitly making me an unapologetic wikiot), holds at least seventy festivals per year (a year being 210 days on the Balinese calendar). Mt. Agung is believed to be a replica of Mt. Meru, the central axis of the universe. In other words, Don’t F**K with Agung!

There are two routes up the mountain: the long arduous way beginning at Pura Besakih leading to the highest point or the lite version starting farther up the hill at another temple on the east side, Pura Pasar Agung. I was much more interested in the ‘pain-in-the-ass’ route but I was informed that it was closed as a result of the ceremony. Hindsight being that bastion of illumination I have come to know and love, I suspect I may have been told this in order to save a guide the trouble of going the hard way.

So the guide picks me up at 2 am. That’s right 2 am. The idea is to reach the top in time to watch the sunrise. Yes, the sunrise would be super but considering it is the wet season the likelihood is not so great. And everyone gets picked up at 2 am regardless of ability. I was thinking that since I am alone the going would be a bit faster and we could leave a bit later but who am I to protest? Nobody. One thing you will discover here is that catching the sunrise is of fucking paramount importance. Not attempting to do so makes you a douchbag….even during the wet season….when your chances are smack dab in the middle of slim and nuh-uh.

Mt. Batur - Part One (Bali, Indonesia)

For an updated version of this post, go here.

Another day, another volcano. This time it is Mt. Batur, an active volcano on the northeast corner of the island. The current volcano is actually at the center of two much larger, older concentric calderas. From the air (i.e. aerial shot) it is possible to appreciate just how massive the older volcanoes actually were. The lake of the same name is located within the boundary of the biggest. In comparison Mt. Batur is just a little guy (or girl if you wish). I cannot fathom the type of geological event that gave birth to its ancestors. Welcome to Indonesia and its portion of the Pacific Ring of Fire.

A government organization controls all guided trekking on the mountain. If you hire a guide he/she must be a member of this organization. From what I have read some of its members can become a little ‘old school Sicilian’ with those wishing to make the hike sans guide. Apparently, they can show up at your hotel, wait by the trail to see if you are guideless, or even threaten people who refuse to hire a guide. I am not sure what they threaten you with as causing bodily injury would ensure no need for their services.

Mt. Batur Part Deux (Bali, Indonesia)

For an updated version of this post, go here.

January 31^st, 2009 - I woke up this morning, took a look outside, saw the mountain was free of cloud cover and decided to give the volcano another shot, this time solo. I was a little concerned that I might encounter an angry mob of Balinese guides with torches and pitchforks demanding I hire one of them but it did not come to pass, thankfully.  Although I encountered two groups coming down as I was going up neither of the guides said a word.

Nyoman suggested a place away from the guide office to start the trek and that I should tell any discontents that I had already paid for a volcano tour the previous morning. Luckily, I had no problem. This was a great decision on my part and one of the best mornings I’ve had in a long time. As it turned out I had the volcano to myself. There was a woman near the top selling drinks and small snacks but besides her it was just I (unless you count the local monkey troop and the adorable doggy). And the views were excellent as the pictures will attest. I did have a minor standoff with Curious George and his crew but after a few threatening waves of a stick and some harsh language the tension dissipated.