EVERYBODY LOVES A PARADE

SHE MARRIED FOR LOVE

Dayu preparing Ikan Pepes (spiced fish steamed in banana leaves)

When we were looking for a cook, Agung (our back-up driver) referred us his niece Dayu, a cook with extensive experience working in villas. We immediately liked her goodnatured intelligence and confidence. She turned out to be a gift from the island's culinary gods. Licking my childhood-food-deprived lips, I immediately started listing all the foods I remembered growing up. Some dishes she was familiar with, others were specialties from different islands or regions that I had to look up on the internet. My mother was from northern Sulawesi, my father's family was from Java (more specifically from Jakarta), and we lived in Kalimantan Timur (Borneo), so I grew up with a variety of tastes. Dayu's cooking, however, turned out to be almost overwhelmingly Balinese. When I learned that she had had Kolak Ubi (a sweet potato dish) for breakfast that morning, I begged her to cook it for me, remembering the soupy soft dish my Auntie Nini used to make. Well, I learned that Balinese Kolak is not exactly Jakarta Kolak. Or should I say, Auntie Nini Kolak? The dish I was presented with was carmelized sweet potato. Still good, but not as good.

One day I pulled a recipe for Bubur Manado from the internet. God, I used to love that. Dayu followed it perfectly, yet it came out more like Bubur Bali than Bubur Manado. Same with Western foods. If for instance you're in the mood for a hearty vegetable soup with big chunks of carrots, potatoes, tomatoes, onions, etc., don't be surprised if you get a delicate soup with aromatic spices and vegetables cut in exquisitely tiny pieces. Thus, every meal Dayu prepares becomes an adventure in Fusion cuisine. Phil's digestive tract is still adjusting.

Dayu's other gifts came out soon after we hired her: Here's a woman who loves to organize. She gave the kitchen a thorough cleaning, wiping grooves and corners that Charlie and Peter never even knew existed, and organized the appliances, pots, pans and pantry. But the best part of all: She has gone through my box of months-old stashed receipts and categorized them so I can make sense of it all! Whoohoo! No more bookkeeping chores for me. In a brilliant move on my part I raised Dayu's position to Villa Manager.

Okay, before I tell you her love story you must know something about Bali's caste system. Unlike the caste system in India with its sad class of Untouchables, Bali's seems to be more of a tribal and linguistic way of identification. Still, it's there and the rules are to be obeyed.

Dayu 's family belongs to the Brahman or Priest caste, the highest of Bali's four castes. Ketut, her handsome lover, is of the Sudra caste, the lowest. Shades of Romeo and Juliet... A man can marry down, but not up. Ketut is not even allowed to ASK the parents for Dayu's hand. The only acceptable way is to kidnap the bride and keep her safe from being returned to her parents. Since Ketut's family lives on the island of Lombok, he called Dayu late at night, hoping to lure her out of her parents' house to the harbor where they could take a ferry to Lombok. Unfortunately, Dayu was so sound asleep that she did not hear her cell phone. It wasn't until she woke up at 4:00 AM that she noticed his frantic messages. She quickly bundled some clothes up and snuck off before anyone else woke up. Once safe in Lombok, they wrote a formal letter to Dayu's family declaring their intent to marry. There were some other complications, but eventually the wedding took place and Dayu forfeited her high caste status and name. A Sudra now, she should be called Made (Mah-deh) instead of Dayu. But since she married for love, she'll always be Dayu to us.

A month after she started working for us, Dayu learned she was pregnant. Fortunately she is not plagued by morning sickness (what a blessing), but another concern has popped up. In Bali a wedding is not just a simple one-day affair. There's lots of protocol. Since Dayu married in Lombok, another wedding must be held in her parents' house. And with a baby on the way, the wedding must be held as soon as possible. No, not for moral reasons. It's to appease the ancestors who otherwise might make trouble for the baby or the mother.

But weddings are expensive and Ketut doesn't have any money. Well, when does a Balinese EVER have ANY money? These lovely ceremonies actually eat the families alive. There are reports of young people fleeing from their culture and religion just to survive. I don't blame them. I can hardly stand one hour a week in church. Here they have ceremonies all the time, one after another. Out of 30 days of the month, Balinese spend 10 days in ceremonies, more if you're of the Priest class. I'm a wimp, I could never last. Just in the hour that I've been sitting here writing, I've watched 6 big trucks pass by, filled to the brim with men in their white temple gear, going where? ... the beach more likely for another ceremony. No wonder people like to hire Javanese workers.

Anyway, there it is, Dayu needs money for a wedding and the least we can do is loan her the money. Hopefully I'll come out with some good pictures and maybe a video to share.

THE JOY OF HAVING STAFF

Charlie in his typical Charlie pose

Charlie is the brightest, funniest, and most endearing of our staff. Only 19, he plays in his village gamelan orchestra, carves wood, swims and runs, dances the salsa, yelps when he laughs, has friends everywhere, loves cool clothing, loves everything American, and is presently obsessed with getting a Blackberry which costs a fortune in Indonesia.

Phil feels especially close to him and the two of them have created a peculiar way of communicating. I don’t know how it started but this is how it goes:

Phil to Charlie: Do you know where Charlie is? Is he working or watching TV? Or is he sleeping again?

Charlie: Ya, Charlie. So sorry he likes to sleeping. And TV. But maybe he go out with girlfriend now.

Phil: Not again. When you see him will you tell him that we saw him on his motorbike this morning and he was NOT wearing his helmet.

Charlie: What? He no wear helmet? I tell him already: Charlie, if no wear helmet you pay 10.000 rupiah ($1) to Dr. Phil.

Phil: Does he forget to put on his helmet because he gets too excited about seeing his girlfriend?

Charlie: Maybe ya. Maybe he think Ibu (that’s me, Elsha) say only 5.000 rupiah (50 cents).

Phil: Please tell Charlie that Ibu and I care about him a lot. We want him to stay healthy and safe.

Charlie: Ya, later I tell. Maybe when finis TV.


FAMILY VALUES

Charlie asked us for a loan to remodel his family’s house. The roof has caved in and when it rains there is not a dry place in the house. Father, mother and four kids live in two small rooms. He wants to build a new roof and make 4 bedrooms with 4 doors. All it will take is Rp. 15.000.000 ($1,500). We can withhold part of his salary each month until it’s paid off. We’re happy to help. We suggest that he sleep in the villa’s staff quarters for the time being. He wants to think it over.

The next day he tells me that he will not accept our offer because: “When everybody wet, I want also wet. When everybody hot, I want also hot.”

When I give Charlie the money for his house I tell him to go home and deliver it to his father. His father was in the middle of lunch but dropped everything to buy the materials needed to get started immediately. No building plans are necessary, no permits, you just build.

A week later there is a heavy rainstorm at night with lots of thunder and lightning. We’re dry and snug in our bed but the work has not even been started on Charlie’s house. I think about how he collects our newspapers and plastic bags every day to plug up the holes in the roof with. I have a hard time sleeping knowing that Charlie is bailing water out of his house throughout the night.

Instead of having him pay off the loan, we open a savings account for Charlie where he can deposit his monthly withholding. The money is for his education only and cannot be withdrawn without the addition of Phil’s signature. We do the same for Peter to whom we had lent money earlier for buying a good motorbike. On his days off Peter drives home to Singaraja, a 3 hour drive north through the mountains. I pray for the boy's safety.


OTHER STAFF

We were told that sooner or later every expat would experience problems with staff. I thought surely we would be exempt because we treat them well, pay them well, and include them in a lot of fun. Our driver Denny, who we loved and nicknamed Obama, would tell everyone what great bosses we were and how lucky the staff was. So it was very sad to come to the decision to let him go.

Too bad too. It deprived me of some fun. I liked calling him from a crowded place and yell into the phone, “Hello, Obama! Yes I’m finished. Come pick me up now, Obama! I don’t care if you’re in the middle of the banking crisis.” You don’t think I was laying it on too thick, do you?

He found a job in Australia, he said, but he was recently sighted driving tourists around Singaraja.

Before we moved into our villa Pak Regug worked there as security guard for the owner’s art collection. We had nothing of value to protect other than our laptop, so I did not hire him. We kept Charlie on for housekeeping and Peter for gardening. And when we developed a problem with the pool, we hired Toni to fix it and clean it 3 times a week. We were quite happy with our staff.

One day, Pak Regug came over to warn us that the villa across the rice fields had been burglarized. He would be happy to provide our villa with his security services again. He would come in at 7:00 PM and stay till 7:00 AM. In between he would do the rounds and check this area and that area at such and such time.

“When will you sleep?” I asked, knowing that he also farms the rice fields next door.

“I don’t need much sleep.” He said.

Yeah right! And you don’t eat rice either.

I did not know if his burglary story was true or if it was conveniently imagined to get his job back. By now I do know that the Balinese are quite facile with their stories. I also know that it’s best to keep good relations with the community or life can be made quite unpleasant for expats. So, just in case this was a veiled “threat” I decided to hire him at a minimum wage. He made it quite clear that that was unacceptable. We compromised. I told him that I expect him to stay awake. No problem, he said. Oh sure. He would be fast asleep, curled up on the bale by the pool, before we would even go to bed. Twenty burglars in heavy boots could step over him without waking him up. I told him that people pay money to sleep here. I will have to charge him for every night he sleeps. If I didn’t know that he needs to come up with Rp. 3.000.000 ($300) this month for his temple’s big anniversary ceremony, I would have fired him right away.

HOW TO GET THINGS DONE

OUR INTERNET SAGA

We need a phone line to connect to the internet. Telkom, the state telephone company, says it does not have enough numbers. Our neighbor Remco finds someone who needs money and has a telephone number for sale. We share the cost of Rp. 3.000.000 ($300). After much back & forth Telkom says, Okay, we’ll connect you. The line is supposed to be installed in our villa, but when the Telkom technician finally arrives (after days of futile waiting), Remco’s staff directs him to Remco’s house instead and the box is installed there. No problem. We buy a long internet cable, plug one end into Remco's laptop, stretch it across the yard that separates our houses, and plug the other end into our laptop. Small obstacle: If Remco turns off his computer we won't have access to the internet. He needs to keep his laptop on at all times. All is well until Remco falls in love with Ayu and rents a villa in Padang Bai, an hour's drive away from Ubud. He’s moving in three weeks. What to do with the phone line? Back to Telkom where the clerk in Customer Service tries to be helpful. It will cost Rp. 400.000 ($40) to move the line to your villa, she says. The technician will be here this Friday. That afternoon we call the technician to find out what time on Friday we can expect him. He says he’s not coming. Oh, why not? Because our line is bad, he says. Excuse me? It’s been working just fine. No, he says, It’s bad. Hmm... that must be code for Give Me Money. I decide to give our electrician a call. Pak Wayan (not his real name to protect him) is the only electrician I trust because he was trained by an American and I’ve seen the work he has done. Definitely professional. He also does plumbing.
“Pak Wayan,” I say, “I know that you know how to tap into a phone line.”
“It will get me into trouble with Telkom” he says.
“I don’t want you to get into any trouble with Telkom,” I say, “But I also know that you know how not to get into trouble with Telkom.”
“I’ll be there next week.” He says.
Within two days we have a landline and internet and wifi.


TELEVISION

Since the television in Kubu Merta belongs to the villa, we need to buy our own TV for Kubu Santi. From previous shopping experiences I know that the moment a shopkeeper sees me walk in the door he raises his prices. I may look Indonesian, but not really. And as soon as I open my mouth, they know I’m a mark. So I ask Pak Wayan to buy us a TV. He gets one at the local price, I give him a commission, and everyone’s happy.

However, there’s one more step. The television cable and parabola are still at Kubu Merta and need to be moved to where we live now, to Kubu Santi, a distance of about 150 feet. Indovision, the state company that installed it, is not answering their phones or emails. For weeks we try to contact them to no avail.

One day we're visiting with our neighbor Herman across the driveway and it occurs to me to ask him if he has a friend at Indovision. Well, he does not know anyone who works there, but he does know a guy who knows something about cable television. “Are you home tomorrow?” Herman asks.
The next night Phil and I watch a movie on HBO.

BALI BIZARRE

Back in June we had a mysterious invasion of strangers. Phil and I were having a leisurely breakfast when we heard a car pull up. Thinking it was someone delivering materials for the construction next door, we did not pay attention. Our parking area is often used for turning the trucks around. But this time we hear a car stop and park. We’re not expecting any visitors, so who can it be? Curious, we walk to the front and see a rickety old van carrying a bunch of people. The doors open and nine people pour out of the car. Talking loudly among themselves they stride toward us as if we had invited them over for a party. Yes, nine of them, dressed alike in crisp blue and black-patterned rayon shirts over black skirts or pants. The women in high heels. Phil and I are puzzled. We don’t know any of them. Who the hell are they and what are they doing here? They’re gathered in the entrance, darkening the lobby. They carry official-looking folders and speak to us simultaneously in rapid Indonesian of which I can only derive that they are from some government office in the Gianyar region and that it involves some kind of permit. Nobody speaks English and no, they did not come to the wrong address. Hmm, nine people from the same office drive 30 minutes to our villa to okay a permit? A permit for what? They don’t say. We’re completely flummoxed. I’m beginning to feel beleaguered. I remind myself that when it comes to dealing with the government I better play nice. I should offer them something. How about some water? They decline. I insist. No, no, they brought their own water. Juice? Cookies? No juice or cookies either. Okay then, no bribing them with sweets. We’re at an impasse. Nobody can tell us what the permit is for and we don’t understand why they’re here. Two of the men give up and go outside for a smoke. The others circle around and hold a conference. Reaching a decision they open their folders and start filling out their documents. Watching them is a funny Alice-in-Wonderland kind of feeling. What are they writing? What are we being approved or not approved for? This is crazy. I make one more stab at understanding what is going on and ask if they need to see the villa, walk through the property. Do they need to know how many bedrooms we have? Or check out the kitchen facilities? No, no need. They continue filling out their mysterious forms. When they’re finally finished they take their leave. The two men outside squish out their cigarettes and all nine of them fold themselves back into the sardine can of a van and wave goodbye. Phil and I just look at each other. What was that about? Until now we have no idea.

THE BALINESE CALENDAR

If you want to know why living in Bali can be so confusing, consider this explanation of the Balinese calendar system:

The 210-day pawukon calendar provides the reference system for most of the religious ceremonies in Bali: market days, personal anniversaries, and the good or bad days for doing special tasks. A single 210 day cycle since no record is kept of successive cycles nor the numbed. They just pass by. During the 210 day can then weeks each of a different length, run there is a week that is only one day long, one that has two days, one that has that long, and so on up to the longest 10-day week. Each of the 10 different length weeks has a Sanskrit - derived Balinese name based upon the number of days that it contains. Thus Triware is the 3-day week and Saptaware is exactly like 7 days week. And each separate day of each of the ten different weeks has its own name, making a total of 1+2+3…10-55 separate weekday names. Actually, however, the one-day week does not have the same name every day. On some days it has no name at all. (From: www.darmabali.com/.../Balinese-calender.html)

KUBU SANTI

As if our 4-bedroom Villa Kubu Merta was not enough, last month we moved into a newly-finished one-bedroom cottage next door, named Kubu Santi (House of Peace, also the names of the owner’s wife and youngest daughter).

So what are we doing with two houses in Bali, two gardens, a swimming pool, art gallery, restaurant, gazebo, meditation tower, and a staff of six? You thought we left Hawaii to live the simple life in Bali, right? Yeah, notwithstanding our cable TV, internet, and wifi (we finally did get all the western amenities – read about our internet saga above), we are living the simple life. But let me tell you, letting go of the addiction to do everything myself is not easy. I still catch myself thinking, Oh, I should tell Dayu to use the small bowls. Or, I should at least rinse the dishes in the sink instead of leaving them for Peter to wash after he’s done with watering the plants. Or, I need to go to Telkom to pay the bill, instead of simply sending Charlie on his motorbike. Hah! You think it’s easy to do nothing?

But back to the question of what we are doing with 2 houses. Kubu Merta is a grand villa, built to accommodate guests, but not very conducive for family living. The dining room is in a different building from the bedroom. The lobby/art gallery is open and public, not a comfortable livingroom to hang out in in your grungies, and having staff around 24/7 does not give us much privacy.

Sharing the same (very long) driveway as Kubu Merta, Kubu Santi was in the last stages of being finished. One day, out of curiosity I looked inside and was instantly taken with its open design and delightful simplicity. When I had the chance to talk with Komang, the owner, I asked how much he was planning to rent it for. The price was so low I flipped out. Even so, I’ve been here long enough not to pass up a chance to bargain and managed to get the price down even lower. I’m heartless, you say? No worry, Komang is happy. The cost of building a house here is so ridiculously low that our 2-year lease already covers half of his construction. To give you an idea: you can build 2 houses for the price of a car. So even though we had not planned to lease another house, this opened up other and better possibilities. All four bedroom suites in Villa Kubu Merta are now available for guests, we have the privacy we need, and we're close enough to keep an eye on everything. Already we've benefited from the August peak tourist season. And we LOVE living in our private nest. Come visit us.