Once Phil and I decided to leave Bali (a bittersweet decision on my part) to return to Hawaii, everything instantly shifted into warp speed. It took less than a week for the right people to show up who were willing and able to rent not only Villa Kubu Merta Guesthouse, but also Kubu Santi, the little bungalow next door where we lived. That same week, through the internet, we also found a charming little condo in Waikiki for us to move into immediately upon arrival. It’s in the quiet part of Waikiki, close to the beach and across the street from Honolulu’s beloved Kapiolani Park. Both these happenings we consider pure miracles and spectacular gifts! They allowed us to leave much sooner than expected and with a strong sense of confidence. Surely we were being guided.
Our China Air flight would leave at 2:30 AM on March 16, a few hours before all of Bali would close down for Nyepi, Bali’s extraordinary New Year’s Day observation. Would you believe that everything comes to a total standstill at 6:00 AM sharp that morning and remains that way for the next 24 hours? Kind of like a 24-hour Sleeping Beauty period. What that means is that no traffic is allowed on the streets: no cars, no trucks, no motorbikes, no pedestrians, and… no airplanes flying in and out either. Imagine an international world airport shutting down for 24 hours to observe silence and inner peace! New Year’s Day in Bali is a time for going inward, for reflection and silent meditation. No lights, no fires, no cooking, no TV, no radio, no loud noises are allowed. Wouldn’t that be a great idea for the whole world? Set aside 24 hours for being still. Think of how much we would save on power. Not just one hour on Earth Day, but a full day! And oh… the quiet…
We had to be at the airport at 12:30 AM to check in. Ordinarily the drive takes an hour and 15 minutes, so we planned to leave Ubud at 11:00 PM the night before. Because that would be New Year’s Eve, however, the drive might take us a bit longer. No big deal, right? But already, for weeks before the date of our departure, our driver Suamba started fretting about it. First he said we should leave at 5:00 PM, before nightfall. Wow, that would mean that we would be at the airport 6 hours before we actually had to be there. It’s not a fancy airport, not much to do but wait. Then he said, No, 5:00 PM is too late. 2:00 PM would be better. Yikes, that’s 9 hours before! Why? DEMONS, that’s why. Demons and dangerous roads.
Just as Balinese New Year is different, their New Year’s Eve is different too. For months every village and every community center has been constructing enormous paper-maché puppets of fierce demons and dreadful monsters, called ogoh-ogoh (I love that word!). By nightfall the streets everywhere would be jam-packed with raucous groups of men (often drunk) carrying these fantastic creatures on large bamboo platforms and parading them through the streets to the local cemeteries for final burning. The puppets, of course, represent all the evil forces and karmic spirits that cause the world’s sufferings. (I have some interesting stories to share for a later post about the Balinese view of evil and their sense of responsibility – or lack thereof.)
The idea behind these New Year’s Eve ogoh-ogoh is to give form to these evil forces, appease them by stuffing them with food and drink, and then to chase them away by burning them. Hopefully, on New Year’s Day, any negative spirits flying over Bali would find nobody outside, no fires, no lights, and no sounds, and decide that the island is uninhabited, and thus not worth the trouble. It’s a glimpse in the typical quirky Balinese mindset. Its magical thinking makes for great theater.
Suamba is a very safe and cautious driver. He wanted to be home before nightfall, before the traffic jams, and before the drunks on the road. That’s why he wanted to take us to the airport so early. Since we did not want him to worry and wished him a safe journey home, we did as he suggested. We arrived at the airport at 4:30 PM with no trouble and then spent a very, very, VERY LONG time waiting in uncomfortable plastic chairs for our flight’s check-in counter to open. Actually, our early airport arrival turned out to be a good thing after all, because toward the end there was a massive convergence onto the airport of people hurrying to catch the last flights out, resulting in long lines of passengers having to wait outside to get through the initial security into the airport. We missed all that. After the hecticness of packing and moving, just sitting and doing nothing is not bad at all. Still, I do not recommend traveling on Balinese New Year’s Eve! Better to stay another day and enjoy the peace and quiet of Nyepi.
We were met at the airport by our daughter Kiki. A great, wonderful, happy reunion, but awfully short. She was on her way out to New York, our porter had loaded our stuff in a cab and wanted to get paid, and the cab driver was ready to take off without us. So it was a quick “Whoohoo, you’re back! Here are the keys, your rental contract, and a list of things you need to know about your apartment. See you when I get back. And oh, by the way, there is no electricity in your place. Call the electric company ASAP.” Oh well, we know about living without power. It’s Ubud all over again. Just like when we first came to Bali, no phone, no car, no TV, no internet. Piece of cake for us seasoned Third World travelers. Funny how periodically life takes us back full circle.
During the taxi ride through Honolulu we marvel at the orderliness of highway traffic, no hordes of darting motorbikes going every which way. We giggle at recognizing familiar exit signs, like Likelike and Pali and Punahou. We’re acting like we’ve been gone for twenty years. Pathetic. But it’s all a thrill, to see the mountains, the ocean, and everything so clean. We’re happy to be back. And when we arrive at our new home, we immediately fall in love with it. It’s secluded in a grove of palm trees. It’s small, but it feels exactly right for what we need now.
Another miraculous gift: our sister-in-law Rhonda happens to be moving back to Texas. Instead of shipping over her household stuff, she decided to bequeath us her sheets, towels, pans, kitchen utensils, and anything else we need to be comfortable. She even stocked our pantry with bread and oatmeal and veggies. The best thing she did? She made up our bed ready for sleep! I managed to unpack two suitcases before collapsing unceremoniously into the beautiful clean bed. Slept for three hours and then stayed awake all night.
We’re using Rhonda’s car until she comes back for it. She has a Mercedes convertible that is so automatic it freaks me out. The lights turn on and off automatically and as soon as it senses rain, it turns on the windshield wipers – intermittently and slow for light rain, faster as it rains harder. It’s like a genie lives under the hood who peers out from under it to check the time and weather conditions. I halfway expect the car to automatically park itself too.
So you see, we’re well taken care of, beyond our expectations. Phil went right into his groove. For someone who does not like to move, he is one amazing old coot. Of course, he’s got me, the dutiful wife who makes sure he has all his comforts. Everywhere he goes, though, he meets people who are overjoyed to see him back, who take him aside, whispering, “Uh, are you seeing patients again? Can I come?” So yeah, he’s got it made. Even his doctors are glad to see him. He’s going to live to be a hundred.
As for me, it’s a different story. As happy as I am being back in Hawaii, close to Kiki and Gary, living in comfort and beauty, something is amiss. For the longest time I didn’t know what it was. I thought at first it was just because I was so exhausted. The year before we left for Bali was super intense, the year in Bali was equally intense in a different way, then Bangkok, and now moving back… it all seems too much, too fast.
Then there is the issue of aging. Nothing like sitting at Queen’s hospital and watching all the geriatric patients file by. Did I come back to Hawaii to become one of them? Auw… As if to ward off any thoughts like that I gear myself up to get back into shape by walking briskly through the park, on the beaches, through the traffic and the trolleys carrying winter-pale or painfully-sunburned tourists around Waikiki. I walk for hours at a time until I think my legs are going to fall off or I need a Häagen-Dazs break. All along I’m wondering, Now what? What the hell is going on with me? Why can’t I just pick up where I left off a year ago? Questions like these make me crave chocolates.
You’ll be so happy to know that I finally did get an answer because now you won’t be subjected to any more of my self-absorbed speculations. The TV show “Dancing with the Stars” did it. It enlightened me. The contestants were talking about how strongly they've bonded and what a great community of friends they’ve become. They live in trailers side by side and run into each other all the time every day. That’s when it hit me. That’s it! I’m lonely.
In Bali we lived in a compound, in a community. We were never alone. There were neighbors all around us and we shared a driveway. People would come over, sit on the lanai, the rice farmers would walk along the irrigation ditch to clear it of debris, the landlord’s wife and daughters stop in to share their food offerings after a ceremony, the gardener comes over for a chat and to water the plants, the pool man wants us to have two of the four sweet potatoes he got at the market for a good price, Charlie comes in to clean the house and shows us a new magic trick he learned, people walk in off the street looking for accommodations, Dayu brings us our lunch and tells us the latest news on her village's celebrations, and on and on. Friends don’t call before visiting; they just come on over. You make sure you always have cookies or fruit available or something to drink. And you know that if you need help with anything, there are plenty of people who gladly help. Got your car stuck in the rice field? Within moments you’ll have a dozen villagers heaving it out. With all the insecurities of living in a Third World country, there’s something infinitely comforting and easy about living in community. I miss it. I miss it acutely.
We now live in another kind of community in another culture, where you do call before visiting. But, guess what? I just found another place, real close by, where people visit with each other without calling beforehand. They share their stories and food. No, it’s not an AA meeting. I’m talking about the members of the Diamond Head Community Garden, right across the street. They garden 116 garden plots, growing everything from flowers to fruits and vegetables. I’ve already tasted some exquisitely fluted Surinam cherries and couldn’t leave without accepting twigs of aromatic basil leaves and an armful of Spanish moss. What a friendly bunch of people! Some of them are our neighbors even. With luck I can become part of this community. Soon I will also rejoin my old group of goofy artist friends. So, I think I’ll be alright. Older and a lot more crotchety maybe, but still alright.
Posts
