Christianity QA » Islam Christianity » Good & cheap place to stay at Bali??
Question:
In article There are two or three more parts to this
adventure and if anyone s interested I will post them — ward More, more! This story is hilarious – the descriptions are so real one could be convinced that you’ve actually BEEN to this
place! That’s clearly impossible, of course; no one who’s really been
to Indonesia could *so completely* miss its subtle appeal. To maintain such consistent dissatisfaction and distain for Java and the
Javanese makes even Paul Theroux sound pollyannaish! Please post your whole series – I’m especially
interested to hear about your experiences in Bali – "tough going", eh?
Like tepid bath water and no T.V. in the room? Ah, the diversity of human experience! -Steve
Any chance of posting this to me please? I’ve obviously missed it. Thanks Adrian
Response:
We made it to Indonesia and survived! Bali was tough going but Java, Jakarta and Jogjakarta were pure hell complete with running open sewers. Reeking of Feces; swirling with flies; pullulating with beggars, hustlers, cut-purses and pickpockets of every noisome degree of depravity. Dirt and disorder everywhere. All the public streets and markets were as crowded and chaotic as the stateroom in the Marx Brother"s film.
Hahahahahahahahahah..ohpleasestopityou’rekillingme..hahahahahah What? There’s more? Jeez I don’t think I could take a whole series of these, the laughter would kill me for sure. Actually Ward, you can keep posting these diaries of your "trip" to Indonesia if you like. I’ll just read a little bit at a time, maybe I’ll only be seriously injured from LAUGHING SO HARD! What makes these so delightful is your ability to really make us *see* the spectacle of "Ward and George" wandering around Indonesia turning up their noses at everyone and everything they see. The one that really brought it home for me was your note regarding "the one person we met in Java whom we would ever want to see again." I’ve been many times to Java (and other parts of the country), and on EVERY trip, I make so many new friends – I still can’t believe how easy it is. And every one of them, I would definitely be happy to see again. Indonesians are the friendliest people on this planet, as far as I’ve seen. Tell us more about your "trip" Ward. About the "disgusting" street food (delicious!), about the filthy habits of the natives, the shoddy workmanship and all the rest. Fill our day with laughter, for while you may have gone to Indonesia, you certainly haven’t been there. — This story is true. The names of the stupid have not been changed.
Response:
There are two or three more parts to this adventure and if anyone s interested I will post them — ward
More, more! This story is hilarious – the descriptions are so real one could be convinced that you’ve actually BEEN to this place! That’s clearly impossible, of course; no one who’s really been to Indonesia could *so completely* miss its subtle appeal. To maintain such consistent dissatisfaction and distain for Java and the Javanese makes even Paul Theroux sound pollyannaish! Please post your whole series – I’m especially interested to hear about your experiences in Bali – "tough going", eh? Like tepid bath water and no T.V. in the room? Ah, the diversity of human experience! -Steve
Response:
Ward And George visit Bali part two Nearby was the ruin of the eighteenth century palace of a prior regnancy. It had been built on, in, under and around an artificial lake and a moat, now dry. Called the Taran Sarai, (Water Palace), it had been destroyed by earthquake and volcanic ash fall some time near the turn of the eighteenth century and had been abandoned. It was altogether more ambitious in scale and, from what might be deduced from the remnants, measurelessly more felicitous in architecture and ornamentation. Amid these Piranesi-esque ruins a small city of artisans and a public market specializing in rackety birds had been built and then partially cleared away so that the remnants of the palace might be seen. A splendid sight. In Jogya we did see a performance of part of the Ramayana Ballet. It was entirely wonderful and the dancers and costumes were glorious. Unhappily it was being attended by only a handful of tourists. This is Muslim territory and one must remember that Rama and Sita and all the gaudy rest are Gods and anathema to Islam. In Bali the same sort of performances were done before packed houses with all the unsold spaces filled with locals taking great pleasure. A few miles out of Jogya are the restored ruins of an unbelievably vast Buddhist stupa called Borobodur and a slightly less ancient Hindu temple, called Prambanan, of soaring, startling beauty. – Climbing and puffing around these buildings; one could not escape the observation that one of the great blessings of European architecture has been the idea that in a flight of steps all the risers and treads should be uniform, or at least harmonious, in size. A freestyle approach to steps is found here in modern and ancient buildings alike and does not accept arthritis or bifocals with grace. Descending a series of risers ranging randomly from twelve to eighteen inches in height yanks every muscle attachment, sinew and tendon to the max. Finding that the last step is of only 2 inches will then rattle your vertebrae like cast dice. Chiropractic heaven! During our few days in Java we met only one person we would ever wish to see again. She was the proprietress of a tiny, two table, restaurant. The food was the usual stuff but was unaccountably delicious and the woman was civil and evidently pleased with her uniquely clean establishment. It developed that she and her family were survivors of the terrible anti-Chinese pogroms back in the sixties. The remnants of the Chinese community have been required to conform their names to the Indonesian standard, display no Chinese pictographs on their places of business and eat, at least in public, with forks and spoons or their fingers. When we had the temerity to leave behind a fifty cent tip this good lady came chasing after us on the street to return our money. Distracted by Vietnam and our own paranoia about Communism and the Chinese Mainland we averted out eyes while Sukarno"s government and these gentle smiling people slaughtered uncounted hundreds of thousands of their brightest and best citizens. The analogy to the expulsion and slaughter of the Jews of Spain springs to mind and it is clear to me that, without someone to plan for the future and think of the present, the country is running with wet spark-plugs and will perhaps share the dismal fate of Spain, which went on to silly ventures. The Armada and the Inquisition, the tragic conquest of South America, and half a millennium of poverty and disorder. It was explained that the Chinese owned all the business and controlled all the banks and all the money and so on. Where have we heard this before? Poland and the USSR are sinking, perhaps, in part, as a result of the same hideous folly. I must admit that the Germans seem to be rising above it. Perhaps it is punishment enough just being German. Back to Jakarta, where we never left the aerodrome, and on to Bali! Bali was entirely a mixed bag, almost as smoky and dirty as Java but filled with the most graceful and comely people imaginable. They have avoided the stifling monotheism of the covenant of Abraham and the gruesome and iconoclastic crusades of Islam and Christianity. They continue, for the now, to cheerfully worship anything which will stand still. Our hotels were littered with tiny squares of banana leaf with a few grains of rice on them and with little leaf trays of flowers. These were to be seen in front of every home, every place of business, every old tree and almost any large rock along the wayside. There are three major possible visitor destinations on Bali, Sanur, has luxury hotels but the town is shut off from the rest of the world by a gate and a guard. I am never able to view such a structure without feeling that it is me that they are seeking to exclude. We were told that in the resort hotels of Sanur, gift shops and hired performers bring Bali to the guests so that they never have to struggle into Bali to see Bali. It is brought to them on wool carpeting, air conditioned and sanitized. We gave Sanur the pass. The next is something called Kuta. We visited there for an hour and came away, like Lot and his missus, without a backward glance. We were told that Kuta is the Waikiki of Bali. This is a gross canard on Waikiki. Kuta was filled with exceedingly gloomy Germans and frenetic Australians fleeing winter down under. Every visible inch of the shop fronts was devoted to the hectic peddling of slimpsy goods of all kinds. The beach was narrow and dirty and filled with gruesome folk, The female of the species were, many of them, sunning themselves without the mercy of a concealing bustier. In some odd way this bimboizing was nastily discordant compared with the matter of fact display of the bosoms of the Balinese in rural precincts. Hawkers and peddlers swooped and shrieked like gulls over a garbage scow. The water was a drab grey, not at all the turquoise and cerulean we have become accustomed to in Hawaii. The Aussies were as the Gadarene Swine meeting the sea. We fled. Ubud was our choice. It is at an elevation of about a thousand feet and, although we were on the Equator and the days were warm, the nights were cool and we slept, without air-conditioning, under light blankets. It was explained to us that July is winter in Australia and that cool air sweeping from down under is the reason for Bali"s temperate climate. This sounds a pleasing theory and may even be true. Our hotel, there in Ubud, was of a peculiarity. It was counted as one of the best in town and cost thirty dollars a night for the two of us. It was built on the model of the home of a wealthy and important person and consisted of a series of beautifully carved and ornamented stone and brick pavilions with thatched roofs. These were scattered in a lovely garden. The garden gave access to a glorious acre of lotus pond and a temple. In the garden were a small army of fighting chickens, each in a wicker cage, each singing loudly. These nasty foul were doted on by their owners who were to be seen at all hours of the day and evening carrying them around the town under their arms and talking to them, presumably words of encouragement. They were silent only at night. (And, T.G., in the stew pot.) More will follow —
Response:
Ward & George 2085 Ala Wai Honolulu 1991 Shaloha Friends – We made it to Indonesia and survived! Bali was tough going but Java, Jakarta and Jogjakarta were pure hell complete with running open sewers. Reeking of Feces; swirling with flies; pullulating with beggars, hustlers, cut-purses and pickpockets of every noisome degree of depravity. Dirt and disorder everywhere. All the public streets and markets were as crowded and chaotic as the stateroom in the Marx Brother"s film. We have gradually fallen into the middle-class misconception that takes as an article of faith the notion that the nearer human beings come to some sort of eighteenth century approximation of "noble savage," the more they will be in harmony with nature and appreciative of Gaia and all that muffle-headed malarkey at the root of our liberal delusions. Basta! These people charge ahead with a palpable contempt for the land and anything in or on it. They strew filth and bio-indestructible plastic about them with such abandon as to make Coney Island on a July Sunday look like the balaboss’ kitchen. A choking toxic fog fills the air as they try to burn this sodden rubbish in little smudges in every gutter. The only thing not floating in the open sewers are condoms. They are breeding like bunnies and fouling their nests and if asked would probably blame it on the Israelis. If what comes out of the back of your vehicle is not actually aflame no-one pays any attention. There are virtually no sidewalks in Jakarta and those that one finds are covered with little filthy food stands running grease down into the dusty streets. To finish off the quality of the ambient gasses, (one hesitates to call it air) the locals incessantly smoke hideous cigarettes laced with cloves. (up to one third by weight) This sounds as if it should be aromatic and pleasing; actually, it smells like they"re smoking feathers! The cloves anaesthetize the cough reflex and conceal the damage being done. (oil of cloves is old-fashioned tooth ache drops) The result is that if you don"t soon light up another of these poisonous coffin nails you will cough to the point of hemorrhage. Desperate hoiking and yoiking and gasping and garfeling are everywhere, part of the background music. In these foetid streets there swarm bizarre and disintegrating vehicles of every ramshackle description. Since it is literally not possible to walk more than a few hundred feet in any direction everyone rides in some sort of conveyance. Most of them are driven by infernal combustion but many are hitched to miserable little ponies with the general rickety wretchedness of wet dogs. The balance were rickshaws of one kind or another wherein the poorest of the poor draw one another about in the littered and greasy streets. They drive with fiendish push and bland unconcern for life and limb — all is Kismet — if your number is up God will take you and if not, nothing can harm you. No one seems to have thought of Ben Franklin"s tonic dictum that perhaps, "God helps them that helps themselves." This mischief is done to a steady katzenjammer of horn-blowing and further is done on the left side of the road at high speed. We did see, in Jakarta, the last really major wind ship harbor in the world. There were miles of extraordinary Bugis schooners moored at stone piers with their bowsprits soaring overhead. These ancient and creaking vessels have, for centuries, followed the trades from Madagascar to Irian Jaya and then back on a year long trip. They were being unloaded, mostly of teak lumber, by an army of barefoot lascars bringing the timber out a few lengths at a time and walking it down narrow log gangplanks and over broken stoneyards into stacks. The ships were being reloaded, again on peoples backs, with sacks of cement and refrigerators and cases of Pepsi-Cola and ivory and apes and indeed, every other imaginable item of commerce. All this was to be found after traversing a neighborhood which, according to our guidebook had been condemned by the Dutch in 18O9 due to "unsanitary conditions." It was sold to Chinese traders who are still here along with the rats. Barely pausing to try to draw breath, we fled the reeking chaos of Jakarta. This flight was accomplished by rail, very comfortably ensconced in "Air Conditioned Class." We rode through green and fertile country cultivated with astonishing intensity. It seemed as if all the hillsides had been terraced into irrigable fields, some as small as two square yards. The local climate allows for three crops of rice a year and it was being grown everywhere by dint of back-breaking labor. Although a third world poverty was the economic note there did seem to be abundant food. We rode for some twelve hours through green and pleasant country with occasional glimpses of volcanos as majestic and symmetrical as Fuji. This trip, of about six hundred miles, cost about fifteen dollars and meals were provided. This pleasant journey brought us to Jogjakarta where all the travel writers promised artistic treats and perfumed delights. All that was wonderful in Java was, we were told, to be found there in the ancient capital and in the historic locales of graceful Jogya. If you should ever be tempted to follow in our foot steps do not believe one word in any of the guide books! Jogya is just as shitty as any part of Java. (Or, indeed, of the world!) We ate twice, gratefully, at Kentucky Fried Chicken so you may imagine what the food was like. Again, the few broken sidewalks were covered with vile little food stands. One of the local specialties at these stands seemed to be a barbecue of chicken heads standing out all day under a blanket of flies to be served out on a bed of gritty looking rice. George wouldn"t even look. The only good thing to be said about them was that most of the feathers seemed to have been burned off. We visited the dusty palace of the Sultan (Intensely touted by the travel writers!) and found a series of gaudy sheds looking rather like a neglected mid nineteenth century railway terminal decorated by Disney and littered with Victorian tall clocks. Frowsy glass cases held half melted wax replicas of royal personages decked out in their moth-eaten finery. We followed past panoramas and photographs of these same ineffably greasy royals first murdering each other and then collaborating with the Dutch, then with the Japanese and finally again with the Dutch. They had been immortalized in hideous, enormous oil paintings, badly framed. These had been executed, fortunately, on what looked to be window-shade cloth and were hanging in dusty tatters. (Time as art critic!) We came at last to a display of the personal effects of the penultimate sultan, dead less than a decade, and passed through a room full of boots and suits, chipped crockery, a shoe horn, some rather grubby hairbrushes, a small kerosene stove and some kitchen tackle. I asked the charming and uninformative guide if she felt herself improved by looking on this rummage. She admitted that she did not but suggested that I was missing the point. "You must understand — this is a museum." The woman was rather like fudge, sweet and dense. Nearby was the ruin of the eighteenth century palace of a prior regnancy. It had been built on, in, under and around an artificial lake and a moat, now dry. Called the Taran Sarai, (Water Palace), it had been destroyed by earthquake and volcanic ash fall some time near the turn of the eighteenth century and had been abandoned. It was altogether more ambitious in scale and, from what might be deduced from the remnants, measurelessly more felicitous in architecture and ornamentation. Amid these Piranesi-esque ruins a small city of artisans and a public market specializing in rackety birds had been built and then partially cleared away so that the remnants of the palace might be seen. A splendid sight. There are two or three more parts to this adventure and if anyone s interested I will post them — ward
Response:
I will go to Indonesia in September and start my journey at Bali. Does anyone have a suggestion of a good and cheap place to stay as I arrive at Denpassar? I don’t have a precise idea yet about which place / village at Bali, but I would like to be near the coast,as i will continue my trip by going to Surabaya and then on through Jawa, to Sumatra.
Response:
I will go to Indonesia in September and start my journey at Bali. Does anyone have a suggestion of a good and cheap place to stay as I arrive at Denpassar? I don’t have a precise idea yet about which place / village at Bali, but I would like to be near the coast,as i will continue my trip by going to Surabaya and then on through Jawa, to Sumatra.
Hi, below is a snippet from the BALI FAQ, and points to two of many WWW sites that are out there with info about Bali. The URL’s are listed, with a very brief overview. The FAQ is also available from those WWW sites. Hope you have an excellent trip… Bali: The OnLine Travel Guide WWW site. This WWW site written by Wayne Reid is provided as a resource for travellers intending to visit Bali. Included are maps, photographs, sounds and descriptions of the region, as well as details about finding accommodation, travelling around and prices. Health issues are also described more thoroughly than in the FAQ. <URL: http://werple.net.au/~wreid/ Bali Online WWW site. Eka Ginting is assembling a comprehensive WWW document that provides information about Bali. Eka’s pages contain valuable information describing Balinese culture, and list many events including ceremonies and temple festivals. There are also listings of hotels, including phone numbers etc. This site should be visited prior to making a visit to Bali so that you can be sure of experiencing the best festive occasions while you are there. <URL: http://www.indo.com
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