Bali !

Ibu Anna's front gate, Singaraja

While I was at home in the States, my Balinese friend Anna Fedora heard I was going to Yndonesia for Christmas and, as she was also going home to Bali for the winter, she insisted that Yudhie and I come to stay with her and her family in Singaraja for as long as we wanted. Had I known what a truly wonderful place Bali is, I would have tried to stay longer. Definitely, next time we will. I wanted to visit her and meet her family, for Ibu Anna—Ibu means ‘Mother’ and in her case it is fitting, but it’s the ordinary formal title of women in Indonesia—is the first Balinese Orthodox Christian in the island, her family is the first to accept Holy Orthodoxy, and the first church is in her family compound. I wanted to see and photograph the Orthodox Christian pura that Ibu and her husband Lawry are constructing at Singaraja.

Gangway to our house at Ibu's

Originally I had wanted to motor across Java from Jakarta and take the ferry to Bali, but Lawry advised against it. The journey would be lengthy and possibly dangerous. Before I departed for Yndonesia, Yudhie booked two round trip tickets for us on Lion Air, so we could fly there. The airport is in Denpasar at the southern tip of the island, which meant that we would need to find a way to get to Singaraja. No problem. Ibu’s son Moda, who lives in South Carolina but came with his mother to Bali, would arrange to carry us to Singaraja by car. The flight took something between three and four hours, and when we arrived we were almost immediately met by Ibu and her family, Titi her daughter, and Moda her son, as well as an old friend and, of course, the driver, for Moda isn’t licensed to drive in Bali.

Garden at Ibu's house

The drive north to Singaraja took us through the mountainous interior of the island, the road curving back and forth on itself wildly a good part of the way, reminding me of some of the roads in Oregon. In fact, but for the tropical foliage of the forest, with all the ferns and tall trees the forests of Bali, and later in our travels, of central Java, the lay of the land was quite reminiscent of the American Pacific Coast rainforests. I thought that our plane would arrive early enough that our road trip would be mostly in daylight hours, but I miscalculated. Though it’s summer down here below the Equator, the days are only just slightly longer, and the sun sets at most half an hour later than usual around the summer solstice. We had the pleasure of driving those winding mountain roads in the cool, starlit night.

Kambing saté

Gado-gado

Soto ayam

Ibu must have thought we were very hungry, us after our long flight, and them, after coming to fetch us home from the airport, so as we began to enter the neighborhood of Singaraja, we stopped the car and entered a rumah makan, an eatery, for some supper. Though the island of Bali is inhabited mostly by people practicing the agama of Hindu Dharma, there is a sizable minority of Muslims. This restaurant was operated by a Muslim family, as we could tell from the beautiful displays of Islamic calligraphy and images of the Muslim holy places that hung tastefully on the walls. That also meant that we would not be served any dishes that contained pork. Dinner was scrumptious—and I was introduced to a meat I had never tasted before—kambing saté, goat skewers. We also had rice, a delicious soto ayam, chicken soup, and a dish that we met everywhere we went, but always a little different, gado-gado.

The outer courtyard with the balé, right

After the meal, we only had a short drive to make for home. I was in suspense because I didn’t know a thing about houses in Bali. I had pictured wall-less grass-roofed arbor-like structures furnished with bamboo chairs and tables, with rattan hammocks hanging from posts. The only film I’d ever seen about Bali is Eat, Pray, Love, where the leading actress stays in a villa in the island that was rather more like an arbor than a house. As we drove through the streets of Singaraja, even though it was night, I could see large buildings and beautiful houses and gardens surrounded by walls. I saw large flood-lit statues where the major streets cross each other, so I thought we must be almost home. Ibu’s house, I was told, is very near such a monument. But our first stop was not home. It was to drop off the old friend first. Her house was a solid masonry house with fancy doors and windows, and a garden surrounded by a high wall.

The stairs descending to the outer courtyard, by day

When we stopped, I thought it was Ibu’s house, and it was a bit of a let down when I realized what was going on. But I recovered quickly and was even more excited than before. Yudhie had never been to Bali either, except to pass through on his way to Java from Sumbawa, an island farther east where he’d lived when he was in high school. We seemed to be driving in circles, but maybe it was only my tired imagination. There was that big statue again. ‘We must be getting close,’ I thought to myself. Then suddenly the car took a sharp turn to the left and we entered a narrow, tree-lined lane, stopping in front of a wrought iron gate in a wall. ‘Everybody out!’ Nobody said anything, but there was a concerted effort to gather our things as we poured out of the doors of the car. It was very dark, but light came from somewhere, street lamps, I think. Ibu opened the gate, and down we went a flight of stairs.

Next… At home in Singaraja