At home in Singaraja

All I could see made me think we had just entered a small village set in gardens. There were stone paths with little paved gutters along one side, following the walls of a row of single storey bungalows as they went around a corner. A motorcycle or two was parked under a tree. The party of people split up, and Ibu led Yudhie and me along the path that turned a corner and stopped at a closed door in the last house in the row. She turned the door handle, opened the double doors and turned on the light—a magnificent, large, high-ceilinged room furnished simply with a pair of bamboo benches, a plant, and a couple of Hindu ikons hanging on the wall. Another room opened off to the right, but I didn’t take it in just then. My eyes were following Ibu’s every move, as she opened another door straight ahead. That door had a key. We entered another room and she turned on the light. ‘This is where you will sleep.’

I couldn’t believe my eyes. This room was also very simply furnished, very Spartan in its detail, with a large probably queen-sized bed, a wardrobe (which was locked), and a table with a mirror above it. The floor had a bamboo rug on one side near a large, unglassed window with ornate ironwork lattice and opened wooden shutters. The light in this room and the first came from a single fluorescent light bulb hanging from a cable in the ceiling. This seemed to be the norm everywhere we went in Yndonesia, from middle class townhouse to peasant cottage, and this comfortable and spacious bungalow somewhere in between. We put down our bags and followed Ibu as she opened yet another door, this one bolted from inside the room. It opened onto a breezeway that joined several ‘houses’ and was separated from an inner courtyard by wire latticework. Just outside our door to the right were the ‘facilities.’

This is where I got my first glimpse of what is normal in Yndonesia for toilet and bath. The bathroom in Yudhie’s apartment is almost American in layout, except for the drain floor. We have a normal toilet except there is a spray nozzle nearby along with the toilet paper roller, and both toilet and shower are in the same room. This is a ‘Western’ bathroom. What our house in Bali had was separate rooms for the toilet, and for the bath. In fact, they were actually separate little houses connected to the continuous flow of houselike rooms that comprise Ibu’s home. The kamar kecil, or toilet room, had a seatless toilet bowl, a water spigot with a bucket below it, a much larger water vessel off to the side with a handled cuplike pail, and finally, a roll of toilet paper hung on the wall by a makeshift wire. When you use the toilet, you flush it by pouring the bucket of water into the bowl and then refilling it.

I’m not going to describe the method of cleaning yourself after using the toilet because it’s just common sense. You either use toilet paper as in America, or water in the small pail and your left hand, or both. The kamar mandi, or bath room, is literally just that. The floor is a drain floor. The floor and walls and reservoir are tiled. There is a faucet above the reservoir which you use to refill the tank with as much water as you have used in bathing yourself. How do you bathe yourself, by the way? Well, it’s easy, and fun! Again we find that little pail that looks like a large measuring cup. You don’t hop into the reservoir, of course! The water is icy cold, even in hot weather. You strip down, then douse yourself all over starting with your head with cold water using the little pail. After you’re soaked, you use regular shampoo and wash your hair, soap for your body, and so on. Afterwards, you rinse yourself down the same way.

I came to love this type of bath even more than the baths in Japan. There’s something invigorating about using icy water. It wakes you up in the early morning. It cools you down when you bathe in the heat of the afternoon. It softens you and relaxes you in the night, getting you ready for night time pleasures, prayer, and sleep. While we were in Bali, and elsewhere, I bathed two, three, even four times a day. I never missed the hot showers I take when I am at home in America. It’s no wonder the people are so clean here—It’s so easy and refreshing to bathe. Looking back to our overnight stay in Nakao village in Sumatera, we can see how this type of bath evolved. There, a well in the front yard to draw water, a pony wall enclosure next to it with a drain floor, and a small reservoir in the wall which is filled by hand from the well. Dousing yourself with a pail, using shampoo and soap, that doesn’t change.

Ibu asked us if we thought the accommodation was satisfactory. We nodded respectfully and thanked her for such hospitality. After telling us that Titi would bring us a towel and some mosquito repellant, she bid us goodnight. We couldn’t help rejoicing in our good fortune. We’d never have hoped for such hospitality and comfort—our own house, and for the duration of our stay. After we bathed and settled in, we looked around our ‘rooms.’ Off the main entry room there was a dining room with table and chairs. A rack of plastic-bottled water, and a tray with two teacups and some teabags, lay on the table. I can’t quite remember if it was that same night or not, but several times during our short stay at Ibu’s food was brought us and laid out on the table. We were treated by Ibu and her family as visiting royalty. At the end of our stay as we were saying goodbye, she made certain we knew we could return any time.

Next… First light in Bali

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