First Day in Ubud

The contrasts hit the minute you land. The constancy of heat and moisture this close to the equator – only 6 degrees south of it – also has wrought a singularity of culture and way of life that seems less disturbed by the vicissitudes of change than in our so-called temperate zone. The people appear to be more of one and there’s a noticeable ease in their demeanor and ready smiles. Bali is the only remaining Hindu Island in Indonesia and the religion is alive and palpable. Edifice-sized statues of Hanuman and Ganesh and Shiva rise up all along the narrow and traffic-filled route from the airport to Ubud, the cultural center. Entrances to family compounds are flanked by grand and distinctive deities and fresh tiny offerings of flowers and sweet stuff on banana leaves are placed everywhere making every step a reverential one- though beware the streams of motor bikes and cars that make it a challenge, worthy of prayer, to cross the street.

The singularity of culture in Bali seems to give the people an equanimity that cuts through the ‘them and us’ implicit in the cultural stew of New York City. Here I feel a simple and benign ‘we’ and am immediately put at ease. Thanks to our friend Richard, who’s been here before, we are staying in one of those beautiful family compounds where each of our little rooms and front sitting porches open upon a typical central garden of casual and effortless magnificence. There are orchids in colors I never imagined, spindly flowering trees and even a miner bird that talks.

The first day, to acclimate and adjust, we venture out to do what any good tourist does – shop and eat. In neither case are we disappointed. The daily market is full and clamorous and reminds me of many others. In some ways, it could be right in the Bronx, except that women sit inches from the narrow walkways amid flowers, unusual fruits – some not available anywhere else on earth- and sticky foodstuffs placed in leaves to eat or sell. It seems there are many more sellers than buyers on this day, and I am waylaid more than once by those imploring me to buy for their good luck. It is hard to resist the look in their eyes. I give in only once and end up with a cotton off the shoulder dress for the equivalent of 10 dollars and spend the rest of the day looking for an under blouse to make it something I would actually wear.

We make our way to the palace where giant painted statues of holy cows are disproportionate to anything else around. (That's Richard, a taurus, with the bulls) Preparations are underway for an important cremation, which will be taking place right after we leave. Long bamboo poles are tied together and look like the underpinnings of a raft that could hold 50 people. Apparently it’s an important person who will be honored in this way and the event is spoken of as something to see, not necessarily evoking sadness.

We are to meet a friend of a friend of Richards for lunch at Sari Organic. I am the first to see the sign and we make our way up a short incline from the main street and then continue on a path through the rice paddies for at least a kilometer, maybe more. I am amazed that anyone finds their way to this restaurant and even more amazed to find myself, one day out of NYC, to be walking through terraced rice fields all at varying levels of maturity as far as the eye can see. The contrasts hit me again. The noise of the clamorous street, though not the heat, has thoroughly abated.