Sunday July 4, 2010 12:05 PM
I woke up late, telling myself last night that I was not going to wake up early and rush out to try and surf. Low tide was early and, regardless of what the guidebooks say about low tide, there was no way that I was going to drag myself out of surf the reefs at low tide. But I woke up feeling restless, and sad for some reason. In not running or surfing this morning, I felt as though I had not accomplished as much as I should have, even though there is really nothing here for me to have to accomplish. I am, as much as I do not like to admit, putting stress on myself to achieve something big while I am here. I feel as though I should be surfing every day, and moving from one break to the next so that I can tell stories off all of the amazing surf session I have had. And yet I have become comfortably attached to Kuta, my familiar walk down Jalan Poppies II to Kuta Beach, and enjoy either getting pounded by some beach break or paying a few bucks to head out to a crowded reef break.
I have also put pressure on myself to accomplish things in my writing that I have only dreamed to accomplish. Those of you who know me well know that the most difficult thing for me to do is to finish something. Currently I have edited twenty out of twenty four chapters in my story of my journey through Europe. Those of you who were around for my journey’s completion know how much the thoughts and events I experienced there have shaped who I have become. I feel a deep urge to share it with you, but it is like pulling teeth to get me to open my notebook of edits and change them on the computer.
I also feel as though every minute I spend editing my European story is one minute taken away from a recent story I have felt moved to write about a girl and her struggle to achieve some greatness of her own, not for herself, but for others. Feeling as though I am trapped in the same room as her, wanting to scream out about the things that I know to be beautiful and true but feeling as though no one will hear, and knowing that our time to make a big change in the world is only a moment away, I also sense pressure to complete the story while I am here.
Greatness, I have read, comes not from wishing for it or simply projecting it. It comes from rolling up one’s sleeves and doing the work that it takes to make a good thing great. I will admit, being here on this island, work is far from my mind. But the weight of this story on my heart, and my belief that its completion will forever change the way that you and others look upon your fellow human beings, I carry the burden with me through the streets, in the sand, and on the ocean.
And now, waiting for the tide to push in and hoping that the wind stays off the water well enough to make the session worthwhile, I feel a third story brewing in the back of my mind: my story of Bali. Facebook has been a great way to throw tidbits of my experience your way. But it has been horrible for pictures. And, as a picture tells a thousand words, it would be great if Facebook would cooperate and let me post the pictures I have to share. But, in not having pictures to accompany my story, I will now reveal a little of my experience in getting away from Kuta Beach yesterday on a motorbike trip with a friend into the mountains of Ubud.
I am teaching my friend Komang to surf, though it is difficult because the waves are not very cooperative for him. He is like a flea on some of the waves, and every time he goes beneath the water I worry that I have just killed one of the kindest, hardest working young men the world has yet to know. Komang, like most of my other Balinese friends, serves food at Crusoe’s, my local hangout. We began talking about surfing one day (he speaks very good English) and I told him that I would teach him to surf. So we have met up several times, including yesterday.
His one year old son would not permit him to leave his house twenty minutes away in Denpasar. So he packed his son and his wife onto his motorbike and met me at the beach around eleven or so. He was a few hours late and, since I have no phone here, there was no way for me to reach him. So I surfed the beach break for a little, and made plans to head out to the reef after catching one more wave. As I dropped into that last wave, a three foot close out with a nice barrel to it, I looked up and saw Komang struggling to swim out to me, despite the whistles from the life guards because the undertow was as strong as I have ever seen it anywhere.
I met Komang and he introduced me to his lovely family. At 24, he is already married and a father. And, as people go, he is one of the most kind-hearted I have met in any of my journeys at home or abroad. So we laughed as he caught a few waves and began discussing what to do with the rest of the day. Saturday is his one day off, and I imagined that he would want to spend it with his family. But with a smile, he asked me if I wanted to go to Ubud, a mountain village in the rainforest center of the island. Knowing that I would have to leave Kuta eventually, and wanting to see Bali from his standpoint, I agreed. As we got out of the water, we decided to meet at one and head off to Ubud on his motorbike.
So we left and, being six feet four inches, I barely managed to fit on the back. We had to pass Crusoe’s on our way and everyone who was working laughed when they saw my body sprawled out in my attempts to get my feet off the road and onto the bike. Traffic was something horrific, and the only reason I have yet to rent a motorbike and go exploring on my own. I posted brief video to show some of it, but will post more later. I learned in the course of the afternoon that there are very few rules to driving in Bali. Here they are, to the best of my understanding:
1) Cars, trucks, SUV’s, and motorbikes share the road. While motorbikes are most prevalent (at about a 10:1 ration), they certainly have the least preference when it comes to right of way.
2) In driving a motorbike, anything and everything you can fit on it is acceptable. This includes, but is not limited to: multiple adults, children, babies under the age of 1, bags of rice, wooden boxes, mini refrigerators, plywood, bricks, or anything else imaginable.
3) Drivers should remain on the left lane of the road unless, of course, it is more convenient to drive on the right lane. In this case, one must be particularly careful not to cause an accident since they are now heading into oncoming traffic.
4) There is one, solid painted line in the center of most main roads (but certainly not back roads, side streets, country roads, and unpaved dirt) but, in reference to Rule #3, these lines are more suggestions than authoritative. One may pass to the right, to the left, or in some cases, right down the middle.
5) If your vehicle can fit on the sidewalk, sidewalks are fair game, regardless of whether there are people on the sidewalks or not. This is most convenient when there is a stoppage of traffic due to someone going the wrong way, a car not pulling over completely off the road to load or unload cargo, or a red light inconveniences the masses (there are exactly 3 red lights in Bali- we ran all three of them).
6) Red lights are mere suggestions to be careful when crossing perpendicular traffic. It is acceptable to wait, as the lights always turn green eventually. However, it is also equally acceptable, in the expedience of time, to pull your vehicle forward into passing traffic and merge your way in front of people until you are going the way that you would like to go. Red lights are also subject to the amount of traffic ahead and behind of you that commits to running through the intersection. A good rule of thumb, if those people behind you are moving forward through the light, it is a good idea to keep moving, lest you cause an accident when they run into you.
7) Helmets are the only required element of driving a motorbike. Licenses are only for those silly enough to fork over extra money (I say this laughing, as there is no “extra” money for the average Balinese worker). Blinkers, lights, hand signals, and so forth are mere trivialities. If you do not have a helmet, it is also acceptable to wear a hat or, in many cases, nothing at all (in essence removing Rule #7 as a rule altogether).
8) The speed limit is not determined by government, nor is it published at any point on any road in Bali. Instead, it is determined (and more logically so, I may point out) as a function of the weight of your vehicle, the amount of torque your vehicle produces, and the thickness of traffic ahead of you. For instance, small Indonesian on motorbike alone might go 60 or 70 miles per hour down an empty side street. However, an Indonesian with a 215 pound American tourist is going to struggle at times to gain enough energy to break 30 or 40 miles per hour in a congested highway.
9) Any rule not already expressed above is no longer applicable. Be safe. Have fun.
It took me most of the afternoon of clinging to the handles on the back of the motorbike to understand these rules. But, being one who plays by (most) rules, once I figured them out I felt much more comfortable and relaxed. In fact, on the way back (1.5 hours) I was comfortable enough to listen to my iPod (a mixture of Simon and Garfunkle – afternoon sun, Van Morrison- early evening, and the Postal Service- once the sun set) and use two free hands to operate my camera and video camera to attempt to document the trip.
We arrived in Ubud at the place Komang described as a “history of your family.” Excited to see what part my clearly European ancestry had in Indonesia, I walked excitedly toward the “Monkey Forest.” My first excitement came when I saw that bananas were on sale, a bundle of 12 or so for a mere $2. I had not eaten in a while. My second excitement came when, standing in line to enter the forest, I felt a tug on my leg and what I perceived to be a nibble on my leg hairs. I looked down and there was a monkey tugging on my shorts! I lifted the bananas over my head and the little guy decided that he would jump from the ground up to my shirt, grip my chest with his fingers and toes, and then proceed to climb my face to reach the bananas. Interesting experience to say the least.
We spent about an hour wandering through the Monkey Forest, observing what the park claims to be the most prolific and productive animal in the world aside from human beings. And, at several points, I found myself entirely amazed at the likeness between a baby monkey clinging to its mother, and my little sisters when they were born. Then, at points, I also saw my parents as one monkey sat, butt hanging over a stone wall, as the other monkey quietly picked through the other’s hair, clearly finding something to satisfy its hunger. So I imagine that Komang was right about the history of my family. And, eerily, I felt as though this whole evolution thing has more merit than people want to give it. Don’t believe me, find yourself face to face with a monkey and ask yourself if it doesn’t in some way resemble the same face you see in the mirror every morning!
We left the Monkey Forest in search of the famous terraced rice paddies, but came to a stop in the middle of the town. We arrived on the town’s birthday, and a huge celebration was being held in its honor. While this would have made for a pleasant afternoon, we had other things on our mind, so we found some back roads and side streets only mildly occupied, and raced through them and out into the countryside. Within a few minutes we parked on the side of the road and gazed out at endless fields of terraced rice paddies. I had seen glimpses of rice in passing like a whirlwind through small village streets. But in stopping, I was overwhelmed by a peace of the approaching sunset and an otherwise empty local attraction. We hit the road after a few minutes of wandering around and taking pictures and that is where the profound struck me again.
With Van Morrison blasting into my ear holes, the late afternoon passed like a dream, or a drug-induced stupor. I was comfortable on the road now, and I smiled as we passed people and people passed us. The Indonesian motorbike drivers must have thought I was crazy. I just felt good about being in a new place with a new friend, on an adventure to discover things I had no idea I would see. Then we made a pit stop at Komang’s parents-in-laws house, literally a mass of plywood and bamboo leaded together to resemble some form of primitive shelter. But everyone there was happy. The ground was their floor, and there were no doors to anything. These were simple people, living modestly on farming and eating their own produce, and with my headphones dangling from my ears and my cameras tucked inside my bag, I knew I had more money worth of electronics on me that this family would make in several years. But Komang’s mother in law offered us coffee and peanuts with a smile. I smiled back, hoping some of the anxious energy I had for this family would be spent in the muscle contractions. I wanted, in that moment, to pull out the 100,000 Rupiah (~$12) I had for the afternoon and give it to them. I wanted to give them a hundred 100,000 Rupiahs. But I couldn’t, and I felt the familiar pain in my heart that those who know me best will describe as my personal pain.
In leaving, the words of Van Morrison no longer seemed to make me smile. Only the thought that these people were happy with their existence made me smile. The sun set rather uneventfully, the first time I was not at the beach to watch it happen, and night fell. I transitioned to the Postal Service to let the catchy electronic beats thump against the backdrop of headlights and street lights coming and going in the night. We turned down road after road until I had no clue which direction was which, and finally stopped in a back alleyway behind what seemed to be a restaurant or bar. I thought perhaps we were behind Crusoe’s. But dismounting, Komang had a smile on his face as he told me proudly that this was his home. Walking the alleyway back to his home, I was pleased to see his wife and son sitting on the floor of a small, door-less room, smiling.
We shared some oranges Komang’s in-laws had given us, and in a few minutes we left. But while there, I saw the simple existence Komang had created for his family. His proud existence. There is not a single person I know living in America who would have been happy to live in this small, ten by twelve foot room with their spouse and child. But Komang was proud of it, and I was proud of him. I was wrong about how much the average Indonesian makes, when I said they work for less than $20 a day. It is actually less that $3. Komang makes $5, if tips are good. For less than $120 each month Komang has carved out a home for himself and his family, and I love him for heart. I have experienced different levels of “culture shock” since arriving here. I have seen poverty before. I have seen homeless, starving, embarrassed people in the streets of Peru, Bolivia, Ecuador, and Honduras. But this was different. This was my friend and his family. And the wheels started turning.
I returned to Crusoe’s when Komang dropped me off and, thinking I should give up beer and give the money to my friends instead, I resorted to a shot of tequila to help me curl up and away from the reality into which I had been drown in this day. I had feelings of greatness, thinking that I could somehow change the lives of these people by becoming wealthy and giving everything I make away, or by helping to fundraise or encourage other people to give to them as well. But I knew that no matter what I do, were I the wealthiest man in the world, I could not change all of this. And then I realized, why should I? There were many people who would probably like a better life for themselves. But by “better,” I am just thinking monetarily. If these people I met today were miserable, then perhaps money might solve some of their problems. But it was a simple existence that seemed to make happiness simple.
I do not know whom of you will understand the pain in my heart, and whom among you will call me out when I return to America and fall back into my way of life. But I hope that there are some of you who will do a little of both for me, so that I will not forget my friends here, and I will learn to find happiness in places other than in money.
I have written a lot here today, in only an hour and a half, but the ends now tie back to the beginnings. I feel a desperation for a chance at greatness. Changing lives one student at a time no longer feels a worthy goal. I am thinking bigger now, and do not know if the thoughts I have are rational, or if I should somehow just swallow the blue pill when I return and forget about them. Do you have the ability to love so great, and then turn away from it? Do you ever feel hopeless about serving a purpose so much greater than yourself, but so infinitely beyond anything you can control? Is life more about our efforts to change the world, than the results of our efforts? Or will we one day be judged by how many lives we changed, how many souls we saved, or how many lasting smiles and friendships we have formed?
I am lost now, and confused. And as you read this, I hope that your heart stirs as well for some advice for me. Komang is one of my Facebook friends and, if you are reading this Komang, know that your friendship has inspired me to be something great. What, my friends, can you suggest I do to find new peace in this moment? My heart is sore, and my eyes dry, and neither good intentions nor tears can change the world. What can I do with my life to justify the lives of so many kind people here in Indonesia? And this is just a start to the world beyond your front door. I am left right now to the only place I can run where I feel safe, and where peace will pass upon me gently like the wind upon my skin. I am headed to the ocean, to the reef, to let the sunshine evaporate my thoughts and salt water absorb my emotions. I hope when I return I have a solution on where to go next. I hope it is full of love…
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