The last few days were spent in Ubud, a growing town in the middle of the island, nestled at the foot of several mountains. Which is to say there is no beach. But there is a thriving ex-pat and artist community. (Ubud was the locale for Eat, Pray, Love.)
We spent our time in Ubud biking through the outer environs and rafting. I did take an afternoon off from biking to toodle around town, hoping to find some art. While I can say that we passed what seemed like legitimate galleries on the edges of town, all the art I came across in town was of the Nudies and Tigers variety. (I'm puzzled that no one seems to have thought of joining the two for one giant tiger, nudie canvas spectacular. That, I would have bought.)
Can we talk about the biking?
On my way from the airport, I was musing that traffic in Bali is much like other parts of Asia: lots of motos weaving around, and traffic lanes seem to be merely advisory. It had not occurred to me at that point that this is where I would be biking.
Around Ubud, we were biking through lush, vibrant green rice paddies. Everywhere I looked, there were fascinating things to see - ornate temples on family compounds, stone statues of Gods, etc. But, it was all I could do to stay on my bike, so regrettably I have no pictures. And I even saw a giant 20 foot sculpture/statue that I can only describe as a a blue smurf-like Hindu God riding a frog. (A picture would have been helpful, I know.)
Today we rode in the northern part of the island. I was careening down a mountain, in the rain, trying very hard not to hit: motos, cars, trucks, children standing on the side of the road clapping for us, roosters, stray dogs, various men with sicles for rice harvesting, a different group gathered around a man with a gun, potholes, etc. (Oddly, the whole time I have an old Morrissey song stuck in my head: Hairdresser on Fire.) Insane, and yet still slightly less scary than riding on Massachusetts Avenue or Florida Avenue.
Tomorrow we head for that other town. The only part I remember is that our hotel is called Spa Village, and I may be able to get a four hand massage.
Today we rode in the northern part of the island. I was careening down a mountain, in the rain, trying very hard not to hit: motos, cars, trucks, children standing on the side of the road clapping for us, roosters, stray dogs, various men with sicles for rice harvesting, a different group gathered around a man with a gun, potholes, etc. (Oddly, the whole time I have an old Morrissey song stuck in my head: Hairdresser on Fire.) Insane, and yet still slightly less scary than riding on Massachusetts Avenue or Florida Avenue.
Tomorrow we head for that other town. The only part I remember is that our hotel is called Spa Village, and I may be able to get a four hand massage.
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