Turning Balinese, Part 2

On the first evening in Bali, I made a new friend.  Her name is Allison, and she is also from Hawaii.  We started chatting over dinner and then the hours just flew by.  I recognized her as one of those people that you meet and just seem to connect with on contact, so when she suggests I join her on a hike the next day with an organic farmer she just met for a few hours that day, my initial impulse is "YES!".  I trust her already, and of course I trust my own instincts.  We are going to have to get up early (6am early), but the day will include a hike and also a trip to a place called "Dreamland Beach".   No brainer, folks.  I'm in, and with minimal questions asked.  But the closer I get to bedtime, the more my mind begins to take over.  Sure, I trust my new friend and I know I trust myself and all that, but what about this organic farmer?  He grows herbs and gets glowing reviews from Allison, but still I wondered.   And he was going to pick us up so damn early, too.  I mean, this is my vacation after all!  But I stay with my initial impulse.  I'm going, early wake-up call or not. 

The morning arrives, and we trek down to meet our organic farmer.  He will be picking us up in town, along with two other women that Allison had met on her visit to his farm.  A small blue jeep-ish car drives up, and out pops a small Balinese man who graciously welcomes us with about an acre of smile across his brown face.  I take one look at him, say hello and get a glimpse of his honest eyes.  I know immediately that I am in good hands.   His name is Westy, or at least that is his nickname.  We begin talking with him and he is everything that Allison had described, and more.  After a few minutes of conversation, I deduce that I would probably follow him anywhere. 

What was I worried about again?

Westy speaks English farily well.  Or at least well enough for me to understand every third word or so.  Which works out perfectly, since I have realized my own tendencies during this trip to catch about every third or fourth word of instructions that are given to me at any time.  I see that I follow just enough to know what is happening around me, and leave the rest to feeling my way through.  Seems to work for me for whatever reason.  With Westy, I am understanding enough to know that he is really happy to share his knowledge with all of us.  This includes learning how to say a few words or phrases in Balinese, such as "I love you" and "fuck you", both of which we amusingly learn back to back (unfortunately I cannot relay either one at this point, though I think the curse word sounds something like "nescafe").  

Along the way to the hike, we are stopped by the Bali police.  Westy assures us that we are fine, but that they recognize our touristy nature and will be requiring him to pay a little thing known as "tourist tax" in these parts.  In America we call it bribery and profiling, but I think tourist tax sounds more regal, don't you?  He leaves us in our jeep, follows the officer a few yards away and slips him the goods.  OK.  Tax paid.  We all thank him, with the understanding that we are not witnessing something totally out of the ordinary in any of our homelands (I am with two American women and one Norwegian).   The phrase I learned and heard often in Thailand comes to mind:  Same-same, but different.  Yep.  More proof that we are all experiencing the same thing, just played out with different details. 

We stop for water, and then arrive at our destination.  We are going to hike a giant green hill, close to a volcano.  It's early in the morning, but still fairly hot.  The breeze is gentle, and the views are incredible.  Westy assures us that we will not encounter any hazards along the way, except for a few cows and possibly some bulls.  Only instruction:  do not make any eye contact with the animals.  Got it.  We climb steadily up and down steep Balinese countryside, all of us happily playing follow the leader.  Westy warns us of potential dangers as we go, which turn out to be mostly just slippery rocks and dirt ("slowly, slowly").  

Arriving at a covered rest area (bamboo covered with thatch roof, that is), we sit down for a respite.  Westy begins to open up with us, sharing his knowledge of herbs, life and overall personal health.  He has prepared a turmeric drink for one of the women, and we all pass it around as he tells us of its anitoxidant powers.  It tastes like a potent gingery smoothie, the kind of thing that you just know is good for you as you gulp it down.  We have also bought some crackers and assorted processed foods from the minimart here.  We offer them to Westy, who begrudgingly takes a few but also warns that "ok to eat once in a while, not every day".  This is advice I should heed back home.  He also tells us how life in Bali is changing, and that he can remember a time when walking barefoot was perfectly acceptable.  Not so much anymore.  And the town of Ubud was so quiet; now there are people everywhere.  Progress, he says, has changed life there.  Not in all bad ways, mind you.  In fact, Westy does not think any of it is "bad".  We share with him our own views of progress, which include I-phones and technology (not bare feet).  Same-same, but different.

The hike turns out to be just the energizing jolt I need.  Again, my senses are overloaded.  The spectacular greens of the hillsides.  The butterflies soaring all around us, in colors that I have never really seen before.  Dragonflies buzzing about.  The sound of any number of insects, birds, and other assorted jungle inhabitors.  The hot sun is beating down, but I am never uncomfortable.  In fact, I am feeling as free as I have felt in a long while.  On the way back down the massive hill, Westy commisions a local Balinese man to fill up a plastic water bottle with palm wine for us.  Yes, palm wine.  It is 5% alcohol, and is tapped from a tree right in front of us.  Westy tells us of its health benefits and repeats his warnings of not overdoing it ("little bit, OK...too much, not good").   Taking a sip, I am pleasantly suprised by its taste.  It is smoky, kind of like barbeque in a bottle I decide.  Mmm.  Barbeque in a bottle turns out to be refreshing, and though Westy advises it is good for cooling the body, it actually feels warm going down, like I just took a shot of vodka or something. 

We stop for lunch on the way to the next leg of our journey, Dreamland Beach.  It is a roadside shack, and Westy exchanges a few words (incomprehensible to us) with the people at work there.  Seconds later, lunch arrives.  Fish satay, rice, soup, and some delicious local tea that harbors a distinctly jasmine-y (and sweet) flavor.  I am in heaven.  How could I have doubted this man, I wonder to myself.  Over lunch, Westy and I begin talking about life.  He tells me how so many people have lost sight of what is truly important.  Too much in the mind, ignoring the melody of the heart, he insists.  This is where we know peace.  That catches my attention.  The melody of my heart.  I know what he is saying.  I can hear some of my own melodies right now, in fact. 

Finally, we arrive at Dreamland Beach, which is very aptly named.  There is no way we would ever have found this place without our trusty guide.  It is a small beach area, with grayish-white sand and very few visitors.  It feels like our own little slice of paradise.  Time to swim in the Indian Ocean, which turns out to be warm, salty and absolutely refreshing.  The four of us frolick in the waters as Westy takes a nap.  He has earned his rest, to be sure. 

Bobbing in the emerald waters, I scan this serene hideaway.   I can't help but think about the trust issues I was having before taking this adventure.  I would have missed out on my best day in Bali yet if I had not simply, knowingly....trusted.   I always say I trust my intuition, but I realize that I am still learning to do this.  This whole experience has once again taught me that all I have to do is keep paying strict attention.  Not to my thoughts so much, but rather to my feelings, my own sense of knowing.

The melody of my heart is playing loudly now.  And I hear it, every single note of it.  A satisfied smile sweeps across my sun-drenched face as I listen intently to the beautiful symphony emanating from my heart.  All is well.  Perfect, in fact.

Westy was right.  This melody sounds like real peace.

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