life in the negative

These days, you can travel across the world and still feel like you're right next-door. To anyone! Between facebook, ichat, skype and plain old email, you're always linked in. (Humor me.) As long as you have a trusty laptop. I left California over a month ago with my little MacBook, trusting her as my lifeline to the rest of the world while I live and work in Bali for the summer. And then one day I opened her up and BOOM! The screen was only half there. From the middle down it was a sea of rainbow and above the picture had flipped to the negative. Here's what I'm looking at now:

As you can see, the negative when you're in a word document means the background is black, the words are white. That's on a good day. Sometimes the words are so white, you cannot make them out. In ichat, because the words are on a colored background, it's almost impossible to read. When you're looking at photographs, it is the same as looking at a negative. Remember those? I remember developing a roll of film and then going through the pictures and choosing those I'd like dupes of. I'd then try to match the pictures with their negatives so I could drop them of at Thrifty's to make copies. (And of course I would get two scoops of Chocolate Malted Chrunch on my way out.) Sometimes, if I wasn't careful, I'd pick the wrong shot. It was never crystal clear as to which number went with which shot. Or maybe it was my eyes. At any rate, viewing photos in the negative feels like trying to watch a movie from behind a sheer black curtain. It's fucking frustrating!

So that's where I'm at now. My computer is in the negative. It stared a while ago. I assumed it would be temporary, but clearly this is my current fate. I spoke with Apple - and while it is covered under my Apple Care, nothing is covered out of America. Really Apple?

Sometimes I have to hit the screen a bit and play with it to get the entire screen to show. And even when it is as good as it gets, if someone hits the table, all could get fucked up again. Other times I am left to work with the top third of the screen. Sometimes I cannot see where my arrow is going but I can launch programs from the bottom. I just have to remember where certain program icons live on my screen. This is a fun game. I click around with my eyes closed guessing with sheer precision. It's like a game of Memory. I always end up launching what I need. Sometimes it takes several tries. And so I have adjusted. I guess.

Facebook is less fun without pictures. I mean, what's the point now? Choosing pictures to post on this blog is dangerous… You're never quite sure if you want to share what you're posting. Skype is less enjoyable. But it is better than nothing. Wow, to be able to talk to friends while looking at them! Amazing. I have skyped with some of you. All of you look great in the negative, by the way, even if you were three seconds delayed.

And so things are a bit challenging at the moment. But thus is life. And I'm still happy to be living this one. 

I'm taking a chance, but here are a few recent pictures... 

young girls imitating what their mothers do when they make offerings

on the road near some rice paddies

Crowded parking lot at early morning market

Traditional early morning market

Transporting at the market

Not a clue - probably the market

I like flowers

On the road again

Flowers galore to purchase for offerings (pictures will come soon)

Maybe Later

After spending three days in bed (at a 5 star resort, mind you), some friends were getting worried and urged me to get a blood test to make sure I was okay. Dewa (friend and also a driver) insisted on picking me up and taking me back to the doctor. After the doctor assured us that all was good, he admitted that he was late for a wedding and had to go. He'd have his friend drive me back to my hotel. Also, he didn't charge me a dime, neither did the doctor.

His friend showed up in a beat up old Toyota Corolla blasting house music on a cassette. I could tell he was very proud of this mix tape. I'm not a fan of the stuff but couldn't help moving to the beat when Vanilla Ice showed up in the mix. "Good mix, yeah?" I can only describe his hair style as a modern mullet. Modern because you could only tell there was more hair back there if you looked from the back or the side. I asked him to stop at the store before we hit the rode for some water. I asked if he wanted anything. He shook his half empty bottle and said, "Maybe later."

Within minutes of our 20 minute drive, he asked if I was married. I said no. He corrected me and said, "Not yet." I nodded in agreement. I asked him if he was married. He answered, "No." I asked if he wanted to get married. He said, "Maybe." Maybe? How western male of him. It wasn't what I was used to hearing here in Bali. So I quipped back, "Maybe later?" I was making fun of his cavalier attitude toward marriage. Clearly this went right over his mullet. You would've thought that was the funniest thing he'd heard all year! He lost his shit he was laughing so hard. He kept repeating, "Maybe later!", laughing his ass off.

And this is how the rest of our conversation went:

Him: You want to marry in Bali?
Me: Maybe. Well, no. Maybe honeymoon.
Him: You want to marry Balinese man?
Me: Not really.
Him: Maybe later?
Me: Haha. Nope.
Him: Maybe I no go home tonight? [belly laughs] Maybe I stay at hotel with you? Haha! Married! Haha we get married later!

If you've never walked through Ubud carrying a Didgeridoo, you'll have to take my word for it -- it is the most fun you can have while carrying a refurbished tree trunk.

A few days ago (or weeks? I'm not sure, I've lost all track of time),  I was finally ready to venture out on my own and went looking for some live music. It was Friday night in Ubud. I had two options -- Boom Boom Room or some tourist trap. I chose Boom Boom. I had been there before and knew the music would be good enough. I also knew there was a small chance the bartenders would juggle fire. My friends thought I had planned a secret rendezvous with a mysterious Balinese boy. Ha! The truth was, I needed a rendezvous with myself.

The rest of the crew headed to a local village for a party, I headed to Boom Boom on my scooter. I took a seat at the bar and within seconds was surrounded by a huge group of tattoo-covered local boys. Not bad for the ego! I was a bit overwhelmed, but they were sweet and friendly as can be. Most of them just smiled and stared at me. Then one guy finally started a conversation. His name was Gopal, but I called him Goofy. He kept making funny faces when his Aussie friend Andrea snapped his picture. Goofy and Andrea wanted to know everything about me. Why was I in Bali? Why was I not married? Why was I lying about my age? Andrea told me about the time she had brain surgery and was completely awake. Mentally blocking the experience only worked until she heard a loud drill at a construction site. After calling the doctor wondering why the sound of a loud drill hurt her head, he explained what had happened. She showed me her scars.

At some point Goofy excused himself to join the band for a song.

The sound that came out of his instrument quickly put me into a trance. I had heard it once before, but never like this. I was in awe. When he was done with his song, he walked up to me, saw the look in my eyes and promised he'd teach me to play the didgeridoo.  I later learned that Gopal had a factory where he made Digeridoos and drums for professional musicians around the world. Each piece was a work of art. He told me he'd give me one to take home. I wondered what I'd have to give him in return.

My first lesson was the following week. We met at the soccer field and sat on a bench. Gopal brought two large Didgeridoos and one beautiful drum made of ebony.  He also had a plastic water bottle half full with a straw. After playing a bit for me, my first lesson was to learn the difference between blowing bubbles in the water with force and without. I then had to learn how to breathe while relaxing my belly. The final lesson was to exhale through my mouth while inhaling through my nose. We decided to save that one for the next lesson. It was a lot for my first day. The local kids got a kick out of me making a nasty sound. But they were quickly silenced each time Gopal took a turn. So was I.

He let me take the instrument home so I could practice. He said he'd make me a new one for beginners and for healing. Hmmm.

As I walked through the streets of Ubud with my new toy, the men that used to yell "Taxi! Taxi?" gave up and smiled or yelled "Didgeridoo!" instead. Tourists from everywhere would whisper or shout "Digeridoo! That's a didgeridoo!" as I walked by. Kids surrounded me as we walked down the street pretending to play the instrument, giggling and applauding me. I was the leader of their marching band. During that five minute walk home, I felt like a famous rock star. Never mind I could barely play a note. Nobody seemed to care. It was amazing.

Gopal, me and Aussie Andrea 

Gopal with the band

Boom Boom Bartender

Rebirth

There is something very special about the people here. Even the shortest interactions seem meaningful. Maybe because there's not much small talk going on? I don't know.

I moved into a bungalow the other day. When I went to register and wrote down my birth date, the woman who was renting me the room looked at it and said, "Oh. I'm older than you." She said she was born in 1970.  I asked what day and she told me she didn't actually know when she was born. Even the year was made up. When she was born, her parents didn't know how to read or write and they didn't get a birth certificate. She doesn't now her birth day, therefore she's never celebrated it. She says that when she is happy, that is her birthday. What a concept! Never celebrating a birthday.

I just celebrated my 40^th. Over the past few weeks, I've talked a lot about my age. I spent the first week here being the only one in my generation… The NYU students were in their 20's and the rest of the staff ranged in age from 50 to mid 60's. I was in the middle – or the "bridge" as they said. I was the only one that could connect the two groups, go either way. I could hang with the "kids", but I could also relate to the adults. It was an interesting experience being in the middle. I didn't fit in anywhere, yet I fit in everywhere. I was ageless. Kinda like my friend at the bungalow.

When in Rome...

I learned about this healer, Dewa, from another Bay Area visitor. I saw her before she went to him and then after. Something had changed in her. Mostly she seemed way more calm and relaxed. She gushed about him. I thought I'd check it out. I called to make an appointment. I had no idea how I would find him because between his accent and our terrible cell connection, all I could make out was "Yes. Tomorrow afternoon. I am near Tutu Pasta hotel and Bali Kafe.See you." Why anyone would use the word pasta to name a hotel was beyond me. But this is Bali so I went with it. Elizabeth (a left over NYU student who I've been rooming with) and I rode our scooters to Kafe and called him from the street. After about 20 minutes and several phone calls, we finally figured out what he meant by, "Noooo! Walk up the street, find pasta hotel, turn left. Wait there, I come for you." He worked out of a little shack. The middle of the room had a carpet and two square cushions. A pink mattress was resting against the far wall and he had dirty ashtrays all over the place. We were invited to sit on cushions, he sat on a chair. Elizabeth immediately changed her mind about having a reading. She asked if she could just watch. I still didn't really know why I was there. I told him about some physical pain and let him do his thing. I remember him asking me if I wanted to be strong. He closed his eyes and did what you'd expect a healer to do. At least it's what I expected -- he moved his arms around my body w/out touching me, and seemingly threw air away from me. At first he asked if I felt the energy. I didn't. Perhaps it was because I was just staring at this odd practice wondering if he was the real deal. When I said I didn't feel anything, he sternly said, "Are you sure?" I closed my eyes, inhaled and all of a sudden I felt as if I was surrounded by thick air. Then something happened to me that I've only felt twice in my life -- every beat in my body aligned. It happened once when I was having acupuncture done and a few weeks ago during a temple blessing we were a part of (sorry, haven't gotten to that story yet). At any rate, when this happens to me, I can't help but pay attention. It feels like my body is rocking itself. I was once told that it means your chakras are all aligned. So I felt something. But whatever. I wasn't sure what that meant. He ended up doing something with Elizabeth too. She didn't want a healing, but he didn't really ask. He just went to town. She seemed pleased when it was over. I was a bit annoyed and wanted to leave. I had regrets about not focusing on why I was there, feeling like I was wasting my time. Then for some reason we started talking about birthdays and we figured out that ours was on the same day. He took this huge necklace off of his neck and put it on me. He said that if we really shared a birthday, I would feel the crystal. I thought he was full of shit. While wearing the necklace, I started to get dizzy. He had me stand up and spread my arms. He then supported my lower back while pushing my backwards to do a back bend. Yes, it was odd, but I didn't really have a choice. I just went with it. When I came back up and opened my eyes, I noticed that my chest wasn't heavy anymore. My chest (no, not breasts, chest) has felt heavy for a while now - as if a hand is pushing on it. I've been blocked and I've had a really hard time writing. This blog is no exception. Up until this post, every post has been a bit of a struggle. Well, that heaviness is gone. I feel lighter and somehow free. It's odd. And I know I must sound a bit koo-koo, but something happened there and I just feel renewed and different. And then I started learning to play the Didgeridoo. More on that next time...

wheels

The last time I rode on the "wrong" side of the road was in Bermuda. I was the passenger on a scooter and I don't think I opened my eyes even once. Before renting the scooter, my friend was given proper training in the parking lot to make sure he was comfortable driving. Bali is a bit different. One day while lying by the pool, I said I thought it would be great to have a scooter so I could be more independent. Not five minutes later, a guy was there at my lounge chair holding a helmet and keys to a little red Honda. We paid him 500,000 Rupia (about $50) and I was set for a month.

Everyone drives a scooter here. And seats aren't just for two people anymore – I've seen a family of five on one bike… Also, I think the kids start driving as soon as they can walk. People will transport anything from a large sum of lemongrass to an over-sized tree trunk.

Brian (part of our Bali Institute team) was nice enough to give me a short lesson. I then followed him  to town a few times. He likes to play Frogger, zipping in between cars. I'm not so crafty on the road. I feel more and more comfortable each time I drive, but turning right is still a challenge. This is one of the scariest things I have ever done. Meanwhile, I'm thinking - if that kid can do it, so can I. I also keep thinking – Holy shit! Fuck! Fuck! What the fuck?!

I have spent so much time lately trying to be present. Living in the moment is something I often forget to do. My mind wanders to the past, to the future, to the last five years. And next thing you know it's December again. Nothing like driving a scooter on the wrong side of the road in a place with dogs in the streets, chickens crossing the road, women carrying gigantic baskets on their head and huge potholes on the road to force you into the now. It is a challenge, but it gets easier each time. I have had a few very close calls… my instinct when getting into trouble is to pull the gas bar instead of the breaks. Not a good plan when "trouble" could mean anything from hitting a small child to driving straight off of a cliff. There's no room for error here. Tonight I had my first small accident – if that's what you want to call it. It looked bad from the outside. I realized this when I fell to the ground and everyone ran out of the restaurant to make sure I was okay. I just scratched my elbow, didn't even rip my shirt. The bike was fine too. I was trying to get around a car and lost control of the bike, shooting it straight into a tree. I have done worse on my own two feet. My calf is bruised and scratched up pretty badly from trying to leap across a narrow pool and my camera was dead for a day because I fell into a river just trying to walk. Ah. Bali. 

Yikes!!

Brian -- my teacher

Sweet Blood

A smile keeps leading to a conversation. Just the other day, I walked by a little jewelry shop on one of the busier shopping streets, Hanoman, and smiled at one of the young men working in one of the storefronts. He asked me where I was staying, I asked him how he was doing - a fairly common exchange. He said he'd had a very difficult day because his neighbor died suddenly. He took out the dictionary and said he was "distressed" and "sad" because he had known the man for many years. He kept telling me his blood was very sweet - "Sugar in his blood. Very sweet." I finally understood that to mean that he had Diabetes. It reminded me of the time I was visiting my Safta in Israel and after getting Xrays because of a terrible toothache, the dentist said that I had a problem with my "tooth of the mind."

Anyway, this kid went on to share that his father also had "the sweet blood" and was wondering if he would suddenly drop dead too. I told him from what I knew, he most likely won't just drop dead. But how did I really know that? I told him that Diabetes can be regulated easily by food and exercise. Oh, and checking your blood sugar level. And then I quickly realized where I was and with whom I was speaking... Regulated with food and exercise?!? Was I serious? Ninety percent of their diet here is white rice. What is he supposed to eat?  I explained that our bodies produce insulin and this helps our blood-sugar level stay regulated. When a body is not producing insulin properly, we must inject it ourselves and eat proper food to balance it. I wasn't sure he understood any of this. Then he asked if I was a doctor. He also wondered if maybe acupuncture could help or if his father should see a healer. He looked at me as if I was his only hope. I told him my father's blood was sweet too. He put his hands in prayer and closed his eyes. A soap opera played on the television in the background. he was a bit distracted but had tears in his eyes. As he tried to understand how to help his father and how to avoid this disease himself, he seemed to get more and more nervous and I wished there was something I could do to help. Instead I just started to cry. I told him I had to go meet up with my friends and I said "feel good" as I left. He called quietly after me, "You too, feel good." As I passed by the store about an hour later, I saw him sitting on his knees, bent over in a prayer position. The soap was still playing above his head.

Bintang

Back from a little road trip to the coast that began with a visit to Starbucks. What an eye sore in the middle of Ubud. I didn't get a coffee but loved the fact that their menu said "Daily Offerings" instead of "Specials." After a 4 hour drive on a winding road, our group of eight had made it to our destination in Pemuteran: a four room villa that included a private pool, outdoor kitchen and two outdoor beds. The place was deserted. Within 5 minutes, I found myself at the swim up bar. Wha? I'm in Bali!

We woke up every morning to watch the sunrise and then practiced yoga on a grassy field facing the ocean. I was the nominated yoga instructor for the group. I'm not much of a yoga teacher, but perhaps it was better than nothing. I went snorkeling twice – the first time was a bit of a disaster due to my leaking mask, the second time we took a boat out and I ended up getting seasick. But it was well worth it – the coral and the fish were stunning.

Aside from the resorts, Pemuteran was fairly empty save for a few temples, Mosks and little markets. From our resort, we were able to hear the Muslim prayer service 5 times a day. The last time I heard praying like that I was in Jerusalem. This time, I was lying by the pool, drinking a Bintang, my new favorite beer. It seems as though the Muslims and Hindus are living side-by-side peacefully. One night we went to visit a certain temple known for its power of prosperity. It was the evening of the "dark moon" so there were supposed to be a few special ceremonies. Unfortunately, we missed those. But what we did see was people making the trek from all over because this happened to be a temple everyone must visit once a year. Large families traveled together and received blessings. It's a beautiful thing to watch. My favorite part was the little boy who refused to sit on the ground until he realized he could just sit on his shoes. On the way back, our driver Winnie, was talking to us about living with Muslims and how his people have so many ceremonies and they pray so often, it tends to even out. It sounded fairly harmonious. And then he mentioned the Tsunami. He said that we are all supposed to pray and give offerings to the sea. And because the Muslim people were not aware of this and never did, they brought on this horrible incident. He said it in the sweetest, calmest way. And I can understand where he's coming from based on the culture that he knows. But wow.

private pool

Large Bintang by the pool ($4)

Sunrise day 1

Me and Marcia (President of the Bali Institute)

Sunrise day 2

You're welcome

This dog kept showing up and just posing for the camera

Sunrise day 3