Monkey Fearest

After three months of talking about it, I finally made it to the Monkey Forest. 
 
Mel and I had planned on going early in the morning to avoid the crowds... We wanted the monkeys all to ourselves. As per usual, we woke up early and then spent the next few hours on our lovely deck drinking coffee, playing with the computer and eating our daily breakfast of fruit salad and an egg jaffle. (Jaffle is Australian for a sandwich pocket.)

As we approached the sacred forest, we both promised we'd get a money shot of each of us with a monkey. All I wanted was one picture of me looking at a monkey and him (or her) looking back at me. Easy enough. After parking the bike, we walked down the hill and headed for the entrance. Mel noticed a cute one in the tree and asked me to get a shot of her with him. As she leaned over to pose with him, he snarled right at her and took a huge leap toward her head. She screamed and ran away. All I was able to capture was his angry face. The taxi drivers in the area had a good laugh. So did I. But to be honest, I was starting to have second thoughts about this forest. 

Mel was still shaking as we walked across the street to the entrance. Before buying a ticket, we elected to buy bananas – sort of a peace offering, or a way to get them close enough to photograph.

With bananas in our pockets, we timidly attempted to get our pictures. I had the camera first. Mel took a banana out and immediately had a monkey grab it out of her hand. I got a picture of her hand, but couldn't get her. Then it was my turn. I took a banana out and began to peel it before feeding it to a small monkey. I quickly realized that no monkey had time for my human peeling bullshit pace, so I just closed my eyes and handed it to him. We went through this exercise until the bananas were gone. With each banana that was grabbed from our trembling hands, Mel and I became more and more terrified. We hadn’t even entered the actual forest yet. Shaking and pissing our pants, we looked at each other and at the same time said, “I can’t do this.” 

So we left and had some coconut juice to calm us down.

Breakfast

Innocent, right?

Not!

Got my bananas

There's my foot, bottom right

Too slow, again

You try to focus while shaking

Mel's hand

Missed it again

Good-bye Monkey Fearest

Beloved coconut juice. Ahhhh

Marnee 3.0

There is a magical, mysterious healing quality to Bali. And everything just seems to work out. Everything feels good. My nails are healthy and my hair is growing out of control. Not to mention the curls!

Through my work with Bali Institute, I learned about a healer who was supposed to be the best of the best. He is the real deal - unlike the now famous "Kutut" from Eat, Pray, Love. I knew I needed to visit him. He is known for healing your insides. Not that I have one, but I was told if you break your heart, you go to the doctor. If you have a broken heart, you go to Tjokorda Rai. I was more interested in checking on my organs. I’ve been having some issues since moving back to California and I was a bit worried because nobody could diagnose anything.

The first time I made an appointment, I jumped on my bike with a hand drawn map and headed to his “palace” with Elizabeth and Amanda. We were all very excited for our healing. But we never made it. We got lost and then realized he wasn’t even working that day.  

Map to healer #1

The second time I was in the middle of a Yoga retreat and had made an appointment for two others and myself. The day before, I came down with a terrible fever and decided to stay in bed. I tried again a few days later but I was too weak to go.

Fourth time’s a charm!

My friend Mel has been here for a month. After being diagnosed with breast cancer, having two surgeries and three weeks of daily radiation, Bali seemed like the best place to come for rest and healing. When I met up with her here, I insisted she join me.

This time, I went over my new map (drawn by Dewa, the same person who drew the map the first time) and made sure I understood it. I drew arrows on the map, specifying which lines to follow. I even translated the map into actual directions… When you ask directions from a local here, they don't tell you how to get there -- there are no street signs, only landmarks. So they draw you a map, complete with pictures of trees, coffee shops and the little details you might notice along the way. Unfortunately, when you're driving a motor bike, all that you notice is the truck heading towards you and the other bikes dodging stray dogs in the road. So I tried to make sense of it: Go toward the petrol station, turn left at the intersection with the broken light, look for a huge Banjar tree and stone carvers then turn left into the palace.  Easy enough, right?

WRONG.

Mel and I had an appointment for 10:00. That morning I had to move my stuff to her bungalow, as we would be staying together for our last 10 days in Bali. I woke up bright and early, moved my stuff and we planned on hitting the road by 9:00.  That would give us an hour. We ended up leaving around 9:30, but I was told he was just 20 minutes away.

About an hour later, my bike was almost out of gas and we’d driven in circles at least twice. We could have easily hired a car for about $10 to take us there, but I was interested in the adventure of it all. And Mel was game.

At each intersection, we would ask: Which way to Denpasar? Sometimes we were met with blank stares. Sometimes we would get, “Yes. Go this way.” As we got closer (or so we thought), we’d start asking for the village where he lived… “This way to Negari?” Yes! We would easily find him when we located that tree.

No such luck.

Finally, after making a turn to avoid angry barking dogs, we found a guy on the street who drew us a map on the sidewalk with a rock... His translation of the drawing: Go straight, look for the market on your right, you'll see a small dirt road on your left. Turn left onto a road. Easy enough. Just a few u-turns later and we had arrived at Tjokorda Rai's compound. We were only an hour late. He was busy with a French woman (her husband translated from English to French while he healed and told her to visualize she is happy) and two young women from Australia waited on the side. Both groups had a driver with them. After the second Australian was healed, walking away in tears, I was up.

He asked me why I had come to see him. I told him I had some digestion issues. He then sat me down and pushed pressure points all over my head and in my ears. He said, "Ah, stomach bad. Lay down."

Next he took a stick that looked like a small wooden pipe and jammed it in several places between my toes. Where there was a problem, I would flinch in pain. Then he would wave his hands over me, touch my body and try again. Each time, when he went back to my feet, the pain would disappear. At one point he said, “Oh. Stomach bad. You need medicine. Wait here.” He returned a few seconds later with a handful of small leaves. He put a pile on my stomach and gave me a pile to chew. The leaves were perhaps the worst thing I had ever tasted. He said, "Chew all of it and swallow." Then he counted to ten and checked my stomach point again. The pain was gone. After that, he checked all of my organs and kept saying “Good.”  Everything was good.  Including my ovaries. He said I was fertile and that was good to hear. He mentioned that I was holding something in, but didn’t have much to say about it. He said I am healthy and I should not worry. His exact words were, “Don’t worry. Be happy.” As he was healing me, he kept saying, “What can I do for you?” I wasn’t sure if he was asking me or himself. Somehow this felt more complete than a physical at the doctor's office.

After I had my turn, Mel went up. He had a lot to say to her. Right away he said, “No more cancer.” But he insisted she look into her lymph nodes. He kept telling her that she needs to think with her heart, not her head and that she has too much fear. It sounded like the two were connected to her health. If she can just cure the fear and get out of her head, she’d remain healthy. If not, who knows…

We left there in a bit of a daze. The ride back took about 15 minutes. 

Map #2

On the road

This looks more enjoyable than it was

Meds on my belly

Mel receiving her healing instructions

In the same way that Bali has a magical and mysterious quality to her, my experience with Tjokorda Rai made me feel confident in the fact that I am going to be okay.

They say, that if the world as a whole represents the inside of a human body, Bali is the heart. I don't know if this is true, or who "they" are -- but something happened to me here, especially on that day, and I am forever changed.

An end in sight

Recently, my computer decided to go from bad to dead. I cannot access a thing and it is now totally useless. I hope I haven't lost everything. To fix it while I’m here, they would've needed to send it to California and it may have cost me up to $500. I elected to just wait it out and fix it once I’m home, for free. “Home.” 

All of a sudden I’ve been in Bali for almost three months. Wow. Time sure does fly in happiland.

I recently I met up with a guy to extend my 30-day visa for the second time. His response, “Oh no. I’m sorry. I can’t help you with this. You’ve already extended once. Sorry.” From him I went to a travel agent to see if he could help. His response, “Oh no. You have to leave. Now.” But I wasn’t ready to leave just yet. Not even close. So I headed off to find a Bintang. On the way, I saw some friends who invited me to “Happy Hour.” Happy Hour was the three of us picking up a few Bintangs from the Circle K and hanging out at their painting studio. I sat around drinking the beer while they did shots of Arrack. 

The next day, I had the privilege of spending time at a drum and didgeridoo factory. I practiced channeling my new found skills on the didgeridoo (well, “skills” is a bit of an exaggeration) while my host and teacher, Gopal, made drums. For lunch we shared a bowl of rice noodles and tofu from the street cart. Similar to a hot dog cart on the streets of New York but eaten with a real spoon and bowl. Once you’re done, you give your dirty dish to the guy. Gopal didn’t think my American belly could handle it, but I was fine. At the end of the work day, a few of us sat around testing out the new drums.

Happy Hour buddies, Brass and Koko

Didgeridoos. One will be mine!

Stretching the skin

Tuning the drum

"Playing"

The past week has been extra special. Once my work situation changed (we were over-staffed so I was let go to do other work for them - a blessing), I decided to cut my trip a bit short. As luck would have it, Mel (who I know from my days in New York) had two weeks left on her visit before heading home. We found a room to share and have been spending time riding around Bali, laughing until we cry and enjoying each others company ever since. She has made a wonderful trip extra special. Hanging out alone in Bali is lovely at first, but life gets lonely quickly in Ubud. I knew my loneliness had gotten bad when I caught myself singing and crying to the part in Piano Man when Billy Joel sings, "They're sharing a drink they call loneliness but it's better than drinking alone..." It is also a gift to have a friend with you to witness and appreciate when you're experiencing a shift. Luckily, we get along like two peas in a Bali pod. We're also really good at sharing things like her computer, my camera and raw chocolate cake for desert. Or breakfast. It's also great to have someone to roll your eyes at when one too many people shout "Yes? Taxi?" as you walk by. I was lucky enough to find a seat on her flights back, which will make the long journey much more enjoyable.

Me and Mel

Coffee break

Me. Happy.

A rare sunny day

I leave in less thank a week. While it will be three months, at times it feels as though I've been here for years. I walk down the street and hear my name from random friends I've made along the way. At night, every bar I walk into feels just like Cheers. I could get used to this. But I'd rather not.

This trip has been life-changing on many levels. I've learned a ton about myself, I've been challenged in many ways and I've had moments of complete and utter bliss. My work is done here. At leas for now.

I'm officially ready to start my next chapter.

A Canopy of Dragon Tails

I’m pretty sure we’re still in the middle of Galungun here. It is a 10-day holiday (festival? ceremony?) which was explained to me at first as “Our Christmas.” For an entire week before this ceremony was to begin, all over town you would see people decorating a full bamboo pole to create a penjor. The amount of creativity and love that people put into this large stick and the ornate offerings was truly beautiful to me. Some went up faster than others. But nobody seemed stressed if they were behind their neighbors. Things happen when they happen here. Bali time. 

Once all of the penjors are up, they create a beautiful canopy over the street. I asked every Balinese person I met to explain the meaning of the bamboo and the details of this huge time of year. (Actually, it happens twice a year because the ceremony calendar is a six-month one.) The best description I got was that it celebrates positive winning over negative. (Love it.) Bamboo rods are displayed in front of every home or business. The rods symbolize a dragon’s tail because dragons are protection from negative. Ha. The only positive dragon I ever knew was Puff, the magic one.

I have also read that it is the symbol of a mountain here (Mt Agung) and also a symbol of gratitude for agricultural produce. That would make sense... Most of the decorations are made of palm leaves, corn on the cob, etc. People use what is local to them. 

Positive winning over negative? Gratitude for agriculture? I'll take it!

Once the day arrived, I kept coming up with my own parallels in order to try and understand what was happening. Maybe not the best way to appreciate it, but I couldn't stop. If it’s our Christmas, these bamboo rods are the trees. But instead of buying decorations and putting them on a tree that sits in homes, they are all handmade. And they sit outside of the home. They are both beautiful on their own and enhanced by the others.

The day the ceremony began, I was reminded of Yom Kippur. There was a lot of praying going on and everyone was in white. The day seemed to slow down and it was quiet outside. After praying and having ceremony, the idea was to just spend time with family. Everyone returns to their own village (so Ubud got pretty empty and quiet) and most businesses shut down. Each family sacrifices a pig on this day and they eat it over the next ten days. 

And then it quickly turned into Halloween, (maybe Halloween on Bourbon street in New Orleans, but with music that is difficult to hear)… Groups of children would walk around playing drums and symbols, two kids always wearing a costume of a beast. Instead of candy, they held out a can for donations. On day one, I was excited to see the kids and tried to capture it on film. Day two I danced a bit to the music when they came by and thought it was cute. But by the next day (and the next and the next), after hearing the banging on the drums and symbols for an hour straight outside my window while I tried to nap – I was ready to destroy those friggin' instruments nobody seemed to know how to play.

But now, as I sit outside my room on the third floor, the canopy of dragon tails in the sky is a site I will never forget. 

 

Making a penjor

The finished product at sunset