Back at our home stay Ketut had a Traditional Balinese dinner for all of the guests. We made good friends with an older couple from Holand. One of the first things we realized in Bali was that the people are warm and welcoming. Upon meeting you, tourists and locals alike will try to get you to tell them your life's story. This is mainly because the tourists are often Australian and Dutch (the French were less affectionate). The Balinese, however, need to place you. They need to know where you are from, where you are staying, and where you are going. It seems invasive at first to we self-involved Americans. But after a while you realize that they just want to know who you are and what you are like. And location for them is everything.
The next day was pleasantly low key. We stayed in during the mid-day rain. In early afternoon some Australian friends we made took us with them to an art museum for the day...Whatever... The highlight was that afterwards we went to the most amazing rib joint ever. (Side-note: I strayed extensively from my previously vegan diet). On the wall was a bitingly witty sign that made me both laugh and redden with shame;
Upon arriving in Bali we heard that Eat Pray Love had attracted many a western woman to Bali. I felt so mortified as my idea to go to Bali sprung directly from the text. I'm yet another Liz Gilbert. It only sucks because what I fear most is conforming to a specific type of personality. Which is exactly what I was doing. The western woman who can't stand one more disappointment when it comes to men. I've already eaten in Italy. I skipped India. But Bali is off the checklist too. God I can be so predictable.
The two days after that I will mention only briefly as they were the days I most regret. We got sucked into taking a guided tour (which we thought was just a rented driver for the day). We did see a lot. However, it was under the supervision of our driver Wayan. He took us to every imaginable tourist trap. Granted, I was grateful to see the temples. I was not grateful to be bombarded at every corner with profoundly persistent hawkers. You learn fast to give the "f*** off I don't want any sarongs" look as soon as they see you approaching. It was frustrating because we came to Bali to be out of our element and to be immersed in culture even if it meant drowning in it. We didn't want our metaphorical parents to make us wear floaties and tell us to stay out of the deep end. But hey, you learn quick.
The temples were incredible. But the holy pools were by far my favorite. The attitude of the Balinese (tourists were not allowed to bathe) was such as the attitude in an American public pool. However, rather than kids splashing around gayly, it was adults and children alike. They were eager because of the nature of the bath. The Balinese highly covet beauty; beauty of the face, of the mind, of the attitude. The most important thing to be is happy even in the midst of sorrow. You could see this was pure happiness. That was when I felt closer to God. 
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| There are 4 names in Bali for both men and women; Wayan, Mode, Nyoman, and Ketut. Meaning the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, or 4th child. At 5 it starts over. They love to know where they stand. |
The coffee plantations were fun because of the boys we met; Mode and Wayan. It was evident on their faces that they were excited to meet Americans. "I love All American Rejects. In my dreams I go to America,"- Mode. I will say Balinese boys exude charm.
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