Ubud, (Bali), Malacca (Malaysia), Gold
Coast (Oz) April 2014, Poem The Valley Beyond
Photos at the following link – they
include some fascinating shots of the Australian heart, lungs and
gizzards from the plane:
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| Veins of Oz, tree like arteries |
Our second visit to Bali was
unexpected. We had planned to return to Vietnam – we hadn't made it
to Ninh Binh last year so our plan was to fly to Hanoi and head South
by train to Ninh Binh and spend few days there and head south again
to Hoi An. But events unfurled and we accompanied Cara to Bali –
Denise to assist Cara in establishing a business provider. We stayed
in Sanur on the coast for 3 days and then moved inland to the higher
Ubud
area. We'd been there in 2010 refer
blog
http://barrymcgloin.blogspot.com.au/2010/08/perth-freemantle-and-bali.html
and had enjoyed it.
This time around we stayed in the 2
Seasons villa at Penestanan, a wonderful villa and pool in an
attractive, well appointed village, plenty of restaurants and warungs
(cafes/small restaurants) centre for the arts and a 5 minute bike
ride to Ubud centre, depending on the time and traffic. The villa is
owned by the family of Nano, our most gracious, obliging and smiling
host who had motor bikes there immediately. Nano offered to take us
to his village for the Ogoh Ogoh ceremony and parade and I wish now
we had taken up the invitation but we went instead to Ubud which was
quite spectacular, however being part of the local one would have
been wonderful. Next time. Nano helped out when Cara was
'disconnected' from her motor bike on 'Dead Mans Curve', a frightful
and as it turned out lucky experience which could have been much
worse. He negotiated the damage to the bike with the renter which was
a minimal cost.
Notes on the day:
We walked through the Penestanan
interlaced lanes today, in thick warm air spiced by cooking aromas
and smoke and incense from offerings to appease the
spirits, by fabulous dwellings with artistic pathways,
heavy wooden doors and secret gardens, water courses along
the side, wee waterfalls, overhanging lushness, mossy rocks,
brightly coloured leaves and heavenly flowers, tiered deep rich green
rice fields, birds and dragonflies, frogs and lizards, ducks and
geese and smiling people. Yes, such a contrast to Coleman
Ridge, Canberra with its bold bare blue sky, its rearing and tumbling
mountains and space, so much space and solitude; to each its own
beauty.
Ogoh Ogoh and The Day of
Silence, Nyepi
The Ogoh Ogoh parade and Ngrupuk ceremony takes place on the eve of
Nyepi, The Day of Silence. All is part of the Balinese New Year and a
series of ceremonies, but these are the culmination. Ogoh Ogoh is
quite a festive occasion and the representations of evil spirits as
huge grotesque monsters are paraded before the people and lambasted,
taunted and turned three times at crossroads to confuse them into
leaving humans alone. The Ngrupuk ceremony follows the parade and the
monsters are burned – I think this takes place at the cemetery.
The Balinese take their spirits seriously and offerings with burning
incense sticks to appease the spirits can be seen everywhere. In fact
black magic is known to be prevalent but it mostly affects the
Balinese who believe in it. The Day of Silence, Nyepi, is a day for
fasting and contemplating the spiritual journey and relationships
with others, forgiveness and reconciliation. It is a public holiday
and nothing moves or makes a sound. Hindu security, the Pecalang
patrol the streets and tourists must comply. I have placed a poem at
the bottom of this blog which incorporates Ogoh Ogoh.
Our experience at 2 Seasons was so good
that we wanted to stay longer but unfortunately it was booked so we
had to move. We were keen on staying in the Penastanan area and found
Villa Asri which was offered by Steve Castley, the manager of 14
villas in the area. Without the character of 2 Seasons, nonetheless
it was modern with a pool and a houseboy, the wonderful Katuk, a
local village lad who made breakfast each morning and maintained the
spotless establishment. I showed him a few ways of cooking the egg
but he didn't rate his skills highly and was amused by my claim that
it was 'easy'.
During our stay in Penestanan we
checked a number of restaurants both there and in Ubud. The Bebek
Bengil aka Dirty Duck Diner and Minami being clear winners with each
dish we tried, and Murni's Warung down at the bridge being the most
disappointing for the three of us. In fact there were a couple of
local Penestanan warungs which were far better than Murni's,
particularly one just down the path from Villa Asri. Oh yes and
Naughty Nuri's chargrilled pork ribs were succulent and superb. The
side courses were ordinary, but yeah, the ribs were good.
And while at Villa Asri we enjoyed a
great night of entertainment at Bayu's Kitchen where an excellent
local blues rock band went through a number of R&B standards in
their own arrangements and they were happy to have me join them on
blues harp and vocals for 'Got My Mojo Working' which I really
enjoyed. The band asked me to join them in a few days but
unfortunately we were booked to Malacca.
Malacca, Malaysia
Our plan was to go to Malacca for a few days, then to the Water
Festival in Bankok which we had enjoyed immensely two years ago, and
then, if we had enjoyed Malacca, to go back down by train or bus to
Penang before flying to the Gold Coast and old mate Len's birthday.
Malacca was to be the litmus test for Malaysian culture, cuisine and
compatibility. We have found people to be friendly throughout SE
Asia, indeed probably more openly friendly, with a smile, than
Aussies.
That said, natives in some parts of Oz are friendlier than natives in
other parts! If you walk for example in Sydney or Adelaide, people
are less, much less likely to nod and say hello than in parts of
Melbourne or Canberra, so I have noticed on my walks. In fact I found
people ignored my greeting in Sydney and Adelaide. Why? Mistrust I
guess, some insular defence mechanism, or just plain rudeness. A
sweeping generalisation?? Well perhaps it depends on the locale, the
hour of the morning or afternoon and the demeanour of the local
populace.
From the notes:
I wrote this a couple of days ago
and it’s still in my outbox. We’ve arrived in Malacca after a
day’s travelling, staying at the Roof Top Guest House - number 3 on
the Trip Advisor guest houses. Denise reckons it’s a step down...
but it's great for a guest house IMHO and she’s warming to it.
We just had prawns a la special sambol at the local Chinese on the
corner and they were tops - the earthy balachan fish paste with free
range chillies and Chinese mumma is out the front cooking on a huge
wok while toothless grand dad is yelling to another toothless
old codger. The son, our waiter, speaks perfect English.
Must admit I didn’t have high
expectations of Malacca in the culinary field and also I thought it
might be a bit restrictive re having a wee toddy at the end of an
afternoon as is my/our wont.
I had a vision of a colonial outpost
that was hidebound in Christian and Muslim censures - funny what you
make out of our guesthouse’s restriction of footware in the house,
but then I unfortunately have an imagination which follows its own
extremities at times.
Well of course I was totally wrong
on all counts, as you might expect. Malacca, where we are in the
midst of the historical city is very attractive in many aspects. It
is small town, as our KL driver said he’s Chinese from Penang,
but ‘small town’ is good, everything in walking distance.
This morning we wandered into Chinatown and again like last
night we found wow factors in a small Chinese establishment where we
were the only Caucasians. Amazing. It was yum cha… for
breakfast! The lovely lady with perfect English placed a large plate
of wonders before us to choose from. The delectable morsels we
pointed to were fabulous.
So, we'd tried the local Chinese
cuisine and found it to be superb and our taxi driver had said that
Penang cuisine is the best, there being a substantial Chinese
population in that province. It was looking good! The following
morning after the yum cha breakfast we walked up to the ruins of the
church of St Paul where they had buried St Thomas Xavier, the Jesuit
missionary – and relocated him later to Goa, India ('sure – yer
man didn't mind a bit'). There was a large monkey strolling along and
Denise would go no further but fortunately a local artist Francis K S
Goh was also on his way up and Mr Goh could talk the tail off a chimp, and so Denise, enchanted by the palaver, followed. And needless
to say I bought one of his drawings, which I'm happy with.
The ruins were well worth a look at on
the hill above the town. Built in 1521 by the Portuguese as a chapel
and handed to St Francis Xavier by the Catholic Portuguese conqueror
Alfonso De Albuquerque the buildings were enlarged to incorporate a
school. The Portuguese were defeated by the Dutch in 1641 who turned
it into a Dutch Reformed Church for a few years until they built the
new Christ Church near the river. Then in 1824 when the Brits came in
they used it as a powder magazine, as you might. Now it is occupied
by a few cats, intriguing old gravestones and possibly a homeless
person or two. Oh, and it makes a fine backdrop for ladies posing. The link to Malacca photos is
Interestingly I had read that Alfonso
De Albuquerque who had sacked Malacca in 1521 stripped the town and
sultanate of 60 tons of gold, jewellery and precious stones. This
Booty, or mammoth appropriation was loaded onto three ships bound for
Lisbon. As Fate would have it the ships were caught in a huge storm
and sank with booty into the murky deep. They have never been found.
Poetic justice? Boy, the Malaccans must have had a party. 'Smirk?
Moi? Naah mate, that is really bad news eh?'
Breaking News April 2014:
Underwater
drones may have successfully found the 16th-century Portuguese
vessel Flor De La Mar, which is believed to have sailed from
Malacca with stolen treasure from the sultanate when it sank.
At
least two underwater salvage companies have claimed that the galleon
that sank during a storm circa 1512 has been sighted in Java Sea,
close to Semarang in Indonesia.
The Malaccan Chief Minister is
quoted as saying “We
would request for royalty from the salvaged treasures through cordial
bilateral channels.
Well, I like his optimism! Cordial?
The
manifest also included tributes from the Kingdom of Siam (Thailand)
to the King of Portugal, including golden statues of life-sized
monkeys.
Albuquerque’s
own possessions included two bronze lions which he had planned to
adorn his tomb upon his death and bracelet made out of gold and a
bone of an animal which supposedly had magical powers to prevent
bleeding if the wearer was injured in battle.
The
ship hit a reef during a violent storm, broke into two and sank,
taking with it about 400 soldiers, boys and girls of all races to be
given as slaves to the Portuguese royal house and all its precious
cargo.
As
for Albuquerque, he barely escaped with his life.
Later that morning I tried the dreaded
Durian, the 'King of Fruits' and the smelliest – the odour of which
has caused it to be banned from hostelries, public transport,
hospitals – in fact part of a hospital in Melbourne was evacuated
recently ( April 2014) because of a suspected 'gas leak'. Yup, the
durian.
I ate it in an ice cream concoction,
and the funny thing was that the young person who served me was
looking at me as though I had the plague. Well, it has a creamy
texture - ripe peach perhaps and is sweet with an aroma of an overly
ripe mouldy Camembert – not the astringent ammonia yellow rind
smell but the earthy oozy cheese itself, mixed with a pungent SE
Asian drain odeur... There are many types and aromas. Our KL taxi
driver said that he and his daughter love it and his wife hates it.
Does wonders for the marriage.
We also tried Nonya laksa and popiah,
two of the local specialities at a very reasonable cost, and each
quite delicious. The popiah is a Malaccan version of a fresh spring
roll, salad and ground meat with sweet suace and chilli sauce and
Nonya cuisine derives from Peranakan culture, a gumbo of Chinese,
Malay and Indonesian.
In the afternoon we found the local
Rasta bar along the riverside and in the evening, the Honky Tonk
Haven bar which is run by a Kiwi pianist and his jazz singing wife.
Apparently there are two bars of this type, where you can jam with
the owners, the other being Me and Mrs Jones Cafe which unfortunately
was temporarily closed. For a look at Honky Tonk Haven and owner Joe
'Itchy' s skills on the old joanna with a local Dutch trad outfit go
to
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7eSwPfHJGww
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7eSwPfHJGww
The injury to my elbow and arm which
had scraped along the road caused a stream of blood and Denise phoned
the Rooftop owner who came quickly and very kindly took us to the
medical centre. They checked me out, gave me a tetanus injection,
painkiller and antibiotic tablets and we headed back to the cafe for
an oyster omelette and Royal Dutch Stout, after which I felt much
better – that stout has unbelievable clout! The
Chinese cafe
owners and clientele had a juicy topic of conversation – much
yelling and joshing between the grand father and his fellow bon
vivants, who were also sipping the stout. Well it hasn't dented my
enthusiasm for Malaysia, nor the Malaysians who we found to be as
friendly as anywhere in SE Asia, notwithstanding my motor bike thief,
but we had news from home and returned earlier than intended. Well you can be in
the wrong place at the wrong time anywhere in the world, including
our own country.
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| Staff here were great! |
Notes, Gold Coast :
Yesterday we drove to Binna Burra
high in the picturesque Lamington National Park. It is rich, lush
bountiful country, big and handsome and bold. Its mountains and
valleys are spectacular, forged by a generous god. It is ours, no?
Ours for ever. The blood that was splattered on granite is long dried
and washed away. Over here the government panders to exclusivity, a
fear of Asian and Middle Eastern hordes over running our precious
land. The concept of our temporary occupation, a global village
or ‘there but for fortune goes I’, is not to be entertained.
Yet we are often spruiked as a ‘fair minded happy go
lucky race’. But those that have, which is our mostly middle
class population, fear sharing too much, the thin end of the wedge
etc.
I’ve had this niggling thought
that so much apparent hedonism is alien to what I have become.
I don’t fit with these people.
This is not my race. There is a certain competitiveness and almost
confrontational aspect to interaction which I find unsettling.
Everything here is just so, perfect, whistle clean and new and within
flash canyons of glass, and concrete and chrome, the perfect human
shape is sought, and the perfect human thought centres on oneself.
Abbott in his speedos would stroll at ease along the boulevard and
though the crowded beach. Yet there are also many large overfed
bodies that move at ease here. We grow big folk. Consumerism that
eats itself, its health, eventually.
The
Valley Beyond, Thoughts on a Walk
.jpg)
The
middle pond which was two thirds dry
a
month ago is now, as I ascend the bank,
fit
to blush, and there in a stream, is a spill off.
The
contented hills sit plush and green
where
a family of roos scratch and graze.
So
picturesque, and the wisps of mist that arise
and
drift on the belly of water now raise thoughts
which
somehow alight on Bali at Nyepi
when
spirits of discord soar over the island
and
people are bound to their homes in silence
for
a day of retreat and contemplation.
No
traffic nor planes, mere flame for illumination,
no
movement lest the dark demons sense
a
twitch of life's inhabitation and their lust
insistent
on tender souls might ravage a nation.
The
carnival parade of cartoon monsters
called
Ogoh Ogoh, on the eve of Nyepi
thrusts
hideous faces and gruesome poses
out
of the night and into the light to loom
above
and upon the dream world of the crowd.
Demonic
creatures with fangs and huge breasts
hold
severed heads high dripping with blood.
These
figures portray Life's lesser bequest
to
our weaker selves, our failure to conquer
those
thoughts and deeds of anger and greed
and
lust and pride, deceit and envy which hover
and
leach upon our worthy higher aspirations
and
vampire like, the wraith spirit triumphs
in
jubilation. Young girls bearing torches,
their
sacred virginal fire will confine the effigies
to
a blazing end, and so may goodness transpire.
And
I recall a procession from my youth
in
those black and white days of certitude
lead
by priests in Roman robes with crucifix
banners
and stern resolve, each step a step
of
affirmation, each step a step
of
confirmation as voices proclaimed louder
the
Faith of our Fathers, living still, we will
be
true to thee 'til death. And close to that route
twenty
centuries prior, Caesar's soldiers
leapt
to water and shore on a shingle beach
inspired
by fire and drums and prayers to Mars
intoned
by priests in sacred Roman robes
but
more, by that cold will of Caesar to conquer.
And
now as I walk down the pretty valley
the
immutable mountains rise and fall
in
perpetual motion, and this is my altar,
this
valley my church, this walk my prayer.
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