Candidasa
Today it is raining. A grey and sullen sky reaches down to the ocean obscuring all but the closest islets and rocky outcrops. Again, the sea is relentlessly dashing itself against the breakwaters and retaining walls as if to say "damn you earth that rises above me, I will crush you to sand and drag you down in me". Or some such...
When I woke he was gone. I vaguely remember some activity in the night, so he must have bitten the bullet and gone on the trek. Breakfasting alone, I take my time over Bail kopi and Nasi goreng. It is raining constantly and heavily now. I don't envy him if the weather on the volcano is the same. I know I made the right decision, I hope he did?
It is time to explore. Taking an umbrella just in case the heavens decide to open again - but without any firm plan - I head out for a look around. I've seen a temple on my map, so head in that general direction. Asked many times by locals if I need a taxi (Taksi) or motorbike I respond with "No thank you, I just jalan-jalan" (go for a walk). I find a Warung makan which might be good for dinner, and chat to some other restaurant staff about what time their happy hour is, milking them for the times in Indonesian in a vain hope I can memorise them; not for the cheap beer, but for the words in their language. Further along I slip up a rough side street trying to capture a photo of a fighting rooster (Ayam juga).
While there I spy a sow and her piglets, no doubt destined for the famous crispy skin pork dish - Babi guling. As I leave I'm barked at by defensive dogs, and greeted by an old lady mending clothes. She seems to not mind that I am trespassing on her turf.
Where the beach is closest to the road, there is a small parking area. A dozen or so small, semi- permanent warung makans vie for mainly local trade. I'm not hungry yet, but make a note to check them out on the way back. A group of local cyclists on a variety of mainly mountain bikes are just about to head onto the road. I accost one and enquire as to their pursuit. They have ridden from Denpasar, and are about to head back.
Heading up a side road to where I think the temple may be I am confronted by a completely flooded road. My choices are to turn back, walk through knee deep water, or hitch a ride through. Thumb out; it takes but a half minute to flag down a passing motorcyclist who happily drops me on the other side. After walking another kilometre or so, I find absolutely no sign of the temple. My belly reminds how long it is since breakfast, so I decide to return to the seaside for a snack. On the return journey through the flooded road I hitch a ride in the back of a small pickup. The driver not only ferries me through the muddy brown waters, but all the way to the intersection, saving me a short walk.
While waiting for my food, it dawns on me that to really observe,
you must stay still and let things happen around you; take your time, watch for patterns - there will be a reason behind them.
Satisfied that this snack will carry me through to a proper lunch, I head back to our digs to see if he has returned from his epic adventure.
Upon his arrival he regales me with tales of hardship and endurance, suffering and privations. We head out for lunch at the warung I discovered earlier.
After I fix a small child's bike and he buys some sunglasses, we head back; me to rest, him for another massage. Oiled and rubbed once again, he suggests a dip in the briny deep - well, briny shallow really. The water in front of our hotel is protected at low tide by a sea wall, and behind it the water is calm and no more than chest deep. A quick dip in the pool to release the salt, two more cold beers and complementary nuts, and we are just about set for an evening stroll and dinner. Rest days are hell!
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