Volcanoes and Dolphins

I’m the ultimate procrastinator. But I do eventually get things done. It’s been about 2 years since the end of our world travels, and here I am, picking up where I left off. In Bali. In retrospect, this was my favorite part of the trip. Why I stopped here, I have no idea. It doesn’t matter—my memory is good, and I can check my husband’s past blogs for any details I may have missed. So even though I’m sitting in an apartment in downtown Juneau, Alaska, I return to central Bali.

Climbing a Volcano

Although we had been present on the Volcano Tour, we had been far from actually experiencing a volcano. We had seen both the giant Agung and its brother Batur from a distance, but that wasn’t good enough. From Ubud, we scheduled a departure to Kintimani, into the volcanic heart of Bali.

There are no buses in Bali, which is a rather good thing considering the size of the streets. Minivans are the mode of transportation for tourists. We shared a minivan with a young French couple. It was the stuff of adventure, as the van bounced through lush jungle to an unknown destination. The guide book had been somewhat vague on how exactly to get to Toya Bungkah, in the shadow of Ganung Batur. If we were to journey into Kintimani, the rest would come together somehow. Sure enough, after getting dropped off in the village of Penelokan, a taxi agreed to drive us the rest of the way. Unfortunately that taxi was actually a closed-bed truck, which we and the French couple shared with a horde of flies.

We couldn’t observe much of the scenery from the back of the truck, but we got the impression that this part of the journey was very different from the previous one. Penelokan had been located high up, with a sweeping view of the double caldera with the lake. We were now heading steadily down into that first caldera, the big one which had been blown into existence unknown ages ago. It wasn’t an easy journey, considering the pesky flies and the roughness of the dirt road. It’s one of those experiences you dread in advance, that this is the part of the trip where motion sickness rears its beastly head. I was quite relieved to make it to the bottom of the caldera, to the edge of the lake—Toya Bungkah.

We had read up as much as we could about the climb to the top of Batur. What we had read left us little hope of making the climb on our own. It could be done without the help of a guide, but it would be done at our own risk. Back in 2000, a German couple had done the climb on their own, only to wander off the trail and find themselves on top of an explosive vent which promptly killed them. Although it wasn’t likely that Chris and I would be going out this world in such a fashion, we weren’t confident that we could navigate the volcano on our own. So we were somewhat relieved to be handed a tour upon sitting down at the only restaurant in Toya Bungkah. It was a pretty straight forward deal. An operator approached us and told us what we would be doing. No negotiating, no haggling, no BS. $35 each for a Sunrise Trek.

Toya Bungkah isn’t what you would call a party town. It is a simple village made up of fishermen. There is a tourist industry there, but it seems pretty minimal and little known to the Western World. The only tourists we ran across were French, and they kept to themselves, retiring to their huts at an early hour. Seen as how we were to rise at 3:30 the next morning, we set in for an early night ourselves.

The climate in Toya Bungkah is mild, and the nights can be quite cool. There was no need for a fan, temperature-wise, which was quite unfortunate, for a fan might have kept the flies at bay, or at least covered up the sound of their buzzing. It was horrific night for sleep. The quiet was so deep that any little sound reverberated throughout the valley, whether it was the barking of dogs or the cocking of a crow. Sounds haunted us throughout the night, and between the sounds, the absence of sound was just as jolting. Neither of us received a satisfactory amount of sleep, but we were up and ready to go by departure time.

Armed with flashlights and bottled water, our group of five headed into the darkness. Besides me and Chris, there was a French couple, and our guide Edwin. It was hard to know where we were going. There were trees and with our flashlights it was basically one foot in front of the other. The trail was easy-going at the beginning and I had great hope that this trek wouldn’t be overly strenuous. Breaks were taken, but I felt them unnecessary. To me they were opportunities for vendors to sell us stuff. There was one particular vendor who tried to sell us soda. I told him that bottled water was just fine for me, but maybe at the top of the volcano I would need further refreshment. Chris cursed my words, but I was already tasting that victory Sprite.

At some point the trail changed. The trees were left behind and we began a pretty steady ascent. Chris was perturbed as Edwin took his hand and helped him with each step upward. The soda vendor took it upon himself to help me upward, and as the elevation grew, I began to be more and more appreciative. No aid was offered to the French couple who seemed to be struggling.

At some point I looked behind us and realized the height we had come. Far below were the lights in the valley. Above us the constellations were glowing brightly. It was the first time I had clearly viewed the night sky beneath the equator. How odd it was not to pick out anything familiar—no Big Dipper, no North Star. There were no patterns that jumped out at me. I was viewing an entirely different corner of space. How spectacular to have this experience on a volcano, even though I was out of breath and soaked with sweat.

With much hand-pulling and crumbling ground under our feet, we made it to the top. We were well above the clouds. There was just enough dawn to the east to make out the silhouette of Agung, the largest volcano on the island. It was time for that celebratory Sprite, and I had no problem in urging Chris to fork over the money. Yes it was expensive, the equivalent of $2.50. It wasn’t even Big Gulp style. It was a single can, but oh my was it good. Sometimes when your energy is drained, and you’re craving liquid refreshment, water just doesn’t cut it. I appreciated the cold carbonation. Chris, on the other hand, grumbled his way through his sips. Then the soda vendor made a comment that perhaps our guide would appreciate a drink as well. Chris forked over another $2.50 with much curmudgeondry. Edwin partook heartily in his cold beverage, unknowing that this would be his only tip.

We walked along a ridge and came to a camp. Bedraggled backpackers were crawling out of tents to usher in the dawn. It seemed as there had been a party on the volcano the night before. Everyone seemed hungover, or maybe it was just the altitude. There was no official heralding in of the sun, rather we rambled about. Behind our backs a cloud rose from the caldera. At first we thought it was steam, but it eventually overtook us and the view. Edwin informed us that we were now engulfed in clouds, and we had been fortunate to enjoy the view across the valley, as now it was gone.

We went on to a hut where Edwin made us a half-assed breakfast of eggs and bananas. He then told us the story of the volcano while we ate. What made an impression on me is that the Balinese believe that their god lives in the volcano. Sure, it may be a cute story, these people who have held to their traditions and beliefs. But no so cute is the fact that they still make sacrifices to this god, tossing goats, chickens and even dogs into the caldera. Edwin informed us that they kill the animals before tossing them in, but that hardly makes it better. I asked if he participated in this event, and yes, every full moon the villagers go up and make a sacrifice to this volcano god. This was horrific to me. All those poor animals. At least human sacrifice isn’t practiced.

As the sun burned behind the clouds, we walked along the ridge of the caldera. We came to an alter which was guarded by an ornery monkey with a beard and giant teeth. I tempted fate by approaching this monkey, but he hopped around on his rock, exposing his teeth. We backed away, leaving the monkey of the volcano to guard his god.

Edwin had made it awkward for us. At the beginning of the trek he had lavished attention upon Chris, holding his hand and helping him upward. They had been buds at the summit, smacking high-fives and posing for photos. At breakfast, while the French couple shivered in the morning air, Edwin had draped his jacket over Chris’ legs. I wondered if there was any hint of homosexuality there. But for the decent, Edwin turned his attention to me. He hadn’t said as much as two words to the French couple. It was actually kind of funny. The way down had some rough spots, where the footing was precarious and the scree was loose. I didn’t mind so much having Edwin’s hand to hold, but the price was having to put up with his conversation. I got an earful about the poor condition of Edwin’s shoes and how he didn’t have enough time to spend with his children. It was a story of woe, and I knew exactly what he was going for, why he hadn’t even bothered with the French. I was American, therefore I must be loaded. And Americans traditionally give outstanding tips. Chris and I had formed an aversion to tipping, especially for ventures such as this. $35 may be a fair price in the Western world for trek, a real steal in fact, but in Bali where a sit-down meal costs a mere dollar, it is an exorbitant amount. Though we realized that the mass of this would go to the operator and not to Edwin, he would still be doing well off it. We weren’t planning on a leaving him any type of monetary tip, though we had no way in communicating this to him, so we had to put up with his stories and special treatment.

The descent was going slower than planned. At some point, Edwin bolted ahead, leaving us to fend for ourselves. He could barely be seen in the trees ahead of us. This would have suited us fine, if he hadn’t reappeared towards the end as we entered into the village. Then we couldn’t shake him off. It was pure awkwardness as we reached the end of our trek. There was no expectation from the French couple. They had not been doted upon in anticipation of a tip. But Chris and I, hadn’t we been given special attention? As the French fled into their hut, Edwin hung out by our front door. I finally suggested to Chris that we should offer him the stuffed animals that we had received from our fast food meals at the airport in Singapore. If his family was really as poor as he had made out, then wouldn’t his children be pleased with such gifts? Apparently not, as Edwin rejected these gifts with a shake of his head. Tired of this game, I turned to Chris and said, “Ok, let’s eat breakfast.” And thus we were able to get rid of Edwin for good.

 

It had been a draining experience, this trek up the volcano. We lazed around the rest of the day, attempting to ease our muscles out of a state of shock. A good way to do this was to visit one of the hot springs in the area. It’s hard to believe it now just how thrifty we were in our travels, but we choose the cheapest of the three, which was pretty much a cement pool that reeked of sulfur. At least we shared it with the locals. We even got to talk with an older man who claimed to be in his 70’s but had the body of a 20 year old, thanks to visiting the spring on a daily basis. He drank the water, but we weren’t willing to go to that extent to regain our health.

The rest of our time was uneventful in Toya Bungkah. We made arrangements to journey on to Lovina to the North. It was time to head back to the ocean.

Where Dolphins Come to Play

We got a private ride for the 3 hour journey to Lovina. I would like to say this was glamorous, but it was riddled with diesel fumes and horrific hairpin turns. I braced myself up against the seat and tried not to puke.

It was a bit of a shame that we got dropped off before Lovina proper. The taxi driver knew a place (don’t they always?) and we trusted that we had made it into town. Where we ended up was a tourist string of bungalows and restaurants on the outskirts of Lovina. But whatever—the restaurants boasted fantastic menus and the ocean was right at our doorstep. Our bungalow was something out of Paradise Magazine (if there’s such a magazine in circulation). It came with a canopy bed with crisp white sheets and scattered rose petals. We had come to the relaxation part of our trip once more.

As darkness descended, we went in search of an ATM. Being dropped in the outskirts of the town, we had far to go to reach real civilization. We walked a stretch of sidewalk along the main road, and with the distance involved, we realized just how far out of town we were. Somewhere along the way, I took a wrong step off a curb and heard my ankle go ‘pop’ as I went down. Yup, I had done it. Sprained my pesky ankle. For the third time. Damned ankle.

I was hurting pretty bad, so I stayed put while Chris walked on to find the ATM. I attempted to walk it off. Hopefully it wasn’t a bad sprain. In the past I’ve had horrendous sprains which last a month or two before healing. We had signed up to go on a boat at dawn to view dolphins, and I was fearing how I would accomplish any such activity. It seems silly now—how much activity goes into crawling into a boat? Still, I was worried that such an injury would hinder us. So far on this trip I had endured some pretty heavy stuff. It’s hard to say what an injury will bring. All these things played on my mind as I walked around in circles, shaking my ankle in disgust, waiting for Chris to return.

Several people stopped and ask if I needed help. The Balinese are so friendly, even when they aren’t out to make a profit. I was ok though, just waiting for my husband. Town must have been far, it took Chris a long time to get some cash. When he returned, we continued back to our tourist strip where we stopped at a restaurant to receive the local offering of seafood and traditional dancing. I propped my foot up on a chair and the waiter brought some ice. Breezes came off the sea as Chris and I sipped on booze and watched the night’s entertainment. It was our first experience with Balinese dancing. Sure we had heard the Dong Dong Dong music across the road from our bungalow in Ubud, and yes, Balinese dancing is ubiquitous all over the island, but it was our first opportunity to partake in such activity. Well, Chris partook. I sat and laughed. Chris didn’t hold back. It made some proper shapes on the dancefloor. Thank goodness only a few tables were occupied. There wouldn’t be any major embarrassment that night.

It was another early night, as we were rising before dawn. Fortunately our departure was happening just outside of our hotel complex. The boats were lined up in the early grey of dawn. Long and low to the ground, they resembled Polynesian boats. Upon research I can properly call them outrigger canoes, with support riggers to the side. We sat very low, four of us in a row from front to back. We shared our ride with a French couple who enthusiastically slapped at the water. This dawn excursion proved to be quite popular. One by one the boats took off from the shore, an engine propelling each one into open water. When we reached a certain point, the engine was killed and we floated in the still water waiting for something to happen. And then—something did.

I had asked what the chances were of seeing dolphins. I was told 90%, which sounded promising. In reading about this bizarre occurrence, where dolphins wake at dawn to swim with the boats, it sounded like they swim around in the vicinity of the boats. Cool enough, but I wasn’t prepared for the extent of dolphinicity. As the sun broke above the horizon and cracked like an egg yoke over the surface of the water, the water came to life. We could hear it in the shouting from other boats and suddenly the engines were running.  Dolphins! They were everywhere! They were over here and they were over here and they were underneath us and to the side of us. During the quiet moments, the guides would blow whistles. They believed this attracted the dolphins. And maybe they did, for there would suddenly be a spotting of them. We would rev the engine and chase them, though it didn’t feel so much like chasing as the dolphins would swim alongside us. One of them surfaced so close to our boat they were within touching distance. There were a few that jumped completely out of the water, performing tricks. We were lucky, according to our guide. They didn’t always come out to play.

I was focused on recording what I could. I caught some action, but I also missed a lot. It was one of those spiritual-like experiences, communing with nature. Nobody understands why the dolphins come to that spot every day at dawn. They certainly don’t have to, and they don’t have to play and swim with the boats, but there must be some kind of enjoyment in it for them. There were many times in Asia where I felt we were taking part in the exploitation of animals, but this was not one of those times. Those dolphins were partaking willingly in this activity. They had come out to play, and for us it was a rich experience. Well worth waking up early for.

Our stay in Lovina was mostly centered on dolphins, though we did spend a fair amount of time in the resort’s pool and on the porch of our bungalow. The only downfall to our stay, besides my sprained ankle, was the cat which passionately yowled day and night in the plastic water bottle pile on the edge of our bungalow property. It sounded like an adolescent kitty, and it sounded like he was in a terrible state. I tried to rescue him several times but he always ran away. So we had to endure his yowlings. Also, the mosquitoes in Lovina were from a different universe. I had never had bites which oozed in such a nasty fashion. And the itching! I hobbled on my sprained ankle and I scratched at monster bites. As much as I loved the laidbackness of Lovina, something was eating at me and I couldn’t figure it out, for the mosquitoes seemed to come into our room at night. In the morning I felt like I had been feasted upon. It wasn’t until I noticed the tell-tale brown streaks on our crisp white sheets that I realized that indeed something had been feasting upon us. Bedbugs, again!

It was time to move on.