Uluwatu, Bali: monkeys are assholes

Lisa was desperate to come to Uluwatu, a town south of Kuta known for its surfing and its temple on the cliff.  Lisa found us some house she was really excited about near the top of the cliff for about $50 a night total.  It takes us a bit longer to get here than we planned, due to traffic, and our poor driver Andy not being able to find the place despite instructions and texting the caretaker.  

The two-bedroom house is amazing.  It's an open living room, traditional Balinese-style home, grey and white and ornate and there's roosters crowing outside and lizards chilling on the wall.  

It was overcast and later than we thought, but Lisa and I decided to venture out for a walk to the beach while Timeka relaxed and read.  We get to uluwatu beach, and it's a surfer beach: no white sand, no place to lay out to tan... Just a lot of surfers.   It wasnt sunny anyway, so we spent a couple of hours eating fruit salad and drinking beer at a very laid-back cliff-top bar full of surfers that, stereotypically, played Bob Marley the whole time.

I realized a couple of things at that bar.  if I had to pick between frat boys, hipsters, sorority girls, and surf bums, the surfers would win by a landslide.  Sure, they have a shitload of unfortunate tribal tattoos and are over-tanned and there's a lot of white guy dreadlocks, but they are chill and quiet and their bodies are nice and they don't bother anyone.  

Also, I don't listen to enough Bob Marley.

So, we're feeling pretty great about being here.  Until we realize that we are completely stuck in this house, isolated from anything without having rented a motorbike or a car.  It's 9:30 pm, and I'm famished, and although the nearest warung (simple restaurant) is only a 15 minute walk away, it's pitch black outside and the roads are too narrow to walk down, uncomfortable even in the daylight.  

I have always had a fear of being stuck and stranded, and this was exactly it.  I was really upset.  Mostly because my blood sugar was low, and when I get like that I can't put together a sentence, I can't think straight, and I get really, really pissed off.  I think I really worried Lisa because I got all bossy and probably didn't make any sense and I was barking at her when we were making a vain attempt to get food.  I finally just realized it wasn't going to happen, and I gouged myself on Timeka's reserve of granola bars and some Pringles we got, just in case.  

To top it all off, the lizard that was living in the slats of our conical ceiling decided to take a piss on Timeka while she was reading at the table

"That's it.  I've had enough.  I'm going to bed,"  Timeka proclaims, rather calmly.   I am impressed by the serenity with which she took being pissed on.

I try to tell myself that having to eat granola bars should not ruin the great day I just had, but I remind myself that I HATE NATURE AND REMOTE PLACES and that this isn't that bad but I have to remember not to go to a place like this again, no matter how lush and beautiful the lime and coconut trees are, no matter how I like the sound of the roosters, no matter how gorgeous this architecture is.

We wake up the next morning rather refreshed.  Timeka admits to how incredibly angry she was to get peed on by a lizard.  She hates lizards.

We go to get some coffee at Uluwatu Cafe at about 9:30.  The plan was to get some food, come back and get the caretaker, named "Made" (pronounced mah-day) to drive us to Padang-Padang beach, which is the beach where some of the movie Eat, Pray, Love was filmed.  The cafe is closed.  I could not handle more bullshit.  We eat instead at a warung/petrol station/convenience store that looks a bit sketchy, but they have coffee and they have food, and now I am convinced that no one gets to eat in uluwatu, so we'd better eat now just in case we never see food again.

It's more Nasi campur, the ubiquitous "stuff on rice," and although it looks good enough, the woman doles out the food with her hands.  We give each other a look.  Timeka says "gotta go with the flow."  I know she is displeased.  It was tasty enough, had some delicious curried, shredded coconut, cost about $1 a plate, and it's currently about 12 hours later and I don't think I have dysentery.  Yet,

Our caretaker drives us to the beach, gratis.  That's a first.  It's absolutely gorgeous.  It was hot and sunny and a perfect day to be at a beautiful beach.  We go to a warung for lunch, and even though they took forever to make our food, there was strong wifi and the food was excellent.  Beer, water, fruit juice, and a meal for each of us costing less than $5.

This brings me to the Indonesian currency issue.  The Indonesian rupiah (IDR) is valued at 10,000 rupiah to 1 USD.  So all you have to do to convert from rupiah to dollars is cut off the last four digits.  Easy, especially since two of us are math teachers and the third worked in finance.

Nope.  When something costs, let's say, 50,000 IDR, I immediately translate that in my head to 5 USD.  But they don't say "5" or even "50 thousand."  They say "50."  My brain and their words are always off by a power of 10.  And, to make matters worse, they have a 50,000 and a 5,000 rupiah note.  you can't just look for a "5."  Every time we try to pay we look like a bunch of morons, because we're not just giving them a pile of $ and hoping for the correct change, we're SPLITTING THE COST of everything and trying to make change.  It's a disaster.

Oh, and while we're trying to decide who owes 2000 versus 3000, we're always arguing, usually in the form of "no, YOU should pay less" I finally realize after a week that we're usually arguing over EIGHTY AMERICAN CENTS. 

We pass an old, beautiful, but leathery woman on the street who says hi, with a big smile.  We get that from everyone.  Everyone smiles, everyone says hello.  Everyone is trying to sell us something.  A ride somewhere, a t-shirt, a bracelet, something.  They're not super pushy assholes, but they try to sell you shit, and lucky for us all you have to say is "maybe tomorrow" and they give it up.  Timeka asks her name,  Her name is Made, too.  Lisa and I are a bit up the road.  Lisa says "wait for it... You wanna buy a bracelet" and just a she finishes saying that, Made asks, "you wanna buy a bracelet?"  Uproarious laughter.

There's a traditional Kecak (monkey) Balinese dance performed at the temple on the cliff 6pm every night.  Timeka is exhausted, and Lisa and I are rushing to get there... We might make it walking but we might not, and it's our last night here, so Lisa goes to the "uluwatu transport" place right outside our house.

I meet Lisa there after I finish putting away my stuff and she says "they're going to bring us on motorbike, I hope that's ok."  I really like riding on motorbikes, but I am also scared... No one here wears a helmet, even if there's four people on these tiny bikes and one of them is a baby.  But sometimes you have to just trust the system.

The owner comes out, and she's sitting on one bike, waiting for one of us to get on.  The other bike is manned by her son, who looks like he can't be a day over 12.  

"How old is he?!?,"  Lisa asks.  

"15," the lady replies.

15, my ass.

The temple is about a 5 minute drive away, and I'm holding on to the back of the bike for my life.  In a moment of daring, I go to get my phone it of my purse to take a pic of Lisa and her underage driver, and I learn that it's open because everything flies out.  My money, ATM card, iPhone, drivers license.  It wasnt windy, thank god, because everything stayed put, and luckily I bought that phone cover in Hong Kong or it might have  Shattered.  The whole way my driver, named Made ALSO, is trying to negotiate tomorrow's taxi ride with her husband.

It finally dawns on us that there are a hell of a lot of people in Bali named Made.  Even the owner of the bungalow in Legian AND the owner of our favorite warung around the corner of it were named Made.  Wikipedia to the rescue... Balinese people call ALL second born children of a family "Made."

We are greeted at the temple by a sign that proclaims, among other things, that women who are having their period should not go past the gate.  I am currently menstruation, but as disrespectful as that might be, I'm not Hindu, I'm not Balinese, I'm not bleeding all over the place, I'm going in.

Just inside, there are monkeys.  And I mean MONKEYS.  Probably about 20 of them.  People sitting right next to them, chilling out.  Letting people take pictures.  Lisa goes quietly close to a wall that a large monkey is perched on, and she waits for it it come closer.  It keeps coming closer.  She gets excited until we realize the monkey is COMING RIGHT FOR US.  So we walk away.  Well, Lisa jogs, and I walk slowly, thinking that if monkeys are anything like dogs, running will only make matters worse.

Monkeys are not like dogs.  Monkeys are assholes.  This monkey asshole stood right up, grabbed my silver wristlet purse and starts pulling.  I'm convinced the monkey is going to eat me if I don't get away, so I try to drop my purse, but it's attached to my wrist, and I try to shake it off but I drop my iPhone instead.  Monkey grabs iPhone and runs back to his wall.

I am now cursing a monkey out at a temple, glad was not attacked but pissed about this iPhone which has already suffered too much today.  Tourists and temple-workers are calm and cool, and a pair of tourist girls tell us that we have to trade food for my phone back.  Lisa is laughing, happy that I am ok, but also pissed she didn't get a picture of it all going down.

Lizard pisses on Timeka, monkey steals my shit; Lisa's next and I'm gonna have my camera ready.  

A worker quickly comes my way, asks what happened, and goes to the monkey.  She tosses him one small bag of food, which he catches with one hand.  She tossed him another, which he catches with the other.  He puts down the phone to do it.  She shoos the monkey away, retrieves my phone, and gives it to me.  Amazing.  I know she's expecting a tip... I give her 7000 IRP, which is less than a dollar, but in the craziness i was a little flustered and  I only had a 50000 (USD 5) note left.  She says "only 7000?"  A little ballsy, but she's right, she did just save me $400 by getting my phone back.  I apologize, show her the inside of my wallet and tell her that's all I have left, which was the truth, and I give it to her.  She feels badly, and tries to give it back, but I insist she takes it.  Well earned.  She shows me how I should wrap all of my shiny things in my jacket and walk quickly through the sea of greedy monkeys.

The monkeys do this all the time, trading stolen food for treats.  I am pretty certain that the Balinese people trained them to do this so that they can "help" tourists while making a quick buck.

Serves me right going to a temple on the rag.

The temple is high on a gorgeous cliff, and the show is amazing.  There's percussive singing, kind of like beat boxing, Balinese dancers, a fire dance, and a little comedy routine worked into it.  

Lisa and I hold hands, nervously darting between people, trying to escape the monkeys on the way back to the parking lot.

Made #5 and her kid come to pick us up.  This time I brave the ride with the teenage boy, still holding on for dear life: to this bike, my purse, and memories that will last a lifetime.

Tomorrow I'm going to look for some kind of monkey-theft rape-whistle equivalent.  Those fuckers mean business.