We stirred from our damp bed the following morning to find a relatively sunny day rolling out in front of us.
We were thrilled to do our hike in clear weather and suited up for a trek, me in my 'adventure sandals' (which Negin refers to as my lesbian sandals - this is an insult to all lesbians everywhere ...I promise they have better taste in footwear) and shorts and the Brit in flip flops. We set out for an independent trek, passing up on guides and decided to set out on our own on a recommended path along the top of the rice paddies.
We tripped our way up a long, steep flight of stone stairs which occasionally provided two feet of railing every here and there. Until we pulled around the top of the stairs to look down at a slope of rice feilds separated by small elevated embankments which adeptly funneled the buckets of rain from the night before from pool to pool. The sun beat down on us hard as we took photos along the grassy uppermost part of the fertile ampitheater. Dogs barked at us and people stared as we made our way to a muddy ditch that might constitute a trail and began to climb around household trash and tree roots in our insignificant foot wear and extremely muddied selves.
The heat in Asia always wants to make me turn back from whatever I'm doing and run for the nearest shaded anything.... reverting me back to my happy state of house cat immobility. However, Rebecca is always pushing forward without a thought to the heat or a pause for heavy respiration.. making trekking with her like running after your agile 7 year old grandchild at the ripe old age of 72. She goes gliding off scaling large stone staircases and over giant puddles of mud in fully tractionless flip flops..to which I am always taking issue with, "What if you fall and crack that expensive head of yours open, your parents are gonna come to ME expecting a refund on that Oxford education!"
After weeks of driving past rice paddies it was nice to find ourselves in one, exploring the elaborate irrigation and the ways in which the fields cut the countryside up into endless configurations of reflective pools. We passed women with baskets on their heads liesurely scaling the muddy incline in equally in adequate footwear who would stop to deliver a snicker or two at our half walking half skidding along.
We were in search of lost temples and abandoned cities.. but what we found was real life. Being chased by kids and dogs past pig pens, coming accross several generations of Balinese women bathing near a spring who stopped to converse with us in my limited Bahasa (eventually running from their dogs), and following every single broken stone pathway that looked old enough to take us to Becca's dream of an Indiana Jones vine swinging adventure/discovery. Eventually we stumbled accross an abandoned graveyard we thought? Perhaps an old temple...It wasn't much in the way of vines or really even architecture but stepping briefly within its walls there was a resounding silence to the place. A peacefulness that was noteable by putting one foot in the alley way outside and one foot in the temple grounds and shifting one's weight side to side.
At one turn I slipped and almost fully fell off an incline and sliced my foot open in the process covering me in blood and fresh rainy season mud...Leaving me with my one and only war scar on the trip (which I've been contemplating numerous explanations for upon my return - tiger fights and crocodile massages). Eventually the heat and the bleeding got to me and once Becca had scaled two or three extra staircases (for the hell of it) we decided to make our way back. We couldn't for the life of us get our bearings but Becca has a sense it was in one direction and eventually we were come upon by an old old man and his son who told us just to follow a stream .. we kept saying...right THROUGH it? And he would walk over and mock splashing along the cool water. Eventually we realize we were in for getting wet and stomped along till we found ourselves returning through the alley way directly accross from our hotel.
We checked our belongings out of the hotel and stashed them at reception, donned our bathing suits and entered the water castle. A bit of a stone Balinese Disney land, it was built in the last three or four decades and its full of amazing algae filled pools teaming with large carp and strange statues that seem to rise more from the murkey green depths of algae than from the pristene clear water that was probably intended for their emergence. Becca fell immediately in love declaring this would be the site of her wedding, and we dove into one of the stone swimming pools. Curling up in our bikinis next to strange statues for romantic pictures and diving off of huge stone slabs into the cold cold water. We moved from one pool to another until it began to rain, and went for a big fancy meal... that was...as is most Indonesian food...extremely disappointing.
We knew getting on the road would have to happen soon, knowing becca had a flight the next day and we had scooters to return (although it seems the scooter rental place had taken to forgetting all about them). So we suited up I attached my suitcase for Beans to the back of the rig and off we zoomed grateful that the rain had stopped. The drive, however, was in itself ominous enough. We were insanely lucky that the rain decided to abate for our drive cross island because passing people on hair pin turns behind slowmoving logging trucks filled to the brim was exhilirating but mostly terrifying. I would watch as Becca would actually hang towards the side of the road we were meant to drive on and then as all the Balinese would happily pull out to pass her she would swerve right to the middle of the road again leaving them all frustrated. Eventually I pulled ahead on the downhill path as I don't so much mind clinging to the side of the road and we landed comfortably in Probolingo. Becca made the case that we should push as far as we could because the morning might prove trafficy and while we had the weather we shoudl go on. I was absolutely resigned to trust her as my sense of direction and timing is notoriously lagging next to my fine feathered friend so on we pushed. As dusk hit we were zooming on large stretches of highway into the pink sky feeling like we might just zoom over a bridge in the ocean right into the horizon and, once we hit flat road, Becca was completely out of sight... this child has a need for speed.
It began to grow darker and beans suitcase kept going flying off the back of my scooter causing me to fall even further behind Rebecca's outrageous pacing. Eventually we caught up to each other covered in dirt and engine exhaust and found ourselves in heavy traffic while we clung to the dying embers of daylight. Indonesia traffic is a lot more like extreme off roading..because well...it IS extreme off roading. They detour you every two KM or so into these gravel side bars that you have to merge into with three lanes of traffic that run unpaved for at least half a KM each till you are again redirected to another patch of 'paved' ground'. It was terrifying and bumpy, your worst enemy on a scooter is not so much water as it is dust and gravel which can cause you to skid and fully lose traction. In this situation I found myself religiously studying the people in front of me hearing Mega's voice to always watch your fore-scooterers, because the dark had cloaked all the potholes from vision. Eventually we pulled past signs that were getting us back to Kuta and found each other - poor terrified Rebecca was desperately worried that I had become lost in the mess and she would never find me in the dark.
We checked into an over priced hotel in Sanur I went on a very tired and grouchy search for an ATM devestated at what the dust and exhaust had done for my skin. We ate a restaurant where they were mercifully playing BB king and bemoaned our disgusting leaky bathroom as sleep hit us like a ton of bricks.
Next up - Becca departs on her flying arc and leaves me to drown with the other animals somewhere on Kuta beach.
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