A BoBo's Muse
Sharing my world from New York to Paris to LA to my latest stop in ThailandConnect to My Fashion/Travel Blog
In India, enjoying the lovely city of Mumbai.
News: I’ve moved adresses! Check out : TheFreeBoBo.Blogspot.com to get the in on fashion and culture and traveling around the world picking up unique items from the far corners of the World….
The Transient Island
Borneo with Happy!
As I come up on my fourth month, and nearly 8th in Asia. I find my life not even closely resembling what it was even just 6 short months ago. I went from life in Thailand in almost total isolation to Bali, the most vibrant of the Indonesian islands. There is no doubt that tourism has changed Bali. But you can’t buy culture. To find it you must penetrate deep within the social hierarchies of the island. Indonesian is the most sacred of traditional cultures and yet the most westernized, despite it rigid religious conformities. Its a duality that can leave you spinning.
I find myself living the island life, driving everywhere on my motorbike and surfing the evenings amongst the renowned surf breaks of Bali. In this world life moves fast. In four short months I have gone from observer to participant simply by process of Bali’s magical initiation. I’ve fallen in love, been disappointed in love, left a lover and found other meaningful relationships. The whole reason why I moved to Bali because I experienced a bliss that I did not think was possible in the world. Surf trips around this beautiful island, lust and love, memorable nights out, and the company of good friends. And so I was shown the height of happiness to be experienced. SO, I stayed. Is there a better reason than that?
In total I’ve moved about 15 separate times, found myself on the island of Borneo, Lombok, and Lembongan where I’ve stored away good memories and wild experiences for the grandkids. Its my own Bali story that is still being woven together. In the last three weeks my life in Bali crumbled around me because of what I had thought would be life changed without warning before my eyes. I had to say good bye to someone. I wasn’t sure that I was ready for things to change. It was fast and and it was drastic. I’ve learned that time moves fast on this island and recovery is quick and seamless. I subscribe to the philosophy that is bali wants you then there’s no point in fighting it. Bali will have you. If not, your time here can be over in the blink of an eye. I’ve become aware of Bali’s transient nature. People who live here are always the first to ask when meeting new people, “how long are you here for”. Its the question that assumes an end point, negates permanence. I’ve become bored of answering the question. Because there is no real answer to it. I’m here until the day comes where I’m done. And I can’t see that just yet. And since Bali is a land of spectacular lows and marvelous highs, this is the island of reinvention, discovery, creativity and ingenuity. So far, my ventures have taken me to a new level of possibility of what life can be and what life here already is. I’m writing in concepts because that is how I view them at this time and how most of us permanent island dwellers see it.
Life here feels abnormal in a way that one can only fantasize about in the west and life in Thailand is but a distant memory. Perhaps, simply a necessary part of my transition to this part of the world. In my mind, I can see myself old and grey and still living in Bali. The world is shifting and I have merely found my place in it.
Hustle and Bustle of Island Life
I’ve fatefully joined the well-endowed ranks of Boulet (Bahasa for white people) living and working in Bali. I’m working in the spa business, doing product development for spas and hotels using essential oils .
Yesterday, I made my first foray into Bali traffic on a motorbike. I had to go pick up 6 litres of essential oils. I’ve realized I actually have more equilibrium on the machine than I would have thought. It was a big day because it was not only my first time in Bali traffic, but I was attempting to navigate to a few obscure locations to do pick ups of our products. As luck would have it, I was a quarter ways up the island in a very local district when it started to pour rain. There I am pulled over on the side of the road, completely lost, attempting to retrieve my poncho from the seat, and trying to protect my fragile paper maps. Really enjoying the fact that I’m handling myself even as the frigid rain replaces the tropical heat. Driving no more than 30 mph back to Kuta, poncho waving in the wind, arm hair standing on end, and rain drops relentlessly pouring down my face. I’m almost entirely blinded by rain.
I finish up one last errand and begin the trek back home. As I pull into the street there is a full on Malasti ceremony going on. An entire village has the street blocked off. Women dressed in kabaya’s and men wearing batik kain or sarongs, they dutifully make their way down the street in a colossal procession towards the local shrine. This is where they circumnavigate the shrine and partake in what appears to be the equivalent of a Buddhist puja. I hear the sound of gongs, the chime of bells, and the beat of drums. As I inch along the road next to hundreds of other motorbikes, I begin to truly understand the notoriety of Bali traffic.
I drive further down the road and I begin to notice all of these signs of the reality I live in. A tree has just fallen down and ripped out from the root because of the storm. The locals are working in the pouring rain at an even pace to saw small pieces of the branches at a time to clear the road. The obstruction causes a small traffic jam relative to Bali and slowly we all make our way around it.
Again I pass another victim of the tropical shower. A store owners’ dam had collapsed leaving him struggling heroically to block off the over-flowing water with a giant banana leaf. It seemed a futile attempt.
This is all a part of my life now: the chaos of Indonesia, the magic of the Balinese, and perhaps a kind of normality that will replace all of my intial amusements.
Falling Down the Rabbit Hole of Oprah van Java
The events unfolded as follows: I met a beautiful and talented stylist at a photoshoot in Bali and she just happened to be the famous Indonesian actress, Happy Salma. Happy invited me to Jakarta for a few days. Of course I went. I stayed true to my spontaneous self. I landed in Jakarta not really knowing what the next few days were going to hold. I began to realize that things were unusual when I saw Happy doing an interview. She just seemed so normal and refreshing. Not the kind of persona I would attribute to a famous actress.
Later that night, it became even more noticeable. As we left the shabu shabu restaurant, gypsy kids begging for money came running up to our car repeating, “Laras, Laras”, her character on an Indonesian soap opera.
The next few days are a blur as I try to recollect them. I was whisked from comedy show taping to photoshoot to nightshow taping. Spending quite a bit of time in the car and in make-up rooms switching outfits and changing make-up. We got a lot done in the car. Jakarta traffic is notorious. It’s even worse than Bangkok.
I have seen Asian television before and it has never made any sense to me. I blame language barrier with a cheesy topping. It never prepared me for watching it live. I was in the huge studio watching this whole production take place. I couldn’t believe what I was really watching. I mean the worst slapstick comedy you’ve ever seen. When Happy came out after her guest appearance, I asked her, “what just happened?” And even she had no idea. Well, now I’ve seen it live. And as far a life experience goes, it was one of the most surreal.
Meanwhile, I am beginning to feel as if I am famous for one reason or another. Mostly for the fact that I am shining in the light of Happy’s star and I just happen to be a Boulet (Indonesian for white people). And being Boulet can be a very special thing to be in Indonesia. At the beginning of every live taping they would be mentioning ‘Boulet this’, ‘Boulet that’, and I would look at the screen and there would be my very confused-looking face. I think I was the butt of the joke and the object of admiration all at once. Everyone wanted to know what I was all about.
When Happy gave me a little tourist excursion into Jakarta, we couldn’t walk in a public square without people stopping us both for pictures. One girl even asked me if she could interview me on her video phone. I, of course, obliged. Even in Thailand there has never been such an earnest curiosity about my blond hair, my light skin, and my American nationality. And here I am trying to learn something about Indonesian’s and their country and all they want to do is ask me about me and my country.
There is a strange projection that you are special because you are to them.
As for Happy, she is the hardest working woman (besides my mom) I’ve ever met. From one photoshoot to the next, she is on and incredibly upbeat.
Since I couldn’t understand the interviews that were being taped or the comedy shows that were being filmed because it was all in Bahasa Indonesian, I began to read the body language really well. I could see right away what a pro Happy was at her job and how comfortable she was in these situations. She was sincere, confident, yet playful. I got lucky. I had met a friend along the way.
Indonesian Cinderella
Would you believe me if I told you I had met a famous Indonesian actress and she had taken me on a whirlwind adventure of photoshoots, live tapings of night shows, getting paparrazi photos like you are a celebrity and interviews with Indo MTV? Well, I’m in the midst of it right now. I’m guest starring on a Indonesia comdey show called Oprah van Java on Saturday. This might be the most surreal and random few days of my life.
Have you ever imagined when watching Asian media that you would be a character on a show one day? I certainly didn’t.
When I get dropped out of this world I’ll finally tell the tale.
Surfing Indonesia
I’m just chilling out in this beautiful cabana I’ve just happened to be offered. The pool is right below me and the beach is out in front. The swells were amazing this morning. I was up at 7 am getting pounded by waves. I’m not the best surfer, but I’m still out there getting in front of waves, nosediving and getting put through the washing machine. And for me, being out there is what makes it fun.
Ever since my very first experience surfing in Cape Cod, I have always had a passion for it. Cap Cod in summertime made it pretty magical. It was an adventure. I spent my 22nd birthday on a surf trip around Rhode Island. And I was sung Happy Birthday in a wet suit near the Wishing Well surf spot with a donut and a piece of wax wood for a candle.
The ocean is an irresistible body to me. I could never be close enough to it. I suppose surfing was a reason to be in the ocean for hours at a time. It’s a bonding experience where you go out there with a group of people, and it’s all about the high fives when you nail a wave and the group jokes and empathy as you get tossed around by a particularly large swell. It’s one of the most serene places to lay down on the board in the break waiting for the next round of swells.
Yesterday was my first time back in the surf in 6 months. When I ended up on my own I decided I should definitely spend my time surfing. People travel far and wide for the world class surfing on this particular island of Bali. And I didn’t want to waste an opportunity. So, I met some local surfers and tagged along for their daily ritual of morning and evening surfing. I found it’s also a way to find the good breaks and they usually have an extra board to lend out. Despite everyone being a short boarder on this island, I got lucky when Ketut just happened to own a 7’5”.
I spent the first half hour getting my surf legs back. Then I just got pounded by waves for the rest of the time. I caught a couple good ones and when I surfaced from the water after the first caught wave I gave a big whoop! and the little balinese kids who were hanging five whooped me back. It took me a second to realize they were whooping because my bathing suit had unfortunately re-adjusted itself, not because they were celebrating my victory. I promptly ducked under the next wave.
After a good surf session this morning despite being sore from yesterday evening’s tossing, we cooked some fresh fish on the beach over a coal fire. The fishermen had gone out last night as all the surfers were coming in. They had arrived just as we had gone out again this morning with a whole batch of just-caught fish.
Another good reason to hang with the locals: You get to keep some amazing memories. Sitting around a fire with a bunch of Balinese at 10 am eating the freshest fish of your life.
Not A Religion, But A Way of Life
The title of this post are the words of our Balinese driver, Sony, today as he brought Emily and I to Gunung Kawi, the holy ruins and rice fields of the Tampaksiring Village in northern Ubud. It was hundreds of steps up and down, through massive rice terraces against backdrops of waterfalls. It’s hard to explain the visual and even harder to capture in an image. It exhausted my descriptions of the color green. Despite living in tropical Thailand, nothing comes close to the lush jungle colors of Bali.
Gunung Kawi Entryway
Sony took us to the holy waters of Tirta Empur temple. The Balinese enter the water covered in sarongs. They ritually soak their head under the very first fountain to cleanse their spirit. Each person goes down the row from fountain to fountain until the very last fountain, which is supposed to get rid of bad dreams. The fountains have banana leaf baskets with burning incense at the tops and you inhale the scent and the smoke as you dip under the falls.
Emily and I put our sarongs on and got into the water. Sony had told us to avoid the two second to last fountains because they are used to cleanse dead people and for that purpose alone. Initially, Emily and I misunderstood and thought that the Balinese brought dead people into the water at this fountain bath, before cremations. Upon this thought we looked at each other, gave the surrounding waters a glance, shrugged, and continue to pray in our own way underneath the holy waters.
Holy Fountains at Tirtar Empur
What is obvious is that religion isn’t a word that is used to describe their practices. As I watch the local Balinese preparing for Oga Oga and making the final touches on their huge Barong paper mache giants, this is the glue of their community. Spirituality is their way of life: family life and community life. Their beliefs are what binds them together. I’m just glad I get to be a part of it in a small way.
Bali Time
Bali has taken over my life. It has wrapped around me like a gentle coil and under its sway induced me into it’s composition.
Balinese offering procession
I stepped off the plane and was picked up by Kadeck, Mary’s driver and taken to meet her friends, all of whom are craftsman in Bali. I have found out that every Balinese citizen has a craft that they practice each day. I asked a young wood carver how many hours a day did he practice his craft. He explained, “We don’t keep track of hours. We stop when we get tired.” Everyone is an artist in Bali.
Traveler Tip: Traveling around Bali is done through taxi and private driver, Bemo’s, the local public transportation, have slowly been shuffled out.
Ubud is my homestay for the moment, and it is the cultural zone of Bali. Where tourists descend in hopes of seeing the traditional dances, viewing the many art galleries, taking nature walks, and lazying around in cafes.
The Balinese start their day early in the morning. Around five am this morning, I was treated to a musical Hindu offering procession for Malasti. Drums beating and people singing Hindu chants. I could just visualize the women carrying offering boxes balanced confidently atop their heads. Each village has their own Malasti ‘parade’ at different times in the days before Nyepi (New Year). The Balinese make their way carrying gold-gilded offerings towards the closest ocean to their village and pray with the high priest, Brahman, before they dip their offerings to the deities in the ocean. The aspects of light and dark are always present. Everyone and everything has a spirituality that includes light and dark. This speaks to the mystique of Bali and the magic that is practiced on this island: Black and White. I am just beginning to grasp this mysticism.
Another unique aspect of Balinese life is the way they approach childhood and the care-taking of children. Babies, are revered because they are viewed as having been so recently in the divine presence of God. Therefore, they don’t allow babies to touch the ‘unclean’ earth until 3 months old and are carried through those initial months of life.
I have been staying with a wonderful fashion designer/artist, Nadya. Since I have arrived I’ve been staying in her houses in Ubud and Sesse soaking in the artistic exhibitions that are her homes. Every detail is fascinating in it’s intricacies. It has been a sensory experience so far. I’ve also met an paper-maker who uses collects rubbish from the beaches and recycling it in an in-studio ‘cooking’ process. Some might think it mundane, but it’s actually quite fascinating to see something that began from nothing as the well-oiled home-grown machine that it is now. Cally Sari, the paper-maker, is actually creating the photo albums for Obama’s family reunion that will be held in Bali two weeks from now. I was able to see some original photos of the family, which I thought was quite cool.
So, I arrived just in time for Nyepi, the Balinese New Year, which asks for a day of silence and stillness. It is preceded by Oga Oga, where the fabled Barong is seamlessly crafted by each Balinese family in huge erections of his image and used as the centerpiece in a ceremony where Barong scares the evil spirits away from the island of Bali. Barong is actually quite terrifying.
Recreation of Barong
Indonesia is in itself a difficult place to describe, let alone understand. It is comprised of more than 7,000 islands and is the largest Muslim nation in the world. However, Bali, amdist this Muslim nation is 90% Hindu. I’ve been reading Pico Iyer’s essays on Bali, and the veil is slowly beginning to lift, but just as a new veil descends. One thing is absolute about Bali: there is a magic about this place. Spirituality is a part of their daily consciousness. As you watch them pray five times a day in front of their homes and businessess, despite the enveloping tourism around them, it is done with a deep focus.
As I walk the streets of Bali the smell of soft incense, perhaps frangipani, greet me at every door. Remnants of their prayers. As I sit here now looking out amongst the rice fields there exists a peacefulness in this, some might consider, lost paradise. Bali is the old pro of tourism in Asia. Though, still there is something untouched in the midst of this rather crowded room.
As soon as I am able to upload photos, I will do so. I will continue to write as internet becomes accessible. But for now, I prepare for a day of fasting and prayer in Bali.
A New Decade on Koh Phi Phi
Initiation and a New Decade on Koh Phi Phi
Open waters of the Andaman Sea
Since landing in Thailand, so much of my time has been spent in observation. Just attempting, I suppose, to live vicariously through other travelers I’ve seen wandering the streets of Rambuttri Road and Khao San. In meeting some of these travelers I’ve come to conclusions about what I want to do and what I see myself accomplishing when my time came to explore.
This was it. The time had come for a longer taste of what life would be like as a rolling stone. It was finally happening. I don’t think there is really anything that can cause as much excitement and anxiety as looking forward to a solo travel expedition, never mind throughout New Years. It’s a holiday that, in most cases, is planned out thoroughly and significant sums of money is usually spent in preparation for making it the greatest night of the year.
I’ve never been one for the customary holiday celebration. Since, I was on my own in all the ways that counted, I decided to spend the this celebrated night on Koh Phi Phi.
I walked off the Tonsai dock, surrounded by the bustling business hagglers, and headed straight for the Rock Backpacker, as I heard it was the cheapest lodging one could find with a “community atmosphere”. Laden with my pack and freshly released onto Thailand’s islands, I walked through Tonsai Village and finally towards the mountains.
As I stared up the precariously erected stairs towards this ramshackle dive built into the cliffside, I had a vision of a treehouse where adults came to live out their childhood fantasies. I soon realized how accurate my first impression was. That was what this place was and everyone who came treated it as such. It possessed that “Never Never Land” vibe. I recall seeing a few stragglers hanging out in the outdoor hallway of the dorms, a place that would become very familiar over the next several days. The walls were plastered with graffiti messages of past “Rock” dwellers, not a spot remained unmarked. One of the more eccentric messages was: Zimbabwe’s rabbit sounds of the 80’s”. Inspired? Perhaps. I couldn’t glean any meaning from it, but felt that it had exist deep within the cinderblock. We would undeniably leave our own mark on the place. I had no idea what I had gotten myself into.
The Wall, where we spent evenings
The next few days and nights were spent getting to know my new and very temporary roommates. Living bunk to bunk with 20 other people can create a familiarity with each other like nothing else I’ve experienced. For the most part we were all spending New Years together. There was an earnestness, but also an ease with which we got to know each other. Familiarity was inevitable.You can call it a product of proximity. But there was more to it.
Evenings began with dinner at the local dives in Tonsai Village, Papaya or Garlic, prior to congregating for buckets at our hostel before rallying to party down at all the beach clubs set up on the sand. There was something magical about the Rock. Maybe it was the characters that had come to travel and had found a temporary home there: Prince of Persia, the Argentinean brothers, Nicki the mischievous, hooriding Brit, “the Husband and Wife”, a fellow burner from NorCal whose been coming to Phi Phi since the tsunami. The list goes on.
I affectionately became known as Katmandu, which was decided by Farhad or Persia, as we came to know him, the first evening at the Rock. The most important thing to know is that no one was here for comfort. I didn’t stay for the digs. We were all here because of all the people around us loving life, cracking jokes and partying with fervor. Weary or not from traveling, we all came to Phi Phi to get comfortable and go a little wild. It varied whether we made it back before dawn. Many of us did and the last one to make it back usually after falling asleep on the beach took some immortal snapshots of those of us whose stamina faltered.
Cliffs at Monkey Beach
Limestone Cliffs
Maya Beach Path
Arrived through back lagoon at Phi Phi Ley
Morning was a time to see the view off the Rock at it’s most tranquil. Getting up to brush my teeth at the outdoor sink, which overlooked the turquoise bay, were the quietest of moments. I would soak up those early hours of a new day.
Showers and Sinks
Overlooking the Tonsai from out Treehouse
A bunch of us would all rally for breakfast at Panda, while struggling to relieve ourselves of the previous night and follow through with the plans we made for that day: renting a long tail boat to explore the surrounding islands, hiking to quiet and isolated parts of the islands beaches, and diving and snorkeling around some of the most beautiful spots in Thailand.
We spent hours in the evenings at the Rock, talking about everything we could say. Talking with a kind of openness and intimacy that only people who have drunken quite a bit tend to display.
New Years Eve, the Rock was packed. A short while after the introduction of the New Years buckets, the Phi Phi Guru came over to pour in a bottle of Mekhong, whiskey that is best ascribed to lighter fluid in taste and effect, I can guess, and we all knew it was going to be a wild night. We partied and danced all over the Tonsai Bay and met up at a spot on the beach by the water ten minutes to midnight laughing, dancing, and falling over in fits of giggles. Already we were covered in liberal amounts of glow body paint (of which I still haven’t gotten remaining bits off my clothing). At the stroke of midnight we only knew because fireworks lit up the sky and they went off right above our heads. The fireworks came and they rained down on us.
Fireworks on New Years
There was an ecstasy to the night’s mood. Fueled by this riotous and unlikely gathering of people. We were together and free of all burdens. We were all just travelers. A universal purpose: to move from one place to the next, staying longer in the places where we found good people and good conversation. By the end of that week in Phi Phi, the Rock had become a home to all of us. We had hung laundry up to dry, taken communal showers, seen the bottom of too many buckets, and made endless conversation. It was one of those occurrences that people wait for throughout their travels. That they recognize as lucky to have been a part of even if only once: a miraculous convergence of people, time, and place. Everything sort of adds up and pure fun is the common end. We rang in the start of a whole new decade, from strangers to friends.
New Years Rock Crowd
New Years Eve
To employ a cliché: All good things must come to an end. Everyone was traveling. It was time to move on to the next spot, the next country. People slowly dispersed over the last two days. When we left it felt as though we were leaving summer camp, never knowing when we would see each other again. Privately, I grew quite sentimental with coming to terms with leaving the Rock. “Rock people” are unique in their open-mindedness. There’s no such thing as strangers but only new friends to be made. This is the culture of The Rock and its people.
David left Rock early, left us a note
I think David’s letter said it best. And there isn’t much more to add. His words so eloquently sum up what the week in Phi Phi was for all of us.
As the group of us who had moved in for the week got ready to move out, a new crowd of travelers came with the same mentality and attitude for the week ahead.
I did see the Rock people again. Shortly thereafter, a group of us met up for a reunion in Bangkok. And I bumped into Marieanne in Chiang Mai. We just happened to be staying right around the corner from each other. As for this post, I wrote this back in January when the memory was still fresh. I find that scrapping something that is truthful, despite it being maudlin, isn’t good for my psyche.
Rock Reunion in BKK
If you’ve never experienced this then you can never know its impact on a person. I think as a long-term traveler there is an imbibed poignancy to the memory. Thoughts that pass through my mind daily are in regards to my home and what I left behind. I am, at times, dreadfully aware that I don’t know when I will be coming home. I don’t know when I will see my family again. I terribly miss my good friends that reside in New York and Los Angeles. So, finding myself in this wonderful circumstance with some amazing like-minded people, was refreshing and heartening.
This lifestyle of travel I realize people find exciting and also it is viewed as quite a leap of faith. I don’t know exactly what to say when I hear that. In many ways I feel I have taken the easy way out. I have absconded the commitments of the western world to live in my own way. All I did was save up some money, find a job and buy a one-way ticket to Asia. Anyone can do it. It’s just a matter of how badly you want it. It’s a choice that you have to be entirely committed to. There is tremendous sense of freedom in the realization that I know exactly what I want in this moment. I am here now and I have this colossal, yet reachable foreign world at my fingertips. I can go anywhere.
Till Indo.
Indo: Bali-Bound
After one full day of packing and shifting stuff from the house that has been home the past 5 months to Emily’s apartment, I am ready to say goodbye to Ramon Park, Bangphli, Samutprakarn. What a long, strange trip it’s been. Difficult at times, but totally worth it all. I’m going to miss my kids. I’ll visit next semester for sure.
I feel that if there is one thing I am really good at its making a temporary sanctuary. It sounds really contrived but I feel as if I’m leaving some part of me behind here. I won’t be able to take it all away. It’s strange how much things have changed in such a short time. I remember when I first arrived: I was shell-shocked by it all. Now, it’s become familiar. I guess that’s part of why long-term traveling is so essential to some of us. Familiarity, perhaps. As you get more familiar, you don’t feel as inconsequential to the world as a whole. Bangkok doesn’t seem as far away from New York City or Venice Beach.
Tonight I stay up all night in Bangkok and depart for the airport at 3 am for a 5 am flight to Indonesia. One last drink with the teachers: Nate, Emily, Josie, Michelle, Ryan.
I don’t believe there is anything left to say. To be honest I’m feeling a little ambivalent about the whole day.
While I have no idea what to expect of Bali, it’s sure to bring some vibrant colors, and momentous sights and experiences. Also, I’ve heard the surf is awesome down there. I’ll be hopping on a long board again. I’ll let you know when I get there. As I usually do things: I’ll figure it out as I go along.
Till Indo.
