Eat, Pray...

I haven't kept an official tally or anything, but I'm fairly certain I've heard somebody make an "Eat, Pray, Love" joke about my trip something between 200 and 248 million times this year. And, frankly, I've done a pretty decent job of making it seem like I was fishing for them. Two weeks ago, I went and made it worse: after spending 11 glorious days eating my way through Italy earlier this summer, I ended up in Bali, where, according to the book/movie, I was supposed to find a four letter word spelled with an l, o, v, and e.

Didn't happen. Worry not, though, I found several other four letter words on the way to a very good time.

1. D-o-n-g

For those of you who don't know the Donger, I regret to inform you that your life isn't quite complete. For those of you that do, you probably don't need this disclaimer, but I regret to inform you that I can't provide much detail in this space about our two weeks in Indonesia. This is a family site, after all.

Mr. Dong W An

Dong's a buddy of mine from SF that I've known since the late 90s; he runs operations for a hedge fund, but he's about to embark on a new career in the East Bay. In order to prepare himself for a daily commute across the Bay Bridge, he decided to bolt to Asia for a few weeks and become a better surfer. He did all the legwork on planning the trip; all I had to do was book a flight that got me to Bali on July 27th. After getting scammed by a few guys in official-looking clothing at the airport, I was picked up by a few locals who whisked me away to our first stop: Kimasurf, an awesome surf camp full of very friendly people, 95% of whom were German. Throw in a few great people from the Netherlands, and we not only had instant friends, but we got to hear a lot of people talking in languages that strongly emphasize the loogie-hocking muscles. Which is always nice.

Dull moments are in short supply when you're hanging with Dong. He doesn't do mundane; he makes the mundane hilarious. Example: instead of learning campers' names, he pulled a classic Dongerism and assigned nicknames to everybody. Here's how he (and eventually we) referred to various luminaries:

Lars, the German manager of the camp - Hans Gruber

This girl who "showed up" on Wednesday but had really been there all along and he just didn't realize it - the self doppleganger

The group of insular Germans who didn't invite us into their circle - the nihilists

The way to say "good morning" - "Where's the money, Lebowski?"

One camper who happened to be incredibly attractive - Dreamweaver (and he sang her theme song aloud every time she walked by) 

To be completely honest, nothing crazy actually happened in the whole fortnight. Our 25-year-old selves would be ashamed. We did, however, go scuba diving at an old US WWII shipwreck, which was awesome.

Darling, it's better..

...down where it's wetter...

...take it from me

2. S-u-r-f 

My first surf experience was more existential crisis than exhilarating high. In my defense, I assumed that a "surf camp" would include instructions for beginners, but here was day 1's "lesson:"

Grab board

Walk to beach

Check out diagram in sand of safe spots to surf

"Have at it!"

Whoa. At this point in my life, the only experience I had holding a surfboard was the eight-minute walk from the camp to the beach, and I even screwed that up by accidentally swinging the backend into two very unimpressed French women. And it only took me two minutes in the Indian Ocean to realize that I was going to be very good at two things and very bad at a third: 

Good:

1. banging hard plastic on soft tissue (mine, luckily)

2. Drinking salt water

Bad: 

3. Surfing

In fact, halfway through my first hourlong "surf" session, in order to stave off the rapidly unfolding cascade of ego damage, I started to compile a list of things I'm naturally good at. Here's what I came up with.

Note: not an exhaustive list

After three more sessions of really bad surfing, I decided to enroll in a surf school, which I should have done on Day 1. And while I'm probably not going to enter the pro circuit anytime ever, at least I know how exhilarating it is to stand up on a board in a wave, even if the board is 15-feet long and we're only 5 meters from the beach. 

Bali's Volcano

3. G-i-l-i

The southwest coast of Bali shows all the signs of a major tourist influx. Large construction projects are underway on every vacant parcel along the beachfront, soon to add thousands of new rooms to the already substantial resort hotel inventory. A new terminal is under construction at the airport, designed to process 25MM new visitors a year, doubling the current capacity. And many streets feel more like a Hollywood set for "International Beach Resort City" than an actual foreign place, with most of the unique Indonesian experience stripped away by Western convenience, save for the locals sitting outside souvenir shops offering you a good price on something you don't need or cab drivers pulling over to hail you. Even the Indonesian restaurants promote their western options over local fare, usually involving some take on "Australian" beef. If Bali is the Australian Hawaii, the southwest beaches (Kuta and Seminyak) are Waikiki. 

I saw the same phenomenon in Thailand - in Phuket, Koh Samui, and even Chiang Mai - the more tourists come to see it, the more Western companies try to get their grubby little hands on the money that's escaped their homeland, invariably stripping away the local flair with over-processed foods and half-baked smiles. McDonalds, Burger King, Dunkin' Donuts, KFC, Starbucks, W Resorts, Four Seasons…when they flock, you've both arrived as a tourist destination and become the kind of place tourists ironically call "too touristy." Vicious cycle, that.

And then there are the Gili Islands.

If you pull out a world map and look for Trawangan, the largest of the three Gili Islands where Donger and I spent three nights last week, you either won't find it or will mistake it for an extra speck of ink the mapmaker dropped off the coast of Lombok. The "road" around its perimeter - mostly sand, brick, or sandy brick - is just 4.5-miles long (~7km), and is only used by three modes of transport: horses, bicycles, and feet.

It's the kind of place that teems with tourists but somehow doesn't feel touristy, managing to maintain its rustic, old-world charm. There's something so unique about it - so small, untarnished, anachronistic by choice - that it feels like a different world that happens to have a few foreign visitors dropping in to say hello instead of a soulless tourist trap.

Plus, it has a silent disco and some of the best seafood in the world. If I could choose my own setting for a sequel to Groundhog Day, starring yours truly, I'm pretty sure it'd take place in Trawangan. 

Representing Turkey in Trawangan

Horse taxi

4. U-b-u-d

Ubud is another soulful respite from the bustle of Bali's southwest coast. Tucked into the interior of the island, it's surrounded by terraced rice paddies, a forest full of monkeys, and easy access to the nearby volcano that remains active today.

I imagine it's something near Mecca for the yoga retreat set. Though I never got official confirmation, I'm pretty sure there's a local ordinance requiring every cafe to use the word "organic" in its name. And if you're ever stuck in Bali looking for an organic avocado and kale smoothie with bee pollen, green tea extract, and lecithin, go to Ubud. There's no better place to find Balinese oil paintings you'll feel tempted to ship home, price tag be damned; no better launching point for overnight hikes to the top of the volcano, white-water rafting trips, or rides along the two rivers that meet in town. And, say, for example, you have six nieces and four nephews at home? Ubud is an excellent spot for gifts.

MFT and Lotus Pond in Ubud

Organic cafe, Ubud

Coffee and tea tasting. Best thing ever.

One thing it's not great for? Two dudes who don't particularly love shopping who didn't book any yoga or outdoor excursions. So we only actually spent about three hours in Ubud. #Fail.

5. S-n-s-t

Okay, okay, I know I'm cheating, but if the crazy kids these days can shorten words to "cray" and "delish" and "ridic," and if I have to accept that "lol" is not a fad that the world will collectively come to its senses and reject (even though "ha!" has same number of characters), I can totally spell "sunsets" with four letters so it fits my story. Bali puts a huge magnet on the beach everyday at 6 PM, making it impossible for any breathing human creature not to find their way to the shore to watch the sun dip below the horizon. Here. See for yourself. There's a reason most ancient societies worshipped that spirit in the sky. I wonder how many of the world's problems could be solved if we just made everybody stop what they're doing and watch the sun set everyday.

Seminyak

Single Fin Club, Uluwatu

Gili Trawangan

Seminyak

And now we're sprinting down the homestretch. I keep reminding myself that most Americans would kill for a two-week vacation, so having two weeks Down Under until I go home is still quite the indulgence. I'm at my friend Alex's house just outside Perth, Australia, reconnecting with modern conveniences like safe tap water and toilets designed so that you can flush toilet paper, and the guy I spent so much time with in college that my cousin Emily wondered if we were getting married. Luckily, Al has much better taste than Emo gave him credit for, and his wife Natalie and their daughters have already made it feel like a family reunion. Sasha even wanted to wake up Uncle Kevin at 6:00 AM yesterday before going to day care and couldn't understand why daddy thought it was a bad idea. "Daddy lived with Kevin for two years in college, Sweetie. He's not exactly a morning person."

One last thing. Something about my last post struck a nerve, because it got the most pageviews since the first thing I wrote. If you've just stumbled upon this blog or checked back in after a few months, I'd love for you to check out the story about my week in Cambodia, undoubtedly the most memorable week I've spent on the road in a year of memorable weeks.

Oh yeah. I'm going home August 26th. Crazy.

Until next time...