rice

We take so much for granted. 

In Sidemen I am literally surrounded by rice. 

In the morning before it rains, people are hard at work in the rice fields. 

At least the women are. Men are shooting pool and gambling. 

Stumps are visible. 

As it's wound…

and left to dry in the street. 

They must take it inside before the afternoon rains, to sell in the market and serve for dinner. 

snorkeling a wreck

Before I leave East Bali completely behind, I should mention snorkeling off the coast of Amed and a visit to Tulamben.

Tulamben is where the USAT Liberty was sunk by the Japanese. It washed up on shore and stayed there until Agung erupted in 1963. It's less than 20 feet off shore and 10–30 ft deep, depending on the tides. It's also created a natural reef. 

Jemuluk bay in Amed

The colors can't compete with the Caribbean when I was little, but it's very cool to be able to snorkel a wreck. I saw all kinds of parrotfish, blue sea stars, a garden of sea snakes, and a decorator crab that looked like a giant tarantula. 

But the most amazing sight was watching local women carrying oxygen tanks balanced on their heads. Here's a picture taken by Andy Fraser: http://www.flickr.com/photos/andywfraser/4959401397/ 

They earn 10,000 rupiah per tank round trip or about 80 cents. This is higher than the minimum wage in Indonesia, but is completely dependent on weather and tourism. 

(I did take photos with my underwater camera, but I don't have a way to connect them to my iPad. I'll post them if any come out.)

Tirta Gangga

Tirta Gangga is a restored water palace, with fresh spring water and marvelous animal statues. 

You can swim there, but I just walked around in the rain. 

Simple and elegant. 

jalan jalan

"Where are you going?" 

Walking down the street in Bali can be a challenge, since Indonesians rarely walk far, preferring to hop on a scooter. Plus a slow-moving tourist represents a chance to sell something. 

I don't mean it unkindly. An extra dollar goes far in this part of the world. But the daily barrage of friendly questions is  exhausting. And I hate to be rude or lie. 

"Where you going?" often followed by "Where you stay?" and "Where you come from?" without a breath in between. Often the same person will ask the same questions hours later. No one cares where you are going. 

Four little kids sat down next to me on the rocky beach, wearing ragged shirts, pretending to be making conversation in English, before pulling out bracelets and sea salt to sell. 

It's a weekday. They should be in school. I can afford the dollar or two but won't buy. 

"What's your name?" "Where you from?" 

Last time I said "America," the young woman serving me breakfast replied "Obama" and smiled shyly. There aren't many Americans in Indonesia because of the distance and price of a ticket. We tend to go to Thailand instead. 

I expect to see more in Ubud, thanks to the Yoga Barn and my neighbor Michael Franti and "Eat, Pray, Love."

In the mean time, I'll be chatting with friendly Amed residents, who can't believe I'm not married. Except for the fisherman with five kids who says his wife is never happy. 

"Where are you going? Transport?"

I shake my head. "Jalan, jalan." 

(Walking, walking.) This always makes them laugh, a bittersweet laugh that I speak their language but will not buy. 

Aaaah-med

Amed is a sleepy set of towns on the east slope of Agung, a giant volcano that last erupted in 1963. 

This is from the drive here; it looks the way Bali is supposed to be, terraced rice fields

People come to Amed because the water's calm, and there's a reef right off shore. 

I'm staying in a charming bungalow without air conditioning. So far it's cool enough to sleep but you should see me all tangled in the mosquito nets.

Unfortunately the internet doesn't work in my room, so I'm sitting on the stoop, looking at the moon and listening to frogs. 

It's a fine place to be lazy. 

in the kitchen

Behind the pool and villas, Ron and Irma built an outdoor kitchen. We made six dishes. The staff did a lot of prep work, including grating the coconut

We added water and squeezed to make coconut milk. Pretty nifty. 

Some of the coconut was reserved and toasted. We also did lots of peeling with terrible knives. Eat your colors, as Ilene taught me. 

Mortars and pestles made an appearance although many cooks today use food processors.  

The secret to sate? I'm not telling. But wet the sticks first so they don't burn. 

Simmering tuna and beef rendang were equally tasty. 

Surprisingly the most interesting dish was the spring rolls. We made the wrappers from scratch, using tapioca flour. You paint them into a no-stick pan and heat until they peel off. 

Then we filled, rolled, and fried them. Don't press too hard!

Enak!

Great way to spend a morning. And then a last swim, and I headed east to Amed. 

(These carved fruits are fake, but I liked them any way.)

at the market

I woke up early this morning to go to the market with Irma, for a more formal cooking class. Sanur market opens at 4 am. Traditionally people shop every day. 

We bought tuna and vegetables and chicken and fruits. 

You can also buy breakfast. 

This couple is making nasi goreng. 

They sell banana leaves…

and flowers and baskets for preparing offerings to the Hindu gods. 

There are chiles, of course. 

And this. Any idea what it is?

Next up: cooking with Irma at Sanur Beach Villas. 

under the sea

Yesterday I hopped a ride on a dive boat to Nusa Penida, off the coast of Sanur. It's an area famous for mola-mola, giant Indonesian sunfish, but this isn't the season for them.

Should I have been worried when the captain said a prayer before heading across the sea? I popped a Bonine just in case. We could see Batur and Agung volcanoes in the distance. 

Unfortunately the batteries in my underwater camera were dead. Should have bought a GoPro.

The first stop was an area known for manta rays. The sea was rough, so I wore a life vest and Made jumped in the water with me. Manta rays are incredible. I thought I'd seen them in Moorea, but it turns out those were stingrays. 

Then we headed to Crystal Bay. The water is incredibly clear—perhaps 15 feet visibility. The divers went off to 15 or 20 meters. 

Our third stop was the best snorkeling. Unfortunately it was also the shortest. We anchored off the northeast shore of Nusa Lembongan, near the mangrove forest, and I floated with the current. Heaven.

I saw at least 20 kinds of fish including trumpetfish, parrot fish, and one that looked like a puffy rock with orange wings. The divers said the current was crazy 25 meters down, like parachuting underwater. So they used up their oxygen very fast. 

I used a prescription mask, which was great except I had to put it on to see dolphins in the distance. Gorgeous day. (Next time, I'll stay on Lembongan and go out with a snorkel boat.)

Here's Nyoman, the captain of the Sweet Heart. His brother is in the hospital, having suffered after a 20-meter dive. 

And Made, the Rabbit, the dive assistant from Nusa Penida. Amazingly strong. 

Cool tattoos too. 

batik

Jogjakarta and its sister city Surakarta, known as Solo, are the centers of Indonesian batik process. Some batik is still handmade and dyed, with wax used to resist colors. It's similar to the way Ukrainian Easter eggs are made.

Joyce from Shanghai and I squeezed in an hour to learn how batik is made and create our own souvenirs (cost: 50,000 rupiah or about $4.50). The last time I made batik was summer camp.

The factory has hundreds of stamps. They're used to apply wax.

We selected a border and the stamps, and then pressed wax onto white fabric. This man pressed a second time, to improve our work.

This is Joyce's.

Once the wax is applied, the fabric is dipped in dye, often multiple times. We only had time for one color (blue) plus white.

After dying, the fabric is boiled to remove the wax, which is reused.

Here a few workers are painstakingly applying wax for detail.

The ends are sewn on an old Chinese Butterfly sewing machine. Then the fabric is ironed and placed in a gift bag. All in about 90 minutes.

Note that the accent in "batik" is on the first syllable, not the way Americans pronounce it. BAH-tik, not buh-TEAK.

Bonus points if you spot the error in my batik.