Monkey Business

I have scientific proof that primates are the ancestors of humans...

Back to Killer Kuta

I'm back in Kuta now because I have to sort out my visa situation and figure out how to stay in the country longer than my alotted 30 days. Eventhough the visa's good until June 10th, I am going to another Indonesian island soon and I need to get everything squared first.

Last night at a club, I ran into two guys I did "Dirty Bangkok" with about six weeks ago. One is from Cali, Clint, and the other is from Sweden, Johan. We had so much fun in Bangkok together and hung out with these three Israeli girls fresh from the military. I absolutely loved these dudes. When we bumped into eachother last night, we jumped into the biggest bro hug a straight man can give, and the entire surrounding area stopped and gave us the weirdest looks. Maybe it was because I was hugging two guys that were wearing nothing but pink boxer briefs and a tie around their heads. I couldn't have been happier to see them.

When I was three weeks into my trip way back in the north of Thailand, I was in a small hippie town called Pai. I was walking by a small outdoor bar when two Brits, John and Garreth, invited me to have a drink with them. They were very nice guys, and one of them, John, mentioned something very interesting... he spoke about how he had a certain perception about a certain thing, which made him act a certain way. And one of the main goals for his trip was to change that perception. I found it to be a very inspiring idea, and myself, sharing the exact same feeling about that certain thing, thought it would be nice if I could do the same, although I didn't find it to be too realistic. The two Brits and I went our seperate ways a few days later before we could say our goodbyes and exchange info, and as the weeks went on I began to transform my original feelings about that certain thing, and its definitely changed me for the better. And for the last couple months I wish I could have been able to tell John that he inspired me in a big way.

I was walking into a travel agent this afternoon in Kuta when, of course out of no where, I crossed paths with Garreth, the other Brit! I was equally as happy to see him as well. We spoke for a long while, its been more than three months since we've seen or spoken to eachother. Anyway, to make a long story short... now I have a way to thank John.

Lovina

Movin' along and doin' my thang, I arrived in Lovina, a sleepy town on a black sand beach in the northern, central coast of Bali. The almost broken down bus took only a few hours, so it wasn't terrible. People mostly hire private transport to places around Bali, but I really enjoy using public transportation. Back in Thailand, I made a decision to use the same transportation the locals do, and I learned a lot about the culture that way. It's great to sit on an old smelly bus with torn up seats, just watching everyone else do their thing. Some women are carrying with them fruits from the market, some little boys are going to school, some old men seem to just be sitting doing whatever. It's fascinating, really... small pleasures.

Lovina is nothing special. The black sand, due to the volcano, is cool to see but the water is kind of nasty and the beach itself isn't great. The town is very quiet with not alot of people, either. But Lovina is in a great spot in Bali, so close to beautiful scenery and small villages. The motor biking has been unbelievable, going through mountains and miles upon miles of rice paddies. The shades of green are amazing.

I saw cock fighting yesterday. It was intense and brutal. The rules here are a lot different from the fights I saw in the Dominican Republic. They follow more of a boxing set up with a ten count to see if the injured chicken can stand up. Here, the cocks have these huge three inch blades attached to their talons, where as in the Dominican there were short blunt spikes attached. Therefore, the fights were quick... these chickens caught one good slash, and it was lights out. There was no pulling a Rocky Balboa and fighting one more round, hurt and beat up. I won't post the video in case there are some PETA Playaz reading, but it was a scene to be watched. Half the fun was watching the Balinese surrounding the ring, betting, cheering, and just making noise.

Below is a picture of a great stretch of rice fields and a farmer just happy being a farmer.

The Volcano

I took a bus from Ubud into the central, mountainous region of Bali. There are two active volcanoes in Bali, and I went to the smaller one, Gunung Batur, set in a beautiful valley surrounding a lake. There are great treks that go to the top of Gunung Batur, and because the clouds begin to obscure views before noon, the most popular trek leaves at 4 a.m. to see the sunrise from the top then walk around the craters and blackened lava sediments.

My guidebook says that many travellers report being able to climb the mountain without a guide, as the path is well defined and easy to follow. However, there is somewhat of a trek mafia here in town, and its just bad news for people attempting to climb without a guide, as threats of violence and intimidation are some of the problems linked with not using a guide. Welllllllllll... my ass wasn't taking a guide, so I had to tread very softly, not ask too many questions, make it seem like I was going to wait a couple days. Listen, I didn't choose not to take a guide just to be a pain in the ass. My book said it was an easy climb do to alone, although not recommended in the dark. I was looking to test myself in a way I haven't before, and because of that, it was very important that I made it to the top on my own. It was important not so I could get to the top and stick my tongue out to the people who used guides, but because I thought it would be a real challenge to be able to navigate my way all alone, as I've never done anything remotely like this ever before.

There would be obstacles...
- the access road that leads to the trail is just across the street from the trekking office, which is always on patrol
- the barking dogs drawing attention to me
- getting to the access road without crossing the trekking office

I woke up at 2:40, put all my necessary items in my day pack, and quietly left my hostel. I was about a half mile from the access road, and needed to avoid the main road so that I could go unnoticed. There were three hotels, two restaurants, and some houses separating me from the access road. Here's how it went down... (written in present tense).

I tip toe out of my room and run to the wall. I can't use my head lamp, it will wake the stray dogs. I trip in a ditch. I get to the wall, scale it, and jump over. Four dogs start barking, so I run faster to the next wall, which separates all these compounds. I feel very covert and James Bondish. Climbing, crawling, making haste, slowing down... its an intense, blind few minutes. Now the hard part. I'm across the street from the trekking office and a guy is standing outside. I have to be out in the open for about thiry yards before the nearest barrier can hide me. I wait for him to turn around, and as if there are NFL teams clocking my 40, I bolt to a parked car, successfully hiding me from view. Dogs barking loudly and some lamps giving me little visibility, I make the last dash to the access road unnoticed, sprinting into the hills... hard part's over, right?

There are a bunch of paths... too many, actually. So many, I have to turn back around a bunch of times. A farmer that was walking around is nice enough to point me the way, and off I go. With my headphones blaring, my I-Pod fully charged, I'm amped, excited, and ready to eat this mother fucking volcano for a late night snack. The path is very narrow, and at times hard to define, but my headlamp is showing me the way. I'm climbing, sliding, maneuvering, and progressing my way up. A steady hour ahead of every other trekker, I'm excited to get to the top on my own.

I'm up, pretty far up, and I'm losing my path. It seems less trodden and more wilderness. Crazy Murray from New Zealand, remember him? He taught me how to read trails while on our hike, so I have an idea of what to look for. There are spots where if I step two feet to the right I could fall fifty feet. But the trail is still somewhat here, and I keep at it. But now its getting to the point where I feel astray, so I climb back down to a spot where the trail is thicker and look for new dirt. My 46 year old I-Pod quits on the way back down, so I have nothing but nature to listen to, which isn't all that bad, but it was more fun rapping "I'm a beast, I'm a dawg, I'm a mother fuckin' problem", while climbing up a mountain, ya know?

I find a new path, one I didn't notice earlier, and take it. I even find garbage along the way, so I know I'm good at this point. But the higher I get, the less it looks like a way to the top. My head lamp is dimming a bit, and I get lost for a few minutes trying to find a new trail. I get nervous for a moment, but know I must keep my head... nothing good ever happens to the guy freaking out on a mountain by himself in the middle of the night! I decide to wait by a rock until I see some flashlights, signs of other trekkers. I wait... but no one. Its nearly five, and surly people should be half way up by now. After debating what to do, I descent 2/3's of the way back down. Clearly off target, I find a new trail and shoot one more time. But after 15 minutes I get really lost, and even though I am on low ground, it isn't a clear place. I eventually find my route, and decide to throw in the towel. Dejected, dirty, and defeated, I gaze to the top of the mountain and see cameras flashing... an extra hard slap in the face.

(Back to reporting in past tense) The following morning I retraced my steps from the beginning just to see where I went wrong. As it turned out, I went wrong at step one. At the very end of the access road there is a temple and next to the temple there are two paths: one that hugs the side of the temple, leading to a beautifully laid out, wide trail to the very top, and another trail that leads away from the temple, up a small trail that zig zags up rocks, around trees, through brush, and is used by farmers to chop wood... guess which one I took.

I couldn't stand waiting a whole 'nother day to do it again, so I left town. It's alright, though, Bali is small and I can easily get back in two hours from anywhere on the island... I can't let one little 'night lost in the woods' get me down!

Ubud

After a great week of shaving a few years off my life in Kuta, I ventured an hour and a half north to Ubud, the cultural epi-center of Bali. In Ubud, I have been experiencing the real Bali, walking through streets filled with centuries old temples, beautiful Balinese architecture, and traditioanl dance. Ubud is a collection of small villages, surrounded by amazing stretches of rice paddies and greenery. Yesterday I took a motor bike and went to some of Bali's oldest temple ruins and cruised through some of the smaller villages. The scenery is epic and the people are so wonderful.

Although tourism and development somewhat takes over a town, Ubud has done a fine job of keeping its traditional roots. The guest houses, called homestays here, are built into beautful verandas and gardens, and just sitting on the terrace reading my book is an experience. It's nice getting away from the busy life back in Kuta and just taking it easy here in Ubud, breathing in the culture and learning about Bali.

Below is one of Bali's oldest and reknown temple ruins, Gunung Kawi, which dates back to mid 900.

The Ceremony

Ubud is the place in Bali to experience Balinese dance, which is a very colorful, ornate and traditional show. They involve telling stories through dance, usually about good vs. evil and monsters and black magic, spirits and demons. It's very cool. The costumes are beautiful and decorative, and its certainly something that is central to Balinese culture. The shows are performed in the town center at various locations, however, for the true investigator, one can witness an authentic Balinese dance performance at a temple during a ceremony, seen by and performed only for locals. The shows in the town center are great, but it is geared for tourists. I was in search of a show where I would be the only foreigner in the crowd. Only then would I feel that I saw some real Balinese dance.

I started talking to locals, who are extremely friendly and generous, and learned that there was a ceremony going on all week long, day and night, at a huge temple complex a few miles outside of town. The ceremony falls for one week only once a year on the full moon, so it truly was a special time. And it is there that I can see authentic Balinese dance. I took a ride on a motorbike with a local to the temple, but first he had to dress me properly. I couldn't walk into a Hindu temple wearing a t-shirt and shorts. I had to dress in a sarong with a scarf wrapped around my waist and a head dress.

The scene at the temple was amazing. There had to have been 2,000 people at this temple, and ALL were Balinese. I was at the temple for four hours, and I saw only three foreigners, which made me feel good. I met a really nice local boy named Wyann and he showed me around. He then led me into a large praying ground, pictured below. I said to him, "But what do I say, I don't know what to do?" And in his broken English he said to me, "It no matter. You speak through heart." And that was that. I got holy water dropped on my head, I held the flowers in my palms, I breathed in the insence. I did what the Hindus did. It was far and away the most authentically cultural experience of my trip.

Below is me dressed in the temple, a scene from the performance where the demon casts a spell on the villagers, forcing them to turn on themselves, and the praying ground where I sat with Wyann and "spoke through heart."

Right.

An asshole dancing like an asshole...

The Wingman

Being a good wingman is a skill that takes alot of practice, it's no easy gig, mind you. It's an adventure, filled with a plethora of possibilities. Life isn't like a box of chocolates... being a wingman is. Although it helps to be good friends with the guy you are winging for, it is not neccessary. What is most important, however, is good nonverbal communication skills between the two. And although being a wingman is not always a fun task, it is ultimately an act of good will, a selfless deed that should fall under the title of a "Good Samaritan Act".

I've been going out nonstop in Kuta for the last five nights. And I don't mean talking in a quiet bar for a couple hours, I mean raging face and broin' out, dancing till 5 a.m. then getting up to surf at 10. It's definitely Full Moon Party-esque. Anyways, last night I really wanted to go to bed early, however, a guy named Josh who I've been sharing a room with met two Canadian girls that were new to Kuta and wanted to hang out. I had ZERO interest... but like a doctor, a good wingman is always on call... write that down. As it turns out, these Canadians were on Team I-Hate-Americans-And-Think-They-Are-Igorant-Pricks. I learned this five minutes after meeting them, when I was ask if I knew the capital of Canada and who their Prime Minister is. What is this Who Wants to be a Millionaire? I knew neither of those answers, and if I had any incling of the trashing that would ensue, I would have Googled my ass off and learned everything about Canada.

I was talking to Katie, who was very pretty but her voice was extremely annoying. Her voice, plus highlighting everything that is wrong with my country, made me wanna give her the Stone Cold Stunner. "I had an operation of my right arm that would have cost $300,000 in the States, but my country paid for all of it. I can't afford that! Can you imagine if my right arm had to be amputated? And I'm a righty!" You get the picture?

Luckily, Josh gave me "the look" that he was bored with the one he was talking with and wanted to switch. Like FedEx, a good wingman delivers. Well I wish this FedEx truck crashed in the middle of the road, because this one was far worse than her friend. I was basically being trashed for 30 minutes about how "Americans don't know shit, they suck, they think they're better than everyone, blah, blah, blah, I'm a dirty tramp... " I wanted to give her a Rock Bottom followed by the People's Elbow.

But what was I to do? I can't shun my responsibilities. Remember, this isn't about me, it's about the guy I'm winging. Ten minutes later he said, "Let's bail", I told him "Thank God", told the girls, "America's very big on Botox, try some", and got the fuck outta there...

More Kuta

I've been surfing like crazy the last few days. Boards just cost a couple of bucks for the whole day, so I've been going into the water with them three or four times a day. It's awesome. Part of the reason why Kuta is so much fun is because of the way people meet each other. There's a group of steps outside of a convenient store. They're on a busy side street, but there's nothing special about these steps. But for some reason, the steps are the main meet up spot for everyone before the night gets going. Whether you are traveling by yourself or traveling with five friends, you go to the steps, meet a bunch of new people, then go to the clubs together and have a great time. So over the course of a few days, I've gotten to meet a lot of really cool people and constantly have mates to hang out with.

While I was in Sydney, my hair was looking pretty ratty and something needed to be done. I went to the barber and I told him to work his magic. He told me he wanted to give me a mohawk and I said, "No problem." Okay don't freak out Grandma, it isn't the mohawk you're thinking of. I guess by American standards it called a fo-hawk. Its just cut in such a way that has it shorter on the sides and longer in the middle, but it's not a legit mohawk. One guy I met from Toronto, Josh, has a legit mohawk, shaven all around and longer in the middle. So since he's got the mohawk and I've got the fo-hawk, we call ourselves the MoFo Combo. I guess it's one of those, "You had to be there situations."

On a more serious note, a night club here in Kuta Beach got bombed by Muslim terrorists a few years back. The site is just a couple minutes walk from my hostel, and a lot of people from a lot of different countries were killed. The attack was directed at Westerners, and the majority of people killed were Australian. In place of the night club, which obviously got destroyed, is a memorial with all the names of people killed and their home country.

Below is a clip of The Steps... a great place to start the night!

Drop It Like It's Hot

There's something very exciting, very inspiring about cracking open a fresh, brand new Lonely Planet guide book and reading through the adventures that lay upon you. Bali is a tiny island filled with more culture and activities, surfing and beach bumming, and hiking and mountain climbing than you could shake a stick at (who thought of that saying?). There's even an active volcano on the island. So, I'm really looking forward to getting into all of it.

I have spent the last couple of days on Kuta Beach, Bali's main tourist town and backpacker area. It's where everyone spends their short holiday or the beginning of their long Bali expedition. There's descent waves to surf, although the best are more south, and the nightlife is definitely towards the top of my list. I'm happy that I can go out wearing my bathing suit and sandals again!

Kuta is a really groovy, interesting town. It's definitely built up, but somehow it has managed to maintain its authenticity and original style. There's dozens of quirky alleyways filled with shops and little homes. Some of the alley ways lead to main streets and some little alley ways lead to more little alley ways, sprayed all around in no particular direction and with no particular lay out. The beach is fantastic, and for some reason, fantastic for the exact opposite reasons of why I love beaches. The sand is grainy and tan and the water is nothing near an interesting hue of any sort. It is acutally kind of murky. But the beach just has tons of personality and great vibes. It's great for reasons I can't describe... it just is.

Two days agon, I was sitting on a random side street when I ran into two Brazilians I was hanging with back in Ko Phangan, Thailand. That was over two months ago. We never said good bye to eachother and we never talked about future travel plans, so it was really cool to see eachother again. The Brazilians, myself, and two Italian dudes have been hanging the last few nights, dancing to some good 'ol hip hop... FINALLY!

Hellooooooo Bali!

Got into Bali at midnight last night, walked around for two hours until I finally found a place, paid $4.50, took an ice cold shower that comes out of a hose, flopped down on a dirty, rickety bed, laid my head on a "pillow", and went to sleep. Ahhhhh, back to the real world. The real world of being a backpacker, that is.

Bro-in' Out

Just finished up a great weekend out and about in Melbourne. On Saturday I experienced an authentic Aussie BBQ at a friend's house out in the suburbs. Later that night I was met with a very difficult decision... I had the choice to either a) meet up with a group of great looking Aussie chicas who couldn't get enough of the American accent, or b) meet up with a really great couple of guys I met back in Phuket.

The choice was an easy one: I'll take a good bro night over anything.

I met Nick and Jonsey in Phuket the night of the New Year water festival. It was night and everyone was getting all dressed to go out. But they didn't know that there were a certain few who were still "celebrating" the new year. So as these Euro grease balls, all suited up, walked up to Club Hollywood, they were doused with buckets of water. Long story short, I met these two while enjoying the events aforementioned. I was down to my last dollar, but they treated me as if the three of us were best mates, and we got along like it, too. I couldn't get the next round and I let it be known well in advance, but all I got was a "No worries, mate." We hung out the whole night, and although I urged that I wasn't at all hungry at the end of the night, they insisted. I told them that when I got to Melbourne we'd be squared.

The weekend concluded with a visit to Etihad Stadium with Kate and Jarrod for an Aussie Rules Football game between the Collingwood Magpies and the St. Kilda Saints. It's traditional to eat a meat pie at Aussie Football games, kind of like eatting a hot dog at a baseball game. I told them that I'd give it the first half before I decided which team to root for, check that, barrack for (to 'root' for someone in Australia means to fuck them). So I returned to my seats at the start of the second half donning Magpies gear, and they ended up losing 128-40, which is the equivalent of an NFL game ending in a score of 50-10... go figure.

Australia is great and my plan was to tour the entire east coast, but it is approaching winter and it is getting too cold for me. I would love to come back, but it needs to be in the summer.

So tomorrow I'm on a plane for................................... see ya there!

Pictures

I just added the last of my Thailand albums, my first Melbourne album, and all of my Sydney pictures, which cover three seperate albums.

The Sydney albums might be some of my favorite pictures of the trip, partly because they are with people who I love that I never get to see, but also because there is such an ecclectic variety of city life mixed with amazing beach scenery. Enjoy.

Melbourne and My I Pod

Got into Melbourne yesterday, very cool place. It's a very edgy city with alot of personality. There's tons of little alley ways off of side streets filled with bohemian eateries, shops, and bars. I'm staying with a friend who I met over the summer at Yankee Stadium. She has an apartment right across the street from the 50,000 seat Aussie Rules Football Stadium, so I like the view. Aussie Rules Football is the best in Melbourne, with a dozen teams and the best players, so I'm definitely going to see a game or two to witness the Australian rivalies equivalent of the Mets vs. Yankees and the Giants vs. Eagles.

My I Pod is on it's last leg. Since Channukah of 2003, my white, original, buttons on top of the wheel music blaster has been a loyal friend. Accompanying me on numerous trips all over the globe and getting me mentally prepped for hundreds of games, matches, and events, this slender little baby has seen it, done it, and been through it all. It was with me on my first Spring Break to the Bahamas when I was 18. It was with me in the wrestling gym, blasting Glass Jaw up until the moment before my match for the state championship when I was 16. It was with me playing A-Ha's "Take on Me" during pregame warm ups before my first game as a starter against Wake Forest, helping to take my mind away from shitting myself. And it's always been there to let me sing my lungs out on a long car ride.

My I Pod, like an old person losing their mind (but not you grams), refuses to play certain songs, shuts off even if the battery is full, skips songs randomly, and varies it's level of volume depending on whats playing. I don't have it in me to get rid of it... there's just too many happy memories in all of those songs that have been there from Jew Fest '03. Like Rocky, I need it to fight one more round, and get through the rest of this trip for me.

My Ocean

My life is the ocean... And in my ocean there are a lot of waves. These waves are events, opportunities, occurrences, people, situations, you name it. And I am on a surf board, riding. I am surfing now, not later, not soon. I am always surfing now, while at the same time peeking just ahead at what waves are upon me. An exciting ocean is one filled with tons of waves, big and small, conquered and unconquered, ridden on a board that is strong but scuffed, solid but dented here and there from wave after wave. Some I ride and some I let pass. But the ocean is unpredictable, and at times there can be no waves at all, while at times there can be so many rough waves I just can't catch my breath. But I trust that my board is a strong and sturdy one, and I know I can battle any wave, whether I ride it all the way to shore or it throws me under.

Now, my ocean is big and there a ton of options. I can choose to stay in the calmer area where I know there is no risk in riding the small waves. I can jump on a little wave and ride it all the way, looking good but mostly avoiding the risk of falling off and getting thrown under the current. And if I slip off and fall from a small wave, well hey, it's no big deal really, its like stubbing my toe over a rock. Or I can take my board, which has evolved over time, hardened with each wave I've ridden and fallen from, and go to an area in my ocean where its a bit more unpredictable, where the waves are a bit larger and random. Here, of course, the consequences of falling from a wave is much greater. I can get thrown under the current and dragged out into an uncontrollable rip tide. But then again, is falling off of a giant really a terrible thing? It seems that its more about having the burning desire, stemming from deep in the pit of my stomach, to take on a giant wave, one that I may not be quite ready for, but one I've decided to jump on because it's a challenge that doesn't have a guaranteed outcome, yet could hold an infinite amount of possibilities.

And then there's that giant wave that you do catch. But keep in mind it's a big one, and these are the most unpredictable. I could ride it and end up in a very different part of my ocean, in an unfamiliar part that I haven't yet explored. It may lead me way away from where I planned to be or where I originally was, and it may take me a while to paddle back. But if I catch the right wave and take it all the way... the reward is so much greater than taking in 100 small waves.

There's those times in life, in that ocean, where ya just got to get on that wave... and enjoy the ride. The trophies of waves ridden and triumphed don't mean much unless the ride has truly been cherished. It's not about conquering the wave... It's about the ride. It's all about the ride. It's about getting on and falling off after a few seconds. It's about getting on and falling off right away. It's about getting on and riding it as long as it allows before throwing me off, because as we all know, no wave goes on forever. A wave ends just as a new wave begins. But it's all about the ride...

After all my surfing is finished, if I can't stand on the beach and look back into my ocean, proud of the waves I've experienced, ridden, and been thrown off of; if I can't stand on the beach, proud that I explored areas I was unfamiliar with, took chances, risked failure, and surfed it all with an open heart... it will all have been a series of missed opportunities. And these opportunities I will never know unless I keep surfing.

Surf's Up, Dude!

After a full four days of touring Sydney, learning it's ins and outs, and taking advantage of the city's public transport... it was finally time to surf. High tide was at 2 o'clock, so I got in the water at 1:30 to warm up and get used to being back on a board. Now, I am definitely not a pro, but I have gone a few times and can ride a small wave straight to shore, but cannot turn. These waves at famous Bondi Beach literally kicked my ass. The waves were pretty big, six to seven footers with really clean breaks. As a result of these waves dropping off so high, you have to turn and ride the wave as it breaks, otherwise you just drop from seven feet high off the crest of the wave, ultimately loosing your balance and getting thrown like a rag doll. So me, not able to make any turns, paddled, stood up on the crest of the wave, rode it until it broke, then dropped seven feet and crashed and burned. At times I got thrown pretty bad, especially since I didn't have a chance to take a breath before getting tossed underneath. This area of Bondi was not for beginners, however, it was a blast getting on a board and riding some real waves.