Not for all the tea in China but maybe for Prada

So the question everyone has is, “now what?” followed by, “are you going to go back to work.”  I am not prepared for either of these questions.  It wasn’t supposed to be like this.  The plan was to be in Japan for three years, minimum.  The plan was to finish my book, try to get it published and then figure out what to do then.

We can’t even go back to our house in Long Beach. It’s rented until 2013.

But now back in Los Angeles, at the Oakwood, the pressure is on but the answers are not.  Russell has several job opportunities, in spite of turning down two already.  His boss made good on his promise and offered him two jobs, one of them is in Beijing.  As in China.  China!

We went on a looksee trip.  I was there for three days.  After the second day, I was questioning why anyone would want to live there.  It was freezing cold, polluted and rude.  It wasn’t like Tokyo, at all.  I thought it would be.  I was wrong.

The people were rude.  They always seemed to be expectorating.  It was disgusting. 

The food was good, better than America, but not as good as Tokyo.

There was new building going on everywhere.  Because of this, everything was coated in a fine layer of dust.  The cars, the streets, and all the apartments I looked at.  I looked at a lot of apartments and some villas.  Like a target, Beijing is ringed by five concentric circles, or ring roads, that circle the city center.

According to Beijing law, dogs larger than 15 inches at the shoulder, Ranger is 18 inches, are not allowed within the 5^th ring.  However, according to our real estate agent, this rule does not really apply to expats.  Huh?

Before flying to Beijing I’d spent a couple of hours online, scaring the shit out of myself, reading about dogs in China.  That is: reading about dog massacres and dogs on the menu.  It seems the Chinese government thinks dog owners are lazy.  Until China received a lot of bad press just before the Olympics, dogs were massacred en masse.  Um, yeah, this does not sound good.

But of course, everyone in China assured us, this was all just propaganda.  There are lots of large dogs in the city.  Uh huh.

A lot of expats live in villa compounds, which are gated communities, designed after familiar neighborhoods in the States.  It was surreal.  One neighborhood looked exactly like a community you would expect to find in North Jersey with bricked brownstone townhouses.  Another looked like an Orange County neighborhood with stucco houses and blond women pushing 1.5 kids in strollers, golden retriever in tow.  The one I liked best was called Beijing Riviera – a picturesque planned community of French country manors.  It was like living outside of Paris, without the croissants and well, the French.

The only problem is, all the villa compounds are located outside the city, a minimum of a one hour commute in.  A driver is required.  Driver?  Yes.  Apparently foreigners are not even allowed to apply for a driver’s license until they have lived in the country for one year.  And the driver’s test is so convoluted it’s almost impossible to pass.  A majority of the questions have nothing to do with driving, more to do with China communist axioms. We thought Japan was hard? But even if you could pass the test you wouldn’t want to drive in Beijing. 

Driving in Beijing is worse than driving in Manhattan. This is not an exaggeration. Traffic lanes are taken as a vague suggestion.  The shoulder and sidewalks are code for “fast lane.”  There are no rules.  Worse, over 90% of the drivers on the road are brand new.  A reported 1,500 new cars, that is new drivers, are added daily.  Daily.  There are already so many cars, a lottery has been established prohibiting drivers from being on the road one day a week.  Yep.

But besides the long commute, living in one of the villa compounds means I would be isolated from the best part of Beijing.  I know I said “best”.  The one good thing I found in my brief visit was the astounding growth of the city.   It reminded me of the internet boom.  Remember that?  The promise of instant IPO induced wealth, Crystal champagne flowing, flagrant, unapologetically conspicuous spending. And I thought this was a communist country?  What the hell?!!  This place is more capitalistic than 5^th Avenue at Christmas.  That’s how it feels in Beijing.  There are shiny, state of the art shopping centers going up every where - dazzling buildings flashing with neon and multi-floor digital advertisements encouraging the populace to keep spending, keep shopping, keep imbibing.  I like to spend.  I like to shop. I definitely like to imbibe. Exciting.

Within the city center, skyscraper communities are created just for expats and given familiar, idyllic names like Palm Springs and Central Park.  They are cities onto themselves, with grocery stores, dry cleaners, beauty salons and the ubiquitous Starbucks on every corner.  My favorite is a brand new development called Xanadu.  Yes, Xanadu, like the frothy 1980’s movie starring Olivia Newton-John as a muse.  It’s all dark wood, chrome, and white leather furniture, sunken bathtubs and high-end stainless appliances.  This could work.  I could see us living there, at least on the ground floor.  While I would LOVE to live on the 25^th floor looking over the sprawling city, I don’t think the residents would appreciate riding up multiple stress filled floors with Ranger – aka menace to society.

Speaking of dogs, we saw a lot of large dogs frequently, which was just slightly more reassuring.  Whenever we encountered an English probable dog owner, I asked them about relocating their dog.  The answers were all the same. Make sure to get your dog registered and whatever you do, DO NOT allow your dog to be put into quarantine. Dogs die there.  G-r-e-a-t.

On the third day Russell arranged for us to have drinks with one of his former associates who lives in Beijing.  He told me I could ask him anything.  “Anything?” I asked doubtfully, a glint in my eye.  “Anything,” he replied.  Ok, here goes.

My first question was, “Why would anyone want to live here?”  He laughed and replied with a question or was it a statement.  “You just came from Tokyo didn’t you?” 

“Yes, why?,” I replied suspiciously.  He said, “Everyone who comes to Beijing from Tokyo says that.  Everyone expects it to be like Tokyo.  It’s nothing like Tokyo.”  No shit, I thought.

“Think of it this way,” he suggested helpfully.  “Beijing is like Manhattan.”

Excellent explanation.  Beijing is absolutely analogous with New York. If someone had told me that before I came, it would have been exactly what I expected.  Beijing is exactly like New York, albeit before Mayor Giuiliani cleaned it up.  “Oh, now I get it,” realization dawning on me like a blush after a stolen kiss.

Hmmmm.  That perspective changes everything.

“Beijing Blond” does have a nice ring to it.  Hmmmm

Farewell My Concubine – Good-bye Tokyo

When Russell came into the kitchen announcing his assignment might be ending earlier than we expected, my first reaction was….”but I’m not ready yet. I haven’t finished my book!  We haven’t even gone to Kyoto yet.” A subtle kind of panic began creeping in, spreading slowly like sweet liquor burning down my throat.

It was a week before Christmas and Russell’s boss told him, “Don’t worry about it”; enjoy your vacation.” Don’t worry about it?!!!  That was right before we left for Australia. Nice.

Three months later and three job offers to be considered, I found myself packing up the Tokyo apartment in a daze.  We had made the most of the time we had left.  Perhaps you read about it.  Besides Australia, we went to Hokkaido, Hakone and Kyoto, even Bali before we packed it in, literally.

I had no regrets, other than leaving before expected.  We did more in the almost two years we lived in Tokyo than most expats who have lived there for several years. I had stayed true to my blog, posting at least once a week.  We had pretty much crossed everything on our Japan wish list off, except for Hiroshima and Okinawa.  We had hanami-ed like there was no tomorrow. There wasn’t. We had made some good friends, including Japanese.

Those friends and the experiences we shared, not to mention the earthquake and tsunami, have changed us for the better and those changes will linger forever, like the ghosts of Christmas past.

Standing in the empty apartment, the floors gleaming and shiny, the walls bare and promising, seemed so familiar.  Familiar because it was 18 months ago I had stood there waiting for boxes to be delivered.

Ranger was expectant.  He could sense the change.  He was tense with anticipation.  I put his leash on one last time for our final walk in the park we had gone to almost everyday we had lived in Japan.  “Take a good long whiff”, I encouraged Ranger, “it will be your last of Tokyo.”

The park was vibrant with Spring.  The clouds of sakura had cascaded away the week prior and only the very last blooming petals still clung to the trees.  The turtles were finally out in number, sunning themselves on the muddy banks of the pond. 

We saw the Great White Pyrenees in his usual spot, holding court in the central yard.  I bowed my familiar greeting to his owner, she bowed back, as usual.  As usual, Ranger bristled.  He never cared much for that big white dog. 

As we crossed the traditional Japanese bridge, Ranger charged the group of pigeons clustered hopefully on the bridge, pandering for a handout.  He never liked those birds much either.  Behind us a clamor erupted.  We both turned around, surprised.  To our astonishment a bird of prey was diving down from the trees and had snagged a pigeon in mid air.  But it was the screeching of a concerned crow that had caught our attention.  Apparently the pigeon must have been a friend of this crow because the crow was dive-bombing the hawk as it struggled to bring the pigeon to the ground. 

Well, you don’t see that every day.  In fact I never saw that in this park, ever! And I’ve been coming to this park for almost two years.  The very first day Ranger and I came to this park, we stopped at the entrance to read the various signs, most of them warning foreigners what they can’t do.  One of the signs illustrated all of the varieties of birds that reside in the park.  They were organized in a pyramid, depicting the order of the food chain.  At the top of the food chain was a bird of prey.  That first day I made a goal to try to glimpse all of the birds on the sign.  I had managed to see all of them except one: the bird of prey.  That is until today, my final day in Tokyo.  How strange is that? It must be a sign.

Ranger and I looked at each other.  The hawk descended to the ground and started pulling the pigeon apart.  Nobody else, not the old fishermen, nor the young mother with her stroller, seemed to notice what had just happened, or the carnage still going on. It was as if it happened just for us.

We walked back to the empty apartment slowly, our last image of Tokyo reverberating, like a secret shared between us.

I wondered if Ranger would miss Tokyo.  I know I would. I would miss so many things.

*The exquisite food, I’m ruined for life. 

*The amazing juxtaposition of old and new.

*The polite, reserved nature of the Japanese people, their easy humor.

*The haunting 5pm chimes.

*The smell of Summer; the chill of Fall

*BBQing on the tiny Smokey Joe with real charcoal

*Snow on tiled roofs

*Perfect fish

*Seasonal vegetables and delicacies

*Wine on the rooftop garden and the bats

*The Toto toilets; ah yes the toilets; we must buy one when we settle back in the States

*The sakura, most of all the sakura, reminding us that life is fleeting

Fleeting………

Thank you Japan.

The adventure continues…..

Baywatch - Jimbaron 2

That night, our first in Jimbaron Bay, we decided to take advantage of the beach BBQ.

It was a beautiful night and the twilight was necromantic.  Islands always seem to have this bewitching effect.  We walked though the resort, and then along the wide bay, hand in hand, breathing in the sea mist and tantalizing smoke from beachside fires.

Twilight on the bay

Even the villa doors are enchanting.

Table set for two.

Nice.

Firelight on the water.

The BBQ was set up at the resort's "Beach Club".  There were cabanas with "dining beds", inviting under billowing, diaphanous, colorful canopies.  Russell and I had eaten in a "dining bed" in Amsterdam once.  It's not as comfortable as it looks. We chose a table in the sand instead.

Dreamy but not comfortable,
at least for dining.

There was live entertainment.  In between fire dancers, a live band performed.  They didn't sing in English but that only added to the exotic feel of the evening.

For all I know she's singing "Feelings".
It's in Balinese so who knows.

The dinner was all-you-can-eat.  Not a good idea for Russell.  I think I lost count after his third tour.  Now, all-you-can-drink and we're talking!

Basically you point at the fish or meat you want, which was artfully displayed raw on ice, and they cook it for you and bring it to your table with appropriate side dishes.  I love side dishes!  But first a ceasar salad made table side.  Just one of a few surprises...

Ceasar salad beach side - now that's a first.

Plate 1 with appropriate side dishes.

For dessert a chef prepared, get this, Bananas Foster, tableside.  This is not what I expect: A) on the beach and B) in Bali.  

But good!

Beachside Bananas Foster - all righty then!

We stayed for two rounds of fire dancers.  They were different than the ones we have seen in Hawaii or even Thailand, which were very traditional.  These guys were "sexified".  The women had breasts and sexy outfits, which included several costume changes.  The single male had a wash board stomach.  I nodded enthusiastically as he danced for us, shirtless.  Yeah!  I agree.  Shirts are so superfluous.  Mmmmm.  I suggested Russell take his off.  He refused.

The group performed to uber hip techno music as opposed to the usual native tropical measure. Who needs a steel band on the beach when you can have disco?  Yes I'll have another round please... of washbaord.

Equal opportunity candy show with fire.

After dinner we went back to our villa, and the plunge pool.  Nothing like plunging under the stars.

The next day we spent all day divided between the main pool and the plunge pool.  Decisions, decisions.

We spent our last dinner in Bali at the Italian restaurant on the property.  I know, it's weird.  But the chef was actually from Italy and had just been married the weekend before.  An Italian and a honeymooner !!!

He actually came to our table and we discussed how great the food is - in Tokyo.  He wants to study there so he brought it up when we told him we were living there.  He was funny in an odd way.  When we gushed about how nice the Balinese people were, he got the funniest look on his face. It was as if he couldn't believe someone would say such a thing.  Odd, considering he just married a Balinese woman.  Trouble in paradise?

Dining on Italian under the moon globes.

Happy diner.
Wow my teeth look so much whiter with a sunburn.

The next day we said goodbye to the bay, and the plunge pool.  Goodbye to the trash and stray dogs.  And as we navigated through the multitudes of multi-peopled scooters on our way to the airport, I ruminated on all I had experienced in Bali.  And I thought, if it weren't for the trash and stray dogs, I would have really, really loved Bali.  It actually feels like someplace else.  Someplace sincere, with its own personality, not just another tropical island.  It has its own music, food, dance, architecture, dress and landscape.  Kind of like New Orleans.  That's hard to find - anywhere.

Parting shot.

What? No farewell bouquet?

And its own fried chicken too!

Twelve hours later I reconsidered.  By the time I got home from Bali, two flights later, I had the worst ear ache of my life.  It seems I contracted a bacterial infection from the Balinese water.

UGH!  

"Jambaron" aka Jimbaron Bay

We left the Sayan property with a little trepidation, not knowing what we'd find at the Jimbaron property, hoping it would be just as nice.  Plus we weren't really looking forward to the hour ride through the trash and stray dog encrusted villages along the way.  Russell was smart; he napped.   

When we got there we were pleasantly surprised to find, while different, it was a nice change of scenery from the Sayan property.  And for a moment I was glad we had decided to visit both Bali Four Season properties.

The view from the lobby was grand.

Uh yeah, this will do.

We were greeted with fresh flowers and cool drinks, similarly to the Sayan introduction.  A couple of adorable Balinese girls, about seven or eight, in colorful, traditional sarongs kneeled on a colorful throw making exotic flower bouquets.  Hmmm, I wonder what the legal working age is in Bali.  They walked over shyly and presented me with a beautiful mini bouquet and a smile.

Cool towel - check

Cool drink - check

Fresh handmade bouquet - check

A golf cart ferried us to our room.  The layout was reminiscent of a Balinese compound, I thought knowingly, having just learned all about this that morning.

Luwang - traditional entry gate

Bale - check

Plunge pool - check

We must install one of these back in Long Beach

Our place in the sun.

Sleeping Arrangements

Now this is nice.  Plus there's the outdoor shower too.

Nothing like showering outside, under the stars.

Welcome gift.

We decided to get something to eat and then lay by the pool.  An excellent plan.

Have hat; will cocktail.

Pretty little water feature.  Must be gorgeous at night when the candles are lit.

A regular.

This guy eats here every day!

The food was good, not as good as Tokyo but it worked.  Afterwards we nabbed a couple of chairs, and a couple of cocktails, by the main pool.

Yeah, this don't suck.

View from the pool.

View from Russell's feet

It's a Jungle Out There - No Really

Our final full day in Sayan, we decided to take advantage of the plunge pool.  We were paying for it after all.  We discovered it had more uses than just jumping into it naked, after dinner.  So we spent the day in or around our plunge pool, ordering room service and finishing the books we had brought.  It was delightful, especially when we saw the giant lizard.

I was in the pool, holding onto the side while I scanned the jungle on the other side of the river below, when suddenly a lizard the size of my dog Ranger, popped up into my vision about twenty feet in front of me.  He was crossing our property on his way to lunch apparently.  He looked as surprised to see me as I did seeing him.   I whispered to Russell urgently, "Russell!, Russell!, Come here but don't make a sound."  "Huh, What!" he said splashing obstreperously over to me.  That's all it took to frighten the humungous six foot lizard away.  He lumbered into the jungle right beneath our plunge pool and down the slope towards the river.

Russell said in stunned awe, "I think that was a "Kimono Dragon".  After admonishing him for making such a racket and scaring the dragon away, although truth be told I was kind of relieved, I said, "Um, honey, I'm pretty sure it's not a Kimono Dragon.  I think it's a Komodo Dragon, or something like that.  I wonder if they eat people." 

We immediately retreated to our laptop and Googled: Do Kimono Dragons eat people?  Apparently Kimono Dragons don't, (because there is no such thing. I'm right. Again) but Komodo Dragons have been known, on occasion, to attack people, but it's very rare.  There are about 4,500 Komodo Dragons in the world and over 90% live in Indonesia.  Interesting.  Hey we're in Indonesia.

Turns out there's a large national park on Bali that not only has Komodo Dragons but Jaguar's too, And I'm not talking about the kind with four wheels.  How cool is that?!  Russell looked concerned for a minute, like I might make him go there or something.

For dinner that night we returned to the resort restaurant and shared the Balinese Rijsttafel, which is like an Indonesian smorgasbord, consisting of several savory plates.  They'd been pushing this ever since we arrived.  Thank goodness we shared; it was enough for an entire Balinese household, but delicious.

I reminded Russell that we had actually had this before on our trip to Amsterdam.  Apparently there is a large Indonesian population there.  But all he could remember about our Amsterdam trip was the pancakes, the statuesque blonds, the river and the coffee shop.  Yes, as in where you can buy pot legally.  He wouldn't go in.

Pretty Balinese girls serving the plethora of Rijsttafel dishes.

The restaurant.

The sated diner.

The Jungle.  Looks like a scene out of LOST.

The next morning we had arranged for a trek with the activities desk.  We thought it would be a fitting last hurrah before moving to the beach side property at Jimbaron Bay.

As usual, I found myself waiting for Russell that morning.  So I walked up the spiral staircase to the rooftop lily pond to amuse myself with the frogs and fish.  When I leaned over the side to peer into the lily pond I discovered the queerest thing.  It was a frog hanging upside down.  It took me a minute to realize what it was. "Why is that frog hanging upside down?" I wondered.  "Its it dead?" And then it moved, and then I realized it's not merely hanging up side down, it's hanging by one leg, from the mouth of a snake, a colorful snake.   "Colorful", in snake talk, generally means "poisonous."  "Holy shit!  That's a snake!!!"  

The snake was dragging the frog into its hole which was midway up the side of the concrete encasement of the pond, also known as our roof.  How nice.  Apparently we weren't the only tenants here.  Russell showed up just in time to see the last tug of the frog, into the lair, to be swallowed whole.  "It really is a jungle out here." I quipped.

A little shaken, but exhilerated, (I love seeing nature - circle of life - and all that), we clambered up the hill to the spa to meet our Trek guide.  She was a Balinese woman who spoke perfect English, had perfect teeth, and lived in the adjacent village.

First she handed us a cool, scented towel and asked us if we wanted any water.  I was bemused and doubtful.  I didn't really think this was going to be a serious hike so I found it amusing she was already offering us water.  I politely declined.

She lead us through the resort property to a side we hadn't ventured to before, past the kitchen gardens and educational rice paddy.  We stopped for a second to learn how they grow and harvest rice.  Interesting.

Garden.

Educational rice paddy

A closer look at the baby rice growth.

It ends up looking like tall stalks of wheat when it's ready for harvest.

Then she lead us past two villas that looked out onto a rice paddy field, flanked by jungle, and explained how these were the two villas Julia Roberts and her family, as well as, her co-star Javier Bardem, had stayed in while filming Eat/Pray/Love.  "Really!" Now that is interesting!  Apparently Julia had an entire entourage of staff including three nannies, but she was very nice.

We stopped for a minute to take in Julia's view.  Not bad, expansive, private, lush.

Julia's view.

Julia's neighbor.

Then we traipsed across the rice fields, avoiding the water by traversing a narrow strip of dirt, climbed up a steep incline and started lumbering through the jungle.  The grass was tall, flanked by palm trees and vines that threatened to strangle us.  We followed a barely legible footpath.  "Um, is this safe?" I wondered as my bare flesh parted the grass.  I can only imagine what bugs would be attaching themselves to my calves.

Into the jungle.

But then I became distracted by the variety of plants and flowers.

Pretty.

Look, twins!

I wonder if these will grow in Tokyo?

Along the way our guide pointed out some of the plants and explained which ones were edible and which ones had medicinal uses.  "Which ones can you smoke," I wondered.  She explained how the jungle had everything they needed to survive.  I bet it does.  I've seen the lizards.

Soon we emerged from the jungle into a field where an old Balinese man was working.  He was wearing a sarong.  "How authentic." I thought.  It turns out he was related to her husband in some way.  It turns out everyone is, we soon discovered.  

Skirting the field were a couple of open air buildings where he keeps his farm animals and pet dog.

What are you lookin at?

Is it time for my milking?

She took us across the fields and explained the various crops growing there, mostly rice.

Crops between the jungle.

I was sweating profusely by this time so when she handed us another cool, scented towel and water, I accepted both gratefully.  

She led us up a steep embankment fraught with mud and twisting roots.  At one point we literally had to hang onto roots to lower ourselves down the other side.  I thought, Ok, maybe this actually is a trek, as sweat dripped in a torrent down my back. 

But the view from the top was spectacular.

Nice view.

I'm queen of the world, or at least the jungle.

Then she took us to the village's sacred watering hole.  Apparently this is where the villagers go when there's a full moon, and to cool off, and to give thanks, and to deposit their trash.  Trash?!  I couldn't believe how much trash there was.  I deliberately tried to take pictures where there was the least amount of trash.  But it was hard to do because there was trash everywhere!  Snickers wrappers and discarded chip bags littered the area around the pool and the alleged shrine.  Abandoned water bottles congested the pool itself and collected mud and moss at the bottom.  Yuck!

Sacred man made waterfalls.

Sacred pool.

I couldn't believe how much crap was in their "scared pool", more like "sacred trash dump."  Our guide was so nice and very informative.  I wanted to ask her about the trash but seeing how this was her village, I didn't want to offend her.  I very gingerly mentioned how surprised I was that people would litter at this sacred place.  

She very nonchalantly dismissed the trash with wave of her hand, "Oh, we burn it." She said, very matter-of -factly, not giving it a second thought.  When? Once in a blue moon I thought, miserably.

Then she went on to explain how before there was plastic or plates, the jungle provided everything they needed to survive.  She tore off a banana leaf from a nearby tree and showed us how it would become their plate and their spoon.  Once the meal was over, they would just throw the used banana leaf on the ground.  Ok, that makes sense, a banana leaf is biodegradable.  Unfortunately plastic is not.  Apparently they hadn't clued into this yet.

Apparently this is a shrine, not a trash compactor 

as it could have been easily mistaken for, given all the rubbish.

After the trash heap she lead us across a precarious bridge made of bamboo logs, pointing out the Balinese irrigation system that allows them to farm rice all over the island.

Um, is this safe.

Are those waters pirana infested?

It looks benign enough.  

But I still don't want to swim in it.

And then we scurried up one last sun kissed embankment before entering into the traditional Balinese village.

The last hill, thank God.

More shines, and grumpy dogs greeted us, as we made our way down the trash riddled streets towards the Balinese village.

Welcome to the neighborhood.

Gates of the community shrine.

Just one of several grumpy dogs we encountered.

At least it has all its legs.

At least these dogs seemed to have homes I thought.  I had counted at least twenty five depraved looking dogs on the hour and half drive to the resort the first day we arrived.  Still, I ruminated, It wasn't as bad as Thailand where all the dogs seemed to be missing appendages.  I meekly inquired about the stray dog problem.  To which she guilelessly replied, "Oh, there's a lot less dogs since they came around and shot all the strays last month."  Gulp.  I did not just hear that, did I?  I stole a tormented look at Russell, who gave me the, "why did you even ask," look.

Just then a toothless Balinese man passed by on a motor scooter and waved.  Turns out, she knew him, another cousin.  

And then we arrived at the traditional Balinese compound she was to give us a tour of.  Truth be told I felt a little uncomfortable walking through someone's home.  It wasn't like this was a mock compound, designed for educational purposes.  This was her sister-in-laws.  I felt like we were intruding.  Although, it was interesting.

It reminded me a little of the traditional Spanish Hacienda of olden times.  I'd seen them on field trips in my youth. Los Angeles used to be a giant Mexican ranch before we killed everybody in the Mexican/American war.  Like Mexico or Spain, the entire Balinese family lives within the courtyard walls.  The Balinese compound is based on the human body.  All compounds include the same basic structures, and layout, which represent parts of body.  

In fact, the basis of the measurements of the compound are actually taken from the male head of the household.  Large man - large compound.  Small man - small compound.  My advice - marry big.  There's the Lawang (entry gate), Paon (kitchen), the Bale Daja (head of the household quarters), Bale Duah (guest house), and the Bale Dangin (ceremonial patio) and of course multiple shrines.  The Bale Dangin was the most interesting to me.  A Bale is a covered, raised patio, they are everywhere in Bali.  The Bale Dangin is a covered patio in the center of the compound, where all major family events occur.  And I'm not talking BBQs and cocktails.  Getting married? You do it in the Bale Dangin.  Having a baby, you do it in front of the family on the patio.   Dying? You do it on the patio.

In Bali, unless your new husband can afford his own compound, the wife always has to go live with his in-laws.  Good thing I don't live in Bali.

Lawang - entry gate.

The compound.

Bale Dangin.

All purpose patio: weddings, birthings, BBQs.

Russell and I used to live in a compound.  When we moved back to LA from Virginia, Russell leased a small spanish bungalow right off Sunset.  Until I arrived all I had seen were polaroid pictures Russell had taken.  He made it sound so romantic, right off Sunset, across from the Chateau Marmont.  Our friends Karin and Tom showed up the day I arrived from the airport with a bottle of champagne to welcome us back.  I cried when I saw the place for real.  Compared to our 4,200 square foot, brand new Toll Bros home on a quarter of an acre, this place was a dump.  They had to go out and buy another bottle.

But I digress, after the compound she swung us by a gift shop and an art gallery of one of her friends, probably another cousin.  Even here, in this authentic place, there's still a little shopping coercion, kind of like a museum gift shop.  You want a keepsake?  Buy a poster.

Yet another shrine, although this would make a great poster.

And then our tour was over and she lead us through a secret gate that opened up right onto the resort property.  We realized we had made a big loop around the resort.

Secret door back to civilization and cocktails.

She left us at the lily pond at the top of the resort with another bottle of water, a cool towel and an indelible impression of the true Bali.

Ugh this t-shirt, that I bought in Thailand, makes me look dumpy.

But I did just trek through the jungle.