Out and About Ubud
When we arrived in Ubud, one of the first things we did was to rent scooters. A month ago, when we were first here we hired a driver named Komang along with whom we got very well. We told him offhand that we’d be traveling Indonesia for about a month before coming back to Bali. With uncanny timing, the same day Roxane and I landed on our return to Bali we received a text message from him asking how we were. We both remarked on what an astute businessman he was to remember when we’d be coming back.
We’ve actually had many interactions like that, where somebody we hired has kept in touch after the fact. From what we’ve read and observed, Indonesians in general don’t have the clear division between business and friendship that we do in the States. Even a simple purchase is an opportunity to chew the fat and make a new friend. Negotiations can have an aspect of socialization to them, and everything is very dependent on personal connections. If we’re, say, in a taxi, and mention we want to go snorkeling, the driver will always, without fail, say “I have a friend who rents snorkels, he can help you out.” Or maybe we’re eating at a warung, the owner might have a friend who can guide us at a popular tourist attraction, or maybe sell us some batik.
These “friends” almost certainly pay a small commission for the business, and we often resent being handed around like a commodity. But as far as we could tell, we didn’t get lower prices by negotiating directly. So when Komang got in touch I figured “what the heck, this is how business works here,” and asked him if he had a friend who rented scooters. Inevitably, he did.
With one scooter for Tracy, and one for Roxane and me to share, we were able to visit tourist attractions much more easily. Roxane really likes visiting temples, and I expected I would like it too, but so far I’ve found that one Balinese temple is remarkably similar to another. Still, we did visit a few remarkable ones, in particular Gunung Kawi, which has several massive cliff carvings estimated to be about 800 years old. The most interesting thing about this temple, whose name means “Poet Mountain,” was the lovely valley in which it sat, with terraces growing rice for future offerings, a clear stream running down the center, and a waterfall at one end. The sun was low as we walked around, and the cliffs glowed.
I befriended a shy child named Made, who hung back from the gaggle of youths who clamored for me to take their picture and show them on my camera. Later I sat with an old man with a slingshot who was keeping birds off the nearly-harvestable rice. Turned out he is Made’s grandfather, and he invited me to visit his family compound. With visible affection Made clasped his grandfather’s hand as he hopped from one step to the next, over hundreds of steps as we climbed out of the deep valley. “He climbs these steps every day,” said the grandfather, also named Made (*see below). I collected Roxane and Tracy, and though we have by now started to suspect the motives of anyone who offers unasked-for kindness, we decided to take Made’s offer at face value.
His house was around the corner, and after being introduced to his family, he insisted we sit on the raised platform in the center of their walled compound while he brought us tea and we talked to everyone. I was giving my Indonesian a workout since most of the family was short on English, but the oldest and clearly most successful son spoke well. He was a stone carver, and he brought us some examples of his work. For once we felt like we weren’t being sold anything, but he was genuinely proud of what he did. His brother, also a carver, brought some of his own work. He carved coconut shells in intricate patterns as lightbulb covers. His work was less sophisticated, but we praised it just the same. It was a really pleasant time, an experience of the instant friendliness for which the Balinese are known, without the moneymaking undercurrent that (for us) detracted from so many otherwise friendly interactions.
The elder Made really wanted us to attend a tooth filing ceremony for one of his extended family the following day, and we planned to, but in the end we did not have enough time.
It was unsurprising that we met a family with two carvers. In Bali crafts are often associated with a certain area, and our new friends lived in Tampaksiring, one of the centers of stone, bone, shell and wood carving. Riding down the main street we saw shop after shop of intricately hand-made objects, in particular earrings and other piercings. The most impressive were complete buffalo or bull skulls, with horns attached, where the bone was drilled through in whirling, lacey patterns. They were a bit reminiscent of the holes punched in wayang kulit puppets.
Many of the artisans along this street have an export relationship with one or more Westerners who bought their products for sale overseas. Though they were happy to sell over-the-counter, it seemed that everyone’s sincerest hope on seeing me enter the shop was that I wanted to become their “American friend” on whom they could count for frequent wholesale orders. Sporting a full beard and cargo pants, I have never been asked so many times if I was a businessman.
*Side note about Balinese names: Depending on caste, everybody’s given name is based on their birth order. So a first son is Wayan, a second son Made, and a third is Nyoman. It can get a little confusing.