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While looking for some documents, I came across a file from the 1990s containing notes on a trip I took in December 1994. I had previously included some of this material in an employee newsletter, but now I feel inspired to translate and expand upon these notes, as well as scan the necessary images.
Here are the details of the trip:
Oct 29 – Dec 15, 1994 Bali / New Zealand / South Pacific Islands
FRA – BKK – DPS – AKL – (WLG) – CHC – AKL – TBU – VAU – TBU – APW – HNL – LAX – FRA
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Banknotes
When exchanging money at a Balinese bank, I received nothing but brand-new banknotes—gorgeous bills representing mere pennies. In a country that can ill afford to waste funds, new currency must be put into circulation constantly. Why not do this via tourists, who would otherwise only complain about the brown, damp, tattered bills—which is exactly what would happen to our own currency there, given the high humidity. In Samoa, a tourist at the airport remarked after an exchange: "These are very old bills."
When exchanging money at a Balinese bank, I received nothing but brand-new banknotes—gorgeous bills representing mere pennies. In a country that can ill afford to waste funds, new currency must be put into circulation constantly. Why not do this via tourists, who would otherwise only complain about the brown, damp, tattered bills—which is exactly what would happen to our own currency there, given the high humidity. In Samoa, a tourist at the airport remarked after an exchange: "These are very old bills."
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Kuta and Its Beach
Most tourists head to Kuta because the beach is conveniently close to the airport—allowing them to go straight from the plane to the sea. During the high season, the beach looks exactly as the average tourist expects: white sand, palm trees, and a gentle breeze. In the off-season, however, the wind blows from the west, leaving the beach strewn with debris. The shore is populated by both tourists and itinerant vendors—though at times it might seem otherwise, as a newly arrived beachgoer can quickly find himself swarmed by several vendors at once. And the more "sun-hungry"—that is, the paler—a person looks, the more intense the attention he/she receives. Yet, there is plenty of space between these groups—even more so than in Waikiki, where tourist life tends to unfold primarily within streets, hotels, restaurants, or duty-free shops.
Vendors—both on the streets of the small town and along the beach—ensure that every step you take is full of variety. There are the sellers of silver bangles, who unzip a small pouch to reveal a dozen or so bracelets; the watch peddlers, who open a case and try to offer a "good deal" on timepieces you have no need for; the wallet sellers, who offer a bundle of five at once and cannot fathom why you wouldn't jump at such a "bargain"; the perfume vendors, hawking supermarket-grade scents at triple the price [1]; sellers of children’s toys, paintings, and small figurines; kite vendors on the beach; merchants selling wooden elephants; and women—like Mary—who offer everything from chopsticks and T-shirts to bangles and hair clips, or who might simply offer to trim your fingernails if there’s no other sale to be made. Most tourists perceive this entrepreneurial zeal as a deeply personal intrusion, responding with all sorts of comical defensive gestures—all while wearing decidedly unamused expressions. Yet, in the end, they often stop anyway, hoping to snag a bargain. Others—as I witnessed in Kintamani—flee into a restaurant; the owner, no doubt, is quite pleased with the presence of these "hawkers." It was also there that I encountered two Saudis, who were so besieged by children that they quickly retreated back into their air-conditioned vehicle—but not before snapping a hurried photo of the volcano, right over the heads of the children. If I wanted to talk to someone, I did; otherwise, I offered a friendly but firm "no," accompanied by a broad smile. Admittedly, my backpack might have also played a role. In Kuta, Waterbom Park advertises itself with the promise: "no sellers, no hassles."
Drugs were offered—and, in all likelihood, children as well, given how closely the market and the vendors are intertwined. For instance, a man named Rudi—or at least that’s how he introduced himself—sat down next to me during the sunset and struck up a conversation, spinning a bizarre, almost certainly fabricated tale. He admired my binoculars and then—would you believe it?—suggested that he could come back to my hotel room with me. I declined: "Sorry, I'm not gay." He replied, "Oh, yes; I know a lady... she's a friend of mine."
In a side alley, I bought two sarongs from a woman named Suzie and had them sewn together. I picked them up the following day. Later that same day, as I was returning from the beach, Suzie’s three- or four-year-old daughter called out, "Hi, daddy!" Definitely not.
Most tourists head to Kuta because the beach is conveniently close to the airport—allowing them to go straight from the plane to the sea. During the high season, the beach looks exactly as the average tourist expects: white sand, palm trees, and a gentle breeze. In the off-season, however, the wind blows from the west, leaving the beach strewn with debris. The shore is populated by both tourists and itinerant vendors—though at times it might seem otherwise, as a newly arrived beachgoer can quickly find himself swarmed by several vendors at once. And the more "sun-hungry"—that is, the paler—a person looks, the more intense the attention he/she receives. Yet, there is plenty of space between these groups—even more so than in Waikiki, where tourist life tends to unfold primarily within streets, hotels, restaurants, or duty-free shops.
Vendors—both on the streets of the small town and along the beach—ensure that every step you take is full of variety. There are the sellers of silver bangles, who unzip a small pouch to reveal a dozen or so bracelets; the watch peddlers, who open a case and try to offer a "good deal" on timepieces you have no need for; the wallet sellers, who offer a bundle of five at once and cannot fathom why you wouldn't jump at such a "bargain"; the perfume vendors, hawking supermarket-grade scents at triple the price [1]; sellers of children’s toys, paintings, and small figurines; kite vendors on the beach; merchants selling wooden elephants; and women—like Mary—who offer everything from chopsticks and T-shirts to bangles and hair clips, or who might simply offer to trim your fingernails if there’s no other sale to be made. Most tourists perceive this entrepreneurial zeal as a deeply personal intrusion, responding with all sorts of comical defensive gestures—all while wearing decidedly unamused expressions. Yet, in the end, they often stop anyway, hoping to snag a bargain. Others—as I witnessed in Kintamani—flee into a restaurant; the owner, no doubt, is quite pleased with the presence of these "hawkers." It was also there that I encountered two Saudis, who were so besieged by children that they quickly retreated back into their air-conditioned vehicle—but not before snapping a hurried photo of the volcano, right over the heads of the children. If I wanted to talk to someone, I did; otherwise, I offered a friendly but firm "no," accompanied by a broad smile. Admittedly, my backpack might have also played a role. In Kuta, Waterbom Park advertises itself with the promise: "no sellers, no hassles."
Drugs were offered—and, in all likelihood, children as well, given how closely the market and the vendors are intertwined. For instance, a man named Rudi—or at least that’s how he introduced himself—sat down next to me during the sunset and struck up a conversation, spinning a bizarre, almost certainly fabricated tale. He admired my binoculars and then—would you believe it?—suggested that he could come back to my hotel room with me. I declined: "Sorry, I'm not gay." He replied, "Oh, yes; I know a lady... she's a friend of mine."
In a side alley, I bought two sarongs from a woman named Suzie and had them sewn together. I picked them up the following day. Later that same day, as I was returning from the beach, Suzie’s three- or four-year-old daughter called out, "Hi, daddy!" Definitely not.
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Balinese Dances
Of the many types of Balinese dance, I only saw one performance geared toward tourists. It featured a mix of Barong, Legong, and the Kris dance [2]. The story presented was easy to follow, and the performance was underscored by enchanting music. There were children in the audience—around six years old—who clearly enjoyed the spectacle. However, they were a bit confused by the character of the prince, who was played by a young woman; the same was true for some of the older members of the audience, who failed to realize that the prince was wearing men’s clothing. The expression in the eyes of the Legong figures is fascinating! A few days later, I saw this again among some schoolgirls who were giving a performance in Bedugul. Unfortunately, I only caught the end of it.
Goa Gajah (Elephant Cave)
Located close together are a Buddhist bathing site and a cave associated with the Balinese religion (a modified form of Hinduism). Also of interest are the rules for tourists, who are expected to dress modestly—at least in appearance—which means that if one is wearing shorts, a sarong must be worn over them. Menstruating women are not permitted to enter the sacred sites; in all likelihood, every temple complex accessible to tourists is "desecrated" or "rendered impure" on a daily basis. The exterior of the cave entrance is adorned with intricate stonework, while the interior is roughly hewn from the rock. It is hot and humid inside—perhaps due to the sweat of the visitors. Through the darkness of the cave, three sparse, faint, bare light bulbs cast a dim glow; in the past, there were three candles placed in the alcoves. On the left, there was also an inscription in Chinese characters.
Of the many types of Balinese dance, I only saw one performance geared toward tourists. It featured a mix of Barong, Legong, and the Kris dance [2]. The story presented was easy to follow, and the performance was underscored by enchanting music. There were children in the audience—around six years old—who clearly enjoyed the spectacle. However, they were a bit confused by the character of the prince, who was played by a young woman; the same was true for some of the older members of the audience, who failed to realize that the prince was wearing men’s clothing. The expression in the eyes of the Legong figures is fascinating! A few days later, I saw this again among some schoolgirls who were giving a performance in Bedugul. Unfortunately, I only caught the end of it.
Goa Gajah (Elephant Cave)
Located close together are a Buddhist bathing site and a cave associated with the Balinese religion (a modified form of Hinduism). Also of interest are the rules for tourists, who are expected to dress modestly—at least in appearance—which means that if one is wearing shorts, a sarong must be worn over them. Menstruating women are not permitted to enter the sacred sites; in all likelihood, every temple complex accessible to tourists is "desecrated" or "rendered impure" on a daily basis. The exterior of the cave entrance is adorned with intricate stonework, while the interior is roughly hewn from the rock. It is hot and humid inside—perhaps due to the sweat of the visitors. Through the darkness of the cave, three sparse, faint, bare light bulbs cast a dim glow; in the past, there were three candles placed in the alcoves. On the left, there was also an inscription in Chinese characters.
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The Old Man and His Fighting Cock
In one of the towns, in front of a shop selling quilts, I encountered an old man who tried to sell all sorts of things to me; I made it clear to him, however, that I had no intention of buying anything at all. Then, I noticed some roosters kept in cages made from coconut palm fronds. I examined them closely, as I had never encountered fighting cocks before. Verbal communication with the old gentleman was limited, yet we managed to understand each other nonetheless. With pride, he showed me one of his roosters. Communication without a common language! How often, I wonder, did the great explorers find themselves in similar situations? How often did they fail? How often did misunderstandings arise? How often might the most outlandish pieces of misinformation have been brought back home? How often might they have even been elevated to the status of scientific dogma?
In one of the towns, in front of a shop selling quilts, I encountered an old man who tried to sell all sorts of things to me; I made it clear to him, however, that I had no intention of buying anything at all. Then, I noticed some roosters kept in cages made from coconut palm fronds. I examined them closely, as I had never encountered fighting cocks before. Verbal communication with the old gentleman was limited, yet we managed to understand each other nonetheless. With pride, he showed me one of his roosters. Communication without a common language! How often, I wonder, did the great explorers find themselves in similar situations? How often did they fail? How often did misunderstandings arise? How often might the most outlandish pieces of misinformation have been brought back home? How often might they have even been elevated to the status of scientific dogma?
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Goa Lawah (Bat Cave)
Thousands of bats—even right at the entrance to the cave, which is said to extend for kilometers inland. Revi and Denita complained about the intense stench of the bat droppings; the ammonia-like odor [3] really clung to one’s nostrils. And for some reason—who knows why—we were wearing yellow sashes.
Thousands of bats—even right at the entrance to the cave, which is said to extend for kilometers inland. Revi and Denita complained about the intense stench of the bat droppings; the ammonia-like odor [3] really clung to one’s nostrils. And for some reason—who knows why—we were wearing yellow sashes.
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Galungan
Every 210 days, these festivities recur according to a specific pattern. The Balinese people I spoke to about the holiday were particularly excited for Galungan [4]. I even received an invitation, though I was certain it wasn’t a genuine one, so I didn’t inquire any further. The streets in both villages and towns were decorated in front of every doorway with long bamboo poles, adorned with rice plants and other vegetation.
The women looked especially striking, dressed in vibrant colors and wearing sashes; some wore vest-like tops made of an openwork fabric—a kind of lace. Balanced atop their heads were bowls piled high with offerings, which they were carrying to the nearest temple.
Every 210 days, these festivities recur according to a specific pattern. The Balinese people I spoke to about the holiday were particularly excited for Galungan [4]. I even received an invitation, though I was certain it wasn’t a genuine one, so I didn’t inquire any further. The streets in both villages and towns were decorated in front of every doorway with long bamboo poles, adorned with rice plants and other vegetation.
The women looked especially striking, dressed in vibrant colors and wearing sashes; some wore vest-like tops made of an openwork fabric—a kind of lace. Balanced atop their heads were bowls piled high with offerings, which they were carrying to the nearest temple.
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Tanah Lot
A rock formation, isolated by the tide, topped with a temple—a point of stillness amidst the roaring surf that surges toward the shore. The churning sea rages, with waves as tall as a man crashing against the land, while the rock stands silent, a testament to transience. Flowers bloom in the salty air.
A rock formation, isolated by the tide, topped with a temple—a point of stillness amidst the roaring surf that surges toward the shore. The churning sea rages, with waves as tall as a man crashing against the land, while the rock stands silent, a testament to transience. Flowers bloom in the salty air.
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Links and Annotations:
[1] I saw something similar once in Cologne. A woman bought junk jewelry in a 1-Euro-Shop and sold these nextdoor in a department store, where she had rented a stall. Has it only been triple the price?
[2] If you think, I'd still know, what this means -: no! But I looked up Barong [2a], Legong [2b] und Kris dance [2c].
[2a] Barong dance is a style of traditional Balinese Dance. Barong is a type of mythical lion
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barong_dance
[2b] Legong is a form of Balinese Dance, which is characterized by intricate finger movements.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Legong
[2c] The kris is a Javanese dagger; it comes from the Javanese keris. The dancers wield the dagger and therefore the dance is potentially dangerous.
[3] I was quite surprised reading my own text, but it has been like this. I looked after the 39 plus bats living unter my roof and their excrements are dry and odorless.
[4] Galungan celebrates the victory of dharma over adharma and marks the time when the ancestral spirits visit the Earth.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Galungan
[1] I saw something similar once in Cologne. A woman bought junk jewelry in a 1-Euro-Shop and sold these nextdoor in a department store, where she had rented a stall. Has it only been triple the price?
[2] If you think, I'd still know, what this means -: no! But I looked up Barong [2a], Legong [2b] und Kris dance [2c].
[2a] Barong dance is a style of traditional Balinese Dance. Barong is a type of mythical lion
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barong_dance
[2b] Legong is a form of Balinese Dance, which is characterized by intricate finger movements.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Legong
[2c] The kris is a Javanese dagger; it comes from the Javanese keris. The dancers wield the dagger and therefore the dance is potentially dangerous.
[3] I was quite surprised reading my own text, but it has been like this. I looked after the 39 plus bats living unter my roof and their excrements are dry and odorless.
[4] Galungan celebrates the victory of dharma over adharma and marks the time when the ancestral spirits visit the Earth.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Galungan
Balinese and Javanese scripts:
[2a] Barong dance (Balinese: ᬩᬅᬭᬑᬂ)
[2b] Legong (Balinese: ᬮᬾᬕᭀᬂ)
[2c] Kris comes from Javanese keris (ꦏꦼꦫꦶꦱ꧀)
[4] Galungan (ᬕᬮᬸᬗᬦ᭄)
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