- Should I Pack Up My Bali Life?
- Covid-19 Vs. Culture
- A Final Call Goes Out
- Ambulance. Flashing Lights. Medical Team In Full Protective Gear. My Plan To Quietly Slip Out To Hospital Is A Fail.
- Turmeric And Ginger To The Rescue
- Lockdown Dilemmas. Food Struggles Are Real. Kindness Steps In.
- Getting My Mask On
- Reimagine. My New Favourite Word.
- Mangosteens. The New Covid-19 Currency.
- Daily Life As Normal. Too Normal!
- Communication Cull. Sorting Fact From Fiction.
- Feeling "The Lucky Country" Pressure
- Cantik.... Pomeranian in Paradise Has His Say
- My First Trip Out Of the Village In A Month….
- Disinfectant Dudes Put A Smile On My Face
- Sad News. An Alarming Spike In Local Transmissions.
- Aussies To The Rescue
- Spiralling Down Out Of The Blue
- Desperate Deeds…… I’m Buying Bintang From The Back Of A Van.
- ‘A Little Bit For You, A Little Bit For Me’ Ethos Has Me Rethinking My Plans.
- Chocolate Cake Takes A Collective Effort.
- How To Mask Up And Be NICE About It
- Jak. The Pandemic Pup Moves In.
- 'Maskless Partygoers' vs 'Cautious Compliants'. The Expats Are Divided.
- Aussies To The Rescue. A Good News Story You Can Be Part Of.
- Covid. A Lesson In Patience. Some Days I Fail.
- Perfect ‘Flat Backs’ In The Rice Fields Give Me A Kick In The A To ‘Keep Moving’.
- Stress Vs. Spicy Sambal? Recipe Included.
- Wonder And Awe. On Tap.
- A Table For One
NB!!!! This is my personal diary of life in my Bali village during Covid-19. I’m not an expert on Covid-19, Bali culture or the Indonesian politics that relate to Covid-19. Nor do my views represent any other foreigner living in Bali. But I do believe all of our stories count for something as we go through this global pandemic together. Feel free to comment, but please put the judgement aside, every village, every neighbourhood, every country has its own way of dealing with life right now. K.
Should I Pack Up My Bali Life?
Australians travelling overseas have been urged to flee home before borders become impossible to navigate and airlines completely shut down.
Not for me. I have a pretty good ‘self-isolate’ scenario right here.
Airports, germ ridden planes and taxis seems riskier than riding it out here in my house in a remote village.
I’m too much of a realist to think that the virus can’t find its way here. All it takes is one outside contact to put everyone in danger. I’m very conscious of the number of elderly people in our village. Whilst mostly they are strong enough to participate in daily life, albeit at a slow pace, the fact is much of their life they’ve been poor, undernourished, with minimal medical care. In my mind that makes them extremely vulnerable to this nasty virus.
So there’s plenty of good advice being streamed 24/7 to each and every one of us. Like everyone else around the world, I need to act on it…..
#1: Wash your hands.
My kitchen sink is on the outside terrace at the back of the kitchen, right by the gate. It’s kinda like ‘do not pass go’…… ‘do not pass the sink without washing your hands’. I buy cleaning liquids in bulk, 5 litres at a time, as I can’t stand the plastic waste of small bottles. Got it covered.
I have no immediate neighbours. With food in the ground, no need for transport it’s not difficult. I’m going to skip temple ceremonies, the upcoming Nyepi New Year Parade, any community get together.
There’s loads of chat about the mental stress of self-isolating. The thought of being confined to a small space with no human contact is overwhelming for some. Honestly, I can’t wait for the builders to be gone and be left alone.
#3: Do not travel
I’ve abandoned my travel plans for the year. If they happen, they happen, but I’m letting them go in my mind. No point spending time stressing over the ‘what if’ factor.
#4 No hoarding
Resigned to further financial wipeout I’ve shifted back into ‘going without mode’. Reading about the greedy panic buying going on in the world makes me mad. I live amongst people who have no choice but to shop daily. No one has the money to load up their kitchens. Borrowing and trading is the norm when money is scarce.
These actions are not that hard to put into place.
On the plus side I have endless time consuming projects that can only be done by hand. Sewing. Gardening. Painting. Recycling furniture.
And so much cleaning up after the builders. That could go on forever. (I”m in the midst of building a new house)
And really there is no excuse not to be writing the much promised book.
I think I’ve got this for now.
Covid-19 Vs. Culture
The Balinese live in close quarters. There’s no sense of personal space that us westerners crave/demand. In fact, taking up lots of space, is seen as a little weird, a little unfriendly. Five Balinese could sit in a space taken up by two westerners.
In my village everyone lives in family compounds, sharing kitchens, common spaces. Kids sleep in beds with their parents. It’s rare that anyone would have a room let alone a bedroom to themselves.
Life revolves around ceremonies. Not a day goes past without a ceremony of some sort taking place. From a small family ceremony to a full scale village ceremony at one of the large temples. Every ceremony brings crowds of people together. Very close together. I don’t think I’ve ever sat in a temple ceremony without
How the hell is the new ‘social distancing’ going to work?
I’m surprised and relieved how quickly changes are happening.
The upcoming Nyepi (Balinese New Year) Ceremony is typically a huge street parade. Big groups of men and kids carry the towering “Ogoh Ogoh’ monsters on large bamboo platforms through the village to scare the bad spirits away. Everyone is shoulder to shoulder, women and kids follow the procession. A social distancing disaster.
I‘ve already decided to skip all ceremonies. But I know that’s not such an easy decision for a Balinese.
Thankfully the government are starting making decisions to control crowds. Initially the rule was only 25 people allowed to gather for a ceremony.
A couple of days later, as Covid-19 became more real, Nyepi Ceremonies were cancelled. Every village leader was told to shut down the building of the Ogoh Ogoh statues immediately and to ban the parades. It happened. Instantly. I was so relieved.
Later that week, a woman died in our village (nothing to do with the virus). Typically streams of people would visit the family house all day and night to pay their respects, make donations of food and offerings and help prepare for a burial or cremation. Covid-19 changed that. Visitors were limited and they stayed only a short time. It was a small burial procession, everyone wore masks.
Cultural life is changing daily. Local government have now asked for all major ceremonies such as tooth filings, weddings etc to be delayed, allowing only small family ceremonies with minimal number of people to go ahead.
Traditional culture is strong in my village. I can feel the heartache that Covid-19 is causing, but thankfully, so far, it’s not getting in the way of the changes needed to keep everyone as safe as possible from the virus.
A Final Call Goes Out
The Australian government puts out a ‘final call’ to Australians living abroad, especially those in Indonesia, to return home.
There’s a threat that comes with it…. ‘don’t expect us to bail you out when you find yourself in trouble in a country with a poor health system’. Fair enough.
A compulsory 14 day quarantine on arrival is mandated. In my view that’s a much safer scenario for travellers, knowing you won’t be let out into the community without control. Who knows if you’re sitting next to a carrier on a plane?
I choose to stay. I know the risks. But at the moment, I can isolate, I can live a frugal life, I have good food to keep me healthy. And I can do all of this with no stress.
Caution, not fear rules my days right now.
If I was living in Jakarta or any other built up area I would be on the first plane out. The predicted consequences of Covid-19 are looking pretty dire for Indonesia. A combination of over population, poverty and a poor health system is a recipe for disaster.
I decide to ramp up my isolation.
Typically I have a small daily stream of visitors. Nearby farmers asking for fresh drinking water for their day working in the hot tropical sun. Arni to help me cook and clean. Workers helping me with garden projects. Farmers dropping in with coconuts or vegetables in exchange for coffee and a chat or a place to shelter during the afternoon rain.
Now we pass water, coffee, vegetables etc over the kitchen gate.
I’ve had the company of builders or workers in some form over the last couple of months. The main house was built by an outside crew but everything else – bathroom, kitchen, garden, power, water etc was built by a local village crew. A crew that seemed to get bigger every day as people dropped by asking for any kind of work. A few hours, a day or a few days. Some days it stretched my budget, but I couldn’t say no. But it was money well spent, everyone happily gave 150% effort, we all came out grateful winners.
I now cook, clean and garden by myself. Yes, I know you’re thinking ‘oh poor you’ but the deal with living in a Bali village as a foreigner is about providing employment, in fact it’s a law. One that I very much agree with.
Right now my micro-economy is destroyed.
Damn you Covid-19.
Ambulance. Flashing Lights. Medical Team In Full Protective Gear. My Plan To Quietly Slip Out To Hospital Is A Fail.
Horrible fevers. Diarrhoea. Complete exhaustion. Headaches. Inflamed throat.
But no cough.
Googling “Corona Virus Symptoms” a thousand times tells me the same thing every hit….. ‘if you have mild symptoms stay home’. So I tough it out for a few days, resting, hydrating, knocking back Panadol.
Any other time, I would have self-diagnosed with a tummy bug and dropped into the local doctor for the usual antibiotics. But as we all now view life through the Covid-19 lens, any fever seems scary.
Every day is a struggle physically, but what I’m most worried about is being ‘the foreigner who brought the virus to our village’. So far, all positive cases in Bali have been brought in by overseas travellers. Local transmission hasn’t happened yet.
As much as I feel I have a well-established place in the village, fear changes behaviour. My newsfeed is filled with reports from around the globe of ugly prejudicial episodes directed at ‘outsiders’ . I’m probably the most risk averse person in the village, but I’m hyper sensitive about the situation.
I decide to take action. Eliminate risk for everyone, eliminate the fear of not knowing.
I need a plan. I have to do this solo and quietly. Limit the potential for drama.
I write down all of my symptoms in logical order. In English and Indonesian. Three words in and I’m struggling. My Indonesian medical vocabulary is hopeless.
Google translate. I love you. Forever.
Armed with my bilingual list I call the local hospital.
I’m transferred to a doctor. Between us we have enough English and Indonesian to get through essential details and my list of symptoms. The doctor suggests I should get to the hospital, but she wants to control my exposure to the hospital once I arrive. I don’t have my own transport so that complicates things. Our conversation starts to get difficult with our language issues so she asks for my number and promises to call me back once she has had time to discuss my situation with her team.
5 mins later my phone rings. ‘My team has come up with a plan. If you agree, we’ll send transport to pick you up. We’ll do screening tests first. If necessary, we can help process you on to a hospital set up for Covid-19’.
She speaks calmly, but I can feel the underlying concern. So far there are no reported cases of Covid-19 in this district. I imagine it’s every doctor or nurses’ worst fear to have a Corona case wander into their clinics. Her team are so grateful I called ahead instead of lobbing up to emergency.
I quickly agree to the plan. Just before she hangs up, I realise I’ve skipped the big questions…. ‘how much will this cost, how do I pay?’ I’m dreading the reply. I don’t have much cash on me nor do I have quick access to buckets of money. Private transport to hospital? No time to contact my insurance. Yikes! ‘It depends on the number of tests we need to do, but if you have maybe rp1,000,000 ($100) I think you’ll be ok. There’s an ATM outside the hospital.’ A scramble through my bag reveals I have enough cash.
She gives me her personal WhatsApp number so I can send directions. ‘Ok. We’ll see you soon, I’ll send a message when we’re close’ she says.
The signal keeps failing so we have to jump between WhatsApp messages and phone calls.
Numerous interrupted calls and messages later I’m horrified to see an ambulance, complete with flashing lights, heading down my road. My worst nightmare. I thought they would send a car.
So much for quietly slipping off to the hospital without causing any alarm to the village.
I wave them down. A doctor, nurse and driver jump out. All garbed head to toe in protective gear. Face shields, masks, gloves, gowns. They’re not taking any risks. I’m equal parts comforted, impressed and alarmed.
I look around, praying no one will drive by to witness the scene. Sure enough one guy on a motorbike drives by from the next village. Busted.
The driver slides open the back door for me, pointing to a seat, ‘don’t touch anything!’ he says as he slams the door shut.
We chat most of the way about how I came to live in the village, the doctor asks me about my house and the garden, she likes the look of it. As far as an ambulance ride goes, (my first one ever, in fact this is the first time I’ve needed a hospital in my 20+ years in Bali), its pretty relaxed.
The hospital is newly built. But like all good Bali buildings there’s always a section that’s not quite finished. We pull up alongside an large unfinished opening in a wall. ‘We’re going in here’ the doctor says. ‘Follow me, don’t touch anything.’
I’m shuffled straight into what seems to be a small private room, complete with bathroom. ‘This is a new room, you are the first person to use it’ says the doctor.
The various tests and x-rays reveal I have a nasty bacterial infection. Nothing that drugs, hydration and loads of rest should fix in a few days. However, the doctor is taking no risks, asking me to continue my isolation and giving me a yellow form showing I’ve been registered on the Covid-19 watch list.
I will be forever grateful for their care. They had a well thought out plan right down to the entry I used.
There were no doors I could touch, we avoided the emergency zone, even the bill was delivered to my room via the doctor. I didn’t come into direct contact with anyone except for my three fully protected medics.
But what I will remember the most is the ‘coconut telegraph’ aspect to the whole event.
In between tests the Doctor came into my room with a sense of urgency. ‘Karen, people are calling from your village to find out about you and asking if you need help to get back home’.
Of course there’s someone working at the hospital with family connections to my village. I’m probably the only ‘tamu’ in the hospital. News of the ambulance has spread. It doesn’t take long for them all to connect up. My phone is intentionally off, and as no one is allowed in my room, the poor doctor has to be the messenger gal.
This is what I most admire about village life…the power of a small community. It puts my fears of being the outsider back in perspective. But at the same time it makes me laugh reminding me that ‘privacy’ is not a concept. No chance of having secrets!
PS…. Its been a slow recovery but I’m getting stronger every day. It definitely knocked the wind out of my sails. I’m embracing the concept of deep rest to the max!
Turmeric And Ginger To The Rescue
That’s all I need right now. And I’m not fighting it.
One bonus of my hospital trip was aside from the infection, the tests show great results. The doctor patiently went through every line on my tests, explaining each element. ‘You obviously lead a healthy life, you’ll get over this as long as you rest’ she says. ‘Go home, read books, sleep, eat. Exercise can wait for a while.’
Conscious of the weight I’d lost and the effect of dehydration on my body I planned to amp up immune boosting goodies.
I called on my friends ginger and turmeric.
In the early days of Covid-19 the government sent out a message that everyone should drink ‘jamu’ to strengthen immunity. Jamu is a traditional tonic, typically with turmeric and gingers as the main ingredients.
Jamu sellers can be found in every marketplace, but with this callout home-made jamus boiling on the stove became commonplace. (The other outcome was the price of fresh ginger soared nationwide!)
I need jamu.
But even just thinking about grating turmeric and ginger was exhausting in my present state.
Thankfully Arni came to the rescue with this super easy recipe that apparently everyone in the village is using right now.
- Cut up a handful of turmeric and ginger into chunky slices.
- Toss into a pot of water.
- Bring to the boil and simmer for 15 minutes or so.
- Serve hot.
*I add a squeeze of lime to my glass. (If you have a sweet tooth drop in a little honey).
So easy. I make a big pot and keep it by the stove. It gets stronger and spicier each time I heat it up. One brew lasts a few days.
I shared the recipe via video on my Facebook page. I love that a simple village recipe is being cooked up in ‘iso’ kitchens around the world.
*The traditional jamu we used to serve up to our Sharing Bali retreat guests really is good. It became known as ‘liquid gold’. It is a little messy grating the turmeric and ginger, but so worth it. The recipe is here.
Lockdown Dilemmas. Food Struggles Are Real. Kindness Steps In.
There’s talk of a 3 day lockdown along the lines of a Nyepi Ritual. Bali wide. It created a political, cultural and financial debate that I could only get the gist of via badly translated news reports.
It didn’t go ahead.
When I asked around it seems that one of the biggest hurdles was funds and logistics to provide food for at risk people over the three days. So many people are dependent on working for a meagre daily income so they can buy their food daily. These are not the people who can switch to ‘Working From Home’ overnight. Cutting off work for three days was a big deal.
‘It’s not like Australia, Karen’ they say to me. News of the phenomenal Australian government assistance programs is all over television and internet. I understand how many watch on with envy.
This is what ‘social assistance’ looks like for the first 13 day lockdown in Jakarta.
- 5kg of rice
- 2 small cans of sardines
- 2 packs of biscuits
- 0.9 litre cooking oil
- 2 bars of soap
- 2 cloth masks
- 1 letter from the governor
They plan to give out 1.2 million of these packs to underprivileged families.
Heart breaking reality.
But for every bad bit of news, I can find good news.
No different to so many countries struggling with the socio economic fallout, there are many businesses, organisations and individuals setting up food donation programs throughout Indonesia.
Kindness vs. Covid-19. Way to go.
###Bali on Line have set up a care package system ideal for Australians with Balinese friends who may be in need. (Info below is copied from their FB page).
This gift can really help a local family of 4 for about 2 weeks. It’s not perfect but really will make a huge impact for a struggling family in these tough times.
For approx $52AUD (plus delivery approx $2 depending on location) our local friends will drop off your gift directly to your friends home and send you a photo to reassure you. The added bonus is you can pay into our Australian business bank account without the worry of international transfers etc.
All products will be purchased from small family owned warungs. All proceeds will assist Indonesian families, Bali on Line is offering support with our bank account, safe means of international transferring and communication only.
Rice 10kg – 120,000rp
30 eggs – 45,000rp
Vegitable oil 1litre – 18,000rp
Mie noodles 40packs – 120,000rp
Tea – 6,500rp
Sugar 1kg – 20,000rp
Sunlight – 17,000rp
Black coffee 10 – 6,000rp
White coffee 10 – 12,000rp
Cotton masks 6 – 48,000rp
Shampoo – 16,000rp
Soap 4 – 14,000rp
Toothpaste – 10,000rp
Total – 452,500rp
Staff, petrol etc – 47,500rp
Total – 500,000rp
This is not as simple as calling up a Gojek and sending them on their way. This is what they’re dealing with…
Money transfers, ordering the goods, packing them, finding the impossible addresses, co-coordinating locations and making sure your friends are home, calling them all, giving directions to drivers that sometimes have to park far and walk to houses. Calling banjars and getting permission to enter some.
Getting My Mask On
To mask up or not?
There’s so many conflicting views on this, but after listening to interviews with the medical leaders from Korea and Singapore, I’ve shifted to the ‘better than nothing’ camp.
I’m all for medical masks being reserved purely for the medical profession so I’m opting for the home made version.
I read up on all the recommendations on the ideal fabrics to use. I don’t happen to have a supply of the non-woven material that is most recommended. I can only work with what I’ve got in the house. Going out to shop for bits and pieces is not an option.
Punching ‘how to sew a mask no elastic’ into Google Search brings up pages and pages of YouTubes and blogs offering solutions.
There’s some very funky masks being whipped up all around the world. Creativity vs Covid-19. Way to go.
The step-by-step tutorials make it so easy. I put the best of two ideas together and go in search of fabric.
I pick a couple of cotton sarongs and some left over scraps of fabric. A t-shirt dress and cardigan that have seen better days get sacrificed for the ties.
It’s a really satisfying little project. I get a rolling system into place over a couple of days – cutting out, sewing, washing in boiling hot water, hanging to dry in the sunshine.
By the time I’m done, the Indonesian government has mandated that everyone must wear masks in public. My stash of 24 masks soon get given out to friends in the village.
I absolutely get the risks around the general public wearing masks. When I give out the masks I feel compelled to issue instructions – how to take them on and off, wash in hot water, don’t touch your mask or face and choose one side to be the inside (such a good tip to make the masks in two different fabrics) etc. etc.
Everybody politely nods at me. I can see them thinking “we’ve got this, we too have been told this a thousand times”.
Maybe that’s one thing Covid-19 has taught us…… just follow the damn instructions.
Reimagine. My New Favourite Word.
“Are you ok?” check ins are happening. We’re looking out for each other. Family, friends, neighbours, frontline workers. Covid-19 has brought us together. Showing our humanity.
There are those struggling to keep it together as the Covid-19 hurricane rips through their existence, others are cruising, barely changing their pace of life.
On a recent “how are you going?” call with a good friend we both reported that life was ok. But honestly, it felt like a confession.
We’re not struggling with isolation, don’t feel lonely, and whilst we have the ups and downs of daily life we’re not going through a significant life drama. We’re healthy, surrounded by nature and on the whole find ways to make every day really quite pleasant.
In fact we’re so ok we feel a little guilt.
Aside from my ambulance adventure a couple of weeks ago, if I’m honest, I’m quietly cruising. My daily life is really ok.
I get to pick frangipanis flowers in my garden every morning. I put some in the bathroom, some on my writing table. The sweet smell is wafting over my laptop as I write. How spoilt is that?
Neither of us are living a carefree life of luxury. Plans have been ditched. Income has dried up. In fact I’m living a very frugal life. We’re cautious. Cleaning and distancing to the max. We’re informed but not addicted to the 24/7 Covid newsfeeds. And we’re no lockdown heroes, dreaming of a chance to celebrate over Moet somewhere in the future.
It’s nothing more than timing. I got lucky.
I took my hurricane hit not so long ago. No different to the Covid-19 effect it forced me to reimagine my life. And as painful as it was at times, it was a good thing.
And even at the lowest moments I had my health, friends and family. That’s what counts.
I can now look back and say how lucky was I that I got to reimagine my life? I’m laughing at myself as I type these words. It wasn’t pretty at times.
All that upheaval left me in a better place to get through the changes that Covid-19 has imposed, being forced to ‘let go’ in so many ways, to go without, to live life differently.
I feel for the people in the midst of their personal hurricanes right now.
We both have a very optimistic view that life will be better in so many ways ‘on the other side’. We’re up for it but not overthinking the future at the moment. There’s still too many unknowns to make solid plans.
We finished our call. Laughing at ourselves as only friends can do. Feeling ok to be ok. Ok to be low maintenance players quietly getting through life right now. Who knows how long it will last. Anything could happen.
This seems to be a good place to drop in these wonderful words written by Arundhati Roy. (best known for her novel “God Of Small Things’).
Historically, pandemics have forced humans to break with the past and imagine their world anew. This one is no different. It is a portal, a gateway between one world and the next.
We can choose to walk through it, dragging the carcasses of our prejudice and hatred, our avarice, our data banks and dead ideas, our dead rivers and smoky skies behind us. Or we can walk through lightly, with little luggage, ready to imagine another world. And ready to fight for it.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more grateful for my simple village life than right now. Its giving me the space to reimagine without the guilt.
Mangosteens. The New Covid-19 Currency.
4 masks exchanged for a freshly picked bunch of bananas and a couple of mangosteens.
The “trade” took place at my kitchen gate with a farmer from across the road.
I don’t expect anything for my home sewn masks but if there has to be “payment”, this beats money any day.
Covid-19 Commerce. Village style. Works for me.
Daily Life As Normal. Too Normal!
I walk up to the village once a week or so to buy a few supplies. I try to go at a quiet time when everyone’s out working on their farms.
Aside from seeing more people wearing masks, (not all) nothing seems to change from one visit to the next. Groups of younger ones are huddled around their motorbikes talking. Social distancing is not happening.
The warungs are tiny, making it nearly impossible to stay at a distance. I’m masked up, and as I only need a few things, I can limit my time inside the warung.
I can feel a sense of denial going on.
Local media reporting puts the emphasis on positive cases being contributed by ‘returning migrants’, mainly cruise ship workers. Thankfully now there is a strict system of rapid testing and quarantine in place at the airport and ports. But it fuels the ‘it only happens to outsiders’ thinking.
Compared to the disaster unfolding in the Covid epicentre Jakarta, Bali’s situation doesn’t seem to be dire. Local transmission has just begun, the numbers are small, with 3 reported deaths.
Once testing steps up, there’s no doubt the numbers will increase.
I worry about people who are travelling out of the village to work increasing the chance of local transmission. But I’m told that anyone who works in villas, shops etc. have lost their job. That’s good and bad news.
We have two cruise ship workers in isolation in their house. So far, apparently they’re playing by the rules.
I’ve only recently understood the level of impact the cruise ship industry has in Bali villages. Parents sell land to raise money for their kids to get into the training agencies. It’s not only single guys, married men also sign up. They go away for months at a time, leaving their families back in the village. Earning foreign currency to send home.
It’s a sacrifice. Most people I’ve met work in the kitchens or in housekeeping roles. Better paid positions need language skills. They tell me they do long exhausting shifts. They tire of the strict rules that seem to get stricter each posting. I guess village life doesn’t prepare them for that level of compliance! But they seem to stick it out for a few years, knowing the money will change the lives of their families.
Local government leaders describe them as “foreign exchange heroes” in various articles I’ve read recently. They now present a dilemma. A big group of unemployed people needing quarantine and medical care.
Government leaders are pleading with local villages to show their humanity to these workers. Some villages have lead protests to prevent quarantine facilities being set up in their area.
I’m really curious to know what the cruise ship industry will look like in the future. Right now it’s a curse. Germ infested boats of trouble. A serious amount of “reimagining” is needed. What about converting them to floating hospitals, serving impoverished nations as a priority? Docked, no need for fuel, their travel days over unless needed at an epicentre of the next pandemic. I can only dream.
Once I’m out of the village, back on my small road, the stress of Covid-19 disappears. I soak up the rice fields glistening below the big blue sky. The occasional motorbike passes by, I wave to farmers working on their land in the distance. It get why this ‘normal’ feels so safe.
Going through my gate I slip into my Covid-19 arrival routine….
Drop mask into a pre-prepared bowl filled with water and laundry detergent at the kitchen sink. Its right by my gate. Wash hands. Empty the shopping. Wash the shopping bag. Take a shower. Rinse mask. Hang mask out to dry in the sunshine.
I’m back in my safe zone.
I look forward to the day when my gate is opened freely by anyone who wants to drop by, but for now I know I’m so lucky to have this safe zone.
Communication Cull. Sorting Fact From Fiction.
I’ve had my days of slipping into mindlessly scrolling social media and getting sucked into the Covid-19 information vortex.
I let it go whilst I was sick. But it has to stop. I don’t want Covid to be the centre of my world.
I could easily lose myself in the bubble I’ve created for myself. I’m so happy in my space. Lockdown doesn’t freak me out at all. But getting through this virus depends on each of us being armed with facts and looking out for each other. I need the bigger picture, local and global.
I scout around the Facebook expat pages for local news. Typically I’m not much of a fan. They’re not that relevant to my village life and I don’t love the ‘us vs. them’ tone that sometimes creeps in.
Jackie Pomeroy, who describes herself as “an economist, data nerd, long-time resident with years of experience working with Indonesian government” has started a Bali Covid-19 Update public group
As a follower of Jackie’s Mt Agung Daily Report since 2017, (everything one needs to know about the volcano eruptions we live with), I know Jackie is a master of translating data into everyday speak with no BS or hype.
Jackie’s links to insightful articles that give a broader perspective are great reading. Posts by Rio Helmi, ‘visual storyteller’, give me local political insights with a humane tone. Rio’s stunning photos fill my soul, reminding me why I love to call this island home.
Bali facts are covered. I can quit googling.
For the rest of the world I skim the ABC Australia site and my daily Guardian Newsletter for interesting articles. I’ve placed a personal reading ban on anything to do with Trump. As much as I’m devastated by what’s happening in the USA, and I do worry for my friends there, I can’t justify Trump sucking up my precious online bandwidth or my headspace.
I feel informed, tuned into the bigger picture. But really all that counts is what I do everyday to stop myself or anyone in my community becoming a statistic on the Covid-19 daily update.
Feeling “The Lucky Country” Pressure
“Australia sudah aman, sudah bebas. Indonesia belum. Berbahaya sekarang, Ibu”.
That loosely translates to “Australia is already safe, already free. Indonesia not yet. Dangerous now.” Said in an envious tone.
I’ve stopped for a chat with two friends taking a break from working in the heat, sitting under a tree, on my walk to the village. I can’t help but think how bizarre it is that we’re all wearing masks.
Australia’s success in controlling the pandemic to date is all over the news. Having a ‘flattening the curve’ status is impressive when compared to the escalating daily stats for Indonesia.
There’s no denying in comparison to Indonesia, Australia has an enviable healthcare and welfare system, especially in a crisis.
Predictions are the worst is yet to come here. The local transmission rate in Bali jumped to 21% today, an unwelcome shift from the stats to date indicating the majority of positive cases originated from ‘outsiders’.
Indonesia has a population of around 270 million with 25 million or so people living below the poverty line. I’m no economist or sociologist, but it’s not hard to work out it’s a different ball game to the one we play in Australia, population 25 million.
I understand the envy.
Over the 10 years of running Sharing Bali retreats, hosting many Australians willing to experience our Bali village life, I did my best to handle any signs of envy that would occasionally arise amongst our staff or onlookers from the village. I could see through their eyes how abundant the suitcases weighing 20kgs or more appeared to them. And this was ‘travelling light’ for some!
I tried to get across that our guests’ lives were not necessarily ‘better’ explaining that all that money also comes with loads of stress, huge bills, long work hours, multi-tasking calendar driven schedules. And that’s why they were staying with us. To have a taste of Balinese village life, to get back to nature, to enjoy ‘simple luxury’ in life, surrounded by significantly less ‘stuff’, less stress, more fun’.
Equally I tried to explain to our guests that they shouldn’t jump to the conclusion that their lives were automatically aspirational. Pointing out that the local people they were meeting can’t believe we don’t live with our families, find it strange that we travel by ourselves and are shocked by what Australians pay for electricity, fuel, rents, food etc was an awakening for some. The price of a takeaway coffee took their breath away.
Monetarily poor? Rich in life?
Not better. Simply different.
Getting fitter, maybe dropping a kilo or two, having fun, making friends, getting out of comfort zones, learning something new happened on our retreats.
But my only wish was that our guests would go home more grateful for what they had, enriched by seeing how others live, and ultimately ‘more in love with life’. Their own life.
It took me years to work out that this was the true ‘purpose’ behind the retreats. It was my biggest single professional and personal lesson in life.
I’m now getting that maybe the combination of being a Ten Pound Pom in “the lucky country” and a ‘tamu’ in a Balinese village were the influences behind this big life lesson.
All this goes through my mind as I’m talking with my friends.
In their eyes I’m from “the lucky country”.
I can’t explain away the differences in health systems. All I can do is talk about how Australia got it in control. I can see they’re staggered by the examples of social distancing, which is not really happening here in the village on a daily basis.
‘Stay in the village, wear your mask, wash your mask, wash your hands’ I say as I leave.
They’re listening. Smiling.
The enforced lockdown conditions has got us all thinking about how ‘lucky’ we are. About what we really need. About what really matters.
Note to self……. ‘be in love with life’. Right here. Right now.
Cantik…. Pomeranian in Paradise Has His Say
My First Trip Out Of the Village In A Month….
Last time I went out of the village it was in the back of an ambulance. Thankfully I had no need for such a dramatic departure this time.
I’m on the back of the bike, Cantik on my lap, masked up, breeze in my face. I confess the unrestrained freedom feels good.
I’m out of cash. Cards are of no use in the village at the local warungs. My daily living costs are low as most of my food comes from the garden or neighbouring farms. I like to have an small stash on hand as I’ve learnt that access to money is essential in any kind of emergency in Bali.
There’s a bank/phone agent a couple of villages away. For a fee of around 50c per transaction I can access my account with their mobile card machine. But due to lack on business he’s out on the road selling and delivering bottled water. He has the card machine. The workers tell me to ‘try tomorrow’.
I well know that concept of ‘tomorrow’, it could go on for a week.
The closest ATM is in Payangan, opposite the hospital, a twenty minute ride away.
I relax on the back of the bike, taking in my surroundings. The rice fields look so lush, there’s not a cloud around Mt Agung, durians are loaded up on the side of the road ready to be taken to market. It seems so ‘normal’ making it hard to believe we’re in the grip of a pandemic.
But when I look beyond I can see how life has changed in just a month.
There’s very few people on the road.
Everyone is wearing a mask.
Handwashing stations have been rigged up with various levels of ingenuity at shops and warungs.
We’re doused with disinfectant at every village check point.
All good small steps to respond to the crisis.
As we ride home I allow myself to think just for a moment that ‘we’ve got this’.
Disinfectant Dudes Put A Smile On My Face
Thanks to Trump and his ‘sarcastic’ suggestion that ingesting disinfectant could help solve our Covid-19 woes, disinfectant has been a hot topic in the news.
The government have provided barrel loads of disinfectant to every village to set up a station at the village entrance. Every vehicle, motorbike or pushbike is stopped so that handle bars and hands can be sprayed with disinfectant. The application system seems to vary, I guess depending on who’s manning the spray gun.
More exuberant spraying of wheels, seat and foot pedals randomly happens.
Even though there is no ‘official’ lockdown in place these stations also seem to be serving as a checkpoint, allowing only village residents through.
Its a group effort as always.
There’s only one spray gun so one could assume one person would be enough per shift. We’re not talking about the need for crowd control in small villages. Two motorbikes passing through at one time is unusual. But there seems to be at least three or four people per station if not more, only occasionally have I seen a minimum of two.
And everyone is dressed for the occasion.
The guys wearing black and white ‘poleng’ sarongs, the official outfits for ‘pecalang’ (village security). The girls dressed in sarongs, scarves tied at their waist, hair neatly pulled back. A sign of our times, they all wear masks.
A couple of hundred metres further down my road from my house is the entrance to the next village. Manned by young guys, this disinfectant station has attitude. Speakers are in place, music plays nearly all day, and I can see friends dropping in, hanging out. I believe there are a lot of young guys in the village who work in tourism. They’ve obviously lost their jobs and have time on their hands.
Gathering at the station totally destroys the concept of social distancing, so I’m hoping the fact they’re masked up and surrounded by a cloud of disinfectant all day will protect them.
I wave to them, from a distance every day, on my walks in the morning and afternoons with Cantik. They return the wave with big smiles. They will forever stay in my memory as ‘the disinfectant dudes’.
Sad News. An Alarming Spike In Local Transmissions.
How quickly things change.
Just a few days after my ‘we’ve got this’ moment there’s news of a big spike in local transmissions. Two villages are the main source of the transmissions.
Once the clusters were identified, mass rapid testing was quickly actioned. The results are alarming. Hundreds are showing positive results.
More testing is done and confusion arises when the next level of tests reveal negative results, reducing the numbers from hundreds to tens. Testing is not yet complete.
It turns out that a couple of returning workers from overseas have been less than diligent about self-quarantine. The authorities are reportedly furious. I can only imagine how stressful the mass testing and confusing results must be for everyone in the village.
A task force is set up to enforce lockdowns on both villages. No one allowed out or in. Funding is arranged to set up kitchens to provide meals. Action was impressively swift.
This is sad and bad news.
Until now, Bali has not lived up to the much touted prediction of becoming a “Covid-19 Hotspot”.
There’s all sorts of theories around this, from some sort of magical ‘immunity’ to a lack of testing and under reporting.
I’m guessing that returning migrant workers will continue to be rejected from some banjars after this incident, forcing the government to add and manage more and more isolated quarantine locations.
Social distancing and disciplined self-isolation is the challenge. I really hope the outbreak is quickly controlled and at the same time sends out a strong message that the virus is no longer limited to ‘outsiders’.
Aussies To The Rescue
There’s a huge network of Aussie business owners in Bali with a ‘now that tourism has stopped it’s time to give back’ attitude.
Restaurants are cooking up a storm providing free meals, online organisations are harnessing their logistic strengths to source, pack and deliver care packages of essentials. Individuals are rallying in their own neighbourhoods with donations to families in need.
Most are crowd funded by putting the word out to friends, family and customers from around the world.
Its reported that more than 50,000 hospitality workers have been laid off. There’s little social welfare available.
But it’s not just the Aussies at work. Indonesians are also looking out for their own.
There’s plenty of reporting about the poor handling of the pandemic in Indonesia, but little about the good work happening in a society that’s had more than its fair share of challenges.
My words can’t do this justice so I‘ve pasted in sections of an excellent article shared in the Covid-19 Update public group…..
Indonesia and COVID-19: What the World Is Missing
Yes, the Indonesian government has stumbled. But civil society has been rising to the occasion.
While the country clearly faces momentous challenges, Indonesians have overcome many great ordeals before: devastating natural disasters, centuries of colonial rule, a struggle for independence, civil conflict, and the chaos that ensued from the 1998 Asian financial crisis, which led to the downfall of a dictatorship and the reformation of the country’s political and economic systems.
Through all this, evidence suggests that Indonesians have learned to band together when times are tough, both feeling a responsibility and taking great joy in helping each other when needed.
In the 2019 Legatum Prosperity Index, Indonesia ranked fifth in the world for social capital and first for civic and social participation, with the highest levels of volunteering of any country. In the 2018 Charities Aid Foundation (CAF) World Giving Index Indonesia also topped the list for frequency of donating and volunteering.
It therefore comes as no surprise to see the many crowdfunding campaigns that have been launched on local platforms like kitabisa.com to help those in need. This includes raising funds to support informal sector workers, such as street food sellers, scavengers, and motorcycle taxi drivers, and to purchase personal protective equipment (PPE) for healthcare workers. By late March, 15,000 medical students from 158 universities had also signed up to volunteer.
I’ve been in and out of Bali for 20 plus years, observing, and experiencing to some degree the continual challenges. I’ve had many humbling lessons on ‘resilience’. Covid-19 will no doubt serve up another.
Life is always lean for farmers in our village. So the drop in income is not as dramatic. I do see more people gathering firewood every day for their kitchens. The $2.50 for a gas bottle refill has become an extravagance. There’s more foraging for ‘paku’ an edible jungle fern that grows wild. The warungs start to have empty shelves, no money to buy stock.
But unlike those who have moved to the bigger towns, no one is paying rent. Gardens and farms are providing food and a small income. Kids are home schooling eliminating school costs. Those who don’t have a phone or the money to buy data for online classes have paper workbooks. Everyone is surrounded by family and friends.
Returning home to the village is considered a safe place in times of crisis. I know myself it’s easier to live a frugal life, to settle for less and to surrender to the waiting game until the crisis passes. Life is ok right now.
Spiralling Down Out Of The Blue
“You Have No Events Scheduled In Your Calendar Today”
Google sends me this reminder. Every day.
I really should figure out how to turn it off, but normally, I kinda like the feeling it gives me.
I speak right back at Google…. “The day is mine and right now I’ve got time for what counts in life. I have no desire to fill in your hourly time slots.”
I’ve no shortage of invitations to zoom catch ups, online classes, daily challenges, virtual drinks, or globally synced meditations. Isolation has driven a frenzy of online connectivity.
But I’m resisting the temptation to satisfy the Google Calendar Master.
And not just because my internet speed has gone from reasonable to horrible making online connectivity absolutely not fun.
I’m resisting because I may never have this time again. This time to ditch the busyness. This time for me.
Or so I thought.
Knowing the day or the date is actually not that important in my daily life at the moment. In fact I’ve succumbed to ‘village time’. But for some reason seeing the date May 7 pop up sparked a ‘holy cow, the year is slipping away, what am I doing with my life’ moment.
Which led me to thinking about my age, my lack of plans, no goals, what I’ve failed at, what I’ve screwed up and the general downward spiral into … ‘how did I end up in this mess’.
The daily reminder of ‘You Have No Events Scheduled In Your Calendar Today’ seemed to mock me, like a bully, taunting me with ‘you’ve got nothing going on in your life’.
I had no defence. ‘Ok Google. It’s true. I admit it. I’ve got nothing going on right now except living from day to day.’
I’ve nothing to complain about. I’m pretty much recovered from the knockout blow delivered by a bacterial infection. I’m certainly not gasping for breath in an ICU ward as many are. I’m living in a pretty nice safe little bubble right now if I’m honest with myself.
So what’s my problem?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
I came to this brilliant conclusion after a few hours of making myself unnecessarily miserable.
Just because I don’t have diarised plans in place, doesn’t mean I’m not thinking, creating, reading, being worthwhile. (Note to self… this is what ‘living in the moment’ looks like.) No different to anyone else in the world going through ‘iso’, I’m missing those ‘live’ moments with friends. That’s all.
I get over myself. The moment passes. I put the Google Calendar bully back in its place.
I actually have a lot going on, life is full. Of the things that count.
Take that Google Calendar.
Desperate Deeds…… I’m Buying Bintang From The Back Of A Van.
10pm. I’m googling Bintang supermarket in Ubud.
Free deliveries within 5kms. Damn. That’s not me.
I really screwed up on organising a stash of treats. I haven’t been to Ubud, the source of ‘tamu treats’, in two months and it doesn’t look like I’ll get there any time soon. Could be another two months of isolation.
One bottle of the cheapest local wine on the shelf plus delivery could add up to close to $80. That’s more than a bottle of Moet. For a very average bottle of wine.
I calculate further. Order in bulk. Same delivery price. 3 bottles could work out to $42 per bottle. Bargain, I’ve cut the price nearly in half.
Sigh. What was I even thinking?
Not ready to give up I do a search on Facebook Marketplace. Maybe some enterprising person has figured out there’s a business delivering wine to desperate foreigners during this pandemic. Yep. The good folks in Seminyak, Kuta, Canggu etc are taken care of.
I shut down the search. This doesn’t vaguely fit with my need to live a frugal life right now. Back to beer.
Which is not so bad, except beer often runs out in my village. For days at a time.
On my one and only trip out of the village in six weeks I found myself flagging down a delivery guy and buying beer from the back of his van. He only had a few bottles and there was a good chance he would run out before reaching our village. Desperate? Yes.
I face the reality I’m on a beer budget and my need for wine is nothing more than a ‘tamu problem’.
Worse things could happen. A glass of wine goes on my ‘post iso wish list’. Sigh.
Small acts of kindness puts my ‘tamu problem’ right back in perspective. Surabaya women, worried their neighbours may be hungry are hanging groceries outside their house for anyone to take.
‘A Little Bit For You, A Little Bit For Me’ Ethos Has Me Rethinking My Plans.
The weeks are clicking past.
The rainy season is over. Rice fields are changing from green to yellow. All day long I hear the distant clanging of cans, the rustling of plastic flags, along with human yelling to scare away the flocks of birds swooping in to eat the ripening grain.
Thankfully the village hasn’t been impacted directly by the virus. So far no one has shown signs of being unwell, negating the need to get tested. But who knows if we have asymptomatic cases amongst us? Local transmission is starting to spike throughout Bali. I’m not surprised.
As the weeks roll on I can see life really hasn’t changed aside from pretty much locking the village to outsiders and as anyone who worked outside the village has lost their jobs, there’s not many people going out and about. Vendors drop by the warungs with supplies.
I get a sense of Covid fatigue.
Social distancing is not happening. It’s so counter cultural and then there’s the simple fact that there is no space in the kampungs (a cluster of family houses) for individual space. There’s shared kitchens, it’s rare for individuals to have a private bedroom, and washing of dishes and clothes is mostly done in the public water channels.
But the indirect impact is felt every day. With the tourism industry shut down there’s less demand for produce. Even the meagre income from selling banana leaves has dried up.
There’s usually a steady flow of building jobs. Extra rooms get added to existing houses, temples need work or walls need replacing.
I didn’t really think too much about why there were at least eight men, some days more, building a brick wall outside a house in the village last week. I guessed that maybe there was some urgency as typically there would only be two or three workers on such a small job.
Kabal was part of the crew and as I was curious I asked why there were so many workers. I should have known the reason.
The head builder thought it only fair that instead of his usual crew of three having all the work he should share the work as far as possible. So everyone got paid less but they all had ‘enough for food’.
This took me back to my early days in Bali. I was astounded by the fact that the Balinese were never upset when their neighbour starting copying and selling their art or craft objects. There would be a whole row of stalls selling pretty much the same thing.
It was explained to me the same way… ‘a little bit for me, a little bit for you, we can all eat’.
I’ve seen that change over the years, with owners being a little more protective of their designs, most likely under the influence of western business owners.
So it was heartening to see it at work in the village in these tough times. It was just the reminder I needed as I had plans to build a garden shed. I was thinking it could be done slowly with just a couple of guys and I would pitch in as much as possible.
Rolling with the ‘little bit for me, a little bit for you’ way I now have four guys building and Arni has a job in the kitchen keeping the coffee and snacks flowing. I’ve hung up my labourer’s gloves.
I can already see I’m getting more than I asked for. I have a bonus path, four new garden beds dug in ready to plant, and an instant border of lemongrass.
It will cost me more than planned but everyone wins and dignity remains intact. That’s my village lesson for this week.
There’s lots of talk about Bali opening up in the next month or so to tourism in a limited way. It’s all over the media and its certainly getting everyone’s hopes up. As much as I would love that to happen in a controlled way, my inner ‘Captain Sensible’ is putting me in the ‘wait and see’ camp. Anything could happen.
Chocolate Cake Takes A Collective Effort.
All the years of going without home-made cake in Bali have come to an end.
With time on their hands some of the women in Arni’s family have been experimenting in the kitchen. With a downloaded recipe there was a group effort to cook a chocolate cake in a rice steamer.
The cake was a hit.
The only dilemma was the cooking time. 20 minutes on the stove is a long time in terms of fuel for a ‘treat food’. Cooking with gas was too extravagant. Cooking over fire was the only affordable way. Doable, just needed more time to gather firewood.
Arni was keen to try it in my kitchen as I have an oven. I was thrilled. A quick stocking up on ingredients and we were good to go. The oven attempt was a fail. We didn’t have the right size tin for my minuscule size oven, so it was back to my gas stove and rice steamer.
Success. Delicious moist chocolate cake served warm. In heaven. The cake was devoured in minutes by the perfectly timed arrival of a few farmers and their kids. I have a quiet little stash of leftovers hidden away in my kitchen. I’m eking it out.
I let it be known I’m happy to open up my kitchen anytime. I’m living so frugally I can find the extra $2.50 to refill the gas cylinder if it means a supply of chocolate cake.
I had no idea a chocolate cake could be cooked in a rice steamer. This is one positive outcome of Covid-19 lockdown I’m loving.
How To Mask Up And Be NICE About It
Masks have been mandatory for a while here in Indonesia so I’ve had some time to adapt to the habit of wearing one. I’m not going into the debate about personal freedom, or the whole virus thing is a hoax, personally I’m in the ‘it’s better than nothing and it causes no harm’ camp. I confess to having a ‘lose the attitude’ approach. So here’s my tips for anyone new to ‘masking up’ with a few ‘mask manners’ thrown in.
*Spoiler alert, you need at least 7 washable masks.
Mask making for beginners….
There’s hundreds of YouTubes showing you how to make masks, anything from basic to fashionably fabulous. Hit search or for a simple sensible solution hit this link:
Can’t sew? We all have a friend who can sew and given the lockdown way of life they have time to whip out the sewing machine. Do a deal, pool your fabrics, or do the cutting out, they do the sewing.
There’s no need for a trip to the shops. I used old sarongs and cut up old t-shirts for ties. Go to your wardrobe, make a sacrifice. You’ll get a tick from Marie Kondo for eliminating clutter.
How many do you need?
ONE mask is not going to cut it. You need at least 7. Trust me. There’s a few reasons:
I think of my mask as a germ collector, not just of the Covid type, so why would I shove that germ ridden thing in my bag or pocket when I’m done with it? UGH!
I have a ‘one trip, one mask’ theory. So if I’m going to the village to buy supplies it’s a new mask. If I go out again it’s a fresh mask. I don’t go too far so life is simple, but if I were to venture further I would change my mask every four hours or so depending on location or as soon as it became a little damp.
I NEVER reuse a mask that hasn’t been washed.
Germs to go.
The germs have to be dealt with or else it’s all a waste of time.
I’m not one for routine but for this I set RULES that I have to follow. Once I’m in my gate this is how it goes…
#1. Straight to the sink, wash hands.
#2. Take out bowl from under sink, fill with water and detergent.
#3. Undo ties, remembering thou shalt not touch the front of mask, drop mask in water.
#BIG TIP. The trick is not to be tempted to unpack shopping, put the kettle on or heaven forbid hug someone before you’ve dealt with the mask. Go straight to the laundry or kitchen, drop that mask into hot soapy water.)
#4. Wash, rinse, hang out to dry in sunlight. (personally I like to iron my masks putting them right up there with the joy of fresh clean sheets)
I have a constant mask cycle and that’s why I have no less than 7…. 1 on, 2 soaking, 2 drying, 2 ready to wear. Nothing worse than having to dash out only to find your masks are all in the laundry stage.
Going out for more than a couple of hours? Organise two resealable bags to go with you everywhere. One for a stash of clean masks, one for used masks.
General advice is that we can be mask free once we’re in a ‘safe’ place. For me that’s my home. I guess if I had a car (cleaned and unshared), that counts as a safe place. I would drop my mask into the ‘used masks bag’ for a commute home.
Masking up for your mood.
Life’s not easy right now, so any little way to lift one’s mood counts. You may be happy with one mask for all occasions and that’s ok, but masking up for your mood may just help make your day.
Minimalist No Fuss: Has to be black and let’s face it goes with everything. Who doesn’t have black in their wardrobes?
Sporty: Think activewear inspo.
Design Driven: Funky or classic patterns. Up to you. My fave mask has polka dots.
Escape: Pretend you’re on a tropical holiday. Go loud tropical floral.
The choices are endless. Pick your mood.
#Tip Using two different fabrics in one mask gives you more choices. But please don’t flip them around for a new look without washing in between!
Fear can bring out bad behaviour and we’re all guilty of it in some way right now. So before you snap at anyone about their mask status here’s my tips on how to be NICE about this masked up life we’ve found ourselves in…
#1. When I see someone wearing their mask under their chin (it’s easy to forget to put in back in place after eating) I’ve found quietly saying ‘your mask has slipped’ is usually enough to get the mask back into place without causing offence.
#2. Taking your mask off and putting it on the table whilst you eat in a public place is not nice.
#3. Remember how long it took us to get used to taking reusable bags to the shops? It’s easy to forget your mask at first. If someone in your crowd has left their mask at home, offer them one from your bag of fresh masks. Be the nice one with extras.
#4. Some people may not have the resources for masks or simply may not have got the memo for whatever reason. If you have spares, give them out when the situation calls for it. If masks are not mandatory in your world you may get a nasty response from the non-conformers. If you do, toughen up, that’s their choice of behaviour. There’ll always be the grateful ones to balance out the nasty.
#5. If you love a sewing project like I do, make a stack of masks to give to friends, neighbours, workmates or maybe your favourite café so customers can help themselves.
*NICE as defined by my thesaurus tool: polite considerate friendly courteous charming kind sympathetic warm-hearted.
PS. If you think its tough at least you don’t have Balinese Pecalang (village security) imposing push ups on anyone without a mask. (It was done with good heart, not brute force, in the early days of Covid control. Since then we’ve moved to mandatory laws which need to be taken more seriously)
If we have to ‘Mask Up’… lets be nice.
Jak. The Pandemic Pup Moves In.
Second wave lockdowns are getting more serious around the world.
What to do?
Turns out many of us have let a four legged friend into our lives to fill the human contact gap in our Covid-19 world. Fostering or buying a dog has become a thing.
So this is the story of Jak. A Pandemic Pup born in the era of Covid-19. She’s adopted us.
Cantik, my Pomeranian has been by my side for over 8 years. We are unashamedly obsessed with each other. For such a little guy he takes up a big part of my heart…. some may say he rules my life. Guilty as charged.
Now retired from his role of CEO of Sharing Bali, Cantik has more time on his paws. With no one to boss around he’s taken on Jak as his protégé.
Cantik’s taken over the blog. It’s a silly tale to lighten dark days.
Here’s how the training is going…
Cantik: Rule No. 1. We have to ‘duduk’ (that’s ‘sit’ for my English speaking friends) before we get food or treats. Get back here and follow me.
Cantik: You’ll have to work on your technique Jak. She likes you to sit up straight. Seriously get on to it, you’re holding up the treats.
Cantik: Our job is to protect. I’ve got the east, you take the west.
Jak: I’m scared. Do I need to chase them off?
Cantik: It’s ok. Most are friends. All we need is short sharp barks to let her know we have incoming. We’re in a lockdown situation. Toughen up. We’ve got this.
Jak: Why don’t you have other friends come and play? The humans all stop at the gate?
Cantik: Life wasn’t always like this. You don’t know anything different as you’re a Pandemic Pup, born in the era of Covid-19. In my CEO days I had friends from all over the world visit me most weeks. And I was allowed to hang out in the local warung. It was so much fun. But it’s just us for now, I can’t wait for you to meet our friends. Apparently it’s not happening for a while. Lucky I have photos. Check these out.
Jak: What a life. I wanna be like you.
Cantik: Oh my dog, I’ve forgotten how much fun puppy playing is. I haven’t chased around in a circle for years. My heart rate is taking a thumping. Just what I need. The house has been too quiet.
Jak: I love to play but what’s with this running up and down the same hill?
Cantik: It’s called interval training. She runs further each lap, taking it easy on the way down. It’s a human thing. It took me a while to work out I could just wait at the bottom of the hill. You can share one of your treats with me for that tip.
Jak: Oh my dog… she’s dug up all this dirt for me to play in. I love it.
Cantik: You’re making a puppy mistake here. Get too dirty and before you know it you’ll be having a “mandi” (a shower in English speak). Lucky for you I’ve trained Karen with my ‘warm water only rule’ so you get to skip the agony of cold showers. Your coat is so low maintenance. I’m so jealous. I take hours to dry and don’t start me on how long the daily brushing takes.
Cantik: Garden days are long, up to 6 hours. It’s a lockdown thing. I recommend you find a shady spot to hang out, and get up every now and again to stretch.
Cantik: They call this ‘self care’. Pre pandemic there was never enough time for me, I had a full calendar. I deserve this after years of service as CEO. Please don’t disturb.
Jak: Boring. But you’re the boss.
Jak: I’m not so scared at night when I sleep with you.
Cantik: It must have been tough those first few weeks of life out in the cold. I’ll hang with you for a while but then I’m heading back to Karen’s bed. Don’t even think you can join me. It took me years to earn the privilege. I am ‘top dog’ you know.
Jak: I was abandoned. Every morning I’d wake up and think where am I going to find food? I’d heard about how good your place was, but the word on the street was you had exclusive rights. So I sneaked in every night to a warm spot in the bathroom, trying to win her over when she found me in the morning. She tried to chase me back to where I came from but I had nowhere to go. I’m really sorry I chewed her new bathroom curtains but I was so scared.
Cantik: You’re a lucky dog. In fact you’ve won the equivalent of dog lotto. Food is good here, if you get sick she’ll wrap you in a favourite sarong, give you medicine and stay up all night with you if you’re sad. If it gets serious the nasty man comes and jabs you with a needle. It hurts. I don’t like him. Stick with our neighbourhood. Everyone knows us. There’s some tough dogs up in the village, I can’t protect you as they’re too big for me. Stick with me, Pandemic Pup. Lets play…. !
Jak: OK. I will try not to be so naughty.
‘Maskless Partygoers’ vs ‘Cautious Compliants’. The Expats Are Divided.
So I took a break from writing about life in the village through a Covid lens. I needed to.
With so much reporting, so much polarisation, and a fair share of spite and ugliness I didn’t want to add to the ‘noise’ or let it be the centre of my daily life.
So I did what everyone else in the village was doing… just getting on with life as best they can.
The timing was perfect, giving me space to help my brother Andy on his book, The Carpe Diem Way.
Zoom meetings brought a whole lot of new people, scattered around the world, into my life. As a rookie I learnt so much from the pro team made up of editor/adviser, copywriter, book designer, proof reader and Andy at the heart of it all. It’s done now, handed over to Arthur Luke and his incredible design finesse. From first draft to last draft has been an epic journey, breathing new energy into my village life.
And I absolutely love the cover…
And not that I’m biased… but it’s a damn good read and so relevant that it was written during the pandemic. Andy’s real life story is woven in amongst the ‘how to’ of working from anywhere, but more importantly it’s about ‘making time for life’.
If there’s anything that Covid has taught us is that work is no longer a place, and time for ourselves and with those that count in our lives has never had more meaning.
I’m so excited to see it in print. (preview here for you)
Meanwhile….. like so many countries around the world the pandemic escalated to the levels we hoped it wouldn’t in Indonesia. Bali has gone from enviable small numbers of positive cases brought in ‘from outside’ to ever rising numbers of locally transmitted cases.
For the first time Indonesia has banned all foreign arrivals with the exception of holders of a couple of types of visas. And they’ve implemented controlled quarantine protocols. Travellers are in an uproar as it all happened with little notice.
It’s complicated and messy. Laws are changing every day.
I feel for the people who are trying to reunite with family or return to their homes. But there are many who are flaunting the visa rules so they can hang out in Bali as if Covid doesn’t exist.
I tap into a couple of brilliantly administered Facebook groups to get the Bali Covid facts without the bs and to stay up to date with the ever changing laws and regulations, especially around visas and covid protocols.
Scrolling through the comments it’s clear the Bali expat population has been polarised into the ‘Canggu enclave of maskless partying bules’ and the compliant ‘we are guests here in this country, respect the rules, take care of your community’ crowd.
The commentary can get fierce and snarky.
For whatever reason Covid positive foreigners are not included in the official statistics so there’s no facts to support arguments about behaviour. But the ‘unofficial chat’ is there are plenty of foreigners with obvious symptoms or a positive test result living life at large. It makes people mad, myself included.
There’s a new law that empowers Immigration Officials to deport foreigners for non-compliance with Covid protocols. Instantly. It hasn’t happened yet, but when it does I expect the Facebook feeds will go into a frenzy.
I’m incredibly grateful for the fact based advice and news shared by these groups, but at the same time I’m so happy to be tucked away in my village, not living amongst the expat angst.
We have no Covid in our village and I don’t want to be ‘the outsider’ bringing it in. I feel that pressure, responsibility.
In fact I’m probably the most cautious, compliant person in the village in contrast to the Covid fatigue that has crept into daily life here. Interestingly I have both positive and negative reactions to my stance. Most respect my self-imposed standards, some I feel are still suspicious that Covid comes from foreigners, but for many they are somewhat upset or personally offended because I no longer join temple ceremonies, my visits to the warungs are fleeting, no longer sitting down for a chat over coffee.
“Masih aman di sini Ibu” they say to me. (It’s safe here) I find this hard to deal with, it would be so easy to succumb to their sense of safety and revert back to pre-covid life. But I don’t and I won’t.
I make promises of inviting everyone to my house ‘post-covid’ for a celebration. I so look forward to that day. It will be a helluva party.
There is no easy path out. All hopes rest on vaccines which in a country of 270 million people is a phenomenal challenge.
Until that starts to unfold, I will follow the village way and just get on with life….. masked up of course.
Aussies To The Rescue. A Good News Story You Can Be Part Of.
It’s easy to get disheartened by rising daily Covid numbers and stories of hardship in Bali. After taking a brief ‘essential’ trip to Ubud for the first time in six months yesterday, the reality of empty stores, restaurants and a marketplace sadly lacking the usual vibrant buzz hit home.
But all it takes is one good news story and my belief in the power of good people is back in full force.
This story particularly gets at my heart as it’s a story about village kitchens, and a solution that addresses the poverty hidden beyond the glitzy scenes of Bali.
I’ve edited and copied in text from the source so I get the story straight…
Dean Keddel, whose two popular restaurants, Ginger Moon Canteen and Jackson Lily’s, have long been favourite hotspots for international, and in particular Australian, visitors.
While Dean normally employs 130 staff over his two venues, he says he has now had to cut back to a core of 50 – even then Dean has found it difficult to keep up the well-being and morale of his staff and their families.
“Then the idea of a community cookbook came up. It started with asking my staff what recipes they would suggest. I went to their homes, ate with them and heard their stories.”
At that point, Dean says something magical happened.
“I realised it’s the emotion behind the food [that’s important],” he says. “You start out asking someone for their favourite dish and then you ask them where it came from and a chef says when he tastes the food he feels his mother’s warmth. That really hit me.”
“I wanted to dig deeper and go behind the scenes to find out how people, some of them quite poor and with few resources, make their favourite dishes.”
The result is Our Bali — Your Bali, a cookbook that Dean says will delight cooks but gives the reader something much more than a book of recipes.
“As we put it together I realised it’s more about people than the food, it’s the stories behind the food and the dishes they make”.
Like every author, Dean says he learned a lot as he researched and helped put the book together.
As he researched one chapter he met the chefs from 14 warungs — the small and simple, usually open air and family run, cafes that are found everywhere in Bali — to ask about their kitchen secrets.
“I was met with hospitality. They wanted me to eat their food,” Dean says. “They didn’t want me to pay for it. They showed me warmth and sincerity that is the same as a five star restaurant. They watch you eat every bite to see if you enjoy it as much as they love cooking it”.
Dean says he learned something else too as he wrote the book: “It’s expensive, it’s a big investment to make this happen.”
How can we help?
The book’s main objective is to raise funds for five key charities on the island.
- Bali Children’s Foundation – helping thousands of local children to complete school and to find employment.
- Scholars of Sustenance – combatting the effects of COVID-19 by providing nutrition to those in need.
- Friends of the National Parks Foundation– working to protect wildlife and their habitats, at the same time supporting local communities.
- East Bali Poverty Project– helping people to help themselves
- Bali Wise by R.O.L.E Foundation – empowering marginalised women through skills education, as a means to develop sustainable communities.
I know many of you reading this blog have spent time at the Sharing Bali dining table in the past, enjoying the village style food prepared by staff who learnt to cook over a wood fire. I’m lucky to have Arni cooking for me in Sharing Bali style in my new house, but every week I eat food from the local warung. Pre Covid, I would hang out for coffee and chats, but now its ‘nasi bunkus” (takeaway) that I eat at home.
I’m a big fan of local warungs, there is heart and soul in village food.
Post Covid I hope anyone that travellers to Bali not only return to their favourite restaurants and cafes, but also take a seat at the local warung.
Until then… this book will bring the flavours and stories of Bali to you and help so many in dire need right now.
Covid. A Lesson In Patience. Some Days I Fail.
As predicted, the number of positive Covid cases in Bali are spiking. Alarmingly.
Vaccination strategies fill the news feeds, taking over conversations everywhere.
For the first time in a while, my mood takes a dip. It feels like the Covid situation is going to get worse before it gets better in Indonesia.
Selfishly, I just want a day of not wearing a mask. But that’s not going to happen.
And I’m yearning for a ‘normal’ village life. I miss the communal times preparing for ceremonies in the banjar, getting swept up in a parade to temple, the contrast of chaos and calm that engulfs every ceremony.
Covid put a stop to large gatherings. The government issued strict instructions to all village leaders. The vibrant dance and theatre performances were forbidden, cremations and weddings put on hold. Only small family ceremonies allowed.
But as Covid fatigue sets in, the discipline is disappearing, village wide ceremonies are edging their way back into daily life.
I have been very disciplined, staying away from all ceremonies no matter the scale. But I too nearly succumbed this week.
The village chat was all about the upcoming ceremony at the temple by the river at the back of the village. Every day someone would say to me “ikut Ibu?”, a polite way of asking if I was joining the ceremony.
It’s a walk through the jungle on a steep path to the river below to get to the temple. It’s simple, under a tree, nothing grand. Women dressed in tight sarongs and lacy kebayas carry towering offerings on their heads. Men carry gongs, drums and kids. I always feel like I’m taking a step back in time.
I will never forget my first time at this ceremony, quite a few years ago. My descent down the jungle path was not pretty, displaying not an ounce of grace. I arrived hot, muddy, dishevelled. Every moment was awkward, I felt like the clumsy tamu. I couldn’t sit for hours without squirming, muscles cramping. My mind was all over the place, wondering how I was ever going to fit into village life.
Today, it really is my most favourite ceremony. I can get up and down that jungle path and barely raise a sweat. I feel at one with the world, sitting for hours shoulder to shoulder, jammed into a small clearing in front of the temple. Time has no meaning.
So I nearly said yes. There is no covid in our village, but really, who knows?
There could be any number of asymptomatic cases amongst us. And given the stigma around being diagnosed as Covid positive, there’s always a chance someone has symptoms but doesn’t want to go through the drama of being diagnosed positive. And the chance of social distancing happening amongst an entire village gathered in a clearing in the jungle? Zero.
Instead I said “belum pasti” to every invitation, which loosely translates to “not sure”, the polite way to say no.
A couple of days later I read a report of 30 family members from one village being diagnosed Covid positive. The entire village is now in lockdown with further testing revealing additional cases. Given the number of elderly and vulnerable people in our village, I can only hope we dodge a similar situation. It could happen so easily.
This ceremony happens every year, I have many more to look forward to. I just have to dig deep to find my inner Captain Sensible and resist the peer pressure, ignore the disappointment in response (it’s getting hard) and stick to my self-imposed ‘stay home’ order.
Covid is delivering me a lesson in patience. Some days I fail.
Perfect ‘Flat Backs’ In The Rice Fields Give Me A Kick In The A To ‘Keep Moving’.
7.30am. Cantik and Jak are going nuts barking, letting me know someone is at the gate. Over the chaos I can hear someone calling out ‘Ibu, Ibu’.
I head out to find my farmer friend from across the road, holding a package wrapped in a banana leaf. I love these surprises, they are always treats from her kitchen. Sure enough there’s a handful of steamed rice cakes covered in palm sugar and coconut, the traditional fare for rice field workers on planting day.
Rice planting has been going on all week around the village. I can’t believe another 6 months has passed since the last planting.
I can feel the buzz of busyness in the air. Extended family and neighbours are called on to help. Groups are formed, some people move from family to family, planting for several days in a row. The rice field owner supplies the coffee and food. There’s a reward system for the co-operation – sharing rice at harvest time. Rice is life here. It’s not just food, it’s cultural comfort. A successful rice season brings a lot of joy.
The planting is done quickly. Many hands make light work. Clumps of seedlings are tossed into the mud, ready to be grabbed by the workers as they follow lines etched out by a rake, planting the seedlings one by one.
Everyone is barefoot, up to their calves in mud, walking backwards, bent over.
Their perfect ‘flat backs’ would impress any Pilates or Ballet instructor.
No rounded shoulders or arched spines. A glass of water would not topple over on any one of those flat backs.
Young and old are at work, I see people who I guess are in their 70’s working alongside their children and quite possibly their grandchildren. It takes balance, strength and mobility.
There’s always banter going on. On my morning walks with the dogs, I take in their efforts and their energy.
Whilst it all looks effortless, I know it takes a toll. It’s the wet season now bringing cloudy days, damp air and a chill to the mud. Calves can cramp and for some, hamstrings bring on quiet hell the next day.
It’s a stark lesson about aging, fitness, and attitude right in front of my face.
The message is loud and clear.
You can either sit and settle, letting age eat you up, or keep moving.
Some days I feel like the Covid Clock is ticking, keeping me in place with one hand, stealing away time with the other. In charge of my age game.
Most days, taming my garden along with never ending house jobs involves my fair share of lifting, hauling, digging and constantly moving from squatting to standing. It leaves me feeling good about being active, not really ‘gym fit’, but ‘fit for for life’.
But that Covid Clock has its way with me sometimes, putting me in a funk, opening the door to bad habits. It’s easy to succumb to ‘later’ or ‘when this is over’ excuses.
Watching those green rice shoots, sparkling like diamonds, being put into their muddy home, is the kick in the A I needed.
So I’m back to some interval hill sessions and on the mat more often, planking away, working on ‘my flat back’. I won’t cut it in the rice fields at planting time, but I’m damn determined to ‘keep moving’.
Covid Clock…. I’ve got you.
Stress Vs. Spicy Sambal? Recipe Included.
No one from my immediate circle wants to talk about ‘it’.
“I don’t want to be stressed about the Covid news. Its better I just do my farming” is a typical reply to my need to chat about ‘it’. I think I’m being rational, raising awareness, they think I’m causing unnecessary anxiety.
With Indonesia now hitting the 1 million positive cases mark the international press is zooming in. Expat group chat is at Facebook frenzy level. My head is full of Bali centric Covid stats and strategies, on full alert.
Bali has also been in the news for deporting foreigners openly flouting the law. The culturally insensitivity has outraged many, bringing an unwelcome focus on bad behaviour amongst travellers, igniting more social media snarkiness. Immigration now has a ‘two strikes and you’re out” policy for foreigners who break Covid protocols. Given my behaviour the chances of that happening to me is absolutely zero, but it does bring in a little stress, serving up a harsh reminder that I’m a guest in this country and not to lose sight of my privilege.
Despite the alarming rise of Covid numbers I personally have faith in the organisational power at village level needed to administer the vaccine program.
I’ve previously witnessed Payangan Public Hospital setting up a health check station in the Banjar (village meeting place) in the midst of ceremony preparations.
The ground was hastily swept, making way for two long fold up tables and a handful of chairs. Tape measure taped to a pole, scales set up on the steps, blood pressure cuff and blood sugar machine on the table, a few nurses and one doctor armed with a stethoscope and a plastic tub of medication…. clinic is good to go.
Vitals were checked. As needed, advice, medication or a referral for a hospital check-up handed out. Meanwhile the ceremony preparations continued on, albeit with everyone openly discussing their results as they offerings.
We are a tiny speck of a village on the map of Indonesia. This is what public health looks like. It’s an enlightening adjustment for anyone used to the Australian health system.
I’m writing this story at my outdoor kitchen table. The dogs are napping after our morning walk. My neighbour has dropped off a parcel of yellow rice and spicy chicken sambal from the ceremony preparations going on in her house. With the light streaming in through the jungle and only the sound of roosters and farmers cutting grass for their cows in the background, it’s hard to believe the world is being held hostage by a nasty pandemic.
My situation could change any day, such is the devious way of Covid.
For now I’m taking on some local advice putting ‘it’ out of my mind a little more often.
Food is always a good distraction. Pretty sure I have eaten my body weight in tropical fruit this year.
In fact I think I could plot my covid diary by ‘what I ate’. With no travel, it has been a year of 100% local food. In the early days I found myself googling ‘any issues from over dosing on mangosteens?’ Luckily there were none as I was eating no less than five a day. As the wet season approached mangos and rambutans took over. In between I gorged on soursop, papaya, jackfruit and bananas and was excited when the avocados finally started to ripen.
The latest addition to my mostly edible garden is a crop of peanuts.
So far they are thriving in the wet conditions and I’m excited for the harvest in a few months time. Peanut Sambal, a spicy peanut sauce, is one of my favourite dishes.
When I was bouncing between Bali and Brisbane for a few years it was the one I would whip up in my Brisbane kitchen. Its perfect as a dipping sauce, for sate, cooked with greens, or mixed through a fresh salad. (recipe and pics below)
The trick is to start with fresh peanuts in their shell. The perfect excuse to spend a Sunday afternoon on the balcony with a glass of wine shelling peanuts. Guaranteed to slow the day right down, almost to village time.
There are two parts to the recipe, start with preparing the fried sambal.
fried sambal ingredients
5 small onions finely sliced
4 garlic sections finely sliced
3 small chillies finely sliced
toss onions, garlic and chilli in pre-heated oil in a wok over a high flame until golden brown
add pinch salt during cooking
remove from wok, drain excess oil and put aside to cool
peanut mix ingredients
1 cup fresh, unsalted peanuts
¼ teaspoon palm sugar (may be substituted with brown sugar)
½ kaffir lime
toss peanuts in pre-heated oil in a wok over a high flame for 2-3 minutes, only until golden
remove and drain excess oil
crush cooked peanuts using mortar and pestle until a dry paste
add cooled sambal to mortar and continue crushing with pestle
gradually add 1-2 tablespoons cold water to make textured, creamy consistency
add sugar and pinch of salt and continue grinding
finally add squeeze lime and mix in
(nb: if using blender instead of mortar and pestle do not overblend to a smooth paste. A slightly crunchy texture is much nicer)
Wonder And Awe. On Tap.
So this is a bit of a self-centred introspective story brought on by Covid life….
The furthest I’ve been in the last 12 months is Denpasar (twice) and Ubud maybe three or four times. All were trips that qualified as ‘essential’ by Covid rules. In fact I’ve barely stepped inside a house other than mine, maybe one or two steps into a family compound for a brief moment. The number of people who have been inside my house I can count on one hand. It’s been 12 months of politely sidestepping numerous invites for coffee, food or to join a family ceremony. Thankfully I have a very outdoor style kitchen that allows for conversations over the gate and with passersby on the road. Coffee and chat happens in the garden, everyone scattered around at a safe distance.
For someone who has probably spent more time away from wherever home happened to be, this is a huge shift. I’ve lived a life of business travel, short hops and long hauls. At one stage I was ‘commuting’ from Bali to Australia, ‘sleeping’ on the overnight flight, grabbing a shower at the office or the airport and usually at my desk the same time as those who did the commute by car. Packing a bag most weeks was the norm.
In between the business travel I’ve been lucky enough to explore the world from Africa to Asia, mostly slightly off the beaten track, my preferred way to travel.
The lines between work and life blurred, creating a very mobile way of life. I’ve filled a few passports, checking the number of empty pages became second nature.
Right now my passport is packed away in a waterproof bag in an airtight container. It has more chance of wearing out from the tropical damp air than the rigours of international travel.
So I know I’m not the only one. I’m not thinking ‘poor me’. It’s the same the world over.
It’s a reality check when I consider many people in my village young and old, have not travelled very far from the village. Their furthest travels would possibly be to Besakih Temple, the most sacred temple in Bali, for a ceremony. Travel typically is local style at its best with everyone jammed into the back of an open truck forming a village convoy. Everyone’s home by nightfall. It’s travel with purpose.
By contrast there are families who have sold cows and land, used their life savings to send one of their kids off to study so they can get a job on a cruise ship. Whilst they see a little of the world, the 12 hour shifts and occasional days off don’t allow for too much wandering, they do it for a few years to bring home foreign currency to set up their family, including their parents, for a better life back in the village. Travel for the sake of personal exploration is not really a notion, rarely an aspiration.
Consequently travel doesn’t come into my daily conversation. It’s so irrelevant especially when you throw in the Covid factor.
Even so I’ve found myself questioning why I’m not missing the thrills, the highs and the lows, the discoveries, the personal expansion that comes with travel. Every one of my travels has opened the door to new people, new places, new food, new adventures and more. Even when things go pear shaped it provides unforgettable moments that stay in my stash of treasured memories for a long time.
There’s no doubt that travel provides a hefty dose of wonder and awe. Why am I not missing that?
I have moments of panic thinking I’ve settled for a Covid defined life, any sense of wanderlust long gone. The truth is most days I’m deliriously happy going no further than I can walk or run, FB memories put a smile on my face, but it doesn’t bring on the ‘I wish I was there’ thinking.
A book and a few articles I’ve been reading this week helped me work out that I have wonder and awe right in front of me, all I have to do is look out, look up. Literally. I live in one room, with one step out the front or back door I am in nature…. instant wonder and awe right there, silencing messy thoughts, some days taking my breath away. But it’s not only the nature factor.
Reading this made so much sense for me…
‘We spend a lot of time in life trying to make ourselves feel bigger — to project ourselves, occupy space, command attention, demand respect — so much so that we seem to have forgotten how comforting it can be to feel small and experience the awe that comes from being silenced by something greater than ourselves, something unfathomable, unconquerable and mysterious.’
I realised I’m happy not to be part of anything ‘bigger’ than daily life right now.
And then this reality check…..
‘Today, wonder tends to be on the wane, we tend to wonder more about ourselves, instead of allowing wonder to lift us up out of our own self-interest.’
‘We can be blinkered or blind to the wonder in front of us.’
And I love this piece of advice sent to me in an email newsletter….
Start your day with wonder. Most people wait for the world to stimulate wonder within them. But perhaps that’s the wrong way to begin. Instead, ask yourself, “How can I bring an attitude of wonder to life, rather than waiting for life to amaze me?”
Albert Einstein nails it…..
“he…who can no longer pause to wonder and stand wrapped in awe is as good as dead; his eyes are closed.”
I will travel again one day. I have a seed of an idea about not only where, but how I’d like to travel…..
One bag. Free to roam, exploring the archipelago on my doorstep. 2- 3 week jaunts. More village than villa. Open to awe and wonder. No passport required.
Until then I’ll be loving the wonder and awe right in front of me, checking on the health of my passport, and continuing to convert my Qantas points to wine for my parents. Covid… thanks for the kick in the A.
*Book references: Phosphorescence by Julia Baird.
A Table For One
I’ve never spent so much time in a kitchen.
Covid has kept me at a ‘table for one’ for nearly a year.
That table is in my house.
Aside from picking up some nasi bunkus from the local warung (‘takeaway’ rice and whatever vegetables, chicken and sambal is cooked on the day, wrapped up in brown paper), every single meal has been at home, cooked in my kitchen. Searching online menus and dialling up GoJek is not an option in my part of the world.
I’m not complaining. I have food. Good fresh food from my garden or the surrounding farms and local warungs and I love my new kitchen. But I do miss sharing food at home, with friends, on my travels.
Who doesn’t travel for the food memories?
Pre covid I ate my body weight in freshly baked bread and chunks of provincial style cheese washed down with a chilled glass of rose with The French Alps for a backdrop.
On an island in Timor-Leste I was deliriously happy at a food stall, sitting on a ramshackle bench sinking my feet into sand with a view into the ‘kitchen’ watching fish being cooked over a homemade ‘grill’. Fish, rice, spicy sambal, all for $2. Perfect.
Fiji was Indian flavoured heaven on a plate looking out over sparkling turquoise water, a scene straight out of the Conde Naste ‘Postcard of the Day’ series. New Zealand knocked me out with the most perfect chowder and chilled white wine, served up with sunshine and mountain air.
Nothing beats a ‘cheese toastie’ dripping in wicked amounts of butter with a glass of chilled white wine, poolside at the home of my bestie in Australia. In Bali I dropped into Ubud for restaurant fare, a break from my usual local style eating.
I confess I was excited for every plane trip for one big reason… cheese, crackers and wine. I’m the impatient one, gripping my credit card, silently wishing everyone would just put their bags away and fasten their seatbelt so the plane can take off on time. I’m ready to order. Seriously. Cheese and crackers is a big treat in my dairy free Bali life.
Food is such wonderful way to get to know local life, to dive deeper into a destination. Nothing beats getting to know the person who cooked your food, or sharing stories around a table. I love travel for that reason.Some of my best memories are from picnics or food stalls. Simple food served with little fuss.
That world seems a lifetime ago. I wonder if it will ever be the same? I doubt it. But I’m up for the reimagination, whenever it happens.
So I was excited to find my copy of “Our Bali Your Bali” cookbook had dropped into my inbox. Chef Dean Keddell has written this book as a fundraising effort for financially-strapped charities in Bali during COVID-19. It’s a keeper.
I read it from cover to cover in one go. It’s 400 pages of deliciousness wrapped around heart-warming stories about food, family, culture and kindness.
It’s beautifully polished, as you would expect from a professional chef yet there’s so much beyond the gloss. The photos are stunning, the recipes easy to read, but it’s the stories behind the food that had me glued to the screen.
The book opens up with traditional family recipes gathered from the home kitchens of twelve of Dean’s restaurant staff. Every recipe has a story, a fond memory, reminding us how emotionally charged food can be.
Dean has generously shared his own family story and recipes from his two restaurants Ginger Moon Canteen and Jackson Lily’s. I’ve bookmarked the Bali Curry, my favourite dish to try on any Bali menu. The Gado Gado and Pumpkin Salad recipes will be fun to make with Arni (ex-Sharing Bali kitchen goddess who cooks for me a couple of days every week). Let’s see if we can ‘plate up’ Ginger Moon style in my village kitchen!
My favourite section features recipes and stories from local warungs around Denpasar. Dean gets behind the scenes, shining a light on a way of life that most travellers to Bali don’t get to see. I’m a huge fan of local warungs, they really are the heart of local life. I love Dean’s promise….
“They were delighted to be a part of this amazing book and what it stands for and, for them, that was reward enough. Once this Covid-19 nightmare is all over, I have a surprise for all these warung cooks and owners. I am going to invite them to my restaurant where I will prepare and serve their dishes to them, my way. It’s going to blow their minds and this thought is my little ray of sunshine and will get me to the end of this really rough road.”
The chosen charities are all extraordinary projects run by people working tirelessly to help those most in need. Reading the stories about how they started and their long term visions for the future left me in awe.
If you’re missing your Bali vibes the book will not only spirit you back here, it will help out many people facing a desperate situation right now in Bali. Buy the e-book or hardcopy here.
Meanwhile… I may only have a ‘table for one’ but the sharing of food will continue over my garden gate. My kitchen will always cook extras to share ‘bunkus’ style wrapped up in banana leaves.
For those of you allowed to gather people together at the table, to share food, to share stories…… enjoy every mouthful, every moment.
The gorgeous photos are all from the Our Bali Your Bali cookbook.
To be continued……