| BALI STORY 2000 - Day 15. |
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| Day 15 – Friday 29 September 2000. This is the seventeenth chapter of the personal diary of this trip. I am going to find this one hard to write as it covers our visit to an orphanage just north of Kuta, in a village called Tuka, a few kilometres off the road which goes to the Tanah Lot Temple. Thousands of tourists in Bali will have driven past, quite close but unaware that it’s there. It’s going to be hard to write about because you can’t help getting emotional about the circumstances of these kids, and also because the government seems to choose not to know it’s there. |
| Day 15 The ritual massage was at 7.30 today. It seems to be getting later each day as we slip further into ‘Bali Time’. Adi has an ‘oleh oleh’ for us today. It is a perfectly formed pink, purple and gleaming, white seashell. Although it must weigh at least a kilo I know immediately it’s going into our already overweight cases. I’ve heard that all of the shells sold to tourists in Bali actually come from Timor these days. How true this is I don’t know, nor does it matter to us much as far as this particular one goes because it will always be special. We had a quick dip in the pool on the way back to our rooms and, while Claire organises our gifts for the orphanage, I walked out to the front of the Inn to see if our friend Made Dera is there yet to drive us this morning. A couple of years back we used Made almost daily but last year he totally slipped through our plans. Made works from the little elevated stand on the Holiday Inn corner of Jl Wana Segara, with perhaps half a dozen other guys. I don’t think they own their vehicles as, at a few minutes notice, they usually seem to be able to get bigger or smaller and faster ones if the need arises. Made is short, with a bristling black moustache and thick, shiny, straight, jet-black hair. He has a quiet voice and a quiet personality to go with it, but he has the typical (I think) Balinese sense of humour that breaks his face into a broad grin and makes his eyes sparkle when there is a joke around or a funny situation in the offing. His English is not Oxford or Cambridge, or even Bostonian or New York I suppose, but he’s easily understandable in a conversation and he knows his way around Bali. He is a very smooth and careful driver which suits us fine as we like to relax and look around when we’re travelling, without having our minds jerked back into the vehicle as corners are taken a bit too fast or brakes are jumped on a bit too hard. He has three children, the oldest a girl, Wayan of course, aged 21 and two boys, I Made, 19 and I Nyoman who is 15. I think we got away about 9.30 as the morning rush of traffic had subsided to the normal daily rush of traffic through Kuta, Legian and Seminyak. Eventually we took the right turn onto Jl Raya Kerobokan again, the same road that we took on our northern trip a few days ago. Somewhere along this road we were slowed, and eventually stopped in traffic that had been halted way up ahead of us, perhaps by an accident. Made swung us off to the right, along some back roads and we eventually came into Kerobokan from the east rather than from the south. To our left as we approached I could still see an apparently stationary line of traffic, perhaps 10 minutes after we pulled out into the side roads. In hindsight it may have been quicker to Tuka if we had gone straight ahead to the west when we got to Kerobokan but we turned right through the town on Jl Raya Kerobokan again. We were looking for the shop that made the Bali Rock Crystal deodorant but it turned out that we had missed it in our detour and left it until the trip back later in the day to search again. On through Batu, Celuk, Pendem and Gaji before the sharp left turn that leads to Tegah. From here we have to turn back towards our destination, but passing through some very picturesque small-farming country and tiny clusters of rustic houses rewards us. It’s only about three or four kilometres to Tuka and we are there too soon for my liking. We stopped at a small village shop to ask where the orphanage was, only to find that it was just next door behind a substantial wall. Made drove us in through the gateway and parked in a little parking area opposite a small but sparkling, clean shop. We were later to find out that this was the first day that the shop had been open and we could have been its very first customers. The purpose of the shop is to provide cash to the orphanage, needed to pay fees to the childrens’ schools. The Indonesian government does not provide any funds for this orphanage as Dutch Franciscans run it and not Moslems, who do get some government support in their orphanages. This orphanage must be totally self-supporting, even being required to pay full fees for all the kids’ education at government schools. It was disappointing to find that, with one vocal exception )'Daisy' if I remember correctly.) and a few sickies, all the kids were at school this morning. We should have phoned beforehand, of course, but at least we were still welcomed by the staff and were able to look around all of the facilities which we would not have been able to do if they were full of kids. We were met by the Dutch nun who was in charge and ushered into the reception area in the office building. Seated on comfortable chairs we explained why we had come and gave her the bags of goods that we had brought. We were thanked warmly but later embarrassed by the inadequacy of what we brought. Inadequate in terms of what we could have brought and inadequate in terms of what the real needs of this place are. In tortuous English the nun described the activities of the home, how they received children (including from the government), the number and ages of the children and their schooling. The welcome cold drinks and homemade sweet biscuits we were offered and gratefully consumed, particularly the drinks, left us wondering which child’s snack we might be eating. The atmosphere gets you that way. It seems that the greatest need of the orphanage is money to pay the government school fees. Our pencils, papers, erasers, glue sticks, coloured markers and other school items were certainly welcome as were the hair ribbons and shoe polish, but of little use if the kids can’t go to school. The single little three-year-old girl who was not at school, and who clung to the nun’s robes most of the time, thought the Chupa Chups were better than all the school stuff, anyway. It was uncomfortable when she wanted to kiss our hands regularly afterwards. We were asked to sign the thick visitors’ book before we went to tour the buildings. It had only one other entry in English that I could see in the pages that I turned back. All I could to think to write in the ‘Comments’ column was, - “There, but for the Grace of God, go I.” No, I’m not a religious person. As we left I still could not think of anything more appropriate to have written. It’s hard for us to imagine what life would be like without having any possessions at all, but this seems to be the way things are here. The children sleep in segregated dormitories on bunk beds. The only sign of individualism, if you can call it that, was seen in the girl’s dorm where many of the beds had identical, bright yellow and blue teddy bears propped against the pillows. The bunk beds here were pushed together in groups of about five or six. It’s not hard to imagine the kids need for some sort of companionship in their world. There is an eating room next to a large kitchen. A wall with water pipes sticking out of it about head high serves as the showers. The rows of toilets are on the other side of the wall. A tailor with a sewing machine makes and repairs school uniforms and a few clothes. Next to the dormitories are rooms with large cupboards. In these cupboards, grouped according to size, are all of the clothes. When a child gets up in the morning they go to the cupboard which contains clothes of their size and get dressed. As they grow out of these clothes they go to the next cupboard which holds larger clothes. I don’t know what they do if they go to a cupboard and there are no clothes left. There is a homework/study room. All of the floors are cement. There is a chapel in a wing of the office building. It is clean but it is bare of all softening details except the fresh paint in the reception area. It is stark! And it is home to about 100 children aged from about 3 years. Unlike other orphanages in Indonesia the children can stay here until they believe that they have prospects of an income and decide themselves to leave. To live there is totally beyond my comprehension. What would you have written in the ‘Comments’ column of their Visitors Book? As we left I gave the nun the money that I had in my wallet. Little that it was, I felt better about leaving. We will have to stop in Kuta to change money to pay Made. We will also have to go back again next year, better prepared knowing their needs. - o 0 O 0 o - Late lunch is a pizza by the pool. I don’t think we’d survive for too long if it were not for the instant relief of the pool. Civilisation returns, and exists, within the precincts of this little puddle of water. A coconut weaving demonstration is today’s amusement, with big and little containers for boiling rice made before our very eyes. They have a long woven rope tail so that they can be easily pulled out of the pot I suppose. A western style woven handbag fascinated everyone, especially when the final cut along the centre of the frond rib was sliced to make a spring-shut opening in the top. When coconut flesh was passed around I couldn’t resist and lined up for seconds. It felt buttery as you chewed it and yet it was sweet and crisp. I decided to have a shower and an afternoon nap, and found the shower was barely luke warm. The same problem occurred yesterday when the showers were cold at night, and I can remember the same thing happening in past years on one or two days. I think the heating system is solar and probably designed for the hotel when its needs were less than they are today. I like to finish with the shower cold, but I cool it down slowly. It’s no fun starting off with it frigid. I went back to the pool to whisper the news to Claire, not wanting everyone else to start a stampede back to their rooms, and loose the little warmth that was left. A quarter of Mistri’s pineapple from the fridge was enough to convince me that, if passionfruit is my favourite, then Pineapple must be a close second. Perhaps it’s just a matter of the bird in the hand . . . Or should that be the fruit in the hand? Nyoman told me that he had finished Scot’s Grob 115 carving, reluctantly I think because that meant the last of the Chupa Chups. He handed it to me wrapped in clear cellophane, held off the still damp paint with a slice of bamboo resting on little blocks of styrofoam at each end. It looked as good as I’d hoped it would be and I think he’ll be pleased when I give it to him tonight. A quick trip into Matahari’s for something or other and while I was there I got a cap embroidered with ‘Fast Eddy’ for my next door neighbour. Eddy often talks to Max through his kitchen windows, and when Max is lonely at night if we’re away he wanders over to have a conversation with Eddy. If he opens the side gate Max is into his flat like greased lightning. Eddy works at a re-cycling centre and I hope he’ll wear the cap to work. I’m sure he’ll like it more than the carved wooden Komodo Dragon that I brought home for him last year. That turned out to be more than just a bit of a bomb I think. Fat Yogi’s for dinner – just to be different and because its had a mention or two on the Forum. Different it turned out to be! Fat Yogis has a step down from Poppies Lane to floor level. There were only two other people there but it was a bit early perhaps so no one gave much thought to this oft-repeated warning. While the others began putting two tables together for the seven of us I wandered off to the toilets out the back. In my notes I have graded them 3/10. This is really only a look-and-say system which should be more formalised perhaps. Think about this: * If there is more than one toilet, or a toilet and a separate urinal for men, then 1 point is awarded. * If the place is clean then up to four points. Perhaps this should be five so there is no sitting on the fence (just a figure if speech you understand) as there could be with four points. Give it 3, 4 or 5 points and its clean to some degree; 0, 1 or 2 and its crappy at some level. (Is that a good choice of word?) * If there is toilet paper provided, another 1 point, If it’s good, absorbent quality then another 1 point. * If the flushing system actually works, 1 point. Another 1 point if your deposit has really disappeared afterwards. * If there is a hand basin 1 point; soap 1 point; hot water 1 point; paper hand towels or hot air dryer 1 point. I don’t think I’d give anything for cotton cloth towels, even if they do occasionally show a glimpse of greyish white in one inaccessible corner. Now that’s a total of 14 points. It should give a fairly broad evaluation and so allow a good range of assessments with an emphasis on cleanliness of the facility and cleanliness of the user, ‘sans event’ as the French might say. Perhaps I might devise a chart for my home page which prospective travellers could print off and make up into a little pad for their wallet or handbag? Perhaps a sensitive commercial printer would make up pads with a headline where the establishment’s name could be filled in, along with the date; made in self-carboning duplicates so a carbon copy could be left with the establishment’s management? I could have just started an industry! I’d better copyright this! On a serious note, in case you don’t think I’m serious about noxious toilets, when you do come across an establishment with GOOD toilets, then I think you say so. The opposite is even more important perhaps. The manager or owner should be rewarded that much at least. Back to Fat Yogis. By the time I got back the waiter was just wandering over to take away the spare chair but there was no sign of menus or drinks so I asked at the bar/counter as I passed. ‘Certainly Sir’, I was assured, but nothing else happened for a long time. They arrived just as we were deciding to go somewhere else. Oh, if only they had been a bit later some of us would think later! Bruschetta Mediterraneo Rp8,500. Pan Focaccia Savoia Rp12,000. Soups Rp8,000. Salads Rp15,000. Pastas Rp20-25,000. Guacamole Rp10,000. Grills Rp20-25,000. Asian Rp10-15,000. Pizza Rp25-30,000. Sandwiches Rp10-20,000. Desserts Rp4-11,000. Beer Rp8-10,000. Soft drinks Rp3,500 – 5,000, Lassis Rp8,000. Champagne Rp300,000, Cocktails Rp10-25,000. The Focaccia was good but the bruschetta lacked filling; a thin wipe in the middle with a small knife is not enough! The soup was good too but the chicken was described in a-typical, un-restrained and un-repeatable terminology. “How can anyone destroy noodles?” was a muttered expletive overheard. “Even I can cook noodles!” from a non-cook. The pizza was great and the lasagne was tasty but overcooked. The steak was well cooked, as ordered, but not up to class B rating according to our red meat expert. “Thankfully small” was mentioned. I found my Gago gado a plateful with an interesting presentation. All of the vegetables were individually arranged around the central mountain of rice. I think I prefer the traditional way. In summary this was not a happy evening and it is most unlikely that we will ever return to see if it’s better on another occasion. While we were there only four other patron came in. Perhaps we should have read, and acted, on the signs when we first entered. On the way out of Poppies Lane to catch a taxi Chris and I stuck our heads into Poppies Restaurant which has been variously blessed and berated on the Forum. We were instantly and warmly welcomed as we stepped through the gate, and this did not change when we indicated that we were only looking. We were escorted a short distance into the garden setting and shown the attractive arrangement of outdoor tables with flickering candles and party lights in the trees. The menus we saw were clean and seemed extensive. The prices were higher than we had just paid but did not seem too exorbitant at the time. If, indeed, you do get ‘ripped off’ at Poppies then it seems as if it would be done to you in a nice way, and in a setting of tranquil ambience. We had a quick trip home to the Inn in a red cab. The driver put the meter on when he was asked to, but obviously wouldn’t have otherwise. I had an early night, which is not unusual, but some of the others found the attractions of the Pool Bar, followed by the Ratna Satay Bar followed by O’Brien’s, were too much to ignore. 24.10.00 LINKS - Back to Day 14? On to Day 16. Today we have withdrawal symptoms, rescue the shower head and get the last sight of Bali. We have mixed feelings about the flight home, but ol' blue eyes gets done over first . . . . Photos of Days 5 to 10 again - or the photos of the trip north to Bedugul, Lovina and Singaraja. Back to our Home Page to the Bali Travel Forum Recommendations, some different photos, the Toilet Tester, Beginners Bali, Bali With Kidz??? . |
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| A roadside farm on the outskirts of the serene village called 'Tuka'. |