On Monday we decide to spend the day snorkelling (except for Cait, wisely nursing her sunburn). We meet the manager's uncle and his friend on the rocky beach in front of the hotel and climb into his fishing boats, two to a boat.
It's clear they know the sea well, waiting for the perfect moment to launch through the waves with a minimum of fuss. We head out on the water to a nearby reef. On the way, we pause; Leigh and my boatman pulls on his hand line that's attached to the back of the boat and up comes a beautiful grey fish - dinner, the man grins at us. A whole hour is spent happily watching the luminous fish glide by. There are shoals of yellow and black fish about the size of my fist, and the boatman gives us bread to feed them with - Robyn's shining moment is throwing a cloud of crumbs in front of me and watching the fish in their frenzy swim straight into my goggles with a bump.
Robyn and I take lots of photos with our waterproof cameras, but it's rather hit and miss; my technique is to wave the camera in the general direction of a fish and press hard on the button. I've no idea if I'm taking photos of blue sea, or fantastic vistas, or even taking them at all, as there's no audible click... It's quite exciting for a change to not go home and immediately inspect the photos on the digital camera - we have to wait for these to be developed properly.
After a while, we return to the hotel beach, motoring past a great view of Gunung Agung, the highest and most revered mountain in Bali - you can only just see it in the photo, though, which comes from the underwater camera.
At 1pm, we're picked up by a friend of Guntur's - quite the family business, this hotel - in a kombi for an afternoon of culture. Up a narrow road leading inland, a little village sits enclosed by a wall and thickly forested mountains. Tenganan is a little place that time skipped past without a second glance.
Its inhabitants are descendents of the original Bali Aga people. Only two Aga villages remain, both in this part of Bali, and both very restrictive in culture and habit. Tenganan has opened itself up to visitors recently but numbers are still kept low, and tourists must be accompanied by a guide from the village - they only ask for a very small donation though. Marriage outside the clan is not allowed. Cars and motorbikes are banned, although residents have restricted use of scooters. They're sort of a mild version of the Balinese Amish, resisting technological change - although it's said that these days, the traditional houses do often hide TVs and playstations... oh the demands of the youth. The women are famous for their cloths, which are truly beautiful ikat weaves, created on hand looms.
There are only two parallel streets, linked by narrow lanes which are lined with high walls broken by ornate doorways. Through them it's possible to see little warrens - courtyards filled with trees and flowers, doors leading to rooms.
The focal point is the temple, which is built beside a huge banyan tree - this apparently is, or was, a central part of Aga villages, and it houses a small shrine. The nooks and crannies up the trunk are all decorated with palm frond offerings and pieces of cloth - I think it's the most beautiful banyan tree I've ever seen.
We've arrived on a good day; the village is celebrating an ancient victory over a neighbouring tribe with a colourful and loud festival. We walk up to the temple just as the elders parade through the crowds soaking up the vocal adoration. A man standing at the edge with his 2-year-old son guides us towards the elders and I lift my hands together and bow my head to them. They laugh with delight and come to shake all of our hands instead!
After they've gone, we walk with our newly-adopted guide and his very active little boy around the temple, and he shows us the school band - the pre-teen members practise for hours after school every single day to continue the knowledge of traditional instruments for their village - no small task for such little shoulders. We follow him to his home where he's set up a small workshop for handwoven baskets and ikat cloths, and his wife greets us at the door with bananas and dodol (Balinese rice cakes wrapped in dried banana leaves). While the others shop, I sit outside on the street beside their poor cockerel, who with great indignity has been dyed pink and stuffed into a bamboo cage, and who makes his outrage known with irate squawks.
I just sit and watch the people go past, chatting to schoolchildren, and to our driver. It's amazing how fluent most people we've met are in English, especially as they only learn it as a minor school subject, and from Balinese teachers. Not that native speakers are necessarily better teachers, as I've learnt at English Village! Because it's a festival today, the women are wearing their finest lace - although rules on clothing are strict at any time, our driver says. These two women talk in halting English to me about Tenganan, then laugh hysterically when I ask if I could take a photo of them! When they see I'm serious, they decide to pose against their scooters...
I watch an elderly man come stooping out of his home to lay out an offering of plaited palm leaves and food. He pours oil over everything and pauses for a few seconds at the threshold, praying, before disappearing back inside. These prayer offerings are everywhere in Bali and as we walk down streets we have to be careful not to accidentally step on one, bringing bad luck not only to ourselves but to the household too.
Liam joins me after his purchases are made, and the little boy of the house, who's been watching us from a distance since we met him in the temple, decides this pale boy is tame enough to approach. He's been given some naartjies and bananas by his mum and after seeing how well the bird responds to feeding, thinks Liam might like it too!
His little fist goes right inside Liam's mouth before relinquishing the food!
It's a lovely, friendly village, but we have more to see, and so, after our food and retail therapy, we make our farewells. Nyoman, our guide, gives us each a bookmark he's just carved with our Balinese names (definitely a step up from the standard commercial keyrings preprinted with any name the manufacturer can think of!)
I ask to take a photo of Nyoman and he obliges, but only if Liam will pose too, and with the cockerel! Liam's surprisingly good-natured about being so close to a cranky bird, luckily, although he manages to avoid actually holding it.
We drive on, up into the mountains, to Tirtta Ganga ("Holy Water") - once pleasure gardens for a king, now an ornamental pond and some springwater swimming pools for tourists and local families. There's a tall fountain at the centre - you know it's royal from the use of nine "roofs"...
It's really beautiful and slightly neglected and none the worse for a few tourists. We swim all alone in the upper pool while happy shrieks ring out from the crowded pool below - mostly children just out from the day's school.
I say "we" - I really mean "they" - I don't do water as cold as this! I sit at the edge dangling my feet in the shallows, eating rambutan and a delicious granadilla-type fruit we've bought from a street stall at the entrance to the gardens.
In the late afternoon we go on to Amlapura Palace - very Dutch colonial style, and very neglected, with royal rooms used as storage, and families living in the outer quarters! It's small enough for only a brief look, and then we drive to Ujung Floating Palace. Our driver deposits us at the top of a hill from which a waterfall tumbles down over enormous animal sculptures. We walk down past rice paddies to the palace, which is the smallest palace I've ever seen; just four small bedrooms and a reception area sitting at the centre of an extensive lotus pond. The King's room is only about 3m2!
As I walk over the bridge, a woman starts to talk to me in slow but understandable English. She's so excited when she sees I understand her! I remember being just the same after my first, halting conversation in Portuguese... When I tell her I need to run and catch up with my friends, she whips out a camera and asks if her daughter can take a photo of us together - a rather Korean moment! :)
That night, we're in bed by 8:30pm, because the following morning, our alarms are set for 1am...
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