I’m writing from Amed, the sleepy fishing village that tugged at my heart three weeks ago.  Technically, I’m still in the middle of my road trip. I’m just not making any more forward progress for the moment, happy to settle temporarily in a place that’s full of friends and that fits me like a glove.  I’ve been here for eight days now and think I’ll stay another three.  Or maybe five … or eight.  My original plan was to leave Bali September 15, but I’ve fallen in love with this island and am finding myself postponing my departure.  I can easily see how people come here for a short vacation and then never go home.  And that is particularly true for me of Amed.

my new home ... the upstairs of Amed Scuba

So having spent eight days in a place described as a “sleepy fishing village,” you’re probably wondering why you haven’t seen more blog entries from me.  There have actually been a number of contributing factors.  When I arrived in Amed, I had the beginnings of what “blossomed” into a 10-day+ horrendous cold and lost my voice almost completely for four of those days.  The cold is still with me, but on its last legs thank goodness.  How do you get a cold in the tropics? Well, who knows exactly the source of each and every cold one gets, but I suspect that driving from cool, mountainous Ubud to warm coastal Tanah Lot, then up into and on top of the downright freezing mountains and through to the hot northern coast has something to do with it.  (I’m planning to tell you all about that trip at some point.  It appears that I’ve gotten wholly into the spirit of “Bali time” though so I won’t even pretend to make any promises as to when, but hopefully soon!) At any rate, all that is to say that I was really sick for my first 4 days in Amed. 

The main culprit in my distance from the keyboard, though, isn’t my cold.  It’s Amed itself.  Amed is a beautiful, peaceful place.  The water is an inviting clear blue color.  The road hugging the water’s edge runs like a roller coaster, at first straight and at sea level and then suddenly soaring up to the sky.  The next thing you know, you’re on a rocky cliff overlooking the curve of the water below into a quiet cove.  Cheerful colored quaint hollowed-out wooden boats fill the sea in the morning with hopeful fisherman and in the afternoon they decorate the rocky beaches.  The villagers, typically cheerful Balinese people, wave and shout hellos to everyone passing by on motorbikes, locals and tourists alike. But for me, the magic of Amed is concentrated in one special place: Amed Scuba.  

The first time I came here, I was charmed by the way the guys who work and hang out here interact with each other.  Although mostly in their mid-twenties, they have a endearing innocence about them that’s reminiscent of young teenagers. They’re completely sincere, although rarely serious; always joking, laughing and teasing with each other, their guests and customers.  They take care of each other and have an easy manner together that is devoid of the typical testosterone-charged atmosphere when western men get together, although they’re in no way effeminate.  As I watch them work, play and eat together, it’s clear to me in the way they share everything and work cooperatively what a marvelous team they are.  Although I’m trying, I’m really failing to adequately describe them, other than to say they’re clearly quite a special group of individuals around whom I feel very comfortable and happy.  

In fact, during this second visit here, I’ve come to think of four of them in particular as family. They have taken me in as a sort of a big sister and I’ve ensconced myself in their quasi-traditional Balinese life … at least for the time being.  Over the past eight days, I feel like I’ve gained four younger brothers as well as a host of other friends.

Nyoman Sariana, owner of Amed Scuba

Nyoman, 26 and the owner of Amed Scuba, is the main jester of the bunch, silly and monkey-like in his antics, but also a good leader, well-respected and much liked by the others. Bagong, who I call “shy shy cat,” at 25 is the hardest worker in the group.  Tall and skinny, he’s a natural caretaker, sweet and thoughtful of everyone around him as well as an amazing cook.  He seems to have put himself in charge of my comfort here as he’s always doing extra nice things for me:  bringing a baby chicken for me to watch and enjoy, washing my motorbike, surprising me with a soda from the shop down the street, chopping everything for me when I cook … the list goes on.  Wayan, 20, also a good worker, lives for tunes. Each day, I feed him a steady diet of my favorite music via my iPod which I loan to him every morning.  He returns it in the evening for recharging and a new playlist.  Shark, 19, is the curly-headed baby of the bunch.  He’s quiet, lost in his world of music, but spends much time doting on a chicken the group recently acquired to enter in a cockfight.  At the request of my brother John (my American brother that is), we’ve named the chicken Little Jerry Seinfeld.  Despite the fact that all Jerry does is blink at us, crow and peck at his corn, I think we’ve all become rather attached to him so I think he’s safe from becoming dinner anytime soon … unless of course he loses his fight.  I spend most of my time with these four guys as they actually work at Amed Scuba.  

Bagong giving my motorbike a bath

The dive shop is the same kind of communal gathering spot as an old-timey barbershop (or as Douglas Hardware in Brookport, Illinois) though so there are a number of other regulars who spend a lot of time here, but don’t actually work here. Putu and I naturally connected because of our shared name.  He drives a bemo which is like a public transportation shuttle bus.  He’s a live wire, always laughing and creating mischief. Everyone agrees that he’s a little bit crazy - or, as they say here, “one o’clock.”  Ali, 28, is Nyoman’s very wise older brother.  A former rastafarian, he’s very spiritual and enjoys deep philosophical conversations.  He runs a silver jewelry shop for a living, but plays guitar and sings on the side at a few restaurants around town.  Miskin, 26, is a student in law school. He’s very bright, energetic and outgoing and is also quite interesting to talk with.

Shark holding Little Jerry Seinfeld

When I first got to Amed, I stayed in the same hotel as last time which is right next door to Amed Scuba.  For some reason though, water was only dripping from the shower  and only one of the lights in the room worked which meant I could barely see after dark.    When the owner wasn’t able to repair these things after three days, I was ready to find a new home.  I asked Nyoman for recommendations for hotels close by.  He would hear none of it and insisted I stay in the guest room upstairs at his shop.  He told me that he had occasionally used this room when he was too tired to drive to his home, but most recently it had been mainly used as a spare room.

I went next door to pack my bags and was astonished when I returned to find that the guys had jumped into action in my absence and had completely cleaned and rearranged the room for my stay.  The bed was freshly made and flowers were laid out on my pillow.  Later that evening, when I came back from using the internet, the guys had piled up all kinds of creature comforts at the bedroom door to make my stay more pleasant:  a fan, special lotion to keep mosquitoes away, fresh towels and blankets and lots of extra pillows.  Each day since then, they’ve continued to leave something at my door to make me more comfortable and/or bring a smile to my face.  

my bed with fresh flowers per "the guys"

When I was suffering through the worst stages of my cold, they put much thought and effort into making me well.  Over the course of several days, Ali sent Wayan to buy ginger and they made me ginger tea. Nyoman picked up some medicine from the pharmacy for me and Bagong mixed up a homemade Balinese remedy that his grandmother had taught him called “loloh” which was herbs, water, salt and onion.  The loloh actually tasted quite good in the morning when the herbs were most fresh.  My second and third batches which Bagong supervised in the afternoon and evening tasted more of salt than herbs as the batch had settled and become less fresh through the day.

loloh - traditional Balinese herbal medicine

Three days ago in the afternoon,  the guys took me to see some rice fields out in the country where farmers still use cows to plow the soil.  We sat on the cliff overlooking the field while the farmer and his cows tilled the soil.  Ali made us all laugh when he sighed and with a big grin said, “There’s nothing better than watching other people work.”  After the rice fields, we went to see a waterfall.  At least I thought that was the plan. I didn’t actually see the waterfall because the guys had decided they were going to take fresh water showers under it so I waited under a large banyan tree, drinking a soda they had bought for me, watching some local village kids play soccer in a dusty field with a lovely temple as a backdrop.  

traditional farming

For each of the things they’ve given me (medicine, sodas food and even a new pair of flip flops), they refuse money when I try to repay them.  Nyoman will not let me give him money for my stay either. So I help with the chores and cooking around the “house,” buy whatever groceries they will let me and burn them many many CDs of the American music that they like.  

An unusual thing happened several nights after I got here though.  On Friday, I asked Bagong early in the afternoon to take me with him to the market when he went to buy ingredients for dinner.  I wanted to pay.  He managed to divert the subject.  I later asked Nyoman the same thing.  He indicated that I still wasn’t well enough to eat their spicy food so I should just get something to eat at Cafe C’est Bon, where  Ali and a friend of his where playing guitar that night.  We were all planning to go.  He still never answered what they were eating. 

I went to check the internet (posting my last blog entry).  When I came back, they were all gathered around the table eating peanuts. “Aren’t you coming to Cafe C’est Bon?” I asked them.  I knew they were anxious to support Ali.  “Later,” was the answer.  I was confused.  “Aren’t you eating dinner there?”  Mumble, mumble.  It was 7:30 and they hadn’t started cooking dinner yet - strange for them as they usually begin around 6:00.  Putting this all together, I began to suspect they weren’t eating tonight either here or at Cafe C’est Bon.  Now I was more confused.  I had never known them to skip any meals, but given their hesitation to discuss it, I got the feeling that for some reason they didn’t have the money for dinner that night but were too proud to say so.  “What are you guys eating for dinner tonight?”  The laughed off my question. 

I felt awful … and very protective.  These sweethearts had been buying all kinds of things for me.  My brothers were not about to go hungry while I was around.  I decided immediately to buy them some dinner from the restaurant and bring it back.  Nyoman went with me to Cafe C’est Bon and we caught the beginning of Ali’s act.  We ordered our food plus 7 orders of Nasi Campur (local chicken and rice dish) to go.  Nyoman suggested I just order 2 portions and they would all share, as I had seen them do on a number of occasions.  Although they’re all in their mid-twenties, they still seem like “growing boys” to me so I insisted we buy a full portion for each person.  Besides, when I’m hungry, I can eat a full plate and they do more physical labor during the day than I so I’m sure they’re hungry enough for a plate each.

After a minute, I thought, this is silly.  They want to be here to support Ali and the only reason they’re not here is because they can’t afford to eat.  But we’re bringing food from this very restaurant back to them.  They might as well come and eat it here.  It felt wrong to be there at the restaurant enjoying food and Ali’s music without them.  So I asked Nyoman to call them, fill them in  on the situation and invite them to come.  They were ecstatic.  

Shark was the first to come bounding in with a big grin on his face.  The thought of a big plate of food clearly pleased him.  Wayan, Putu and Bagong followed and piled in around the table.  The others had apparently gone home before getting the call. 

During part of the meal, they spoke Balinese to each other.  When I asked what they said, Bagong kept waving me off, imploring them not to tell me.  Wayan reported that Bagong had suggested no one eat the meat in their food so they could take it home and use it for a soup for tomorrow.  Bagong blushed, mortified.  I assured them there would be plenty of food tomorrow.  

fresh mackeral for dinner

They won’t let me pay for every meal so sometimes we share 5 fish and a pot of rice among 7 or 8 of us.  Even when they do let me buy, they still insist that one chicken (and these aren’t the full size chickens we get at the grocery in the States) will be more than enough for 8 people.  So I do what I can and otherwise am adapting to their concept of “enough.”  I’m never hungry, but I do worry that they’re not getting enough protein or nutrition - green vegetables are only on the menu when I cook.  Since this is just a temporary situation for me, I’m not too worried about my own nutrition.

As I’ve gotten progressively more healthy from my cold each day, I’ve been joining more and more in the chores which seem to go on and on all day, but they don’t feel like work since we’re always doing them together and having fun.  Cooking here takes much longer than at home.  Nothing is bought ready to cook, most especially the chickens which we buy live.  It’s been an interesting mental adjustment picking out and carrying home the live animal that will become our lunch or dinner.  Typically, when the Balinese go to buy a chicken, its feet are tied together.  To transport the chicken home, the Balinese hang the chicken upside down by the string around its feet on a plastic hook on the motorbike. The first chicken I bought with Bagong had the disgrace to ride home this way and I was troubled the entire time.  It’s bad enough we’re killing the poor thing, I thought, but to have her be so uncomfortable for the last 30 minutes of her life was more than I could stand.  All the guys think I’m silly about this, but now each chicken I buy rides home right side up in a plastic bag with her head poking out, a modified version of the way people carry little dogs around in bags that look like purses.  Although I’m sure the chicken is still scared, I figure it’s got to be far less frightening than flying (not of her own accord) at 40 kph upside down hung from a hook on a motorbike with the blood all rushing to her head.  

(left to right) Ali, Shark, Wayan and Bagong under a banyan tree

At any rate, these days I spend most of my time helping the guys care for the grounds (my official job is to water the flowers and plants), sometimes cooking, sometimes helping to clean up after meals.  It seems like something is always going on so between everything, I haven’t found much time for writing.  I miss the writing very much, but am also enjoying living somewhat like a traditional Balinese person for a while.

Funny.  When I came here I wanted very much to be part of a homestay where I could really become part of a family.  I had envisioned more a traditional nuclear family.  I’m sure “living with” a bunch of Balinese guys in their early to mid-twenties is not exactly a traditional experience (actually, I’m the only one sleeping on the property but all our waking hours are spent together so it feels like living with them), but I couldn’t be happier than I am for the time being with the family I’ve found.

Regarding my Bali Eco tour post the other day, the additional photos have now been added to the “Photos of Her Adventure” page and video is now available by clicking here.

POST-SCRIPT (September 23):  It’s come to my attention since writing this entry that I had some misunderstandings in Amed and would like to correct some impressions I had and about which I wrote.  I thought, based on the portion sizes that I saw the Amed Scuba guys eating, that they didn’t have enough money to eat and that they were hungry.  In fact, they simply don’t eat a lot.  Even when I cooked or bought food and served them Western sized portions which I thought they would gobble down, they still ate the same amount as usual and it turns out a lot was left over.  I guess eating only Balinese portions and not our super-sized Western ones is the way these guys stay looking so fit and without lots of “junk in the trunk” like they tease me about having!

Also, the night that I thought they didn’t have money to eat and I bought them food at Cafe C’est Bon, they were apparently teasing me and had already eaten.  Jokers that they are, they were probably also pulling my leg telling me that Bagong suggested saving the meat.  I guess this just means I need to learn to speak Balinese!  Then I won’t misunderstand as much and also can catch them when they try to play a joke on me.  So look out boys! 

My apologies to these guys if I made them sound like paupers - they’re definitely not -  and for misunderstanding the situation.  They made me feel like a queen during my time in Amed and I’m most appreciative of their friendship, generosity and hospitality.