I never imagined that I would be so unexcited about going to Thailand.  Thailand had been my dream for the past several years.  Yet here I sit in the airport in Jakarta, Indonesia awaiting my flight for Bangkok … already “homesick” for Bali.  

Yesterday morning, I left my beloved Amed.  A Balinese woman riding in the back of a truck on her way to market gave a quizzical look to the red-headed Westerner riding on the back of a motorbike with tears streaming down her face.  Did she frequently see teary-eyed tourists on their way out of Bali? Or did she imagine some other reason for my watery eyes?  

Bali's gorgeous rice terraces

For the first hour of the winding trip back to Ubud where I was returning my motorbike, I was inconsolable. The sights that usually warmed my heart only tore at it yesterday morning: the yellow-green terraced rice paddies settled on rolling hills, elephant-sized leaves of banana trees waving in the wind seeming to fan the passersby below, children in neatly pressed uniforms on their way to school, women balancing various buckets, baskets and assundries on their heads on their way to market, men sporting machetes as they worked in the fields, the winding roads that twisted their way through the mountains - a motorcyle driver’s dream, the smell of incense perfuming the air and the sight of Balinese everywhere making their morning offerings.  Oh, cry cry cry.  Bali, I love you and don’t want to leave! 

Unfortunately, before I even left the States, I had committed to leaving Indonesia on September 22. That commitment took the form of a non-refundable plane ticket from Jakarta to Bangkok.  I had actually planned to leave Bali September 15 to spend one week on the neighboring island of Java before heading to the Kingdom of Thailand, but couldn’t bear to go so soon, so I stayed in Bali, grounded in Amed.  I went to a travel agent in Ubud four days ago to try to postpone my departure from Indonesia.  Unfortunately, the only way to stay meant just throwing away the ticket I had already purchased without any refund or credit.  Even if I was willing to do that, my visa expired the first of October which would only buy me an extra eight days.  So with a heavy heart, I headed back to Amed and delivered the news to my guys: I’m leaving Amed September 21 and flying to Bangkok early in the morning on September 22.  

Sweet Wayan Mendota (curly-haired Wayan) who uses his car to transport tourists around the island for a living was giving me a lift back to Amed when I sprung the news on him.  He immediately offered to drive me along with the available Amed Scuba guys to Kuta when it was time for me to go, so we planned a small send-off with a little gathering on the beach in South Bali.  

Wayan Mendota (far right) along with Wayan 1 and Shark at a beach cookout

This sparked an interesting discussion with Ali, ever the philosopher.  He essentially refused to tell me goodbye or ackowledge in any significant way that I was going or that anything would be any different.  “I don’t go to airports anymore to tell anyone goodbye,” he told me.  “I knew a German tourist who stayed here for three months. She became the girlfriend of one of my good friends and we spent a lot of time hanging out together.  When she told me she was leaving, it really hurt.  I knew she was going to come to my shop on her way out of town to say goodbye so I closed my shop and sat up on the hill.  Sure enough, she came by and called to me, ‘Ali! Ali!’  But I didn’t want to say goodbye so I just sat up on the hill where I could see her, but she couldn’t see me and I watched her go.  Bob Marley had it right when he sang, ‘Good friends we’ve had and good friends we’ve lost along the way.’”

I had a sudden realization, as I often do in discussions with Ali. The guys from Amed  (and many Balinese all over the island) encounter lots of tourists on their holidays. We blow in, love them, love their island and culture and then go home or on to other destinations and they’re left holding their hearts in their hands, not going anywhere. After hearing Ali’s point of view, I have a whole new appreciation for them now and the resiliancy of their hearts.  They know the tourists they come to love will eventually leave … and yet they still offer their hearts for the duration of the visit anyway.  They know that, bitter as the goodbyes are, the sweetness in the temporary connection is greater and worth the heartache when it eventually does come. 

bull and lion sarcophagi for upcoming cremation ceremony

I reflect on this as sweet, caretaking Bagong drives me back to Ubud.  This reflection along with the sun warming my shoulders and Bagong’s continued assurances that “It’s all good. It’s going to be okay,” eventually do make it all okay in my mind.  My heart stops aching (as much), my eyes stop tearing and I thoroughly enjoy and embrace all the sights of Bali as Bagong and I whiz past.  I even notice a few new things I hadn’t seen before: some of the mature rice fields have thin gauzy nets stretched over them presumably to keep the birds away from the grain that’s so close to harvest.  Sometimes the nets overlap and the whispy whiteness looks like a breeze that’s simultaneously blowing yet come to a halt over the rice paddy.  Or maybe they look more like giant cobwebs.  I can’t decide.  

We drove through a village that was preparing for a mass cremation to take place September 26.  Two lion and six bull sarcophagi have been prepared to carry the bodies to heaven and are standing sentry by the roadside as Bagong and I pass.  I haven’t seen anything like them in person during my time in Bali - only photographs. Ugh!  I’m kicking myself that I’m leaving 4 days too early!  I console myself with the thought that these ceremonies and many others are constantly occurring in Bali and will still be here when I come back. I’m certain that I will. 

babi guling from Ibu Oka

Bagong and I made it to Ubud in time for me to have a Skype conference with my family and then we went to check off one of the items on my to-do list … eat suckling pig (babi guling).  Most countries have a signature national dish.  If Bali were a nation and not just an island, babi guling  would undoubtedly be the national dish. It’s served at all the important ceremonies and events.  Somehow, I’ve managed to spend 6 weeks in Bali without having eaten it so Bagong and I head to the place in Ubud known to serve the best suckling pig:  Ibu Oka.  I now have yet another reason to come back to Bali.  It’s one of the best dishes I’ve eaten since setting foot on the island!  Ibu Oka serves an overly generous portion (neither Bagong or I could come close to finishing ours and regretted not just splitting a single order) of pork and in a variety of ways. The dish contains the roasted pork meat itself, tender, juicy and covered in spices; the skin cooked to a crispy sweet crunch; two different kinds of sausage; pork lawar (a veggie-based dish with small chopped pieces of pork mixed in) and a little bit of lung (I passed that part on to Bagong - it’s his favorite).  Oh and of course, plain steamed rice on the side as no Balinese meal is complete without it.  

Bagong in front of a rice field temple

Ibu Oka is understandably very popular and, accordingly, incredibly crowded.  I could tell that Bagong, who is a country boy to the core, was getting “itchy” being in the “crowded city” of Ubud so after stuffing ourselves, we went for one last drive in the countryside before turning in the motorbike.  We went down random roads that I had never explored before, marveling at the green rice fields with their many single temples where farmers prayed for healthy harvests.  We laughed at the quacking ducks wading through the brown stalks in rice fields already harvested looking for bugs and eels.  Each time we would come to more than two houses in a row, Bagong would say “not natural,” turn the bike around and head in a different direction.

At 4pm, we turned in the bike and soon after, Wayan Mendota along with Shark (who calls me Mama and who I’ve come to call Panak Kia which means Baby Boy Shark) and Wayan from Amed Scuba showed up with the car and we all drove to Kuta where I would spend the night.  Nyoman had customers doing a night dive that night and was unable to make it.  Miskin and Putu also had things to attend to so it was only a small band of us who journeyed South. On the drive to Kuta, the guys started singing the song “Leaving on a Jet Plane” which goes “I’m leaving on a jet plane. Don’t know when I’ll be back again. Oh babe, I hate to go.”  I’m sure I’m not the first tourist they’ve sung this to, but it brought tears to my eyes anyway.  Man, are they ever right about how much I hate to go! 

our last supper together (Bagong is so sad!)

We had planned on spending a few hours on the beach in Kuta before they headed home, but on the way there, Wayna Mendota spotted a big sale on QuickSilver clothing, one of their favorite brands.  We shopped together for shirts for everyone … and that’s pretty much how we spent our last time together.  After my emotional roller coaster earlier in the day, I decided that a shopping party was probably better than a teary-eyed beach party where goodbyes would be more drawn out and painful.  As always, he had fun together which is the main thing.  

So here I am, now on the plane to Bangkok, still heartsick for Bali, Amed and all the friends and family I gained in the past six weeks … but also curious about what awaits in Thailand.  Maybe I’ll become as attached to that land and its people as I have to Bali and the Balinese.  On one hand, I hope so - that would make for an amazing 6 weeks.  On the other hand, I hope not. As much as I’m embracing it, I’m still feeling the sting of goodbye.