Christmas in Ubud

Our tiny, "grow your own crystals", Christmas Tree. Towering over our flat in all its three-inches of glory. We woke Christmas morning to find the tree in "full bloom" after soaking over night in its top-secret crystal/water solution.

Miss. Elly spent a few mornings with us surrounding the holiday.

A Christmas-time baby delivered at the clinic.

Momo and Lilo opened their Christmas presents first thing Friday morning. What we didn't capture in time was the commotion on the porch caused by the cats vying for the prawn chips Dan set out for them. 24-hour security, quirky companionship, and rat-pest control have rewards on Christmas in Ubud.

I remember wondering on Thanksgiving if December would fly by in Nyuh Kuning the way it does in the States. The answer is yes. Despite the relative lack of Christmas pandemonium, and the presence of the occasional tinsel-clad hibiscus trees on the counters of certain restaurants in town, it really looks nothing like Christmas time. The difference I suppose is that it feels like it. Not in the sense of Christmas carols, warm sweaters, family gatherings, stockings and green-bean casserole, but in the sense of reflection and celebration that comes in preparation for the New Year. It is staggering to think about the distance traveled from a year ago. Where there is the absence of cool temperatures and snug fires here, there is a lull in the rice growing season as the fields are lying fallow between harvests. The weather is extreme in the suffocating heat and humidity. It begs the certainty that if you closed your fist in the air before you, water would run through your fingers. It feels like winter without the cold. The weather is nearing hardship in a completely polar sense than in the States - it feels like December.
It occurred to me the other day that we are at the half-way mark of our journey here. I can’t begin to wrap my mind around what is in store for us in these coming weeks and months. Where do we go from here? I think the tension of that question lies for us not in the absence of knowing, but in the full sense of what is now possible.

Dan's Fabled Komodo Island Trek

The stories are true. Dan captured a cobra in our yard. He showed me the snake (which all of our Balinese friends scampered away from), and as I admonished him for picking up a snake he couldn’t identify in a land where poisonous snakes are common – the beastie flared its hood. I admit I squealed and started in the opposite direction, yelling over my shoulder that he was mad, absolutely mad.
Back in the safety of our room, I ripped the Balinese reptile book off the shelf and flew to the index. Crap. There are cobras in Bali, of both the spitting and kingly varieties. Flipping quickly to the demarcated pages, I scanned the pictures. Hearing heavy breathing, my attention was drawn to the doorway where Dan had appeared, looking triumphant. In his hands was a clear plastic Tupperware container - inside was the coiled, displeased-looking cobra specimen.
Much to my dismay, Dan of course had a plan for said cobra. For two nights, it tangled upon itself in the container on Dan’s bedside dresser, next to his wallet, cell phone, books on medicine and philosophy, and of course, his head. I asked him to put it in the cupboard so as not to frighten the lady who cleans our flat each morning, and he obliged – smiling I think, on the inside that I had temporarily abandoned my demands that he release the creature at once, on the opposite side of the yard, over the wall and into the rice field.
On the second morning after its capture Dan was ready for the cobra photo shoot. Neighbors stopped, jaws dropped as he carried the clear container out into the courtyard, his camera slung around his neck. All portions of this scenario have become standard to our once curious neighbors, except of course for the contents of this particular container. They clucked their tongues, shivered, and shook their heads, eyes dancing incredulously between the container and my dismayed face on the porch. I couldn’t bring myself to watch –snakes and I coexist on a civil, respectful basis generally, but this one tripped my creep-out button.
After moments of spastic flailing in my peripheral vision, Tupperware being wielded like a shield, camera snapping and “Whoa! His hoods really open now!! Look Beth, look!!...” - one of the two things I dreaded most to hear rung out in the courtyard – “Beth, can you come help me!?”
Wrangling the snake with one hand he thrust the camera in my direction, asking me to snap a few frames with his macro lens while he worked on agitating it enough to flare its hood more fully for the camera. “I think it knows now I’m not trying to hurt it, so it’s not reacting threateningly anymore…I need something…like maybe one of the cats…” his eyes scanned the courtyard as he toppled the tub up-side-down onto the snake to contain it momentarily. Finding no feline accomplices at hand, his eyes returned to me, clutching the camera and staring at the container, lest the creature emerge unexpectedly from beneath it and break for my direction. I could see his mind working quickly, calculating the number of shots he’d snapped, determining whether he’d captured his proof or not, wishing I hadn’t scoffed when he’d set his snake-wrangling-hook on the suitcase back in Vermont – “Babe, I doubt that will make it through customs… no it’s not a carry-on item…you do realize the snakes there can kill you right?”.
“I think it’s time to let him go…” he said with a sigh, his calculations complete. He gently collected the now riled snake into the Tupperware a final time, and crossing the courtyard deposited him in the rice paddies on the other side of the compound’s outer wall.
It wasn’t until I articulated the story to another person for the first time, after the cobra’s epic release, that it began to sink in how bizarre a scenario this had all been. A cobra had spent two nights in our bedroom in a Tupperware container on the night stand.

Last night we went to dinner with friends and the story was shared in full animation. I am still cringing at the Komodo Island (home of the famed Komodo Dragons) documentary adventure proposed by our journalist friend upon hearing the tale in full over dinner – “it will put Dan on the map” he’d said smiling – “I’ll run it past my contacts at TIME…hopefully get our travel expenses covered – next time call me when he catches a snake – I didn’t understand the “I have cobra” text he sent me the other day…”
Some small part of my brain revolted at the suggestion of “next time” inour friend’s proposal, but Dan was beaming. I sighed. Right. Next time. And so the adventure continues.

November Fourth

We left early in the morning for the coastal town of Sanur to catch the ferry to the tiny island of Lembongan off the south east coast of Bali. The boat was full to the gills with people and supplies, and the hour-long journey was quite something. Nearly everyone on board got sea-sick about 40 minutes in as the ocean rolled tumultuously beneath us. It was worth every sweaty, nauseous, terrible moment. The island and its waters were absolutely breathtaking.

Moments after we climbed out into the surf to reach the shore, we received the call that our friend Meisha’s waters had broken, and she was running a temperature. The next boat off the island was at 3 pm, 6 hours later, and there we stood, I among her designated Doulas, and two midwives from her birth team. Back in Ubud, she labored with her husband, and two others of her birthing fleet, a close friend who is a Labour & Delivery Nurse, and another of her midwives.
With nothing for us to do but get there as soon as we could, we took in the day on the island. We chartered a small craft out past the break and snorkeled in the coral reef. It was absolutely amazing. We ate at small warungs on the beach, and snapped photo after photo of the beautiful views before us.

When three o’clock arrived we boarded the “speed ferry” back to Sanur. A fiberglass shell of a speed boat with three giant motors, she ushered us back in a mere 25 minutes – no sea-sickness among the lot of us – though it was quite something to slam through the waves at full throttle, I am certain we caught air a dozen times despite the 20 people on board.

Our friend Eddy was waiting on shore as we splashed through the surf past the swarm of entrepreneurs offering to carry folks from the boat to the dry sand for a dollar or two, and we were off for Ubud.

We tumbled out of the van at Bumi Sehat and rushed in to the laboring room where Meisha was still hard at work after several rounds of intravenous antibiotics. The decision was made to transport to Denpasar to the Women and Children’s Hospital, in light of her fever that was still intact after nearly ten hours.

The mad dash to the hospital, 40 minutes away in the Bumi Sehat van was surreal. Pagi, the Bumi driver sped through the streets, swerving around motorbikes, dumptrucks and Bali dogs as we raced. I sat in the middle seat of the van with Meisha, my arm around her waist, eyes locked with hers, forehead to forehead breathing together as she worked through contraction after contraction. The backseat held her husband, Jason, and Sylvia the midwife acted as a human IV pole, massaging the bag of antibiotics that ran into Meisha’s veins. In the front seat Ilu the student midwife and Sommer our Labour and Delivery Nurse shared a seat as Pagi urged the van onward – the yellow lights flashing on the roof running off of power from the cigarette lighter. Traffic came to a standstill, Barong parade passed us on our right. Traffic crawled. Meisha labored on.
We arrived at the hospital and rushed Meisha in. The doctor checked her progress and determined that a caesarean was needed to get baby Simone out and on her own course of antibiotics just in case whatever started the fever in Meisha was affecting the baby as well. At 9 pm, Simone was born. Healthy and absolutely beautiful, she weighed 7 pounds, 7 ounces. Exhausted and deliriously happy we celebrated with the Mentos Jason had in his pocket, and waited for Meisha to be moved into the recovery room – pressing our faces against the glass of the nursery to see Simone. Jacinta, a midwife in our party, helped Meisha express some milk for Simone while she was in recovery. We snapped pictures feverishly as Jason fed Simone for the first time, with a syringe of Meisha’s milk. The love in the room was absolutely electric.
All was well. I cannot imagine a better day. At midnight, I crawled into bed with Dan, telling him of the birthing adventure. “I can’t not do this”, I told him, “I know…” he said and smiled as we drifted off to sleep.

Into our sixth week we go - having gained enough footing to raise our eyes from the path beneath our feet, we’ve begun to take in the lay of the land. It has been a fascinating couple of weeks here in the Nyuh Kuning neighborhood.
It has gotten significantly hotter in the last few days in preparation for the start of the rainy season. We have to remind ourselves that in a month or so we might be longing for these sunny though stiflingly-hot days. The neighborhood is atwitter with the filming of Eat, Pray, Love in Ubud. Taxi drivers casually mention sightings of Julia Roberts, and a dozen of our friends were cast as extras in the last few weeks. It has been an interesting point of reflection – what will this movie mean for Nyuh Kuning? For greater Ubud? For Bali? It is a swirling contemplation. It is amazing the amount of scandal and intrigue one woman’s reflections have stirred. I wonder if her wildest imaginings could have captured this scene…
Dan’s weeks are filling to the brim with English classes he teaches at the Youth Center, math lessons for the 12 year old daughter of friends of ours from Canada, language classes at the library in town, YBS website upkeep, creating a 3D rendering of the new clinic that is in its beginning stages, and a zillion other bits and pieces. His photo chronicles are growing by the day – we will continue to post samples as they rise to the surface!
I have attended my first handful of births and am absolutely hooked. I have a difficult time imagining not doing this work in some capacity. My heart races every time the phone rings or dings with a text-message. There is a tangible sense of being exactly where we are supposed to be. My new skill-set includes prenatal examinations (in English and Bahasa Indonesia), charting & labor support, using the Doppler to monitor and document fetal heart rhythms, and the like. It will be fascinating to see how this particular aspect of the journey will continue to unfold...

- Our home at Loka Pala -

Spaces

Loka Pala

This is the view from our front porch at the villa Loka Pala in Nyuh Kuning, Ubud. It is really lovely, we're thrilled to have found it.

The walled "compound" is bordered on two sides by rice paddies, and is a 2 minute walk from the clinic. The beautiful stone & tile pool has also been a life-saving element - for both ourselves and friends from the clinic.

We have a remarkably kind and friendly landlord, as well as caretakers that are patient, ever-smiling, and generous as we practice our Bahasa Indonesia with them each day. With the final additions of our pleasant neighbors and the motley duo of guard dogs, Momo and Lilo, Loka Pala has become home.

Sari Organika

This photo was taken on the walk to Sari Organika in Ubud - an organic farm a mile into the rice paddies from downtown (and yet a world away) up a path just wide enough for two folks or a single motorbike. The juices and foods on the menu come straight from the gardens, greenhouses and paddies - it is an amazing place.

Rice paddies constitute most of the open spaces, the green spaces in Ubud. Bands of ducks are loosed the paddies to pick off pests, and large bamboo masts dot the fields with banners of fabric flapping in the breeze. These structures are erected to ward off invisible pests, evil and trickster spirits.

Echo Beach

This beach was the first we'd visited in Bali - located on the South-Western shores of the island in the Indian Ocean. The sands were black (telling of their volcanic origins) and the waves inviting. Surfers abounded as did shells, laughter and lung-fulls of salty air.

Beginnings

It has been three full weeks since we arrived in Bali. Having just made this observation, I feel compelled by habit to follow it up with something along the lines of “…it feels like a life time” or, conversely, “…where has the time gone?” – but I can’t sort it out. Time feels surreal, nearly obsolete. Much in the way we have only one scheduled item a few times a week – our language class at the local library – the days are filled without a tangible routine. A day’s activities materialize in an order that is realized only later, upon reflection. “What am I doing tomorrow?” – “What did I do yesterday”… “What about this afternoon”… these are compartmentalized reflections that are at once useless here, and entirely NOT the point. It feels rather like meditation. Meals are taken when hungry, yoga done when restless, work done when inspired, books read as desired, a swim had when overheated. Despite this, there feels a distinction between this life and a vacation – rather than leaving necessities by the wayside in favor of escapist pursuits – it has been a revelation, a reflection, something that has nothing to do with schedules, racing and deadlines.
There are many little details that I find myself trying to catalogue to write down – tidbits that I would find fun and insightful was I reading rather than writing this narrative. I can’t seem to organize them properly to share …
Yesterday we spent the day on a beautiful beach with a small group of friends from the clinic. The group included Dan and I, the outgoing volunteer coordinator and his wife who is a labour and delivery nurse, the two volunteers we arrived with (a young professional from Boston, and a labour and delivery traveling nurse from LA), and a couple from D.C. who are here to deliver their baby girl within the next month. We bobbed in the turquoise water, rode waves with our bodies and rented foam boards, marveled at the clarity of the water and the tremendous amount of coral washing up on the beach’s white sand. We lounged, ate fresh grilled mahi-mahi, talked, walked, laughed and wondered over the contrast of white sand, turquoise water and black rock cliffs that framed either side of the little beach cove. I read back over these words and feel strange about the image they capture – to pick it out this one day to outline might overshadow the role it plays in the greater context of days lived here and those that remain to be lived in the coming months – it is a part of the whole.
I am trying to decipher whether my overly-philosophical sensibility is a pointed reflection or rather a testament to an introspective morning…perhaps it is both.
Outside the sliding screen doors Momo and Lilo are sleeping sprawled in the shady tiled porch. They were rescued as puppies by the previous tenant that lived in our flat. The landlord of the villa keeps them on and feeds them and they provide security and peculiarly fickle affection. They are a fascinating pair. More than once they’ve escorted us from the main street in the evening, as we stepped out of a taxi from dinner, through the dark side streets into the villa’s courtyard. Given the slightest opportunity they will slip inside the doors of our room and curl up to sleep near the door. Though pleasant company in general, they are still “Bali-dogs” slightly feral, flea-ridden and a bit mangy – and there is the small fact that when woken from sleep, or startled, it is teeth first, questions later. We’ve developed a quirky relationship with them and are both glad of their presence and company as we settle into life in this new home.