From the archives: Ubud, Bali

Dear all,
Here is a journal entry I wrote four years ago while visiting the island of Bali in Indonesia. I was in Indonesia for one week while working with Volunteers in Asia. I plan on doing some writing on that experience in the near future. Until then, here are some thoughts I scribbled while saddled up to the bar.


"April 3, 2005
Ubud, Bali

Here at an ex-pat bar, smile wide, chummy with Balinese bartender simply for not being as rude and brusque as some other patrons. I certainly wasn’t planning to land myself in this scene, but for some reason this is just right. Tonight I am a fly on the wall—or at the bar—of another manifestation of the inherently out-of-alignment clashing of 1st and 3rd (or 2nd?) worlds. A cultural train wreck, to borrow a favorite term from my good friend Brian Penrose.

I wish I could read the minds of the bartenders and all the Balinese selling their art along the pleasant streets of Ubud. I wonder what they think of these clunky, ponchy white folks who they supposedly depend upon. I imagine we seem arrogant and ridiculous, yet somehow powerful and alluring. We see ourselves this way, too, I think. Every time we pass another white face along the road, we put on our unfriendly look—somehow thinking we can transfer our guilt and discomfort into coldness towards those who most resemble us.

Realizing this, intellectually at least, I sit with this Buddha grin amongst my fellow bundles of guilt and abandon. I am the fly on the wall. I am outside the fray and therefore have the luxury of observation without participation. I am the book critic. I am the historian. If life were always this relaxed and enjoyable, it would all be a lark. But we all have to participate, sometimes in very nasty circumstances. Some of us have to participate in nasty circumstances from the get go, and we never have time to stop and breathe and ponder life and its marvels. Some of us are born into despair and are given precious few resources to extricate ourselves.

Some of us are lucky, and we have the leisure to sit at bars in Bali and muse about these things. Some of us are lucky, but we lucky ones tend to squander our good fortune on television and alcohol, trinkets and the pursuit of wealth. We’re not always so lucky after all.

I read Vonnegut feverishly today. He invokes great sadness, cynicism, humor, and compassion in me. He sees all too acutely what is happening, what is going on in this crazy world. His response is to tease us, to chide us, to nudge our slumbering conscience. He leaves me feeling just like him—cynical and pessimistic, yet tender towards our flawed and eager selves.

And here is an ugly scene. Insistent German woman with whole self focused on obtaining a cocktail. Uncomprehending Balinese bartender performing for the crowd. Dark skin on one side of the bar, light skin on the other. It is sad and done and poisonous. I think that word—poisonous—applies to so many of our relationships, so many of our interactions. Sometimes we bring the poison, sometimes our ancestors’ ancestors have supplied it without our knowing. We just inherent the bitter aftertaste and the vague idea that something is amiss."