The most notable difference between Lombok and Bali is the pace. While Lombok has a slow-motion, liquid quality to it, Bali feels frenzied and energetic. Some of the traffic here even appears to be in a hurry. This morning as we breakfasted, we watched the little village of Tirtagangga come to life. Schoolchildren hopped on and off bemos (no horses here), old people trotted down the road carrying burdens on their heads, backs or bicycles, while their younger counterparts rushed off on motorbikes. Our road snaked through lush jungles, offering occasional glimpses of lofty Gunung Agung, Bali's holy mountain and an active volcano.
One village we passed through seemed singularly engaged in the production of wooden mini-alters to be placed in the rice fields to hold offerings to Dewi Sri, the goddess of wet rice cultivation. It wasn't long before we swooped down to the desolate northeast coast of the island, devastated by Gunung Agung's eruption in 1963. Huge lava boulders littered the lumpy landscape, and the villages and traffic all but disappeared. Helped by a wind at our backs, we cruised along the good, mostly flat road, making our first significant stop in a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant at the 50km mark for yet another ultra-cheap nasi goreng.
When our hostess informed us that the cold water pools of Yeh Sanih were only fifteen kilometers further, it was hard to think about anything else. Nevertheless, we made an unscheduled stop at a beachside temple thronged with elaborately dressed celebrants arriving by dumptruck from all over the island. Several gamelan orchestras were already set up on the beach and more were in the process of arriving. When I asked an intelligent-looking youth what the occasion was, it was impossible for him to explain without using Balinese words, making it frustrating for both of us. What I was able to glean from his gibberish was that today is an important holy day for the Balinese with ascetic trappings (e.g.
fasting), and from what we could see, major offerings were being made to the god or gods of the sea. We watched it all from a clifftop above, afraid to go down in our inappropriate (and probably smelly) garb. If only every cycling day had a natural, spring-fed swimming pool built in to the middle of it. Yeh Sanih's cool waters restored us wonderfully. I could have floated there all day. Fred pointed out that the clouds had rolled in, though, and that it was beginning to thunder in the hills. If we wanted to go any further today, we'd have to cruise.
And cruise we did, through the increasingly busy traffic to Singaraja, making only one necessary pilgrimage stop near Kubutambahan, whose temple is famous for a carving of a dude riding a bike with wheels of lotus pedals. After making a donation and donning ceremonial drag, two local kids (incongruously in street clothes) gave us a stereophonic tour, obviously learned by rote and rehearsed many times, while a third watched our bikes. Realizing we'd exhausted our supply of small rupiah notes, we hightailed it out of there before anyone else could hit us up for funds. While our guidebook mentioned a few more temples to see along the way, we gave them a skip, both of us finding Balinese art and architecture highly overrated.
With a population of 100,000, Singaraja assaulted all of our senses at once. Here, too, the beach was a hive of Hindu activity; we had to find another road in order to get through town, even then having to stop to let noisy, colorful processions pass by. We ran into the last and biggest of these on the highway out of town, an incredible cacophony of sounds, smells and dozens of golden parasols shielding ornately-decorated offerings from the sun (or in this case, the smoggy, oppressive haze). Waiting by the shoulder for the parade to get by, we were approached by a handful of sleazy-looking, Bob Marley-worshipping beach rats peskily proposing cheap accommodation, dolphin cruises, whores, massages and magic mushrooms.
Obviously, we were approaching Lovina Beach, the only significant tourist development on Bali's north coast. Since we'd ridden nearly 100 kilometers (\"the most we've ridden yet in Asia\" Fred kept reminding me), both of us felt a princess fix was needed, so we checked into the swankiest looking place around. --Which isn't saying much; the Sol Lovina hotel caters to Australian package tourists, and was apparently built of the cheapest materials available. Still, we were thrilled to find a t.v. in our room (with CNN no less), as well as air conditioning and that most opulent of luxuries, hot water. And the 70% discount (all of Indoland is currently having a Monetary Crisis Sale) appealed to our parsimonious side.
By the pool, on the (nasty) beach, and in the nearby \"village\", we were surprised and thrilled to spot a number of lesbian couples, many being openly demonstrative. Fred theorized that Lovina must be featured in the female version of our trusty Spartacus Guide.