Laces & Rattans

Day 6, Ubud.

I woke up and found no one around. This time I woke up udah jam stengah-sepuluh (half-ten), which actually means half-past nine. Maybe because I was too tired from the uneventful trip to Gunung Batur last night - the price I had to pay for cancelling the dive trip to Tulamben perhaps? ;p

Anyway, Nyoman came by not long after to do housekeeping. We exchanged greetings and I filled her in with last night's episode.

"Makanya capek", she said agreeingly after listening to my reasons for waking up late.

I fried the chicken nuggets I bought from the supermarket the other day and shared with Mas Dodi, who came by while I was at it. And then I was told that Kak Ani had gone to Pasar to bikin gambar and reminded me that I should go check out the market in Klungkung for laces and embroideries.

I went back to my inhibited bungalow to get a fresh change of clothes and toiletries and showered in Kak Ani's bungalow because it's sungguh enak sekali.

Before we left for Klungkung, I took some more pictures of the property with Kak Ani's camera as I discovered that some of the ones taken with the disposal camera didn't turn out quite well.

What was I expecting anyway...?

On the way to the Pasar, we stopped by at the bank. It was the first time I had entered a seven-figure sum at a cash machine.

I giggled to myself.

I fantasized the cash dispensed were in British pounds! Haha

It took us about 30 mins to get to Klungkung. We parked the van across the market. Somehow rather, I find the drivers there were people-blind. Or was it the people who were vehicle-blind...?

Anyway, we trailed the lanes laden with an abundance of fabrics--of different types and colours--until we reached a toko (shop) owned by a lady who Mas Dodi and Kak Ani knows. Immediately I spotted a lace with colours that another cousin of mine was looking for.

Excellent, I thought. One down, still many to go!

I think I spent quite a bit of time choosing the colours that I thought the people I am buying for might like. In the end, I bought a dozen!

I couldn't help it. They were very affordable!

It's 2 o'clock. Kak Ani called to say that she didn't need picking up. So with the extra time at hand, Mas Dodi brought me to a rotan wholesaler closer to Ubud so that I could get some stuff to decorate my suite after the renovation.

I ended up buying so much, it costed me just over a million! I think I have to leave my diving gear behind, for Kak Ani to bring back for me on her next trip home. I didn't wanna pay (couldn't afford to anyway) Excess Baggage charges as it'll make the things I had bought to cost more than they ought to.

From cylinder to tissue box cover, I went absolutely mad! The last item costed the most - the laundry basket. It came with a lid so I told the tuan gudang to chuck everything else into it and wrapped 'em up so I could check it in whole. It took us another half an hour to figure out the best way to dump everything in - like a puzzle...

It was already 4pm and our yatchs have set sail even with no wind. So, as we headed into Ubud, we stopped by at a well-known satay joint for some sate kambing.

The way they prepare the satay is so different. The meat is not marinated overnight like how it's done back home. They skewer the meat fresh off the bone with fine bamboo sticks and keeps 'em in the top shelf of the Teh Botol (an Indonesian ice tea blend) fridge.

The guy will put it on a plate, dash a variety of sauces which makes up the marinade and off to the grill. It arrived at our table shortly after with a plate of rice and a bowl of gule (gulai), of which the meat is also mutton.

We headed home. I was already getting tired.

Kak Ani arrived home soon after we did but left again to sketch at the Pura below where they were having the latihan. I too tried my luck at charcoal on canvas and everybody is still refusing the chance to criticize.

I wonder why.

We headed to Hamka & Cindy's in Gianyar for dinner. They had invited us for dinner when we met them at Jazz Cafe last night. When we arrived, the food was already laid out, and around it were Pak Antonio & Nur, Mikko & Rita, Agus and tuan rumahnya. The food was simple but tasted really good, especially Hamka's sambal!

After eating, we chatted for a bit over Kopi Bali and soon it's time to say goodbye.

A sad goodbye. I was going home tomorrow.

I was overwhelmed by the warm and kind hospitality of these people. It's my first time meeting them on this trip but they were already looking forward to my return. Perhaps the next holiday will again take me here.

I'm so not looking forward to tomorrow. I'm trying to sleep as late as possible so I don't fast-forward to the time I have to leave for KL.

But I'm too scared to stay up alone.

So, good night.

Sent via BlackBerry

Batik Shopping, Local Style...

Day 4, Ubud, Bali

I woke up to the sound of the telephone buzzing in my ear. The breakfast has arrived. I had ordered it for 8.00am.

tbc

Balitaliano

Day 3, Ubud.

I checked-in at Komaneka Resort today. Greeted by scented cold towel and a tangy welcome drink, I was told that the only room left was the Pool Villa - even better! It has a typical Balinese entrance, which most people would leave the doors open unless you're the type who prefers complete privacy - I didn't mind... ;p

Through the doors I was greeted by views of other boutique hotels around the area, surrounding the lushy green rice field with farmers working on it. On the right is the pool and 2 deck chairs. I was ushered into the villa through the double doors at the terrace where the daybed, dining table and minibar is located. As soon as I saw the four-posted king and flowers in the sunken bath, my senses weeped. A lux reunion of a stressed out soul and the magic of Bali.

The relaxation begins.

I had made an appointment for a scrub and body massage but it wasn't till 6pm. So, I corked the complimentary Rosé, sank into the pool and let time pass by.

The phone rang at five-to. It was a gentle reminder for the spa appointment.

The spa was only a short distance away. I was greeted by the ever-smiling therapist, who had me changed, served me tonic and gave me a foot bath. Then I was taken to the treatment room, which also had an open air bath filled with 1,001 flower petals, and a reed garden.

The treatments began.

I finished around 7.30pm. Lazily walked back to the villa to get ready for dinner. My cousin came along with Kang Ei and Mas Dodi when I was sitting at the coffee house to check my emails. We left for Davide's after drinks and a short tour of the villa.

Davide is friends with our friends. He's half-Sicilian-half-English, who also speaks Indonesian although I don't know how well. He first came to Bali 10 years ago and been here on an off ever since. One of his brothers is an amazing and talented guitarist who won the World Classical Guitar competition in 1987.

I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw his house as we approached on a dark small road in Kutuh. It's a typical Balinese house, set almost in the middle of a rice field. We trailed the driveway leading to one of the houses on the property. We found him chillin' out with his other Indonesian-speaking friends - Sayon who I first thought was local is actually Hawaiian, and Puri, an Australian whose parents spent many years as Expats here.

We got acquainted, checked out the other house, which Davide had just finished building, listened to Davide's brother Danien's guitar tracks and listened to his stories and antics. Kang Ei and I got a copy each of Danien's tracks that won him the world title.

We left Davide's at 11.30pm and had Nasi Padang for dinner. They sent me back to the hotel an hour later and I retired to bed just after I ordered for breakfast.

Long day ahead.

Sent via BlackBerry

Bali Hai

I had less than an hour before my flight departs to Bali when I reached the airport. But, this was all intentional as I wanted to try and ask for an upgrade--as they would normally do when the flight is full--and true enough, they did put me on Business Class!

It took 2 hours and 40 minutes to get here, and had to wait another 30 mins for customs clearance and claim my luggages. I met my cousin and her friend and took off to a place called La Pau, which served authentic Nasi Padang. Mattross the owner, who happens to be my cousin's friend greeted us and served us good food. Apparently, at nights, they play Live Jazz, performed either by the house band or local or international bands who happens to be in town.

We then continued our journey home, in Ubud, which is about an hour's drive from Ngurah Rai Airport.

I've only seen pictures of the place I'm staying. But when we arrived, I was gobsmacked. It was more beautiful and rustic. I was very impressed.

I'll post the pictures as soon as I get them developed. I'm using one of those disposal cameras coz I stupidly forgot to pack my own.

The property is about a hectar. Originally there were 15 Balinese-style bungalows but now, only a few are still standing. The rest were destroyed by weather and time. Only the foundations and concrete slabs remain.

Imagine Pangkor Laut Estates.

The history goes that the land belonged to the current landlord's parents--who's father married the heiress to the Rockerfeller fortune. In the 70's, the family used the property as their private holiday resort, complete with secret gardens, amphitheatre, kitchen and cooks, etc. But now, it's become the current landlord's private residence, who rents out the remaining bungalows to long-term tenants.

My cousin signed a 10-year contract for one of them so that she can live there while she paints, and I've taken up another bungalow for as long as I'm here.

Tongue-in-cheek moment

Something odd happened today but instead of throwing fits about it, I was rather intrigued.

I asked the maid to prepare 2 packets of Maggi Instant Curry Noodles, which happen to be the only snack in the larder that had not exceeded the expiry date. Simple instructions were given:

- Half-cooked
- 1 egg
- Use less water for the soup

I went outside and meddled with my car for a bit.

After a few minutes, I went back in, and saw her walking back to the kitchen holding an empty tray.

Brilliant!

It's ready!

My bedroom door flies open...

*Record Scratch*

There's a bowl of steaming soggy soupless noodles on the coffee table.

I was on the way back to the kitchen, when I realised... I got what I asked for.

How?

Half-cooked noodles with just enough water to cover the surface at cooking time will only give you just that - water gets absorbed into the noodles as it softens...

I arrived the kitchen, and before I said anything... the maid started to explain the Naked Science.

I wouldn't say anything.

I couldn't.

So I pretended that I needed more Root Beer, and scurried back to my room.

I must say, it actually tasted damn good, with all the soup in the noodles.

No need to use the spoon.

Kill two birds with one stone.

What d'ya know, huh?

Silly?

Genius.

Remember Osmosis?

Or perhaps t'was just a simple case of a 'sponge-in-pail' episode...

:P

The Leisure Meter: How to allocate your free time this month

1. Seeing The Number 23, a film about a man (Jim Carrey) whose growing obsession with a book that seems to mirror his life causes him to find numerical coincidences involving—not surprisingly—the number 23. (1 hour, 33 minutes)

2. Entertaining yourself with jokes about how the number 23 applies to other aspects of the film, like the number of people who might enjoy Carrey's sex scenes. (23 minutes)

3. Watching Family Ties season one on DVD, because life hasn't been quite as joyful since TV Land stopped airing reruns. (4 hours)

4. Wishing TV theme songs still ended with a perfectly simple "sha la la la." (5 minutes)

5. Arranging and rearranging these new titles on your bookshelf for optimal visibility:

-- Frederic Strauss's Almodovar on Almodovar, an analysis of the Spanish filmmaker and his films.-- Susan Sontag's At the Same Time, 16 essays and speeches written by the author in the last years of her life.-- David Mamet's Bambi vs. Godzilla, a candid look at moviemaking in Hollywood. (15 minutes)

6. Being satisfied. (2 minutes)

7. Being self-satisfied. (Much, much longer)

8. Suppressing your masculinity as you choose from the 3,300 worldwide boutique inns at bedandbreakfast.com to prove you're capable of choosing a thoughtful Valentine's Day gift. (30 minutes)

9. Regaining a little bit of that masculinity by giving her a card from oplusd.com. (15 minutes)

10. Listening to the energetic and only occasionally angsty rock album A Weekend in the City, by Bloc Party, a worthy follow-up to 2005's Silent Alarm. (1 hour, 30 minutes)

11. Attending one of the special chef presentations at the Food Network South Beach Wine & Food Festival in Miami (February 22 to 25). (1 hour)

12. Kicking yourself if you opted to see Tyler Florence, Emeril Lagasse, or Rachael Ray over the succulent Giada De Laurentiis. (30 minutes)

13. Reading Triumph, an inspiring account of Jesse Owens's record-breaking performances at the 1936 Olympics, by Cinderella Man author Jeremy Schaap. (3 hours)

- Esquire Magazine

Why I Love My Alpha Wife

I came across this article today and despite the circumstances (for some reason or another), I still felt the love.

Don't you?

A 'tale' of every man's dream of a perfect (in an imperfect world) family.

So to speak. :P

"I wake early to get to my desk. I first grind the coffee beans, fill the espresso maker, ready the milk, empty the dishwasher while I'm waiting for the milk to heat, the coffee to come up. When she wakes I bring her a cup, usually, but not always, in bed.

When they wake I make breakfast for the kids, pack their lunches. I make sure their schoolwork is finished and packed, their backpacks by the door.

My wife takes them to school, on the way to the office, where she is the boss.

She is a publisher. I am a writer. Left alone, I work through the day, once or twice a week throw in two or three loads of laundry, wash and dry the clothes, linens, towels, put them away, except for her clothes, which I leave on her dresser, not wanting to put things in the wrong place. Amidst all the piles, I try to pay extra attention to her jeans and her fine articles of lingerie, which she prefers attending to herself lest I screw them up.

At 3 o'clock I pick up the kids, take them on some days to the Y for swimming lessons, or walk them leisurely and pleasurably home, stopping on the way at the grocery store to pick up milk (always milk) and anything else we might need for dinner.

She comes home at 6:30. I do the cooking. Usually something simple—roasted chicken with potatoes slathered in paprika, salt, and pepper, left to roast in the chicken's juices in the bottom of the pan; spaghetti and meatballs (she passes on the pasta but loves the meatballs: beef, veal, pork, one egg, bread crumbs, fresh parsley, oregano, basil, salt, and ground pepper); or I call ahead for rice and beans ("My wife will be there in 10 minutes") to the Cuban-Chinese restaurant that we love.

We clean up together.

We've got it down.

She describes herself as a control freak. Sure, she likes things done her way. But then again, I like things done my way. We are lucky enough that her way and my way often coincide. Once I asked her to clarify what she means by "control freak."

"Like when you were finishing your book," she said.

Oh, that.

There was a slight glitch that took place in our lives last year, and if I'm going to be honest the year before that, and the year before that, and a couple of years more than that besides. I was finishing up a novel I had been finishing up, or had been nearing completion of, ever since we've known each other.

Actually, I had been working on this project for the last 17 years. I guess I fell in love with the research and always felt I had to do more.

I had written it and rewritten it (at one point it was 2000 pages), edited it and re-edited it, asked for help, then lashed out when I got it.

That's just the way things go.

Unfortunately, it put an enormous financial burden on our lives. My end of mortgage payments, utility bills, food, clothes, car payments, insurance, birthday presents, Christmas presents, walking-around money, going out to eat, you name it, all going on my credit card(s).

Having a steady paycheck, she was taking care of most of our responsibilities, but still.

"We've got to talk about your finances," she kept saying.

I would go into a huff. "Joel, we need to sit down and make a budget," she'd say, in retrospect, calmly enough.

"You don't understand," I would shout. "I'm not like you. I don't get a paycheck. There's nothing to budget."

"No, you don't understand," she would insist. "Our money is running out. You are putting yourself, your children, me, us, at risk."

I would storm off, sulk, snap, crackle, pop, refuse to talk another word with her, leave the room when she came in.

She is a remarkable woman. As small as I am, she is large. She would never lash out at me. She would let her anger be known, but she would not pick me apart, not in this way.

And eventually, I was able to come to my senses.

Thanks to her, we own two beautiful homes. I am good with my hands and love to build and fix and repair, but she is always doing budgets and planning. When it comes to finances, everything must be known, in her opinion, and she works assiduously so that she always knows where we are in terms of money.

I love her.

We sat down, and we made a budget.

Every payment, every expenditure was written down. I told her I was $100,000 in debt with $20,000 cash advances on my cards still available to me.

She did not flinch, she did not condemn. She wrote the figures down and we went on. She said we could refinance the house, take out X amount of cash, pay off a big portion of what I owed. She said this will help you out for the time being, this is the window in which you can operate, but—and it was a big but—come April we are done, financially speaking. We will lose a lot of what we have built together.

For all the pain it took me to get myself to sit down with her, she liberated me. I took her figures as gospel. Rose each day and went to work. Considered exactly how much time I needed on this chapter and that, what it would take for me to get to the final conclusion of the infernal book.
Thanks to her and her savvy, I met the mark, finished and sold the book. We paid off the rest of my debt.

Still, there are certain things.

Recently we visited London for work. One of her authors, Marco Pierre White, a celebrity chef and restaurateur in Britain, requested her presence at a big political fund-raiser. Could she make it?

She spoke into the phone. "I'm here with my husband," she said. "Can he come?"

She was assured that I could. It was a sumptuous, rather startling affair at one of White's most fabulous and done restaurants, Frankie's, across town from our hotel in Soho.

We were seated at the table of honor, my wife shown to her spot of importance, marked by a place card that said, in perfectly elegant calligraphy, Karen Rinaldi.

I, too, was ushered to my spot, and there was my place card: Joel Rinaldi. Beta male."

Joel Rose's novel, The Blackest Bird, will be published by W.W. Norton in March.