Reflecting on Bali

By MONIQUE DEVEREUX

It's not just the energy-sapping heat that you notice when you venture out of the air-conditioned calm of your Bali lodgings. It's the immediate and constant aural assault from the horns of thousands of vans and motor scooters travelling at breakneck speed.

As streets quickly compress from four lanes to two to what can only possibly be one wide lane, our van roars on through as if it has all the space in the world.

Those of us not used to the somewhat adventurous driving skills of the Balinese suck in our cheeks, grip the armrest and hope for the best as the space between vehicles shrinks and the "Beep beep! Beep beep" of car horns intensifies.

We survive the journey out of the city, through numerous villages and up to the picturesque Lake View restaurant in the mountainous Kintamani region. Then we head back out into traffic of a different kind - by mountain bike.

The two- to three-hour tour run by Sorbek Adventure Specialists costs $120 and includes a mid-morning breakfast at the Lake View restaurant, with a pleasant view of Lake Batur rimmed with lush green countryside.

In stark contrast beside it is Mt Batur, Bali's highest volcanic crater, complete with the blackened evidence of its devastating 1963 eruption.

This is not the most relaxing way to see Bali, but neither is it reserved for Olympic cyclists. It comes complete with large flying insects, a deluge of sweat, and the ever-constant "Beep beep! Beep beep!"

Our guides repeat the rules in English and Japanese to make sure all cyclists are clear on the plan: no photos of locals allowed for privacy reasons, ride in single file, do not kick the dogs or chickens that may get in your way.

"Use the little bell instead," says the head guide. "Ding ding will get them out of the way. Let's all try it ... Ding ding! Ding ding!"

Some 25km loom ahead as the yellow mountain bikes are distributed. Assurances that the ride is all downhill do nothing to relax those carefully strapping on their cycle gloves.

But it is too hot to stand still. Best to push off.

The starting point is encouraging - a country back road, initially lined with tall crops before turning into a quiet village. By standing up on the pedals to peek over the walls of each compound we get a glimpse of Balinese life, but not too many of its people. It is Sunday and the hottest part of the day. There may be crops to be picked, watered and fed, but there is also sleep to be had, because anything else is too much effort.

We cruise along the gently winding road, each small group with its own guide. We have Jack.

Jack's English is passable, providing he sticks to his script. He can talk about the road, the village, the temperature, his family, the scenery.

He can chatter endlessly about bamboo - in Bali it can grow 1cm a day - and rice. He knows what plants in the Balinese garden you can eat and which ones will kill you. He can dig you a peanut, pluck you a black bean, roll up a handful of pungent leaves and shove them under your nose to inhale.

But answering questions is not Jack's forte. We rephrase and rephrase and rephrase enough to find out he makes about $6 a day. He loves his job, mainly because it gives him money and it makes him an important man in his family.

Jack is the fourth son of the family and his real first name is Ketut - which means surprise child or mistake child, no doubt depending on how the child turns out.

Jack guides us into single file along a busy two-lane city street, where we learn that the "Beep beep!" can mean many different things. Mostly it's a courteous "beep beep", ("I'm a van/truck/bus and I'm going to drive up behind you and go past you"), but often it's more insistent, ("Hey, you! Tourist on the bike! Get back to the side of the road").

Very rarely you hear the angry "Beeeep!" as two vehicles compete for the same small space on the road. They are usually heading in opposite directions at pace.

Much more common is the "Beep beep!" muttered by a colleague as the locals roar past leaving mere millimetres between shoulders and wing mirrors.

We turn off the highway with relief and roll on through rice fields, past an 800-year-old Balinese temple, endless villages, and the promised dogs and chickens, before stopping outside the gate of a village house.

Here we gain a fascinating insight into Balinese life. The Balinese are devout Hindus and each house - really more of a compound with various buildings - contains numerous shrines.

The tiny kitchen is extremely dark with walls blackened by years of wood-fires. The roof is low, the floor is dusty concrete. There are large spider webs and I decide I would have space issues if left in here for more than a minute.

"And come over here, here is the traditional Balinese restroom," invites Jack. We nod politely, but our feet remain firmly rooted to the spot.

Back in single file we wave farewell to our hosts and head off down the road.

One extremely large hill (upwards) later we flick our bike stands down, reach thankfully for the ice-cold towels provided and leap back into the air-conditioned van.

We've experienced sights, sounds and smells we would not have encountered at a resort - a relatively cheap way to experience more of Bali than the markets and the surf.

Next stop lunch. But after scoffing a delicious Indonesian buffet we find our adventure may have only just begun. Jack's English, or lack thereof, stops him from explaining why, but he decides not to drop us back at our hotel. Instead, he waves goodbye, leaving us some several kilometres from anywhere. Exactly where, we don't know.

We ask the restaurant host for a taxi. He says there are none and we'll have to walk to the nearby town, Ubud. He points the direction and says it's not too far.

"And look out for monkeys in the trees. If they jump on you and try to grab your bag, just hold on tight."

It's 35-plus degrees. We have just cycled 25km. "Beep beep!" we mutter under our breath before trudging out of the restaurant and down the road. But that's another story ...

* Monique Devereux travelled courtesy of Garuda Indonesia.

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