Firsts

I have a growing list of firsts, new things I am doing for the first time.  Somehow they are all occurring together at once in a clump this week. Standing alone they are potentially invigorating, even enlivening.  Packed into one week they are a bit much and none of them is particularly relaxing. I had thought I would arrive in Bali and, after the extreme intensity of the last two years, take a few months of ease, some time to just be.  Instead I am continuing my advanced course in maintaining a balanced central nervous system through any kind of circumstance.

Most of my 24 previous trips to Bali involved eating in many restaurants; now I am the restaurant, (but with weekends off).  A lover of improvisation in the kitchen, I am now consistently producing, and training my assistant to produce, the same dishes so that each item has a reliable flavor.  This involves a skill set that includes writing out recipes, measuring, maintaining inventory of ingredients, pricing out costs, and keeping track of sales, not jazz improv.  

So what did I do this weekend?  I filled every moment of it, and parts of the week before it, with scuba diving certification.  Without a moment of fun floating with the colorful fishes, without time to get comfortable with the equipment and breathing underwater, we moved immediately into emergency training skills like removing our masks and replacing them, and having our air turned off and then back on by the dive master, not particularly soothing activities.  I took the written test, with (bare) minimal study, in a loud seaside restaurant full of vacationers.  On Sunday we were to have our last 2 dives, completing the course, but our air cylinders had all received contaminated air and we had to abort.  That means another journey to the coast and another day devoted to discomfort and sometimes anxiety under the sea in the name of safety.  During the Christmas holiday we are going to Malaysia where I hope to finally have fun floats with pretty fishes and a dive master who doesn’t touch my air supply.

(On the way to shore after our aborted scuba dive, we had a dramatic James Bond type encounter with two testosterone driven Russian spear fishermen.  Our Balinese boat diver, keenly aware of his surroundings as Balinese people are, pointed out to our dive master that two men were dangerously fishing protected reef life in the scuba zone.  When our boat approached the men, one swam out to sea and the other denied fishing, spear in hand.  Our boatman drove to the fishermen’s buoy, a dead reef fish tied to the side, and pulled the buoy onto our boat.  The enraged fisherman tried to mount our boat and threatened our dive master directly with his spear.  Mark, our dive master, repeatedly asked the man for his spear gun, telling him he could reclaim it at the dive shop, but the Russian man refused to comply and denied understanding English.  Then in English, insisted Mark give him his dive computer in exchange for the spear gun.  The Russian’s trust level was low and his adrenalin was high, a dangerous combination.  He made a grab for his buoy, catching the cording in his fingers and yanking hard. Mark, using his dive knife, cut the cording free.  We returned to shore where our boat driver notified his village authorities who in turn contacted the local police.  Within moments every Balinese person up and down the beach knew what was happening.  When the police arrived the village authorities knew exactly who the responsible men were and which restaurant they were sitting in.  Mark and the machine gun carrying police had a polite discussion with the spear fishermen and their girl friends, and eventually the police drove away with the spears, holding them until, I suspect, some money changed hands.)     

During all of my previous Bali trips I hired a driver.  I was content to be a passive participant in the dance of the Balinese roads. This week in a move toward independence, I have been learning to drive a motorbike, starting off around a flat futbol field and progressing to actually driving on the road, passing trucks, swerving around potholes, swimming in the sea of other motorbikes.  Look out!  The roads are for the most part unmarked and any rules seem to have exceptions if convenient.  For instance, in Bali vehicles drive on the left, but if you are on a motorbike turning right and feel like continuing on the right, you can just go ahead and do it.  Same thing goes for a one way street; that’s one way for cars, but if you are on a motorbike and want to drive against the flow of traffic, go for it.  Plenty of others will join you. 

An entirely orange butterfly just flew into our house, danced in front of Sofia and I to our delight, fluttered across the length of the room, took a moment to visit our orchids and left as silently as it entered.  This is a first.

One more first:  today I was commissioned to cater a raw dinner party this Friday night.  In addition to my warung prep, I will be creating a multiple course gourmet meal on a stunning property overlooking the Ayung River.  

Let’s see... how much more can I juggle?....