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"Anything worth doing isn't done for a reason." -- Cherie Sogsti
274--Bali: What's a Bedugal?
@ CherieSpotting
Jan 15 2005 - 20:02 PST |
Margaret and Cherie next to an angry statue in Bedugal's botanical gardens. | No fear. | Narrow escape from the jaws of death. |
If everyone had a surfboard, across the USA. | We lost Margaret! | A truck heading with kids to school. I wonder if they have a class in safety? |
Of course you can bring one more of your friends. | The fruit stand. | The happy funky-fruit seller. *Photo by Margaret. |
A Bedugal village prepares for a wedding. | All the townsmen gather to prepare. | Almost perfect. |
Margaret with some Bedugal villagers. | Art is a huge part of the Hindu culture. | The women are clustered inside making elaborate preparations for the ceremony. |
The wedding is only 3-days away. | Pink rice? Does the groom have to eat that? | Don't get on that guy's bad side. |
The temple near Bedugal. | Cherie and Margaret by the Bedugal Hindu-Buddhist temple. | The temple. |
Cherie and Margaret. | Paddling across the lake. | Just when you thought one mongoose was enough. |
Another mongoose leaps into the picture. | The stinky critters love Margaret, too. | Margaret demonstrates how to use a squat-toilet. |
Ready for the big flush? | The rain pours down and the ducks gather under this tree for protection from the elements. | Little Balinese girl with an umbrella. |
The waterfall near Gitgit, Bali. | Margaret by the waterfall. | Hiking in the rain. |
The hot-springs. | Holy water never looked so green. | Margaret feels the warm water. |
Little Balinese girl. | Cherie in the hot-springs. It's too hot for the hot-tub. | Just what the doctor ordered. |
I feel like a new woman! | Making friends with Balinese locals. | Margaret bathing. |
Massage by H2O. | The algae like the holy water as much as the Balinese. | Our silly driver, Nyomen. *Photo by Margaret. |
cherie writes: Margaret and I headed to the hills near Bedugal, Bali where we stumbled upon a small village preparing for a wedding. Margaret and I are stop-a-holics. "Stop, stop, stop," I screamed to our driver named Nyomen as he sped past the villager who were preparing a massive float for some sort of festival. Our friend Nyomen drives us around the Balinese countryside. We drive him crazy.
"What now?" Nyomen asked winding through the road at Formula One speed. I aske poor Nyomen to stop every few miles to photograph something that facinates me--from the dozens of school-children crammed in the back of a pick-up, to the smiling funky-fruit-stand lady, to the villagers of Bedugal gathered together to make a "pengor."
"What are those villagers doing?" I asked.
"They're just preparing for a wedding," Nyomen said.
"Can we meet them?" I asked. Nyomen rolled his eyes, flipped a U-turn and our impromptu stop turned into the highlight of the day.
The villagers welcomed us, and Margaret and I stood in awe of their beautiful banana-leaf and bamboo-strip creations. We admired them, they admired us. They stood bewildered, amazed by our strangely colored hair and skin. Like children, we stared at each other--two different cultures respectfully colliding.
Next we headed for the botanical gardens and Pura Ulun Danu Bratan, a famous Hindu-Buddhist temple. As Margaret and I approached the temple surely Dewi Danu, the goddess of water must have been near. The sky opened up and poured its contents on Bali—drenching Margaret and I. Luckily, we rented an umbrella for 50 cents.
Certain expressions are priceless, the glint in a child's eye on her first visit to Disneyland, a toddlers smile the first time he sits on Santa's lap, and Margaret's expression when she realized not only did she have to use a squt toilet, she had to pay $1000 rupees for the privilege.
In Bali, when you are hot, wet, sticky, and a little grossed out by your last bathroom experience, the natural thing to do is hold a mongoose. I’m not sure if you’ve ever smelled a mongoose, but when I return to California, I am certain you will still be able to smell the critter on my hands. Mongoose stink. And nothing gets the rancid smell out.
First, I tried washing my hands again and again. It was to no avail, I still smelled like a mongoose. Finally, I found a clove tree, crumpled its leaves and furiously rubbed them between my palms. Then I smelled like cloves and mongoose. There’s a reason they haven’t created a mongoose perfume yet.
Certain expressions are priceless, the glint in a child's eye on her first visit to Disneyland, a toddlers smile the first time he sits on Santa's lap, and Margaret's expression when she realized not only did she have to use a squt toilet, she had to pay $1000 rupee for the priviledge.
To rid ourselves of the stench, Margaret and I soaked in a nearby hot springs. The warm “holy” water soothed our muscles and relaxed our minds. But in the end, Margaret and I still smelled like a mongoose.
Click on each picture to see it full size.
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