Drenched in Bali. I lied, as I often do, when people ask what I’m planning to do. Mostly because once I tell people, they’re quick to supply a litany of reasons for why it can’t be done. You see, I’m a dreamer. It’s why I live the life I do. I don’t just have dreams, I step into them and live them. While many see this as unrealistic, every time that I experience waves rushing around my feet on a deserted beach, my life feels quite real.

The other reason I didn’t tell the truth is because I planned to take the scooter to the other side of the island, something that might not be allowed by the rental company since it was over a 3 hours drive. It seemed like a long distance to go on a scooter, but I figured if I went slowly the bike eventually would get me there. I had all day, and there are always roadside stalls selling liters of gas out of empty Jack Daniels bottles.

What I hadn’t counted on is today being Galungan, a major Balinese holiday. My concern began to grow as I passed nothing but shuttered shops. I hadn’t brought any food with me knowing it’s always easy to stop along the road for a local meal.

It had taken an hour just to get out of the city with constant stops to check my map. Some of the one way streets were a little convoluted, at least to me, since Bali drives on the opposite side of the road. For example, a traffic flow that would normally move counterclockwise in the U.S. was now moving clockwise. Eventually I made it into the countryside, and that’s when I began to worry about the lack of services. Wanting to get out of town early, I had skipped breakfast and was beginning to get a little hungry when I spotted the lone convenience store.

“You picked a good day to travel” the store owner said when I pulled in. I thought he might be pulling my leg until he declared that I would get to see everyone headed to the temples in their best dress for a special day of worship. It was true. On my drive up here, I felt like I was watching a parade, only I was the one passing by on the street while everyone stood by the road in costume performing a variety of sacred rituals.

I had passed numerous women riding side saddle in exquisite lace tops with baskets on their heads. Men in gold silk turbans wrapped around their heads. Almost everyone I saw was carrying a woven basket filled with offerings of food, water, and incense.

The streets were lined with tall poles made of dried palm leaves. They stood tall and curved over near the top with a variety of decoratively woven ornaments hanging from the ends. The weave of the palms gave the poles the appearance of a giraffe skeleton, with regular loops of the leaves forming the vertebrae of the pole.

Given his excitement about the day I had chosen to ride, I was comfortable telling the store owner where I was going, He said that was even better since there would be even more devotees at the lake temple. Instead of discouraging me from the steep hill I was about to encounter, he told me I should be there in about 20 minutes.

With that knowledge and some “just in case” snacks to munch on, I began the climb to the mountain lake. I was high enough now that I began to see the verdant rice terraces people always speak of when you go into the mountainous regions of Asia. I also got some glimpses of the island upon which I was driving. As I continued to climb, the mountains of the surrounding archipelago came into view, and I pulled over to take in the scenery and explore a cliffside temple.

A few minutes later, I rode through a pass and saw below me a lake nestled at the base of a former volcano. On my way to the lake, I passed several vendors selling food, but I couldn’t determine if the food was intended for eating or offering so I continued on to the lakeshore. When I reached the edge, I walked along the shore to see the temple that is featured in so many photographs. I love when an experience is exactly what you see in the pictures. In this case a red and black temple built on a spit that was jutting into the lake. It made for a great photograph with the reflection of the temple in the water and the looming volcano in the background.

I was hoping to grab some coffee and breakfast at the lake but occasional drops of rain began to tap along the surface of the lake, and I felt the wind begin to pick up. I looked in the direction I was headed next and saw a dark mass moving directly towards me. I decided it was time to get off the top of the mountain.
I rode straight into the ominous front before me, and as the first heavy drops began to fall, all the motorcyclists pulled off the road and popped open the seat to extract their rain ponchos. I followed suit, having fortunately checked the weather forecast that morning. Despite its proximity to all the other sunny places I’d visited, this was Bali’s rainy season.

With my rain jacket on over my day pack, I continued down the hill, slowly now as the rain was falling in a downpour. The road serpentined as it descended so I had to be careful to watch for loose gravel and oncoming passing cars. What I hadn’t anticipated was also having to dodge monkeys in the road. I had passed a sign warning of monkeys ahead, but having to dodge them like traffic cones on an obstacle course was not what I expected.

At one point, the rain got so heavy that I pulled over and ducked under a shelter. Apparently heavy rains were common in Bali as I’d seen many of these raised platforms on the side of the road. Now, they were filled by other motorcyclists escaping the worst of the rain. A couple guys asked my name and where I was from but shortly after had exhausted all of their English, and I was not in Bali long enough to learn any Indonesian.

The rain began to let up so I got back on the bike and continued winding down the hill. I was pleased that it became even drier as I descended, but I took my time as the road was still wet, and I didn’t want to chance a fall. I was running low on fuel by this time, but I knew there was a city just ahead. I was also hoping to find a nice place to stop and each lunch while overlooking the ocean. Whenever I look at a map and see dots along the coast, I always envision western seaside towns, with cafes, restaurants, and a waterfront promenade. Almost without fail, I am disappointed to find that most small fishing villages in Asia have not developed their waterfront in that way.

This town was particularly unattractive so I continued on, hoping I would eventually find a restaurant along the water. The rain picked up again before I did. I was wearing my sunglasses to protect my eyes from the piercing rain, but they also darkened an already gloomy afternoon, and it was impossible to scan ahead for open restaurants so I just continued on.

I was surprised to feel that the raindrops were actually getting colder, and my body gave a shiver. The little drops felt like needles pricking my skin. I looked forward to and dreaded the stretches of road that was covered with trees. On the one hand it meant a relief from the constant rain. On the other hand it meant being bombarded by huge drops of accumulated rain off the tree leaves.

I had taken to following the car in front of me. Despite the fact that it was going slower than I wanted, it revealed to me the location and depth of the puddles that continued to grow from the runoff that was crossing the road. By now, I was soaked through my waterproof jacket. It was as if I’d fallen into a lake with all my clothes on. I felt my fingers, and they were shriveled up like raisins. I hadn’t realized it was possible to get waterlogged without actually being immersed in water.

I wondered whether the scooter could get so waterlogged that it would stopped running, but by now I had determined I would get to the town that marked the halfway point of my two day trip. There I could shower and dry my clothes, though it would be a bit of a challenge since the only clothes I’d brought were the ones I was wearing. I had packed light for a simple overnight trip.

I had begun to see the name of the town I wanted to reach on highway signs, though it gave no indication of how far away the town was. I could no longer pull out my phone to check my map because my fingers were to wet to operate the screen. Since the town was on the coast, I knew if I kept the sea to my left, I would be fine, and the name of the town became my mantra as I continued ahead miserably in the rain.

By then, the streets were empty of people. This had the feel of a storm that couldn’t be waited out, and everyone had retreated into the shelter of their homes. Occasionally I would pass by one of the roadside shelters, and someone would wave me in, but I just kept going, wanting this trip to be over as soon as possible.

At one point I had to go to the bathroom, and I considered considered urinating in my shorts. What difference would it make? It would have all washed away in a few minutes, but then restaurants began to appear with western food advertised on their sign boards, and they were open! I didn’t know where I was exactly, but I decided that this is what I’d been looking for, and I quickly pulled off the road. The place I’d pulled off had a nice covered porch and a sign advertising rooms and free WiFi.

I checked in and, ironically, headed for the shower. I washed off the rain and toweled myself dry, something that seemed like a luxury after being soaked with rain the last few hours. It was a short lived bliss because, as I mentioned before, I did not have a change of clothes and had to get dressed in my wet laundry. I was happy to settle in at the adjacent restaurant, however, and connect to my electronic world. I ordered a local specialty and felt my body relax as my skin was once again able to breathe after being suffocated by water.

I had to laugh at the irony. Instead of being an oasis of water in a desert; it was an oasis of dryness in an onslaught of moisture. The town I reached was not the one of my mantra but something even better. A little village of surf shops and yoga studios, yet to be invaded by posh resorts and golf courses. I had reached the kind of place people talk about when they say, this used to be a great place, only it still was. I felt fortunate in my discovery and regretted that I hadn’t brought more clothes for a longer stay.
Tempted as I was to eat western comfort food, I managed to hold out until the next day, when I had a cappuccino on the floor of a yoga studio with a view of the ocean. At last, one of the dots on the map matched my vision.

I could see more clouds heading my way, and I wanted to see some of the coastline before I was again robbed of my vision. I took my time winding along the coast, stopping frequently to enjoy the vistas to the black sand beaches below, littered with colorful pontoon sail boats or neighboring islands in the distance. It made me think in awe about how people had crossed the seas to populate the islands in these simple wooden boats.

My sightseeing was cut short by dark storm clouds sailing across the sea to my island, and I decided to pick up the pace hoping that when I rounded the eastern tip of the island, the rain might abate, the clouds having relieved themselves of water in order to head over the mountain tops to the other side of the island.

I wasn’t quite as far ahead as I needed to be, and I experienced the heaviest rainfall I’d ever seen or felt. It was as if the clouds had given up on producing rain drops and just decided to release all their moisture at once. I took refuge beneath shelters a couple more times but continued on whenever I could for fear the road in front might soon wash out from the downpour.

As I’d hoped, the rain let up once I got to the other side of the island, and a smile once again appeared on my face. I was thinking about the little village I’d discovered and how I couldn’t wait to spend my whole time there on my next visit to Bali.

I returned to my hotel in the late afternoon and was overjoyed to put on dry clothes. When I went to return the scooter a little later, the guy asked me where I’d gone. I told him about my village, and he replied, “that’s not possible”, and I said, “yes…yes, it is”.