In 1952, when I was six years old, I saw the movie The Road to Bali, starring Bob Hope and Bing Crosby, the sixth of their seven Road pictures. It was wonderfully funny, in the style of the times, employing puns and parody, singing and slapstick, thoroughly entertaining the audience. I watched the film at the old Palace Theater, a place inextricably entwined with good memories of my hometown and childhood, and felt an immediate “pull” toward Bali and the beginnings of a lifelong conviction that one day, some day, I had to go there. Fifty-two years later, I did. And it was everything … and so much more … than I had dreamed.

In October 2004 we left San Francisco on an overnight flight to Hong Kong, where we spent six nights before flying on to Bali. After landing at Ngurah Rai Airport in Denpasar, we were met by a car sent by our hotel, the Four Seasons Jimbaran Bay. Fortified with cold water and chilled face cloths, we settled in to observe this new place, fascinated and utterly charmed by the sometimes incongruous but delightful blending of East and West.

After registering in the lobby, open to the air on all sides and appearing magically suspended between earth and sky, we were assigned our own small villa, the standard Four Seasons Jimbaran accommodation. It was an enclosed compound with high walls, entered through an outer wooden gate painted in colorful Balinese style, leading to a courtyard, an open-air sitting pavilion (where we took most of our meals at the hotel), a picturesque terrace and a bungalow containing sleeping and bathroom facilities. Our villa overlooked the beach and the bay, and we loved the private plunge pool, whimsically accented by a Balinese stonework representation of a frog spitting water into the pool. (Despite how it may sound, it was serenely beautiful.) A luxurious bath had been drawn while we were checking in, the tub filled with floating pink and white frangipani. Just outside the dressing area there was an outdoor shower protected from view, surrounded by vines and flowers, and we enjoyed it a la Balinese (meaning au natural) every morning we were there.

We spent the rest of that day walking the lush grounds of the property, imbibing to sensory intoxication the almost unreal beauty, growing comfortable with the intense feeling of spirituality which permeates the island’s atmosphere. In our bungalow that evening, while looking through the hotel’s information booklet, we learned that all of the landscaping and selection and placing of the stone representations of Balinese gods and animals had been the inspiration of a “gone native” Australian originally named Michael White, now a citizen of Bali known as Made Wijaya.

White had been an architecture student in the summer of 1973, crewing on yacht sailing the fabled South China Sea and the Indian Ocean. When the yacht called at Bali, White was so charmed by the place that he literally jumped ship, swam ashore and found an Indonesian family who would shelter him and teach him the language in return for his giving English and tennis lessons to their children. We commented on what an interesting fellow he must be, and then fell asleep with the waxing moon outside our French doors marking a shimmering, ghostly path across the bay to the lights of Denpasar.

Just before dawn the next morning, our driver Sundara (who would be with us throughout the trip, and with whom we had many conversations about Balinese lore and religion) was waiting to take us to Sanur, where we watched the sun rise in shades of pink and cerulean and gold over a a breakfast picnic (including mimosas) on the beach. Later we spent time at Nusa Dua, totally mesmerized by the crystal clear turquoise waters, lulled into somnolence by the sussurous lapping of small waves upon the white sand. Then we drove to Tanah Lot temple, watching as the temple, glowing spectrally and backlit by the setting sun, was totally cut off from land at high tide.

Sundara came for us the following morning and we drove to Ubud, the thriving, vibrant artists’ colony in the interior of the island. The route took us through terraced green rice paddies attended by workers in conical straw hats, lending an ancient patina to the surreal landscape. At one point, we saw one of the rice workers, stripped to the skin (really … all of his skin), cooling himself by pouring buckets of water over his head down the length of his body. He was a gorgeous man, a living bronze sculpture, totally unaffected and unselfconscious in his nudity … and it was one of the most beautiful, natural sights I have ever seen. We reached for the camera, but the moment was already past. On reflection I believe that was just as well, because it would have been invasive and almost indecent to have captured him in such an unguarded moment. Some things are so intimate, even without intended intimacy, that the mind is the only appropriate keep for their repose.

In Ubud, we toured an art school, and Yahn enjoyed talking with and observing the students and instructors. Later, we bought an intricate wood carving done by Master Carver Sudana.  Returning to the hotel that afternoon, we spotted a shop identified as Made Wijaya’s gallery, and Yahn asked Sundara to stop the car. Yahn went into the shop and after several minutes returned, accompanied by a stunning Javanese man who formally extended an invitation to us to have lunch with Made the next day. As Yahn explained when we drove away, he had asked the Javanese if there was any possibility that Made might be in the gallery at some time during our stay so that we could meet him … whereupon the Javanese picked up the phone and placed a call, spoke for a bit in Balinese, and then handed the phone to Yahn … who found himself speaking directly with Made about art and aesthetics, leading to the invitation.

At noon on the next day, we arrived at Made’s compound and were helped from the car by armed guards who escorted us inside the walls. In addition to his living quarters, the compound contains Made’s several businesses and work space for his proteges and affiliated artists. Not surprisingly, Made has many wonderful stories to tell of his life and interests … and we were thoroughly enchanted during the leisurely lunch of Ayam Bali with rice, finished with homemade coconut ice cream.  At Made’s urging, we made immediate plans to attend the twice-yearly Full Moon Ceremony that evening. It is worth noting that unlike the rest of Indonesia, which has the largest Muslim population in the world, the people of Bali (including Made, since taking residence) are mostly Hindu, with large dollops of ancient Balinese animism, which attributes souls and sentience to animals, plants and other entities.

That Full Moon Ceremony … Purnama … is an extraordinarily soulful and significant festival for the Balinese. Among its rituals and beliefs it is thought that bathing in water perfumed by frangipani flowers under the light of the full moon will wash away your sins, with the bonus of guaranteeing that you will remain physically attractive for another year. Purnama is also considered an auspicious day for planting to secure a good harvest.

The celebration proved to be one of our most unforgettable experiences ever … singing, chanting, graceful and sometimes startlingly animated dancing, all performed by the almost generically beautiful Balinese … the languid gesture of a finger, the delicate point of a toe, the quizzical but promising lift of an eyebrow and a flaring of the eyes, astonishing grimaces sliding into Mona Lisa smiles, displaying a range of emotion from seething outrage to cool serenity … all illuminated and accentuated by the glow of torches, fires and the huge full moon … exotic music, fragrant incense carried on the breeze, the offerings of flowers and fruit and water to Bali’s gods…. We felt absolutely wrapped in sheer sensation through each successive performance and obeisance, full of wonder and tenable knowledge of our connection to the universe.

The ceremonies went on into the night, and later we sat up for a long time talking quietly about the things we had seen and felt. It was, simply, one of the most incredible, moving, deeply spiritual experiences of my life … and if it did not inspire new beliefs from those I had already begun to hold, it did crystallize with almost Damascene clarity a vision of this world and worlds to come … the perfect embodiment of an ancient dream manifest in living dreamscape.

I’ve said many times on the blog that I’ve been privileged and blessed … fortunately I have also been determined, for sometimes we must be the authors of our own blessings … to have seen many beautiful places in this world, to have had the opportunity to observe and come to know many diverse people … but without a doubt, the most lovely, supernaturally gorgeous and quintessentially otherwordly place I have seen in this lifetime is Bali. It is truly deserving of the appellation “heaven on earth” … and perhaps a “Preview of Coming Attractions”?

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