Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Bali, Cambodia, and Thailand: September 13, 2009


All material including photographs are ©2009 Ronald Dunlap / Doglight Studios

Woke feeling much better and lay in bed for an extra half hour watching the sun rise over the valley that cradled Alam Sari. Inspired I got up, showered, dressed, and knocked on Ann's door only to find she was still zoned and needed to sleep in a while longer. I said I'd be back at eleven and headed to the dining room. I paid an extra 63,000 rupiahs (about 7 bucks U.S.) for my upgraded breakfast. Not quite as good as a Denny’s Grand Slam but passable. Trying to pay the bill in cash was exasperating, so I finally caved in and just signed the check which is something I really don't like doing. It offends my phobia of running up a bill. I still had a couple of hours on my hands, so I stopped first in the lobby to have the staff reconfirm the plane reservations for the next leg of our journey, but found that Singapore Air was closed on Sundays both in Bali and in Jakarta, I’d have to try another day.



The pool is landscaped with a marvelous array of flowers and plant life. With a little over an hour to kill I decided to photograph the flora, but after 40 minutes I’d run out of interesting subjects so I selected a table by the pool and jotted down what I could remember of yesterday in my journal. 11 o’clock rolled around and I was back at Ann’s door. Knocked and found she was almost ready — just 10 more minutes and she’d be drinking coffee and chomping down fruit and yogurt.


We were on the road by noon. Dewa decided to give us a special treat — a visit to his village and home. A left turn landed us on a dirt track, heading in to a denser part of the island. A few minutes later he pulled over and directed us to walk up a path to his village's shrine, cemetery, and sacred tree. Awesome experience. The shrine was the size of a small house and was surrounded by a large green matted jungle, just like in The Jungle Book. Next was Dewa’s family compound. He said his family had occupied this space continually for the last 461 years and the lichen on the entrance swastika seemed to corroborate this.
 





On the way out of the village he pointed out a giant tree, which he said was just 3 years old. The damn thing was as big as a small redwood. It was a balsa wood tree. Balsa trees were brought to Bali from Mexico about a hundred years ago. Normally they're harvested at the 5 or 6 year point as by 10 years they rot from the inside out.




A little over half an hour and we had arrived in Kuta, Bali’s youth mecca. Parking was impossible, so Dewa became devious. We pulled up to the the Hard Rock and Dewa said that we were there to visit a guest. The plan was if the security were to ask us who, we’d pretend not to speak English. It worked fine. We pulled into the hotel's parking lot and walked inside looking for a side exit. Unfortunately there wasn’t one, and we had to retrace our footsteps and walk past the security guard who’d just let us in. Everything in this area is much more locked down since the 2002 terrorist bombings, which were just a little over 2 blocks from here. We made it through the check point and across the promenade into the sand. This is Indonesia’s hot beach, a little more conservative than Miami’s South Beach or Cancun, but this is Jakarta’s cash cow.




The waves were dangerous today — the beach was red-flagged and the tourists were lounging under shade trees drinking beer. The rental boards were stacked in pyramidal shapes and lonely. Started shooting the minute we hit the boardwalk, very interesting mix of this and that. A half a mile south, we turned east into town looking for new visual stimulation. A block in and a half a block north we found McDonald's. The place was packed with Australian and German tour groups. Ann went to grab the last table while I waited to order. Two Big Mac combos with Diet Cokes, except they didn’t have Diet, so we had to settle for regular.


Kuta has blocks and blocks of knock-off shops, offering everything from the latest DVDs, fake watches, and florescent green Buddhas to every kind of souvenir you can imagine and some you can’t. Cruised the area for a while, buying a few personal items and hunting for a special large U-boat wrist watch. Ann is a collector and is very specific about she what wants. After searching for a while and not finding it we headed back to the beach to begin our return journey to the Hard Rock. The light was gentler now. The silhouettes of people and trees against the afternoon sun were stunning. Some of the locals who make their living in the sand had come out and were beginning to ply their trade to everyone gathering for the sunset. I took advantage of their congeniality to grab a couple of portraits.



It had been 3 hours and we’d pretty well covered the place, so we figured it was time to move on. Snaking our way through the jammed street, we passed through security and up the hill to the parking lot. We discussed where to go next with Dewa. He suggested a less crowded spot up the coast a few miles and and he was right, it was un-crowded, but unfortunately it was too quiet. Nothing really to shoot, so we walked over to a beachfront establishment and ordered some limeade. There were still 3 hours till sunset; we decided that another beautiful sunset shot wasn’t worth the wait so we got back to the van and told Dewa that we were done with Kuta.




My travel clock was acting up. I thought it might be the battery. I asked the driver to stop at the Circle K store we’d passed so I could buy a replacement. After a couple of right and left turns, the van pulled over and parked. I jumped out and ran across the street. I loaded up a couple of extra bottles of water, some BBQ Pringles, and was still looking for the Double A’s. I got in line to ask the attendant when I noticed that the batteries were on the wall behind her. Had my purchases bagged up and ran back across to the van but no Ann. She'd gone over to a money changer to get some Rupiahs. Dewa tells me he is a bit worried and that she should be careful. The people in this part of the island aren’t as honest as they are in Ubud.

Entering the money changer's office, which is really just a large plywood box, I find four young men in their late teens or early twenties. They are counting money while Ann has her one hundred bill out on the counter. The changer behind the counter counts out a stack of bills and I pick up the Rupiahs and begin to recount. The minute I start all four of the young men start asking personal questions: Where are you from? What do you do? Do you have children? I tell the guy behind the counter that the count is short. He takes the money and begins to recount. Watching, I see he’s dropping bills on the floor and pretending to pick them up. Looking over at Ann, I motion her to pick up her money and together we leave. Laughing, we walk back to the van. (Travel Tip: Don’t change money in a plywood box.)

Three quarters of the way back to Alam Sari, Dewa took us on another side trip. He knew a special village where every evening 4,000 white ibis come home to roost. The white ibis were just beginning to zoom in as we walked up the village's main thoroughfare. My 24-70 mm lens was too short to get any spectacular shots of the soaring birds in the dying light. They’ve become somewhat of an attraction and there are signs posted asking for donations to help support the birds.



There were several groups of men sitting in front of their houses holding fighting cocks. They would let the roosters skirmish but not fight to the death like you’d see in Mexico.

My shoulders were killing me from carrying my camera bag and I was talked into a full-body massage as a way to remedy my condition. I’d never had one before and I should have known better. I’m sure it was as unpleasant for the masseur as it was humiliating for me.

For dinner I had chicken in tarragon sauce and mashed potatoes. I should have stuck with spaghetti.

Friday, December 4, 2009

Bali, Cambodia, and Thailand: September 12, 2009


All material including photographs are ©2009 Ronald Dunlap / Doglight Studios

Woke up a little later this morning, but we finished breakfast by 9 and were in the van by 9:30 heading into the interior mountains to visit the Ulum Danu Beratan Temple located at the edge of Lake Beratan. It’s about 50 km north of Denpasar and a good hour and twenty minutes from Ubud, through some really beautiful scenery. This Hindu/Buddhist temple is dedicated to the goddess of the lake and river waters. It was just before 11 am when we purchased our entry tickets. The place was somewhat of a zoo, a zillion tourists and locals, all there to participate or watch the cremation ceremonies. It was mid-day and the light was really ugly, I only got one acceptable shot the first hour and a half we were there. In the right light the temple would be incredibly beautiful, but with the light being so harsh and the landscape being as crowded as it was, I knew it was hopeless to stick around unless we wanted to wait for sunset, but that was still four or five hours away with no guarantee that we’d have a clear sky. It was decided to shoot another 30 minutes and then leave our 4,000 foot perch and head back down to the low land. (Travel tip: The sun in Bali doesn’t seem that strong, but you need to apply sunscreen at least every three to four hours, especially on your neck and ears, otherwise you find yourself sleeping on your face.) We maneuvered our way out of the parking lot and headed south down the mountain.





I’m sure Dewa got tired of us asking him to pull over every 10 minutes, but the landscape was so lush we couldn’t resist grabbing shots of the island's interior terraced rice fields, local business fronts and even a flock of rented ducks cleaning a rice paddy of insects.



I was looking for a couple of Balinese wooden masks and asked the driver if he knew of any carvers whose shops we could stop at. He said he did and it was our first stop in Ubud. The sales staff met us at the door and told us that we could shoot pictures of the buildings and the carvers that were on display, but no pictures were allowed in the galleries where the pieces were for sale. They had a few small miniature masks, but nothing like what I was looking for. They did have a wonderful carving of Ganesha. Unfortunately it was $750, well beyond what I was willing to spend at this stage of the trip. Can never tell when you’re going to need some extra cash to get out of a bad situation.



It was now after 3:30 and my stomach was growling. Dewa found a beautiful restaurant for us to stop at, and we asked him if he’d like to eat with us, but he said that they (Balinese) always ate alone, that way their digestion and renewal weren’t disturbed by human interaction. The restaurant faire turned out to be about one tenth as inviting as our surroundings. Naturally I’d ordered Spaghetti Bolognese, but it wasn’t like any I'd had before or since. At least I was able to wash it down with a Coke. Lunch was 180,000 Rupiahs (about $20). (Observation: Eating in the tourist areas is just a little cheaper than eating in the U.S. If you want to cut your budget, you have to seek out the places where the locals eat, which in Ubud is a hard thing to do, I couldn’t find a place. I think they must all eat at home.) We shot in Ubud, around the tourist shops (no Balinese could afford to shop there), some store fronts and some tourists. I especially liked the female Japanese visitors, they were always dressed to the nines and buffed to a high sheen. They looked incredible, especially when you consider the humidity.

Ann had a spa appointment back at Alam Sari, so we left Ubud at 5:30 and arrived just a little before 6. Dewa had had a long day and I'll bet he was glad to see the last of us for a while. Ann went to get ready for her treatment and I went to my room to clean my camera equipment and myself. I grabbed some chips and a diet coke out of the fridge and sat down to clean. Digital cameras have been a godsend to my work, the only drawback is dust. Even though my Canon 1Ds Mark III (Opinion: The best camera on earth) has a self-cleaning feature, I just don’t fully trust it, so I’m ever on the lookout to prevent dust from sneaking in, especially through my zoom lens, which as I understand it is not fully sealed. As you zoom the lens in and out you suck minute particles of dust into the lens housing, and somehow they work their way down into the interior of the camera. Last year I purchased an Aquatech Sport Shield, it’s like a raincoat for your camera and also keeps out dust. It’s expensive (about $250) but was money well spent. After my experience with it in Vietnam and Cambodia, I was so pleased that now I rarely shoot without it.

Ann came back from her treatment all smiles, with tales of just how wonderful the full body massage was and how lovely the spa women were. I listened for 10 minutes then suggested that another helping of pasta was in order to help stabilize her good mood. We arrived at the dining room, which was deserted as usual. Most of the younger guests were still in Ubud just beginning to party and wouldn’t be back till late. From some of the stories I heard, Ubud has a pretty extensive club scene and it acts as a magnet for much of the tourist dollar. We sat at our usual table, ordered spaghetti and went over to the lobby's computer to check email. I did my business, then Ann took over the machine. I returned to our table to enjoy the mild night and a tree frog serenade that sounded more like green parrots than anything else I could reference. The nights here are like velvet, the air has a tangible physical quality like the caress of invisible butterflies. The Spaghetti arrived and Ann decided she’d prefer to have just noodles, so I got most of her Bolognese sauce, which combined with my own made for a fine meal. I always figure the more protein the better.

Back in the room I did a quick review of the day's take, then pulled the full CF card out of the camera and placed them all in their waterproof case face down so that I'd know which were full and which were ready to work. I changed out the camera battery and made sure to load a fresh memory card, then put the Mark III into its raincoat and zipped it into my sling bag. Knocked on Ann's door and made sure things were copacetic, and said goodnight. Checked my windows and doors to satisfy my paranoia. Lights out at 10 pm

Monday, November 23, 2009

Bali, Cambodia, and Thailand: September 11, 2009


All material including photographs are ©2009 Ronald Dunlap / Doglight Studios

Back at the hotel, we’d been forewarned that we’d have to be properly attired to take part in the ceremony. I’d gone to my room, traded my pants for shorts, took off my Timberlands and put on flip-flops, so I could be wrapped in an unflattering but proper green sarong and matching gold belt. We weren’t the only guests going, so I hung back and brought up the rear of our procession as we made our way to the village. I hadn’t realized just how hard it would be to walk uphill without stepping on my skirt. We finally made it to the clearing where the cremation was to take place, my sarong barely still wrapped around me. The area was sectioned off into four parts representing the four castes (Sudras - peasants, which are the majority of the people; Wesian - the merchant class; Satrias - the warrior class; Brahmans - priests and holy men) of Balinese society.






When a member of the village dies, he or she is buried in the local cemetery for a period of 3 to 5 years, depending on how fast the cemetery fills up. Then the village as a group organizes a ceremony to relieve the land of its human burden, cremate the remains and spread the ashes in the ocean. It begins with each caste carrying in a large wood and papier mache effigy, in this case a black calf. The interior is hollow to accept the human remains and the grave goods that are being sent with the deceased to the afterlife. The male members of the family carry the human remains wrapped in a cloth bundle, while the women bring the funerary gifts in brightly colored wrappings. They assemble around the effigy and carefully fill the interior with their loved ones and gifts that they hope will speed them on their way. A priest or bishop comes and gives the invocation and his blessings for the deceased, then fire is used to help lift them toward the heavens.

I don’t want to be an overbearing guest or “imperialistic photographer,” and it's hard to guess the rules of what’s acceptable and what is offensively intrusive. I try to tread as lightly as possible, but it is hard to overcome my enthusiasm to capture as many visuals as possible.





The island of Bali is part of the nation of Indonesia, which has decreed that “sharia” (Islamic law) will be enforced in Bali in the next few years. (Opinion: The lace dresses that you see the women wearing will be outlawed next year. This and other changes that are sure to come will, I believe, change the character of Bali and its ability to draw tourists to its shores. Bali is 90% Hindu, while Indonesia is 90% Muslim. They have coexisted for a long time and the government should let the status quo stand before they cut the throat of the cash cow that helps keep their country afloat.)

We shot for about three hours, getting back to our rooms about 2:30. It had been a beautiful day, a little overcast, so I had to shoot everything wide open, but I was hoping I got a few good shots out of the 12 GB's worth of images I had taken. We decided we’d change and have a quick lunch and then spend the rest of the day in Ubud. ( Cuisine Tip: I have found that in Southeast Asia, I could have Spaghetti Bolognese anywhere, for lunch and dinner, it is always delicious and I’ve never gotten ill using this strategy. Then again, I am one of those people who can eat the same thing again and again without getting tired of it, so take this tip with a grain of salt.) We engaged Dewa and a van for the afternoon, it takes about 20 minutes to get to town and another 15 minutes to make our way through the local traffic jam to the money changer. I was changing $100 (new bill, no tears or marks) into Indonesian Rupiah, roughly a little less than 10,000 Rupiah per dollar. I made the exchange, got my receipt and barely make it across the street without getting sideswiped. The traffic heading back into town was miserable. Dewa suggested that we visit Pura Bukit Dharma Kutri, the local temple. Ann mentioned that she’d like to stop somewhere on the way and purchase a sarong so that she’d have her own the next time we needed one. There was a small working-class strip mall not far away that the driver knew, and we stopped to see what they had to offer. It took about 15 minutes to find, bargain for and purchase a couple of sarongs and a few miscellaneous pieces. (Almost every purchase in Bali involves bargaining. You ask how much?, they say a price, you offer half of that, then in the end you meet somewhere in the middle. This way of buyingstuff can get a little tiresome, but don’t lose your temper, and keep smiling.)




Pura Bukit Dharma Kutri is made up of ground-level temples and a hilltop shrine. We got there near closing so we had the temple to ourselves with the exception of an ancient nun and her little white dog. The sun was setting and we had to hurry to grab a few shot before it was totally dark. Most of the temples are built in a very similar manner, it’s very difficult to tell one from another, so after awhile I wouldn’t shoot that many frames because all my pictures were look alike. The stairs up to the shrine were closed so we weren’t able to view the statue of Durga, the six-armed goddess of death and destruction. I guess they just didn’t want us climbing at night.

After a fast stop at the western-style market -- a little larger and better stocked than your normal 7-11 in the United States -- for cokes and snacks we were back at the hotel by 7, another helping of spaghetti washed down with a diet coke at 8 and into bed by 10. Golden time comes early.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Bali, Cambodia, and Thailand: September 10-11, 2009



All material including photographs are ©2009 Ronald Dunlap / Doglight Studios

Finally arrived in Bali 34 hours after leaving Los Angeles. 10 hours, L.A. to Tokyo, a 2 hour layover, then 7.5 hours to Singapore where we had a very tuff 12 hour layover and finally 2.5 hours from Singapore to Denpasar. We flew Singapore Air. Coach was a bit cramped, but the wait staff was terrific, none of the underling hostility that seems to permeate the U.S.A. carriers these days.

(TRAVEL TIP: we landed at Singapore’s Changi International terminal 2, if we’d known the airport better, we would have taken the Skytrain to terminal 3 where the shops are open from 6am to 1am, plus a lot of the food sellers are open 24/7. This is one of the great airports of the world, very much like a giant mid-western mall, with almost anything you could want, from a free 24 hour movie theatre, TV lounges, massage, every kind of restaurant you can imagine, even a Burger King, take advantage of it.)

After deplaning at Ngurah Rai International Airport, purchasing a 30 day tourist visa ($25 U.S. dollars), claiming our bags and walking out into the muggy Balinese morning, we came face to face with 25 or 30 hopeful hotel drivers, all waving signs and looking to claim their incoming guests. Dewa was there with a sign from Alam Sari Keliki, my name emblazoned on it. In his early 30’s, he turned out to be very much in tune with the soul of Bali and was instrumental in our understanding of their attitude towards life.

The van moved north through Denpasar (pop. around 500,000) to Ubud, the artistic heart and soul of Bali. A small town of about 10,000, it is becoming one of the island's major tourist destinations. Alam Sari Keliki hotel was 17 km north of Ubud, a wonderful place to relax and enjoy the landscape. I had reserved a “Family Suite,” which was two connecting rooms with two private outdoor baths. The room ran $110 per night so it broke down to $55 per room, including a light breakfast. If you wanted eggs, toast, and a diet coke that was extra. The only drawback is the road that runs past, which always seems to be infested by high-pitched motorbikes. It’s mostly quiet at night, but the island residents start to head out to work around 5am, so I found sleeping in sometimes a little hard, but then again you’re in Bali and really don’t need to sleep while you are here.

I was traveling with Ann Marsden, a photographer from St. Paul, Minnesota. We’d never met before connecting at LAX. I’d been looking for someone to travel with and through a mutual friend we came into contact through email and made all the arrangements. So here we were on Bali looking to capture some great images or at least passable ones.

I seem to be immune to jet-lag, as long as I fly towards the west and that was the case when I got up on the 11th. Showered, waxed my mustache, dressed, and knocked on Ann’s door. She was ready to roll, so with camera gear in hand we walked past the glorious pool to the dinning room. After a breakfast of fruit and hot chocolate, it was time to discover what the local neighborhood had to offer. We had two and a half hours of shooting before we had to be back to attend the local village’s cremation ceremony that we’d just been invited to.

Rice is the life’s blood of the island. Even as tourism is beginning to make inroads, rice is still what nourishes the spirit of the island.

Outside the hotel we turned south and began trudging up the hill, shooting anything and everything that looked remotely interesting. Near the top we spied a small path off to the left leading into the fields. With a little trepidation, and hoping we weren’t breaking some local custom, we walked onto the trail and into a Balinese paradise, one incredible vista after another. The fields are divided into family plots and each plot has it own shrine in which offerings are placed daily to persuade the local spirits to provide a healthy and bountiful crop. The shrines themselves add a beauty and ambiance that enhance the fairyland-like quality of the area. We planned to walk for an hour and then retrace our steps so we wouldn’t be late for the ceremonies. We encountered several farmers on our trek, all smiling and waving as we balanced our way along the high ground between the paddies. Near the end of our walk we encountered a very lovely, petite lady of many years who smiled and waved. She was taking a cold bottle of water out to her husband who was working in the fields. She graciously consented to be photographed and was more than pleased when I paid her a small stipend for her participation, as is my practice.