Ex-pat For A Week

The concept and the idea of “the expatriate” has always been one that intrigued me (even more so since November 2nd). Who are these people? Where do they come from? How do I become one? In the town of Ubud we would get the opportunity to study this rare species in the jazz clubs, art studios and villas that comprise their natural habitat. Our original plan had been to swing through Ubud long enough to take in a few of the traditional Balinese dances on offer and to take in the work of local artists before moving on. While we accomplished these cultural outings, we ended up with an experience that went a whole lot deeper.

It all started with crazy David. We met him in line at the Indonesian embassy in Bangkok. He was holding up the queue and generally confusing the hell out of the guy behind the counter. “…So..like..i don’t know, man. What should I put here? It says place of issue but..like..should I put D.C. ‘cause that’s where the government is..or..umm..maybe I should put Maryland, huh…because I think that’s where the passport office is?” In the interest of everyone grumbling behind me, I offered that putting “United States” would probably do the trick. “Oh…cool man, cool.” When we returned 3 business days later to pick up Radka’s visa, old David was there again, wild eyed and smiling but equally confused looking. After telling us his story in a very scattered sort of way (been in Bali on and off for 14 years…lives in Ubud…just in Bangkok on a visa run) he offered us his email to get in touch when we came through Ubud. We didn’t really know what to make of him but were happy to have a local contact nonetheless.

The next connection was made our last days on Gili Air. The couple in the bungalow across from us was an amicable American named Dave and his Balinese girlfriend, Dewi. With out any provocation or even much prior conversation, D and D informed us on their last day that they had a large house in Ubud and that we were welcome to stay with them when we passed through. (Wow…what is it with these American Ubudians named Dave intent on hooking us?) Not being one to pass up a free offer, I thanked them and said we would definitely be in touch.

Despite Radka’s apprehensions, Dave and Dewi came through on their offer and in a big way. They picked us up on their motor bikes 30 minutes after we arrived in town, whisked us back to their amazing (and big) tropical villa, showed us our new room, gave us a set of keys and promptly left to meet friends for diner. We explored the house and it’s lush landscaped gardens and burst out laughing at our good fortune. Sure beats Bob’s Basic Bungalows or what ever back packer dive we would have ended up at.

That evening we randomly ran into crazy David at the Jazz Café, still just as confused but happy to see us and intent on taking us to see where he stays (an insane playhouse/castle that only an artist could have dreamed up) and to meet some people. And meet some people we did. There was Tony the white bearded architect from England, Nomad, his sage like apprentice, Oded the organic farmer and drum instructor and a myriad of other characters that had given up their home land for a piece of paradise. We returned to the villa that evening tired from the days travels and our night on the town but energized for what the next few days might have in store.

The next morning over breakfast, Dave and Dewi proceeded to up the anty. “We have to fly out to Java for three days on business (Dave imports stone carvings to the U.S.). Do you guys want to stay here and keep an eye on things while we’re gone?” Hell yeah we do! Having a house to lounge around in and a kitchen to cook in and a yard to lay out in, not to mention a kitten to play with, was something we certainly had not experienced in quite a while. Needless to say, we sunk in to our new domestic roles quite easily.

For the next week we proceeded to live the expat life of luxury aided and abetted by our new friends previously mentioned. We swam in rivers that flow through caves that tourists will never know about. We visited waterfalls buried in the jungle that only someone living here 14 years could ever find. We hung out with local artists and eccentrics your average traveler would never chance upon meeting. We took road trips with them to the hills of Bedougal and Singaraja in the North, the beaches of Sanur in the South and tomorrow, Oded is driving us all the way to Medewi in the West, where Radka and I had planned to chill for a few days before making our way back to Kuta.

The generosity of others has obviously saved us a good bit of cash that I’ve happily invested in local paintings and woodcarvings…although I have no idea how I’ll manage to carry this booty through the rest of the trip. It certainly won’t fit in my rucksack. Mercifully (yet sadly), only a month remains.

I must head off now in search of a nice bottle of wine to leave for our gracious benefactors, pack my bags and feed the cat. Radka’s also probably waiting for me to cook up some pasta one last time in our adopted kitchen. The domestic bliss has been nice (as well as inspiring) but the road still beckons.