PART Deux

So, picking up where I left off, though hopefully in less loquacious terms…

The ride to Ubud was far more enjoyable than its predecessor, especially due to our being properly equipped and attired this time, though it too took a good deal longer than one would normally expect. I, being the smart one, cleverly neglected to include my soft shell jacket in my day pack, though I knew full well that we were due to ascend to well over five hundred feet. It’s one of those things that are easily overlooked in the tropics: the omnipresent sweltering heat belying the fact that altitude is the same the world over: colder. So, motoring along through the mist and rain up the narrow road, we finally made it to the rim of the crater. After paying an access fee, brought to our attention by a whistle blasting collector whom I had at first mistaken to be a bribe hungry copper, and thus paid niente attention to, we were informed of the best way to access the lake and hot springs.
WOW! Though only my second volcanic experience, this one stood in stark contrast to the Tongariro area of New Zealand. Gunung Batukaru is equatorial, verdant, relatively small, and easily accessible; Tongariro was alpine, barren, relatively large and high, and a three day hike. Though they lie in stark contrast to each other, I find it difficult to easily compare the two, nor do I have time to do so. However, I will say that I preferred Tongariro, if only for the challenge it posed, and the isolation which I felt was more fitting to its tectonic nature. That said though… it was amazing to see co many people living right in the crater itself, especially given the penchant of Indonesian volcanoes to erupt. The jungle ran right up to the upper teaches of the scree slopes: the higher ridges marked by a long line of what appeared to be lone pines, though I couldn’t make out the species from our vantage point. Composed of at least four cones, the original crater houses evidence of continued activity, though I have no figures readily available to attest to that fact. Anyway… that’s dry prater to most, so I shan’t continue along those lines.

Night looming fast, Josh and I made due haste back to Ubud after a brief stop at a bom bensin (gas station/shack). Making phenomenal time as it was all down hill, we had to keep close watch on our engines – these being motor scooters rather than proper motor bikes: a pedal operated gear shift on the left side, but no clutch – they tended to overheat and under-perform both uphill and down. I figured out a way to “double clutch” as it were in order to cruise down hill in neutral – a good part of the way.

Back in Ubud, we made for a warung where we had dinner before repairing to a newly constructed expat bar (yes, even in Ubud), which we heard had a decent pool table. Indeed it did, though the clientele were far too white and far too colonial in their own superior and condescending sort of way. Both Josh and I took offence to the way in which the owner and his friends addressed their staff, and being able to do little else, we left.

At this juncture, I would like to relate the tale of he cock. NO, I don’t refer to any sort of promiscuous behavior on my part, or Josh’s, and I’m not certain I would sully these pages with matters of that nature anyhow – Hi MOM! – But rather I refer to the pernicious little shit of a rooster who so rudely and forcefully doth did disturb my slumber those otherwise lovely nights in Ubud. Every morning at just before dawn, the crowing and posturing would commence. Now, mind you, I’m all for the greeting of the morn, and maybe a little showboating on the side… god knows, even that fucking cock needs a little play now and again. But an hour’s worth of shenanigans carried out by not only that little shit, but his mates too, both far and near, was absolutely intolerable. Had I a weapon handy and anywhere near enough sleep, I would have been tempted, nay, would have certainly slain the presumptuous cacophonic imp. As the matter stood though, I had little recourse but to exercise the latter portion of Murphy’s Law of Peenie Tetes: which, as has now been made apparent, holds equally to Homo sapiens as to barn yard animals. I managed to get a picture of the little brute the morning of our departure. He was poised high on his mighty pedestal – no, really – cawing away to his ruddy heart’s content. I’ll try and post it if I get a chance, but I would rather spare myself the grief of seeing him again. I hate him.

So, that out of the way…. We made it back safe and sound to Kuta. Josh was due to leave in two days following our return, so we scouted out the southern peninsula for the more touted surfing spots, only to find that they were lauded for good reason: awesome waves – though not at that moment – and reef breaks: two factors which I shan’t have anything to do with, thank you all the same. Sunset approaching, and a safely surfable beach not in sight, we stumbled upon a little cove accessed by a steep path from the road above. Parking our bikes, we made for it, and spent the next hour or so lounging ever so comfortably in the balmy waters, far from the melee of the crowds at Kuta.
The next day found us giving a go at the mediocre swell back at Kuta beach. The waves were non existent and we were forced to call it a day before it had even begun. Reading and another round of gin over ice cold Bintangs proved to be the order of the day, rounding out Josh’s stay much as we had done back in Falls Church in days of yore.
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Oh, I've been meaning to start a list of stats to give insight into my wasted time and frame of mind, so here goes...

Current Position: S 08◦ 42.546' / E 115◦ 09.997
Current Read: "The Onion Eaters"- J.P. Donleavy
Current Music: Bruce Hornsby; Toots and the Maytals

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And so concludes this installment of the Green Lantern. Please join us again next time for the “”Case for Silence and Matters of Self Reflection”.