A Walk Down Monkey Forest Road
Come walk with me down Monkey Forest Road. Smell the cleanliness of the air. Feel the peace. Get in contact with nature that surrounds and envelops us. See the ancient banyan tree that reaches both up to the sky and down to the earth with its tangle of roots flowing from its branches. They are unique trees — ageless and eternal.
Hear the flowing stream and follow its sound down, down, down among the moss and the decaying temple. Step in its refreshing, cool water. Feel the fresh water flow from the spouts along the jungle cliff. Cleanse off your tension, your cares — all the physical and emotional dirt that accumulates. Feel the stream swirl around you as it gurgles on down the path.
Walk the dirt road among the rice paddies. Feel a part of the rice as it drinks and grows before it can nourish us. See the chickens running around, the rooster pursuing the hen, the baby chicks scurrying after their mother. Some day, they too will be on their own.
Marvel at how the women balance rakes and other farm implements on their heads. Say hello to the children who come out of their yard to yell “hello” — the only English word they know. Wave to them. Play with them. Laugh with them.
Watch the palm fronds wave at us with their coconuts dangling. See the healthy rice grow. Try to count the wonderful shades of green everywhere. Say hi and smile to the people we pass, for they are friendly and curious about us.
Let’s eat lunch in a little place in the rice paddies while we listen to the handcarved bamboo and wind chime. Watch the child dance to the tune on a kind of bamboo xylophone played by a handsome young man and a beautiful woman. Talk with the friendly young man who sits next to us to chat even though his English is quite limited.
Look at the black clouds gathering, telling us to head for home. Sit on my porch, protected by a wide, thatched roof, and watch the rain turn into a tropical deluge. The mountains have disappeared. See the woman over there hurrying home through the rice paddies, carrying a huge green leaf over her head for an umbrella.
Listen to the storm. Feel its power. Be awed at its intensity. Listen, listen, listen to nature talking to us, showing us she is still in indisputable command. Hear the irrigation ditches in the rice paddies begin to flow like rivers. Put on earphones and listen to Vivaldi accompanying the storm.
As dusk comes, watch the trees become silhouettes and those magical mountains rise again to their full height before the darkness makes them disappear again. Sharpen your ears to the night creatures that begin their incessant night time conversations and songs. Delight as the little flashes of greenish white light show us where the fireflies fly.
My time in China was the happiest in my life. My time in Bali has been the most exquisite. How connected I feel to China, and how connected to nature.
Written on February 18, 1989 in Ubud, Bali, and included in my book, Memoirs of a Middle-aged Hummingbird, published 2006.
Tags: Bali; Monkey Forest Road in Ubud, Bali; nature in Bali, Travel, Ubud
October 6th, 2008 at 3:06 pm
thanks good blog and post
October 7th, 2008 at 1:28 am
It sounds magical. I wonder if it’s still that way now? Strangely, I was somewhat disappointed when I arrived in Bali. My first impresssion was that it was a desert island rather than the tropical island I was expecting. I did enjoy my short, overnight stay in Ubud… The rice paddies and bamboo groves were more what I was expecting.
October 7th, 2008 at 1:49 am
My last visit to Bali was in 1995. At that time, I only briefly passed through Ubud, but I got the definite impression that it had changed a lot from the rather quiet place I visited in 1989. On my 1995 visit to Bali, I spent 2 months in Munduk, a village high up in the mountains. Although it did have a lovely place for tourists to stay in what was called Puri Lumbung in Munduk, it was quite remote and distant from the fancy resorts and party scene of parts of Bali closer to Denpasar. Since it was a village that invited tourists, rather than a village that had been overtaken by tourism, the feel there was quite different. The owner of Puri Lumbung, who was also a native of Munduk, believed strongly in the concept of eco-tourism. That was the first time I had ever heard the term eco-tourism, but I quickly came to appreciate this man’s vision to spread tourism gently throughout all of Bali and offer tourists more day to day interaction with Balinese, with an emphasis on offering tourists the chance to learn about Balinese culture. In future posts on my blog, I will add some sections from my 1995 stay in Munduk. I can only hope that Puri Lumbung still co-exists happily with the residents of Munduk and remains a model for eco-tourism.