Day 49: Patience in Bali
“Bali is all about patience”. So says Nevin my AirBnB host and erstwhile guide to Ubud, Bali as we wait out the rain at his friend Wayan’s house.
It was supposed to be a quick run up to the rural northern outskirts of Ubud to pick up a prized gas tank to supply his shower’s new hot water heater. These larger canisters are rare in Bali; you can’t buy them in shops. You have to know someone willing to give one up, and it’ll take a thick wad of Rupiah to loosen their grip. Why are they so rare, and why doesn’t someone just import a bunch? “Sometimes in Bali there just isn’t a reason”.
But now the heavy rains have settled in. My first rain storm since a single day in Pai and only my third day with rain since coming to southeast Asia.
Bali is not in its dry season as Thailand is. It rains here every day. And when it rains while you’re visiting, hospitality dictates you stay where you are and relax with friends. Don’t try and do things. Definitely don’t scooter out in the wet. It’ll pass. Let go of your meagre plans for a while.
It’s not like this pleasant rest is the first test of patience in even this one errand. A ceremony was taking place ahead of us on the road up. A big one that backed the traffic up behind it for miles. We never did find out what it was about, but it featured cute children with faces painted to look like animals. Nothing to do but move over to the roadside, get under cover and wait for the traffic and the drizzle to abate.
And now we’re waiting again, at Wayan’s family’s home.
The home a solid compound of buildings: kitchen, workshop and an amazing family temple. The tropical climate means that what would be rooms where I come from are little buildings in a minuature city. The hallways small roads. Each structure is very intricate with stone and wood carvings everywhere.
The family are craftspeople, wood carvers. They make the detailed adornments which seem in Bali to frame every window, door, awning, banister — anywhere you can use attractively-carved wood. They’re not rich — the food is cooked in a wood stove, the water is boiled to make it potable. But nothing about the place gives the impression of poverty.
It’s a lovely home to visit. And while you wait with friends, hospitality also dictates you’ll be fed. First with tasty snacks. Sweet little rice dough donuts (which I maddeningly haven’t been able to locate since). Sugary crackers and tea.
Then as the minutes turn to hours, a proper meal. Lunch. Sambal, rice, satay and some chicken sausage. A nice veggie dish and some incredibly tasty noodles. Relatives of ramen if not ramen itself.
Delicious, and much appreciated. We watch the clouds churn. I chat with Nevin about his nascent agroponics business, his English lessons with Wayan and life in Bali. Nevin chats with Wayan and his family: two generations of Ibu, the father and the little kid. An unruly (officially entitled “Bad”) Bali puppy bites my feet. Stuffed, we continue to pick at the ample food.
Time passes. Eventually so does the rain.
The invaluable gas tank is bungied precariously to the back of Nevin’s scooter and we head back down the mountain cautiously.
If the Balinese really do offer lessons in patience I can think of no better teachers. After all, they have a beautiful home and plenty of food to offer strangers. The rain will pass when it’s time to do a little work and return when it’s time for a break.
What’s there to be impatient about?
