Land of the Goddess

Pura Tanah Lot, Bali

“And this day, I shall bestow on humankind, a piece of land as a magnificent house for My Goddesses”.

For some, that land is Bali. As I first set my foot on Kuta Beach Bali, the gusty sea breeze slapped on my face. It smelled different. In fact, everything seemed different despite that we were only 3 hours away from KL. And here I am, standing, completely dumbfounded in the middle of a gazillion tourists – Aussies with surfboards, quirky Javanese with non-matching socks and stimulating beach girls in 2-piece. The island as though alive, fuelled by tourism. Even the stray dogs seemed overweight and healthy, being incessantly fed with tourists’ Big Mac’s leftovers.

This cross-culture between Hindu and Buddha, explains why the Pura (the temple) portrays so much resemblance of the two religions – the statues, the monkey monuments, and most amazingly, the intricate stone carvings that lavishly decorated the walls of every Balinese house. Shops instantly transformed into discos by dawn, beaming erratic multicolour lights to the sky, deafening the passersby. But, such scene appears so uncommon among the villagers of Tegalalang, where the chirps of sparrow and contoured green rice terraces simply gives colour to what this mystical island is all about. Here are some quick facts about Bali:

1. Every village, there are 3 puras (temples) for their goddesses – Brahma, Vishnu, and Siva

2. Women in menstruation are advised not to enter pura for fear of “emotional breakdown” –“lemah semangat”

3. Rp4,000 (RM2.00) is only good for a 500ml mineral water.

4. Penis-shaped ashtrays range between Rp15,000 to Rp120,000, depending on the size.

5. Before you wet in your pants, get your vocabulary right. “Kamar kecil” is toilet, in Indonesia.

6. Contrary to KL drivers, honking is not a sign of “Woi! Mangkuk hayun. Lesen kopi ka!”

A Balancing Act

On board KL-Kota Bharu Senandung Malam
The squeaky honk from the incoming train woke me from my daydreaming. Children scampering in joy, an old man with basket full of kerepek and home-made kueh, and the Mercedez-taxi gang in Ray Ban shades lurking at gloomy corners, preying on disembarking passengers- the Wakaf Bharu stop looked more like a pasar than a train station. The 12-hour journey from KB to KL simply shed new light on the things that I missed, if not, forgotten. From villages in lush green forest to the mesmerizing KLCC Tower, from beca-pullers to blood-sucking KL taxi drivers - the transition appears so radical, revealing, but indeed more refreshing than the KL Air Pollution Index.

After constantly knocking my head against the narrow ceiling of my sleeping berth, I woke up at midnight and staggered across 5 cabins towards the tail-end of the train to where the canteen was. On one table, three teenagers, probably insomniacs were shuffling cards raucously. Miraculously I squeezed in between the small, narrow seat that definitely not beer-belly-passenger friendly. The waiter nodded to me, even before I raised my hands, signaling that he knew what I want, as if there was Maggie Kari written on my forehead. I thought walking straight on a moving train was challenging enough until I witnessed the sequence of event of how the Malaysia’s famous dish landed on my table. Imagine, having to pour hot water, pull the tea (“teh tarik”), balancing a bowl of noodle and frothy cup of tea on both hands – all these on a moving, swaying, bumpy train. The uneven track did not help. Simply amazing, indeed it was a top class act for me who can’t even stand up straight on a firm ground. Truly Asia, I must say.