World's Oldest Female Backpacker (no, not me!)

We've taken a certain amount of pride in backpacking our way around India for two months and now SE Asia for a total of four months with our 7 kg packs on our backs.  So just when we thought we were a wee bit of hot stuff, enter Elizabeth from Bonn, Germany.

It's a totally chance meeting in the warung just a quick walk from our homestay.  Although the sweet owner, Sri, overcooks her fish, we have gone back a few times out of . . . loyalty or something I can't identify.  Something about another one of those humblingly sweet Balinese we feel almost guilty about not patronizing! (and no amount of coaxing and pleading on Tim's part can persuade her to take the fish out of the pan/off the grill sooner!)

Back to Elizabeth.  One night at Sri's, we see a single older lady at the next table (there are only 4 tables) and we exchange hellos, talk a bit about food and her love of mango smoothies which she pours over her leftover dinner rice (we think it's a bit weird).  Next night, there she is again, and we invite her to join us. 

Turns out she's 85 years old, born in 1930, and has a horrifyingly vivid memory of watching German Jews being marched through the streets of her city.  It is embarrassing and painful . . . she's widowed 10 years and apparently glad to see the last of old hubby ('a gambler and a drunk to whom I had to pay support for years!')  Since his demise, she's traveled solo for four months every winter ('it's too cold to stay in Germany!') and she makes us look like backpacking wannabes!  She's been to India multiple times and absolutely loves it. ('I think I know it better than I know Germany.')  From here, she's on her way to the Phillipines for a month with old friends from Bonn. 

Another night's dinner and we're practically old friends.  She invites us to come and stay with her in Bonn (she has a 14-room house), and to arrive by the last Saturday in September when she hosts a 'big party' for all her friends.  'You can help me with the party.' 

This is her last night in Amed, and she's very nostalgic.  She's been coming here every night for dinner for two weeks (her homestay is a km away), thanks to taxi service on Sri's brother's scooter.  She's an avid hiker but these roads at night, even with a flashlight, are dangerous.  And Elizabeth is no shrinking violet.  Somehow we get on the subject of cockfights in Bali, and she whips out her iPhone and proceeds to play a video of a cockfight she attended!!  'Awful' she says as she hits 'replay'.

She insists we join her in a farewell drink - an Arack Attack.

Silly us, we think it's a benign, mildly alcoholic thing and want to be sociable.  One of these, split three ways, is a mind-bender.  This is the local hootch, poteen, moonshine, jakeleg that Tim swears is 100 proof.  My mouth and brain are immobilized - I am incapable of speech.  Arack is made from some sort of distilled palm leaves and to make it palatable, is sweetened with honey and lemon.  No doubt it would otherwise take the enamel off your teeth and permanently anesthetize your tongue. 

Our new friend, Elizabeth . . .

See you in September, Elizabeth!

A Month in Bali . . . Starting in Amed

Trying to decide where to go in Bali is a bit like trying to decide which cheese to buy in a French market - how can you choose from 400 varieties when they all look so wonderful . . . and you're very hungry??  That was our dilemma in Bali, but we finally decided on a 'taster' tour - some time on the upper NE coast, a visit to one of the out islands, a stop in Ubud and finally, another beach stop in Bali.  A month in all, the limit of an Indonesian tourist visa without incredible gyrations to extend it, which we opted out of.

Amed, our NE coast destination, is not really a town but an area that spans about 10km of coastline and has gained a lot of popularity of late for its dive and snorkeling sites.  It appealed to us because it was small, sparsely populated, and from all accounts retained a healthy dose of 'original' Balinese culture and charm.  It sits in the shadow of Bali's most sacred mountain, Agung, an active volcano which erupted just 50 years ago.  As a result, the beaches are a coarse black sand and the surrounding countryside a farmer's dream.

When you look at a map of Bali, it appears that getting from place to place isn't that big a deal - there are clearly marked roads and they seem to connect lots and lots of towns, not to mention the major tourist areas.  The distance from Denpasar airport to Alur Homestay in Amed looked to be about 50, maybe 60 km; it took almost 3 hours to make the drive!!  But worth it . . .

Amed is sweet, unspoiled and our homestay hosts were doting and caring.  Our room was right on the

beach with a perfect view of Mt. Agung.

Breakfast appeared each morning, delivered by the always smiling and delicate Wayan, sister of the owner, Made (pronounced Mah-day).  Somehow they knew within minutes of when we awoke and coffee appeared as soon as our eyes were fully open and a hearty breakfast shortly thereafter.

 The tourist boom has had its impact - there are a slew of guesthouses and warungs (restaurants) up and down Amed's one street.  But there is still a large indigenous population living as they have for years and doing what they've done for centuries - farming and fishing.  Every day at dusk, the fleet of boats that sat idle on the beach are lugged into the water by all available hands.  Men just seem to appear when needed and some number of them climb into each boat and somehow, using nets and muscle, bring in the catch. 

We eat a lot of fish.  Mackerel, snapper, tuna, and a few we've never heard of. 

Made tells us that the Indonesian government subsidizes the fishing industry by helping fishermen acquire the boats and the funny little outboard motors that propel them. That is the only explanation for the economics of this operation as there are as many as 15 men on one of these boats, and the catch doesn't seem to begin to support more than the feeding of their families, much less have anything left to take to market. 

Reminds us of the fishermen we saw in Kerala, South India - different boats, different catch but time-honored, collaborative traditions.