If you imagine looking down at the island of Bali you will see that Ubud is settled roughly in the middle. Before I arrived there, all I knew of Bali was that it is one of the archipelago of islands that make up Indonesia; it harbours a great majority of Hindu worshippers, yet it’s neighbouring islands are mainly made up of Islamic worshippers; it is a hotspot for tourists looking for a picturesque getaway and finally it has been targeted by terrorists in the past. All I knew about Ubud was that it was the artistic heartland of the island, but I had no idea why.
I’m sorry to say that my first impression was to judge Bali by its cover, which doesn’t give the island the justice it deserves. We arrived in Ubud as the sun was setting and discovered that not only had our plane journey and our confined airport transfer been inaccessible that day, but so had our prearranged accommodation.
The following morning we wheeled out of our digs and we were confronted by a tarmac road which twisted through a line of one story buildings that stood shoulder-to-shoulder and that lined the undulated, pot-holed pavements. The motorbike traffic, plus the taxis and trucks tore up and down the road so quickly that they resembled an unstoppable line of raging safari ants. On either side of the road, western restaurants and art shops that sold bamboo wind charms, Balinese paintings and colourful Lombok masks tried their best to entice any overseas visitors. Standing on the edge of the curb and being confronted by an impenetrable line of traffic; curbs/pavements that were impassable and buildings that lined the road, produced a claustrophobic feeling that we were well and truly trapped! The situation felt even more smothering due to my spinal cord injury and my reliance on a wheelchair for my mobility. 
Over the following days this feeling only grew as a result of our accommodation being inaccessible and more so because I had no form of transport that I could ride in, let alone any transport that I could drive myself. It is hard to describe the exact feeling of having a disability and the sensation of being trapped by your surroundings, but after months of freedom, driving Miranda across the world and then experiencing this feeling, I can only describe the experience as frustrating.
Even when I tried to look on the bright side of life by telling myself that I had been pretty lucky to have driven my own vehicle and that I wouldn’t have to live with this feeling for ever, I still found that it was difficult to shift the feeling; especially, as I looked around and saw other tourists passing happily by on motorbikes and buses and knowing full well that I would be unable to join them. Experience has taught me that in life an overwhelming feeling can take hold of you all too easily. I have found that this happens more often when you are travelling, because travelling plants you in new environments that you are unaccustomed to. Overtime I have found (especially on this trip) that if you want to appreciate an experience you have to a) change your attitude and b) put in the effort to find a solution to beat the feeling that is overwhelming you.
With this in mind Chrissy and I decided to tackle the problem head-on by trying to seek out a new environment. We decided to visit the sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary that is home to the Balinese longtailed Macaques and Hindu temples. However, to achieve this we would have to take our lives into our own hands and wheel in the gutter that ran along the road to get to the sanctuary. Thankfully, the local drivers gave way as we started out on our journey, but we were only one hundred yards down the road when we realised the task we had set out on wasn’t going to be as easy as we first expected. Ubud is nestled amongst undulating hills, which meant that Chrissy had to help push me up steep inclines. Once we got to the other side of a hill she then had to hold onto the back of my wheelchair to prevent me careering uncontrollably downhill, hitting the curb at the bottom and being catapulted out of my wheelchair. As we weaved along the road the line of art shops and restaurants seemed to be never ending. Smiling Balinese owners sat on the shop steps; tourist sharked their way through the shops and dogs seemed to trot in and out of the human traffic.
When we arrived at the entrance to the sanctuary we were confronted by a jaded Stagg group from Australia that were dressed in their wife beater shirts, board shorts and thongs and stood limply under the sign to the sanctuary as they waited to be photographed. Behind them a queue of tourist lined up to buy their tickets and a bunch of bananas that could be fed to any number of macaques that hovered in the trees and patrolled the paths. As I waited for Chrissy to buy our tickets I watched a cheeky macaque pounce on a young blond girls head and I couldn’t help laughing as she let out a loud shrill and ran off in the opposite direction. Funnier still, the girl in question didn’t drop the handful of bananas, which made the antisocial macaque chase her down the path. We later learnt that if you turn your palms upwards to show you aren’t carrying any edible merchandise the macaques would totally ignore you and they would give you a look that made you feel like you were the scum of the earth.
Our experience in the forest itself was great. We saw expressions, characteristics and behaviours in the macaques that we recognised in everyday human behaviour. We watched how the alpha males stomped their authority over their troop and how they sized up excited tourists as they made their way along the path. Small groups of juvenile monkeys earnestly tried to outmaneuver each other as they gymnastically swung amongst the lower branches. We even came across a large male who must have been the reincarnation of the mythological Narcissus, because he was so fascinated by his own reflection in the puddle that he was almost oblivious to everything that went on around him. After staring at his reflection for sometime he would whisk up the water with his arm and then he would wait until the water settled at which point he would cock his head to the left as his image reappeared. It wasn’t just the behaviour which made the macaques fascinating but also something in their eyes that made you realise that they weren’t so different from humans at all.
As we walked on we came across trees with trunks that were so wide that it would take five people to link arms together to fully embrace the base of the tree. Further on down the path we came across a temple that could have quite easily featured in an Indiana Jones Movie. On closer inspection we saw that the temple was completely surrounded by a rectangular wall that was meant to protect the inner temple. Scattered on the floor in front of the gates to the entrance lay colorful offerings to the spirits, which are, as we found out part of an integral day-to-day ritual in Hindu life. Large war-like statues of monkey warriors that adorned fierce expressions on their faces (that would rival those reproduced by the New Zealand rugby team during the hakka) lined the walls. On either side of the gates lay a snarling panther and a wild boar that both seemed to have been brought to life by an aluminous green moss which covered them from head to toe and made them impressively stand out from the dark grey gates behind them. I imagined that this sight must have scared the living daylights out of any marauding tribe or evil spirit in days gone by. 
Even though I still had to be helped up steep paths by Chrissy and willing passersby’s whilst we explored the forest I realised that I had been totally distracted from the cooped up, frustrated feeling that I’d experienced earlier that morning. However, when we emerged out of the forest we were confronted by yet another street lined with art shops and hordes of perusing tourists. At the same time dark clouds loomed above us and the heavens opened. Within minutes we were totally drenched. My wheels were so wet that I found that it was impossible to achieve the grip I needed with the palm of my hands to propel my wheelchair. Even though it was raining we decided to make our way back to our guest house, which meant that Chrissy had to help push me all of the way back during the downpour. We must have looked like drowned rats, because when we where halfway there we heard calls from a group of ladies who offered for us to take refuge in the archway of the entrance to the home they were working on. Sitting under the arch we felt cold and wet, however, looking around at our location we saw that we were in a quiet backstreet that was hidden away from the main tourist drag. At that point we saw a hint of the true reality of Ubud village. We saw that the families lived behind tall walls and we saw glimpses of Hindu statues of elephant gods as we peered through the narrow entrances to their homes. 
When the rain eased the five ladies came out to the road to start their work again. They refilled huge basins with gravel and then they worked as a team to lift the basins onto their heads before they disappeared out of sight. It was here that it struck me that there are two sides to Ubud. The first and most obvious is the blatant mirage of life where tourists bustle to snap up photos or bargains. The second is the hidden side of Balinese life that you have to look hard to find. It was here, sheltering from the rain where we witnessed the divide in lives and where we realised that we would have to scratch harder to get a better understanding of what Bali was truly like.
The Great Dilemma - Art and livelihoods or deforestation?
“There are no trees left in Bali”. This was an answer that came from a thirty year old Balinese man named Ketut. He was sitting on the step of his workshop talking to me. Behind him sat hundreds of wooden carvings of a wide variety of animals (komodo dragons, elephants, horses etc) that looked so lifelike that they looked like a magical spell had been cast upon live animals and they had been magically transformed into wood. I knew Ketut was the fourth child in his family due to his name. In Bali they have a naming system where the first child is called Wayan; the second Made; the third Nyoman; the fourth Ketut and after that the cycle begins again. Ketut sat in front of his art and shared a little part of his life with me.Art has quite literally stamped its authority over the small town of Ubud. Every shop we had passed in the touristy streets the day before, were relying on Art to produce an income to sustain their livelihoods. Ketut was the same, apart from the fact that he actually created the carvings. We met him towards the end of a day exploring the backstreets of Ubud. Prior to this we saw Hindu statues hidden behind tall walls; we saw indications of normal day-to-day life and we saw glimpses of the past. On one occasion an old man walked his bicycle past us and on another, a man passed by with a huge bundle of bamboo on his head and it felt like we had stepped back in time. However, we were still confronted by the constant buzz of motorbikes buzzing up and down the road and the reminder of the mirage of Bali.
By the time we came across Ketut and his workshop we must have walked a kilometer away from the main town. Situated behind Ketut sat two very large, wooden, Asian elephants. They were literally the equivalent size of a young elephant. “Ten years ago we used to carve elephants from tree trunks that measured 150cm wide. Today we can only get trunks that are 90cm wide”, Ketut said as he saw me looking over his shoulder. He went onto explain that the wood he used came from Java and that he believed that in ten years time it would all be gone. I turned to look at a carving that I really liked and I instantly felt guilty that I wanted to buy it. I thought to myself that if I did I might as well go and chop down the jungle myself!
Ketut went onto show me some tropical fish and shells he had just carved. They were remarkably lifelike and they were the first of the two hundred and fifty piece order that he had been commissioned to complete by the end of the month. He explained how he was able to employ ten members of his family as a result of the numerous orders he would get from people from around the world. Even his grandfather carves wood for him in the comfort of his own home. I asked him if he would like his children to follow in his footsteps and he said that he would like that very much if he was lucky enough to have children. I felt very happy that Ketut and his family could make a living by producing Art for the tourist industry. However, it doesn’t take a genius to work out that it is a livelihood that isn’t sustainable; particularly due to the amount of businesses that are involved in this industry in Ubud – they would need an unlimited supply of wood to last them a lifetime. Before we left I asked if he could use trees grown from sustainable forests. He said he could, but it would take ten years to grow a tree before it grew to a width of 30cm.
Ketut’s art was amazing. I came away feeing happy to have met him, but I couldn’t help thinking about the long term environmental impact of his work and that once a forest had been cut down it would be gone forever! On the flip side of the coin I could see how the tourist industry was helping to provide livelihoods for hundreds of people like Ketut and his family. I went away with a question, what is the alternative?
The Great Escape
By the third day in Bali we had nicknamed one of the members of staff at our guesthouse with the name “Lurch”. Lurch looked like a miniature version of Roald Dahl's “Big Friendly Giant”. By that I mean he had a little round head that was perched on top of a skinny lanky body and his arms seemed to be two sizes too long. What’s more his ears looked like the handles of a world cup trophy and he had a long forehead that had a thin layer of dark hair perched on top that was combed into a side parting. However, we didn’t name him due to his looks but rather because he didn’t seem to have a top layer of teeth and as a result his tongue would lurch out of his mouth whenever he talked to you.
I think Lurch must have gone to Tourism College to study ‘How to be a social hand grenade’, because he would lurk around outside our room. At any given opportunity he would invite himself in and he would stay until I ran out of things to say and I awkwardly had to say, “Okay, it was nice talking to you. Bye for now”. He reminded me of a cold wet shower curtain that seemed to cling to you at any opportunity. One of the most awkward moments with Lurch happened just after the first time he helped Chrissy lift me into my shower chair. Without warning his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he started chanting in a trance-like voice. He then began to slap my neck with his open palm, whilst all the time his tongue lurched in and out. As quickly as he started he snapped back out of his trance and told me that he had healed me. I thanked him and then he scurried out of my room. More awkward still was whenever he talked to Chrissy he seemed to stare at her intently and his tongue would work overtime. By this point I was beginning to feel even more confined by my surroundings. I had felt a little relief at the Monkey Temple and when I met Ketut but due to our inaccessible accommodation and Lurch lurking around both Chrissy and I felt like we just had to escape.
Our ‘Great Escape’ came in the form of a pickup truck. We had met a friendly local guy called Tony and I persuaded him that if he could borrow his mums pickup I’d pay anyone who could take us for a drive to a crater lake an hour and a half north of Ubud called Lake Batur. The morning we were picked up it was cold and wet but we were both excited to get out of our current environment. After I was strapped down, we began the steep climb up to Lake Batur. The full extent of the amount of art shops only became apparent after we had driven for over half an hour and on either side of us Art workshops still lined the streets. All of a sudden we where in the countryside and all around us we saw rice terraces that had aluminous green rice plants growing in them and coconut trees dotting the landscapes like fired arrows in a battlefield.
By the time we reached Lake Batur we had returned at least a thousand smiles and my shoulders ached from holding on to the back of my chair as we weaved through hairpin bends and tackled steep slopes. Thankfully, the tarpaulin had kept me dry and I could see that the bright yellow kid’s anorak that Chrissy was wearing had done the job too – even though it was only just long enough to cover her elbows. Driving to the lake was well worth it. At one point we felt like we were driving in the clouds and it was hard to make out the numerous wooden stalls that were selling succulent fruit. By the time we reached the lake the clouds began to lift. Looking at the lake, the crater walls stood out like a row of dark teeth that stopped the water flowing out of the far side and although Mount Batur was obscured by clouds we could see the dark black lava flow that occurred after the eruption in 1974 and 1994. Whilst we enjoyed a hot glass of thick, sweet Balinese coffee we talked to some friendly locals. Over their shoulders I could see where the edge of the lava flow stopped just before it reached the lake.
The Great People - Senang Hati Foundation
On our way back from Lake Batur we finally began to feel the warmth from the sun as it penetrated through the separating clouds. Days earlier Chrissy had spotted a Balinese painting in a shop window. There was nothing unusual with this per se apart from in the centre of the picture a Balinese man in traditional clothing was pictured sitting in a wheelchair. With her interest triggered, Chrissy went in and found out that the whole shop was devoted to selling artwork that had been produced by Balinese people with disabilities. During her visit Chrissy heard of an organisation based in the hills of Ubud that has been set up to empower people with disabilities. When Chrissy returned to discuss her interesting find we decided we would visit Senang Hati Foundation on the way back from Lake Batur.
By the time we reached the Foundation the thrill of riding in the pickup; the fresh air; the sense of freedom and the warm welcome we had experienced from the Balinese had created a smile on both our faces that was going to be hard to shift. We must have looked like a couple of delinquent kids conspiring to cause mischief. We didn’t realise that the next two hours were going to bring even more unforgettable and uplifting experiences.
After being lifted down from the pick up we wheeled up a steep slope and into a small compound where three bungalow sized buildings where set out in a ‘C-shape’. We were instantly greeted by a small group of people in wheelchairs who were in the middle of a cooking course. We were shown around by three members of the group and they explained how the organisations worked and how it had made a huge impact to their lives.
The small community of young people had one form of disability or another, but the majority contracted polio at a young age. Thirty people share the premises on a daily basis. Whilst they live there they are trained in a series of different ways, whether in hairdressing; business, art or basic day-to-day skills like cooking. During our visit they showed us their small physio room, their salon, their recreational area, the boys and girls dorms and their office. After sharing lunch with them, they took us into their Art studio where we witnessed a room filled from top to bottom with amazing work painted by people with disabilities. It was here where two young brothers who both had polio showed us their skill and teamwork by working up a musical sweat on a bongo drum. We had only been there a while and I felt like my cheeks ached from smiling. It was hard not to smile in the company of this happy group. There was a comradeship here that seemed to unit the whole group.
My happiest moment came as we were leaving. The older brother of the drumming duo took me down to the road to show me the specially adapted motorbike that he had talked to me about earlier. As he was talking to me his young brother pulled up to the side of the bike and transferred himself from his wheelchair and into the sidecar. Seeing the two of them sitting proudly on their motorbike and hearing how the bike had made their lives so much more independent really struck a cord with me and I felt so happy for them that I had to struggle to hold back my emotions.
It’s strange to think how such a simple thing such as an adapted motorbike or an adapted van can make such a difference to someone’s life if they have a disability, but they do. Solutions like the one I was looking at represented freedom and independence. The freedom to drive to his family’s house; the freedom to get a job - because he can travel to work independently - and the freedom to escape his own environment if he wants to. The example I was looking at reaffirmed to me that we are all bound to face challenges in our lives but there is always a solution to the difficulties we face – we just have to seek those solutions out.
The Senang Hati Foundation welcomes visitors to their organisation. Visitors are also able to go there for a meal, therefore, if you are ever in Bali I would urge you to pay them a visit. It certainly would be the highlight of your holiday.
At the beginning of our visit I felt trapped and claustrophobic. I had also mistakenly chosen to judge Bali by its cover. Thankfully, with Chrissy's help, I chose to make a concerted effort and not to let a situation overwhelm me. Once again I had learnt a lesson in an unexpected way and that’s the beauty of travelling.
