Singapore

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We learned through the cruiser’s grapevine that you don’t want to stay in Indonesia even one day past your cruising permit’s expiration.  However, the new marina where we had luckily booked a berth couldn’t get us in until a day after our cruising permit expired but as our luck would have it, we were able to secure a reservation for a berth at the Republic of Singapore Yacht Club for the one night.

 

Leaving the 5-star luxury resort on Bintan Island, which was our last stop in the Sail Indonesia Rally, we made our way due west in the early morning.  The water was flat calm and the wind nonexistent, as it usually is this close to the equator – calm enough that I was able to make a batch of banana nut muffins while we were underway.  By late morning, we were approaching our way point where we would make a hard right turn in an attempt to cross the heavy freighter traffic at a right angle.  Singapore is the second busiest shipping port in the world (Shanghai is the busiest) and a 200- to 300-meter long freighter passes every 12 minutes, some just poking along and some at a good clip.  Our chart plotter confirmed a never-ending trail of ships but even though we hadn’t quite made it to our right-turn waypoint, we saw a break in the thick traffic and made a dash to cross the Vessel Traffic Separation lanes.  The 2-mile wide crossing went pretty well but we still had to alter our course several times as we approached Singapore’s shores but, fortunately, it wasn’t the white-knuckle experience that we had been anticipating.

No sooner had we arrived in the Western Anchorage and hailed Immigration on the VHF radio when their launch approached us.  We handed over all our documents and prepared ourselves to wait for the next couple of hours for them to process our paper work but a mere half hour later, they returned the completed forms to us and welcomed us to Singapore.  With our big yellow Quarantine flag lowered and the Singapore courtesy flag hoisted in it’s place, we steamed our way through the hundreds of ships in the anchorage.  The yacht club was still about 10 miles to the west and we got a good view of the coast line as we made our way there – hundreds of 30- and 40-storey apartment buildings, like so many blades of fescue in a pasture.  The huge cranes that unload the containers from the ships were lined up for miles and all of them seemed to be in operation simultaneously.  The refineries on Jurong Island seemed to be crowded right next to each other, their tall stacks belching smoke.

We pulled Rutea into her assigned slip at the yacht club and I was immediately disappointed.  I had been expecting better maintained docks but these appeared to be somewhat neglected, with blades of grass growing up through the wood that separates the concrete.  Once I was in the dock master’s office, I learned that if I wanted to move to the marina where we had our reservation, we would have to apply for a cruising permit.  Before I could apply for a cruising permit, I would have to take and pass a proficiency exam.  It wasn’t a quick decision but the cheap rate to stay at the yacht club helped.  The other thing that I didn’t like is that the yacht club is right next to the terminal that shuttles crew out to the freighters.  A constant stream of 50-foot launches, their big, throaty diesels rumbling, churn up the water so that even the big boats at the club’s docks roll badly.  Shortly after we arrived, Rutea took such a bad roll that it pulled her plastic dock step (which was tethered to her lifeline) into the water and then when she rolled back the other direction, it smashed the puny folding step into pieces against the dock.  To be fair, though, the rest of the club’s amenities are very nicely appointed, modern and even luxurious.  Two dining options (one casual, one more formal), a new gym with all the latest equipment (they even provide thick, white towels with RSYC embroidered in large, blue letters), a chart room with an extensive collection of navigational charts and a very well air conditioned bar that has a pool table.  There is even a Jackpot Room, which is lined with slot and video poker machines but as a guest we don’t have access to it.

After being in Indonesia for three months, I was surprised at how quickly we adapted to being in a First World country again.  In no time we had figured out how to ride the MRT, Singapore’s extensive underground railway system that always seems to be crowded.  English is the official language of Singapore but everything on the buses and trains is translated into Tamil, Mandarin Chinese and Malay.  Another big difference between Singapore and Indonesia is the cost of living:  Although the trains, buses and taxis are pretty reasonable, the cost of almost everything else appears to be stratospheric.  One of the most disconcerting is the cost of beer because a cold 650ml Bintang would be around 4,000 Indonesian rupiah (US$3.50) in a more upscale restaurant and a much smaller beer would set you back about $12 Singapore dollars (US$10) in a casual eatery.  Of course, the most obvious difference between the two countries is that Singapore is ultra-modern while a substantial percentage of Indonesia’s population still lives a near-subsistence life style.

Since the British took control over Singapore in 1819, they set up communities for the Chinese and the Indians that they imported to be indentured labor (the British lost control over Singapore in 1941 when they were humiliated by the Japanese).  Today, these two cultures retain their traditions, foods and culture in sprawling areas that draw millions of tourists.  There’s even an Arab quarter where one night we had a spectacular Mediterranean dinner.  The sights and sounds of each area are intoxicating.

The ethnic neighborhoods notwithstanding, the other ubiquitous feature that heavily populates Singapore are the shopping malls.  They’re everywhere.  Most of them are very upscale but almost all of them have a similar layout; meaning that you can always find a food court with not-so-expensive fare.  With only anecdotal evidence from our casual observations, Singaporeans love to shop and the malls are crowded from early in the morning to late at night.

When you’re visiting as many countries as we are, its easy to fill up your passport and who wants to be denied entrance into a country because there’s no room in your passport for their stamp?  Both Ruthie and Corie’s passports were almost completely full so they made appointments at the US Embassy in Singapore to have pages added.  Embassy Row in Singapore is on a busy, tree-lined street and the US Embassy is in between the Australian and the British.  It’s a huge, imposing building with tall fences, hundreds of closed circuit TV cameras and signs warning you not to take any photographs.  We had to pass through two security checks and cell phones weren’t allowed inside.  The people that worked there were friendly, though, and even went out of their way to help us out.

From the embassy it was a short walk to Singapore’s Botanical Gardens.  It was a good thing that the walk was short as it was already approaching noon and it was swelteringly hot.  My polo shirt was soaked by the time we got there but I was completely dazzled by the collection of stunning plant life in this extremely well-cared-for, 53-hectare park.  The main highlight of this highlight was the National Orchid Garden, where unbelievable flowers had the most intense colors I’ve seen anywhere.  We wound up walking the entire length of the park before we came to the MRT station, where it’s air conditioning was a welcomed oasis.  Our first trip to Chinatown had been too short so we decided to head back there for a late lunch.

On tripadvisor.com, usually the top restaurant pick for a city or area is some very expensive, albeit very good, place that we can’t afford.  Not so for Chinatown in Singapore.  The top pick there is for the Hawker Stands, where steaming trays of strange and delicious-looking food are lined up, shoulder-to-shoulder, served mostly for take away but there are often a few plastic tables where a meal can be enjoyed as long as things like napkins aren’t important to you.  One of Singapore’s typical afternoon thunderstorms was dumping millions of gallons of water from the sky, punctuating it with sharp, loud claps of lightning and thunder as we chose a place to eat.  Unfortunately, that particular string of Hawker Stands didn’t attract our attention so we wound up a nice pub instead, which allowed us to have a beer but also spend about ten times as much as we would have if we hadn’t been so picky.

Our stay in Singapore is going to be very short.  Rutea badly needs to be hauled out of the water for some repairs and maintenance and the yard we’ve chosen in Malaysia has to haul us out before the 10^th of November and it’s still 300 miles away.  We plan to be back underway on the 3^rd.

Bintan Island

The freighter traffic was getting heavy as we made our way north though Selat Riau, the wide channel that works it way towards Singapore.  Our guide book  mentioned an anchorage that sounded promising and we were just about to pull in when a very dark thunderhead threatened to turn loose on us.  The anchorage turned out to be awful so we headed back south and found a very secure spot just to the east of Raja Island.  After a very comfortable night, we got underway the next morning for what was to be our final leg with Sail Indonesia, a luxury resort on the north side of Bintan Island.

As we were dodging the massive freighters that were anchored, another very dark thunderstorm was forming to the west and soon the wind was up to the low 30s.  It didn’t take long for a decent-sized swell to develop but the rain associated with the storm was relatively mild.

The route I had plotted on the chart plotter took us over an area that had about 35 feet of water, more than enough for Rutea’s 6’6” draft but still relatively shallow compared to the water surrounding us.  I wasn’t worried about it but I still kept a watchful eye on the depth sounder.  What was more of a concern was the enormous amounts of trash in the water.

The wind had dropped to about 10 knots and with just the genoa out, we put the engine on to keep our speed up.  With a sudden jarring and loud banging from the hull, Rutea almost came to a complete stop.  “We’ve run aground,” I shouted and shifted the engine into neutral but a quick check of the depth sounder said we were still had 35 feet of water under the keel.  Perhaps we had just picked up something on the prop so I tried reverse but the noise that came from the engine/transmission indicated that something was seriously wrong.  I tried to do a logical diagnosis of the problem and I became suspicious of the transmission.  A quick inspection didn’t reveal anything obvious or conclusive.  Ruthie suggested I look over the transom and see if we were trailing anything.

The answer was very plain and very troubling.  Sticking out about four feet from under Rutea’s hull and transom were four large timbers, each one measuring about 6” by 8”.  The ends of the timbers were rounded from wear but the wood was still very sound.  I could see a threaded rod, measuring about ¾” in diameter that was keeping the timbers together.  What I couldn’t see was the end of the timbers that were still under the boat.

We furled the genoa and threw a long polypropylene line in the water, something for me to hang onto when I was in the water.  There was enough wind that even with the sails furled, Rutea was still moving at about 1 knot per hour and can’t I swim that fast.  Once in the water with my facemask on, I could see the whole story.  Four heavy timbers, probably twelve feet long each, held together with three four-foot lengths of threaded rod, were on either side of Rutea’s skeg and rudder, just inches away from her prop.  The seas were still rough enough that it would have been difficult if not impossible to remove the timbers where we were.  The wood still had enough buoyancy that I could stand on them and my weight didn’t make them sink appreciably.  I decided that all we could do for the moment was sail into the anchorage, which was only a couple of miles away.  Running the engine was out of the question as it would have been far too easy for one of the timbers to shift right into the prop, easily ruining it.

We sailed into the anchorage, dropped the hook and I was in the water with a hacksaw a few minutes later.  It took about 15 minutes to saw through the threaded rod, one pair of timbers drifting away easily while the other pair was applying enough pressure on the rod that I still couldn’t free it.  I started to think about rigging blocks and tackle to attach to the whole mess when a final effort got the timbers free.

The whole episode now just seems like a bad dream.  The only damage I could see was where the threaded rod had worn away the gel coat and some of the fiberglass on the leading edge of the skeg, a repair that’s not too difficult to make once the boat is out of the water.  What I still can’t understand is how the timbers, two on each side, got to straddle the skeg and rudder.  If the whole mess had been floating, it would have struck the boat just below the waterline.  Why didn’t the timbers straddle the keel?  How did they get past the keel in the first place?

Alls well that ends well but this could have been a disaster.

Belitung Island to Bintan Island

We were relieved to get out of Kumai and delighted when we found enough wind to be able to fly the spinnaker for most of the afternoon. As evening set in, the wind died and the engine came on - it stayed on for most of the 300 miles we traveled to get to Belitung Island. A good percentage of the participants in Sail Indonesia were there when we arrived and it almost felt like a reunion. Our anchor set deeply in a good sand bottom which is always reassuring.

The beach was lined with warungs which is almost like a restaurant. Its usually a tin roof over some resin tables and chairs, the 'kitchen' is sometimes nothing more than a wood fire in the back. We have had some very good meals in some warungs but also some lousy ones. The cruisers all seem to gather at a particular one which meant the poor staff there was going crazy trying to fill the orders from the Demanding White People Who Don't Have Much Patience. At least they had a good inventory of cold Bintang beer, Indonesia's equivalent to America's Budweiser, so even if a cruiser had to wait an hour-and-a-half for his plate of nasi goreng (fried rice), he would have been kept quiet by pounding down a few of the 650-ml bottles.

Its easy to drink a lot of beer when its as hot as it is here. With daytime temperatures in the mid-90°F and humidity somewhere around 95%, any physical exercise more strenuous than drinking a beer will produce enough perspiration to completely soak through a t-shirt. It was close to midnight a couple of nights ago when the wind shifted so I decided to pole out the genoa; by the time I got back to the cockpit after just a few minutes of working on deck, I was in bad need of a shower. The benefit is that it makes the perfect excuse for procrastinating any project. All you have to do when work rears it's ugly head is say, "Its too hot." and everyone around will nod in agreement.

The small village we had anchored off of was just too small and didn't even have a small grocery store. A few boats got together and hired a small bus with a driver to take us into the nearest town - about 30 kilometers away - so we could do some provisioning. It was a bit of unusual luck when we discovered that the bus had air conditioning and we all sat feeling very regal as we watched people on their motorbikes struggling in the pouring rain. As it turns out, the joke was on us as we discovered that the entire town was shut down in observance of a Muslim holiday. Nothing was open and the streets were deserted. We found a few items in a convenience store but no produce to speak of and that had been our main objective.

We left Belitung the next day, hoping our meager supplies will see us to Singapore. Since we left Darwin we have covered 2,900 nautical miles and still have another 300 or so to go. By the time we get to Malaysia, its quite likely that our odometer will show over 20,000 miles sailed since we left San Diego.
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At 10/17/2013 4:41 AM (utc) Rutea's position was 01°20.65'S 105°51.50'E

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Tanjung Puting National Park

It was hard not to get impatient as we waited for the boat to take us up to the Tanjung Puting National Park.  First light happens at about 0400 and dawn is just before 0500, making it hard to sleep much past 0530.  The boat was supposed to pick us up at 0830 but it was closing in on 1000 by the time it showed up.  The 20-meter timber boat was expertly maneuvered along side Rutea, it’s single-cylinder diesel engine put-putting slowly as the captain used the river current to his advantage.  His docking skills were tested five more times as we picked up the crews of Atea, Inspiration Lady, Equanimity, Hokule’a and Solstice.  

Proboscis Monkey

Diesel-Flavored Cooking

The boat’s main deck was mostly covered and provided adequate shade from the very hot sun and kept us dry as it rained for most of our first day.  Below the main deck was the hold that barely had 4’ of head room and the cooks had to do all their work on their knees or squatting.  As we chugged up river, our guides, Joe, and his daughter, Febri, proved to be experts at spotting wildlife and were continuously pointing out crocodiles, monkeys and exotic birds.  

The water of the Sekonyer River was the color of coffee with too much milk in it and even though it got quite narrow in places, our guides told us it had 10 meters of depth.  It was still raining lightly was we stopped at our first station and we questioned our guides as to what kind of gear we should wear.  “Will there be any leeches?” “They only come out when its raining.”  “How bad will the mosquitoes be?”  “Bad.”  Undeterred, our 17-person entourage tramped up through the muddy trails in the Borneo rainforest in search of the almost-extinct orangutan.

The 415,000-hectare Tanjung Puting National Park is a sanctuary to protect not only the orangutans but also try to keep Borneo’s rainforest from being completely clear cut and transformed into palm tree plantations (for palm oil).  Feeding stations have been set up for orangutans that are being rehabilitated back into the wild, a practice that raises some controversy.  Our guide’s timing was perfect and we had no sooner arrived at one such station when one of the park’s staff showed up with a large sack of bananas.  Within a couple of minutes we could hear a major thrashing occurring deep in the jungle and seconds later we could see trees shaking and bending over as the orangutans made their way towards us.  A mother orangutan and her baby were swinging through the trees, climbing to the near tops and as the tree would bend under their weight, the orangutan would simply grab another tree and continue her progress, her baby holding on to her fur.  Often a branch would snap under her weight but she continued on, stopping from time to time.  Climbing up a tree appeared to be as effortless as climbing down, the strong fingers on their hind legs gripping as well as the fingers on their hands.  As they reached the feeding platform, you could see how expressive their faces are, even though they’re the least related to humans of all the great apes.

Mosquito Tent City

We were pretty well drenched with sweat and rain by the time we got back to the boat but our cameras were loaded with hundreds of precious photos.  The cooks brought out a big batch of hot banana fritters as a snack that would hopefully keep our hunger in check until dinner.  I was disappointed when dinner was served as not only was there very little to feed the 17 of us but I thought the food had a distinct diesel fuel flavor.  After dinner, we cast off again and made our way downstream in the fading light to a spot where fireflies are known to hang out.  As dusk turned into night, one tree in particular started glowing with millions of the bugs, sometimes their ‘lights’ blinking in unison.  Once we had returne to dock at the station, a big group of us played cards while the enormous bugs were drawn to the fluorescent lights.  The crew sat by until we were finished and then cleared the area for sleeping.  As the main deck was only big enough for about 6 people to sleep on, two other similarly-sized boats were brought in as sleeping stations.  The ‘mattresses’ were like lumpy tumbling mats but the individual mosquito nets promised to keep the malaria-carrying evil critters away if not providing any privacy.  It was kind of like a slumber party with Ruthie, Corie, Kyle and I sleeping right next to Jake and Jackie from Hokule’a, separated only by the thin gauze of the mosquito nets.  Needless to say, I didn’t get much sleep as one of the crew sleeping below went into a coughing fit that lasted for hours.

Breakfast was horrible.  They served us scrambled eggs that had been sweetened and slices of white bread with too much melted ‘butter’ on it.  The coffee we made ourselves, dumping coffee that had been ground to a fine powder into a cup, pouring boiling water on it, waiting for the grounds to settle and then drinking it while trying to avoid getting a mouth full of grounds.  Someone saw the crew being served heaps of nasi goreng, the staple of fried rice and vegetables so we told our guides that that was what we wanted for breakfast the next day.

After the main deck was cleared of breakfast and the sleeping gear, we got underway again, making a turn onto the Sangai Sekoner Kecil where the water changed from it’s milky color to that of strong tea.  It was much narrower and seemed even more remote as the jungle towered over us.  We docked at Camp Leakey, a station named after the famous anthropologist and, almost as if waiting for us, sat a male orangutan, just a few feet away on the other side of the narrow river.  Things were becoming congested with other boats bringing tourists to the same spot, with the ‘raft up’ completely blocking any passage upstream.  As we were getting ready to make our way to the camp’s center, a crafty orangutan named Percy stealthily made his way onto one of the boats and stole a can of condensed milk off the table, the crew who was sitting only a few feet away oblivious until it was too late.

It was a small army of tourists who made their way into the camp that afternoon, dressed in full mosquito battle gear and armed with an expensive collection of long-lensed cameras.  As we were walking up the path, following right behind a mother orangutan and her baby, she grabbed the hands of the person to her right and to her left and with a powerful grasp, lifted herself off the ground, choosing to be carried to the feeding station rather than walking.  Many of us took turns carrying the 60-kilo ape and her baby; sometimes she would nibble on the hand that was carrying her.  This time the feeding station was crowded with orangutans and we were able to see some of the dynamics between their hierarchy.

Showers were offered once we were back on the boat and a steady stream of the cool river water provided a welcome respite to the steamy heat.  The boat was moved downstream for the night and we had another forgettable dinner.  The mattresses were just as uncomfortable as the night before and the nasi goreng in the morning still had the diesel-fuel flavoring.  We made our way to still another feeding station although this time dominating the platform was a large adult male which we hadn’t seen before.  There was no mistaking his wide cheeks, broad shoulders and huge pouch under his chin.

The King

After yet another lousy lunch, we began to make our way back to our respective boats.  Most of those in our group gushed with enthusiasm for the expedition although I am more reserved.  I am absolutely glad I did it but my expectations had been for a few more creature comforts, especially since I found out that we had paid a premium price and I know some of the other boats were better appointed than ours.   I suppose that if you’re an anthropologist, watching orangutans eat for hours is fascinating but it started to get boring for me.  Now that we’re back aboard Rutea, I am looking forward to getting underway and finding our next adventure.

Kumai, Kalimantan

The one consolation of being forced to motor any significant distance on Rutea is that usually the seas are flat and such was the case as we made our way north across the Java Sea.  The freighter traffic was pretty intense, though, and we had to dodge a lot of fishing boats as well.  One boat was paying out a net that was over 2.5 miles long.

Mei Goreng in the Making

 We deliberately timed our arrival at the mouth of the Kumai River to the beginning of a flood tide and even though we had to continue to dodge freighters, we were able to sail the entire twenty miles upstream to the town of Kumai.  Friends of ours had made arrangements with a tour operator and booked us a two-night, three-day passage on a boat that will take us to the Tanjung Puting National Park where orangutans live in their natural habitat.  It has been said that this is a safe place to leave the boat for a few days and we’re going to hope for the best.

Today we went into the town of Kumai and I think it is easily one of the ugliest towns I have ever seen.  Besides the typical dusty streets and the litter everywhere, this town has hundreds of tall concrete buildings that have no windows – they look like small prisons.  In fact, they’re nesting sites for swiflets who build their nests from their saliva.  Apparently, the Chinese have a fondness for Bird’s Nest Soup and a kilo of this tasteless, hardened bird spit can fetch up to US$3,000.  The buildings have loudspeakers on the roofs and play the swiftlet song, hoping to attract more birds.

Hold on to that power line!

Despite the usual trappings of a poor Third World town and the fact that its hot as hell and the power was out, we were able to find a decent plate of Mei Goreng (fried noodles and vegetables) for about US$1.00.  The market had a nice selection of fresh produce and we bought some beautiful fresh fish for slightly over US$2.00 per pound (take that, PLSF!).  We’re very excited about our trip to the deep, dark jungle of Borneo tomorrow and I promise a posting soon after we return.

Bali to Borneo

The beach that had once swarmed with hawkers, taxi drivers and vendors seemed deserted now, the stalls that had been crammed with trinkets, sarongs and batiks empty with only the ever-present litter left behind. Less than a dozen boats lay at anchor as the rest of the fleet had continued the journey west. After more than two weeks there, I was hoping that I'd remember to turn out the lights when we left.

With some cantankerous boat problems patched sufficiently enough to get us to the next boat yard - which is still a 1,000 miles away - we left Bali at 0400 with a promising forecast for 20-knot winds. Our course would take us between Palau Sapudi and Palau Raas where we thought we might spend the first evening. The wind never materialized and Rutea's diesel throbbed all day, finding us off Palau Raas in the early afternoon - too early to drop the hook so we pressed on, fighting to find a scrap of shade in the late afternoon to protect us from the intense sun. Finally, at around 2200, a light breeze filled in, enough to warrant shutting down the engine even if we had to change our course to a very broad reach. I had to maneuver though a huge fleet of fishing boats, their bright lights making the distance between us and them almost impossible to judge - they don't show up on radar. Corie came on watch at midnight and was able to just barely keep the wind in the sails by hand steering but once Ruthie came on watch at 0300, she was going to have none of that and started the engine. I made a vain attempt to get us sailing again by poling out the genoa but our Speed Over Ground continued to drop and the engine came back on.

After motoring for thirty-six hours, we have almost another thirty-six hours to go. A fresh batch of scones this morning helped the time go by and Ruthie has promised curry for dinner. Our iPad says that we've crossed into yet another time zone, now we're GMT +7 hours, the same time zone as Jakarta, Indonesia's capital city and a city we have no intention of visiting. We keep a sharp lookout for traffic as these waters are some of the busiest in world with ships heading for China and southeast Asia crossing our bow and stern constantly. The very bored Indonesian fishermen play on the VHF radio, making it almost impossible to listen to: They'll sing or make stupid noises or just hold the microphone up to a radio and leave it there, driving us nuts.
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At 10/3/2013 8:05 AM (utc) Rutea's position was 05°09.90'S 112°53.66'E

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Ubud



Coffee Plant



We had met Roger and Sherry on the Gulfstar 44 Equanimity when we were sailing up the Queensland coast and liked them immediately.  Not only did we have a lot in common but their bubbly personalities, great senses of humor and easy going styles made them very fun to hang out with.  They, too, took the Eastern route and it was natural for the four of us to make plans to travel in Bali together.  It was serendipitous that we also met Sunny, an expat American living in Lovina Beach, who knew everyone and much about the area.  She made recommendations on where to go and how to get there, even going as far as hooking us up with a car and driver.  A rental car is about US$30 per day but for about US$45 per day, you can get a car and driver which is well advised as the narrow streets are clogged with motorbikes, there are no street signs and any foreigner is automatically at fault if there’s an accident.

Roger and Sherry

Our first foray inland was to some spectacular waterfalls.  The hour-long walk to get there did include about 300 steep steps but we also got to learn much about the local flora and fauna.  Did you know that the coffee plant’s blossoms have a delicious fragrance which smells nothing like coffee?  When we got close to the falls themselves we found that we had to shout to each other to be heard over the roar of the falling water.  The heavy mist in the air swirled around us as the wind generated from water falling so far created it’s own Force 5 breeze.  The water fell into a good-sized pool that was only about 5 feet deep and it felt incredibly refreshing after our sweaty hike.  Once back in the car, we drove to a beautiful old Buddhist temple and wandered around the wonderfully landscaped grounds before heading back to our respective boats.

Pemerintah Kabupaten Tabanan Temple

Several of the other cruisers had already made the trip to Ubud, a popular destination for tourists in central Bali and some of their reports made it sound not quite so attractive.  Regardless, we made plans to go anyway as it sounded like fun to do a road trip and get away from the boat for a few days.  On our way there, we stopped at a temple situated by the side of a large, fresh water lake and at that elevation the air was decidedly cool - it was the first time in months that the concept of anything more than a t-shirt and shorts was even considered.  We checked into our hotel which wasn’t luxurious but was very nice with spacious rooms and a wide patio.  At US$34 per night my expectations hadn’t been very high but I found the place delightful and quiet.  After a fabulous lunch we strolled through the very busy, very touristy town and later that evening saw a terrific Balinese dance performance.

The breakfast that came with our rooms was actually pretty good but we didn’t linger as we wanted to get to the Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary before the crowds and before it got too hot.  It was a short walk from our hotel and right at the entrance there were macaque monkeys hanging around.  Large signs had a long list of warnings about the monkeys and although wild, they have no fear of humans.  In fact, they’ll steal just about anything from you including wallets, sunglasses, cameras and jewelry.  We weren’t there two minutes when one monkey grabbed Sherry’s bottle of water but fortunately one of the staff brandished a slingshot and that scared the monkey off.   In the forest is also a Hindu temple and the monkeys make good use of the statues as perches and beds.

In the afternoon we hired a driver that took us to see more temples and that evening we saw still another Balinese dance performance although this one used no musical instruments, just a large group of men chanting.  It was bizarre but entertaining nonetheless.  Sherry and Roger treated Ruthie and me to dinner to celebrate our 35^th wedding anniversary.

Our driver was going to pick us up after lunch to take us back to Lovina but I wanted to do a little shopping before we left as Ubud is renown for it’s batik.  Any one of the thousands of souvenir stores sell cheap batik clothes but I was on a mission to find something of decent quality.  An inquiry had provided us with a prospect and without too much difficulty we found Bamboo.  Completely different than any other store we had been in, the owner, Koni, who spoke perfect English, turns out to be a talented artist as well as a successful businessman.  The four of us were stunned by the gorgeous fabrics and impeccable tailoring of the clothes.  Granted, the shirts were about five times the cost of the cheap shirts in the souvenir stores but easily worth it.  Koni does all of the designs himself and he says that no two shirts are alike.  Even though it takes a tremendous amount of time and effort to make a batik ‘chop’ – the tool that presses the wax into the fabric, he only does a few runs of any one design.  I begged him to sell me a franchise but he said no.  I asked if I could wire him money in the future, would he send me shirts?  Again he said no.  The worst part about being there was having to make a decision about what not to buy.

There was barely room for all of us and our purchases in the car for our trip back.  We made it back just in time for the Farewell Ceremony and quite a few of the boats in the Rally had already left Lovina Beach.  Rutea had done fine by herself and it was a good feeling to be ‘home’ again.