Bali, Indonesia

Note: Our family trip to Bali in 1999 was my only unsuccessful travel experience. I still haven't figured out why, though I still work on that (see my other website: www.travelforchange.freeservers.com). We had planned to go in 1998, but when Red Cross advisories were issued warning against travel to Bali, our agent was able to get us a full refund from Malaysian Air, and we held off until the following year. Therefore, I spent a full two years researching this trip, and felt I was well-prepared to set off on a journey that would change my life through our temporary immersion into a third world country, tempered by the beauty of the island and the gracious Balinese way of life. I thought I was aware enough, open enough, adventurous enough, and accepting enough to make the necessary adjustments. We left on May 31 with several extra bags of medical supplies and used clothing for a new clinic we had read about, which was to be my son's Eagle Project. He and my husband would stay for two weeks, and then my daughter and I would stay an additional 2 weeks before returning home. I was ill throughout the trip, and by the tenth day I needed desperately to leave Bali. A very kind man helped us arrange travel home together after two weeks. I am eternally grateful. As I write these words on June 16, 2001, over two years later, I am only now able to begin thinking about the trip in detail -- to reread my journal (which was never finished), without the overwhelming sense of revulsion I have felt for so long. I'm well now, but only just. I'm still on medication for the illness that developed during that trip -- a constant reminder that I need to work through this pain and make sense of a long and quizzical journey into a very different part of my soul.

Monday, May 31, 1999 I'm using the travel journal that Jason gave me for Easter, and the quote on the first page is by Rick Berg, 20th century American writer: "Traveling, especially traveling light, teaches you the difference between what is necessary in life and what may be an onerous burden." Let's see, contrary to my usual style of travel, I'm setting off today with three companions -- husband, son and daughter, and a record TWELVE bags of luggage. Three will be left in Ubud, but still, I'm already weighted. I wonder what other burdens I will learn of on this journey?

We're just a wee bit late getting into Hartsfield International by 7:40 AM. The kids and I hauled in all the luggage while Chuck parked in the long stay. Our ticket agent kindly checked us all the way through to Tokyo (yes!), but it required a lot of typing, and we arrived at the nearby gate just in time to board.

The flight is easy and on time, leaving us a nice long layover in Dallas. We changed terminals, located the JAL counter, dined on hot dogs (not me -- yuck) and stuffed potatoes, read, waited, walked and walked some more until the counter opened at noon. We were first in line and had a delightful check-in with a jolly man who sang "Bali Hai" for us. When it was time to board, he walked out to the gate and said he just wanted to make sure we had made it okay. A wonderful beginning.

The JAL flight was great, made especially so because we had three seats together between the window and aisle, and then one seat across the aisle with three empties next to it, so we were able to take turns stretching out and sleeping. There was more legroom than on British Air, the movie ("The Mighty") was excellent, and the food was pretty good. I was not feeling well for the second six hours -- too much excitement, too much sitting, and some lingering emotional distress over a recent death. But the flight was SO much better than expected.

The Narita Airport in Tokyo is a model of efficiency and a joy to use. We got our luggage, did immigration and customs, and were directed to the bus shuttle (richly and tastefully decorated). People piled on shuttle after shuttle, but we were consistently told to wait. Finally we were placed on a shuttle that took us to a different hotel than the others -- the Narita Winds. It was quite lovely, and we were given two adjoining "twin" rooms -- though each bed was nearly the size of a double. The furniture was elegant and the fabrics sumptuous in shades of green with decorative touches like pleats and thick fringes. The bathrooms were huge, marbled, and held billowy terry cloth robes for each of us. There was still just enough light to snap some pictures from the hotel window -- sadly, about all we would see of Japan. We opened the huge windows to a cool breeze, downed half a sleeping pill each, and hit the sheets at 8:30 to shore our bodies for the next leg.

Tuesday, June 1 We only had a few hours of this day due to the time change, and I'm not even sure which few hours they were. I hope I enjoyed them.

Wednesday, June 2 We woke at 6:00 and watched the sunrise, then showered and breakfasted (both rooms and breakfasts were provided free by JAL) on a huge buffet containing both American and Japanese foods. Then back to the shuttle. There's a gate into the airport where uniformed men stop each car and bus and check each passport (as well as the trunk of every car). Good security. Then as soon as you enter the airport, you must put every piece of luggage through an x-ray and walk through the metal detector. All of our bags were given a security stamp, but three were taken to a different counter after check-in (check-in took a grand total of five minutes! I marveled at the clerk's speed and efficiency, to which she replied, "Oh, Oh! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!). So, as required for an international departure, we've arrived two hours early and are now faced with an hour and fifty minute wait. In contrast, I can remember arriving at the Atlanta airport two hours early and standing in line for so long that I made it to the gate just as the plane was boarding. What a difference. I'm feeling a little better about the brevity of our stay in Japan because, although we've seen little of the country, we've seen an ocean of Japanese people. They are everywhere. I believe we were among only about 10 non-Asians on the first JAL flight.

The second plane was a bit smaller, but by then we were seasoned long-distance travelers. We had six seats for the four of us, and I was feeling better. Got off in Jakarta at the most beautiful airport I've ever seen. It's all glass, and set in lushly landscaped tropical gardens. The ceilings are thatched bamboo and raised really, really high. As we walked through the terminal, the gate numbers were landscaped into the gardens outside the windows -- just beautifully done. There were nice shops and several Indonesian-style fast food places. We ordered cokes and sat at a table and watched several young men leave the food counter as they got off work for the day. And as each left, he was frisked! By hand! We'll wait here for an hour and a half, then reboard the same plane for our last flight, which will be an hour and 45 minutes. Piece of cake!

After so much traveling, we were all much more concerned about finally settling somewhere and getting a good night's sleep than we were about customs -- happy serendipity. After deplaning in Bali, we walked down the hallway. As we entered the area for immigration, a man in black pants and a red and white polo shirt stood behind a podium. I never looked at him, hell bent for a bed. I got in line for immigration and Jason leaned over to whisper, "Mom, that man was looking for you." I was skeptical, and Chuck and Ashley were oblivious, but back we walked to the polo man. He said, "You are Pam?" I answered yes. I simply said, "I am from Ubud," and began walking with us, requesting our passports, which I gave him.

Okay. So this is all highly ambiguous. I'm tired, and I really don't care anymore. Then he leans close to me and asks, "You bring something?" and I say, "Yes," -- just like some action movie drug lord. He tells us, "Stay!" just outside the door of a room off to the right side of the large room we're in, and he disappears inside with our passports, leaving us positioned so that we can't see anything that's going on. Immediately, two uniformed guards come to stand at the door. It looks bad, at best, but I'm trusting him, even though he's an unnamed stranger in a foreign land and I am carrying defined contraband. Three suitcases full. "Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!" He emerges and nods for us to follow him through an unstaffed immigration line. The guards disappear, and it seems that we have been officially processed. Okay!

But we're still in the dark. He grabs a luggage cart and I grab another and we pick our things from the conveyer belt. He raises one of the contraband bags and shows us a large "X" marked in blue chalk. "Ooh," he says. "Is this one?" "Yes, it has 450 toothbrushes inside," answers Chuck. He pulls off another, also marked. "This one?" "Yes, that one too." Two of our three "illegal" bags have been flagged for inspection. Last comes the large duffel full of antibiotics. No "X"! He carefully stacks and arranges the bags on the cart so that the X's don't show, takes the customs declaration from my hand, and wheels toward an inspector. I follow with the second cart. He pauses, waves to an inspector already busy opening a box, motions that we are with him, and then motions that he'll just run us on through. The inspector does a double take and looks like he might object, but then he sees me and my gallon size zip-lock bag of travel documents, in which I have a few extra customs forms. He is determined to retrieve these from me, and once I hand them over, he's happy, and off we wheel. We leave the terminal and come face to face with rows of men holding signs. One has my name, and I happily wave. I ask polo man if he is a friend of Agung's (our acquaintance at the clinic), and he nods. Our sarong-clad driver is named Wayan (just like almost everyone else, we will soon learn), and the two men carefully load our luggage. We all shake hands many times, and then it's off to discover the wonders of Bali.

It's a 45 minute drive, and the time is around nine-ish PM. They drive on the left here, and whole families pile onto motorbikes. These aren't monsters like American hogs, but simple, small, minimally powered machines. It isn't at all unusual to see a man, wife, and two children all smashed onto the one seat and holding tight. I am horrified at the prospect. There are lots and lots of motorbikes here, and most are bedecked with large political flags waving from the back as the election nears. Women in sarongs ride sidesaddle. The roads are well-paved, but only two lanes wide, and the cars and motorbikes weave in and around each other at high speed. They're just nuts. It's very dark, and streetlights are few. As we ride, a huge yellow full moon rises, crossed again and again by slips of dark clouds. It's a lovely night.

We reach Taman Harum, and I can sense the beauty even in the dark. A lovely woman checks us in at a desk in an open-air pavilion set among gardens and a fishpond. Then she walks us to our "family villa." Even though we are exhausted and long to sleep, the villa is so enchanting and so far from what we are used to that we spend quite a bit of time running to explore each room. It converts to a duplex and so has two front porches, each with marble floor, a table and chair, and carved door. Our side has a reception room with a daybed, a stocked refrigerator, and shelving. There's a large curtained opening into our bedroom, which contains a double bed, several tables, large windows, a "gentle" A/C unit, and a bathroom with a huge sunken, tiled tub and shower, which is open to a rock-walled garden covered with vines and other greenery. And I mean open. In the garden is a second shower that issues from bamboo piping for the more adventurous, though it is completely private. The "less outside" shower has good hot water.

Then up the steep stairs to Jason's loft, which thrills him. Like the entire villa, it has a marble floor. The room is octagonal with a vaulted pyramid-shaped bamboo and thatch ceiling. Two window-type openings are sheltered by thick wooden shutters, and wooden doors open onto a lovely marble terrace overlooking the rice fields (180 degree view), then another 90 degrees of the statue-studded pool and gardens beneath us. There are a table and chairs, and the terrace is surrounded by a low, wide, flat stucco wall just right for sitting and contemplating this already foreign world we have just begun to know. Then the other side of the villa also has a reception room with daybed, coffee table, and single bed, and then another large bedroom with two twin beds and the surrounding enclosed gardens and garden bath. We ooh and aah while sipping the tall glasses of fresh juice we were each given on arrival, and then congregate on the terrace to marvel at the most wonderful and most constant breeze I've ever felt rushing to greet us across the rice paddies. And then we sleep.

Thursday, June 3 We all awaken at 6:00 AM to the sound of heavy rain thundering against the tiles which cover the bamboo thatch and streaming down the rock walls of our private gardens. The sound is spectacular and thrilling, and we run from room to room throwing back the curtains and babbling at the beauty that daylight clearly shows. When we make it up to Jason's room, the rain has stopped, and we stand on the terrace agape at the sunrise spreading golden tongues over the blades of green rice, the blue sky, the many chickens pecking in the fields, several men venturing out to work the earth with hoes, and the towering Mount Agung in the distance. What a beauty! She is blue and mighty, and we soak her deep into our eyes, perhaps subconsciously aware that these few moments of rain-washed dawn will provide our only glimpse of the 9-10,000 foot volcano while at Taman Harum. A spectacular start, and a very special treat for Ashley's 12th birthday. To celebrate, Chuck and Ashley went for an early morning swim while Jason and I dressed.

In the dining pavilion, the kids had American breakfasts -- orange and papaya juices, scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and tea, all of which they gobbled voraciously. Chuck and I went for Indonesian, and received a plate of fresh pineapple, banana, and papaya followed by a dish of fried rice with vegetables surrounded by a circle of shrimp crackers. I don't know why they're called that. They look like fat potato chips and seem to be made of puffed rice. It was very good, and the tea was a miracle worker.

A nice gentleman inquired about our "program" for the day, and we told him we needed to ride into Ubud to exchange money at the bank and then use the internet. He suggested that we depart at 10:00 and return at 2:00, and then we were free to arrange for a 3:00 woodcarving class. The manager himself drove us into town, smartly dressed in khakis and a long-sleeved white shirt. His name was Nyoman, and he advised that we stop at a moneychanger rather than a bank. I was skeptical, but Chuck naively accepted, and Nyoman delivered us to one on the eastern side of Ubud. The establishment had both walls and a ceiling, but no front -- only rows of steps, something like a loading dock. In the center of the open tile floor lay an offering. A man and a woman sat behind the counter, and I don't believe I've ever seen money counted so slowly. I had been worried about changing money, but everything here was totally aboveboard, correct and comforting, so then I knew that Nyoman was okay too.

After Chuck and I changed our money and the kids changed theirs, Nyoman drove us several blocks farther to the Bali 3000 Internet Cafe, where he would pick us up again after lunch. It's very nice, with three young hostesses who can really work the machines, seven terminals, sofas, chairs, magazines, and cafe tables -- plus a scanner and a fax. They serve coffees, sandwiches, and milkshakes. It was a busy place filled with non-Asians clearly solo-traveling and anxious for contact with the other world. I wrote a note to let everyone know we were safe, and found that I can receive all e-mail free if sent to their address at the cafe. Quite a deal. They write your name on a dry-erase board in front of the cafe when you have mail. While we each took a turn, I selected a lunch spot from Lonely Planet, and we walked the several blocks to Canderi's Warung, "an Ubud institution." We sat on a raised terrace overlooking a pretty garden and ordered cokes and Balinese pizza. It was neat! A fluffy, tortilla-type, very soft, very sweet, unbaked crust smothered in what looked like stewed tomatoes with a few other vegetable bits tossed in. Ashley ordered the cheese pizza, and hers looked just like mine but with some shredded, unmelted cheese on top. They were fabulous, and each person's meal (personal pizza plus coke) was under $1.00. Quite a delicious deal.

After lunch, we walked across the street to check out some clothing stalls, and paid way too much, due to a huge misunderstanding on my part, for two shirts for Jason (one batik and one Hawaiian), a sarong, dress and skirt for Ashley, and a dress and skirt for me. The fabrics were pretty, but the high prices left me a little uneasy. Now I'm eager to try my skill at bargaining so I can regain some sense of worldliness.

By the time we walked back to Bali 3000, Nyoman was waiting (asleep in the driver's seat), and the message board listed "from Glennie!" What a great surprise that made Jason very happy. Got back to Taman Harum at 2:10, the perfect time for a delightful swim in the beautiful pool surrounded by gardens and stone creature before woodcarving class.

Class was taught by Made (MAH-day), and we were the only four attendants. We removed our shoes and sat cross-legged on woven mats in a pretty bale (small pavilion) in the garden. Next to us were two professional woodcarvers working on very intricate pieces. Made gave us each a block of wood and showed us how to trace a cat figure onto it. To prepare for carving, Made shows us how to place the prepared block on top of a scrap block bookended by two more scrap blocks, and then how to hold the whole block castle steady with our feet! I wonder how Ashley and I will manage this in sarongs, but then I realize that Made is wearing a sarong also, so I just do what he does. The foot-holding allows us to use both handles to guide the mallet and various chisels. We follow his model of a sitting cat, and all four turn out so well that I'm almost tempted to believe, and want to believe, that I made it myself. In truth, Made helped a lot with the harder parts. He's quite skilled with the big knife, seriously decreasing the amount of work we had to do. We would chisel and chisel, and then he'd take each cat in turn and fine tune it. Then we'd hack some more, and then he'd make corrections. To finish, we worked with sharp knives planing the cats to a smooth, smooth finish, and I really enjoyed this. I think I could get into woodcarving, if only there weren't so many arts that I already love. We worked on our cats for about an hour and a half, then had private time for an hour before dinner.

We decided to eat at the hotel rather than venturing back to Ubud. Transportation into town at any time is free, but the people are so nice here and the grounds so lovely that it seems silly to leave. Besides, so far I am not as entranced by Ubud as everyone else claims to be. Ashley ordered a chicken noodle soup that was very oriental, and a cheese jaffle, which is a fried cheese sandwich. Jason had skewered chicken satay with peanut sauce (yum!) and rice, Chuck had prawns, and I had coconut chicken -- and a beer -- Bali Hai. The beer wasn't great, but I figured we had to sample it. For dessert the kids had ice cream, I had black rice pudding with milk, and Chuck had something that our server -- a lovely woman in a rich, silk sarong -- couldn't explain -- Moluccan Treasure. It turned out to be a bowl of warm milk, on the bottom of which congregated multitudes of what looked to be tiny red and green-eyed transparent globules with the consistency of dried rubber cement. Wild.

We adjourned to our terrace to count the million stars, drifting off to sleep at 8:30 for another breeze-blown sleep. I could sit on that terrace forever. It's the same wonderful wind you feel on some special beach evenings in South Carolina, but without the humidity or salt. Heaven. If only I could somehow photograph the way my body feels.

Friday, June 4 Woke at 6:00 again to gather on the terrace and watch the morning come alive. For breakfast we all chose a tummy break and dined on scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, juices, tea and coffee. We took pictures of all our friends from the restaurant. I had a long, hot garden shower while the rest swam. At 10:00 Ashley and I headed to another class (offering-making), while Jason and Chuck were ushered into a small, beautifully carved and painted building containing the owner's computers (he does all his own web work). There they were allowed to send e-mail (free) and do a bit of web-work (free). Then Chuck took a tour of the woodcarving shop, with artisan pieces displayed downstairs and the work of the masters displayed upstairs. He saw the balled-up man that I keep on top of my computer for 20 cents. Upstairs, the pieces range from $150 - $400, but Chuck was told that his price would be 70% off! He didn't buy.

Meanwhile, Ashley and I met two very kind young women who first showed us the proper way to tie our sarongs, dismayed that the ones we had been sold were not long enough to be tied in the traditional manner. We were seated shoeless on a lovely garden "bale", which looked a lot like a wooden-floored king-sized bed with four posts and a thatched roof. Wayan (both males and females are named Wayan) and the other woman sat with us and used their sharp knives to slice coconut leaves for us, then knicked off the ends of thin bamboo slivers until each had a point for sewing.

******

Saturday, June 5 Awoke (too late!) to the end of a spectacular sunrise brilliantly outlining the two mountains clearly visible as I lay back in my bed, open to the elements on every side, but snug in my mosquito netting. It was so cool that I had turned off the fan in the night. I leapt from bed and ran to rouse the kids, who I knew were anxious to see the volcano, but I had to knock on their door for so long that by the time I got in and we ran to the large balcony, the sun had escaped the volcano and the sky was too bright to watch. Tomorrow!

The vibrant patterns of brilliance and shadow change moment by moment, and I wish I knew how to capture them. The light plays so magically on the endless twists and turns of this endless jungle of green that it is achingly beautiful to watch. To know that such a landscape exists in a country of poverty makes my brain hurt. Knowing that the landscape will be largely destroyed in the pursuit of tourism dollars makes plain sense, and yet is unfathomable. It's almost to hard to look at the beauty, because within the beauty the other ramifications loom like dragons waiting to devour me. I try not to look too closely. I try not to think too deeply. It is the opposite of the way I operate, and I'm not sure that I can function properly and defend my sanity at the same time.

We have a good American breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast, fresh fruits, juice and tea in the small pavilion overlooking the voluptuously lush gorge. We have planned a long walk through the rice fields this morning, and Agung has supplied us with a sketchy, hand-drawn map. The first part takes us down a long, steep flight of cement steps into the gorge to the river, a local bathing/washing spot, then past rice fields, two temples, across another river, to an artist's home, and then into Ubud -- which should take about an hour and a half.

Somehow, we may have veered off course. The walk took two hours and twenty minutes. First, through the "villages", although I would probably have called them "an occasional weathered bamboo shack with many children and barn animals in a clearing surrounded by dense coconut palm and banana tree jungle." Everyone we passed smiled and spoke to us, including some very excited children. I saw a group of them playing on the bank by the river, and I called across and questioned with my camera. One little girl jumped up gleefully and motioned to the others to cluster around as she stood tall with a huge smile, then jumped and clapped after I snapped. A few steps farther on, we noticed the numbers of women bathing in the river. We crossed a bridge with bathers on each side, leaving little alternative for looking "the other way", but the women smiled also. Then down one side of the gorge through beautiful tropical forests, across another bridge, and up the other side. Several rivulet waterfalls trickled down. The sun rose higher here and the people were fewer. Then came the rice fields in graceful, sweeping arcs, not at all symmetrically planned and executed as I would probably have attempted, but laid in creations of earth art that are staggeringly beautiful. Ducks splash in the flooded fields, and there are areas in all stages of the growing cycle, so that you can look with a good eye and comprehend exactly what is involved in the growing of rice. Germination bays, freshly planted sprouts, growing shoots, and waving grains -- each in a different field -- combine to offer the full spectrum of life. The intricacies of the irrigation system are really fun to try and figure out, as are the patterns from this field to that. Here and there, in the midst of these fields, we'd pass the shop of a painter. One woman stopped us and insisted that we look at her work, and I felt obligate to buy two small watercolors from her. It did make her happy, and she posed for a picture. I don't imagine she gets much foot traffic from anyone other than locals, or that many locals can afford to buy art. On the other hand, I probably paid enough to feed her for two weeks. I'll never be a bargainer. Nevertheless, the paintings are pretty, and she patiently taught me the name of each and then carefully signed them.

Soon after, we passed a small house with a man standing out in the road. "Have you brought anything for me or my children?" he asked. We had not. In truth, we had shopped especially for children and brought bags of crayons and coloring books and small toys, but I had neglected to bring any on the walk. And in my mind, I had envisioned us meeting delightful children and pressing these gifts upon them to their surprise, rather than being asked for them outright by a parent. How little I knew.

Next came a long walk along the ridge between two gorges. It was hot now, but still we passed a number of Balinese using the trail, which was laid of flat cinder block squares in the tall waving grasses. All along both gorges we caught glimpses of the high-priced hotels, their thatched roofs faintly visible among the palms. Some are $450, some even $750 per night. We have the same gorge view (is this the origin of the word "gorgeous"?) in an intimate village setting for $40 per night, with hot water, a lovely room with private porch hanging over the gorge, an infinity pool on the cliff side, and no sign of human or human-made monstrosities in either direction. We can throw open all the shutters and the nights are so cool and breezy that they are infinitely superior to the high-rent air conditioned nights.

At the bottom of the ridge, we came to a beautiful, cool, shaded temple, a monstrous tree hung with infinite vines, and then the steps up to Ubud. At the top of the steps we had a shady, two to three block walk along the road into town, and it was along this short stretch of road that the walk suddenly became too much for me. I had handled the heat, the hills, the hawkers, but these all appeared in an atmosphere of beauty and solitude. The road into Ubud was thickly congested with pollution and the noise of motorbikes. I've lived in cities for much of my life, and my time in a small town was not enhanced by the presence of a large paper mill, but I have never been so overwhelmed by pollution as I was that day in Ubud. Chuck suggested that the oil used by motorbikes produced a thicker smoke or stronger smell, and it was just sickening. At that moment, I was ready to leave Bali and never look back, and somehow I never really recovered.

We reached Casa Luna Restaurant just in time. The place is well-known and well-loved, and the owners also have a newer, very upscale restaurant just outside town, as well as several charming villas that we have reserved for our next move. We've been looking forward to trying the food. We are seated on the terrace overlooking a ravine, and the thick plant life helps absorb some of the smoke and noise. Our lunch is very good -- Pizza Margherita for me, feta, tomato and cucumber on a purplish whole grain bread (made in their Honeymoon Bakery) for Chuck, and iced tea with papaya, pineapple, and oranges in it. We then walked down to check our e-mail (we've heard from eight friends now! obviously people are very intrigued by our correspondence), changed some more money, and braved our first walk through the main market. I thought I handled it really well. In the lead, I just pretended I was Justine doing a Lonely Planet segment, and did what I thought she would do. The stalls and tables piled with goods were jammed together with hardly enough room to pass, and arranged in labyrinthine patterns so that once you entered, you were essentially captive, and left to swarm among the mass of people like maggots on a body, which is also just about the way it smelled. Ashley began to cry immediately, and we were all intensely relieved to finally locate an outlet back onto the street, which was in no way marked or even visible. No one bothered us to buy anything, but the sights and smells and closeness were quite overwhelming. I thought it was time for a brief taste so that we'd be better prepared should we want to try a more extensive visit.

We grabbed a driver back to the hotel with no trouble at all -- the men sit on their haunches all along every sidewalk, and the moment they spot a traveler they all begin chanting, "Transport? Transport?" -- and spent the rest of the day very gratefully at the silent infinity pool hanging on the edge of the silent jungle. A nice family from Seattle arrived and plan to stay eight days. They are Abby and Tom, with two young girls named Sophia and Zoe. Agung let me use her computer to send an e-mail while Chuck had a long talk with her. She has taken out an ad in the paper hoping to contact Gloria (her social services friend) so that we can visit the clinic. She is currently out somewhere in the wilds trying to start another. Agung tells us that Gloria is Australian, and is here with her husband and child, whom she recently adopted after the child was simply abandoned to her care.

Totally uninterested in another trip to Ubud, our dinner at the modest hotel pavilion is very good. Fried rice with vegetables (nasi goreng telur mata sapi), "meat", and strips of fried egg served with shrimp crackers -- 9,000 rupiah ($1.12) each. During dinner the electricity went out again, and we were brought lots of candles and votives, the paths were quickly lined with lit candles, and more were delivered to our rooms. The atmospheric jungle candlelight delighted all four of us, and I was happy when I fell asleep at 7:20 in the already pitch black night and slept soundly under a blanket until dawn.

Sunday, June 6 A beautiful sunrise, an excellent, long sleep, and I am still quite ill. I don't know if it's a natural recurrence of colitis after nine years symptom-free, or my nerves at the prospect of being alone with Ashley here for two weeks, or my reaction to learning of a friend's diagnosis with a deadly form of lymphoma on the night before we left for this trip. I suspect the last, because when I try to calm myself and relax, his presence comes quickly into my consciousness. Of course the resulting illness makes me extremely anxious about the trip, so it's a perpetual cycle. Somewhere in my inner self, I have this very strong compulsion to take on the illnesses and even deaths of others so I can spare them. I don't know where I got this notion or what to do with it or how to change it. I only know that when others are sick, I get sick, and knowing the emotional origin isn't enough to stop my own illness from progressing.

But anyway, since we have six free hours here this morning, I sent everyone else to breakfast and the pool and enjoyed some meditation, yoga, a good breakfast alone on my balcony, and some much-needed peace. I'm still sick, but I'm delighted to be here in any condition, because I can still have the experience of opening myself as fully as possible and in many new ways. After my peace time, Chuck comes up to tell me that he has just learned that Tom is a doctor -- radiologist. He says the Ubud Clinic is excellent and has an English-speaking doctor. Also, that if I know what drugs I need, I can get them without prescription at the chemist. This should ease my mind considerably.

After an hour or so, I close my eyes and tell my friend that I am releasing him to walk his road alone -- that he has my love and support, and I apologize for intruding on his journey. I have come here on a path of my own, just as he has his road to travel, and I realize that deserting my own path for his will serve neither of us. I say goodbye, bringing my hands to prayer position, then raising them skyward and separating them with palms open in opposite directions, then completing the circle. I feel momentarily better.

Agung is visiting her mother in Denpasar this morning, but leaves a message that she is certain we will meet again.

Ketut, who works from (but not at) Bunga Permai offers to deliver us to our next hotel, Honeymoon Guesthouse in Ubud, and we accept. He's a nice young guy with a long ponytail of very thick dark hair and good taste in music (though he plays it a wee bit loudly). He arranges to stop by at 1:00 tomorrow to see if we'd like to go somewhere. I've already registered for a cooking class at that hour, but he's eager to come by anyway, just in case.

The Honeymoon Guesthouse is gorgeous. It's maybe a quarter mile off the main road down a dusty lane through quiet guesthouses and rice fields that somehow soak up all the noise of the town. We arrive just a bit after noon, too early for check-in, but we meet the owner Janet (Australian), and her famous baby Arjuna, and deposit our luggage in the room. The surrounding gardens are quite exotic, with growth so prolific that you can't see around any bend in any path. I recognize bougainvillea, orchids, and several rain forest plants that I saw in Costa Rica. There's a temple, four villas, and a breakfast pavilion filled with caged birds that speak various languages. We have two rooms that share a long marble terrace in front and a vaulted bamboo roof. The carved and painted woodwork is exquisite. We have a double four-poster intricately carved bed way up off the floor, and the kids have two twins, all with ample mosquito netting. The bathrooms are large -- marble and stone -- and gorgeous, with an outdoor wall, over the top of which I can see the temple roofs just beyond. We each have large soaking tubs, showers against the outside stone wall floored with a large wooden grate over decorative riverstone. Each room is $10 per night -- including our breakfast of choice.

We walk up the lane to Casa Luna for lunch again. Today Ashley has Margherita Pizza, Jason has Wheat Pancakes, Chuck has New Zealand Blueberry Pancakes, and I have a sandwich of chicken, tomato, and feta on whole grain bread. Then we set off to explore a bit more of Ubud. I have read that Ubud is the real Bali, and that if you want to spend time on the island and get to know the Balinese and the way of life, you should plan to stay in Ubud. I've read raves from those who do this. So far I'm lukewarm on it, and I want to find the magic. I keep looking.

When we return to the Guesthouse at 4:00, our terrace is set with colorful cups and saucers, an urn of hot water, tea bags, large-crystal sugar, and something in a jar that looks like dirt (coffee?). Our houseboy, Wayan, comes to check on us, and talks and answers questions for a long time. He is 20, and has worked here for five years. Janet paid his high school tuition (3,000,000 rupiah per year) while he worked. He brought us breakfast menus, inquiring what we'd each like to eat, and when, and whether we'd like to eat at the pavilion or be served on our terrace. Since he prepares all the breakfasts, we asked for his recommendation. I'm hardly accustomed to such attention.

We set off in the evening for a pizza spot I've read about in a neighboring village, but by the time we find it, it's closed. We don't see another suitable place, and so begin walking toward our evening entertainment, the Kekak, or Fire Dance, Padangtegal, another short walk through another small village. It starts at 8:00. The walk, though not strenuous, is hot, and we can't find anything to eat. We finally stop near the dance area at a small store, which seems to offer nothing more than some cokes and crackers. This makes us a lot grumpier than we want to be. We find good seats and begin to watch the dance, which features large numbers of men clad in black and white checked sarongs chanting rapidly in unison, becoming louder and louder. Several women dance the traditional Balinese dances, and the entire scene is lit by firelight. There are many places to study Balinese dancing, something I thought of doing during my two weeks here with Ashley, but it really doesn't thrill me as much as I had hoped it would.

Monday, June 7

Well, Election Day is finally here. We haven't seen any riots or anything, but flags have been everywhere throughout our stay. The Balinese very proudly proclaim their preferences, but with a very quiet courtesy. A number (but not all) of the shops are closed today, as is the school on our lane. Otherwise, you'd never know anything unusual was taking place. Certainly not the first public vote in (how many?) years. I read that a staggering 80% of the Balinese have registered to vote. I'm impressed.

Wayan arrived a bit ahead of schedule this morning, delivering hot water, fresh fruits, thick yogurt, and juices at 7:10. Chuck had to wake me -- today was our first "sleep-in." About fifteen minutes later, Wayan was back with paper-thin green crepes filled with cooked banana and sprinkled liberally with coconut. Delicious!

We decided on a day tour rather than the cooking class, as fish was on the menu, and I hate fish. It's okay, as I have registered for all three days. We dressed and packed a few things (water, cameras, etc.) and waited for Ketut, who had promised to bring sarongs and sashes so that we could visit the temples, as well as a PDI flag (political party) for Jason, who admired the black bull on a red background.

Around 9:45, a couple wandered down the lane past our villa and through the courtyards. I supposed they were headed for the popular class, which is taught several days each week by Janet. A bit later they approached our terrace, and Chuck spoke to them and then called me over. Amazingly, it was a German gentleman with whom I had briefly corresponded on the Bali Forum before our trip, and his wife. We had determined that we would be in Bali at the same time, but had not arranged a meeting. I had, however, told him where we were staying, and they had driven up from Sanur two days earlier while we were at Bunga Permai, but had been unable to find the hotel. We all sat on the terrace together and had a spirited, fun and informative chatter for about forty-five minutes. This was their seventh visit to Bali, so they were quite a wealth of information -- gentle, intelligent, sensitive people. Their visit was an excellent substitute for the absent Ketut, who never arrived. In fact, they laughed when we said we were waiting in expectation of him.

At 11:00 we set off on a long, uphill road (I insisted on transport, but Chuck and Jason pretended not to hear) -- about a mile, I guess -- in the heat of the day -- toward what is said to be Ubud's best of many museums -- the Neka Museum. I suppose we made it about two-thirds of the way, and then flagged down a bemo (small van) for 1,500 rupiah. It was filled with Balinese, as well as a chicken. Naturally. I have never seen (or heard) so many roosters in my life. This is not surprising, as I've never lived in a rural area, but it just never occurred to me that any place on earth could possibly deliver one long, constant, intertwined cacophony of roosters crowing and motorbikes vrooming. But that's another story.

The museum was wonderful, set in extensive gardens overlooking the gorge and ridge we had walked. There were six magnificent gallery buildings, and from the best, the Arie Smit Gallery, you could sit on an upstairs terrace and be lulled into ecstasy by cool breezes while soaking in the spectacular mix of jungle and cultivated garden. We watched a gentleman sweeping the walkways with a broom made of gathered and tied twigs. And what was he sweeping? The entire property was already immaculate. He was sweeping up the fallen flower petals from the pink blossom-laden trees. We were four of the only six people visiting the splendid gallery, and when we finished, we allowed a guard to summon a friend to drive us back. We had planned to just wait for a passing bemo, but he assured us that would be unlikely, and after a wait at the roadside barbecue shack across the road, we determined he was probably correct. When the friend arrived, we were charged not 1,500 as before, but 15,000. Ah, Bali.

He dropped us at Ary's Warung, recommended highly, and we sat on an upper level with a low table and floor cushions -- Japanese style -- after being asked to remove our shoes. The food was world class and spectacularly presented, though much more expensive than I had been told. We had orange tea, served with a palm syrup for sweetening. Jason had "fried chicken" ($2.00), which turned out to be bits of chicken wrapped in palm leaf ladle baskets and cooked in oil, served with soy sauce, rice, and slices of cucumber sliced paper thin and heaped in an undulating transparent mound. Very cool. I had a tureen of cold, roasted tomatoes ($4.50) layered with French feta cheese and Balinese basil sauce. Ashley had scrambled eggs with chives, croissant, and a delicious dark fruit muffin. Chuck had eggs benedict with a spicy hollandaise. I left to use the restroom and had to return for my camera -- it consisted of a toilet, a garden wall, open sky, and a fish pond!

Jason and I decided to venture on a new path after lunch. All the Balinese are busy making panjar for Gulangen, one of the biggest local festivals. Panjar are long bamboo trunks, which are elaborately festooned by each family in their own design and then mounted along the lanes in front of each home. The designs are frankly stunning, particularly in light of the Indonesian poverty, the long hours demanded by rice cultivation, and the fact that in America, people buy rather than make. The panjar may be 8 - 12 feet tall, and the attachments are fully organic and fully made by hand. Most seem fashioned from palm and banana leaves. Many have high arcing tendrils with a sort of palm origami dangling from them. Other feature a broad woven palm "cloth", complete with picture inlays, that drifts in the breeze. I find it charming and spiritually uplifting that on this remarkable day symbolizing a return to democracy, the concentration of the Balinese centers more on preparations for the upcoming religious holiday than on the election, or so it seems.

After lunch, Chuck takes the kids across the lane to swim in the pool at Pringga Juwita Water Gardens Hotel (high on my list), while I soak in the bath. Yesterday we stopped in to peek at the hotel I had read so much about and nearly booked. We were approached by the manager, Budi, who invited us in for a personal tour. I was overjoyed and frankly quite taken aback by both his hospitality and the beauty and serenity of the hotel. The gardens and ponds are so extensive that I never saw even one of the seventeen individual cottage-rooms! There are boardwalk-style paths that wind through the rather large acreage. On each side of each path, as well as underneath, there are lily ponds. Budi walked us all through the gardens, along the twisting ponds and beneath towering greenery that makes each step a private oasis secluded from the next step. If I could walk this path every waking moment for a month, I feel it would be an eternal awakening. It's like a spiritual labyrinth set in the Garden of Eden, and I know secrets are waiting for me here, beckoning to me, screaming for me to hear. I want to stay, and Budi wants us to. It's not yet tourist season and they are only 40% occupied. We can have a room for $40.00. I had made reservations across the road, and I felt I needed to honor them. Next time . . . .

Budi takes us all the way to the back of the gardens to a large bale like a giant, well-designed treehouse, and instructs us to climb to the second level. It's a serene resting spot with a magnificent view of the silent ricefields. We are worlds away, though barely removed, from the screaming, smog-belching motorbikes. I ask him about the fields, and whether or not we could be allowed to spend half a day tending the rice, working with the Balinese. He says that we are welcome to, but that we should wait for "a good day." If he meant the weather, I'm skeptical. I haven't seen one yet. The heat is overbearing. But I'm very pleased at the possibility. There are two things I wanted to do here -- work in the ricefields, and volunteer in the school. He also tells us we can swim in the pool at any time for 10,000 rupiah per person ($1.25). A steal of a deal in this heat.

When Chuck and the kids return for a dip in the pool, they meet a boy and girl from England and a young couple from New York. It's quite a change to be in a place where the other tourists are both approachable and interesting.

After tea on the terrace brought by Wayan, we set out for dinner. Chuck has a 7:00 appointment with the owner of Bali 3000 to upload Jason's letter and access our mail files from home. I selected a new dining spot to try that we could reach by way of two as yet unexplored lanes, but the quick passage of time directed us back to Casa Luna. I really need a fix of nasi goreng, and it's very good here, though WAY more than the street value of 67 cents -- at Casa Luna it's a whopping $1.12. I've always loved a good fried rice.

This morning I had a strange dream. My friend Nancy had a group of us running for our lives, as she insisted that "Satan" was coming. I selected a beautiful glass (!) house for our hiding place, and though we lay low, she cried with great fear as a figure walked up to the door. "Oh no, oh no, he's here," she cried, and I looked up to see the man she was dating. Hmm . . . .

It's really beautiful here after 5:00. It's much less crowded, the air becomes cool, and the breeze picks up, insuring that dinner is always a romantic, poetic treat -- every restaurant is open-air. The stars are brilliantly lit and the skies usually clear. Each night we've looked directly above us to marvel at two partner stars -- one red and one blue. I've never seen them before, and they've become fast friends to us, giving us a sort of guidepost far away from home.

Every night at Casa Luna they show a free movie in a separate room set aside as an art gallery. Tonight's is "Everyone Says I Love You." You can order a beer or desert or whatever -- I think it's a really nice touch.

After dinner, we do the internet thing. We get a great letter from Dad, as well as one from my friend Cookie, who says our e-mail letters are "better than the Travel Channel." Damn straight.

Then a good night's sleep.

Tuesday, June 8

Sick.

Wednesday, June 9

This page does not exist.

Thursday, June 10

Out of sheer, inconceivable, rip-the-flesh-off-my-bones-shred-by-excruciating-shred-BOREDOM, I am writing in my journal again. Is this how great novels get written?

We are in Munduk, in the mountains of Northern Bali, having arrived four hours ago after a long, difficult, winding mountainous trip of 2-1/2 hours -- about an hour longer than it should have taken due to the Galungan holidays. Many, many (or perhaps all) of the Balinese are out today (on their motorbikes, of course) visiting family, temples, friends, or sitting by the lakes. It was just like Dad always warned me -- to beware while traveling of suddenly finding myself surrounded by gypsy children. Only we were set apart in a good, strong jeep, and the swarms were of Indonesian teenagers and young families on motorbikes. I am at a total loss as to how we got here without an accident (or several). We are all dreading the drive back, and yet at the same time, already so very anxious to leave. I thought any place would be better than Ubud, and there is a cooler breeze here, but it's all I can do to keep from screaming my head off and running up and off the nearest mountain.

Our surroundings are, actually, spectacularly beautiful. From our porch, we look down to a ricefield within ten feet of us, then across a clearing through seemingly endless mountains on both sides, and finally to a gorgeous fingered bay on the ?????????????????????????/. The setting sun has turned the water golden, and soon it will be very, very dark, as there is nothing near us that might send out a beacon into the night. The good news is that this agony of inertia makes for good family bonding. We're playing cards together, laughing, reading, writing, and thanking God for each other as companions in hell. We are unable to walk because the narrow roads are something close to suicide, and the auto pollution, even in these pristine mountains, is unbearable. So we sit.

Sunday, June 13

It's 10:50, and everyone is out by the pool except me. I am sitting and contemplating homelessness. We will be allowed to extend our check-out time to 3:00 at no extra charge, with a full day's charge if we stay longer. They will store our luggage and we can hang out by the pool, or visit the other hotel, or go somewhere if we wish. Our flight isn't until 9:45!! I really can't tell yet from our tickets whether or not we'll stop over in Jakarta again. Chuck says there's an American Airlines office there, but unless there's a flight scheduled for midnight, they'll surely be closed. I'm only a little nervous about not having a flight out of Dallas, and not nervous at all about leaving Denpasar. There's simply no other way -- they HAVE to take me! At times I feel a little better. I did a bit of yoga this morning and ate two pancakes (small) and took a walk with Jason. But I feel so uncomfortable -- so wary and tenuous. There are people who live like this every day. If they are a bit off in the head, I'm certain it's necessary to their survival.

I started this trip with many nightmares, and I don't know what combination of nerves and sleeping pills has contributed to that. I stopped taking my Prozac about two days into the trip and haven't had any since, unwilling as I am to mix all these unknown drugs that I received from the wonderful doctor in Ubud. Last night I finished the antibiotic, and I'm hopeful that will help, but so far no change. Perhaps the Prozac would have calmed me a bit, but it's hard to know. I am constantly restless -- having to always keep moving some part of my body, but carefully so as not to rumble my intestines -- and my mind can't settle or rest on any subject or activity. It's not fun, and I'm so anxious for the end of it, but each passing minute lasts an eternity, and when the moments finally pass, there's no grand reward at the end -- just more endless moments. I feel like I've been stuck on this foreign island without a home for months, and I long to get back and expend my love on the home that is near and dear to me, and yet so often overlooked in pursuit of the exotic and new.

From my terrace, I can see abundant gardens of palms (36 acres -- a former coconut plantation) and gnarly (huge!) live oak-type trees, manicured lawns, lush beds, plantings of all kinds of tropical flora, different kinds of bougainvillea planted and grown together into canopy trees that flower in two different colors. I can see the gorgeous blue sea, with the reef and fluffy white breakers beyond, and a cool blue sky. I can feel the warmth of the equatorial sun tempered at each moment by cooling sea breezes that keep the climate along the beach even and divine. I can hear the movement of the water at the reef, the massaging waterfall at the pool, and I can watch tiny birds flitter here and there and here again, never lighting, but never fully leaving their chosen tree. I'd like to say that I can smell the frangipani and the coconut oils smoothed on sunbathing skins below, but in truth I can't. I did smell the sea on the day we arrived. This is an ideal environment for me, and yet still I fret, unable to see, unable to feel, unable to want. It's a hideous way to be. How many other are like this daily? Who are they? And why do they live with no feeling? How can they? I would rather die.

I suspect a large part of my problem is simply the drugs. It's funny how this whole trip has been about drugs. It was the bringing of drugs that made the trip good -- worthwhile and honorable -- that lent a sense of the sacred to a family vacation. And then my own need for drugs and the grace with which I received them seemed a fitting poetic justice. But now, nothing fits. I am adrift and clueless, seeking and unable to see. I am only jittery, anxious, and afraid. I'm unwilling to leave this room -- my safe haven -- because soon it will be gone, and my homelessness will be physical as well as emotional.

By the way, the ceiling/roof of the gigantic open air lobby pavilion is made of coconut and bamboo beams and covered with thatched elephant grass.

There are two swimming pools here. One has crystal clear water over blue tile, a swim-up bar, and some cool waterspouts. The other has greenish-oceany-looking water and meanders in rectangular sections here and there, under a bridge, through a cave with a grotto and a pounding waterfall. This is, of course, the one the children love. There's a perfect jacuzzi and a "cold dip" -- 7 degrees centigrade. Maybe for Swedes. The jacuzzi is the perfect temperature and has lots of very gentle jets. The big pools have sitting ledges around them.

You know, maybe I'll feel better once I'm "in charge" again. When we pass through immigration and customs and airport counters and things I know about, I feel more in control. I was worried particularly about those parts, being ill, but it's funny how thinking about them just now gave me a sense of strength. It was something I had no knowledge of for so many years, and now I'm a natural, leading the way for the rest of the family. And furthermore, I'm hungry! I want a club sandwich. When was the last time I felt hungry? Just the thought of chicken and toast makes my tummy warm. Everyone has come back to the room now, but they seem reluctant to eat.

The scenery driving to Munduk was spectacular. I still can't believe we actually drove all the way up into those mountains that seemed so far away and inaccessible. At the top, we saw three incredibly blue crater lakes in the volcanoes. Due to a late realization of fairly privileged information, I had scheduled this journey for the day after Galungen, thinking we could take advantage of the festivities in Ubud, only later learning that the following day is set aside for visiting family and, apparently, a lot of courting. As we drove, all along the roadsides surrounding the lakes there would be small bushes with their lower limbs removed, allowing a person to sit beneath in a bit of shade. And under each bush sat a boy and a girl. Each bush! Hundreds! Wayan told us that a boy must work for ten years before he is allowed to marry at age 25, and it is the girls who choose the husbands. The system is based largely on money. "No money -- no love," he said.

I get my club sandwich and continue writing and staring from the balcony until I must leave at 3:00, then move downstairs by the pool. Jason comes to me shortly afterwards and is not feeling well. I don't have a thermometer, but his forehead is on fire. We sit for a while together in the shade of the main pavilion beneath the fans, but he doesn't improve. I know there is a doctor on site, so I approach the concierge and ask for him. The nurse and doctor are both very kind, and again, the doctor speaks excellent English. My concern is that we're soon to board a plane for a day and a half of travel, and I want to be certain he can make the trip safely and comfortably. He thinks Jason is fine, and gives him medication to bring down the fever. He says, "I apologize, but this will be very expensive. We have to buy the drugs from Europe." We pay about $50.00, including $10.00 for the fever medication (two pills). It's the last of our Balinese money, and we'll need to make arrangements for getting to the airport. But I'm more concerned about Jason. We return to the sofas in the pavilion, and he sleeps next to me until it's time to go.

Monday, June 14

Tokyo! Yeah!! I've never been so happy to be anywhere. The Narita airport is very nice and very quiet. We don't have an overnight stay during our return trip, so no hotel room. The children and I curl up in a corner while Chuck tries to exchange our American Airline tickets, since Ashley's and mine aren't valid for two more weeks. There's a bank of three wide, cushioned seats, and Jason is fitfully trying to sleep through this high fever. Ashley and I sit on the window ledge, perched like mother hens guarding our egg.

We ride over to the other terminal and wander through Japanese shops, marveling at how everything on all packaging is written totally in Japanese with no translations at all. So many countries make concessions to the large (and moneyed) English-speaking tourist population, but not the Japanese. Even in the drugstore, the rows and rows of medicines bear only Japanese picture-names -- no logos, no English (or French, or Spanish), or even a drawing to give any clue what might be inside the boxes and bottles and tubes.

We ate at Shoney's (Shoney's?!) because it seemed the most stomach-friendly option with half of us now sick. Ashley and I had macaroni gratinee with chicken. Neither of us ate the chicken, and the cheese was very light. It was good, and very comforting. Jason had teriyaki chicken breast with fries (when in Japan . . .), but had little success eating it. Chuck had a Shoney's Big Boy (when in Japan . . .) and swallowed it right down. Three cokes and Ashley's milkshake brought our total to $43.18!! The exchange rate is 120 Yen to $1.00.

Wandering the shops, I found a pair of my all-time favorite sandals -- reedy soles with black velvet thong straps. I used to buy them in Durham for $3.00. I thought, "Japan! What luck! They'll be dirt cheap!" They were $15.00 I didn't buy them. I wish I still had my old ones. We buy some bags of what we suspect might be cookies and candy, and we luck out, settle into the floor to wait a while longer, and enjoy them.

Before leaving, we walked up to the observation deck for a look around. It really is quite pleasant here. The weather is very agreeable -- in the 60's or 70's with a nice breeze. They are in the midst of quite a dilemma over the need for expansion and the lack of land -- surrounded by farmers who need the fields for their livelihood. I feel bad for all of them. The American counter opened at 12:15, and Chuck and I tried again to change the tickets. The flight that Chuck and Jason have tickets for is fully booked. They can get out of Dallas, but Ashley and I can't. There's a later flight, but I'm so anxious to be home. I ask about an earlier one, and there are seats available, which we grab. No charge for the changes. Many kisses. We leave Tokyo and head for Dallas. Jason keeps trying to sleep off the fever. He's a trooper. I keep trying to sleep off the pain and cramping.

In the end, we have to fly standby -- the flight is overbooked -- but we make it on. Ashley is sitting in front of me, and Chuck and Jason are stuffed into the back somewhere, but not together. They bring us coke and pretzels, and we'll land in Atlanta in just over an hour. I didn't have time to call my brother and tell him about the time changes, so he'll be surprised to see us. I'm very glad that bedtime approaches. I don't feel any jet lag, and hope we'll all be in good shape for the drive home tomorrow. Half a flight, a night's sleep, and six hours in the car to go. What will I do first? Maybe weed the garden. Maybe walk. Maybe sew. I definitely need food. My stomach is doing better and better, and Jason's fever seems to be ebbing ever so slightly. We've missed lunch, having landed in Dallas at 12:50 and taken off again at 2:08, with no time in between for anything other than running. But according to my body, it's still only 6:00 AM, so I'm thinking we can hold on a while longer. We had breakfast about five hours ago, and we can move right into dinner when we land. I need to finish my articles on Costa Rica, run an ad for Wash Day, work on the write-up for Jason's project. Maybe try and arrange some sort of global network -- J can handle the Virginia area -- maybe start something at Woodberry as a continuation of his Eagle project . . . .