Everyone in Bali is just trying to get ahead. Literally. Riding in a taxi qualifies as a spectator sport, as your driver bobs and weaves through traffic in a hair-raising real life version of Frogger. As he dodges everything from motor bikes carrying families of three (and even four) to macaques to a hunter carrying a dog (photographic evidence below), you can’t help but brace for impact. Admittedly though, after 10 hours on the road we didn’t experience a single collision (I didn’t say there weren’t any scrapes). It’s telling that Balinese, with their quixotic rendering of tropical Hinduism, set up mini shrines at hairpin curves and blind intersections.
Contrast the fury with which Balinese drive to the languid charm of terraced rice fields, blackened temples, and impromptu gardens. After our sojourn up the enchanting mountain, I was irresistibly draw down. (See previous post on Mt. Batur.) A steep descent through charcoaled lava fields was rewarded with this stunning lake view and a spontaneous dip in hot springs, eh hem, sans swim suit (no photographic evidence below). Hey, that’s why I always bring a scarf when I travel.
All of this to say, I know where I want to live next.