“While you were sitting in the backseat smoking that cigarette you thought was gonna be your last, I was falling deep, deeply in love with you and I never told you ‘til just now." -Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros

My new favorite thing about this place, is the way the Aussies have influenced the language. People here say, "hay mate," and one local vendor told me in broken English that he'd give me a super sunset deal on some t-shirts, just because I was "so bloody good-looking." Lies and slander.

Ubud is as laid back as Kuta is hectic. The rice fields stretch lazily in every direction from my hotel. A thousand birds call, a million crickets buzz and the awful music has been left behind. In its place, local gamelan music trickles from old, humidity-scarred speakers.




(Bamboo "xylophone" featured in Gamelan, doesn't he look pissed?)

On my way here, I stopped to drink of the various crafts that are still active in Bali. Batik, a form of weaving that involves burning the image onto cloth (silk, cotton, other fragile weaves) and sealing it with heavy wax before rinsing it dry - leaving the fabric with an ancient and burnt smell. Also, silver smithing, a laborious and delicate process that yields ornate jewelry, cutlery and sculpture. Along every road is evidence of the master stone-work and wood carving that persists. Ganesha, Hanuman and Siddartha watch stone-faced as you pass.



(Batik)

Lastly, a co-op painting studio. I bought an amazing small oil painting of folks working a field and would have shook the painter's hand, but he was napping off a headache. He woke long enough to reject my offer and ask for an extra twenty dollars. It's in a plastic tube stuffed into my backpack and why didn't I take a picture first? Damn it. It's great. You'll have to take my word.



(Instead, here's some rice)

I could only find a room for one night in Ubud, so I pressed on. I found a really interesting guy named Komang Widarsana to drive me. Komang identifies him as the third born child (Ho, Ender) so I've met maybe six Komangs so far. He's spent his whole life on Bali and he has a degree in English too, so we've talked a lot about school. It seems that in Indonesia, a degree still means something. Married and with kids, (boys, "bad boys," he calls them) his mother helped him get a car when he was younger and he started his transportation business. Now he is just starting a second job with Prudential as an insurance agent. If you come to Bali, I highly recommend him. These roads are treacherous, and it pays to have a good driver who knows them. He brought me from Kuta to Ubud, then got me the next day (after I'd perused the Enchanted Monkey Forest, holy shit) and took me deeper north. We visited a famous Buddhist temple, ate some lunch and then hit the Bali hot springs, which I have taken to calling the Bali warm springs. Sulfurous and tepid, but still, a true and honest experience.




(Komang!!)




(Buddhist temple)








(This one kept doing "speak no evil" then grinning and clapping)







(Enchanted Monkey Forest)

My back-up plan has been Sanur (basically back to Kuta) but the deeper I get the less I want to go back to Disneyland and Mickey Mouse. The people get warmer, the weather gets cooler and my brain unwinds with each kilometer north. Komang had some insurance business he could take care of and family to stay with in the area of the hot springs, so we hopped homestay to homestay until we found something with a room. I'm in said room right now after dinner at a (ready?) German-Indonesian restaurant. Yes, schnitzel and nasi goreng (fried rice) sitting next to each other. It was the best food I've had here and I broke bread next to a San Francisco ex-pat who married an Indonesian woman and is opening a massage school in Singaraja. He proposed I talk to his neighbor, who runs a foundation and teaches entry level English to local kids. She needs help organizing a grant and for someone to fill a position teaching more advanced English.

On the north end of Bali, the people are incredible. The ocean teems with life, the forest is alive with monkeys and you can rent a decent room and get a killer meal for a few dollars a night. Don't make me lie. I considered it. I'm considering it.

As he left, he said, "call me tomorrow for good places to stay around here, but if I dont hear from you tell San Francisco I said *thbbbbbbbt*," and he made the nana-nana-nana face. I like this guy. He just offered me a job. Wonders for a wandering confidence, but more importantly a solidified resolve to ditch Sanur and spend a few more days hopping homestays in the North.

Auf wiedersein.

Location:Ubud, Bali

"They say Jesus will find you wherever you go, but when he'll come looking for you they don't know. In the meantime, keep your profile low. Gorilla, you're a desperado." -Warren Zevon

Last night I slept ten hours and suffered ping-pong nightmares. Literally. I couldn't ping that fokken pong to save my life. When I woke up, five drunken Irishmen were being kicked out of my hotel for being too loud. My middle aged Aussie buddy told me that he was up late and saw a butterfly lady fluttering between their rooms. Pretty fun watching them get the boot at 6am. Katchow!

I booked a driving tour for the day. I've spent enough time in Kuta and I wanted to see more of Bali before I planned my move. I may have been hasty in canceling my hotel, however. It's peak season and a lot of the cool little spots are booked up. I have 24 hours to figure it out. I'll find something, but it won't have internet. Probably my last post for a while.

Since I am solo, the tour company put me with a tres-cool Parisian kindergarden teacher named Natalie. Our driver went by Mario. Not his real name, the locals call it a "call-name." You know, in case you're too stupid to learn a Balinese name. So far, I've met a local named Bob and this pretty down cat named Mickey-Mouse. Mickey has a big tattoo of his namesake on his gut. The first time I met him, he jumped up and says (of my shoulder piece) "Aw, fokkin noice tattoo, Boss! Where's that?" I told him California. He started walking with me. The next thing he said, was, "Hey man, Mickey-Mouse likes to smoke marijuana..." Then shrugged and gave me a contemplative look. He calls me California. I call him Mickey-Mouse. It's a thing we have.

If you don't know me, I've never smoked marijuana and I've never lied. I think it's sick and evil and I believe very strongly that anyone who partakes of the Devil's lettuce is on the fast-track to damnation. I, for one, prefer drinking 151, smoking cigs and crushing pills that end in "codin." Hey, the law is on my side, but I like Mickey-Mouse.

Where was I....where am I....

It was cicada o'clock when I left Chicago and it's the same here.








This tour included temples (more about faith next time), a plantation that grew coffee, lemongrass, cocoa, chilis, lemongrass and ginger and is home to a colony of lewak - the critters that eat coffee beans and poop out more expensive coffee beans.








(Coffee, cocoa, lemongrass tea, ginger tea and ginger caramel coffee)

Lunch overlooked a mountain range and some epic platformed rice and vegetable fields.







Finally, the kewp dew grass, a long-tailed macaque sanctuary called "Monkey Temple."








BABY MONKEY PHOTO TIME!
(Cue party lights and dance music)


















































In case you need a refresher in Balinese Hinduism (I did), within the faith and especially clear in the epic poem Ramayana, monkeys are good and evil joined. Hanuman (the monkey king) is a damn fine chap, but Subali, for instance, has been corrupted and represents a mischievous evil force. Hear no evil see no evil speak no evil, but commit a little, neh?

This is so right on. They go from quietly eating each others lice to fucking battle mode (or battle fucking mode) in the blink of an eye. They also like to steal things. I'd heard this, but seeing it in action is amazing. One kid got his pockets picked. When he didn't find anything, he scampered up and rocked a big piss on the kid's head. It was so awesome.















(Kinda looks like me at 13....the human, not the macaque...although....)

When I started letting them climb on me (oh, you know I did) one tried to eat my backpack and the other tried to steal my earrings. If you show them your hands are empty they lose interest pretty quick. Later, at sunset, we were shooting photos and I foolishly put my sunglasses back on so I could see what I was doing. While I was chimping (looking at my lcd screen to check exposure, freaky amateur style) a sneaky macaque stole my sunglasses. In a second he was over the side of a cliff. A tour guide chucked a bag of zucchini chunks at it and got my glasses back. I literally bowed to this guy. I need my prescription specs. I'm blind as a giant fruit bat without them. We saw those too.








Why do macaques steal things they can't eat? Because they have learned that humans will trade them for things they can. I thought maybe he just thought my shades looked kickass. I am officially a fan of monkeys (and apes, but that's not what I'm talking about).There's a pretty healthy population of macaques here and they live successfully, even butted up against human settlement, but if the forests go, the macaques go too. So, yeah. Fuck that. As I always say, "Up with monkeys, down with junkies," or something.








(For Uncle David) When I asked Mario to play some local Balinese music because I was sick of the USA MEGAMIX TOP 40 bullshit they play absolutely everywhere, he smiled and popped on a cd that started with some Black Eyed Peas travesty and sang along with every word. Sometimes, all of the time, popular North American "culture" (all of the time) makes me want to all the time set myself on fire. All of the time. We are a disease and we are spreading like the plague. If you disagree, feel free to go fuck yourself and listen to bullshit. That's why America is great, that's why America is a disaster. "'Cause baby you're a firework?" Fuck me sideways I hate you.

We are Rome, we are Rome. We are great, we are great. We've built the mighty aqueducts that will shortly kill us dead. We've learned much about much, but not enough about lead.

I'm rethinking everything. Thanks be to all-mighty Atheismo for this time.








Yawn. Leaving tomorrow. Stay classy, Kuta.

Location:Bali, Indonesia

"You say I'm cute, you don't know how much that hurts. You don't know what it's like to live in your own dirt, like a monkey in a zoo." -Daniel Johnston

I love animals. They're like people, but better. No psychotherapy, no reality TV, very little alcoholism except when some cruel animal trainer thinks it's funny to see some poor hapless creature stumble around all wasted and gets them hooked on the stuff. To be fair though, what's a monkey smoking a cigarette if it doesn't have a gin and tonic too? Kuta has a fair share of wildlife and I came into contact with a lot of it today.

I've mentioned the grungy dogs. I saw a woman on the beach giving one medicine, so they are either owned or people have a sense of responsibility for them. Here's one pissing.





The cats, however, are like rats. Which bumps the rats down to like cockroaches or something. Haven't seen any cockroaches yet, but I assume I'd bump 'em down if I saw any. Anyhow, the cats are feral and very skinny. The rats are scruffy and live in holes in the sidewalks. Pretty adorable.




(Rats live here)

At night there are frogs that hop around and do cool tricks like eating bugs and dying.




(Go man, go!)

Today, I took an hour long 5am walk through Kuta and Legian, then a five hour afternoon walk on the beach. (I think I understand, Pops, but I don't pretend to understand Pops). There were these crabs...not the itchy kind, little sand crabs that bite your foot and take a ride while you walk. They eat muck (technical term, try to follow) off the beach and make these tiny balls of sand when they're done. Industrious little creatures, the beach is covered with these.





Also, I guess it's spawning season. Took my breath away. Mounds of these tiny crabs were clustered along any flow of water that went from land to sea. The photos tell it better than I can.




(Smaller than my pinky nail)

Prepare for the long view....




(I tried to count them, but couldn't keep track)

On my way home, I met a dude with a preforming monkey. It was chained and in people-clothes. Very depressing and also just a tiny bit adorable. (Sorta wanted to chain the dude up and make him an alcoholic). I took some photos of him on dude's shoulders and then the guy just kinda throws his monkey at me. So I'm sitting with this monkey and he reaches over and grabs my hand with one of his. Then with his other little monkey hand he starts pulling dead skin off my cuticles. What a mensch.





This monkey could do backflips, box with his buddy, drive a little wooden motorcycle, put on his helmet, and then when the guy went, "Oh no! Crash!" the monkey bails out and plays dead. I hate how much fun it was. Terrible to domesticate such brilliant creatures, ghastly, just awful and OH MY GOD I WANT ONE! My finger skin would be immaculate and the ladies love a dude with clean finger skin. Right?




(Imagine this, but without the farmers tan and with clean fingers)

The last animal I'd like to discuss is this goddamn rooster that lives next door. I hate him. Could someone let this cock know that 3am is not dawn? Thought the darkness would be a dead giveaway, but no. According to this guy, dawn starts promptly at three and goes until six. I do not have a photo of this cock, but if I find him he's going to be sorry he ever crossed me.

Instead, here's the monkey trying to steal my camera.




(I love him)

Buh-bye!

Location:Kuta Beach, Bali

"You said, 'Aint it just like the present, to be showing up like this?' As the moon waned to crescent, we started to kiss." -Bon Iver

Kuta beach. Cheap, warm and beautiful. During the day it's about 80 degrees, the beach is full of friendly (if not slightly aggressive) locals and a lot of Aussie tourists. Cold beers, beach side massages, palm trees, grungy local dogs begging food. Paradise.





I did not arrive during the day.

I got in at midnight and apparently something was happening on Legian - the main drag of Kuta - that my taksi driver kept calling "Bali Gem." He told me it meant I had to walk part of the way since the streets were blocked. I asked what he would do in Bali if he were me and he said, "Yes." I asked how far I would have to walk and he said, "Bali Gem." I got some pretty shaky directions and set off down Legian.

Bali Gem turned out to be a big to-do that brings out the tourists and locals in droves. It was like nothing I've ever seen.

The first thing to know about Kuta is that the scooter rules the streets. Locals drive them around and hire out the back seat to tourists. They WILL run your ass down.





You can identify the scooter drivers because as you pass, they shout "Transport?" and make the motion of a handlebar accelerator. Some "Kuta Cowboys" accept "Thank you, no," but many will drive along side you and keep asking, eventually giving up or moving on to other business proposals. Mostly hash, but also mushrooms, "massage" (Jesus, anything but both at once) cocaine and some small white pills that I figured were speed, but looked to be packaged very officially. When I finally asked, "No, but what the hell is that?" the woman said, "Cialis? Viagra?" Everyone is friendly, but everyone has an agenda. That's cool. It means you know where you stand.

You can identify my hotel because it is a hundred steps from the memorial for the nightclub bombing in 2002. It is a large stone structure listing the names of the dead organized by country of origin. There are two hundred and two names.





You can identify the tourists because they are well and truly shit-hammered. As in, Hunter and the Samoan attorney walking into the casino on ether, hammered. There's some very potent (potentially poisonous) local liquor that I might have to try....

You can identify the prostitutes ("butterfly ladies") when they grab your arm as you pass, make eye contact and say, "Fuck?"

I think I'll cancel most of my stay in Kuta and go to Ubud. It's where the Enchanted Monkey Forest lies and when I said to my taksi driver "Ubud?" He said, "Yes, chill, quiet, artist." By a long shot our best back and forth. I told him I liked monkeys and he laughed at me.





I need to learn how to haggle, I'm shit at haggling. The exchange rate is a bit confusing (8900 rupiah is 1 USD) and everything costs maybe half of even the cheapest places In the states, but Balinese people love to haggle so I'm going to figure it out. My primary inspiration is to buy a ton of these dirty bumper stickers. I guess maybe the Aussies like them. I do too.





(There's a certain charm to "A BANCHONG STOLE MY PURSE," and "I <3 BIG FAT PUSSY," but my current fave is "UP THE BUM NO BABY'S") I'm gonna eat some Cialis and boomers and go scare the locals. PEACE.

Location:Kuta Beach, Bali

"Understated is how we prefer to be, that's why I've sold 3 million and you've never heard of me..." -The Streets

Now no one can say I never spent 2 hours in Korea.







Seoul/Incheon Airport is like a tasty appetizer for this trip. It's bizarre, but airports are always familiar. I traded in some dollars for Indonesian rupiah and had a coffee while trying to sort out how to encapsulate centuries upon centuries of rich history and the traditional Korean cultural experience and still find time for a Korean airport deuce when I found this...





(Bingo!)

Korean Air is awesome. They have bibambop (Korean dish with rice, minced beef, veggies and chili paste) and The Streets play on their radio station.







I'm gigantic and white, coffee-shocked and restless (HOGAN!). I'm sweaty and I don't smell great, my head is close-shaved and my beard is thick and Nordic red (Catbear orange). I already feel like an oddity. So, that's promising.







I'll be taking an Indonesian shower in 10 hours. It's gonna be gooooood. (It's nothing dirty, you pervert - it's just when you take a shower in Indonesia).







It feels like I've been here before, or like I'll be back. But I certainly never have and probably never will.

Location:Seoul/Incheon Airport

"I got nothing left to be, do you have some plans for me?" -Dinosaur Jr.

My nerves are buzzing. I'm sitting in the airport writing this, about to finally depart. Thought I'd throw a few more photos up before I left.




(Maceo Haymes of The O'My's)

The O'My's played a killer show Saturday. I had a Chicago hot dog and a Chicago pizza and went to Michigan and hosted a few reading parties and now I'm fucking-off to Asia for 6 weeks. It's petrifying in the best kind of way.





Maybe it's something I project to the world, but I sometimes feel people see me as a contingency plan. I'm not perfect. No one's fucking perfect and don't trust the ones that seem to be. But my complicity is clear. I let it happen over and over. Ah...feeling taken for granted, the bastard child of feeling relied upon. But, the self-serving of the many make it all the more sugary-sweet to pass some time with the few who matter.

Off I go.

Location:Leaving Chicago

"God only knows why I don't just retreat // instead of riding the rails back to the place of my first defeat." -Hedwig & the Angry Inch

Back in Chicago. First eighteen years of my life were spent fooling and tooling in this city - longer if you count the years I kept my thoughts here and nowhere felt more like home. How strange and disjointing that it would ever feel so alien. So archeological. So like a dream, surrounded by faces wrapped in smoke - you know them well and love them well and they bear that same love for you. Their smells and thoughts and voices are the same as you remember, but you cannot to save your life place their faces.

When you wake up, some live. Others have been dead for years.

Chicago, nothing has changed. Chicago, everything has changed. I love you when I'm here and miss you when I'm away. How pleasant that you stay right here - more or less - so that I can come visit you. I forgive you in advance and a thousand times over for being a hundred degrees on Wednesday. Sometimes you have to bake.

Location:Chicago

"You think I could interest you in a pair of zircon encrusted tweezers?" -Frank Zappa

Amtrak. You are a weary institution. I salute you. At lunchtime I tried to grab a table by myself, but was quickly corrected. People don't sit alone - no room. An employee led me to a table occupied by an older couple from South Carolina and a fellow my age or a bit older with a strong New Zealand accent. We talked about travel, train food, hometowns and family - easy subjects for strangers on a train. It felt good to be crammed up next to this heavyset New Zealander, to be bumping knees with these kind people. The woman spent 12 years in Japan so we talked about vending machines with Sapporo and whiskey. The gentleman liked the school I went to, so I explained that my parents and siblings had chased my sister and her three kids from Chicago to San Francisco. The New Zealander liked New Orleans, so we talked about music, cheap airfare and drunk people. My salad wasn't as good as the company.

Only the slightest twinges of claustrophobia so far. I thought it would be worse. About to hit Reno and Sparks, twin cities in Nevada. I've been through here before. It's an armpit. My free Amtrak route guide says locals are fond of saying, "Reno is so close to hell, you can see Sparks."

Not bad.

The contrast of wildly tacky human development against the Sierra range is embarrassing to me. Telephone wires span broad breathtaking canyons, sprinting alongside four lane highways dotted with big box store semis and red SUVs and what the hell have we done here?

Location:California-Nevada-Utah-Colorado