On Saturday, my friend K. and I headed down to the Bukit, the peninsula which sticks out on the South side of Bali. The Bukit is renowned for its dramatic cliffs, perfect surfer waves and clean water. While I’ve been there before to visit Uluwatu, I had never really spent time on the beach or stayed overnight. Even though it’s only 40 minutes away, the roads are busy and can get quite rough the closer you get to the beach. So we left our motorbikes behind and hired a car with a driver.
On the way down, we stopped at the Galleria Mall for essential supplies. In my case, I needed to stock up on skin care products from the Body Shop. K. bought swimming goggles and running shoes. Just a half hour later, we reached our destination, a place called Mu. It was stunning. Situated on a cliff maybe 50 meters above the beach it was classy but simple place run by a 40-ish French surfer named J. Our “room” was a large Balinese “bale” (basically just a raised platform, open except for a roof) that was situated literally at the edge of the cliff. It was comfortably appointed with mattresses, lots of pillows and a misquito net. Behind the bale was a small open air kitchen, toilet and shower. It was perfect, the kind of glorified camping that I love.
K. took me on a tour of the place, which consists of several simple but classy wooden bungalows. One of the rooms is built right into the cliff side. Situated at strategic points along the property are other bales, where guests can chill out, read, or nap. Sometimes J. rents these out as sleeping quarters. The swimming pool is big, its edges blend in with the sky and the ocean that it overlooks, giving the illusion of an expansive, infinite pool of blue. There’s a small kitchen and bar and big communal dining table under a tree. The dining scenario reminded me of those French movies where a group of friends eat at long wooden tables next to a farmhouse, drinking jugs of red wine and sneaking off to commit adultery with their friends wives.
We walked down 113 stone stairs to the beach below, where huge boulders and outcroppings hug the shore. We floated in the quite pools at Bingen beach, and then walked down to Dreamland for juices and sunset. Dreamland was packed with surfers. K. braved the tumultuous surf while I took photographs of her coconut juice. We found ourselves scurrying back down the beach at dusk in order to make it up those 113 steps before dark.
We joined the hotel’s other guests for communal dinner at 7:30. This night the menu was Indonesian. In the dim light, so I couldn’t really see what I was eating. I held back and managed to not to be my usual picky ass self. Well, at least not vocally. My eyes adjusted to the lack of light and I was able to discern the little pieces of chili pepper and pick them out, one by one, from the tempeh dish. Everyone at the table was nice, though as usually the French self-selected and spoke their native tongue at one end of the table.
Neither K. nor I slept very well. I was kept awake by the massive storm which our bale provided a front row seat for. I couldn’t tell which was louder, the thunder or the crashing waves. K. didn’t sleep much either, as I learned the next morning. She snuck off and spent several hours kissing J. somewhere near the pool.
We awoke to a massive rainbow stretching across the sea. You could just make out the faint outline of Java’s volcanos under the span of its arch. It was Sunday, and we began the morning with a yoga class taught by K. Didn’t I mention there was a yoga pavilion conveniently located right behind our bale? And that K. is a great yoga teacher? With appetites there was a delicious breakfast of coffee, fruit salad, and pastries. I spent part of the day lazing in the bale reading Shantaram and studying the Indonesian passive tense. K’s business partners showed up, having driven down from Seminyak for the afternoon. We hung out with them at the pool, then joined some of the other guests for a delicious salad and French bread. Once again I kept my mouth shut and ate what was served –though I tried my best to avoid the cheese and egg in the salad. K. and I went to the beach again in the afternoon, but this time we decided to take the cliffside path to Dreamland. It took us a while to find the path – it seemed that none of the locals really had a clue where we could access it. After we finally foun it, I realized why noone knew where it was because clearly noone used it. It was narrow and overgrown and veered at many points quite dangerously close to the cliff edge. What I thought would be a scenic cliffside stroll turned into an unpleasant pain in the butt. That one of the velcro ankle straps of my beloved Merrill’s kept coming unstuck made it even harder to navigate the tricky terrain. That said it was over quickly. Before we knew it we were at Dreamland for another sunset.
I took lots of photos of a deaf guy who was doing handstands and back flips.
After another scramble to get back to Bingen and up the stairs before dark, we ate dinner with the gang. This time it was French cuisine and I had a bit of fish. Our group included English and Australians, and our lively discussion drowned out the Frenchies. We smugly noted that for once the English-speaking side of the table outlasted the French, who went to bed unfashionably early.
I slept better this night – having grown slightly more accustomed to the thunderous sound of the surf I could better savor the sea breeze that wafted through my misquito net. The next morning was Monday, so we had to get up early to drive back to Seminyak. I took a few moments to meditate but was interrupted by a family of monkeys who traveled along the cliff’s edge, no doubt looking for some hapless humans to rob. Luckily I was there to guard my Ipod!
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