From Diary 5.20/6. Despite my first sight should be visited early, I chose to sleep late. I stop in the humble Tampak Siring for breakfast, and make it almost to their tourist trap; The Gunung Kawi monument, before I succeed.
I
only later realise, that it is my first sight. I’m here at nine, and I have to
my self. Despite the
I
figure a Om-sign will be appropriate, and find a nice one. However
the hole for the string is too small. I ask a craftsman, working with
It
is really part of the areas charm to me. Here are ancient caves and temples
along the river, and the sides are covered in tiny rice patches, bananas and
nature. I so much enjoy
It
remains greyish, but I enters the hills anyway. Out in the mist, the steep
cone of a volcano dominates the horizon. The GPS leads me up a green mountain trail, which terminates in a tiny and humble settlement. A slightly longer detour, some parts allied with stone mansions.
Eventually, I
make to the little
mountain town of Taro in around 900 meters height. A back-road offers some glimpses into the real
dense jungle, but not the little waterfall.
In
the other end of the town, the Pura Gunung Kawi Sebatu is found.
Unless it is two other temples. They tend to change names. They are both big
and impressive, but the sandstone have turned black with algae, and in a
greyish day like this make photos impossible. I find a
That was my planned sights, but the day is young, although grey. I set the GPS for Kintamani on the huge Gunung Batur crater, and it is into the heights. First in dense jungle, followed by bamboo, then orange plantations dominates. Here are many other crops like cabbage and beans. The temperature have dropped to just below 20C, and the few locals are wearing jackets.
I
Then I reach Kintamani at 1450 meters height. It is found on a ridge, and it is the most run-down town, I have ever visited, Indian included. But people are still friendly, and I make a long stroll. I actually thought I started in the poor end, but it doesn’t change.
I
On the way in to town, I passed a lot of toilets, and have to figure out, what that is for. Here are clearly no tourists. But they have a vast temple area: Pura Ulun Danu Batur, with a fantastic garden. The structures are great too, and some Chinese are among the Hindi.
It is downhill all the way. The better part is through orange trees with vegetables underneath. It is really a productive area on this fertile lava gravel, facing south.
I
I
spend the evening making back-up of my photos and diary to phone #2 and the
cloud. Meanwhile, I eat small and sweet bananas real carefully, as there are
6-10 rock-hard black seeds in each. They are defiantly not mend for eating
while driving. I then find possible viewpoints along volcanoes and crater-lakes
for tomorrow. Then it is laundry time; at least for the T-shirt.
Realising the views won’t change for quite some time to come, I head down
the crater to the crater-lake Danau Batur. Well, by many detours on
lava trails through the wastelands.
The main trail is busy with small trucks, and the one coming up, have the
right to the outer lane on the many hairpins. One area have huge tongues of
rather fresh lava. Here are everything from volcanic glass
I meet a few of of the local high-rider 4X4, stuffed with the pink dressed Indian women, that I had breakfast with. One driver friendly tell me: "Sir, you can’t drive there". I reply: "Sir, that is where I came from".
I
see some
unfamiliar plants in the old landscape in-between the fresh tongues. If it
wasn’t
Back through
high
Kintamani, and down another, way better road. Well till the GPS leads me
down an overgrown one, terminating in a green wall. I get glimpses of the huge crater lake through the trees, then I reach the shore. Or rather, the water parks, camps, swamps and temples, all charging for access. I pay at a water park, and get excellent view to the fish-farm. Plastic drums and bamboo, mixed with nets. I had not expected the number of flies would raise, closer to the water. Not really expected it could actually.
I
I is completely different on land. Numerous small fields with all kind of crops. Cabbage look fine, the red onions are drying, the beans flowering and some fields are cleared. I see a few farmers, bend down in their fields.
The
I
end out in humble Trunyan, just as it start to drizzle. At least, it
is only out there by now. I stop for a bag of corn-chips and coffee at a
mini-mart in Kendisan. Then I head way inland, pass 2151 meter high
Gunung Abang and Mount Agung My goal is the Pura Besakih temple complex, most holy in Bali, hoping the festivities have passed by now. I find a shortcut over a mountain, passing 1350 meters. Here are many open stables with mainly calves. The same sort I have seen elsewhere, beige with white socks.
The
When I finally make it to the top, they ask for a ticket, which can only be
bought at the button. Well, the structures are black, the light gloomy
and
I’m not in the mood anyway.
I find a set of minor roads to my next hotel, and enjoy the drive. First through dense forests with giant climbing Swiss cheese plants; Monstera adonsonii. Black clouds are gathering in front of me, but the low afternoon sun comes in from behind.
The A tiny road leads to some sheets, and a algae overgrown little sign have the right name. I get a modern room with toilet, hot water, porch, Wi-Fi, garden with bamboo view and kitchen. And my host offers a vegetarian fried rice for a reasonable price.
I
spend the evening on the porch, listening to the crickets, geckos and tiny
bats. There might be some small frogs or toads too? And then into the next page; Diary 7 |
lack of sun, it is a magnificent place. The 200 steps
keep the worse tourists away, but they are ready. So many nice carvings and
textiles along with other craftsmanship and food. I can’t help myself; I
have to buy some of their exclusive bone works. As the first customer of the
day, I get the right price. 
a Dremel on a coconut, if he can enlarge for me, and we get a long and
interesting chat. He and his family actually owe some if the rice patches in
the end of the area. They farm them by hand, as they are too small for
machines, and as a kind of hobby. 
it, and the quietness in general. A single school
class of real well behaved children cross my path, and I make a huge loop in
the rice patches. 
up people, so fantastic creatures and a lot op pling-plong. 
have a few mixed
shops. I find coffee in one, but relay on my tiny and sweet bananas for lunch. Most homes look like temples from
not only the outside, but also inside.
little restaurant,
and the bananas are safe – for now. 
stop for a coffee outside Peludu, at 1150 meters height. The 1717
meter high Mount Batur start to dominate the horizon, although the
mist are quite dense. At 1400 meters height, the forest takes over, and here
are some huge pine-trees. 
do the back-alley on the way back, and despite it is only a meter vide, it
is actually way cleaner. I struggle to get views of the volcano and
crater-lake, due to the buildings, but I succeed a few times. The mountain
side is covered in some white flowering Asteraceae. 
I
get a few more great but misty views of Mount Batur and barley the
huge crater lake. I have to try tomorrow. I do one turn after 200 meters,
and then straight home for 19 kilometres. I though their longest road was
one kilometre. 
bought some raw food at the shop I parked in front of in Kintamani, as I
have exhorted the menus in “my” town. My host generously add eggs and fresh
spices, and I get a great meal. The instant noodles with 4-5 tiny bags of
tasty things cost €0,20. 
21/6.
I head back to Kintamani, hoping for some clear weather.
19 kilometres straight, and I even get in fifth gear. The sun is here,
straight in my face, but the 
bun - it is
actually charcoal which make it black.
to air-filled
turf. One time, 
for the numerous and thirsty flies, I would have explored more by
foot. Well, crashing my iPhone does not help on the spirit. 
try several kilometres, but don’t get the images I had hoped for. The sun
have shifted – the few times it penetrates the mist. That make the upper
site shore interesting. 
surface of the water have not changed; fish-farms most of the way. I
keep following the road, which get worse and worse. Here are a few great motives
to both lake, the distant mountain wall and the farmers fields and huts
is 3014 meter high. Can’t really
talk myself into a walk up in the cold mist though. 
last few hundred meters are bye a four lane highway, and the multi
storage parking buildings would impress any airport – each of them! I park,
look for a ticket counter, but end up walking two kilometres steep upwards,
in a gauntlet of souvenir shops, as the only visitor. 
walk down, and when I finally find the improvised ticket count, I politely
suggest them to put up a sign. Less polite, I ask them to stuff their
temple. 
little market in Mananga is still open, and I do a loop.
Outside town, the
farming takes over, and I have to stop several times, as the sun is perfect.
As my next home is found way out in the bamboo forests, I stock some instant
noodles, just in case.