Impressions of Bali, three days in

It's a complex mix, here; different worlds co-existing. On the surface, as a Westerner, is tourist Bali; walking around the centre of Bali and being politely accosted every few yards with a call of 'Taxi?', or 'Transport?', past shop after shop selling clothes, bamboo wind chimes, carved nick-nacks, fruit, paintings. Again, if you make eye contact it's 'Good morning, how are you?' and, again, being very politely shown something you might want to buy.

It's fine, but it's tiring. Walking down the main street in Ubud is tiring anyway. The pavement, where it exists at all, it is narrow and uneven, with frequent gaping holes which would drop you straight into the sewer below. It also tends to be blocked by parked cars, motorbikes, sleeping dogs and building works. Often you end up walking on the road, jostling for space with motorbikes and cars squeezing by with inches to spare.

Once you get tired of all this, again you are never more than a few yards away from a large and well-appointed restaurant catering mainly to tourists. The prices here are possiby vastly inflated by local standards, but affordable in Western terms; perhaps 30,000 IDR for a typical dish, which is only about £1.80 at the moment. There are many hotels, pensions and guesthouses; ours is very nice, with a delighful view over the paddy fields, a small swimming pool, and a basic but ok room with a fan. Our hotel does internet access for 15,000 IDR per hour, under a pound, I've also spotted a few places which seem to do it for free. (I saw one guy rather oddly and ostentatiously sitting on the pavement across the road from a café with a MacBook Pro, obviously snarfing their wifi for free...)

Everyone speaks basic English, at least enough to offer you a taxi, or sell you something. There is no problem with things like getting a sim card for a phone, or getting money from and ATM, or even booking an internal flight, which we did very painlessly just by walking into a tiny one-man office and enquiring.

Anytime you do want to buy something - a gift, a taxi ride, a hotel room - you have to barter. Well, I suppose you don't have to, you could just pay the price asked, but it is expected. I don't much like it. Today I plucked up courage to go into a shop and show some interest in a batik shirt. Surprisingly, perhaps, there was a written price label of 195,000 IDR, £12, which would probably have been a fair price for the garment in the UK. I tried it on and it genuinely didn't fit, so I turned it down. At which point, the guy dropped his voice very quietly, as one does when bartering, and offered me a 'discount' to 175,000 IDR.

And so it goes; I didn't take this one any further. I was sitting next to an Indonesian couple the other night at a performance, and I was able to overhear a barter for a tube of mosquito repellant between two Indonesians. It was all over in about two seconds, they just did it so quickly and naturally... maybe I'll get used to it.

Overhear. Yes, spending the time in the run up to our trip here memorising more or less the whole of 'Teach Yourself Indonesian' has been extremely worthwhile. To my relief I found that my pronunciation was good enough for people to follow, that my stock of phrases was quite useful, and that in simple everyday transactions I can more or less follow what is being said. Which brings me on to...

Indonesian Bali. We went down to breakfast quite early the other morning, slightly catching them on the hop, I think. The only person around was Made Lodeh; maybe in her early twenties, freindly smile and manner, but only just so much English. She was dressed in jeans, t-shirt and trainers. A little while later after getting our breakfast, she reappeared, but this time in traditional Balinese costume. It was only then I really noticed that most of the staff here dress this way whenever they are on duty. It had kind of snuck under my conciousness; the costume, along with a particular kind of diffident manner, it's all a subtle part of what makes tourist Bali so attractive.

But then there's jeans and t-shirt Bali, Indonesian Bali; you come back in the evening and spy the same hotel guys sitting around and watching idoru on YouTube. Or, wander through the downtown Peliatan and see the motorbike workshops, electrical shops, mobile phone shops and even what looked to me like a very non-tourist batik shop, maybe where you would go to buy your hotel costume.

Then, Balinese Bali. The other curious obstruction you meet when trying to negotiate Ubud main street is little square packets made of palm leaves or something, with a little bit of rice, or some incense or some coconut in them. Clumsy tourists stomp all over them (including me, once), but they are offerings, and they are made freshly every day in their thousands. Most mornings I spot a woman who seems to be doing the rounds of the local shrines and temples, kind of watering the offerings and refreshing the offerings which have been left there. When you do become aware of them, it's like you are reminded of a spiritual presence every few steps, of a kind of duty to some kind of order beyond the everyday.

I don't quite get it all; either what is going on here or my own responses to it. And, where do we locate the Balinese performing arts in this, particularly the music which we have come here to absorb? Are the tourist performances we have been to see 'authentic' or 'folkloric', 'the real thing' or 'artificial', or possibly all of that at the same time.

Speculations for another post, when I get a chance. Mags is not very well today, so we're kind of taking it easy, may or may not go out to a show tonight. Mid afternoon, pretty hot now, may go for a lie down or possibly another swim in the wee pool.