Turning 40 in Bali

I figured my fortieth birthday (today!) seemed like a perfectly good reason to do a post on this blog. We are now fully engaged in this trip. Far from the planning and the stress and anticipation associated with actually making it out the door of our house on time, now we are just on the road. I sent an email out with some details about the adventure involved in getting here. What a trip. I will shorten the whole description to what I think are the two key details. Otis and Lilah are amazing travelers (41 hours put them to the test and they were brilliant), and do not ever try to book a single day's worth of travel on three different airlines. You savvy travel geniuses may think that second detail is obvious. Well, now, I do too.

Bali is so beautiful and crowded with kind people that it evades proper description.


(Yeah, that is a cool picture, by Erin, or course. She's the bomb)
For some evidence on the nice people, here's two pictures of the crazy fruit sculpture this cook at our place made for me when he found out it was my birthday.


Every time I try to write about it in my journal, I go all cliched, resorting to deeply intoned aphorisms like "Expectation shapes experience," before turning back to the misty sunrises or the scent of sandlewood or the ancient wisdom of Gunung Agung. I think I will never produce the great American travel novel. Mine would be way too purple. When Erin and I traveled here eleven years ago, we grew fond of thinking that the Balinese manage to keep the world spinning, and I still think that is true. I've no idea how they do it, but I maintain that they do.

The real story from my perspective are the kids. They have adapted to this new life with incredible speed. My bones (and cartilage and stomach and muscles and brain) are all feeling their forty years out here so far from familiar food and my beloved bed, but the kids are just rolling. From the double marathon of travel to get here, to the crazy sounds and smells and temperatures, to the whole concept of living out of a little bag, Otis and Lilah are just, "Yeah, let's try that, too." I should not be surprised, and, in a way, I'm not. I am just thrilled to watch. They pull my butt out the door and into the world.
For instance, today, we went sailing out a little outrigger canoe, just because they thought it would be cool. We had planned to go early, at 7:00, but when we woke up it was pouring rain. My instinct would be--CANCEL--take a day with the books. They were up at 7:00 and ready to go, and saw any talk about cancellation as high treason. "We'll just go later, when the rain stops." At 8:00, we hit the beach, ready to jump in the boat. Then, the skies absolutely opened up. I have never seen so much rain fall in 5 minutes. We ran no more than 10 feet to find cover and I was as wet as if I'd taken a nice, long shower. That's it, I'm thinking--CANCELED. "No way," said my intrepid sailors. "This will blow over." Sure enough, 9:30, we are out on the outrigger, cutting through the wine dark sea, the sun blazing, the big volcano in view. It was awesome, and they were behind it all.

More and more, it feels like the adventure is theirs to share with Erin and me. They are open wide to it all, and they share without hesitation or regret. I get to hear the frogs differently, feel the rain differently, even the traffic or the floating plastic water bottles seems different because they are here to show me how they see it.
Erin and I are on the road with them, facing forward, drinking it up.