Life has been building up to warp speed over the past couple of decades. All the modern conveniences that were supposed to free us up for more leisure have actually made us more frantic. Computers, shopping malls, hand phones, gyms and self-improvement courses fill our days. Everything has gotten faster, from yoga to email. People are living the fast life on the fast track, eating microwaved fast food and expecting instant gratification.
It’s exhausting.
When I fled the rat-race of Singapore for sleepy Ubud, I already knew there was nowhere on earth quite this droll little town with its strong sense of self and its gritty charm. The expat community is unique too. Ubud has taken years to reveal its mother lode of accomplished escapees to me. Tax lawyers. Computer wizards. Consultants of every flavour. Executives. TV news producers. Chefs. Psychologists. Designers. Teachers. Managers. Artists. Publishers. They are all here, and many more, concealed in snug cottages in rice fields and lush gardens. Many of them came to Ubud for two weeks -– ten years ago. We don’t talk very often about what we did in the Other Life. Sometimes we try to remember when we last wore a suit or attended a meeting in a room without windows. We agree that there were way too many of those. It used to be routine to drive an hour or more in each direction to an office or a restaurant, or to deal with junk mail… remember getting mail? We attended too many cocktail parties in high heeled shoes, breathed the fumes of two-hour traffic jams and lugged heavy briefcases around for 15 hours a day, on and off airplanes and into soulless, air-conditioned office blocks.
That was then. This is now.
We are The Ones That Got Away. The ones who came to the edge one day in Tokyo or London or Bangkok and heard the siren song of Ubud beyond the traffic noise. Saw the shimmer of a rice field in the rear view mirror of a car stuck in an endless traffic jam. Sensed a simpler, more contented life. Dropped the briefcase and walked away.
Chasing a bat out of the bathroom of my simple house, I occasionally remember the years of five-star hotels with their vast, batless marble bathrooms. Sometimes I get calls from friends who are still lugging the briefcase; they ask, “What’s that noise?” I explain that it’s a priest chanting across the river in the dark, or frogs having an orgy in my pond. They don’t think I’m so crazy anymore. My guestroom has become a sanctuary for burned-out executives from Singapore and Sydney.
The tax lawyer now reads tarot cards and the ex-news producer practices yoga and Alpha. People wear comfy shoes. Almost everybody has a favourite community project, does volunteer work or is putting a local kid or two through school. Some of us have embraced the simpler life to a point that even a trip to Denpasar is a bit daunting now. Ace Hardware is an exciting day out, but Makro and Carrefour are overwhelming.
We’ve slowed right down. Slow yoga. Slow cars. Slow food.
Ironically, it was a Balinese who introduced me to the Slow Food movement. Celebrating traditionally grown and prepared foods, Slow Food was created in Italy in 1989. The philosophy resonated immediately; the movement was founded to counteract fast food and the fast life. Its activities address the disappearance of local food traditions and people’s dwindling interest in the food they eat, where it comes from, how it tastes and how our food choices affect the rest of the world. Here was a growing network of people dedicated to natural, wholesome, old-fashioned food. That sounds pretty good to us.
In the last century, over 300,000 edible plant varieties have been lost. We now rely on a dangerously small handful of species; fewer than 30 crop varieties provide 95% of the world’s food intake. Since 1989 Slow Food’s 80,000 members in 130 countries have listed a catalogue of over 500 animal breeds, fruit and vegetable varieties and prepared foods such as cheeses and cured meats that have been forgotten or marginalized. Every species lost reflects a vanished mosaic of genetic heritage, history, culture and regional cuisine. Slow Food has saved over 31 animal breeds, 81 fruit and vegetable varieties, 57 cheeses and 34 traditional cured meats at risk from extinction. In Europe, several endangered species of cow and sheep have been targeted for conservation. Pak Adi Kharisma, one of the few Indonesian members, is applying to Slow Food to add the fast-dwindling species of the Bali swayback pig to this list.
In 2008, the third Terra Madre international meeting of food communities will take place in Turin, Italy. Here traditional farmers, fishers, breeders, cooks and agricultural experts will meet and share information. Other events like Slow Bier, Slow Fish and A Taste of Slow continue to bring the philosophy to a new generation. SLOW, the award-winning official journal of the Slow Food movement, is published three times a year in six languages. These food communities have established a singular global network that includes rural Bali.
The Slow Food movement is probably not keeping the fast food giants awake at night, but it’s comforting to know that we’re not alone in trying to put a brake on the rat-race. The anti-instant subculture seems like an appropriate vehicle for us here in Ubud, where we already haunt the organic markets and prefer local herbs to Big Pharma. We feel lucky. I’ve never known so many happy, grateful people in one small place. We’ve found a perfect balance -- fast email, slow food and deep contentment.
For information on the Slow Food movement, visit www.slowfood.com
