Somehow, there’s been a shift in the energy of my little town this year. Ubud has become something of an international destination. There are several new real estate agencies with big signs. A Major Motion Picture was filmed here. Whole subaks are gradually disappearing as villas (some requiring pile-drivers) rise up where verdant rice fields used to be. The dusty, funky little craft shops opposite the market on the main road have morphed into boutiques with plate glass windows selling knock-off designer hand bags. The traffic is terrible. There’s a tinsel Christmas tree in the batik shop across from the Post Office. Smart, single Javanese girls with degrees in English and Philosophy are moving here, seeking doting Canadian boyfriends and respite from Jakarta’s chaos. Last week, I saw a man wearing a tie.
And what’s wrong with all that? you might ask.
I don’t mean to sound grumpy. It’s true that I harbour some Luddite genes from another incarnation, but I am trying very hard to keep up. Things change. The world has found Ubud. But many of us who moved here thirty, twenty -– even ten -- years ago are coping with culture shock.
Ubud was The Edge then, one of several Edges in Southeast Asia that included Chiang Mai, Kathmandu and Hanoi. Most foreigners who chose to live in places like this twenty years ago were seeking the essence of the country and its culture. We lived very simply. Going without the comforts was a small price to pay for the constant, electric excitement … everything was strange and exotic and intoxicating. Every day was an adventure, a circus of smells and sights and tastes. It was the end of an era, before cultures were homogenized by globalization. We knew it wasn’t going to last forever, authentic Asia, and we inhaled it deeply. We didn’t travel with laptops or cell phones. There was no email; occasionally we could send a fax (remember those?) to our families. English books and western food were rare, medical care was terrible or absent. Travel was inconvenient and uncomfortable. In the days before mass tourism, our journeys were on overloaded buses and trains or in the backs of rickety trucks.
These days young people look at us -- we are in our 50s and 60s now -- and ask incredulously, “Why on earth would you DO that?” We can’t explain why we did it, or how wonderful it was. And that world is almost gone now. Progress pushes back The Edge. Access to better nutrition, education and medical care come hand in hand with rampant consumerism, garbage issues and espresso. So I’m learning to savour the paradoxes as Ubud moves from The Edge to the mainstream.
Take electricity. Several of my western friends raised their kids here without any. The outlying parts of Ubud have only had power for about twenty years. Wayan Manis recently upgraded the electricity in her family compound from 800 watts to 900. Many Balinese live with 450 watts. Most of them don’t have refrigerators because they cook fresh food every day. They only use electricity for a water pump, lights (they use five watt light bulbs) and the TV. My house is generously wired for 2,000 watts, which I never come close to using. But an interior designer friend tells me that new villas in the south of Bali are now routinely wired for 55,000 watts. All those air conditioners, garden lights and water features gobble a lot of juice, it seems. So what with electricity demand from all the new hotels and villas along with constant in-migration to Denpasar from Java and other islands, it’s no wonder the lights are going out.
First it was random, then it was Tuesdays. Now we know that Saturday night will be dark in Ubud. We’re quite used to this now. PLN kindly allows us to cook an early dinner before pulling the plug just before dark. I have a bright rechargeable light that lets me read for four hours, so the blackout is an excellent excuse to curl up with a good book. Most of our little restaurants in Ubud don’t have generators, so Saturday nights are dark and quiet. Cruising up Jalan Ubud Raya on my electric scooter, I see people gathered companionably around the street vendors, faces glowing in the reflected light of kerosene lamps. They are not much inconvenienced by a few hours of darkness. Neither is Wayan Manis or her family. They light coconut oil lamps, practice gamelan and flute, make offerings and chat. “This is what we did before television,” she explains.
Ubud’s duality was perfectly demonstrated for me the other week on a trip to the Post Office. After months of renovations, Ubud’s Post Office now rejoices in air conditioning, lots of orange paint and uniformed young ladies with computers. It’s all very modern and efficient. Outside on the wall of the entrance is a new international telephone, so modern that it even accepts credit cards. On the shelf of this icon of modern communications technology roosted a black hen with iridescent tail feathers. When I approached for a closer look, she lifted her wings threateningly at me; she was sitting on an egg. Two days later she was still there.
Sometimes we Old Asia Hands talk about starting a new Edge, somewhere up in the mountains where no one has ever seen the Golden Arches. Pack up the wagon trains with our wood-burning bread ovens, yoga mats and solar rechargers. Forge a new sustainable community in Pupuan or Catur. Or maybe we’re getting a bit old for pioneering now. I’ve become soft and contradictory in the past few years. I grumble about development, and then go into town to meet a friend over iced coffee and pastries.
But now I’ve drawn my line in the sand. When they start chasing chickens off the public phones in Ubud, I’m out of here.
From the edge of 2009, I wish you everything you wish for yourself.
Dragons in the Bath, a collection of Ibu Kat’s stories, is available in Bali from Dijon in Kuta, Ganesha Books at Biku in Seminyak and Ganesha Books and selected shops in Ubud. It can be ordered nationally and internationally through www.dragonsinthebath.com <http://www.dragonsinthebath.com>
