I’m sitting on the patio of Buntera Homestay in Sidemen, Indonesia. Staring at the intertwined plant forest in front as the open hills over the stone wall roll in the distance, the sounds of barking stray dogs have alerted the village that it is, in fact, the morning and time to get up.
On the Eastern edge of Bali, a few hours from the bustling draw of Ubud is the small rural area of Sidemen. A population of 39,000 split across 10 villages, some people say that Sidemen reflects Bali from 20 years ago. A place before the influx of investment capital into hospitality to support the growing tourism surge on the island. A place of massive rice fields, subsistence farming and the classic Balinese gentleness that captures the heart of travellers. Comparing this to the developed Canggu, flush with people, non-stop activities, and, for me, a fear of God in driving anything with more than two wheels down the small streets, I feel as though I’ve gone back in time in Sidemen. Here, there are only a handful of local businesses mostly interfamilial owned, a population of less than a few thousand, and continuous landscapes with curving roads and rice fields. It’s a peaceful place, a feeling of serenity, if I were to use an old Alan Watts quote I love, “[it provides] solitude that befits a bearded old gentleman,” although I lack the age in this instance. However, the peace of this Balinese village isn’t without its trials, at least for people like me. I have a particular terror walking the streets, fear of territorial stray dogs that bark incessantly at me. To quell my anxiety, I keep dog treats on my person at all times as a means to pacify them. In the end, Sidemen is a quiet atmosphere that doesn’t ask you to do anything, and here I find myself drawn back to writing, sitting, and reflecting. All there is, is a sense of time, and nowhere to go.
Leaving the homestay in the morning, I made up my mind to venture to the local market to resupply some vital survival supplies of Oreos. During the offseason many Warungs are closed and I would prefer to have a few snacks to chew on. Flip-flopping my way through the small concrete roads, I pass a bend and descend the road leading to the wild rice fields. A pack of dogs eyes me with considerable judgement. One hairy and unkempt blonde mutt yaps my way. I jump startled a bit and move myself to the opposite side of the street. I’m on their home turf so I have to be careful. Nearly slipping by the guarding presence, I arrive. Entering the shop, I browse the shelves full of Western favourites and Indonesian brands, curious of what to buy. I don’t have many Rupiahs on me so I have to be selective and opt for some Oreos, ramen noodles and a small chocolate. Settling my debts for the cookies and snacks, I turn to the exit with a casual “suksma” (thank you) followed by folded hands in thanks with a bow (the Sembah in Balinese culture), most certain that I had garbled the pronunciation. The cashier smiles at me in what I hope is sympathy and not annoyance for my horrific Balinese.
Exiting the storefront, the cloudy sky has formed into a spiraling front taking the shape of a storm cloud. I feel uneasy. And my anxiety grows as I see my four legged stalker has me in sight again. The pack of predators bark viciously at me as they see me exit, tails not wagging. The unkempt leader barks continuously and I try not to look her in the eye or get too near, but she blocks my path. In this moment, I retreat to tact and employ my dog treat strategy. Pulling from my new provisions, I rip out one treat and toss it at her. She runs away threatened by it at first, and disinterested. But I stay still to see if she will take the offer. She sniffs at the ground, and I move ever so slightly my position to trek past the pack. As she eats the treat her eyes dart straight back to me in an intimidation and concerning hunger, barking ferociously. Oh no. I think, Did I just make the stupidest mistake, feeding angry hungry dogs? They are going to follow me now. Avoiding panic, I quickly lob the treats in multiple directions as the pack fights for the food and I attempt to flee. The leader follows me up the inclined road barking, I throw one more treat her way and run the other direction.
Having narrowly escaped with my precious double stuffed treasure in hand, a downpour begins from the gray sky above and through the streets. I don’t have a poncho and the tropical monsoon season storm comes in devastating supply. My shirt starts to soak from the pouring rain above, and the streets are thrashed with water running downhill. I laugh to myself with a masochistic glee, the silliness of my condition: a grown man with oversized harem-like pants, flip-flops and Oreo cookies escaping dogs and caught in the rain. I feel like a child again, connecting with the genuine joy of being, rain and open toed freedom. I smile and laugh with a Nooooo, as a puddle splashes in front of me.
The thrill of the storm calms as I find a small roofed area for cover next to a closed laundromat to wait out the rain. I have no other place to be, so I watch a stream of water flow down and raindrops pound the concrete surface in machine gun pace. How often do I just stop and listen like this? Rarely. I recall Thich Nhat Hanh’s The Art of Living, and the veranda where he listens to the rain. I listen intently, and laugh, waving to the Balinese man on his motorcycle across the street ahead, waiting out the rain as well. He waves back and smiles. The profound, overpowering quality of nature is hypnotic, seeing a volley of raindrops assault the earth with relentless force. Five minutes pass and he dons his poncho and speeds off, leaving me alone.
Eventually, I summon the courage to make peace with my circumstance and the change of clothes I will need to wade my way through the rainfall back to my stay. I don’t need to go anywhere so it doesn’t matter if I show up wet. No great excursions or landmarks to absorb or intense fitness regime (the stray dogs intimidate my ambitions to run). I will probably just putter about on my laptop, eat my Oreos and fall asleep later. To my adult register, I have not done anything today, yet a lot seems to have happened in my childlike adventure. I have never felt more like myself. Sidemen is a good place to do nothing.
