A lot of the tourists climbing around the temple seem to be Javanese teenage school kids. Many wear what seem to be school uniforms. These kids delight in making remarks about the foreign tourists. Even though we don't understand their language, there's no doubt these teens get a big bang out of being disrespectful. I guess it's typical of teenagers in this modern era. But it does surprise me to find this modern attitude even in such a different culture where more controlled behavior has been the norm for so long. Most of the Javanese kids show little interest in the temple itself. They're just glad for an excuse to get out of the classroom for a day!

About to board the buses again after having forged a path through scads of vendors in the parking lot, we hear someone calling, "Jean, Jean!" Jean turns around. Running up to her is the woman vendor who had asked her name when we first arrived! Just as she'd said she would, this woman has indeed remembered Jean's name! Jean rewards her by buying a trinket. I decide to buy the book about Borobudur, and so haggle with a little boy about the price. Seated in the bus, I swiftly peruse through the book. I'm very glad I got it, as it's an excellent one.

On the whole, although our particular guide is so nice and knowledgeable, and I'd like to sit down with him for a rap session about Borobudur, and our Javanese bus drivers are so polite and friendly, and also the hotel people where we ate lunch, the rest of the Javanese people seem harsh, compared to the gentle softness of the Balinese. We decided that Don's right--one trip to Java is enough! I'd come back to Borobudur, though, for that story book project.

The long hours of meandering around in the temples in the broiling sun have taken their toll. I doze on the plane on the return to Bali. Out of a semi-stupor, I hear the captain jabber some words ending with-"Krakatoa on the left." I look out and down. We're flying over a huge rusty-ochre-colored caldera. By the time my brain gets in gear and can think "camera," it's too late. I'm excited--did we really fly over the legendary Krakatoa volcano? I find out later that Krakatoa's an island off the eastern tip of Java--but I could have sworn that's what our captain said. Maybe he mentioned Krakatoa in comparison to the one we flew over. Or maybe we really did fly over that island.

Back at the hotel, we get rid of Javanese dirt and grime. We join the others for supper. The rest of our group must have been asleep, as I can't find anyone who heard what the captain said about that volcano!


Joan and I don't make the sunrise toning meditation. We groan ourselves out of bed somewhat later than usual. But once up and around with our circulation going again, we soon feel like our normal selves. I leave dirty clothes for the hotel's laundry service. Then we trot off for a leisurely breakfast. Not too many of our group are in evidence.


After a breakfast Joan and I hire a cab, $5 American, at the hotel's front desk. We want to exchange some more money. We drive north past the airport into Kuta. This road that runs past Pan Sea Puri Bali, the airport and into Kuta seems to be a major traffic artery. It's a straight 15-minute run into Kuta. The cabbie drops us off in the parking lot in front of the Bank Duta and a few stores.

In the bank I fill out a few forms to get a $100 advance on a Visa card. The bank official then notices that the name on the card isn't quite the same as mine. I explain that it's my husband's card. The official muses over this for a while, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He says he's never heard of doing it this way! A small panic rises up my spine, but I squelch it quickly. Finally the official okay's the request. I ask for American funds. He then tells me to have a seat while the papers get processed.

While we wait, I talk with an American girl who's here on a buying trip--she makes four a year! I envy her. She owns a boutique in Minneapolis. We end up having to wait 45 minutes. The American girl says that's just routine, she's done it countless times. When a teller calls my name, she gives me $100 equivalent in Indonesian rupiahs! I explain that I'd asked for the funds in American dollars. The teller says they can't do that! I look over at the official I dealt with, but he's on the phone. I decide to let it go.

Outside the bank, Joan and I look around at the bustling scene. Kuta seems to be just a smaller dirty noisy replica of Denpasar. We arbitrarily pick a direction and start walking. Half a block later we see two gals from our group, their arms laden with packages. We cross the street to join them. The four of us visit several clothing stores. Ugh, these clothes are garish and honky-tonky touristy. Not to our tastes at all.

We cross a busy intersection and discover a jewelry store. It would be more accurate to call it an earring store, as the walls and cases are crammed with earrings galore from many different villages in Bali. The other two gals start selecting earrings for all their female relatives and friends. They bargain for 24 pairs of earrings at 75 cents a pair! Joan and I debate whether we ought to take advantage of these bargains. But we leave anyway. We're just not in the mood, for some reason! Maybe it's too hot. Maybe we just got all shopped out in Ubud.

Outside the store, several young Balinese men gather around us, asking if we want a ride to somewhere. So we ask if they know where the Pan Sea hotel is. They look puzzled. We tell them about where it is. They still look puzzled. Finally we remember the full name--Pan Sea Puri Bali. Oh, yes, they know where THAT is! Joan and I have learned a lesson in accurate communication. We negotiate a price and climb aboard a minivan. Fifteen minutes later we're back at the hotel.

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