(By : MARIA)
It’s always the light, a glow surrounding the island; the moon that falls on the water in elongated drops, like a broken, silver dark veil that slowly reaches for the coast and then moves back again with the vanishing waves. It’s in the whispering of floating trees and the shadows of the campfires that die with the last light of day; the mysterious dance of the bats and everything that lives and dies within the confines of the forest; our hut made of boards and giant palm leaves; the flames of the candles you light, when everything else melts back into the night.
The bus stops at some invisible sign. People get on board, while a few old women and young girls get off, to pick herbs along the side of the road. They smoke their thin, hand-rolled cigarettes; they talk and laugh and then they get back on the bus again. The chickens in their wired cages on the floor talk amongst themselves, subdued but obsessed – like soft-spoken professors who secretly watch and yearn for the flesh of young students. The goats at the back of the bus moan like the wind that is caught in the branches of tall trees, like the creaking doors of old churches that have stood empty for too long. The bus rides on, stops, stutters, moves on, till it comes to the beach, where we get off. You carry two chickens; I try and lead a stubborn goat. A hut, two chickens and a goat: we are slowly settling down.
The fishermen carry their nets, filled with early morning light, to their ships, while they sing their songs of Gods and wine that wait for them to return. Later, on the beach, fires are lit under large gridirons, sprinkled with oil. The smell of shrimps and fish, the many herbs and spices now rises up to Heaven, weaves its way through the clouds and the stars. Everything is now a dance of hungry scents. I watch you slowly peel and eat a shrimp. The oil trickles down from your lips, over your chin. When I kiss you I can taste the waiting sea. You feed me another shrimp; now you taste the salt on me. We walk on, hand in hand.
(I tell you how in Cuba, long ago, I saw from my hotel balcony the young hookers walk along the beach; their bodies a prayer, the rum a church; their clients fat and greedy and eminently forgettable. The drums, the fires, the naked breasts and the sweat, the rum, the sea. You laugh. We walk on. Cuba - my whole life; what made me and what brought me here: a balcony from where old shades of me now watch the two of us move on, away from all that came before our time began.)
We walk along the flood line and we talk, like slow-reaching waves, of old and secret places, of mountains and forests, of the old, stone hearts of London, Paris, Prague. We stop and look out over the ocean: a self-portrait in waves, with a ghostly, Rembrandt touch. All is quiet now. Smudges of seagulls move through the air like stars, like shadowy ships - like the centuries that pass so swiftly and so silently, leaving no imprints on water or sand. This is where we find ourselves, where we’ve decided to be for now, perhaps forever.
Much more important though, now and always: you. The fires and the shells and the call of the dark and the leaves of the deeply bent trees in your hair; the laughter and warmth of your hunger and waiting; the salt on your breasts, the moist on your lips and your opening flesh.
In between all that I ever was, all I ever saw or did or thought or wrote, between everything and the sea, the sand and all that I may yet become, you wait for me, forever.
This island, this forgetting, this evening sky is nothing without your shadow, your thirst on my lips; my hunger and your body; your flesh now waiting and the world that now enfolds me, making me your own, your story. When I enter, when you take me in, it’s like the dimmed but sacred footsteps of priests in silver stone cathedrals, like the light of the moon on the waves that lazily await the tides, like the wind that softly touches the leaves and smells of all tomorrows.
When I come, come home in you, your warmth, I am all that I could ever hope to be.
Bali, where the old Gods walk the beach and move through the forest in their enormous silence, far removed from the people and their hunger and their prayers, where the sand and the stars, the wind and the water are free of time: here is where I write you. Here is where I wait and breathe. Here I cast these images: the bats that dance in the net of a full moon, the smell of the sea, the slow, majestic turning of the earth, the songs of the fishermen now going homewards, our hut with its candles, two chickens and a goat – but these are images bereft of meaning without your presence, without your touch.
Bali bound, this is where I go and where I come to pray: to walk within your sight, to live and die and rise again; to be with you, my love.
The GitGit waterfall is located in the GitGit village. From Denpasar city, the distance is about 67 km and around 11 km from Singaraja city.
The Batur Lake is located in the Batur village, the distance from Denpasar about 68 km drive.
The Jambul Hill is the nature tourist attraction that located in Pesaban village, around 52 km from Denpasar city and around 12 km from Semarapura.
The Besakih Temple is located in The Besakih village, in the Mount Agung slope. The distance between The Besakih and Denpasar around 61 km. The Besakih Temple had stood since thousands years and was known as the most big temple among temples in Bali. The Besakih Temple is as the holy place for Hinduism.
Mount Agung had the height 3.014 metre, and it’s one of the mountains that still was active in the Bali island, the last eruption happened during 1963 that resulted in destruction especially in the Karangasem Regency.
Goa Lawah is located on the northeast side of Denpasar, the distance about 49 km from Denpasar. Goa Lawah, the coast view is very beautiful. Goa Lawah, the place is very interesting to be visited because its location is strategic at the edge of the coast with sea scenery.
The Tirta Gangga Garden, the distance from Denpasar about 82 km. The Tirta Gangga Garden was established by King of Karangasem that was used as the place of the rest of the King’s family.
dually affected the world of Balinese children. Their traditional fun and games have shifted by the advent of industrial and technological advances. These are some efforts that have spurred due to the realization and increased concern of the values of how the children are brought in to the world, so they will be knowledgeable about their own roots and cultural backgrounds thus being a closer part of the society. Made Taro is the island’s most beloved and well-known authority on Balinese traditional games. He is the founder of Sanggar Kukuruyuk, a Balinese traditional games workshop in Denpasar City. The Kukuruyuk Foundation was set up in 1979 with the aim of inspiring local children with stories, games, singing and theatre. 
