Brief Pelican Friendship

An excursion took us to the Bali's capital, Denpasar, population: 730,000, around 17% of the entire island’s residents live in this vibrant centre.

First stop was a traditional covered market, Pasar Badung. Whilst it may well have been covered, there were many ways in and out including glassless windows.

I suppose, in western terms at least, it would raise an eyebrow or two within the health and safety community. Everything seemed to be on show and, therefore, open to the hot air and anything that that brought in, including some pretty rabid looking mutts. It was at this juncture I wondered whether I should have manned up and got the rabies jab. It didn’t matter, I was never going to stroke or pat one of them and, in the end, I wasn’t clawed or bitten. Phew!

Fair enough, things such as herbs and spices were laid out for everyone to breathe over, think covid, although the cocktail of scents blasted my nasal passages, but even the meat was open to the atmosphere. That’s where most of the dogs accumulated awaiting their share of any throwdowns. I am sure, to the chagrin of the aforementioned health inspectors and, maybe, environmental health inspectors, even bus inspectors, these sights might have increased heart rates off the scale.

There didn’t look like a fridge in sight yet meat was laid out on the counter for discerning customers to select the right joint. I wondered if the flies were included in the price or were extra. Not sure it did it for me but, I have to say, it tempted every sense I possessed, except for taste!

As mentioned the scents and odours of the products, less appealing was the smell of waste, the feel of the offerings, the bewildering sight of hawkers pushing their wares to customers, and the noise; well, the noise was something else: hawkers bartering with punters, meat cleavers crashing down on chopping boards, cash till ringing, and, of course, dogs barking. Not something I am used to in the Marks and Spencer Foodhall! I don’t know if any of you have been there or not, but it did remind me, slightly it has to be said, of the covered market in Livorno, Italy.

Speaking of transport, note the reference to bus inspector, you honestly take your life in your hands as you cross a road. It really isn’t clear which side of the road the Balinese drive, I think, nominally, it is the same as us, the left. It’s a job to guess.

Now scooters are a thing to behold. You know how pesky they are in Southern Europe, where cordoned off pedestrian areas seem to have no meaning. Well, here it goes up another level again. Pedestrian right of ways, including pavements and sidewalks, are fair game to these two wheeled monsters. How many people are allowed on a scooter? Maximum of two, apparently. Every scooter owner seems to be trying for a place in the Guinness Book of World Records to see how many can be carried on one set of wheels.

How about both sets of grandparents, mum and dad, two sisters and a brother, a couple of dogs, a basket of chickens, and, finally, of course, the rider. It is a truly extraordinary sight to behold and, if I may be so bold, a trifle terrifying.

There is a jolly good reason why Indonesians use the left hand side of the road. During the Napoleonic Wars the Royal Navy took the then Dutch East Indies over, primarily to ensure those annoying French didn’t get their grubby mitts on these wealth creating spice islands.

Following the end of the war, and Stamford Raffles’ onward journey to Singapore, the colonies were ceded back to the Dutch. The only condition, well the only one I like, was that the residents must drive on the left and not adopt that peculiar continental way of driving or riding on the right.

I mean, how could any respectable gentlemen swing his sword or carry his lance, and smite the enemy at the same time. Not easy, I can tell you. Exactly the same reason circular staircases in castles go clockwise on the descent. You will have realised that this was all based in a world before left-handers were invented. How did that happen?

Now for a couple of religious buildings. We wandered along to the Maospahit Temple, not too far from the market, and met with some monks and watched as their followers strolled and prayed in the peaceful surround of the beautifully tended gardens. I have no idea whether there is a spiritual bone in my body, I have no idea how you can tell, but this was, if not spiritual, most tranquil and serene, a sharp contrast to the chaotic traffic whirring past just outside the gate.

Given we were only metres from the outside world of everyone in a rush and getting nowhere, this slowed us down to a pace that is more in keeping with the peaceful planet we are meant to occupy. Water plays an enormous part in Hindu life. Not only is it the giver of life but it helps to preserve it and make it more comfortable, some might say tolerable. Any slight breeze seems to play with the moving water before lifting itself up and cooling the inhabitants of this incredible oasis in a desert of steel and concrete.

One slight concern, to me in any case, are the hawkers selling their wares at the gates of every tourist attraction. I am equally disturbed by it and, at the same time, full of admiration for anyone who will get off their backside every morning, stand in the blazing heat, and offload their goods onto the wealthy tourists from the west; I’m not putting myself in that group by the way!

I am disturbed by the way they almost accost some elderly tourists who seem genuinely concerned, although the tour guide was pretty ruthless in telling them to push off. For all we know, selling a few quid’s worth of, what seemed like, tat might be the difference between eating and not later that evening.

The next temple was breathtaking. Tirta Empul, better known as the Water Temple, is set on a promontory at the central Bali village of Manukaya. It is on the site of a natural holy spring and water is ever present on all levels. Openings in the walls, where windows would be in modern buildings, allow through breezes to kiss the water’s surface and offer the visitor a most effective way of staying cool.

This structure, constructed in the tenth century, predates all of our Norman fortified and ecclesiastical structures and, I am sorry to say, is in much better nick. It is probably well cared for thanks to its sanctity to locals and offers them purification in the waters. There is a small museum on the site which charts Balinese and Hindi life from a time 2,000 years before Christ through to the overthrow of their colonial masters, the Dutch.

I knew very little of Indonesian life prior to my visit and whilst I would never profess to be an expert I am so much more wiser with a little piece of this history filled in.

As promised last week, we were treated to a second visit to Bali Bird Park. Can’t imagine where they got the name from, it is a bird park and it is in Bali.

It was quite unfortunate that many of our excursion brethren decided to head directly to the coffee shop. As cool as it was in the climate controlled environment it is a real shame that they took this option.

One area that was closed to us in our first visit, thanks to hatching chicks, was the parrot breeding section… the parrot breeding section… the parrot breeding section. Get it! Oh well, never mind!

I had a wonderful encounter with a macaw. We enjoyed an in depth chat about all things bird park. Well, I was asking him about life in the park. Whilst his answers were amazingly enthusiastic, he occasionally emphasised his point with a very loud squawk in my ear. It was much like my wife really, whenever she gets the feeling I might have switched off she reconcentrates my listening by raising her voice.

Speaking of old birds, there were the pelicans. We stumbled across them at feeding time and, sorry all pelicans out there, but you are messy and noisy eaters.

I don’t know why but one of their number established an illogical liking for me. I walked away and soon became aware of a padding sound on the path behind me. It was a waddling pelican. Jane found it rather amusing.

I couldn’t shake him, or her, off. I sauntered back to the edge of the lake, and my new friend followed. I hoped to reacquaint him with his more appropriate friendship group. I walked away again, this time using another path, looked around again, and my new bestie was only a human’s pace behind.

I began to wonder... would I be able to smuggle him through security at the hotel, and, then, would I be able to get him back into Australia on my passport?

One of the keepers spotted my predicament and said, “She’s taken a liking to you,” and laughed.

Ah, it was a she and not a he. How can you tell?

The keeper produced some fish from her bucket and my new friend was off like a bolt of lightning. Oh well, you win some, you lose some. I wonder if this particular bird was attracted to my magnetic personality or, more than likely, I had a distinct odour of fish about me. Do not discuss! Your thoughts are not welcome.

I am not really into offering up hotel reviews within these pages, but as a one-off, to date anyway, I will run through the attractions of the Kempinski next time.

Gorleston Cliffs Parkrun

Another new experience for us this time around. A hot and windy day saw us heading over to the east coast, we were visiting our daughter and her partner, Sarah and Aneurin, who live about ten miles away.

This was the beginning of a pretty active day, we would be later found on the Broads rowing a boat to a pub, the Locks Inn, well worth a visit, although incredibly busy when we tied up alongside.

Back to Parkrun. A baking sun, a lively zephyr and a glittering sea welcomed us to this clifftop event. Thanks to a persistent injury I have been carrying since the GEAR on 4th May I haven’t been too active from the running point of view so, this time around, Jane and I decided to saunter the course together. It was nearly two laps.

We started on the top level heading off in the Lowestoft direction from the start line along a hard surface, across a hump-backed wooden bridge, thank you to the organisers for putting hi-vis covers on the bollards at each end of the crossing, these would be a real boon for all such street furniture, my right shin, in particular, is testimony to that.

I am not sure that I have experienced so many participants making it to a start at any parkrun to date, 454 in total.

Up on the top, thanks to the brisk wind, it was certainly wise to hold onto my hat, I did manage to catch it as it lifted from my bonce before it was gone forever.

Down the hill at the end of the first section and onto the promenade. Less windy down there so hat was remounted. A great path at sea level including passing through the outdoor seating area of a café.

Quite unusual to see so many, whilst imbibing their cappuccinos and lattes, cheering us on as we passed among them. Along to the end, passing the finish line where the more speedy had already completed their work for the morning before the hill. Yep, if you start at the top, descend to the bottom on a two lap course, an upward hill is inevitable.

Half way up the climb there was a two part vehicle prevention barrier, just over halfway across each side, making a chicane for us to negotiate; not great for the Speedy Gonzaleses within our number but, to us mere mortals, a welcome relief in the heat of the morning.

Back along the top and to the down ramp for the final time before a sprint along the promenade; okay, I exaggerate! The coffee smelt good as we passed through Gorleston’s café society for the last time. We got to the finishing funnel together, but, in line with the true gentlemen I am, I let Jane cross the line in front of me.

Trust me, she was only a pace ahead of me and not the twenty-odd seconds as detailed on the official results. So, if she tells you she blasted me away in the final sprint just treat it with a pinch of salt!

What a terrific morning. I will have to return one day with a VI Guide as I think there is a PB in waiting there.

I also think that a visit to the coffee shop would be a welcome finale to any Gorleston Cliffs Parkrun. It always seems cruel to assault the runners’ sense of smell with coffee aroma. The most cruel of all, a lesson to all of you with eateries at parkruns, is the rather attractive scent of cooking bacon. You should not be allowed to commence cooking until 10:00!

White Cane Ratings*
Car Park: good; on street parking - 🦯 🦯 🦯 (3)
Welcome: good; friendly - 🦯 🦯 🦯 (3)
Atmosphere: very good - 🦯 🦯 🦯 🦯 (4)
Course: very good; mainly level, hard surface - 🦯 🦯 🦯 🦯 (4)
Marshalling: very good; - 🦯 🦯 🦯 🦯 (4)

*These ratings are how the event suits a blind person, and are my opinion only; they are not scientific. Whatever happens no-one must be put off by me. The best way to learn about something is try it for yourself.