Due North

located on the northern coast of the island, singaraja used to be the centre of everything during the golden age of the balinese kingdom. with one damaged leg and a previously horrifying road trip experience, our writer headed up north to find out what’s left of the former capital of bali and check out its vicinity

Faced with another roadblock, the driver decided to swerve his dinky and weary car to the left, into a narrow alley that led to the much more slummy side of the town. I kept looking back to check that the mobs with guns were not tailing us anymore while praying that this would get us across the roadblock. But that hope immediately faded when we stumbled upon yet another roadblock. They had covered every single possible escape route. What was left was to get out of the car and negotiate our way through the blockade, which my travelling partner did exactly.

Fuelled with fear, my eyes were indeed open, but everything was blurry. Soon, I started hearing people shouting. I expected the worst. And with the shouting becoming more and more intense it did look like we were going to end up getting shot or tortured in prison for the rest of our lives. But then I heard a familiar voice saying, “Come on. Get out of the car. We’re walking through the roadblock.”

“What? How many days do you expect us to walk?” I asked.

“Only until after the blockade. There will be cars there.”

I got out of the car, cursing every single staring, angry-looking and sweaty mob member in my head and at the same time thanking my lucky stars that I had just scored travel story gold.

And suddenly, my mind fast-forwarded to the present. I had just been reminiscing about a road trip in Kathmandu. I was in a car again, not moving and parked right next to a cliff in Bedugul. Vertigo immediately hit.

That’s exactly what happens whenever I’m on a road trip - I have too much time to think and the rapid movement of objects through the car windows are somehow hypnotic to me. Images of Nepali communist mobs carrying guns, chasing my car apparently resulted in immediate paranoia and one guaranteed week of nightmares. Add this with being forced to hop on a tiny, eight-seat propeller plane which then flew above the Himalayas with dodgy seatbelts and cotton buds to cover my ears, I had to be immediately taken to an asylum as soon as we landed.
But if the images are green vegetation growing wildly among traditional Balinese houses, adorned with the occasional red, yellow and white from the flowers, the result is a state of almost absolute happiness.

The view of the villages we went through leading up to Bedugul reminded me a lot of the town in Lombok where I grew up. The markets, for instance, looked beautifully raw. The buildings that made up the shops looked old, with plenty of scars. The bricks in the walls were sticking out like damaged bones on deeply severed flesh. Dust was the prominent component, but also optimism. None of the old ladies looked upset or broken. Even the parking man looked cheerful.

The higher we climbed up the mountain, the stronger the feeling of serenity. I think you are left with no option when you’re given the combination of a sleepy town – there was hardly anyone on the street, a big lake that looks very calm, green hills, cloudy sky, and the slightest hint of fog - you can’t help but feel at ease. It was as if the complications of life had not penetrated this part of the mountain yet.

I spotted a trucker talking on his mobile phone on the side of the street and caught myself getting carried away, finding the whole scene odd. But then I remembered that at the same moment, I was receiving football match results from halfway across the planet directly on my phone, in real time.

The former capital of Bali, Singaraja, had its own way of welcoming you. While the town looked pretty and friendly, the sun was less so. The first time I stepped out of the car, the heat was almost unbearable. Not because it was just hot, but because it felt like it had a sting that punctured right through my flesh.

The finer side of town was, like most Indonesian towns, a little outside the centre. I noticed how the streets were much bigger compared to the ones in Denpasar. The government offices also looked better taken care of. The colours of the walls still looked good. And their candi bentar (gates) were bigger too, with more intricate carvings.

A left turn took us to the even posher side of town, where a lot of Dutch-style houses were lined up. Some of them looked really old and had been turned into offices. The others, meanwhile, are still standing tall looking beautiful.

Our first stop in Singaraja was not far from this area. The Buleleng Museum (Jl. Veteran Singaraja) failed to give me any significant information about this coastal town. We indeed came across a lot of old lontar (palm leaf) manuscripts, but there wasn’t much explanation as to how significant they were to the history of Bali.

Apart from feeling excited about being able to buy copies of old books about Bali, I found out that the shadow puppet figures from this part of the island look more gothic compared to their Javanese counterparts. They have a more monstrous look. The Hanoman figure, for example, looks like he has really bad skin and sharp fangs.

The centre of the city – or what I thought was it because it has more shops and looks busier – is located near the old harbour. Right behind this harbour is a line of streets that reminds me of Macau. Ageing two-storey houses that resemble old warehouses decorate the small street in the middle. We came across a mosque and a few Moslem wear shops. This must have been the Moslem area of the city.

Not far away, through the gate to the old harbour, is a Chinese temple.

Because the harbour was dominated by grey, pastel and black, the red paint of the temple makes it stand out. However, the highlight of this abandoned harbour to me was the patina left on the ruins of what used to be the harbour’s warehouses. The walls are scarred, the locks broken and the roofs destroyed. If it weren’t for the heat, I would probably have spent hours staring at those walls, risking being taken away as a nutter by the police, but we had other missions to accomplish.

One of which was to check out a hot spring. The way there, we passed Lovina Beach along a road that presented you with the sea on one side and the mountains on the other.

As soon as we entered Banjar, the vegetation changed. Rows of grapevines replaced paddy fields and the smaller the road, the slimmer and taller the plants became. Bamboos, banana and coconut trees were almost everywhere too.

A hot spring usually means a lot of steps to tackle. And I recently had a motorbike accident, which temporarily lessened the mobility of my left leg. Hesitating to even get out of the car, from a distance, I saw a very old woman in a wheel chair emerging from the direction of the hot spring. She was pushed by another old woman and was in a group of similarly aged people. The thought of seeing their faces haunting – and mocking - me for the rest of my life gave me extra strength to soldier on. I couldn’t care less if I lost my left leg in the process as long as I didn’t embarrass myself in front of them. On top of that, seeing the wheel chair, I knew the steps wouldn’t be too difficult to tackle.

Indeed, without much pain I managed to reach the hot spring. It was not just full of local tourists, there were some foreign looking faces bathing too. Our driver told me that one of the springs is believed to have a healing powers. So he suggested that maybe I could give it a try. The thought sounded good for a moment, but after looking at the colour of the water, I didn’t have the courage for an infection.

Leaving Banjar, the sky slowly became more and more cloudy. Before, our left side view was green and yellow, grown against a blue background. But within minutes, it morphed into green, yellow and brown on a dark purple background before it became black and the rain inevitably poured down on us.

When we reached the even quieter side of North Bali, Pemuteran, the rain had subdued. One wrong left turn brought us to an unknown beach. It was a little scary as the small road went on and on, past a swamp that looked like it had giant crocodiles living there, before it ended on a small and secluded beach. I saw motorbikes parked there but the owners were nowhere to be seen. Realising the lack of lights around and the fact that the sun was almost gone, we decided not to risk getting even more lost and headed directly for the hotel. •

where to stay

Matahari Beach Resort & Spa
Jl. Raya Seririt, Gilimanuk
Pemuteran, Buleleng
North Bali
T: 0362 92 312 / 93 435
www.matahari-beach-resort.com

Located in a very secluded and quiet part of Singaraja, this 32-room, five-star hotel operates with serenity and peace as their priority. The rooms are adorned with intricate Balinese carvings and are also very spacious. The winner of Relais & Chateaux Environment Trophy 2007, this hotel has a beachside restaurant that offers a good fine dining experience.