Domenica mattina. Un risveglio indolente e, stranamente, non mattiniero come al solito. Apro la porta finestra, mi affaccio in veranda e trovo seduta ad una of straw-bottomed chairs around the round table, a woman. Well-dressed, long pants, shirt and beige jacket and sunglasses in order to keep long hair blacks, a single tuft escaped his brow. Open face, shy smile, a hint of embarrassment in her eyes. Does not rise as a sign of respect, greets me and says he was sent to take us to Tulamben.
is Bali, which opens up before my eyes still bleary with sleep, in contrast to all of its faces. A total disorganization, ever obstinate in claiming the primacy of anarchy, which shows the face clean, clear, smiling young woman, disarming in the way you give to your service.
Mi trovo di fronte ad un equivoco, o meglio un netto errore di data. La donna autista è stata tirata giù dal letto alle 4 di domenica mattina, messa su un’agile citycar della Honda, inviata a tre ore di distanza, nell’alba brumosa di Bali orientale, semplicemente un giorno prima del concordato, con tanto di telefonata e mail di conferma.
Ha inizio così una domenica balinese. Cambio di programma, cancellata la cena con amici, a base di vino francese e salsicce e chorizo portoghesi, appena arrivati da Timor Leste; partenza trafelata per la lunga trasferta verso le spiagge nere a oriente, dove sopravvivono alcuni tra i più beautiful coral seas that lap the island.
Putu, our driver, guide with skill and is open to dialogue: talking on the early pace of the gear changes, avoid the holes, we touch the bikes at breakneck speed, between the traffic of a holiday, here is not for everyone. Putu is married to a man of Amlapura in Karangasem. To love her, a woman of the village of Singaraja, has moved tens of kilometers, leaving the green hills that slope toward the sea of \u200b\u200bhot north of Bali, to the relief of the rough and barren lava slopes of Big Mountain. She has three children. The largest works in a hotel in Qatar. The other two are still at school. After years working in hotels and in the family business now, since he bought on installment a second hand Honda, it was put in the uncomfortable business of transporting tourists. To the east of the tourists do not go, is a poor, bitter, dominates the rocks, the beaches are uncomfortable, pebbly, just close the borders between the sea and suffered steep slopes of the mountain. This border has become much later the only resource for poor people lost between agriculture and the ostentatious wealth of the south, fed money fine of millions of foreigners visiting here.
Putu confessed to me that here too, with the new hunger for well-being, the farmers are selling land. Changes are rapid and radical. New houses, new cars, motorbikes, cock fighting, gambling, alcoholism. But only for the few who are lucky enough to own the few areas ancestral appetite by wealthy tourists, enchanted by the rugged beauty of these places.
Then he talks about the recent visit of the President, who went to the largest and most sacred temple in Bali, without dressing properly, carrying, he said, an offense for the Balinese. And 'I know the only Balinese openly irritated by the way his fellow senseless to drive. He speaks to me of his allergy to shellfish, asthma, to what things cost as a vital health care and la scuola. Da colpetti affettuosi al volante, quando mi descrive le performance della sua auto che non s’è mai fermata per un guasto e, siccome è autista abusiva, mi racconta ridendo di come spesso dribbla il tono accusatorio di un poliziotto che la ferma, giurando che la macchina è di suo marito, suo fratello, suo cugino o che sta facendo un favore ad un amico. Del marito parla poco, ma vedo che annuisce con tristezza quando il discorso si sposta sugli uomini che sperperano il denaro in carte, galli e donne.
Le pendici di Tulamben, un tempo secche e brulle, ora sono ricoperte d’un verde tenero e setoso, frutto d’una estate particolarmente piovosa e di un monsone già insistent. Underwater corals, in fact, we sense more than see them on the thick darkness brought by heavy rain and cloudiness that accompanies it. However, it is a majestic backdrop of festoons, huge sea fans of that surge current as the fantastic fans. Wayan, our dive guide, is a type brisk unsmiling. It is bored and not much that beats for us. Lunch on the way home, is based on tasty kebabs and fish, resting on a bag of white rice and coated with a thick sauce and spice. Putu offers two juicy tangerines.
Returning drowsiness is disturbed by the holes and breaks in the great artery, a site that has lasted for ten years. The traffic on Sunday evening gives us the alarm. Until next time, Putu.
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