Bali, like many other Indonesian islands, is made out of volcanos that pushed themselves up and out of the ocean. The coastal areas may be hot and sunny but inland the topography rises to a rugged texture of thickly forested hills, volcanic protrusions, and crater lakes. Clouds gather around the mountains and it’s much cooler and rainier. The sky is constantly changing, storm clouds off in one direction while the sun coaxes a warm mist in other areas.
The main road through Munduk runs along a ridge that builds up to a series of peaks in central Bali. The charming traditional farming town drips down one side of the ridge and into the adjacent valley, which happens to be one of the lushest, most verdent places I’ve ever seen. The air is thick with moisture and the sounds of life.
From our balcony we could look out over not only the neighbors’ ceremonial quarters, but also vibrant green rice terraces streaking through the forest.
The only thing to do there was walk around and admire the beauty of the people, their fascinating lifestyles, and the environment that they live in. There were a couple of promoted hiking routes through the surrounding rice terraces, spice plantations, and waterfalls which were nice but I’d been staring at the map again and I noticed that there was a lake up in the mountains, straight up through our valley. As far as I could tell, there was a network of roads and concrete pathways that should get us all the way there, about four miles each way. It would be steeply up hill. We needed some exercise. So we waited for a day with a relatively dry weather forecast and set out one morning to make the trek to Lake Tamblingan.
First we headed down toward the bottom of the valley, where the town essentially ended and the rural outskirts began. Along the way we noticed some HUGE spiders tucked into the leafy surroundings or hanging overhead, with their webs stretched all the way across the road. Notice in the upper right corner of the first photo where there is a normal sized spider for reference. These things were sometimes 8 to 10 inches across and we saw quite a few of them.
This was also where the water finally collected, after winding its way through a complex system of irrigation channels that are built into the rice terraces. With these waterways they’re able to flood individual sections when necessary and generally control the amount of water flow anywhere but there is something very unscientific about them. They’re molded into the landscape, much like the rice terraces themselves, and take on a unique personality, more like naturally occurring streams.
We worked our way up the other side of the valley on a damp slippery road. It took us by rice fields, quiet rural homes, and through thick forest. Everywhere there was water, and it’s many varied children – plants and animals. Homes were nestled into a forest of food bearing plants and decorative flowers, many of which are harvested for use in the daily religious offerings. From afar it just looks like a sparsely populated forest but up close we could see that it’s actually a carefully managed, maintained, and lovingly tended ecosystem which abundantly gives back to the people who care for it. Food grows not just in designated crop fields but from any available piece of soil, and as if that weren’t enough, most of the homes are surrounded by potted plants. Rice, corn, bananas, pineapples, papayas, coffee beans, cocoa beans, taro, clove trees, rubber trees, and countless fruits that we couldn’t identify. Chickens ran around everywhere, followed by strings of baby ckicks. At one point we found ourselves looking at a steep mountainside covered with hydrangeas, the blue petals of which are used during ceremonies.
I was amazed by the richness and diversity of this environment. Occasionally we would see people out in the forest, trimming back some of the trees. They appeared to be in no hurry and smiled at us as we walked by. The homes we saw tucked into the forest were simple but beautiful. Fern and I fantasized about what it would be like to live in a paradise such as this. To be a child growing up out here. On one hand it made me think of the distant past – a romanticized time when things were simpler and the fundamentals of life were all that really mattered. On the other hand it made me think of the future – an equally romanticized vision of the future where humans have figured out how to live in harmony with their surroundings. Perhaps someday time will move in a full circle and bring that past and that future together, but it won’t be for a very long time. Seeing this place gave me hope. Of course I know that the people of Munduk can’t live in total isolation from the problems of the modern world and I’m sure they have many difficulties that are beyond my understanding. It’s still a magical place to let the mind wander with the feet.
Narrow passages took us through the rice terraces, up a rough dirt road to a level spot, not quite to the top, where an old temple struggled to keep from getting swallowed up by the vegetation. There were no other people around, no houses, but there were signs of human activity. We heard a child laughing off in the distance. Someone lived nearby and cared for this place. I had never seen a temple like this before and I wondered what kinds of rituals and ceremonies took place here, and why it existed in this peculiar place, away from civilization.
We climbed onward and eventually came to a small town at the top the ridge. From there our path descended into the bowl of a crater which contains a couple of lakes, the closest one being Lake Tamblingan. I don’t know the name of that town but it was a lovely place. The clouds seemed so close to the ground. Sounds of metallic melodies and percussion could be heard as children learned and practiced music in school. They ran out to the street to practice their English with us whenever they saw us. I don’t think many travelers passed this way. A gorgeous wall along the road caught my eye. Attention to small details seems to be an intrinsic part of the Balinese mentality.
Following the downhill movement of the roads we went through a gate and entered an area of dense jungle. Enormous ficus trees strangled themselves toward the sky and sent roots out to the ground from a hundred feet up. If any one plant could symbolize and embody the vitality of the jungle I think it might be the ficus tree. These were so large that unfortunately none of my photos could do justice to their tangled immensity but we stood, awe-struck, in observance of them for quite some time.
A small shrine, set into the side of the path and littered with decaying offerings, told us that we were nearing a holy place. The jungle opened up into a grassy expanse, with Lake Tamblingan in the middle of it and another beautiful old temple next to the lake. We checked out the temple and walked over to the water where several hand carved boats waited for passengers by the swampy shore. Their destination was a mystery to me, since there didn’t appear to be anything else around the lake but grass and jungle. I was reminded of the Greek myth of Charon, waiting to ferry souls across the water to the land of the dead. There was indeed something eerie about this place. The quiet. The stiff breeze rippling the water. The constantly shifting light. The unknown activities that must have taken place at some time.
We explored around the lake and the surrounding jungle. For some reason there was an unusually large number of butterflies inhabiting that forest. They fluttered everywhere and we would stumble upon congregations of them gathered on the ground around small puddles in the mud. We relaxed in the grass and enjoyed the clean mountain air. It felt like a dream. We let our minds empty.
The sun, when it was exposed, beat down on us which felt nice but eventually we found that we were getting burnt and tired. Better head back soon. It was a long, knee-busting hike back to the valley and that night we were like two tired old dogs after a day of overexertion. The aches in our bodies and fatigue were absolutely worth it. So far in our travels, Fern and I both agree that Munduk, especially this hike, was one of one of our favorite places. Someday we’ll try to make it back there.
jim@snorkelbandits.com