Greener in Bali

The grass is always greener elsewhere, and as a nomad, I evidently got itchy feet after seven years in Singapore – a personal record of living in one place. But one can’t just pack up and leave, you in fact need to go somewhere, which raised the difficult question: where should we go? That exact question has been buzzing around our household for years.

Often a next move for expats is dictated by work, but if there is no such push, just a general pull and a sense of adventure – the world is your oyster. That sounds like the ultimate luxury, but it also makes things ultimately complicated. Drowning in a sea of too much choice, too many factors – good education for the kids, a pleasant climate, liveable surroundings, a good culture for raising kids, and exciting prospects for work, we felt stuck. We were tired from the high pace of city-state Singapore. We needed a break; time to spend together as a family before the kids were too old to want to spend it with us.

The question I have been asked uncountable times the last few months is: why Bali? I always want to answer; why not Bali? After debating for years what our next move would be we eventually decided on an impulse, after seeing a Facebook post on one of the green attractions of this green island: a Green School. Combined with my own fascination for all things Indonesian, Roel’s wish for a fun place to spend his upcoming sabbatical overthinking his next steps, it seemed perfect.

So here we are. In Bali. In our new house overlooking rice fields, with our new Bali rescue dog, discovering new things, learning a new language. Away from the safety and comfort that was Singapore. And we are starting to figure things out. The Bali traffic no longer defies us, as we find order in the chaos and the politeness of the Balinese (if you get cut off on your scooter you can bet it’s a fat white Bule on that bike). We are starting to find out where to get our groceries (and sorry Linde, we do really need to cut down on cheese, who would have believed there is a country in the world where cheese is more expensive than Singapore?)

The kids are starting to settle in in the new school, and I can say one thing: things are definitely greener there! This is the school where all new parents (including me) sigh: I wish I was a kid again so I can go to school here… The classrooms are made of bamboo and have no walls. They are situated in lush gardens. There are rabbits and chicken, and cats wandering about for Linde and Jasmijn to cuddle. Tijm has started Middle School where he can select exciting elective subjects like surfing and free diving. The focus is on sustainability, the school wants to educate the green leaders of tomorrow. At the same time they are innovative educators, the guiding principle is that school should in fact be fun, as kids learn way more when they can follow their passions and enjoy themselves. We hope that they will manage to challenge our boy with a passion for maths as well as sports.

And, there is plenty for the parents too. Roel and I enrolled in a course where we will work alongside the Balinese to learn about the rice cycle, establishing ties with local farmers and develop a shared vision for expanding organic rice supply. I can’t wait to get my feet in that mud! Roel’s other goal this year is learning to surf whilst I am looking forward to many mornings like this one, where I sit on my patio alternating writing and gazing at our amazing view. I am starting to believe this was a good move.

And then of course there is always the follow up question that still defies me: how long do you plan to stay? There is only one answer to that: I have no idea. 

(Okay, some photos, because I know you all want me to poke your eyes out with the gorgeousness of our new surroundings. And yes the guest room is ready... )

Meet the neighbours

Our first, brief, encounter was whilst I was viewing the new house, when it wasn’t ours yet. I noticed one of the branches in the highest tree swaying gently. Squinting my eyes, I saw a dark shadow clambering up a thin branch, then quietly jumping out of sight.

We moved in, got unpacked, settled. A few days after, on a late afternoon, I heard the gate bell ring. It was an old-fashioned, copper affair. It did not toll firmly, but hesitantly, irregularly. I walked out to see who was there, and met a motley crowd at the gate. A few crouched on the floor, some spilled over the pillars. Two babies were swinging back and forth gently on the creaking gate door. I laughed, and called out the kids: ‘Come meet our new neighbours!’
Jasmijn pointed excitedly, ‘aap, aap,’ but Tijm and Linde could barely be pried away from the telly. They had plenty of those at their school.

The next morning we enjoyed breakfast together. We ate our toast on the patio; they munched on the seeds of the palm tree. Occasionally some husks or leaves dropped in the grass, or we heard the swishing of the leaves as they swung over to another tree. We admired their agility, their jumping skills. We even commented that their table manners did not seem too bad.

After we put the kids on the school bus I noticed a large hump hanging in the baby papaya tree. The one I had carefully cultivated on our old balcony, the one I was so happy it had survived the move. We ran over, shooing and shouting, and the brown creature ran off, taking with him the entire crown of the tree. He rushed into the high palm tree and chomped away happily. Annoyed, I examined the bare stump. ‘You monkey,’ I cried, shaking my fist at the fluttering palm fronds.

I went to brush my teeth. Then I heard screaming from the kitchen, and rushed over, toothbrush in mouth. On the worktop he sat, in the middle of a pile of banana peel. Roel rushed in too, screaming, and the creature scrammed out the window. He sat his bum on the concrete outside and bared his pointy teeth, angry to have his breakfast disturbed. We quickly closed the window and hid the remaining bananas in the bread tin.

Our new neighbours have bad manners. They poo on the lawn and our laundry. They steal our food. They wreck our garden. Yet I cannot help myself. I sit back and watch them play, jumping from branch to branch, as if they can fly. I watch the babies clinging to their mothers bellies, hugging them close, then running off, playfully chasing each other round the gate. Yes, they are a menace. But they are also darned cute.

Greener pastures

My relationship with moving house is mixed. I love it, I hate it. The hassle, the packing, the changing of your address, again, with all those organisations, it costs so much time. Even with my experience. In the last seven years alone we moved five times, through three countries. Every child was born in another house. After the last, intercontinental move I lamented we would stay in this place for years, at least. I was fed up. It is nine months later and can you guess?
We are moving. It is my own fault. I am a nomad that always thinks grass is greener on the other side.

A lot greener. The first time I saw one I fell in love: Black and White’s. A Singaporean phenomenon. In this city of high-rise buildings you can find a few scattered oases, where black and white houses are hidden in lush greenery. With large, luxuriant gardens. When it was still British the government built these colonial houses. Old-fashioned, white buildings with black accents, you can picture the memsahibs sitting on the veranda’s, in long white dresses, fanning themselves in the un-air-conditioned heat.

Not only is the grass greener in those gardens, at least there is grass. Our roof terrace has only tiles. I want one. The Black and White houses are now owned by the Singaporean government, who rents them out, by auction. There aren’t many, and to get one you need to bid high, go way out of town, or get lucky. I had been checking the website with it’s meagre offering for a while. And when a cute bungalow, slightly out of town yet inside the school bus area, and reasonably commutable to Roel’s work came up, I saw an opportunity. It did not even take too much effort to convince Roel to let me put the sealed envelop with our bid in the appointed drop-box.

Next week we’ll go. This week I booked movers, but more work is waiting. In contrast to most apartments in Singapore, these houses are let completely stripped bare. It needs a cooker, hood and fridge. Air-conditioning. Curtains and blinds. The garden is a jungle. Paperwork needs signing, our old house needs a new tenant, cleaning, painting and steaming.

Every time I visit the new house I see and hear why we are doing this. No traffic noise, no building noise, only the twittering of birds and the piercing sound of cicadas. This will be the vegetable plot, that the football field. Behind the house, my herbs. The new dining table will go outside, on the veranda. It feels like living in the jungle, and that is no illusion either. Our garden borders McRitchie reservoir, one of Singapore’s largest nature reserves. As nature knows no borders both greenery and wildlife spill over the fence. Birds, monkeys, snakes, and god knows what else.

Our new house is not just a house. It is an adventure. We will stay there for years, at least. Really!

To a warm country

Three sad noses press against the window of the back door. The glass is studded with drops. It is raining. Again. And it is cold. Come, Tijm pulls his sisters away. They get their rug sacks, their suitcase and climb up the stairs. In the suitcase they pile clothes. Linde’s new pink sundress. Tijm’s favourite checked shorts and his new giraffe shirt. They don’t forget swimming costumes and towels, and in the side pocket they stuff toothbrushes. Tijm puts his new flowery short on, and Linde slips into her strawberry dress. Flip-flops on their toes. Jasmijn toddles around with her baby float. She stuffs and stuffs, but all inflated, it won’t fit in the suitcase.

When they walk down the stairs fully loaded I ask what they plan to do with all that stuff.

‘We are moving,’ answers Tijm, ‘to a warmer country.’

‘Nice,’ I say. ‘Can I come?’

I can.

Tijm puts all the chairs in a row. The little bear chair, the old wobbly one, the dining chairs and the orange high chair.

Jasmijn climbs on the bear chair.

‘That one’s for you, mama,’ the stewardess points.

I sit down while Tijm loads the luggage on the plane. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Australia,’ yells the pilot.

‘No, Singapore,’ screams the stewardess.

Before things escalate, I propose: ‘What if, we go to Singapore first, and then fly on to Australia? That’s how it happens with real planes. It is too far to fly to Australia at once, so planes always stop over in Singapore to rest and refuel.’

Only when all of the staff have agreed we take off. But, somewhere over the Indian Ocean danger arises. One of the passengers decides to leave the plane.

‘No, Jasmijn,’ yells Linde. ‘She will fall in the sea, help!’

But Jasmijn has left already. ‘Let her go, she’ll be all right.’ I point out. She brought her float.

We fly on, calmly and without further problems.

‘We are going to land, in Singapore,’ the pilot announces.

We fasten our seatbelts and hold on tight for landing. When I want to disembark the pilot and stewardess protest loudly. We still need to go to Australia.

‘No mama, we won’t have anyone left.’

I look around and have an idea. I put Poppa, Nelly, Miss Piggy and Duck on the empty chairs. ‘You guys fly on,’ I say. ‘Mama has work to do. Mama is very busy. Mama has many things to organise.’

Because, yes, it is a lot of work, moving to a warmer county. Removers need to be found, flights be booked, temporary houses be located, kids registered at schools, houses de-cluttered, assets sold, a rabbit re-homed, and leaving parties organised.

Later, behind the computer, Tijm stands behind me. ‘How many days until we move, mama?’ he asks.

I count down. And, counting, both euphoria and panic strike. Only forty. Forty days. Forty nights. And then we will move to Singapore!