September | 2011 | Kims Travels

I took my year old Skye Terrier, Sheila, to France with me in July of 1999. We were heading to Corsica to visit her brother, Macduff and his new mom, Christel. First of all, since Sheila has already flown to New York with me to visit them in February, she was adjusted to air travel. I added an additional training session so that when I put her in a bag (that she barely fit in) I could say to her “go down in the bag Sheila” and she would flatten her little head so that I could zip it up. This really impressed all the airport officials at the check in points. I would have to take her out and let them scan the bag. I would then walk her through the detector and put her back in on the other side. As everyone watched and asked a multitude of questions about her breed and length and, of course, ears. They would gasp in amazement when she would stuff her own little head and ears in the bag so I could zip her up. One woman in Atlanta exclaimed “I can’t believe that dog could fit those ears in that bag!”

The flight overseas was concerning me because of the extreme length – 7 hours over, and, due to delays, 9 hours back. Fortunately I was business class and had plenty of room for the both of us. On the way over I waited until after dinner was served to take her out of the bag and let her stretch out at my feet. This she did with much appreciation and a big sigh. She remained in that area at my feet the entire flight — never once making a sound or trying to get up on me. Incredible! Even when I would get up out of my seat (my biggest concern) I would look at her and say “stay” and when I returned — she had not moved.

All the stewardesses had to come over and talk to her and give her a pat. This was in spite of a sign I have on her bag that says “Happiness is NOT being touched by strangers.”. After the first few times, my anxiety lessened and I became convinced that she, unlike her Auntie Meg, would not growl or sink her teeth into these people, so it became amusing.

After landing in France, I couldn’t bear the thought of putting her in the bag and having to carry her around getting luggage and through customs, so I just walked her off the plane on a leash. Of course this was met with many a ”Oh how cute – Didn’t even know she was on board — and (my favorite) - Gosh, she was less trouble than those children in the back!”

At luggage claim, I walked up to a girl and asked if there was anyway my puppy could go outside to relieve herself before I went through customs, as I was afraid that walking her would result in her peeing in the airport. The girl I walked up to turned out to be an American from Ohio (my favorite roller coaster place) so we immediately had a lot in common. She escorted me outside and let Sheila do her thing and brought me back in and helped through customs. Needless to say, they never even looked at Sheila or any of her papers that I spent time and money getting — we just waltzed right through.

Then – much to the surprise of both us — we were confronted with all these French people in the airport and their DOGS. Every other person seemed to have a pooch of some kind with them. It was great until Sheila decided to try put some of these inferior, frenchy mutts in their place !!! I quickly got her outside and we climbed aboard a shuttle to our connecting airport. At this new airport were more doggies and some cats. In fact the last leg, which involved a smaller plane, was filled with people and their pets. We sat next to a man with two cats on his lap, but Sheila behaved herself and slept the whole time.

We were met in Figari, Corsica by Christel and Sheila’s brother “Macduff.” Sheila immediately attacked Macduff , who just kept wagging and wagging his tail. This form of greeting had been established on a prior visit to New York. They obviously remembered each other and Sheila went to extremes to put Macduff back into his place as “lessor doggy.” The next several days, Sheila would constantly smack Macduff if he got too friendly, but one could tell she was pleased with his attentions.

The last 5 days, they were inseparable and played constantly. It was like me and my shadows – Sheila followed me and Macduff followed Sheila. I was staying in a detached cottage with two beds and facilities 30 feet from the main house. Stunningly beautiful views of the ocean. It was wonderful and, of course, I was never scared with my two guard dogs.

The most amazing thing was the first time I had to leave to go to the store and couldn’t take Sheila. I was assured that she would be OK. You see, this place has no fence, just ocean and other homes around it. I left and said a prayer that my little doggy would not panic and try to come after me. When I returned a couple of hours later, I didn’t see her, and I did PANIC!

Running around and asking where is she? The answer given by the three people who had stayed behind much too calmly and laughingly for my mood:

“She is on your bed — she won’t move — we have been down there several times trying to get her to join us — but she just sits there.”Of course, loyal Macduff was with her on the floor.

This was the pattern for the rest of the visit. If I left the house, Sheila and Macduff would go to my room and wait for my return. I imagine she felt safe there, kinda like her crate. We began to call it “The Love Nest”. Sometimes in the heat of the day, if the doggies were missing, we would find them in there just having a chat or a quiet snooze. Sheila in the middle of the bed; Macduff on the floor protecting her. It was very funny and charming. After I left, I was told that poor Macduff would keep checking the “Love Nest” just in case his sister had returned.

But this was only the beginning of Sheila’s adventures in Corsica. Suffice it to say that Sheila went to restaurants and sat under the table. She went into a grocery store and rode in the cart. She managed to walk on moving side walks, up and down escalators, up metal steps leading to an airplane, and on a beach with many people. I am proud and amazed. My little girl was wonderful. She would be scared, but because of her love and trust in me, she would follow. The most incredible feat of courage was when we had to exit in Figari by the rear of the plane down open metal steps with the jet engines still making that awful noise. She hesitated and looked scared and I said “come on girl we are almost here.” She just looked at me and came down those open steps with all that horrid noise. It was very touching.

I didn’t force her into the water. I didn’t want to deal with the mess, so whenever I swam she sat on the crowded beach with her eyes never leaving me. No matter where I went in the water, I could look back and see that face staring at me. This, of course, is why she was picked out of the litter. Whenever I would look out at my 9 puppies out my window, Sheila seemed to know I was looking at them and snap her little head around and stare at me. In a way, she picked me.

The only really embarrassing moment came when we were met at the airport in Paris by my new friend Christiane, an elegant woman, and her 10 year old Cairn Terrier, Ducks. He is named this because of his love for the water. Sheila had been with Ducks on Corsica, and had played with him. Well, Ducks rushed up to Sheila at the airport to say “Welcome to Paris” and was greeted with a nip on the nose! After a thousand “I am so sorry” from me and making sure wee Ducks would survive, all Christiane said, in her wonderfully understated way, was “Your Skye has the most extraordinary personality.”

Shortly thereafter we had to leave the two dogs in the car for a moment. As we walked off, I said a prayer that Sheila wouldn’t do more harm to this tiny Cairn. When we returned they were both in the back seat like the best of friends and Christiane looked at Sheila and simply repeated ”extraordinary personality.” We spent the rest of the day in Paris where Ducks and Sheila ran around parks and acted like old chums. We saw the Eiffel Tower and Arch de Triumph and ate in fabulous restaurants and visited private homes. Sheila made many friends and amazed some of mine with her “American devil may care, until you get in my face attitude.”

Traveling is wonderful. Traveling with your dog is better.

I decided to go to Bali to buy furniture after meeting a friend who told me what a great deal one can get on teak. A great deal that is, if you can buy enough to load a huge shipment container, pay the costs of trip, hotel, and guide. All in all, I think we broke even, but what a great way to furnish the house.

After an arduous 34 hours of traveling, we arrived in Denpasar Airport and were accosted with heat and humidity that is like Alabama in August after a rain. On the never ending plane ride, I read two complete books about Bali and it’s customs. This is a great description: “Bali is a magnet for the most consistently overused clichés to be found in any bibliography of travel writing. Exquisite, seductive, mesmerizing, enchanting, magical — these normally expressive adjectives lose their power to convince after a while. It is a writer’s dilemma, this island of Bali, for these words are accurate and to the point. Anything less seems inadequate.”

The airport itself is a work of art. Everything is sculpted and carved. Many of the women and men are dressed in the traditional wrapped skirts made of Batik (which is imported) or Songket. Although we have not been to a temple yet, it has been explained that men will have to cover their long pants with a skirt to enter. The majority of Balinese are Hindu and this means that everywhere you walk, there are offerings to the Gods. Outside every shop, hut and building, there is an offering on the ground consisting of flowers, incense, and food. It is placed there in morning, afternoon and evening to thank the Gods for prosperity and good health.

The Four Seasons Hotel is absolutely fabulous. All private villas have their own infinity relaxing pool that overlook the ocean and all the gorgeous foliage. Everything here seems to have a bloom on it — even what looks like ivy seems to bloom. Each villa has high walls around it for privacy. There is a thatched roof pavilion that contains the bedroom with the huge bathroom area with large tube and 5 foot by 5-foot shower. Outside is the outdoor shower in it’s own little garden. Across from the bedroom pavilion is another thatch roof open-air gazebo with the dining area, table and sleeping couch. To the side is the pool and a whole area with lounge chairs. You could just stay in your room and order room service for a week and be happy in your own beautiful compound.

In the early morning you can smell the incense burning from all the temples just in this resort. I asked the manager and he explained that they have 200 “sacred altars” — actual statues with a place for offerings and then 2400 offering places. Imagine, that means 2600 places to burn incense, 3 times per day in this hotel compound alone! In our villa, they place offerings in 5 different areas. Incredible!

Today is Saturday here and except for the one day, all we have done is look at the furniture stores. I actually feel more exhausted than when we arrived. We have been up and out each morning by 8 am and have been wandering and looking till 7 or 8 at night. The first day we ventured on our own to the town of Kuta, which is like Daytona or Panama City Beach on steroids. Frantic people hustling you to buy things, wonderful ticky-tacky crap everywhere. Of course, much was purchased!! It is exhausting, however, to constantly have to be rude to people who are hawking their wares (and they all have the same stuff) and are very friendly about it.

The Balinese are very nice people. They smile and touch you and thank you for looking and beg you to buy. It takes a lot to have to say — no — no thank you — a couple of hundred times an hour. Unfortunately, many times you have to be rude. I always remember being in Jamaica with my brother and realizing that to stop people, I had to become a bitch, which is a shame. I also always keep in mind how I observed that they don’t bother the Germans. I think from now on when they ask me where I am from, I will say Germany. If they find out you are from the US, you are a sitting duck. Germans seem to scare them.

We have been very lucky. We were asking at the Four Seasons about renting a car and driver, etc., and they suggested using their former manager, a Balinese named KoKo. KoKo (short for coconut tree — he is 6 foot 6 inches, which is unheard of over here — most men are 5 foot 5 inches) is wonderful. He now operates an antique furniture store and knows about everything in the area. Since he was the manager of the Four Seasons here for many years, he is fluent in English. He also opened the Tokyo Four Seasons and speaks fluent Japanese.

Anyway, this has turned out to be the best thing ever. Koko has escorted us to all the furniture stores, advised us on quality and will act as our shipping agent and arrange everything. We will pay him 15% of the total cost of the furniture we buy. It has been strenuous for me however, because I still feel like I am at home making all the decisions. These are some pretty big decisions, too. We are buying about 150 pieces to use in the house. Therefore, I am walking around in this heat with house plans and diagrams. Figuring colors, sizes, where we need chairs, tables, etc. The biggest problem is the choices. There are literally hundreds of vendors and thousands of different qualities and prices. We came over here to get the teak cheap, but are starting to realize that you get what you pay for. I am constantly under high “decision stress” and overall it has been unpleasant and tiring. I cannot even get to sleep for worrying about my decisions and am getting up at 6 every morning.

I think we arrived at a final breaking point and I gave a list that I had been up all night making to one of the furniture makers. He has come back with a price and now we just have to decide if we are willing to pay it. His work is beautiful, but costly. In one way it is a relief, in another it is even more pressure worrying if I have made the right choice. DAMN!!!!!

We are also buying a spectacular chair by a man named Alex here in Bali. He is a Dutch born designer that makes furniture out of “old teak” that he creates himself. The piece I picked out is fantastic, but then I found out that Clinton bought the same piece – hmmmm! But we will probably get it, because it is so different and very modern and exquisitely made.

One night we had the pleasure of going to KoKo’s home and having a fabulous home cooked meal. KoKo’s wife is a model, ex-TV announcer turned shoemaker. Her designs are shipped all over Italy and France. I look forward to seeing her shoes and probably will get her to make me some. KoKo has met Manolo when he was at the Four Seasons and says his wife’s’ designs are a lot like his.

We have been eating at all the street vendor stands, with KoKo’s guidance. We have sampled much of the food that all the guide books warn you against. So far, so good, no sickness – yet.

One night we went to local fish “restaurant.” Turns out there are 500 stalls in a row on the beach. You walk down and sit in the sand on little tables and they bring the food. As you eat your plastic chair, suitable for small children, slowly sinks into the sand. You cannot see what you are eating because you are dining by starlight. It was delicious though and it was nice to eat with all the locals.

During those last couple of days, Koko took us high in the mountains, where, shockingly, his cell phone still worked. We were there to visit one of the most sacred temples during a “prayer” festival. As we drove in we passed bus after bus, car after car, truck after truck loaded, and I mean crammed, with people, mostly men. Each vehicle carried at least 10,20,50, 100 people, some sitting on the roof or hanging onto the windows from the outside. All this is done in skirts, mind you. Impressive.

Ten thousand people were gathering to come to the open-air huge temple, incense was almost to the choking point. And everywhere woman were balancing massive trays of food on top of their heads. More offerings to the Gods.

As we drove down the street in front of the temple, a loud speaker was blasting away, repeating the same chant-like phrase over and over. It was quite hypnotic. After we parked and were getting ready to walk towards the Temple, my curiosity reached its breaking point. I asked about the chanting, fully expecting some pearls of Balinese wisdom that I could cherish from my time here. Koko looked at me and laughed and said they were announcing “No parking in the front of the Temple. Keep Moving. More parking down the street. Keep Moving.”

No matter where you go … some things never change.

Monthly Archives: September 2011

A SKYE IN FRANCE

Balli 2001