I’m in Bali. Smoke from Indonesia burning their forests blew over Singapore and stayed there for 2 weeks and counting. The 3rd week it has begun to rain but no sooner the rain stops the wafts of white smoke move in across our view. My skin doesn’t like it. The first day it moved in I broke out in hives. The heat and the chemicals in the air feel heavy as if one is walking through a soup. It’s depressing for everyone. Not feeling motivated to do anything, I’m very lethargic. The 3rd week it wasn’t as bad with the intermittent rain, but it’s our semester break from teaching so I booked a flight at the last minute to Bali and an air B & B.
The house is amazing. He is an artist—went to art school, his father died and left him this house. It is seated above a narrow but gushing river that straddles both sides. On the 3rd floor of the house you look straight down to the river. Because it is always warm here houses are open. They only need roofs and some walls. My bedroom has 4 walls but most of the house, the walls are open with carvings of various gods holding everything up. The Balinese to this day are huge fans of sculpture, carving stone and wood. Every entrance way, and every bridge is guarded by a god. A drive must beep his horn at the God before passing over the bridge.