Torn
Between Two Lovers
Thoughts
On San Francisco And Bali ~ By Robin Sparks
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| San
Francisco
The gray mist
rises. San Francisco's colors pop out again in the spotlight of a winter
solstice sun. I slip into a crimson batik blouse and my white baggy pants
from India to venture out of my Russian Hill cave for a bite to eat. Strolling
across Washington Park, I watch the dog lovers chucking balls to their
4-legged friends, and the Chinese moving as if through honey doing their
Tai Chi. Across the street at Moose's Restaurant, a waiter is placing another
folded napkin on a linen covered table in preparation for the lunch crowd.
And towering over us all are the majestic twin spires of St. Peters St.
Paul's church, brilliant in the morning sun.
San Francisco
looks much as it did when I left almost a year ago - -The Transamerica
pyramid is still an exclamation point in a city that is always celebrating
something, the jumble of Mediterranean style buildings cover North Beach
and climb up Telegraph Hill, Coit Tower rises from its pubic nest of eucalyptus
trees, the crinkled waters of the bay are dotted with white handkerchief
sails, and a large ship, full to the brim with containers is gliding under
the Bay Bridge.
What was I
thinking? I love it here. |
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Bali
When I left
Bali two months ago, I thought I 'd found my home on the bucolic, spiritual,
achingly beautiful island where for the price of one year's mortgage in
San Francisco, I could live in lovely home, on a fraction of what it took
to sustain a lesser lifestyle in San Francisco. My plan was to return to
the U.S. just long enough to check in with friends and family, pay my taxes,
sell my condo and car, pack up my remaining things, and get myself back
to Bali. I'd keep a toehold in San Francisco, but it would be in Bali where
I would complete my book and teach creative writing workshops.
Two days after
my return, a bomb blew a hole in Bali taking tourists with it, and most
of the air out of my plans to live and work there. Had I been naive to
think that I, an American, could make my home in the midst of the world's
largest Islamic nation?
Expatriate
friends in Bali answered my emails with assurances that in spite of their
shock and dismay, they weren't leaving. They banded together with the Balinese
to assist the injured and grieving, and when that task was complete, their
focus remained united on bringing normality back to the island and making
it safe for tourists to return. Like a pilot light, Bali
stayed on
in my heart. Maybe, I could go back.
Meanwhile paying
the dues required to live in the U.S began to take over the moments of
my life. Income tax deadlines, legal threats from an ex-spouse, calls and
appointments with lawyers, car repairs, Department of Motor Vehicles appointments,
dishwasher repairmen, sorting out bills, the search for affordable health
insurance (which is impossible to get in the U.S. if
you're self-employed
and have ever been sick), learning that I could not walk out of my apartment
without spending more in one day than I spent in an entire week in Asia,
and exploring ways to pay for my increased cost of living without selling
my soul. Bali began to fade into an abstract dream that got dimmer as the
days passed.
While I'd been
gone, my friends in the United States, it seemed, had all become couples.
My business colleagues were publishing books, teaching workshops, and becoming
"known", while I'd been reduced to a vague blip on their memory screens.
In the tight- knit, quickly changing world of publishing, I'd become one
of the disappeared.
It was clear
I was going to have to log in some serious time in San Francisco if I hoped
to build the career base in the U.S. that would make it possible for me
to live in another country. - at least part of the year. Unless one is
financially independent, the How to Earn a Living factor looms large in
the Where to Live and How to Keep Living There. (Are most expatriates financially
independent or pensioners?)
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*From
an Australian who lives mostly in Asia*
Robin,
You are
singing my song. I have been vacillating between Asia and Australia for
years. I love the comfort of Australia but the people of Asia...it is maddening
and expensive! Next year I intend to float between Thailand, Vietnam and
the Philippines (where I have a restaurant) and teaching English (I am
a qualified Celta teacher)...I love peaceful places and then I yearn for
the cut and thrust of the bigger cities. |
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In
addition, my status as a single woman was beginning to lose its allure.
As much as I'd enjoyed the freedom of being on my own for the past six
years, I longed to be part of a family again. My now non-single girlfriends
pointed out that I was unlikely to find a mate as long as I continued my
nomadic lifestyle. Would I really have to choose between security and adventure?
If I kept bopping from one expat haven to another, would I be relegated
to singlehood forever? Would finding an intelligent, fun, romantic,
gorgeous, adventurous man, with his financial life in order (the list goes
on, but I'll stop there) require that I stay in one place long enough to
build relationships? A friend of mine, who recently landed herself a Sugar
Daddy, looked frightened when I told her I was thinking of cashing in everything
that I owned to move to Bali. "What will happen when you run out of money?"
she asked. "You might find yourself stuck there growing old and dying alone,"
She's right, I thought. But then I remembered that I was going to have
to grow old and die anyway, and there were worse places than Bali in which
to do it.
One day when
I was cleaning a closet in my San Francisco apartment, the Balinese batiked
drawstring bag that I'd carried everywhere on the island surfaced. I held
the soft, incense perfumed cotton bag to my cheek, closed my eyes, and
was back on the island again: Clanging gamelons, croaking frogs, yakking
geckos, melodious birds, kites ornamenting the skies, Made knee deep in
a rice paddy seeing me in my upstairs window and waving, "Hi honey! You
hungry? I make Nasi Goreng!" men lounging in the open air platforms smoothing
the feathers of their pet cocks, Balinese women sauntering gracefully under
offerings atop their heads, taxi drivers calling out, "Transport?" followed
by, "Are you married?" the smell of jasmine,frangipani, cloves, and incense,
festive parades blocking traffic, ruffled umbrellas tilted over religious
icons, temples poking up in the most unlikely places, jogging in the Hash
House Harrier Runs through out-back Indonesia, the sun low in the sky reflecting
off the water between the tiny rice sprigs, huts with rounded thatched
roofs, men bathing together in streams, fresh off-the-boat grilled tuna
every Thursday night at Nuri's, stepping over tiny palm leaf offerings,
wearing only sarongs, sleeveless cotton tops, flip-flops, and forgetting
why I ever wore makeup, leaving the windows open and never being cold,
weaving my motorcycle around ducks and school children and gridlocked cars,
swimming around and around hypnotically in warm, clear pools, surrounded
always by lush gardens with striking batiked leaves, gold fish ponds, the
sound of running water everywhere, and the tranquility radiated by the
locals and the foreigners on the island. |
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Bali and
San Francisco.
I love them
both.
But I can no
longer afford to live in San Francisco year-round, and I can not afford
to leave it for long periods, for it is in San Francisco where the work
to support the life I want to live, is.
After a 3 month
media sabbatical, I've been disconcerted by the cries of "War! War!" coming
from every television network and by our president who spouts various renditions
of "Retribution against the evildoers!" America, it seems has gone public
with its self-assigned role of sergeant at arms at large. But most shocking
to me is the unquestioning manner in which Americans are following in lockstep,
uncomprehending of any view other than their own, and unconcerned as the
rest of the world looks on in horror. I am less proud than ever to call
myself an American. And less free to say so.
...
| But
about the time I begin to think, "That's it, I am out of here," I'd
find myself adoring San Francisco all over again. One day, for instance,
I was motoring my Alfa Romeo, up steep California Street, top down on a
crisp, bright winter day, tuned into KFog, swerving around cable cars,
limousines, and bicyclists with ease, and slowing down for a peace march.
I pulled into Whole Foods Market where I browsed though miles of aisles
of wine, gourmet cheeses, fresh sushi, daily baked bread, and organic fruits
and vegetables. At the deli counter, I ordered a burrito, where a lengthy
inquisition ensued.
Rotisserie
chicken, beef brisket, or vegetarian? Refried or black beans? White rice
or cilantro? Monterey jack or cheddar? Guacamole, sour cream or both?
Onions? Jalapenos? Spinach or lettuce? Mild or spicy salsa? Whole wheat
or flour tortilla? After collecting the log-sized burrito (at $5.49, one
of San Francisco's few remaining bargains and ladled fresh made saffron
yam bisque into a plastic pint container to take home. I then got into
the checkout queue just in time to hear a tall female cashier announce
to another employee, "You know that new girl Andrea? I tongued her when
I kissed her goodbye at the company party."
I live in San
Francisco, which is not really America, but an island of individualism
and noncomformity - traits once regarded as distinctly and positively American.
When I left
last year, San Francisco was staggering under blows to its major industries,
technology and tourism. But San Francisco, is a city of rushes and busts
and she'll rise again.
Bali too will
bounce back. Tourists will be drawn back into her magical fold, as they
realize that terrorism is random, and the likelihood that it will occur
twice in the same place is slight. The Balinese will continue their lives
of spiritual rituals and celebrations, not that they ever stopped.
So how does
one decide where and when to be an expatriate? Does it take a calamity
or a momentous shift (perhaps an earthquake in my case?) to shake loose
and just go? Is it as simple as, "Just step out the back Jack, make a new
plan Sam, no need to be coy Roy, just set yourself free..."?
Or one can
take a multigrain tortilla, spread on some San Francisco, toss in a handful
of Bali, and sprinkle on some Brazil, roll it up, and eat the whole enchilada? |
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*From
a North American living in Bali*
Hey there Robin,
... It does take a certain amount of courage I suppose, to uproot
oneself from all that is familiar and go to another place, particularly
a foreign country where English is not the native language. Everyone thinks
Bali must be a paradise, free from all the stresses we're accustomed to
in our Western world...Living here is a different story. It has it's own
problems and difficulties as well, they're just of a different sort. There
are cultural difficulties, bureaucratic difficulties, etc., etc. So, if
people come here and expect to live a trouble free existence, they'd be
quickly disillusioned! ... The bottom line is to try and quiet all the
inner ramblings and struggles and just listen to what your heart is saying.
If you try to sort out every single scenario of what could happen or how
to go about doing something, you'll always remain where you are, and never
where you want to be! There is no way we can foresee every eventuality.
... We didn't come here with all the "how-to" or "how do we" answers. I
think living here does require a certain amount of creativity in terms
of one's ability of making a living. People who come here with little or
nothing need to be particularly creative, or perhaps "resourceful" is a
better word. I guess the bottom line is to ask yourself what is it
that you want and what is it that's stopping you? |
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