The Farmers' Yard

Open-air kitchen

  Tasha called a cab to take us to our next host, which we appreciated since we still only knew a handful of Indonesian phrases. Although we had the address, the cab driver had a hard time finding it, and had to call Djuca for directions. It seems we weren't the only ones who had trouble navigating the poorly marked streets. After driving around for about 45 minutes, we finally saw a sign for the Farmers' Yard, and told the "taksi" driver to stop. The sign ambiguously pointed to a set of double doors, which we tentatively knocked on. When no one answered, we knocked louder, but still to no avail. There was no lock or knob on the door, so after standing outside for a few minutes, we peered inside and saw a courtyard. There was a multitude of signs promoting sustainable farming and conscious living, and we figured we were in the right place.

Courtyard

 By this time it was starting to get dark, and we were moderately worried about how we would spend our evening. We went into the courtyard, and immediately liked the vibe. Stepping stones wound down a brick-lined path, with raised beds on either side. There was an open-air kitchen with signs like "lettuce turnip the beet." The natural building techniques were inviting, with cob and bamboo everywhere, but there was still not a soul in sight. After peeking in the dorm rooms, we saw one guy who was face-down asleep on a bed, but we didn't want to wake him, so we just put our stuff down and waited. Twenty minutes later, the mysterious sleeper woke up and came out. Nico, a dreadlocked, soft-spoken Frenchman of few words explained a bit about Farmers' Yard, and then showed us where we would be sleeping. Then Holly made some rice with soy sauce and dried pea-snacks (we hadn't brought much food with us), and we fell asleep to the hypnotic humming of a neighbor's whimsical twenty-foot-tall bamboo weather vane.

One of the dorm rooms where we stayed

The next morning when we awoke there was still no one around, so we went out in search of breakfast. Along the way we noticed small baskets made of palm leaves and filled with flowers, money, and incense in front of many houses. We later learned that these are called canang sari and are placed out daily by Balinese Hindus to give thanks for the peace granted by the supreme God. We bought some eggs, cabbage, and onions from a stand down the road, and when we came back, Will, a French-Canadian was awake. He explained that everyone was out late last night, and was sleeping in.

Courtyard

Later we met Djuca and Tom, the creators of "the Yard," and about half a dozen other international volunteers. The Farmers' Yard was Djuca's brainchild; he wanted to encourage more responsible, conscious tourism, and create a place where travelers could be a part of the community. He started it over two years ago, and built it from the ground up. There are 3 dorm rooms, with a total of 16 beds, and it was on the cusp of completion (the first guests arrived about a week before we left). The Farmers' Yard is an amazing nexus of interesting people who form a community of spontaneous music and laughter. We highly recommend staying there if you're ever in Bali.

Some people find 
Jesus in their pancakes. 
All we got was this guy.

Djuca's truck

     Later we went to the market down the road, but there weren't many booths because it was late in the day. The market was open-air, with dozens of vendors. Most booths had some combination of vegetables, tempeh, tofu, and maybe eggs, some also had nuts, dried beans, rice, fruit, or these crazy flavored wafer things that expand into light, crispy chips when fried. Some had more dry goods, like instant coffee or raman-type noodles, and a few had fish or meat. There were two main booths that sold fresh raw chicken, and the two men had a pile of chicken parts and a cleaver, and would hack chunks off until it was a kilo, or however much you wanted.

Are your dreams not patriotic enough?
These mattresses should help.

  On our way to the market we got stopped twice. Holly was just going to keep walking, but Randy was curious and wanted to see what the people were asking. One man gave us cards and when we pulled open a tab, he said we won, one of us supposedly won two polo shirts, and the other one of us won the "grand prize." He was really excited and wanted us to come claim our prizes right away, he said the reason he was so enthusiastic was because he got $50 whenever there was a grand prize winner. The other man really wanted help mailing a letter to the "White House Palace," the longer we stood there the more confusing his story got, so we just walked away.

Work at the Farmers' Yard was pretty open-ended, we could choose whatever projects we wanted to work on, and then go at our own pace.

Woven bamboo fence

Our first few projects added to our bamboo repertoire, we used the material to add a ladder onto a bunk bed, and weave a garden retaining fence. Some of the smaller projects included transplanting starts, reinforcing the dining room table, installing overhead lamps in the rooms, and completing the cross pieces on the last unfinished bed. Before long, we realized that a large part of construction in Bali is making do with what you have, it wasn't possible to run down to the local hardware store and buy enough lumber or hardware to complete a project as you intended.

Splitting the bamboo for the fence

Every job required the extra consideration of what materials were available, and what tools were on hand. We enjoyed brainstorming around the challenges that arose, and got to exercise our creativity with some of the bigger projects. We built kitchen countertops and shelves out of scrap wood that was lying around (hours of hand-sanding), did some bathroom sink plumbing with fiberglass and bamboo, and used an old flipflop as a stop on a sliding door.

The weekend after we arrived was Tom's birthday, and the party really showcased the vibe of the Yard. There was lots of music, good food, and drink long into the night. There we met Rohman, who got to be a familiar face, and has his own soap company, and Jaya, who designs and makes awesome clothes (check out her etsy shop here) and is also Djuca's girlfriend. Randy was also able to try the local hooch, arrack. It was obtained from a friends' house who brewed and distilled it, and it was transported in plastic baggies, like everything else. Almost everyone at the Yard is a musician (check out Tom's band here), and often throughout the day, and usually at night people would jam.  

     About a week after we arrived, two American girls came, Luna and Katie. They had just graduated from Warren Wilson, and were traveling around Southeast Asia. They were the first Americans we had seen since the drunk New Jerseyian in New Zealand, and we hadn't realized how much we'd missed the subtle unconscious nuances of conversing with someone from your own culture. Almost everyone spoke English, but with Luna and Katie we could finally say we were from central Massachusetts and St. Louis, rather than "near New York City," and "the middle," and no longer had to defend our units of measure. With our common American experience as a backdrop for conversation, we could communicate more easily and freely, without having to worry about being misunderstood.

Katie and Luna helping us finish the fence

     They introduced us to the intricacies of "warungs" (roadside restaurants), and got us hooked on terang bulan. Terang bulan is a light, fluffy pancake drizzled with condensed milk, and topped with chocolate sprinkles, banana, chopped peanuts, and cheese, then folded in half into a calzonesque, 4" thick chunk of awesomeness. About twice a week we would treat ourselves, and go in search of the roving street vendors who created them. Randy thought that marshmallows would make a delicious addition to this concoction, and at one point tried to supply the cook with this extra ingredient. The man was confused, and thought Randy was handing him trash, and obligingly threw the perfectly good marshmallows in his wastebasket. Another casualty of the language barrier.

Mixing cob; 2:1 sand to clay,
with a little water
 and straw mixed in.

Giving the floor its final coat

     They also helped us patch up a cob floor; first we mixed up a new batch of cob (mud, sand, and straw), and then filled in all the cracks and divets.
     A week or two later Paul, an English electrician, and his friend Carrel, a Czech-Canadian computer whiz, arrived. They had been scouting the area for a possible location to start their own guesthouse, and lent their expertise for a few weeks. We asked to help Paul, in the hopes of gleaning some electrical skills. He was happy to share his knowledge, but pointed out that wiring in Bali was not exactly the norm. The hostel had been built by a myriad of passing travelers, and we spent quite a few hours tracing wires and determining the final lighting configuration. 

Djuca, Nico, Ruta, Katie Pedro, Luna, Holly, Randy, Mitsu.