Iman Spa in Ubud

I researched spas before I went to Bali and found the one I knew I had to go to.  I was not disappointed.  This man, Nyoman, does intuitive bodywork.  I registered for a one hour massage and a Illy body scrub.  The massage was incredible, then, after that completed, I was joined my some other therapist who scrubbed my Malaysian assaulted body with sea salt, then, cinnamon, then crushed coffee beans. Once this was rubbed and scrubbed, a thick layer of cucumber and yogurt was painted all over me and I lay in luxury of this cooling soothing application of indulgence. I felt like licking my arms because it smelled exactly like  tzadziki. After about 30 Minutes of this treat, I was led to a bathroom where there was a rain shower and soaker bathtub.  I was instructed to have a a shower to remove all the yogurt guck and then slip into the soaker tub for a soak.  The tub was filled with lovely hot water and overflowing with little red blossoms.  I wanted to take a picture of this, but then, I cannot imagine my kids having to explain how their mother had lost her mind and was showing the world herself among rose petals in a bathtub.  So, you are just going to have to believe me that it was so.


Emerging from that magic room, I looked out beyond the windows of the spa and saw one of the many rice paddies that are dotted around the country. Coming from an agricultural part of the world that requires a farmer to own land the size of the whole island of Bali fascinated me with how these people could work a small patch of land and sustain a family from the proceeds.  A usual rice paddy is about the size of your backyard in Canada.  They work the land with less than what the pioneers of Canada used to grow grain. All manual labour; some with a cow or ox pulling the plough to turn under the rice stalks to prepare for the next planting, and others just pushing a heavy plough themselves, they work their weary bodies for the reward of a few grains of rice.  Each new planting requires transplanting of little rice plants to begin the cycle again.  Here is the man, who did not have animal power to turn over the mucky soil in preparation for planting.

Barefoot, in muck up to his knees, this man trudges through the rice paddy, tilling the soil for the new plants with a rototiller of sorts, powered with a little gas engine. Never knowing what lurks in the muck beneath his feet, he keeps moving because that is how he feeds himself. I am sure he does not have trouble falling asleep at night.

This is the full size of the rice paddy that feeds his family from the money he earns from selling the rice.