Kadek. my driver (and playmate) in Bali, invited me to spend some time at his village. His relatives there said I was brave to do this - and I agree. At first glance, the village was beautiful - ornate stone-carved entries, lush vegetation and flowers, all situated high on a ridge overlooking the terraced fields extending into the valley. Quickly I learned that the homes had no running water. Electricity was used only for the TV and some lights. Kitchen pavilions had no appliances - only smoky wood fires reminiscent of the Middle Ages.

The menu that evening was roast suckling pig. That meant slitting the throat of a squealing family porker, burning off his hair, then turning him on a wooden spit over coals for several hours. Neighbors came over to share in the feast. Mangy dogs scuttled after pieces of spit out gristle, while we scooped up rice and spicy vegetables with our right hands. (You don't want to know why the left hand is never used.)

Somehow I got talked into spending the night at the village. The people certainly were friendly, and fascinated at the chance to look at an American close up, like the children at right. The next day there were ceremonies at the village temple, followed by cockfights at the same temple. The losing cocks had their heads cut off, and their feathers were being pulled even before all the winning money from the bets on their fight had been distributed. Later in the day, most of the village (including me) stepped down the long and steep trail to the river below - to bathe in the nude. Yes it all was earthy and basic. And I couldn't wait to get to a decent hotel.