Indonesia

Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia

description: ìutterly consumed with dread.î) I was trying to convince myself that my feelings were customary, despite all evidence to the contraryósuch as the acquaintance Iíd run into last week whoíd just discovered that she was pregnant for the first time, after spending two years and a kingís ransom in fertility treatments. She was ecstatic. She had wanted to be a mother forever, she told me. She admitted sheíd been secretly buying baby clothes for years and hiding them under the bed, where her husband wouldnít find them. I saw the joy in her face and I recognized it. This was the exact joy my own face had radiated last spring, the day I discovered that the magazine I worked for was going to send me on assignment to New Zealand, to write an article about the search for giant squid. And I thought, ìUntil I can feel as ecstatic about having a baby as I felt about going to New Zealand to search for a giant squid, I cannot have a baby.î

I donít want to be married anymore.

In daylight hours, I refused that thought, but at night it would consume me. What a catastrophe. How could I be such a criminal jerk as to proceed this deep into a marriage, only to leave it? Weíd only just bought this house a year ago. Hadnít I wanted this nice house? Hadnít I loved it? So why was I haunting its halls every night now, howling like Medea? Wasnít I proud of all weíd accumulatedóthe prestigious home in the Hudson Valley, the apartment in Manhattan, the eight phone lines, the friends and the picnics and the parties, the weekends spent roaming the aisles of some box-shaped superstore of our choice, buying ever more appliances on credit? I had actively participated in every moment of the creation of this lifeóso why did I feel like none of it resembled me? Why did I feel so overwhelmed with duty, tired of being the primary breadwinner and the housekeeper and the social coordinator and the dog-walker and the wife and the soon-to- be mother, andósomewhere in my stolen momentsóa writer ...?

I donít want to be married anymore.

My husband was sleeping in the other room, in our bed. I equal parts loved him and could not stand him. I couldnít wake him to share in my distressówhat would be the point? Heíd already been watching me fall apart for months now, watching me behave like a madwoman (we both agreed on that word), and I only exhausted him. We both knew there was something wrong with me, and heíd been losing patience with it. Weíd been fighting and crying, and we were weary in that way that only a couple whose marriage is collapsing can be weary. We had the eyes of refugees.

The many reasons I didnít want to be this manís wife anymore are too personal and too sad to share here. Much of it had to do with my problems, but a good portion of our troubles were related to his issues, as well. Thatís only natural; there are always two figures in a marriage, after allótwo votes, two opinions, two conflicting sets of decisions, desires and limitations. But I donít think itís appropriate for me to discuss his issues in my book. Nor would I ask anyone to believe that I am capable of reporting an unbiased version of our story, and therefore the chronicle of our marriageís failure will remain untold here. I also will not discuss here all the reasons why I did still want to be his wife, or all his wonderfulness, or why I loved him and why I had married him and why I was unable to imagine life without him. I wonít open any of that. Let it be sufficient to say that, on this night, he was still my lighthouse and my albatross in equal measure. The only thing more unthinkable than leaving was staying; the only thing more impossible than staying was leaving. I didnít want to destroy anything or anybody. I just wanted to slip quietly out the back door, without causing any fuss or consequences, and then not stop running until I reached Greenland.

This part of my story is not a happy one, I know. But I share it here because something was about to occur on that bathroom floor that would change forever the progression of my lifeóalmost like one of those crazy astronomical super-events when a planet flips over in outer space for no reason whatsoever, and its molten core shifts, relocating its poles and altering its shape radically, such that the whole mass of the planet suddenly becomes oblong instead of spherical. Something like that.

What happened was that I started to pray.

You knowólike, to God.

3 Now, this was a first for me. And since this is the first time I have introduced that loaded wordóGODóinto my book, and since this is a word which will appear many times again throughout these pages, it seems only fair that I pause here for a moment to explain exactly what I mean when I say that word, just so people can decide right away how offended they need to get.

Saving for later the argument about whether God exists at all (noóhereís a better idea: letís skip that argument completely), let me first explain why I use the word God, when I could just as easily use the words Jehovah, Allah, Shiva, Brahma, Vishnu or Zeus. Alternatively, I could call God ìThat,î which is how the ancient Sanskrit scriptures say it, and which I think comes close to the all-inclusive and unspeakable entity I have sometimes experienced. But that ìThatî feels impersonal to meóa thing, not a beingóand I myself cannot pray to a That. I need a proper name, in order to fully sense a personal attendance. For this same reason, when I pray, I do not address my prayers to The Universe, The Great Void, The Force, The Supreme Self, The Whole, The Creator, The Light, The Higher Power, or even the most poetic manifestation of Godís name, taken, I believe, from the Gnostic gospels: ìThe Shadow of the Turning.î

I have nothing against any of these terms. I feel they are all equal because they are all equally adequate and inadequate descriptions of the indescribable. But we each do need a functional name for this indescribability, and ìGodî is the name that feels the most warm to me, so thatís what I use. I should also confess that I generally refer to God as ìHim,î which doesnít bother me because, to my mind, itís just a convenient personalizing pronoun, not a precise anatomical description or a cause for revolution. Of course, I donít mind if people call God ìHer,î and I understand the urge to do so. Againóto me, these are both equal terms, equally adequate and inadequate. Though I do think the capitalization of either pronoun is a nice touch, a small politeness in the presence of the divine.

Culturally, though not theologically, Iím a Christian. I was born a Protestant of the white Anglo- Saxon persuasion. And while I do love that great teacher of peace who was called Jesus, and while I do reserve the right to ask myself in certain trying situations what indeed He would do, I canít swallow that one fixed rule of Christianity insisting that Christ is the only path to God. Strictly speaking, then, I cannot call myself a Christian. Most of the Christians I know accept my feelings on this with grace and open-mindedness. Then again, most of the Christians I know donít speak very strictly. To those who do speak (and think) strictly, all I can do here is offer my regrets for any hurt feelings and now excuse myself from their business.

Traditionally, I have responded to the transcendent mystics of all religions. I have always responded with breathless excitement to anyone who has ever said that God does not live in a dogmatic scripture or in a distant throne in the sky, but instead abides very close to us indeedó much closer than we can imagine, breathing right through our own hearts. I respond with gratitude to anyone who has ever voyaged to the center of that heart, and who has then returned to the world with a report for the rest of us that God is an experience of supreme love. In every religious tradition on earth, there have always been mystical saints and transcendents who report exactly this experience. Unfortunately many of them have ended up arrested and killed. Still, I think very highly of them.

In the end, what I have come to believe about God is simple. Itís like thisóI used to have this really great dog. She came from the pound. She was a mixture of about ten different breeds, but seemed to have inherited the finest features of them all. She was brown. When people asked me, ìWhat kind of dog is that?î I would always give the same answer: ìSheís a brown dog.î Similarly, when the question is raised, ìWhat kind of God do you believe in?î my answer is easy: ìI believe in a magnificent God.î

4 Of course, Iíve had a lot of time to formulate my opinions about divinity since that night on the bathroom floor when I spoke to God directly for the first time. In the middle of that dark November crisis, though, I was not interested in formulating my views on theology. I was interested only in saving my life. I had finally noticed that I seemed to have reached a state of hopeless and life-threatening despair, and it occurred to me that sometimes people in this state will approach God for help. I think Iíd read that in a book somewhere.

What I said to God through my gasping sobs was something like this: ìHello, God. How are you? Iím Liz. Itís nice to meet you.î

Thatís rightóI was speaking to the creator of the universe as though weíd just been introduced at a cocktail party. But we work with what we know in this life, and these are the words I always use at the beginning of a relationship. In fact, it was all I could do to stop myself from saying, ìIíve always been a big fan of your work ...î

ìIím sorry to bother you so late at night,î I continued. ìBut Iím in serious trouble. And Iím sorry I havenít ever spoken directly to you before, but I do hope I have always expressed ample gratitude for all the blessings that youíve given me in my life.î

This thought caused me to sob even harder. God waited me out. I pulled myself together enough to go on: ìI am not an expert at praying, as you know. But can you please help me? I am in desperate need of h...

Bali & Lombok (Lonely Planet Travel Guide)

Discover Bali & Lombok

Scramble down rocky cliffs to find a private surf beach, then climb back up to your motorbike, tanned and supercharged.
Flip yourself over the edge of a boat while diving the blue depths off the Gili Islands in Lombok.
Dance the day's sand off your feet at Kuta's rowdy clubs or spruce up for Seminyak's sleek bars and restaurants.
Sip honey-ginger tea in a rose-petal bath, drifting back to earth after a mandi lulur massage.

In This Guide:

Two great authors, 68 days of in-country research, 51 detailed maps, 133 bottles of Bintang.
An all new outdoor activities section with detailed diving and surfing information.
Features a Food & Drink chapter by renowned Ubud restaurateur and author Janet de Neefe.

Indonesia (Lonely Planet Travel Guides)

Discover Indonesia

Stretch your hand through ancient stone latticework to touch the lucky Buddhas atop Java’s majestic Borobudur.
Drink with the dead (and don’t slip on buffalo blood!) at an elaborate and riotous Torajan funeral.
Sniff out the infamous durian or scaly salak at a local fruit market.
Step aside as a giant Komodo dragon swaggers by with the confidence only 100kg of top-of-the-food-chain lizard can exude.

In This Guide:

Eleven authors, more than 300 days of in-country research, 73 ferry trips, 197 detailed maps, 205 bowls of nasi goreng.
Includes in-depth information on volcano trekking, surfing, diving, orang-utan watching and the best adventures.
Content updated daily: visit lonelyplanet.com for up-to-the-minute reviews, updates and traveler suggestions.

Bali and Lombok (Eyewitness Travel Guide)

The guide that shows you what other travel books only tell you! Besides being one of the top ten honeymoon destinations in the world, Bali has been called the "Best Island in the World." Previously known for attracting backpackers, the island now caters to more sophisticated travelers and DK's Eyewitness Travel Guide: Bali & Lombok puts everything at your fingertips. Experience the world's largest collection of Balinese art at the Bali Museum in Denpasar, the sacred Pura Luhur Uluwatu, exotic wildlife at the Bali Bird Park, the royal palace at Taman Gili, and the temple at Taman Ayun. Highlights in Lombok include: the Taman Naional Gunung Rinjani, the beach resorts at Senggigi, and the Mayura Water Palace. With over 700 full-color photographs and street-by-street maps of Kuta, Ubud, Singaraja, this guide shows why Bali and Lombok are becoming increasingly popular holiday destinations for all types of tourists.

Come, reza, ama / Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia

At the age of thirty-one, Gilbert moved with her husband to the suburbs of New York and began trying to get pregnant, only to realize that she wanted neither a child nor a husband. Three years later, after a protracted divorce, she embarked on a yearlong trip of recovery, with three main stops: Rome, for pleasure (mostly gustatory, with a special emphasis on gelato); an ashram outside of Mumbai, for spiritual searching; and Bali, for "balancing." These destinations are all on the beaten track, but Gilbert's exuberance and her self-deprecating humor enliven the proceedings: recalling the first time she attempted to speak directly to God, she says, "It was all I could do to stop myself from saying, 'I've always been a big fan of your work.'" The New Yorker© Gilbert s prose is fueled by a mix of intelligence, wit and colloquial exuberance that is close to irresistible. -The New York Times Book Review A meditation on love in its many forms love of food, language, humanity, God, and most meaningful for Gilbert, love of self. -Los Angeles Times
Description In Spanish: Después de un divorcio traumático seguido de un desengaño amoroso y en plena crisis emocional y espiritual, Elizabeth Gilbert decide empezar de nuevo y emprende un largo viaje que la llevará sucesivamente a Italia, la India e Indonesia, tres escalas geográficas que se corresponden con otras tantas etapas de búsqueda interior. Este libro es la bitácora de esa doble travesía, en la que la autora descubrirá el placer sensual de la buena mesa y la buena conversación (la dolce vita romana), la paz interior alcanzada mediante la meditación en Bombay y, por fin, el deseado equilibrio entre cuerpo y espíritu en Bali. Lúcida y valiente novela autobiográfica que ha sido un gran éxito de ventas desde su publicación en Estados Unidos, Comer, rezar, amar trata de lo que ocurre cuando decidimos ser artífices de nuestra felicidad y dejamos de intentar vivir según los modelos que nos imponen. Elegido por el New Tork Times entre los cien libros relevantes de 2006, este diario personal es también una intensa y divertida reflexión sobre el amor y las muchas formas que puede adoptar.

Lonely Planet Borneo (Lonely Planet Travel Guides) (Lonely Planet Travel Guides) (Regional Guide)

Discover Borneo

Wake deckside to the whoops of gibbons on your orangutan-spotting trip, Tanjung Putting National Park
Find out what Queen Elizabeth gave the sultan who had everything at Brunei's lavish Royal Regalia Museum
Jostle garrulous crowds at a Kuching market for some nuttle, stir-fried jungle fern

In This Guide:

First edition, with more research time than any other guide: 110 days in-country, 50 detailed maps, 35 jungle adventures
National Parks color section covers where to spot elephants, monkeys and the enormous, pungent rafflesia flowers
Specialists discuss local markets, the best Malaysian cuisine, ecotourism and conservation
Content updated daily - visit lonelyplanet.com for up-to-the-minute reviews, updates and traveler insights

Periplus Guide to Bali: The Island of the Gods (Periplus Adventure Guides)

Stranger in the Forest: On Foot Across Borneo

Eric Hansen was the first westerner ever to walk across the island of Borneo. Completely cut off from the outside world for seven months, he traveled nearly 1,500 miles with small bands of nomadic hunters known as Penan. Beneath the rain forest canopy, they trekked through a hauntingly beautiful jungle where snakes and frogs fly, pigs climb trees, giant carnivorous plants eat mice, and mushrooms glow at night.

At once a modern classic of travel literature and a gripping adventure story, Stranger in the Forest provides a rare and intimate look at the vanishing way of life of one of the last surviving groups of rain forest dwellers. Hansen's absorbing, and often chilling, account of his exploits is tempered with the humor and humanity that prompted the Penan to take him into their world and to share their secrets.

Best of Bali (Best Of)

Ease into the best of sophisticated Bali, with its pampering, relaxation and shopping. Against a backdrop of rice terraces, beaches and forests, Bali constantly reinvents and reveals itself through vibrant culture, exotic flavours and world-class design. Such a little island, but so many experiences – Best of Bali gathers them all into a pocket-sized guide.

Shop Like A Millionaire – be a connoisseur of homewares, antiques and boutiques

Sleep In Splendour – from traditional to glitzy, we bring you Balinese hospitality at its best

Pamper Yourself – bliss out in our favourite soul-soothing spas

Feast Like Royalty in culinary hot spots – beachside Seminyak and mountain village Ubud, where we’ve discovered unparalleled diversity and quality of cuisine

Reign Outdoors – snorkel, surf, trek and dive in majestic surroundings

Into the Heart of Borneo

"Ye Gods, old man--don't do it!" you're bound to shriek on page 1 of this hilarious travelogue, on which the author lists the hazards that may befall him--vipers, cholera, crocs, ticks, tuberculosis, malaria, rabies, and 1,700 types of parasitic worms among them. After all, portly, over-the-hill London Times literary reviewer Redmond O'Hanlon hasn't done anything more aerobic than flip the pages of a book for decades; he wasn't even a Boy Scout. It's hardly reassuring that his colleague, poet James Fenton--who had the big idea to trek in Borneo--was a Boy Scout. He hated it, and besides, aged, balding Fenton, whom O'Hanlon describes as rather worm-like, sounds like he's a likely lunch for a swooping black eagle.

But on they trod--with the much-needed help of three Iban natives and an unseen, though oft-quoted river god--through jungle, across rivers whose height may rise seven feet overnight, and via native villages (where they often have late-night parties), with one goal in mind: seeing the fabled Borneo rhino. Fenton is nearly swept away in a whirlpool, they subsist on jungle-worm gruel, and ripping off sucking leeches is a near-daily occurrence, but cultural and natural insights and adventures abound in this rip-roaringly funny and deftly written travelogue that will have you chortling out loud. --Melissa Rossi

The story of a 1983 journey to the center of Borneo, which no expedition had attempted since 1926. O'Hanlon, accompanied by friend and poet James Fenton and three native guides brings wit and humor to a dangerous journey.