The Anti-Yogi’s Guide To Ubud

Consider this our get acquainted post. You know, like one of those speed dates at the speed-date-a-thon in some suburban Westernized someplace town you‘ve no doubt seen in the movies. This is where we can feel each other out before, you know, we decide if we want to feel each other up. Metaphorically speaking. I don’t actually want to feel you up. Ever.

A few relevant facts about me: I’ve been living part time in Ubud since 2004. I am a working journalist and took this gig for free passes to the yoga/music fest that I’ve always known about and never really actually religiously attended. I have my own long dormant blog that I rarely have time or energy to deal with because usually I’m working and I hate writing for free (and, truth be told, am not that keen on writing for free yoga/music passes either) unless its my own vanity projects (read: novel, screenplay), of which I have a few in various states of completion/rejection. I do yoga every morning and rarely attend yoga classes anymore. Not because I’m exceptionally good at yoga or any closer to Samadhi than the drunks that linger at Naughty Nuri’s on a Tuesday’s eve; just because… you know

I do chant. I will say that.

I have nearly every human flaw.

A few relevant facts about Ubud, our beloved home away from whatever: Ubud has changed quite radically in the past 5 years. Tourism has skyrocketed, rice fields are getting paved over at alarming rates, easy credit access has led to more cars and motorbikes on the road, and the expat demographic has gone through its own shift.

Once there were two cliques. The Yogis and The Drunks – with a few of us migrating between the two clans like buzzed or blissed-out diplomats. In 2004, there were far more Drunks than Yogis (I’d say something like 70-30 in favor of the marinati), but thanks to a massive Drunk die-off, in 2011 there are nearly 80% Yogis. Within this Yogi group are the Raw People (note the clear eyes and grayish teeth), the Yuppie Om-ers (to which I’m guessing a fair number of the festival attendees belong), the Hipster Yogis (see: young attractive women with svelte, firm figures, loud voices and a penchant for wearing yoga pants at all times, and 30-ish men who wear vests sans shirt and smell like Jesus), and the Leather-Feathers – a spectacularly cringe-worthy sub clan who dance to horrific House music and wear absurdist Jack Sparrow gear, lesbian haircuts (I’m talking about the men), and only mingle with one another.

In 2004, if you’d told me that we would be at 80% Yogis, 20% Drunks, I’d probably suggest that this was a good thing. Now, I’m not so sure. Does this mean I’ve metamorphisized from self-hating Jew to self-loathing yogi? Perhaps. Or does it simply mean that I believe in a few simple truths that I wish we all shared?

1. Just because you do yoga doesn’t mean you have to act like a douche bag. Look I can appreciate that some of us have the flexibility to stick our heads up our asses, but do we always have to talk out of them too?
2. Ladies should ALWAYS smell better than a gentleman. I can live with men who smell like JC, but I’d prefer women to steer clear of body odors that conjure up images of certain Jewish Palestinian proto-hipster saints.
3. Crying over the achievement of various life catharses is encouraged. Saying Namaste in the course of normal conversation is discouraged.
4. Fashion Tips for Men: When wearing vests you should also (always!) wear shirts. When wearing linen pants, you should wear underpants.
5. Fashion Tips for Ladies: I like a good nipple shot as much as the next man, but braziers can and should be your friend, and are vital for healthy lifelong breast maintenance. (Sub-rule: one’s nipples should never be on a first name basis with one’s navel).
6. Nutrition Note: There is no such thing as a ‘pescatarian’! Actually, there is, and it means you only and always eat fish. Point is, if you eat fish, or dairy products for that matter, you are an omnivore like the rest of us. Deal with it. If you are a pure vegan, and eschew all animal products, I can respect that, but you’re still a self-loathing omnivore.

That’s it. Six simple rules to live by throughout your stay in Ubud, a truly gorgeous and glorious town sprinkled with smiles, harmonized with the haunting syncopation of the Gamelan, and twinkling with millions of fireflies. Enjoy, my beauties, and if you’re down for a second date… You can find me at the Arma covering the Night Music portion of the festivities.

Keep It Rockin’!

Adam Skolnick