– Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

            I care about my shoes (although I probably would throw them out if they were moldy…that’s just flat out disgusting).  My shoes, my old, worn-out, navy-blue Lacostes, hold a special place in my heart.  When they were new, my mom begged me to wear them.  Now, ironically, she begs me to throw them away.  My mom bought them for me at the Nordstrom Rack one day and forced me to wear them: “I threw away your old ones and now you’re wearing these.”  In an act of rebellion – I mean, what’s up with an alligator on a shoe? – I made it a point to specifically wear the new shoes each and every time I went long boarding, which, for those of you who don’t know, entails your choice of footwear to slide and smash against the rough, hot pavement repeatedly. Little did I know, this would only make me more fond of them and for a mere twenty dollar pair of shoes, they sure could take a licking and keep on ticking.

Somehow those stubborn shoes withstood the test of time and wound up in my packed bag for Project Equator. Due to a greater distain for the other footwear I packed, I almost always ended up wearing these time-tested Lacostes. Where I went, so did they: up all 463 smooth marble steps of the Duomo in Florence, through the twelve-hundred year old cracked stone streets of the ancient Phaistos in Crete, over the scorching-hot, bright-orange dunes of the Sahara desert, across the wild African plains in the Serengeti, in and out of the dark, crammed Viet-Cong tunnels in Ho Chi Minh City, and practically everywhere else. I did this all unconsciously of course until one moment, which I can recall with a surprising amount of clarity — one moment in particular made me come around and realize their sentimentality.

As I walked ahead the rest of my family, I listened to the soft impact of my shoes against the dusty, granular pathway on a grey day in April. I thought about what returning to Mercer Island was going to be like, most likely inspired by the comforting overcast skies. I finally reached a venerable stone watchtower surrounded by sizable chunks of fragmented façade in this decidedly remote area of forest. Careful to test the integrity of the structure, I slowly leaned against the delicate wall and took in the stunning scenery: the Great Wall of China wound over hills and across mountain faces for as far as the eye could see.  My gaze drifted from this to the pathway from which I came, in an attempt to locate the rest of the family. I couldn’t see them quite yet, but my eyes focused on the pathway itself and honed in on the imprints in the dirt.  My footprint looked as though it belonged there, like the whole scene would not be complete without it.  I started thinking: have I been leaving this footprint everywhere?  It made me proud.  Proud that I had left my mark, a testament to my globe-trotting, albeit temporary and sometimes virtually invisible, in every single place we had been.

My gaze rhythmically followed my footsteps one by one and eventually fell upon my shoes: my shabby sneakers, bursting at the seams with gaping holes and fraying fabric, pattered with dust, but full of radiant memories.  Each gash, rupture, and tear embodied a snippet of Project Equator: the time I scaled a rock face in Santorini or when some crazy dogs attacked me in Chiang Mai or when I hiked a slippery gorge in Crete.  These shoes were my friends, I know it sounds weird but “practicality isn’t the whole thing with gloves or with anything else.”

Serendipitously, I recently encountered a new pair at Nordstrom Rack….so oddly foreign compared to my shoes

And now I’m here.

About a month ago, I was waning on the strong-held belief that Bali truly was something out of a dream and that it wouldn’t live up to the hype. My mom and dad had thoroughly taken every word in the thesaurus synonymous to amazing when describing what it was and would soon be like. I began to question how amazing something possibly could be, because certainly there had to be a limit, right? But as these things usually go, I was wrong and all for the better.

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Having the most artists per capita, Bali seemingly dominates when it comes to the arts. Whole towns dedicated to one form of medium creates either an awe-inspired sharp intake of breath, or an overwhelmingly dizzying affect causing heads to spin, though in most cases … both. While I can’t believe that there can be that many wood carvings, stone carvings, silver jewelry, paintings, etc. I know now that nothing can ever quite compare and that I’ll never find a place that comes even remotely close. That no words can accurately describe the sheer awesomeness (or craziness) that is Bali. So, as we are fully surrounded by artistic vibes there isn’t really much of a choice, but to be zealously drawn to do a class in some sort of trade. It didn’t matter much on which art we learned. Besides, during our stay there’d be plenty of time to do multiple classes if we so desired, and with that we all decided to begin our stint by taking a class in jewelry making.

I’m now sitting at a work table, pencil to paper, with a sheet of silver eagerly awaiting to come to life at my side. No lectures and no demonstrations. We simply walked into the class and once we were all introduced they gave us a clipboard attached with a blank piece of paper and a pencil. Some books were available―to pull inspiration from―containing pictures showing dozens of rings, bracelets, necklaces, and earrings. Two other women are seated, already deep in the process of construction. The open studio is filled with sounds of hammering, sanding, and in the corner a blow torch spits its fire.

When I’m done drawing out my design, one of the four or five guys helping comes over and together we brainstorm the most effective way to transfer my creation from paper to silver. I have no idea as to how the silversmiths get started in creating just the simplest of projects, let alone elaborate ones. So, though I say together, I mostly mean he took my design and figured what would need to happen in order for me to succeed in making it. Selecting different tools and other apparatuses and placing them in front of me, I was ready to get started. At least, he was gesturing at me to get going. I’m not exactly sure how to use any of the contraptions, well, aside from the hammer. He must’ve known this by the hesitance in my eyes and the awkward way I grip whatever it is that I’m holding, because after only a few seconds, there he is showing me the correct way of things. Then, seeing as I’ve got the hang of it all, he goes off to help a newcomer who has just arrived. And after a couple laborious hours go by, there I have a shiny new piece of jewelry.

We have since taken four more classes. But, by no means, are we experts. In fact, I’ve gained such a strong respect for silversmiths and their trade of art. Walking down the streets in Ubud, I find myself stopping at the windows of jewelry shops and looking at their displays thinking how hard that must’ve been or trying to deconstruct each piece and guess as to how they made it.

The thing that makes these silver classes so unique is that you book a time and then walk right in. People are coming and going, you can stay as long as wanted or needed, and the five or so guys working there are just cruising around making their way to each person and helping if called on. Whatever your imagination comes up with, you can guarantee that it’ll come out looking very professional, yet still handmade and personal. For me, it’s definitely been one of the many highlights here in Bali.

This is the scene at Chez Monique’s studio in Wayan’s family compound.

Otto became an expert at using the saw to make intricate shapes.

By the end of our first 3-hour class, Otto had finished a cool 3D yin yang pendant.

Wescott learning some skills with the buffer.

Wescott made an ice axe that he is going to put on a leather bracelet when we get back home.

I decided to make a ring with wording on the inside.

Here it is done!

Our gang with Wayan after our first silversmithing class…                                                                                                                               Wayan told us he has never had any group take so many classes with him

Every other storefront is a tailor or cobbler waiting and willing to make you ANYTHING you can dream up with a turnaround of 24 hours…what!?!

Mouni, Kim and The Roaming Jones had arrived in Hoi An a few days before us, so they quickly gave us the inside track with the best restaurants, hotel and, most importantly, tailor and cobbler. Armed with information, we surfed the web and sketched a few things, dreaming up the ultimate shoes and/or clothes…then we hit the streets.

We went to the shoe place first. It was hard to believe they could turn around 7 pairs of shoes in 24 hours but we decided to test the limits of their capacity. We ordered everything from red Ugg knockoffs with a pink star (Jones) to stylish suede high tops with a custom logo (Wescott) to metallic, open-toed, fringe boots (yours truly!)

Next we went to the tailor. Yve designed a cool dress with two different fabrics and cut outs on the sides. Tuck had a button down shirt made to fit perfectly. Otto ordered a funky striped shirt too! Cliff had them knock-off an über hip coat he had restrained himself from getting in Barcelona. Rather than paying $400+, he got a made-to-order version that was better for $40!!!

We sat down to dinner that night and guessed as to whether or not anything would actually be something we would wear. The next day we went for a fitting. EVERYTHING was awesome! So awesome, we ordered a few extra items  Not only did everything come out great but they boxed it all and shipped it for us! Full service!!!

What a crazy, whirlwind experience! It was so fun to see what each person decided to order, given a blank canvas!

I am putting Hoi An back on my MUST VISIT list, but next time I want to go with 4-6 adults and each of us bring $1000 on a mission to design a new wardrobe! We can go for a week, shop all day and meet for dinner each night to talk about what we have designed and ordered! How fun would that be?! Who’s in?

Jones getting measured by Sonny for his custom Alidaba pants!

The finished product!

Tuck and Sonny are practically the same size

Tuck with his finished shirt!

Yve describing the dress she wants to Sonny

Final fitting with Sonny for Yve’s dress she designed

The gang brainstorming on shoe ideas!

A close up of my new boots because they are SOOOOO UBERCOOOOL I can’t even stand it

This is the shoe maker The Roaming Jones recommended and we second that…they did an awesome job!

The outside of Sonny’s shop…she was also recommended by the Roaming Jones and she was definitely the best tailor in town!

Well here it is:

Santorini Brewing Company

Matala, Crete

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Metropol Parasol, Seville

Morocco Surf

I also got a Djellaba from Morocco but that isn’t necessarily a t-shirt