The Bali Guesthouse

Guest accommodation is a popular way foreigners earn extra income on the island. This is the place I first rented, and the idea grew.

I searched for a suitable place where I could create my own guest house. Soon enough, I found a two-story bungalow I could rent for one year.

Armed with a new sense of purpose, I named my new place "Siddharlo's Guest House."

In honor of the prince who became the Buddha, I hung out a new sign under the Bali sun: Siddharlo's Guest House. Siddharlo's Guest House was more like a fifth-dimensional train station for aliens.

About 10 minutes by motorbike from Ubud's spiritual, arts, and trinket center. My villa was easier to find than most, past the only resort with a big swimming pool and down a well-paved driveway.

The drive from town to my villa was an adventure.

The Jalan, with all its twists and turns, was bordered on either side by an array of visual imagery.

An ancient Hindu temple, botanical gardens, and an authentic Kundalini yoga ashram decorated the rice fields.

Navigating the narrow, congested road was like navigating an obstacle course. There were dogs and more dogs, ducks, cars, motorbikes, and people.

I dreamed about a resort or a guest house business. I thought that people who owned these places had it made. It was a way to sustain yourself while doing something you enjoyed.

It was a lifestyle business.

The possibility of even making a little extra money would have gone eco-friendly. Ideally, I wanted a self-sustainable dwelling, operating off the grid using solar power.

Rainwater, and recycled gray water, would leave only a minimal ecological footprint. So, Siddharlo's was a practice run-the first step in self-sufficiency on the island.

I describe the structure I chose for my guesthouse as an Indo/European-style villa.

It was built during the late '90s, constructed of painted brick and concrete, and it already showed signs of wear.

The sinks, toilets and ceramic tile were damaged and in dire need of replacement. Doors and windows did not function in their frames, and part of the patio was sinking.

The entire place needed renovation.

Using space in the typical Balinese home is an architectural oddity. By American standards, most bedrooms are small, while a bathroom can accommodate a king-sized bed.

I found a villa with a large indoor kitchen.

Most Balinese houses have either a tiny indoor kitchen or an open kitchen located outside. My kitchen consisted of a countertop, a sink with only cold running water, a refrigerator, and a camping stove powered by a tank of natural gas.

I added a microwave and an electric oven.

One feature needed no fixing: the view. The spacious patio overlooked an expansive garden.

The garden was full of coconut trees and tropical flora in a myriad of sizes, shapes, and colors. In the early morning, a veil of mist lay across the garden.

The effect created an enchanting and inspiring ambiance.

Mixed with morning coffee the intoxicating fragrances floated on the jungle breeze.

Despite the villa's drawbacks, or because of them, the rent was affordable. I still had enough money to make necessary repairs and to create a pleasant retreat for guests.

The guest quarters offered a private entrance to a single spacious room. The space could accommodate two people. I brought in a queen-sized bed, new bamboo furniture, and Balinese art.

The private, modern bath had hot and cold running water and a shower and tub. A balcony, overlooking the garden, doubled as a kitchenette.

Along with free WIFI, I also set up services including transportation, bike rentals, laundry, massage, clean drinking water, delivery of meals and organic vegetables, and tour guides.

Wayan was my assistant.

After all the preparation I remained uncertain about whether I possessed enough knowledge and skill to run the place. The demands of a cross-section of international travelers are unknown.

I wanted to use my artistic knowledge and be sensitive to my guests' creative needs. I wanted to be unobtrusive. I wanted to provide a harmonious environment and foster a sense of well-being.

A place where guests could unroll their yoga mat, have a veggie shake, sing a song or two, and tell me their stories. My fears turned out to be unfounded and I soon hosted guests from all corners of the globe.

Many of my guests were free-spirited young people who had traveled the world for years. I enjoyed the entire parade of colorful characters, and some stood out more than others.

The doctor was a first-time visitor to the island.

The middle-aged man's stocky build, rosy cheeks, and big, bushy eyebrows reminded me of Grumpy the dwarf in Snow White. I chuckled to myself as I pictured him lumbering through the airport toting an ax instead of a single suitcase.

His large, square face was accented by thick, black-rimmed glasses, which gave him a stern and bookish appearance. I asked about his flight and if he was experiencing any jet lag. "No…no jet lag," he said. He brushed his short, stiff brown hair off of his perspiring forehead. "I take special herbs to combat motion fatigue."

On the drive from the airport, I learned that he had been a practicing physician in his native Russia. He had arrived in New York with only US 20 to his name.

He later relocated to Los Angeles and became a healer.

I asked what had brought him to Bali. He replied in his heavy accent. "I was curious what all the hype healing on Bali was all about and wanted to find out for myself."

Once we arrived back at my villa, the doctor inspected his room with such attention to detail I wondered if he'd like a magnifying glass.

He bounced on the sofa, opened and closed the refrigerator, checked the water pressure, and looked under and behind every nook and cranny of the room. While he looked he made grunts, hurumphs, hmmmms, and nods of acceptability or disapproval.

He seemed to find everything in order. Well, almost everything.

He stood staring at the bed and rubbing his chin as if it had spoken to him, then asked if I had two wires. Did I ask why the wires? He told me he practiced the art of dowsing, adding to his ever-increasing resume of professed skills and talents.

Dowsing, also known as "divination" is a method of locating underground water. It is also employed for locating metals, ore, oil, and even gravesites. What the doctor was looking for were signs of problematic energy flow.

I provided the wires and watched as he bent them together and passed them over, under, and around the bed. After completing the ritual there were several veins of negative energy.

He was insistent that the bed be moved to another part of the room.

I aimed to build a reputation for excellent hospitality and do whatever I could to assure the comfort and well-being of my guests. I acquiesced to his demands and moved the bed to a location more to his liking.

His petulance was only equaled by his miserliness. On his first morning as my guest, he presented me with a list of his expectations.

Posted on the booking website what amenities were and were not included, the doctor ignored and leaned on me to act as his tour guide.

He acted as though my kitchen was his internet cafe, using my computer.

The doctor grumbled and complained about the cost of everything. He loved to haggle with the local merchants over even a few cents more than what he thought he should pay.

Comparing Bali with India and saying how much cheaper things were there.

His attitude about money seemed odd for a man who had lived behind the Iron Curtain.

Who, even now, lived in subsidized housing he described as an apartment the size of a shoebox?

He was shopping for a wife and unsolicited medical services. His practice seemed to cover everything from hypnosis and past life regression therapy, to dietary analysis, and marriage counseling. No one was safe from diagnosis and treatment.

After 22 days, it was time for the doctor to return home. As he prepared for his departure, I asked him what he thought of Bali. He said that he loved the Balinese temples.

He was impressed with the unique spirituality and architecture of the indigenous people.

But the pseudo-spiritual healing businesses he viewed with disdain. "If I wanted to experience the trendy New Age scene with a rip-off price tag, I wouldn't need to come to Bali. There's plenty of that in Hollywood.”

I asked him if he would return to the island. He laughed and said, "You never know."

We took pictures together, shook hands, and wished each other health, love, and clarity. "Good luck with the wife search," I said farewell.

I don't know how he got to the airport because the locals did not want to give him a free ride.

This and more stories now available in print and ebook: SOLO — 10 Years in Bali on Amazon.com.