So Iyer creates a complex, multilayered portrait of Bali. This trail leads to mysteries that can never be fully understood, and revelations that will always seem mysterious. There is a heart of silence in the loudest cacophony, and a kernel of purity in the most corrupt heart. I close Iyer's book and turn my eyes to the horizon. The waitress brings more hot water for my tea.
Spicy scents waft from the kitchen.
More travelers amble cheerily onto the terrace. Now the sun is out, and the clouds are beginning to disperse. And in the distance the towers of the Golden Gate Bridge emerge, gleaming like an Asian pagoda, high above the mists. All rights reserved.