Gangs of monkeys strolling over our balcony on some unnamed mission. Naked Indonesians bathing in the running stream below our window. Sounds of scooters buzzing. Horns baying. And birthday-suit children splashing around while their mothers scrub their clothes with stones and soap upon a large rock in the water. North of town it’s quiet and the sun feels hotter. Confused roosters, buzzing flies and the swash, swash, swash of ladies in the paddy beating third-world bouquets of rice frawns against a box. The soft grating of the beaten off pellets in the round sieve. Crack go the stalks under bare, leathery feet. How many grains have come off I wonder? How deep is the universe?