Somehow when I asked people for remote places to stay on Bali, they thought I was serious. I did come here to unwind and recharge, but I didn’t think they would put me so far out in the boonies that I could buy petrol in old Absolut bottles. Thank God someone told me it was petrol – I love vodka!
I left my villa in the mountains outside of Ubud this morning completely exhausted. It seems eating nothing but fresh fruit from the side of the road might be a little too cleansing – spiritually and physically. The driver chirped at me as we drove down from the mountains to the beach. Tomorrow is the day they party in the streets and burn the statues, so it is mad rad out there. Lines of thousands of people marching, chanting, playing music, holding golden cows, burning incense; teenagers putting the finishing touches on their demons. Dinosaurs are very big this year. It seems odd as hell to have a dinosaur next to a Barong or some other mythical Hindu bad guy, but they are into them. Dinos they are called.
I checked into my second villa (a baby house in a compound with an open air bathroom – but very pleasant) to find the most surly Balinese in the history of the world. My friend Rena told me about this place and said it was great because this woman would bring you fresh fruit salad from the market every morning for $2, there was a driver for $5, it was right by the beach. I asked SB (surly Balinese) where I could find a grocery store, town, the internets, the beach and a driver (you just don’t drive here) and she kind of motioned that the beach and town were “that away”. Those of you that have driven in a car with me before and are familiar with my flipper like instructions on how to get places (hand/arm motion thatawayish) will appreciate it that the tables were turned. She stomped off and I was on my own.
I started off in the general direction of “town” and it was kind of a pit. This is supposed to be a high end tourist area, but there is trash and dust everywhere and no town to speak of. Just some roadside stands that claim to have pizza but are closed. Mmm, pizza.
I walked a few miles jumping in and out of traffic (people park just anywhere so roads are often reduced to one lane intermittently and inadvertently) and off and on the sidewalk (where available). I stopped for a juice and water and asked the waitress where the beach was. She pointed to the beach. “But you can’t go swimming”. Oh? Why not? “It is holy Hindu ground and too dangerous – you have to go to Denpasar”. Denpasar is easily 30 minutes away and I don’t have a way to get there. There is also no public transport on the island – I may wind up just renting a scooter and hoping for the best. So I am in this guest compound with a surly hostess, no food, no restaurants, no beach. Oh poor me, I am in Bali, yeah, I know, but still. I like to purchase what was advertised.
The villa is down a dusty road covered with mangy dogs and zipping motor scooters and everyone thinks I am a hooker. I am fairly certain of this. It could be the wrapped yoga pants or the discreet t shirts, but no one gives me this much attention in Seattle. I could walk around in a thong screaming, “come and get some boys!” and everyone would run away and start playing Nintendo in their mom’s basement. Wait, why do I live in Seattle again? Oh yeah, the weather.
So I am walking down the road getting cat called despite my farmer tan (farmer burn) when I see a bunch of expats zooming down the street towards me wearing woolen ski caps. My first thought is, “what weird helmets!” Then I start getting bitchy. The beach is inaccessible, what I can see of it is gross and dirty, I am in the middle of nowhere without internet access with no one to talk to and a digestive problem. I finally start screaming, “are you wearing that fucking hat to keep your brains in, you God damn morons?” They are also wearing Uggs. I am not lying to you. I am not even wearing lipstick because it melts off me like fake blood in The Hunger, and these bastards are dressed for Aspen.
They can’t hear me but he Balinese can. They think it is pretty funny and ask me if I am from Australia. “Yeah, sure, that is why I am all red like this”. I have given up on explaining the America thing because it inevitably leads to a bunch of anti 911 talk and I am kind of over that. I think we learned some valuable lessons about foreign policy and security and racism and religious intolerance all the way around. I am not a gung ho pro war yank. But I don’t explain this. I merely say, “g’day mate” and hope they leave me alone. Plus, this way, I don’t have to tip.
I get back right before the rain hits. When it rains in Indonesia, it rains hard. Hard hard hard. I am tired and can only manage to read o the lanai. I even get too tired to read so I watch two geckos stick on the wall while a colony of ants bump into them going pointlessly up and down the wall like the geckos are the little pong paddles and the ants are millions of tiny balls. It is kind of cute. I like this game. It suits my mental state.
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