A Day in the Life

Eight something a.m. The streets are fairly quiet except for the occasional, "Yes boss, transport? Where you going?" from the many freelance drivers in a holding pattern outside of hotels, and the honks from passing taxis that let you know that they are there in case you might want a ride. The temperature is already somewhere in the eighties. The oppresive humidity is like a heavy wet towel over your head all day long until about five in the evening when any stretch of sand on the beach is a potential soccer field for a sunset match.

Guests at beachfront hotels are having breakfast on white tablecloths. A few early bird touts are out, black vinyl cases clamped under their arms encasing cheap watches rings, or sunglasses. Their languid steps across the wet sand of low tide and their lack of eye contact signal that perhaps it is a little early yet for an agressive sale.

Nearly translucent sand crabs zip across the sand at breakneck speed, darting into holes at our approach. On closer inspection, the surface of the sand is mottled with an intricate and complex schematic of concentric circles of tiny orbs rippling outwards in perfect mathematical precision. Tireless sandcrabs building and rebuilding their sand fortresses between the daily tides.

The beach chair guys are setting up their chairs and umbrellas, ready for sun worshipping foreigners to rent them for about a dollar. More beach vendors show up: the hat man with hats stacked on top of his head as well as a tower of them cradled in his arms, the women covered head to toe to protect them from the sun wanting to sell you a pedicure and if you don't want that, maybe a massage, hair braiding? or how about a scarf? A sarong? A sheer sun moo-moo? A necklace? If you want any of the above, remember to ask for Maria/Sonia/Anni. The kite man with his kites that look like ships, sailing over sunburned tourists and mangy beach dogs, the guy with carved komodo dragons, the guy with the unwieldy bow and arrows. Oh and there is our 'friend' Kethut, he sells carved wooden picture frames and he also carries around a plastic folder of xeroxed henna tattoo designs. When the surf is good, he puts his bag of wares next to the guy selling cold drinks out of a cooler, changes into his trunks and rash guard that are stashed in the underside of the lifeguard's umbrella and runs into the water with his beat up board.

It's particularly difficult to get used to the constant soliciting. Westerners are protective of their personal space and their privacy. A simple and polite "no" sometimes does not suffice and it quickly turns into a more frustrated sounding "no," impolite body language and eventual and blatant ignoring. We have to remind ourselves that everyone is trying their hardest to eek out a living, even if they can get 50 cents from you for some small service, like clipping your toenails, they will do it. In their minds, what's a few dollars to you? You should just buy something to help them out and so they are always willing to give you a "good price."

Mike surfs when he gets a chance, usually every day. At lunchtime, we go in search of something fast, easy and cheap, usually local food from a nearby 'warung' (like cafe's). Our favorite thing is Nasi Campur (Nah-see Cham-pour) which is Rice on a banana leaf with any number of sides that you point to and they heap on top of your rice. Mouth watering curry chicken, fish in coconut, simple but tasty vegetables, satay, sambal chilli sauce.Then, it's back to the pool or ducking out of the heat to check email and what's going on in the world. Earlier this week, we were glued to CNN and the BBC, waiting for the results of the elections.

In the late afternoon, it's another surf check. The sun is low in the sky. Scores of scooters are now at the beach and the locals are cooling their feet off in the water. The evening soccer games are starting up, makeshift goalposts are driven into the sand. Lazy sunbathers are contemplating cocktails and dinner. The popular beach bars are in full swing for magic hour. The hat man, the ship kite man, the necklace/pedicure/massage ladies, still making their rounds. All in a day's work.

For additional photos of Bali, go to http://flickr.com/photos/31967627@N00/sets/72157594365893323/