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/

Goa to Bali

2 months
6 countries
13 guesthouses
4 hotels
3 homes
8 home cooked meals
26++ bug bites
1 haircut
2.5 bottles bug spray
3 times Mike's been sick
1 serious argument

Not a bad start. We're still trying to find the perfect On-The-Move to Time Out ratio. If we are to survive the next 4 months we need to move a little slower.

So the latest news is we are not in India, we are in Bali. A day before we were to leave for India, Michael got sick for the 3rd time. I suppose we consider ourselves lucky that it happened in Singapore and not in India. Similar symptoms but thankfully not as rough as the last time. We cancelled the entire India leg and made appointments to see a specialist since Singapore is our last chance for quality medical attention, the comfort of home and support of family.

2 blood tests, 2 stool samples, 1 EKG, 1 sonagram later, we've ruled out Malaria, Dengue Fever, bacterial infection of the heart valves, and confirmed that Mike's previously diagnosed heart murmur is non-existent. We did find out that it was Salmonella, which can stay in one's system for a while.

Mike says that as far as stool sample kits go, he prefers the Singapore kind to the Thailand kind. More like a prescription bottle than a fast food condiment cup, it makes for a more hassle-free stool harvest.

After 4 days of solid bedrest, healthy food, and TLC, we decided to join the rest of the family who were already in Bali to celebrate Val's grandfather's 89th birthday. Not a bad place to recuperate. The family stayed until last Sunday. We've decided to stay on for longer, until we leave for Casablanca on Nov 15th.

There are around 33,160 islands in Indonesia, 3000 of which are inhabited. Bali alone has about 3.5 million people, most of whom are Hindu. Two bombings here in recent years have taken a serious toll on the tourist industry here, a lifeline of the Balinese. Nearly 90% of the people here are directly or indirectly affected by the tourist trade. US and Australian travel advisories are still in effect and tourism is at about 50% of where it ought to be. Regardless, all the flight here from Singapore were full and it doesn't feel all that deserted here. Security guards are posted at the entrances of major hotels and bars, metals detectors in hotel lobbies, guards checking in trunks and cameras embedded in driveways to check the underbellies of cars.

The people are superstitious here. Sometimes when you pay for something you've bought, they will take your money and brush it against all the other merchandise, blessing the stock with good juju. Everywhere you go, you'll see colorful offerings, square boxes constructed of palm fronds, cradling a rainbow salad of any or all of the following:
flowers and flower petals
cooked rice dyed different colors
leaves
lime zests
fruit
a cracker
small change
candy
Then garnished with a few drops of holy water and a stick of incense.

We're on a sick spot in Seminyak, a nice surf spot where Val can spend all day in a cabana while Mike surfs right out front. He seems lonely, no one else it out in the water. Outside the hotel are streets of lovely shops and restaurants, boutiques, spas and temples. The people here are warm and outgoing, super friendly. Well, not all of them.

The other day we were pulled over by a cap, He just materialized in the middle of the street and waved us over.
Is this your first time to Bali?
Yes.
Do you have an International Driver's License?
No. But our hotel didn't say we needed one.
(Dismissal) I am the law. I will write you a fine, you have to go to court tomorrow, do you have time? If not, you can just pay me now.
Val dislodges a spew of ugly words.
Ok, give us the ticket.
Also, I keep your bike.
I'm calling the hotel.
What hotel you stay?
Val tells him, finger poised over the button with the green phone icon on the cell phone.
OK, this time I give warning, because your first time Bali.

And we got back on our bike and took off. If he had been scarier or better at this extortionist thing, we might have buckled. In any case, having a cell phone and a place to call really did save us.

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