Unforgettable Bali.
How many times have we been surprised by the differences that comprise our favourite place. The following are a few memories, from my first 20.5 years and many trips to the Isle of Smile by the Mile.
Please let us have yours too.
The petitely saronged, sweet young waitress who asked 'What means Pok and Pokking? Ozzies always saying this but not in dictionary!' Hmm. To save her blushes, we called a male and told him about the difference between P and F to the local ear and the meaning of Pok Opp etc; he, needless to say, immediately relayed this newly acquired wisdom to all the ladies on staff, who broke into gales of laughter. Hmm. Wonder how many times they worked that one?
The lady eggseller seems to have retired, now. A tallish, very erect old Granny, riding a 1930's ladies'bicycle with 18' wheels, carrying trays of fresh eggs about half a yard high upon her head, never a stumble as she would dismount sideways, with old-fashioned grace, egg-trays balanced upon her head with never a quiver. She used to weave in and out of traffic, around Padma St., apparently unaware of motorised transport, giving tourists dreams of a gigantic omelette should she fall. We hope she's happily retired with many Grandkids at her knee to grace her remaining years
The guy with the glass-fronted case of cakes, is still around. His cakes are delicious, if a bit sameish; once you buy from him, he'll be back same time next day, large smile pasted upon his dial
We often get bailed up near the beach by snack sellers. We become instant heroes by buying the beach crew a snack each, ranging from Nasi Bungkus for RP1,000 to Lawar for RP3,000; so cheap is fame you think, as the crew have at the goodies as if they hadn't eaten for a week. At times we have Mie Kuah with the crew, consisting of a veg & noodle soup with a fried egg floating on it; a real delight for RP4,000 and enough base for a Bintang or two.
Two wizened little guys sometimes appear on the verge of the beach, towards dusk, selling packets of hard-boiled quails' eggs. As a longtime customer, I've been getting a ‘special price' of RP3,000 for a while now. Happy about this until I'm told that they're in the shops for RP1,500; woe is me, done again (!) but I still buy for the rascally smile.
Across from Gelael, in downtown Kuta, there was a scholarly gentleman, Javanese I think, very slim, immaculately dressed in a suit and waistcoat, standing at an upright desk, repairing watches. You could leave your watch and pick it up next day, if parts were needed. He loved to chat, pass the time of day and inform us of local customs and attitudes. He is sorely missed since he passed on to other places, which I hope are tranquil.
(Another desk on the footpath was in Malang, East Java. This was an old-fashioned Street Photgrapher, a large black cloth to go over his head while he zoomed in carefully for a person's portrait, using a highly complex apparatus. When I passed one day, in the midday sun, he was under the cloth, standing up and sound asleep with his legs sort of sideways, totally out of it. My camera, guided by Murphy of course, was in my hotel room.)
125cc motor-bikes being used for deliveries can still be seen, especially in the back blocks. A bunch of 25 pillows teetering on the pillion rider's head, two or more mattresses even a bedstead from time to time. Gigantic lengths of bamboo or bags of firewood, not a problem.
Families also proudly on Dad's Two-wheeled Motor-Chariot for the Sunday trip to the beach or supermarkets. My record sighting was 7-up; two on the handlebars, one between Mom & Dad and two more kids hanging on giggling from the back of Dad, a larger one farthest back holding number 4 in place. What a sight of familial contentment to be treasured; camera in hotel, with Murphy, as usual!
The lady who bailed me up, 0710 one morning on my way to the buffet breakfast, at that time gigantic, down at Garden View. She was neatly, conservatively dressed in a suit like a civil servant and the conversation went as follows.
She; Good morning, you speak English.?
Moi; Yes, you want to practice? Thinking she was a school-teacher on her way to teach.
She No Sir, I have nice Oils, very nice.
Moi; Oh, I understand. My wife is coming in 5 minutes, she wants Oils to bring home.
She; No Sir, just for you. Hanky-Hanky not jiggy-jig, on my bike with cape over us!
Moi; Speechless as I wandered to Brekkie, laughing musingly 'only in Bali?'
My first transaction, at Jayakarta (Kuta Palace) in 1984. Bought a small Pocket Dictionary for RP3,500. ‘You just arrived Sir' sez he, as he tried to give me change for 5,000 instead of 10,000. I immediately looked up ‘not stupid' in the Dictionary, for his immediate information.
In the earlier years, it was almost impossible to buy a ladies' size 14; they went as far as a grudging 12. However, in the spirit of free enterprise, one captive size 14 in most items was to hand. The size 14 was proferred for try-on to the happy lady, then upon the transaction being completed,( ‘yes in three colours please!') the packaging was done in the back room and at home of course the items were all size 10., sometimes for variety, the top in size 10 and the bottom an 8. Caveat Emptor (Buyer Beware)indeed and this Emptor surely learned to Caveat!
The Jamu Cart, local medicine, is good fun. They always presume you want it for erectile problems asking ‘ how many times to-day?' and ‘can you still do it?' Once time, I explained I wanted medicine for Konstipasi. He yelled out ‘For yew?' I replied ‘for my wife'. At this he bugled in a parade ground roar ‘hees waiff no sheet, menny days', audible for 500 metres around. Nothing like sharing the load with your friends, is there?
It might be that he was proving to all within riding distance that we Westerners are normal, after all, or it might be that he was declaiming to one and all that we're full of it, as expected. These little gems we treausre.
We stayed in a Losmen, when we were a bit fitter and younger; bedroom, bathroom and lounge for RP6,000 with a different breakfast every morning. Yup, a different banana in every jaffle. The cockroaches in the bathroom were as numerous as they were gigantic. To avoid the underfoof crunch, we used to knock on the door before entering, so that they had time to scuttle down the plughole under the shower. If you sat on the toot (under the shower-head) very long, the cockroaches would emerge, in friendly fashion, to talk about Balinese political problems, would I lie?
Once, upon returning from Yogyakarta to this Losmen, we had some nice masks in raw wood, which we needed varnishing. Our hostess immediately volunteered for the job as we sat in the shade. She was in her mid-day finery of Sarong and large white Bra. As each mask was coated in varnish, she ‘danced' each mask into a spot of sunshine for drying, explaining that a mask has a personality and that it takes possession of the person in charge of it; these masks were for dancing and had to be ‘danced'. The memory of this stately lady dancing proudly, gracefully is never to be forgotten. We no longer stay there but are frequently invited for tea and Babi Kecap. It's hard to pass by.
A middle-aged Balinese taxi driver began to speak to me one day about Religion.
When he heard I was Catholic he told me about his German next door neighbour, who was also Catholic. ‘A very good man' he said; ‘that man taught me that I don't have to beat my wife, every month, like I was taught she needs for discipline; not for wrong-doing just discipline'. The German's wife behaved very well, without the monthly beating, he,the taxi-driver, tried it and it worked our well so he doesn't ever beat her nowadays, even if she does wrong! Different strokes, one might say!
In Candi Dasa, we had a male masseur, for a few trips; tall, well built with Dutch features and a very loud, evil laugh. When we had missed him, we asked another masseur about him and the story went as follows. He was a man of Black Magic, responsible for many evil doings, including deaths; it was said he could overpower as many as 20 men with his will, at one time. So, annoyed at the situation, as many as 200 men surrounded his house, while he slept and all together they concentrated until they overpowered and killed him.
Justice Bali style? You'd better believe it.
Staying in Candi Dasa, at a Losmen now fallen into the sea from erosion caused by harvesting Coral from the reefs, we were told of a Legong Dance performance for the coming night. We were seated out front in chairs from the rooms and waited while the electricity came on, at dusk. The usual putt-putt-putt from the Diesel Generator ensued, as the lazy ergs crawled around the 25w globes. A utility truck arrived with young ladies in jeans and sloppy tops, who went behind a curtain, only to later emerge as Maidens from the Ramayana. In the flickering light of added naptha flares, which did not prevent the local night-life becoming engorged upon the blood of Bule, we sat entranced as the drama unfolded, all for the entry price of Rp800 which included the drink of Coke or the same large glass of Arak; we mixed. The singing sounded weird to Western ears, until we remembered that the Indonesian word for singing is ‘nyanyian' and it certainly went with a ‘nyang-nyang-nyang'; was this before or after we mixed the Arak with the Coke, was it after the first or the second? Was the brain wobbled by the Gamelan? Maybe so. Who cares, it was one of those remarkably magic nights to be found only on the Isle of Dreams. Unforgettable. The girls afterwards were given a Nasi Goreng, piled onto the truck with the Gamelan instruments happily entangled and were off back to their mountain village, up the slopes of Mt. Agung, to wake for the trudge to school, at cock-crow.
This might be a good time to take a break as the idiot across the road has finished doing his lawn with his 500 decibel mower and it seems the time is ripe for a Nanna-Nap, with Sunshine.
Please let us all have YOUR own experiences, even though you might be only an apprentice in the Bali trade. The place is always changing, especially to fresh eyes with a different outlook or insight. Whether your glasses be rose-tinted or brown-tinted, what you see is of great interest; the strange, the weird, the good, the bad, smiling or sad.