BALI SAGA - 1999.
Dawn at the Bali Hilton beach, Nusa Dua.
A letter to family and friends, to share with them the saga of our 1999 Bali holiday.
WARNING
:
This
letter
is
26
pages
long
and
we
don’t
actually
get
to
Bali
until
page
8.
Written
at
Home;
Started
18.7.99
Dear
Kin,
Friends,
Acquaintances
and
Bastards-I-Have-Known,
Never
having
tried
to
write
a
letter
for
community
circulation
before,
let
alone
one
which
I
hope
will
be
jointly
written,
it
will
probably
be
a
bit
surprising
if
this
ever
sees
the
light
of
day
or
the
darkness
of
your
letter
box.
I
confess
that
I
have
cringed
in
the
past
when
I
have
received
this
sort
of
letter,
feeling
miffed
that
I
was
so
unimportant
to
the
sender
that
I
did
not
warrant
a
personal
note.
I
hope
no-one
feels
that
way
but
rather
that
you
recognise
you
are
so
important
to
us
that
you
are
on
the
short
list
to
get
the
full
and
unabridged
volume
of
our
travels.
Obviously
two
authors
could
make
it
confusing
to
read
so
I
have
started
in
Comic
Sans
(a
softly
rounded
sans
serif
font)
and
left
a
normal
font
for
C..
to
use.
Why
is
this?
(That’s
C..
Can
you
see
the
difference?)
One
of
my
reasons
for
doing
this
(writing
the
letter,
that
is)
is
that
I
am
a
bit
behind
in
my
correspondence
(now
that's
more
than
close
to
a
lie
as
I
can
only
remember
writing
2
non-business
letters
in
recent
years).
In
addition
there
are
a
number
of
friends
whom
I/we
(Did
I
really
agree
to
this?)
do
not
see
regularly
but
never
the
less
would
like
to
regale
with
the
stories
of
our
recent
Bali
holiday
adventures.
Also,
it
might
be
interesting
for
us,
in
future
years,
to
read
it
and
re-live
the
memories.
Now
printing
fonts
have
only
been
an
academic
study
for
me
in
the
past,
however,
one
of
my
old
friends
has
recently
made
me
aware
of
the
mysterious
things
that
can
be
read
into
a
person's
selection
of
fonts.
For
instance,
Arial
and
Times
New
Roman
reminds
him
of
things
that
threaten
to
foreclose
on
the
mortgage,
he
claims.
He
uses
an
almost
unintelligible
font
of
unknown
origin
and
so
small
I
need
my
magnifying
glass
to
see
it,
all
of
which
must
say
something
about
him
but
he
is
probably
too
busy
to
ask
what.
G'day
Chris,
old
mate.
I
have
chosen
Comic
Sans
because
it
seems
a
friendly,
relaxed,
easy-to-read
script
rather
than
a
formal
set
of
letters,
and
it's
dark
enough
for
tired
eyes
to
see
on
the
screen.
Read
into
that
what
you
will,
I
like
it.
Anyhow,
a
discourse
on
fonts
is
not
what
I
started
out
to
do,
so
let's
get
on
with
the
story.
~. . o o 0 o o . .~
We
left
on
Wednesday
the
30th
of
June,
latish
in
the
morning,
in
fact
nearly
midday,
scheduled
to
return
in
15
days.
C..
had
been
allowed
the
last
2+
days
off
school
because
of
her
commitments
to
their
re-building
work
which
she
had
managed
over
the
Xmas
and
Term
1
holidays.
She
had
lessons
first
thing
in
the
morning
and
arrived
home
shortly
after
10.30
am.
Max
the
dog
had
been
a
bit
upset
for
a
couple
of
days,
I'm
sure
because
he
recognised
something
was
up
when
the
suitcases
came
out
and
packing
began.
He’s
a
very
smart
dog!
When
the
cases
were
closed
this
morning
his
fears
were
confirmed
and
he
sat
leaning
miserably
against
his
favourite
part
of
the
kitchen
wall
with
his
head
slumped,
making
a
pathetic
sight
as
he
glanced
sideways
at
us
and
showed
white
crescents
under
his
eyes.
Priscilla
the
cat
had
a
last
minute
feed
and
disappeared
somewhere
to
sleep
as
usual
-
nothing
was
going
to
change
her
routine.
Don’t
you
believe
it!
She
may
not
have
realised
it
but
her
routine
of
food
on
demand
was
well
and
truly
shattered.
Joan,
the
Home
Pet
Care
lady,
was
to
again
call
in
twice
a
day
to
feed
them,
walk
Max,
collect
the
mail
and
look
after
the
house
and
garden.
We
have
found
in
the
past
that
this
is
not
only
cheaper
than
boarding
them
but
much
less
stressful.
They
are
free
to
roam
and
sleep
in
their
familiar
surroundings
and
their
friends
Nosh
and
Pam,
Leonie
and
Eddy
also
call
in
to
see
them,
either
by
design
or
just
as
they
come
and
go.
Joan
is
a
large
lady,
has
a
very
lovely
nature,
a
real
affinity
for
the
animals
and
a
booming
voice.
One
does
wonder
what
the
‘children’
really
think!
Everyone
we
were
prepared
to
burden
had
a
copy
of
our
itinerary
and
phone/fax
numbers
in
case
of
disaster.
The
gates
were
locked
and
the
security
lights
(including
4
new
ones
outside)
were
on.
The
radio
and
light
timers
inside
were
set
and
on.
The
taxi
was
booked.
(It's
always
embarrassing
to
tell
the
cabbie
that
we're
only
going
1.5
Km
to
the
airport
-
but
what
else
can
you
do?
It's
too
damn
far
to
walk,
even
without
loaded
suitcases.
I
have
to
say
that
none
of
them
has
seemed
put
out
yet.)
We
thought
that
we
were
ready!
We
were
certainly
eager,
although
I
had
more
than
a
touch
of
regret
that
my
daughters
E..
(No.1.)
and
M..
(No.2.)
had
decided
not
to
go
with
us
-
(sorry
kids
but
I
think
I've
got
to
tell
it
like
it
is,
for
the
sake
of
posterity
you
understand.).
Quite
by
accident
over
the
preceding
weekend
I
had
discovered
that
our
flight
tickets
which
read
Adelaide-Melbourne-Denpasar
actually
meant
Adelaide-Melbourne-Sydney-Darwin-Denpasar!
The
Duty
Free
shopping
C..
had
planned
to
do
in
Melbourne,
where
we
thought
we
had
a
decent
time
span,
suddenly
went
out
the
window.
Confusion
reigned
when
we
found
that
we
would
not
clear
customs
until
Darwin,
an
unknown
quantity
and
quality
in
the
shopping
stakes,
and
with
very
little
time
to
clear
customs
even,
let
alone
leisurely
shop
even
if
good
shopping
was
available.
In
addition,
the
Duty
Free
shopping
which
I
had
done
in
Adelaide
(mainly
photographic
gear
including
a
new,
solid
tripod)
would
have
to
be
carried
as
additional
cabin
luggage
all
the
way
to
Darwin.
The
true
disaster
was
not
revealed
until
it
was
confirmed
that
everything
would
have
to
be
carried
on
AND
OFF
at
every
airport,
even
Darwin
because
of
customs
although
we
were
using
the
same
plane
for
the
remainder
of
the
flight!
And
here
was
I
with
my
arm
in
a
sling
due
to
tendons
torn
a
week
before
we
left.
C's
biceps
have
developed
a
new
dimension.
But
eventually
we
made
it.
He
also
got
all
of
the
sympathy
while
I
got
glares
for
carrying
too
much
hand
luggage!
I
also
have
to
mention
that
when
we
tried
to
close
my
Dad’s
old
faithful
suitcase,
the
locks
decided
to
give
up.
Some
colourful
language
and
long
lengths
of
baling
twine
fixed
it
and
we
proceeded,
albeit
less
glamorously,
to
the
airport.
It
was
later
to
get
it’s
own
back
on
us
for
this
casual
treatment,
right
in
the
middle
of
the
Darwin
airport
when
we
had
to
undo
the
baling
twine
and
re-pack
the
now
overweight
case.
~. . o o 0 o o . .~
Adelaide
to
Melbourne
was
a
nice
flight
although
the
thick
cloud
cover
(which
was
to
be
a
common
thing
all
the
way
there
and
back)
limited
sight
seeing
which
I
usually
enjoy,
and
made
the
light
coming
into
the
cabin
very
glaring.
We
arrived
at
1.30
pm.,
a
1.5
hour
trip.
C..
found
a
Duty
Free
shop
available
to
transit
passengers
and
made
a
few
purchases
(would
anyone
who
knows
her
ever
had
any
doubts?),
"just
in
case
Darwin
was
a
disaster"
I
was
told.
And
it
was!
Only
time
to
clear
immigration
and
rearrange
all
His
stuff
that
I
was
carrying.
This
included
the
tripod!
Life
in
Bali
without
Chivas
Regal
would
have
been
even
more
disastrous!
This
helped
pass
the
2.5
hours
we
had
to
wait
for
the
next
flight
and
whetted
her
appetite
for
more
in
Bali.
It
also
made
her
feel
more
like
a
holidaymaker
than
someone
who
had
been
in
front
of
a
class
and
then
trying
to
escape
a
chatty
Principal
only
an
hour
or
two
earlier.
I
am
not
a
shopper
so
found
a
phone
and
called
an
old
friend,
Christopher,
whom
I
taught
with
in
Tumby
Bay
many
years
ago
when
we
were
both
boys.
I
couldn't
find
him
in
the
plethora
of
phone
books
available
at
the
airport
so
had
the
strange
experience
of
ringing
directory
assistance,
asking
a
computer,
and
receiving
a
prompt
and
accurate
reply.
He
now
grows
orchids
and
begonias
at
Marcus
Hill
near
Queenscliffe
at
the
entrance
to
Port
Phillip
Bay
(and
if
I've
got
any
of
that
wrong
he
will
take
great
delight
in
correcting
me).
This
was
to
be
the
first
of
many
times
over
the
coming
fortnight
that
I
would
wish
I'd
taken
a
list
of
phone/fax
numbers
and
web
addresses
with
us,
but
the
last
time
I
had
to
cut
a
conversation
short
because
of
a
lack
of
coins.
Just
by
way
of
a
diversion,
when
Chris
left
THE
DEPARTMENT
(and
I
confess
that
his
decision
horrified
me
at
the
time
but
I
have
since
marvelled
at
his
foresight)
he
helped
his
parents
run
a
grocery/green
grocery/general
country
store
in
Keith
in
southeast
South
Australia.
This
was
before
becoming
a
general
builder,
a
dune
buggy
driver
on
the
Coorong,
a
salmon
fisherman
and
Lord
knows
what
else
before
becoming
a
Victorian
(that’s
not
really
a
reflection
on
his
age)
horticulturalist,
with
fertiliser
under
his
fingernails
I
guess.
This
very
building
(the
grocery
shop
in
Keith)
has
now
been
heritage
listed
by
the
local
Council
(well
after
all
it
is
about
the
same
age
as
him),
and
it
has
been
renovated
very
nicely
as
an
upmarket
Café
called
“The
Penny
Farthing”.
My
number
1
daughter,
E..,
who
now
shares
shelter
with
a
wealthy
Keith
land
owner
named
Midge,
is
about
to
start
work
at
The
Penny
Farthing
as
a
casual
weekend
chef
(or
is
it
cook?
I
can
never
remember
which
is
right
but
I
know
I
usually
get
into
trouble
because
I
get
it
wrong.)
Small
world
eh?
~ . . o o 0 o o . . ~
Back
to
the
story
and
the
Melbourne
airport.
-
-
-
On
to
a
big
(737?
747?
I
used
to
know
these
things
but
I’m
not
sure
anymore.)
aircraft
to
Sydney,
lugging
the
now
greater
load
of
baggage.
And
the
tripod!
For
stay-at-home
folks
we
seem
to
have
been
through
Sydney
airport
a
number
of
times.
Perhaps
it
only
seems
that
way
because
it's
such
a
long
hike
from
the
car
park
and
between
terminals,
and
the
moving
walkways
never
seem
to
be
all
working.
The
last
time
was
when
we
went
to
see
C..'s
old
(now
I'll
get
into
trouble
for
that)
(Yes,
I’ll
tell
her.)
Teachers
College
classmate
Merril.
It
was
strange
on
the
way
back
to
leave
from
the
very
same
gate
from
which
we
had
said
goodbye
to
her
about
12
months
before.
Yes,
it
really
is
a
small
world
–
even
in
almighty
Sydney
town.
Here
it
was
C..
who
was
frustrated
when
she
wanted
to
ring
Merril
and
leave
a
rude
message
on
her
answering
machine.
(Merril
is
also
a
teacher
and
would
have
been
hard
at
it
at
school
while
we
were
off
on
an
early
holiday.)
With
no
record
of
either
phone
or
mobile
numbers,
and
both
being
silent,
the
computer
wouldn't
talk
this
time.
I
might
mention
here
that
gorgeous
Merril
lives
at
Lindfield
but
has
a
lovely
little
boat
named
Moskwa,
moored
on
beautiful
Pittwater,
and
that
Merril
and
her
drinking
and
sailing
mates
now
know
how
to
tie
a
Dragon
Bowline!
-
or
is
it
draggin'
Merril?
(That's
an
in-joke
known
only
to
all
smart-arse
South
Aussie
sailors
and
now
3
from
Sydney.)
The
Melbourne-Sydney
flight
took
just
under
an
hour
and
we
had
another
hour
to
wait
to
get
on
board
the
next
much
smaller
aircraft
bound
for
Darwin.
~. . o o 0 o o . .~
The
long
flight
to
Darwin
took
nearly
4.5
hours.
The
movie
was
worse
than
terrible
and
as
it
was
dark
the
sightseeing
was
not
memorable.
At
Darwin
we
had
less
than
an
hour
to
-
-
get
us
and
our
stuff
off,
(Again.)
-
fill
out
the
immigration
form
which
had
not
been
given
to
us
on
the
way
up,
-
last
minute
Duty
Free
shopping,
(Did
absolutely
none!)
-
get
cleared
through
customs,
-
visit
the
toilet
and
try
to
clean
the
teeth,
-
undo
and
re-pack
the
duty
free
stuff,
(Reposition
the
tripod.)
-
re-board
and
re-stow
the
luggage,
(Mainly
the
tripod.)
-
settle
down
for
the
3
hour
flight
to
Denpasar,
across
the
Timor
Sea
just
south
of
currently
troubled
Timor
itself.
Just
by
way
of
another
diversion,
on
the
way
back
we
had
a
few
brief
moments
to
admire
the
modern
structure
of
this
airport
building.
It
has
a
soaring,
curved
roof,
corrugated
iron
I
think,
arcing
up
from
ground
level
to
way,
way
overhead,
and
seemingly
well
over
100
meters
long.
The
upper
levels
have
a
series
of
huge
works
of
art,
commissioned
from
locals
I
think,
all
along
its
length.
We
really
spent
much
of
our
time
on
hands
and
knees
untying
an
overweight
suitcase.
It
had
developed
defective
locks
as
we
were
about
to
depart
Adelaide
and
was
therefore
tied
up
with
baling
twine.
We
re--distributed
stuff
into
a
separate
plastic
bag
so
the
baggage
handlers
did
not
have
to
lift
more
than
30
kg.
When
I
told
this
story
to
nephew
Ramon
who
lives
and
works
in
Darwin
as
a
tourist
(terrorist?)
bus
driver
and
guide,
he
bemoaned
the
number
of
times
he
had
been
caught
loading/unloading
luggage
outside
the
building
in
a
teeming
tropical
downpour.
Still
a
small
world
isn’t
it?
~. . . o o 0 o o . . . ~
Back
to
the
story
-
again.
We
were
about
to
depart
Darwin
for
Denpasar,
the
ultimate
destination
in
Bali
if
you
can
remember
that
far
back.
Eventually
the
attitude
of
the
aircraft
changes
perceptibly
and
the
engine
note
changes
slightly.
This
signals
the
start
of
our
descent
into
the
Denpasar
air
space.
Actually
the
airport
is
Ngurah
Rai,
well
south
of
Denpasar,
about
12
Km,
or
twice
as
far
as
Adelaide
is
from
its
airport
at
West
Beach,
but
12
Km
in
Bali
can
take
up
to
twice
as
long
to
travel
as
it
would
in
Adelaide.
After
an
agonisingly
long
wait
the
landing
lights
come
on
and
I
eagerly
peer
out
of
the
window
to
catch
the
first
tantalising
glimpse
of
the
magical
mystery
isle.
Nothing
but
fleeting
clouds
of
varying
densities!
But,
wait,
is
that
the
light
of
a
fishing
boat
out
there?
Concentrate
mind!
Focus
eyes!
No,
a
small
star.
But
don’t
give
up.
Look
down
further.
Nothing.
What
about
further
forward?
Scrunch
the
left
cheek
more
firmly
into
the
Perspex
of
the
cabin
window,
close
the
right
eye,
hold
a
cupped
palm
close
to
the
window
to
cut
out
the
reflection,
-
-
-
-
-
-
still
nothing.
Which
way
are
we
approaching
from?
Is
it
over
the
Bali
Strait
or
over
the
Lombok
Strait?
From
the
west
or
from
the
east?..
A
series
of
turning
banks
that
are
felt
in
the
seat
of
the
pants
but
cannot
be
discerned
from
the
view
out
of
the
window
indicate
that
we
are
on
a
controlled
glide
path
–
but
still
nothing
but
the
damned
clouds.
‘Patience
has
it’s
own
rewards’,
my
old
Grandmother
used
to
tell
me.
Along
with
other
things
like,
‘I’ll
get
you
for
that
my
lad
–
never
fear
–
I’LL
GET
YOU!!!!’
And
indeed
it
does
have
it’s
reward,
for
eventually
the
cloud
thins
and
there
below
us
is
the
reflection
of
the
moon
on
the
water
and
above
that,
on
an
ever
changing
level
as
the
aircraft
banks
left
and
right
almost
continuously,
are
the
stars.
Tropical
stars
like
no
others
because
below
them,
I
know,
are
the
shores
of
a
tropical
paradise.
Bali!
Then
they
come
into
sight.
The
specks
of
light
that
are
the
fishing
boats
out
over
the
fringing
reefs.
A
few
at
first,
then
a
cluster,
then
more
clusters,
and
as
we
sink
lower
it
seems
that
the
whole
bottom
half
of
the
window
is
sparkling
with
pin
points
of
light.
The
aircraft’s
lights
eventually
show
up
the
edge
of
the
runway
after
the
rocks
of
the
breakwater
extension
that
juts
out
into
the
sea
and
divides
Tuban
beach
from
Jimbaran
Bay.
The
bounce
of
the
wheels
touching
bitumen
with
a
puff
of
white
smoke
announces
the
arrival
of
Kaptain
Kangaroo,
who
probably
hopes
that
the
boss
didn’t
see
his
misjudged
effort,
and
who
knows
that
any
mechanic
who
happens
to
see
him
on
the
ground
is
going
to
rib
him
about
the
landing.
This
is
the
time
I
really
start
to
worry.
Not
now
about
ditching
in
the
Timor
Sea
or
anything
like
that,
but
about
the
6
bottles
frothy
tea
and
2
casks
of
liquid
coffee
which
we
are
each
carrying
into
Indonesia
which
has
a
limit
of
only
much
less
per
person.
I
have
vision
of
trying
to
plea
bargain
with
a
Moslem
judge
to
stay
out
of
an
Indonesian
jail!
I
once
had
to
pay
a
$50
"tax"
to
the
customs
man
who
found
only
2
bottles
of
frothy
tea
-
it
went
straight
into
his
pocket!
-
the
$50,
not
the
frothy
tea.
To
make
matters
worse
the
aircraft
is
running
late
and
we
also
get
held
up
on
the
runway
because
the
aircraft
in
our
scheduled
parking
bay
at
the
airport
is
delayed
leaving.
I
have
visions
of
screaming
passengers
being
dragged
off
in
handcuffs,
all
the
while
being
beaten
with
bamboo
canes
for
some
trivial
offence.
We
are
the
last
aircraft
for
the
night
and
it
is
a
small
plane
with
few
passengers
to
be
processed
by
a
full
complement
of
vigilant
inspectors.
When
we
get
to
the
huge
immigration
area
there
is
none
of
the
usual
hour's
delay
waiting
in
queues
-
the
little
men
are
waiting
for
us!
Passports
and
papers
scrutinised
and
stamped
repeatedly,
with
savage
vigour.
Off
to
the
Customs
Hall
!!!
And
there
they
are
-
watching
-
again
waiting,
seemingly
with
all
the
time
in
the
world
to
examine
us
thoroughly,
tired
no
doubt
-
and
grumpy
too
no
doubt,
brusque
as
only
an
irritable
Indonesian
Official
can
be
when
dealing
with
any
European
infidel.
A
bit
of
an
exaggeration
perhaps
-
but
that's
the
way
it
seems
when
nerves
are
strung
taut.
By
the
time
I
get
there,
C..
has
two
trolleys
organised
and
waiting
by
the
carousel.
The
bags
come
through
the
opening
in
the
wall
and
begin
to
circulate
towards
us,
porters
materialise
and
are
paid
handsomely
in
advance
with
A$5
notes.
Coins
would
be
an
insult
as
their
largest
coin,
500
rupia,
is
worth(less)
-
just
10
cents.
We
drag
the
bags
off
as
they
come
around,
well
C..
does.
I’m
protecting
my
drinking
arm
in
it’s
sling.
The
now
very
eager
porters
toss
them
onto
the
trolleys
and
we
are
off
to
the
Customs
inspection
desks
without
drawing
breath
it
seems.
Off
to
our
fate
as
carriers
of
prohibited
goods
in
quantity
!!!
With
a
barely
visible
nod
from
the
porters
to
the
Inspectors,
we
are
waved
through
without
a
pause
in
our
step,
out
the
door,
into
the
night
and
to
the
ranks
waiting
for
a
"taksi".
This
time
they
were
really
quite
pleasant
and
quick.
He’s
just
too
shy
to
say
anything!
We’ve
survived
again.
What
an
anticlimax
!
The
5
dollar
note
has
done
the
trick
once
more,
no
doubt
to
be
shared
with
the
Customs
Inspector
at
the
end
of
the
shift.
‘Viva
le
corruption’
I
say!
The
porter
even
got
in
the
taksi
queue
for
us,
and
20
minutes
later
found
us
and
showed
the
voucher.
He
waves
the
voucher
at
a
Taksi
driver,
who
also
seems
to
gets
the
nod
about
rich
tourists
throwing
money
around.
They
begin
loading
all
our
stuff
into
a
small,
old,
but
clean
Datsun
sedan,
the
driver
enthusiastic
for
this
time
of
night,
doubtless
anticipating
his
tip
at
the
end
of
the
trip.
With
relief
on
my
part
at
least,
we
are
whisked
away
into
the
night
with
the
now
cool
breeze
blowing
through
the
open
windows
of
the
cab.
We
remark
on
and
relish
the
balmy
night
air
carrying
the
tinkle
and
clonk
of
wind
chimes
and
with
the
scents
of
flowers,
incense
and
garbage.
~. . . o o 0 o o . . .~
The
trip
across
the
narrow
lower
part
of
the
island
from
west
to
east
takes
about
20
minutes
and
we
found
ourselves
on
the
well-made
roads
with
their
manicured
verges
leading
past
the
5
star
resorts
of
Nusa
Dua.
Up
to
the
entry
portals
of
The
Bali
Hilton
International
Hotel.
Around
the
climbing
drive
past
the
fountains
and
reflecting
pools
flanked
by
shrines
made
of
red
brick
and
grey
local
stone,
all
laid
in
patterns
and
carved
in
relief.
Past
the
stone
figures
of
their
mythology;
the
Barong,
the
monkey
King,
the
wise
bird
of
ill
fortune
and
numerous
others.
The
taksi
eventually
stops
at
the
entrance
steps
(why
do
hotels,
especially
first
class
ones,
always
have
steps
for
the
weary
traveller
to
negotiate?).
These
lead
up
to
the
reception
desk
sited
at
one
corner
of
an
immense
open
roofed
area
with
highly
polished,
visible
structural
timbers,
where
a
very
welcome
cold
fruit
drink
waits.
The
ambience
of
a
5
star
hotel
and
heady
aromas
of
Bali
started
to
take
effect
and
I
parked
the
events
of
the
day
in
a
remote
corner
of
my
mind.
Bliss!
We
know
we
have
ARRIVED
and
are
now
ON
HOLIDAY
!
~. . . o o 0 o o . . . ~
Part
of
our
travelling
group,
Bull,
Blondie
and
their
son
Flea,
who
left
Adelaide
after
us
but
arrived
in
the
hotel
well
before
us,
having
travelled
via
Perth,
have
left
a
message
at
the
desk
to
be
called
when
we
arrived.
Only
Bull
was
still
awake
I
think,
and
he
shortly
gave
us
a
call
to
arrange
to
meet
the
following
day.
They
had
a
surprise
at
the
airport
when
they
discovered
white
chalk
crosses
on
their
suitcases.
Despite
Bull’s
hasty
efforts
to
erase
the
suspicious
and
offensive
marks
and
the
usual
$5
note
to
the
porter,
the
bags
were
taken
straight
to
the
Customs
inspection
desk
and
were
required
to
be
opened.
Thankfully
on
top
of
the
first
one
was
Flea's
supply
of
Fruit
Box
drinks,
which
were
obviously
acceptable,
and
with
Bull's
assurance
that
there
was
no
demon
frothy
tea
drink
anywhere
(he
lies
through
his
teeth
of
course)
they
were
allowed
through.
We
were
to
have
3
days
at
The
Hilton
before
moving
to
our
usual
stamping
ground,
the
Holiday
Inn
at
Tuban,
on
the
western
part
of
the
island
near
the
airport.
Boy
was
to
arrive
on
our
last
day
at
The
Hilton
and
Lollylegs;
the
final
member
of
the
group
arrived
the
day
we
moved
into
the
Holiday
Inn.
We
spent
our
time
at
Nusa
Dua
travelling
to
the
capital
Denpasar
and
on
to
Kuta
Beach
where
we
were
familiar
with
the
shopping
areas
and
the
prices
as
well
as
the
moneychangers.
It
is
very
important
to
know
the
moneychangers,
but
it
is
still
wise
to
have
someone
else
with
you
to
double-check
the
counting.
We
also
investigated
the
local
village
of
Bualu
and
the
hotel
controlled
Galleria
shopping
centre
and
Tragia
Supermarket.
Having
checked
out
all
of
the
more
distant
and
the
local
options,
the
prices
and
the
finances,
the
girls
still
could
not
resist
shopping
in
all
areas.
The
prices
at
Nusa
Dua
(inside
the
hotels'
area
of
control)
are
inflated
as
they
are
really
intended
to
cater
for
the
Japanese
market.
Recent
financial
problems
in
Japan
have
badly
affected
the
volume
of
this
market
and
the
immense
hotel
seemed
almost
deserted.
As
an
example
of
price
inflation,
a
large
bottle
of
Bintang
beer
(Indonesian)
cost
Rp20,000
(A$4.55)
chilled
and
served
in
the
cheapest
hotel
restaurant
dining
area,
++
(that
is
plus
10%
hotel
surcharge
and
plus
government
tax
which
seemed
to
vary
between
10
and
40%,
depending
on
the
goods.
I
think
alcohol
attracted
the
higher
levels
of
tax.)
a
total
of
about
A$5.50.
The
same
beer
cost
Rp13,
500
($3.10)
at
the
hotel
controlled
Tragia
Supermarket,
Rp14,000
served
cold
at
a
restaurant
in
Bualu
village,
Rp12,000
served
at
a
beach
side
cafe
in
Kuta
and
Rp7,000
($1.60)
at
a
little
local
shop
down
the
street
from
the
Holiday
Inn.
Local
beers
(Bintang,
Bali
Hai,
San
Miguel
and
Anker)
are
really
very
cheap
drinks,
usually
served
very
cold
with
a
double
skinned
handle
"glass"
straight
from
the
freezer.
The
tankard
is
made
of
plastic
and
the
space
between
the
skins
contains
a
liquid
that
gets
frozen
in
the
freezer
and
ensures
that
the
beer
remains
really
cold
in
the
(brief)
time
that
it
takes
to
drink.
On
the
other
hand
imported
wine,
spirits
and
liqueurs
are
very
expensive.
For
example
at
the
"cheap"
restaurant
at
the
Hilton
house
wines
by
the
glass
cost
A$7.50
for
Aussie
Chateau
Cardboard,
but
A$10.45
if
it
was
French
vin
ordinaire.
Johnnie
Walker
was
$10.90
a
measure
and
Chivas
Regal
was
$17.05.
Later
in
the
trip
when
I
stayed
at
the
Champlung
Sari
Hotel
in
UBUD
(in
the
middle
of
Bali)
I
asked
for
a
brandy
and
dry
in
a
long
glass
before
dinner.
The
little
man
was
apologetic
that
he
did
not
have
a
suitable
long
glass
and
hoped
that
the
medium
sized
brandy
balloon
was
OK.
It
was
a
very
nice
brandy
and
dry,
even
if
not
in
a
long
glass.
When
I
checked
the
final
hotel
bill
the
next
day
I
found
an
item,
-
"Courvoisier
and
Dry,
Rp
74,000
+10
%+21%.
Total:
Rp98,
000
",
(A$23.45
!!
)
Even
given
that
French
brandy
is
nice,
I'm
very
glad
that
I
enjoyed
the
drink
before
I
knew
the
cost.
I
mentioned
that
the
Hilton
was
large.
It
had
two
accommodation
wings
of
5
levels.
Each
level
had,
I
think,
70+
rooms
making
a
total
of
700
rooms.
In
addition
there
were
two
very
large
suites
at
the
end
of
each
wing.
These
had
walls
enclosing
the
suite
and
its
grounds
that
contained
a
private
swimming
pool
of
about
1/3
Olympic
size,
with
Security
Guards
at
the
gates.
We
were
on
the
second
floor
with
views
of
the
gardens
from
our
balcony.
Bull
and
Blondie
were
on
the
fifth
floor
and
got
lost
going
home
several
times.
We
got
lost
most
times
going
to
visit
them.
They
had
an
outlook
across
one
part
of
the
golf
course
towards
the
ocean
cliffs,
a
temple
on
the
headland
point
(it
has
been
said
that
there
are
more
temples
than
people
in
Bali)
and
the
Nikko
Hotel
running
back
along
the
ridge
some
2
Km
away.
Their
view
was
spectacular.
A
lagoon
wandered
all
around
the
site
between
the
two
wings
of
rooms
and
up
to
the
reception
area
with
its
bars,
lounges
and
formal
and
informal
eating
areas.
Besides
the
private
pools
attached
to
the
suites
there
were
two
others
for
guests'
use,
the
larger
requiring
a
bridge
to
span
the
centre
so
that
the
grounds
did
not
become
inconveniently
divided
nor
require
long
treks
to
get
around.
The
whole
thing
was
remarkable
in
both
its
size
and
it's
detail.
Little
things
kept
grabbing
your
attention
–
-
the
brass
anti-slip
edges
on
all
the
stairway
treads
were
being
cleaned
and
re-polished
by
hand
while
we
were
there.
-
the
floodlighting
in
the
grounds
didn’t
just
sit
where
you
could
actually
see
it.
It
was
enclosed
in
hand
made
ceramic
frogs,
with
the
light
shining
out
of
their
mouths
or
through
holes
made
in
their
backs
-
the
ashtrays
(numerous,
to
cater
for
the
ever
smoking
Japanese)
were
large
white
clamshell
halves
on
wrought
iron
stands.
They
were
half
filled
with
sand
and
one
little
man
had
a
full
time
job
removing
the
butts,
sweeping
the
sand
level
and
decorating
the
surface
with
little
finger
drawn
designs.
Similar
designs,
but
on
a
larger
scale,
were
drawn
in
the
sand
of
the
little
"beaches"
created
every
so
often
along
the
corridors
past
the
rooms.
They
were
regularly
changed
and
always
seemed
to
be
of
a
different
pattern.
-
the
lawns
went
right
down
to
the
edge
of
the
beach
where
the
sand
was
raked
and
swept
every
night.
I
was
down
there
a
few
minutes
after
dawn
on
one
morning
to
get
some
photos
and
the
task
was
already
finished,
my
footsteps
across
the
pampered
grains
being
the
first
of
the
day.
-
there
was
a
dedicated
Ball
Room
about
the
size
of
the
old
Palais
on
North
Terrace
(Adelaide
that
is,
for
you
interstate
runner-ups)
underneath
the
reception
area.
It
had
boxes
of
"Floor
Speed"
in
little
cupboards
by
each
of
the
doors.
-
the
lawns
were
trimmed
every
day
and
the
fallen
leaves
and
flowers
(numerous)
were
continually
picked
up
through
daylight
hours.
I
felt
compelled
to
regularly
pick
up
flowers,
particularly
the
multi-coloured
frangipanis,
just
so
that
their
perfection
in
form,
colour
and
fragrance
was
recognised
by
someone
before
they
wilted.
I
remember
remarking
to
C..
that
No.2
daughter,
who
has
a
developing
(pardon
the
pun)
passion
for
photography
could
have
used
up
two
films
between
the
entrance
drive
and
our
front
door.
Come
to
think
of
it
I
could
have
myself,
but
I
didn't
have
any
film
when
we
arrived.
I
did
make
up
for
that
over
the
next
couple
of
days
though.
It
was
US$280
for
a
round
of
golf
on
either
of
the
two
international
golf
courses
that
meandered
around
the
hotels'
grounds.
This
fee
evidently
covered
a
motorised
golf
cart
with
driver,
a
caddy
for
each
two
golfers
and,
as
we
witnessed
one
day,
five
police/security
officers
to
spring
up
out
of
the
grass
and
trees
at
every
road
crossing
when
the
buggy
was
heard.
Two
officers
marched
to
the
middle
of
the
road
and
stopped
traffic
(to
our
surprise,
even
us
while
we
were
out
walking
one
morning).
Two
others
stood
at
opposite
sides
of
the
road
to
salute
as
the
buggy
crossed
and
He-Who-Was-In-Charge
bowed
slightly
as
they
passed.
Once
the
buggy
and
its
precious
cargo
of
rich
Japanese
hackers
passed
of
course,
everyone
slumped
down
from
their
rigid
attention
positions,
slouched
back
to
the
grass
under
the
trees,
recovered
their
previously
hastily
discarded
cigarettes,
sat
or
lay
down,
-
and
life
went
on
as
normal.
This
performance
was
only
Act
1
of
the
comedy,
however.
Act
2
began
when
Bull
asked
if
they
would
mind
having
their
photographs
taken
with
young
Flea
who
is
fair
and
very
blonde.
But
of
course
not!
It
would
be
a
pleasure
and
an
honour
to
have
their
photographs
taken
with
anybody.
Up
they
sprang
(really)
and
the
opening
ritual
began
once
more.
The
traffic,
or
potential
traffic,
and
even
the
fairy
imagined
traffic,
the
pedestrians
and
possible
pedestrians,
were
ritually
stopped
once
more.
Flea
was
escorted
across
to
“their”
side
of
the
street
and
the
gathering
formally
composed
according
to
rank
rather
than
size,
with
Flea
in
the
centre
and
the
cigarettes
not
discarded,
but
hidden
behind
their
backs.
As
a
final
scene
Flea
was
given
the
walkie-talkie
radio
to
hold
(prominently)
and
everyone
froze
into
formal
rigidity
and
smiled
as
the
shutter
was
triggered.
Bull
had
made
their
day
memorable,
they
had
made
Flea’s
day
memorable
and
Bull
had
a
memorable
photo.
Such
a
simple
(?)
thing
to
make
everyone
happy
and
to
produce
an
effusion
of
sincere
thanks
and
little
stiff
bows
all
round.
The
role
players
and
their
audience
were
all
well
pleased.
From
my
observations
the
golfers
were
not
as
proficient
as
the
actors
who
served
them,
apparently
trying
to
have
as
many
hits
as
they
could
get
in
for
their
money.
And
at
the
cost
who
am
I
to
blame
them?
Three
days
at
the
Hilton
were
very
nice,
and
not
really
very
expensive
in
comparative
terms.
I'm
sure
that
we
all
enjoyed
the
lifestyle
and
some
enjoyed
the
shopping,
especially
the
discount
sales
at
the
handy
Versace
shops
(genuine
jeans
for
A$42-$45
rather
the
local
A$100
+++.
Armani
and
Gucci
things
(?)
were
also
readily
available
for
those
with
a
burning
need.
Some
of
us
practiced
our
Salamat
pagee
(good
morning
up
to
10
am),
Salamat
siang
(to
12),
Salamat
soree
(good
afternoon
till
6pm)
and
Salamat
melaam,
(good
night),
as
well
as
Salamat
tingaal,
(goodbye),
Apa
kabar?
(how
are
you)
and
Bagus
-
"bagooose",
good!
Others,
like
Boy
who
is
fluent
in
Indonesian,
didn't
need
to
practice
at
all.
At
the
end
I
think
that
these
three
days
had
a
lot
to
do
with
what
seemed
an
earlier
than
usual
conversion
to
Bali
speed
or
'rubber
time'.
~ . . . o o 0 o o . . . ~
From
the
Hilton
to
the
Holiday
Inn
at
Tuban
(between
Kuta
Beach
and
the
airport)
on
Saturday
3rd
of
July.
A
smaller,
older,
more
family
oriented
hotel,
right
on
the
beach.
One
that
we
have
become
familiar
with
and
feel
relaxed
in
(though
not
so
much
as
Bull
and
Blondie
who
have
been
there
now
for
the
past
7
years).
This
was
to
be
our
base
for
the
rest
of
the
holiday
even
though
we
would
go
to
stay
at
Ubud
for
2
(or
in
my
case
3)
days.
The
local
markets
immediately
took
a
hammering.
From
the
beach
sellers
the
usual
cheap
bargains
of
T
shirts,
shorts,
carved
wooden
nick-knacks,
sarongs,
watches,
bracelets
and
rings
- from the supermarkets, besides foods and fruit, there are cheap cosmetics, underclothes, shirts, belts, and shoes
- from the beaches - massages (WOW!!!), socks, kites, manicures, more shirts and shorts:
- from the little tailor down the street skirts, from locally available summer weight cloth (and from winter cloth bought in Adelaide, and brought over to provide packing around the frothy tea) and blouses. It all got too much for him in the end and it was easier for him to come to the hotel to see the girls one or two at a time rather than have all of them at once descend on him in his little shop
-
from
the
leather
shop
more
skirts,
coats,
shoes
and
suits.
A
seemingly
endless
buy-fest.
Fortunately
(?)
the
Versace
shops
here
(yes,
there
were
more
than
one)
were
also
having
a
discount
sale.
Perhaps
the
market
was
down
because
of
the
lack
of
Japanese
tourists.
Never
the
less
our
Aussie
tourists
were
up
to
the
mark
with
some
members
of
our
party
buying
6
pairs
of
jeans
with
matching
designer
belts.
I
think
that
Flea
and
I
were
the
only
ones
to
resist
the
apparently
irresistible.
I
must
confess,
however,
to
now
owning
a
black
dinner
suit
for
attendance
at
weddings
(I
don't
know
whose)
and
funerals,
probably
mine
as
I've
been
told
that
I
can
be
buried
in
it
because
it
won't
fit
anyone
else
and
so
can’t
be
passed
on.
(That's
OK,
I'll
be
damned
if
I'm
leaving
it
behind
after
enduring
so
much
to
get
it).
I've
also
got
a
summer
leather
jacket
for
the
bike,
which
I
have
to
say
I
like
a
lot.
~ . . . o o 0 o o . . . ~
Breakfast
at
the
Holiday
Inn
needs
to
be
seen
to
be
believed.
Your
jaded
palate
can
be
sated
by
choices
which
include
:
-
Fresh
fruits
and
fruit
juices
(there
were
usually
5
or
6
choices).
-
Cereals
with
fruit
compote
and/or
yoghurts,
muesli.
-
Hams,
cheeses,
dried
fruits
(no
dates,
strangely).
-
Eggs,
any
way
you
wanted
them
and
as
many
as
you
wanted.
-
Breads,
rolls,
Danishes,
pancakes,
croissants,
with
butter,
jams,
vegemite,
marmalade.
-
Sausages,
bratwurst,
potatoes,
rice,
noodles,
vegetables,
great
heaps
crispy
bacon,
(and
I
mean
crispy!),
tomatoes,
ham
and
pineapple
(and
what
succulent
pineapple
it
is).
-
Toast,
tea,
coffee.
-
Anything
else
that
you
might
have
a
fancy
for,
but
which
was
not
on
offer,
would
be
quickly
obtained
and
delivered
to
your
table.
It
was
worth
saving
up
for.
Many
of
the
younger
guests
ate
unbelievable
amounts
and
supplies
for
lunch
were
wrapped
up
in
serviettes
and
packed
into
handbags
as
well.
The
quality
was
as
unfailing
as
the
quantities.
Apart
from
breakfast
we
usually
ate
out
of
the
hotel
for
lunch
and
dinner.
Amongst
our
favourite
places
in
TUBAN
or
KUTA
unless
otherwise
noted
-
(Blondie
has
a
5
page
screed
on
travelling
to,
eating
in
and
buying
at,
Bali
if
anyone
is
interested.
It's
somewhere
in
these
pages
as
"Beginners
Bali".)
-
The
Pantai
(meaning
sea
shore,
formerly
the
Jukung).
Overlooks
the
beach
close
to
the
Holiday
Inn.
Good
food,
good
prices
and
good
ambulance
(ambience?).
The
manager
is
Fransiskus
Ruben
-
if
you
ever
get
there
ask
how
his
little
daughter
Maria
Christani
Ema
is
and
you'll
be
especially
welcome.
-
Green
Garden
-
good
satays.
-
TJ's
(Mexican)
–
Here
and
elsewhere
I
learnt
to
watch
out
for
the
chilli
because
it
wasn't!
-
Bali
Seafood
-
(a
bit
expensive).
-
Rama
Bridge
opposite
the
Kuta
markets
(used
to
be
VERY
good
value
but
there
are
now
a
lot
of
new
places
that
make
it
seem
just
good).
-
Sunset
Café
(actually
ON
the
beach
at
Kuta).
-
Hard
Rock
Hotel
(on
the
beach
front
at
Kuta,
with
an
ersatz
beach
in
the
back
yard.
VERY
expensive,
and
you
don't
get
any
change
offered
to
you,
you
have
to
ask
for
it!)
-
The
Pub
-
at
Legian,
has
been
good
in
the
past
but
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
!
-
Dolphins
in
Legian
street
next
to
Dolphins
Leather.
It
was
great
for
breakfasts
-
all
you
could
eat
for
about
$3
but
the
devalued
currency
has
caught
up
with
it
a
bit.
-
Mama
Lucia’s
-
Legian
St.
Great
Italian
food.
-
Palm
Garden
-
(nice
for
a
quiet
snack).
-
Kin
Khao
-
GREAT
Thai
food
and
the
very
best
spring
rolls
in
all
Bali.
-
Kori
Restaurant
-
Poppies
Lane
2
-
Blondie
says
it
has
the
best
food
she’s
ever
eaten.
As
a
gastronomic
peasant
I
wouldn’t
go
that
far,
but
it
was
good.
-
The
Hann
Restaurant
-
Bualu
village
just
outside
the
hotels
compound
at
Nusa
Dua.
Has
branches
at
other
places.
-
Lotus
Garden
-
at
Nusa
Dua,
Ubud,
Tuban
etc.
~ . . . o o 0 o o . . . ~
The
days
really
fade
into
one
another
but
I
know
I
spent
two
(or
was
it
three)
days
in
Ubud
(the
art
centre
of
Bali
located
in
the
central
highlands
before
the
real
mountains).
One
of
these
days
I
was
on
my
own
in
sole
command
of
the
bemo
and
our
preferred
driver
Wayan
Suka
(phone
411965
if
you're
going
to
Bali
soon).
I
spent
the
day
delving
further
north
into
the
mainly
terraced
rice
paddies
and
up-land
forests,
taking
photos
using
my
new
tripod.
In
the
semi-darkness
apertures
of
3.5
and
shutter
speeds
of
2
seconds
using
400
film
were
common.
That's
technical
talk
for
the
aficionados
amongst
you,
blatantly
meant
to
impress
those
in
the
know
who
have
seen
the
results.
What
it
means
is
that
it
was
damn
dark
because
of
the
rain
cloud
overcast,
with
the
forest
canopy
making
it
worse
still.
The
poor
camera
was
working
its
little
bottom
off
and
had
nothing
in
reserve
for
photographic
delicacies.
The
rice
terraces,
which
step
seemingly
endlessly
down
the
sides
of
the
steep
hillsides
(ravines?),
are
spectacular
sights.
They're
also
mind
numbing
if
you
stop
to
wonder
how
a
comparatively
primitive
workforce
managed
to
achieve
such
miracles
of
hydrology
thousands
of
years
ago
(but
can't
get
a
shower
floor
to
run
towards
the
drain
hole
these
days).
It's
also
provocative
to
imagine
how
they
peacefully
managed
(and
still
manage)
the
legalities
of
ensuring
that
one
family
who
owns
the
top
terrace
provides
water
in
timed,
controlled,
and
equitable
measured
quantities
to
a
neighbouring
family
who
might
own
the
next
terrace
down
the
slope,
and
so
on
to
the
bottom
perhaps
20
or
30
terraces
away.
The
shades
of
green
in
these
scenes,
or
shades
of
pale
tan,
brown
and
yellow-orange
at
other
warmer
times
of
the
year,
seem
to
be
infinite
in
their
variety
and
translucence.
The
greens
in
the
forest
are
also
favourites
of
mine.
They
too
glow,
but
they
are
much
more
subdued
in
the
filtered
light
that
flickers
through
the
canopy
overhead.
The
contrast
of
heights
and
slopes,
the
variety
in
the
colours
sizes
and
shapes
of
the
leaves,
all
added
to
the
enchantment
of
the
silence
which
is
now
and
then
broken
by
dripping
or
running
water,
the
sounds
of
frogs
and
birds
and
the
slow
swaying
of
the
larger
leaves.
These
are
awesome
and
mystical
places.
Mind
you,
the
flat
land
paddies
are
also
spectacular
for
the
sheer
size
of
the
water
surface
that
farmers
achieved
before
only
a
small
change
in
level
requires
a
new
start.
The
reflections
on
these
sheets
of
water
can
be
most
impressive
in
a
photo
taken
with
a
low
viewpoint,
when
it
can
be
hard
to
decide
which
really
is
the
top.
I
have
always
found
it
difficult
to
handle
these
reflections
in
the
camera
viewfinder
as
they
give
misleading
light
readings
and
can
be
marred
by
reflected
glare.
This
time
I
had
followed
No.
2
daughter's
lead
and
bought
a
polarising
filter
that
gave
some
very
satisfying
results.
Paddy,
by
the
way,
is
from
an
Indonesian
word,
paddy,
meaning
growing
rice
plants.
Beras
means
the
rice
seed
or
grain
and
nasi
is
cooked
rice,
as
in
Nasi
Goreng.
By
the
way,
(again)
would
you
believe
that
we
had
lunch
at
the
very
Lotus
Restaurant
at
which
Mick
Jagger
and
what’s-her-name
were
(or
were
they?)
married!
I
can
also
tell
you
that
by
strange
chance
Mick
left
a
personal
note
tucked
under
the
dunny
mirror
for
our
travelling
companion
and
ardent
Rolling
Stones
fan,
Bull!
It's
really
hard
to
understand
how
it
remained
there
all
those
years
until
Bull
found
it!
Now
if
you
don't
believe
this
I
have
to
tell
you
that
Boy
has
a
photo
of
Bull
and
the
note
to
prove
it.
Also
in
Ubud
I
found
a
young
artist,
Made
(pronounced
"Mardee")
Karmayasa,
in
his
little
studio
(nice
word
for
tin
walled
hut
with
thatch
roof)
at
the
back
of
the
Monkey
Forest
Temple.
He
was
working
on
a
traditional
Balinese
painting
of
forests,
temples,
rivers
and
maidens
bathing.
It
immediately
reminded
me
of
a
work
in
an
artist's
colony
that
C..
and
I
had
seen,
admired
and
desired
on
our
first
trip
to
Bali
20
odd
years
ago.
In
those
days
the
master
painter
quickly
and
briefly
outlined
the
work
and
passed
it
on
down
the
ranks
where
lesser
artists
completed
details
and
other
stages,
referring
back
to
the
master
regularly,
until
the
most
junior
artists
began
applying
colours.
These
days
the
colony
concept
seems
to
have
gone
and
younger
artists
are
opting
to
work
on
their
own,
as
Made
was
doing,
completing
the
whole
work
from
start
to
finish.
When
I
first
saw
the
painting
the
most
intricate
phase,
the
shading
of
the
black
outlines
to
provide
the
foundation
layer
for
the
colours
was
almost
completed.
When
C..
saw
it
we
agreed
that
we
would
negotiate
a
price
based
on
the
work
so
far
completed
and
some
added
colour
work.
Our
idea
was
that
the
painting
would
show
all
of
the
steps
involved
in
creating
a
work
of
art
in
the
traditional
Balinese
way,
and
therefore
it
would
not
be
finished.
This
request,
to
stop
the
shading
work
before
it
was
complete,
was
rather
strange
for
Made
to
understand
until
we
told
him
the
story
and
our
reasons
for
wanting
an
unfinished
work.
We
eventually
settled
on
a
price,
paid
a
deposit
and
left
Made
with
instructions
on
which
areas
we
wanted
coloured
by
the
next
day
when
we
were
due
to
leave
Ubud
and
return
to
Tuban.
As
it
turned
out
I
decided
to
stay
on
and
do
my
day
of
photography
in
the
rice
fields
and
mountain
forests,
so
he
got
some
further
instructions
and
some
more
time
before
I
picked
up
the
painting.
The
most
time
consuming
part
of
a
traditional
painting
is
the
very
highly
detailed
shading
in
the
black/grey/white
areas,
over
which
the
translucent
colour
is
applied,
almost
as
a
multi-chrome
wash
over
a
monochrome
foundation.
On
a
painting
of
this
size
(about
1m
x
800mm),
the
basic
line
work
takes
about
2
weeks,
the
shading
almost
2
months
and
the
colouring
another
2
weeks
or
so.
The
shading
is
the
area
where
the
traditional
artistic
talent
is
required,
but
it's
beauty
and
delicacy
tends
to
get
hidden
under
the
glow
of
the
colours.
~. . . o o 0 o o . . . ~
Often
when
we
were
out
with
Wayan
in
the
Kijang
van
the
police
would
wave
him
down.
He
would
ask
us
to
stay
in
the
car
while
he
got
out
to
attend
to
whatever
checks
or
enquiries
were
being
made.
This
never
took
more
than
a
minute
or
two
and
was
generally
passed
off
as
licence
checks
or
something.
After
a
while
we
became
curious
about
the
frequency
of
these
stops
and
the
regularity
of
attention
to
our
vehicle
but
apparently
not
to
others,
and
pressed
the
point
with
him.
It
seems
that
the
police
singled
out
drivers
who
might
be
carrying
tourists
with
money,
and
the
price
for
continuing
with
little
hindrance
or
without
a
lengthy
safety
or
permit
check
was
a
“donation”
to
the
officers’
Christmas
fund
or
something
similar.
(Did
I
say
‘vive
le
corruption’
earlier?)
On
the
way
back
from
my
day
of
photography
in
Ubud
and
beyond,
to
the
Holiday
Inn,
Wayan
the
driver
and
I
were
passed
at
very
high
speed
by
a
uniformed
person
on
a
motor
bike.
There
was
no
way
of
missing
him
because
not
only
is
very
high
speed
rare
and
almost
impossible
to
achieve
in
the
closeness
of
Bali
traffic,
but
the
exhaust
of
the
bike
may
well
have
been
totally
missing,
such
was
the
noise
that
heralded
both
his
approach
and
his
departure.
Out
of
the
corner
of
my
eye
I
saw
the
corners
of
Wayan’s
mouth
turn
down
in
a
most
un-characteristic
grimace.
I
asked
if
the
uniform
was
that
of
the
army,
to
which
he
replied
something
in
Indonesian
that
I
didn’t
understand.
His
following
explanation
was
that
the
rider
was
not
just
army,
but
army
police.
I
asked
if
the
rider
would
be
stopped
by
the
police
for
either
speeding
or
for
the
noise
of
the
bike.
Wayan
just
smiled
and
shook
his
head.
He
explained
that
anyone
who
offended
or
even
queried
the
police
risked
a
severe
beating
from
the
bamboo
sticks
that
were
often
carried
in
addition
to
standard
issue
truncheons.
Anyone
who
similarly
challenged
the
army
received
an
even
worse
beating
that
would
probably
result
in
at
least
hospital
treatment.
But
anyone
who
offended
the
army
police,
including
even
the
civilian
police,
could
possibly
just
disappear.
Clearly
the
military
police
were
at
the
top
of
a
feared
and
obviously
detested
official
(and
officially
sanctioned)
hierarchy
of
forceful
repression.
All
is
not
idyllic
in
paradise,
although
it
is
generally
hidden
from
the
visitor.
~. . . o o 0 o o . . .~
On
two
or
three
of
our
excursions
into
the
capital,
Denpasar,
I
indulged
in
shopping
for
computer
programs
on
CD's.
These
are
all
pirate
copies
of
course,
but
the
chance
of
getting
a
program
that
would
cost
$400
or
$600
up
to
over
$1000
for
roughly
$10
per
disc,
was
too
much
to
be
resisted.
I
wound
up
with
things
like
Windows
98,
Office
Premium
2000,
MacAfee
Antivirus
and
First
Aid,
Dragon
Naturally
Speaking
voice
recognition
program
(takes
the
place
of
manual
keyboard
entry)
as
well
as
Encyclopaedia
Britannica,
and
several
Clip
Art
discs
for
our
PC;
a
swag
of
stuff
for
a
friend
of
Bull's,
and
AutoCAD
2000
for
our
home-bound
friend
Leigh.
There
were
also
some
discs
available
for
Macintoshes,
but
very
little
compared
with
the
heaps
for
PCs.
In
a
total
of
over
30
discs
only
one
proved
to
be
a
con,
containing
only
one
freeware
program,
and
one
other
was
wrongly
labelled
and
did
not
have
the
program
I
wanted.
On
the
other
hand,
several
discs
contained
not
only
the
program
I
wanted
but
several
others
as
well.
~. . . o o 0 o o . . .~
One
day,
when
the
regular
shopping
expedition
to
the
Sukawati
markets
was
scheduled,
Boy
and
I
decided
to
indulge
our
cultural
sides
and
go
to
the
Museum
and
Art
Gallery
at
Denpasar.
It
might
help
explain
this
perhaps
strange
behaviour
if
I
confess
at
this
point
that
Sukawati
markets
are
a
sort
of
native
wholesale
extravaganza
which
could
be
held
in
many
department
store
sized
buildings
put
together.
This,
however,
is
packed
into
one
multi
level
structure
about
the
size
of
half
a
dozen
double
garages
-
and
there
is
nowhere
around
where
desperate
desert
trekkers
can
get
a
cold
beer!
So,
off
to
Denpasar
it
was.
As
it
turned
out
the
museum
was
closed
(I'm
not
sure
why,
maybe
it
was
Tuesday
or
something)
but
at
the
Art
Gallery
there
was
being
held
the
All-Bali
Community
Crafts
Fair
(or
something
similar).
We
moved
from
one
extreme
to
another
as
we
roamed
the
grounds
and
buildings.
From
frightening
local
food
stalls
where
the
sphincter
muscle
trembled
in
sheer
fright
from
only
looking,
and
from
the
chilling
thought
of
catching
something
from
the
very
air,
to
the
most
exquisite
silks,
woven
fabrics,
gold
and
silver
creations,
gems
and
polished
river
gravel,
ancient
and
modern
decorative
wood
carvings,
practical
furniture,
pottery,
paintings
and
so
much
more.
All
this
interspersed
with
forbidden
games
of
chance
on
which
considerable
sums
of
local
currency
were
wagered
(all
seemingly
supervised
-
or
at
least
closely
observed
-
by
the
local
gendarmerie).
Also
available
were
the
cheapest
watches
on
the
planet
(about
$3),
coloured
papers,
stick-on
motifs,
books,
icons
and
statues
an
a
variety
of
religious
stalls,
shoes
and
clothes
from
simple
farmer's
wear
to
cultural
dance
costumes
and
so
much
more.
It
was
easy,
in
this
tightly
packed
conglomeration,
to
differentiate
between
the
cheap
and
nasty
and
the
very
best
quality
that
the
island
and
its
neighbours
could
muster.
It
was
a
much
more
remarkable
day
than
either
of
us
expected.
On
the
way
out
we
stopped
for
a
cool
drink
at
a
little
shop
just
across
the
road
from
the
gates.
Next
door
was
a
ladies
hairdresser
(honestly!)
where
half
a
dozen
young
girls
were
sitting
around
doing
nothing.
It
wasn't
long
before
they
had
engaged
Boy,
who
is
a
good-looking,
youngish,
lad,
in
close
conversation
(in
Indonesian)
and
I
joined
in
(in
Aussie
of
course).
Part
of
the
conversation
revolved
about
where
we
came
from
and
an
elementary
geography
lesson
with
maps
sketched
in
my
trusty
note
pad
followed.
I
was
surprised
that
they
recognised
my
rough
world
map
and
immediately
identified
both
Bali
and
Australia.
I
was
astounded
that
they
could
also
correctly
name
the
Australian
states
and
capitals,
with
the
exception
of
Brisbane!
They
may
not
go
to
school
for
long
compared
with
us
but
they
seemed
to
learn
a
great
deal
about
their
place
in
the
world
and
their
near
neighbours
at
least.
On
the
way
home
we
called
in
to
the
Hero
Supermarket
which
Boy
had
seen
in
an
Internet
page.
As
advertised,
it
did
have
a
large
stationery
department
but,
just
inside
the
door,
there,
waiting
for
me
to
arrive
from
far
off
Oz,
were
a
pair
of
pure
white
sand
shoes
(sneakers?)
with
not
just
two
Velcro
straps
as
I
usually
buy,
but
THREE!
Lordy
lordy,
such
euphoric
joy.
It
was
like
finding
a
bottle
of
fine
wine
with
three
labels
rather
than
just
two
–
or
even
one.
But
what
would
be
the
price
of
such
treasures,
even
if
they
had
them
in
my
size?
Well,
they
did
have
them
in
my
size!,
The
price,
Rp99,900,
a
mere
$22.70.
As
the
yank
in
the
Telstra
add
says,
“OH
YESSS!!!”
Boy
did
not
find
the
pens
he
was
looking
for,
but
he
did
find
a
toilet
that
he
suddenly
found
a
need
for.
Regrettably
he
did
not
think
to
look
to
find
the
toilet
paper
until
it
was
too
late
and
all
he
had
on
him
was
a
collection
of
sundry
receipts
from
purchases
and
money
changing.
Now,
if
you’ve
ever
seen
the
thinness
of
the
paper
which
is
used
for
shopping
receipts,
dockets,
money
changing
receipts
and
other
non-essential
paper
in
Bali
you
will
realise
the
longing
he
had
for
a
gum
leaf
or
two.
I
took
some
perverse
delight
in
telling
him
that
if
he
had
only
yelled
loudly
enough
I
would
have
shared
the
half
roll
of
genuine,
pristine,
soft,
white
Aussie
bumf
that
I
always
carry
with
me
in
Bali
and
other
foreign
or
slightly
strange
realms.
I
think
he
was
not
amused.
~. . . o o 0 o o . . . ~
One
of
the
significant
changes
that
we
noticed
on
this
trip
(and
you
could
hardly
miss
it)
was
the
virtually
complete
absence
of
street
sellers.
In
past
years
it
was
difficult
at
least,
and
sometimes
impossible
to
walk
on
the
footpaths
because
of
the
sheer
number
and
persistence
of
sellers
hawking
watches,
perfumes,
silver
rings
and
bangles,
sunglasses,
embroidered
caps,
newspapers
and
magazines
from
the
aircraft,
shirts,
thongs
and
anything
else
that
might
turn
a
dollar.
(-
and
don’t
forget
those
very
rude
and
aggressive
Time
Share
bandits.
They
really
were
a
pain
at
times
-
most
times
actually
-
and
you
had
to
be
really
rude
to
get
them
to
go
away;
but
they
were
part
of
Bali,
particularly
around
Kuta
Beach.)
This
year
they
were
gone,
by
Indonesian
government
decree,
enforced
by
the
feared
police.
I
think
a
part
of
Bali
has
gone
with
them.
There
must
be
thousands
of
young
people,
mainly
young
men,
now
out
of
work
in
a
country
that
has
no
unemployment
payments
at
all.
Its
a
worry
think
of
what
they
must
be
doing
to
get
enough
food
to
survive.
You
have
to
wonder
why
they
could
not
have
been
banned
from
just
one
side
of
the
street,
or
reduced
to
only
one
every
10
meters
of
paving,
or
something
rather
than
total
prohibition.
But
such
is
the
worrisome
way
of
Indonesian
authority.
Well
folks,
I
think
you
have
the
whole
story.
I
know
you
are
all
convinced
now
that
I
am
a
shopping
junkie,
but
there
are
some
real
bargains
to
be
had
once
you
get
into
the
swing
of
the
shopping
style
in
Bali.
The
department
stores
even
get
Him
into
the
mood
(Just
for
shopping,
folks.)
and
he
also
is
quite
a
keen
bargainer
once
you
get
him
started!
If
you
are
into
leather,
shopping
early
for
Xmas
and
finding
something
different
for
‘Aunt
Molly’
&
‘Uncle
Fred’
this
is
definitely
the
place.
Shopping
where
the
Balinese
and
Javanese
do
at
Sukawati
is
a
real
experience.
The
wood
wear
here
is
great,
but
leave
the
boys
at
home.
Its
crowded
and
hot
and
you
have
to
be
patient
with
seeking
out
good
stuff
in
aisle
upon
aisle
of
piled
items
which
always
seems
in
danger
of
falling
on
you.
Denpasar
market
is
truly
a
‘spot
the
Aussie’
affair
but
nearby
are
incredible
fabric
stores.
Go
there
before
you
visit
the
friendly
tailor
who
will
make
you
pants
for
$16,
dresses
and
shorts
for
$9
and
full
suits,
using
their
own
fabric,
for
$50.
Once
you've
done
with
all
of
the
shopping
(temporarily,
of
course)
you’ll
need
to
crash
by
the
pool
for
a
while
and
then
swim
leisurely
over
to
the
bar
for
a
Young
Coconut
drink.
This
delectable
nectar
is
mixed
with
ice,
a
little
lime
juice
and
sugar
syrup
and
served
in
the
nut.
A
spoon
enables
you
to
scoop
out
the
soft
jelly
like
coconut,
which
is
just
starting
to
mature.
I
was
assured
by
the
delightful
bartender
that
this
was
very
good
for
my
heart
and
skin
and
because
it
was
non
alcoholic
I
believed
him!
Young
coconuts,
however,
did
not
replace
a
big
glass
of
Chivas
Regal
over
lots
of
ice
later
in
the
day!!
One
of
the
highlights
of
each
day
came
towards
sun
down,
over
a
champagne
or
two
and
a
Chivas
or
two,
with
nuts,
spreads,
dips
and
other
nibbles
to
get
the
juices
ready
for
the
evening
meal.
This
was
called
“Show
and
Tell”.
Everyone
had
to
display
his
or
her
purchases
of
the
day.
This
included
modelling
at
which
some
of
us
proved
more
stylish
than
others!
The
commentary
always
had
to
include
where
the
purchases
were
made
and
this
was
often
interrupted
with
exclamations
such
as,
“Where
did
you
get
that?
How
come
I
didn’t
see
that?”
This
often
prompted
return
trips
to
the
location
of
such
treasures.
Versace
jeans
for
$42.00
and
cool
jocks
-
3
pairs
for
$6.00!!!
Show
and
Tell
was
a
great
“family”
bonding
time
as
well
as
a
wind
down
ready
for
the
nightly
wind
up.
Every
one
joined
in
–
Flea
being
particularly
eager
to
display
his
wares
(as
long
as
he
was
not
interrupted
too
much
by
irrelevant
questions)
and
took
great
care
in
answering
the
obligatory
question
afterwards.
At
the
other
end
of
the
scale
‘He’
was
proud
to
show
off
his
photos
and
even
modelled
his
new
$3
bathers
after
a
champagne
or
two
and
the
obligatory
Brandy
and
Dry!
(Most
eager
of
all
were
the
girls
of
course
–
sarongs,
little
dresses,
big
leather
jackets,
watches,
shoes,
jewellery
of
all
descriptions
from
50
cent
brooches
to
rings
for
lord
knows
how
much,
wood
wares,
pictures,
table
cloths,
cosmetics,
handbags
.
.
.
.
and
the
list
could
go
on
forever.
I
began
by
wondering
what
the
newcomer
Lollylegs
would
make
of
all
this
but
she
really
turned
out
to
be
a
proper
trouper
and
quickly
became
an
old
hand,
although
a
little
conservative
by
comparison,
and
settled
right
in.)
Why
do
I
keep
returning
to
Bali??
Because
it
is
always
restful,
warm,
and
relaxing,
yet
there
is
a
vibrancy,
which
intrigues
me.
The
people
are
warm,
friendly
and
engaging
and
love
to
talk
to
you
and
ask
about
your
family.
I
can
concentrate
on
saving
the
frangipani
flowers
that
fall
to
the
ground
by
the
pool
and
sit
and
gaze
at
the
vibrant
bougainvilleas.
I
never
grow
tired
of
watching
the
children
and
even
take
an
interest
in
the
soccer
matches
on
the
beach
at
dusk.
The
sunsets
are
exquisite,
the
food
delectable
and
someone
makes
my
bed
everyday.
Why
wouldn’t
I
want
to
go
back
for
2
weeks
of
sheer
joy
and
luxury
at
a
price
that
is
a
pure
bargain,
most
particularly
when
compared
with
local
destinations
in
total
cost
and
in
value
for
what
you
can
get.
Well,
for
better
or
worse
there
it
is
I
think
–
the
1999
Bali
Saga.
It’s
taken
48
days
of
spare
time
but
the
record
is
written
–
although
probably
not
without
dissent
from
those
who
were
also
there
but
doubtless
saw
the
same
scenes
from
a
different
angle.
At
26
pages
(without
pictures)
you’ll
be
forgiven
if
you
skip
over
the
middle
or
don’t
read
it
to
the
end.
There’ll
be
no
final
assessment
test
to
catch
you
out
if
you’ve
not
finished
your
homework.
It
really
was
a
memorable
trip,
as
have
been
the
others
before
this.
I
for
one
am
grateful
to
all
those
who
took
part
and
helped
make
it
so
–
both
our
fellow
travellers,
and
the
local
Balinese
–
even
the
Javanese
I
suppose
(although
they’d
want
to
be
paid
if
they
though
they’d
contributed).
Not
to
be
overlooked
are
the
people
who
got
us
there
and
back.
Two
who
come
to
mind
are
Sophia
of
Ansett
Travel
(now
in
Grenfell
Street)
and
Louise
from
Traveland
at
Savings
and
Loans
in
Flinders
St.,
amongst
the
other
unknown
flight
crews
and
cabin
crews
and
baggage
handlers
who
all,
thankfully,
kept
body,
soul
and
luggage
together.
With
affection
for
you
all,
Him
and
Her.
E
&
O
E.
3.9.99
LINKS
-
Now
there
are
some
photos
that
go
with
this
Saga
if
you're
interested.
They
can
be
found
most
easily
by
clicking
on
this
link
-
Hilton
Nusa
Dua
Photos.
If
you
think
that
you're
ready
to
tackle
the
Bali
Story
-
2000
which
is
the
saga
that
followed
this
one,
then
click
on
this
link
to
get
to
the
first
of
16
parts.
-
Bali
Story
2000,
which
is
about
the
prior
organisation
(and
maybe
a
bit
boring).
However,
if
you're
more
into
travel
it
might
be
better
to
start
at
part
2,
which
is
Getting
There
,
the
story
of
the
flight
over
to
Bali.
If
you're
really
only
interested
in
Bali
then
go
to
Day
1
which
tells
of
our
transfer
from
the
airport,
our
first
day
at
the
Bali
Hilton,
and
the
first
little
shopping
foray.
If
you'd
like
to
go
to
our
Home
Page
to
see
some
different
stuff
as
well
as
links
to
some
of
our
favourite
Bali
sites
try
this
link
-
Home
Page.
You'll
find
things
like
-
a
world-currency
Shoppers
Aid/Cheat
Sheet,
a
list
of
shopping
-
eating
-
staying
-
visiting
recommendations
from
the
Bali
Travel
Forum,
Filo's
Toilet
Tester,
other
photo
series
and
more.
ENJOY!