Will I Survive Bali?

First impression: Panama City Beach meets 1967 Saigon.

Now, obviously I was never in Saigon in 1967. But if I was the type of guy to make gross generalizations about stuff, mainly based on movies, I’d need to go with Saigon 1967.

No, U.S. soldiers aren’t in the streets carrying weapons. But, nonetheless, you take your life in your hands just walking out the door. And death or injury by MVA could be swift and painful. (MVA = Motor Vehicle Accident.)

It’s an atmosphere of alcohol-fueled chaos amidst blinding heat and oppressive humidity…even after sundown…while dodging a constant swarm of small motorcycles and scooters on narrow streets barely able to contain the foot traffic. And no matter where you turn, nobody seems able to understand a word you’re saying.

Forewarned is forearmed. By the time the Ryndam tied up in Singapore, I had already been told by many that I had made a grave mis-calculation by situating myself a few blocks from Legian Beach in Kuta. Frankly, few people I met on the cruise were very impressed that I was going to Bali.

Mainly that’s because of the heavy “Yabo” element. The Aussie equivalent of a Yankee redneck for whom a $30 hotel room, endless $1.50 bottles of Bintang (the Indonesian national “bir”) and even cheaper tattoos, is a holiday in paradise.

Let me rewind a bit here. A few days ago, I was dumped off a cruise ship in Singapore after seven weeks and checked in to the Royal Plaza on Scotts, owned by the Sultan of Brunei. A five-star deal, probably one of the finest hotels I’ve stayed in, with a nightly rate that was less than a Courtyard by Marriott back in the States.

Then – bam! I’m stepping off a jet in Denpasar, Bali, and after an hour of fascinating immigration and customs bureaucracy at the airport, I’m being shown my room at the Sun Hotel & Spa in Legian. I should have suspected it was too good to be true when Trip Advisor promoted a base rate of $26 a night. For some goddamn reason I chose an upgrade to a first-floor poolside room for $42, including the breakfast buffet. Not that fish head curry and noodles, chicken satay and a steaming pot of some Balinese mush is my idea of breakfast. But hey, there’s all the toast you can eat…

Trust me on this: The transition from cruise ship coddling to real-world survival is hard enough. Singapore, in all it’s magnificence, was an intimidating challenge. But at least I kept running into mates from the cruise. And while the pace was fast-forward, English is the second language everyone speaks.

Suddenly I found myself in an Indonesian world where I’ve been so flustered, I simply can’t get anything right. Rookie travel mistakes, left and right. Dropping my hotel key card at a restaurant while fumbling in my sticky, sweat-soaked pocket for a few hundred thousand rupiahs to pay for dinner. (Waitress chased me down and gave me my card before I got out the door, thankfully.) I even left my fucking debit card in the ATM later that night while replenishing my cash. A guy ran after me for two blocks to return it. (I rewarded him for his effort.) And just last night, walking home from dinner, I got fucking lost! Not that it isn’t easy to do at night without the directional assistance of the sun…or my Google Maps app. (My cell was re-charging in the hotel room.) You feel like you’re in a Pac-Man game trying to move around these streets. All the t-shirt shops look the same. And I knew I shouldn’t have wandered that far from the reservation. But to get lost? Totally turned around in the wrong direction? Really? (I had to wave down a cab driver to take me back to my hotel.)

What it has taught me, however, is, if nothing else, the Balinese are honest people and, for the most part, very happy and friendly. And, let’s be honest, I’m traveling around the world. Shit will happen and you just need to shake it off and move on to the next adventure.

Before I go any further, I just want to say that this experience in Bali has given me an entirely new appreciation for the “waking up on another planet” nightmare My Attorney survived while living in Alexandria, Egypt, before he decided to go to law school.

I was thinking of him as I stepped into my room here at the luxe Sun Hotel & Spa with the “bellhop/janitor/bartender.” While he was setting down my suitcase, I was killing a cockroach the size of my big toe sitting on the drapes. The “B/J/B” immediately wiped up the gore with a Kleenex without missing a beat.

This is one of those hotel rooms where you spend that first night sleeping in your clothes and leaving a light on. I killed mosquitoes and read a Lee Child novel most of the night. The voices right outside my door, people enjoying the pool and their Bintang, were still there when I awoke at 5:30.

Ya know, for $26 a night, this probably wouldn’t be so bad. But to have upgraded to $42…I’m just kicking myself…

There are a lot of terrific reasons to visit Bali. Breath-taking beaches, great surfing, volcanos, sun and cheap beer. I probably won’t return, but I’m glad I came. There is a reason why this is the spring break destination for Australian “schoolies.” Except their spring break is later this month, last two months of November, when they will descend on Bali like a swarm of locusts.

And, of course, Bali is a popular destination for tourists around the world. Lots of Chinese nationals.
Japanese, Koreans, and a Euro-trash element in wife-beaters representing virtually every race, color, creed and/or national origin, who come, basically, for the $30 two-hour massages, $3 pedicures, and dirt-cheap everything else. (“Hey boss…what you need?”)

My first night, I ate at a restaurant called “Moo-Moo” which specializes in beef, steaks, burgers, etc. Biggest, baddest 17-ounce widow-maker on the menu: $14.00. Waygu beef, right up there with Kobe.

The big-ass burgers were about $3.50.

But that’s not what makes you wake up screaming here. It’s navigating streets that are roughly eight feet wide and handle two lanes of traffic and pedestrians. The sidewalks? Those are used for parking your scooter, pissing, or vomiting up that last bottle of Bintang. Oh, and um…don’t look under those concrete slabs that serve as sidewalks. They’re covering an open sewer/storm drainage “system.” Very common in India, as is seeing locals unzipping their pants and pissing right into holes in the concrete. Or seeing people dipping buckets in there, and using the “water” to rinse off the sidewalk in front of their shops. Nice!

If you’re attempting to get from Point A to Point B on foot, keep your head on a swivel. The motorcycles literally rub up against you as they navigate around the foot traffic at 30 mph. And if the cars and motorcycles don’t get you, the hawkers will. Especially the massage girls. Or the bar owners. Or the t-shirt vendors. These people literally grab you off the street.

Those Limousine Liberals with billion dollar net worths in America (like Gates, Soros and Buffett) touting the joys of socialism? (“Got mine, assholes…suck it!”) Well, capitalism is alive and thriving here in Bali.

Young teenage boys walk the beach with coolers, selling bottles Bintang. I had an elevenish-year-old girl try to sell me a puka shell bracelet while I watched the sunset. (At least I hope that’s what she was selling…)

Everybody is an entrepreneur in Kuta. Survivorship 101. Transportation is a key industry. Mass transit doesn’t exist. Own a car? You’re in business.

After an hour of negotiating the airport, immigration, baggage claim and customs, our flight of roughly 100 passengers was greeted by 300 drivers who flock to the terminal each day as soon as they see a jet on approach with its wheels down.

One guy was jumping up and down, waving at me, shouting “Pick me…pick me!” I picked him.

This married father of three girls soon became my official chauffer for the duration on my visit. He delivered me to my hotel for about $8, then drove me around the island all day today for about $60, sleeping in his car while I explored the Monkey Forest or received a life-changing hour-and-a-half Balinese massage ($35). Tomorrow, he’s picking me up again to show me the stuff we missed today. (Elephants!) And on Thursday, he’ll drive me to the airport for my flight to Perth. All tolled, he’ll probably make about $150 off me during my visit.

Actually, he’s going to be here soon. It’s time I showered up for another day of sweaty sightseeing, Bali-style.