Firstly, i wrote my blog on word, and then copied it into the blogger programme. however, due to my IP address, the blogger programme is in INDONESIAN. FAIL
Unless your rainman, or some nuclear mathematician, you are
going to need a calculator for this first bit. You may actually need 2
calculators. Think of a number. Now, take this number and multiply it by your
age. Now, take this number, and divide it by the number of people that you live
with. Now, multiply this figure you now have, by the number that you first
thought of. With this new number add to it the number of roast dinners that you
have approximately had in your lifetime. The number you now have needs to be
put aside, so write it down or something.
Now I need you to add together all of the digits that make up your date
of birth. My date of birth is 27/05/1984, so for me it would be 36, as
2+7+5+1+9+8+4=36. Take your number, and multiply this by the last digit of your
age. With this new number you have, you will need to add it to the original
number I told you write down. So by now, you will have a decent number. Multiply
this by the last 6 digits of your mobile phone number. Done? Good.
Now that you have this number in front of you, I want you to
imagine this number as a physical thing. So for example, if you like steak,
imagine your number in steaks. If you like bunny rabbits, imagine however many
number of bunny rabbits. Or, you could instead imagine mopeds. Imagine all of
those mopeds, a lot of mopeds. More mopeds than you have ever seen. WELCOME TO
MY WORLD.
When we landed at Denpasar (I think that is what it is
called) airport, we were immediately introduced to the Bali way of life. People
everywhere. Manic. But absolutely nothing could prepare me for the amount of
mopeds we would see. I cannot begin to explain how many mopeds there actually
were at the airport. For as far as you could possibly see, there were mopeds. No
matter where you turned, mopeds. But, the sight of mopeds was just the
beginning. Some clown decided that every moped needed to be fitted with a high
pitched horn. You know, those really annoying farty beeping horns. The ones that
terrorise your ears. But this was just the beginning of the world of Bali that I
will come to explain to you.
Our bus guy who picked us up ran us back to the hotel, with
our luggage being transported in a rickety old truck. For the journey to the
hotel, our bus dude was constantly trying to flog us adventures and day trips
etc. if I’m honest, I switched off.
When we arrived at the hotel, we eventually got our room
keys after a bit of buggering about in reception, and off I trundled to find my
room. The place we are stopping in is pretty big. Like, huge. I got lost
straight away trying to find my room. And when I found where it was, I had to
climb up a 50 degree incline set of stairs to get to my floor. 222. That’s my
room number. I like my room. Double bed, TV, shower etc, and a balcony that
overlooks the pool. I have stayed in much worse, and I quite like this room, it’s
just enough.
Before I left Darwin, I exchanged $200 into Indonesian
Rupiah. For my $200, I got 1.6 million IDR. I always said I would be a
millionaire before I’m 30, and it has happened. The money is so confusing,
seeing a bank note for 100000 is mental. The first night of being here I had a
pizza and a coke for my tea, I just wanted something simple. It cost me 65000
rupiah. Sixty five thousand. That equates to around £5. For a meal. But it
would get better. A few of us have been out for meals, and one particular place
is called GT Lounge. Now, this place is absolute luxury. I mean posh, proper
waitress service, mad food presentation, but most importantly, amazing food. And
I do mean amazing. It is now Saturday and I’ve been here since Monday, and I’ve
been GT Lounge twice. It is so nice. My 3 course meal, which consisted of
chicken satays for a la entre, and a chicken meal for mains, along with the
fittest chocolate and ice cream desert ever, with 3 drinks, came to 250000
rupiah. Just about £20. For all of that food! The cost of food over here,
although drastically inflated anyway, is ridiculously cheap. I think you can
sort of understand how cheap it is. But just too firmly hammer it home; let me
tell you that a 20 deck of cigarettes is about 75p. Yes, 75 pence. As in give
someone a £1 coin, and you’d get 25p change. A bottle of beer is £1 if you go
to the right places (which we did tonight actually, another 3 course meal and
drinks cost me about £13), so by now you can grasp how cheap it is. You would
be forgiven for thinking that with cheapness, there would be a compromise on
quality. Absolutely not at all. From the second that you step into a
restaurant, right up until you leave, you are the absolute 100% focus of that
restaurant. They make sure that you are completely catered for, and they can’t
do enough for you. The servings are very generous, and so if you leave a little
bit, you can actually make out the worry in their eyes as they can assume that
you maybe didn’t like the food. As soon as you say that you are full, you can
see the relief flood through them. I would genuinely say that to receive the
same level of service, and also the immense food back home, you would easily be
spending over £100 per person. It is just so luxurious here when you go out. That
is until you step outside onto the pavement.
You may remember earlier I explained that there were one or
two mopeds knocking about around Bali. Well, these mopeds drive on the roads
(if you can call them roads) and these roads don’t have what we call ‘pavements’
attached to them. At the best, you get a bit of granite, or broken brick, or if
you are really lucky, you get a gaping hole. Walking around Bali, you have to
negotiate mopeds literally riding about 2-3 inches away from you, taxis
constantly beeping you and asking if you want a taxi, gaps and holes in the ‘pavements’,
and street hustlers. Some of the street hustlers are only about 5 years old,
and they can be right crafty. The first night I ventured out, one little lad
offered me a bracelet for only 50000, I told him no, he asked me 37 more times
but I stuck to my guns. A few nights back, the same lad offered me 2 for 60000.
Talk about trying rob me off first time around. Glad I said no to him. Then, if
it isn’t these kids hassling you, its people assuming your Australian, and
greeting you with ‘gday meyt’. I haven’t spelt mate wrong, that’s how they say
it. If you haven’t got these, you have got blokes offering you magic mushrooms.
Or other various drugs. But if you say no, that’s it, they don’t ask again. Then
you have got the guys trying to get you to buy DVDs, some of which haven’t even
come out yet. Then you have the guys trying sell you Beats By Dre headphones
for £20. RRP is £250ish, so £20 is a bargain, if you don’t mind having your
ears poisoned when they melt your face off. However, without the street hustlers, I don’t think
Bali would be the same.
I don’t believe that people should stereotype. I have been
guilty of it many times in the past, so I do consciously try and avoid placing
people in stereotypes. BUT, when you witness a stereotype right in front of
your eyes, you can either question whether it’s morally right to agree with the
stereotype, or can you just piss yourself laughing. I chose the latter.
After leaving a restaurant the other night, me and Weeman
and Jim were walking back to the hotel, because this guy needed his sleep, and
those pair were going to get money to go back up town. We sort of missed a
turning, and ended up in an alley type street with DVD shops and surf board
shops littered on one side of the road. As we were walking down, I clocked this
little Balinese bird hunting around, but my innocent little mind gave it no
further attention. Then, all of a sudden, I heard, ‘hey youuuuuuu, little man, I
like little men.’ She was talking to Weeman. Let me explain, Weeman is called
Weeman, because well, and he won’t mind me saying this, he is small guy (apart
from one area, but that’s a different story. Tripod is all I will say). So,
Weeman says ‘I’m not small’, and it was then that this little Balinese girl
delivered THE line. The line to put stereotypes right up there, the one line
that I would have loved to have said, but she beat me to it. It was a belter.
‘Me will looooove you for looooooong time.’
Bali possesses a lot of the western world. Big neon signs,
massive billboards offering the latest tech, all the fast foods, McDs and Pizza
Hut, Burger King, KFC, and the non-food related New Look. It has been very westernised;
however, you get the distinct impression that the Balinese are glad of it. After
the Bali bombings, tourism stopped, and nearly financially killed the country. So
I think they welcome the tourism, as it makes them money. The bus dude from the
start even thanked us for coming to Bali. The good thing about the western
influence is that again, it’s cheap; a large Pizza from the Hut is £10. A McDs which I have yet to taste, £2 for a
meal. Incredible.
You may remember that when I first got to Australia, within
5 weeks or so, we were on cyclone alert. Well, guess what? I’ve experienced an
earthquake. My geographical ignorance of this area was highlighted when I read
the manual in the hotel room that told me what to do in the event of an
earthquake. Unfortunately, I read it after the earthquake struck. Ill point out
now it wasn’t a damaging quake, just 6.2 on the scale, but we didn’t get
damage. I was lying in my bed, watching American Chopper. Ill point out now,
that this is a programme about bike builders, and NOT porn. I just wanted to
clear that up. So yeah, I was lying in bed watching the BIKE BUILDING
programme, and I felt my bed moving quite noticeably, but I also noticed
everything else slightly moving. So I hopped out of bed, my paranormal loving
brain immediately thought a poltergeist was fucking with me, and I took a
stance on the floor. I don’t know why, but I assumed the position of someone on
a surf board. Things were still moving so I went out onto the balcony, and as I
passed the TV I noticed this was shaking. When I got out onto the balcony, I saw
the apartment right opposite me had its outside light on, and an older woman stood
there and shouted ‘ist deis ein erbandumum?’, well that’s what it sounded like
she was saying. I hollered back ‘earthquake’ and she said in her best English vocabulary,
‘ja earthquaken’. This confirmed it for me, it was an earthquake. It wasn’t violent
to the point where you couldn’t stand up, but it was mega noticeable. It would
have been tricky to stand on one leg though during the quake, I don’t know why anybody
would do that, but I could imagine it would prove difficult. Unless you were a gymnast
or similar. Security were running around and shining their torches at the roof
of the building opposite me, and then onto mine, I presume to check for tiles
coming off etc, or to check for Godzilla’s attacking. It lasted about 2 minutes,
but it was fun to be honest. That is something I don’t think I will experience
again. And I’ve just realised, I have missed an ideal joke about people having
sex and the earth moving, but I can’t be arsed to edit anything. It was after
this, that I read up on the procedure for the quakes, and apparently running to
the balcony is a no-no. I was supposed to stand under an archway, or jump in
the bath, although I’m confused why you would feel the need to clean yourself
during an earthquake?
So, would I recommend Bali? With all the dodgy pavements,
and the people who constantly hassle you? Without a doubt I would. In fact, I have
to admire Bali, as it has slightly humbled me. The people on the streets aren’t
actually hassling you, they are providing you with a service, and they are
trying to make you feel welcome. When you walk past restaurants, they invite
you to look at the menus. If this wasn’t the case, I wouldn’t have experienced
some of the amazing food that I have done. I wouldn’t be wearing this bracelet
that my mate Abby gave me where she bought a whole bunch of them for less than
40pence. When they talk to you and try to get you in their shop, they are
smiling they are polite and they don’t push you. It is just how they are; they
want you to buy stuff from them. Yes it will be fake of course, but who cares. If
it lasts a week, then oh well. But I admire it. Some of these people probably
earn in a year what some of us ear in maybe a week, if that. All that they are doing
is working. The taxi drivers always ask you if you want a taxi, after all 50p
for a taxi ride is nothing. But they are asking because they want to accommodate
you.
So, if Bali can do it, why can’t our country. These people
are happy to work all day for little reward. You won’t find the Balinese people
chilling on their settee in their fully paid for house watching daytime TV. They
go to work. The pride they have is admirable. So as I spend my 2nd
to last evening relaxing once again to the sound of the TV in the background,
tapping away at my keyboard, if you know somebody who does absolutely naff all
every day, and moans about being poor and there being no jobs, tell them to
come to Bali. And tell them to grow up.
Peace x
