Bali!!!!

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 2^nd 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