When Dreams are Calling (15 page)

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25
Bali: The Land of a Thousand Temples and a Million Disasters

When
the world is not OK,

Take
a friend and run away.

Don’t
look back, forget it all,

Life
is beautiful overall!

A
beautiful quote by the German writer, Hans
Magnus Enzensberger, says:

“
It
all depends on the distance. If you
get the correct perspective and the best possible stance then nothing
can go
wrong.” And right he is!

It’s
fascinating what a distorted image you
get, how many things you
just don’t see if you stay too close to something or someone.

Whenever
I’m in doubt, time and distance are my
best friends. They
help me to detach and see things and people for what they truly are.
Once this
happens, I can prepare myself and step quietly and contently towards a
new
phase, whatever it might entail. 

To pull
myself together, I ran away from
Stallion to Bali. Jessica, a friend of mine, thought it will be a good
idea to join me in those times
of pain and sorrow and came with me.

“Is it
raining outside?” Jessica asked as soon
as we got off the
plane.

“It must
be. But look inside the airport. It
rains here too,” I said,
pointing out to the large holes in the ceiling, which were leaving in
everything that belonged out: the fresh breeze, the rain and the
annoying
flies.

“Those
Balinese people must really love
nature…”

Then, to
get the entry stamp, together with a
large number of
tourists, we waited patiently, on a single long line at the end of
which an
officer was slowly moving, taking his time.

“This guy
is slow. What is he? A sloth or
something? Why does it
take him ages to put a stamp on a passport?” I asked her, a bit tired
and
cranky.  

“Relax!
You’re on holiday.”

“Am I on
holiday? I think he’s on holiday. Now
and for the rest of
his life. Amen.”

After the
precious stamp was carefully applied,
we went to pick up
our luggage. Used to the Balinese customs, we waited patiently again
around the
carousel. Only this time, our wait was in vain. They were lost and
after a few
hours of bickering back and forth, we had to face the truth. All we
could do
was just hope they were not left to rot in the rain.

Frustrated,
we jumped into a taxi, eager to get
to the hotel, unwind,
and have a nap. The name of the taxi company was
Smooth
Operator,
but
like everything else in Indonesia, the name was deceiving too.

“Wow! This
ride is a bit bumpy!”

“More like
a roller coaster, really,” I
replied, trying not to bite
my lips or tongue while talking.

“Why do
people keep honking? Don’t they have
some other kind of
music they would like to listen to? Something more soothing, perhaps.”

“Jessica,
relax! Someone told me we’re on
holiday.”

“And that
someone was right. We are on holiday,
just not the right
one. Welcome to Bali, the land of a thousand temples and a million
disasters. I
need a good Balinese massage, a strong cocktail and above all, I need
to fall
in love!” she exclaimed, trying to stay positive.  

“We came
here to fall out of love! Remember?”

“Speak for
yourself. You had your share with
that stallion of yours.”

“I figured
it will be nice to have dirty
memories before I settle
down.”

“Dirty
memories before you settle down? Ha!
What for? To haunt you?
No, thanks. If I find one, I’ll tie him to a chair and still marry him.”

“Don’t
blame you,” I said, wishing Stallion was
there with me.

“Someone
is sorry already! It’s a fine line
between pleasure and
pain…”

“Then, why
do we cross it, I wonder?” I
replied, this time whining,
ready to burst into tears. 

“What do
you mean why? So we can be with the
one and only! You’ll be
just fine!” Jessica assured me, sympathetic.

“Am I not
always…”

“You just
need a shag. The withdrawal symptoms
are kicking in,” Jessica
said laughing.

“A shag?
No, thanks. A shag won’t make me feel
any different.”

“Pardonnez
moi, I should’ve said a
good
shag for a good lady.”

“Someone
talks from experience,” I added.

“And is
not afraid to admit it.”

“Do you
think he misses me?”

“Misses
you? He would be crazy if he wouldn’t.”

“Maybe he
is. Aren’t we all a bit crazy? After
all, I was crazy too,
crazy in love.”

After we
settled in, we had a nap and got
acquainted with our gecko
roommates. Then, we went out to rent a motorbike.

Surprisingly
enough, the guy at the rental
office didn’t ask us for
any kind of license. He just said:

“In Bali,
when you drive, you can be drunk or
sober or a bit of
both. It won’t matter much. But what I would advise you though, is to
say your
prayer, as riding a motorbike here can be a dangerous fun.”

We didn’t
get right away what he meant by that.
But, as soon as we
were out in traffic, his words sounded in our ears: so wise and so true.

With no
traffic rules or none enforced, the
cars were stuck in
traffic while the motorcycles were in a semi-illegal continuous passing
maneuver.

If at the
start we were a bit shy, and by that
I mean respectful of
traffic laws, it took less than three other motorcycles passing us on
both
sides at the same time, to get the drift and start doing the same to
others.

“Freedom!”
Jessica screamed, excited.

“Anarchy!”
I screamed back, scared.

“Same
thing, really! Hold on tight! Here we
go!” she said, twisting
the throttle to the limit.

“Oh my
God! Where have I come?” I wondered, all
in panic.

“This is
heaven! We will die happy here!”

“Die?”

Before I
could say more, Jessica, blinded by
dust or maybe just joy,
went right through a huge mud puddle, changing in a second the
colors of our clothes into only one: dark black. Were we not
in heaven, indeed?

I’ll never
cease to be amazed by how much our
vision of a place can
differ from the reality.  

Before
getting to Bali, I pictured it as a
terrestrial piece of
celestial heaven: palm trees, long white beaches, cheap cocktails,
delicious
safe food, beautiful rice paddies, good massages, all giving me the
peace and
relaxation I needed.

Now, I was
swearing I would never go back: not
for anyone and
particularly not if I am looking for Mr. Peace and Mrs. Quiet or both.

Despite
her optimism and love for dangerous
driving, after just a
few days, even Jessica was sick and tired of it all.

“That’s
it! I had enough! We’re leaving today!
We’re going to Ubud!”

“Ubud, the
Mecca of the artists or lost souls
looking to heal. Why
not? Ubud might be just the right place for us,” I agreed.

“You pack
and I’ll rent the car.”

“
Oh
là là
, that’s my
determined girl!”

After just
one hour, she came back, quite
excited:

“I found a
car! It’s a bargain! But before you
go out there and
check it out, let me warn you: the car has its issues.”

“How many
and what kind of issues?”

“I guess
you’ll find out anyway. So, I’d better
tell you. The floor
has some holes in it.”

“What?”

“Relax!
It’s actually not a problem, because
the air conditioning is
not working. The holes will provide us with free ventilation and…” But
before
she could say anything else, I jumped in:

“That’s a
relief. One problem solved. What
else?”

“Please,
do not interrupt me again! Otherwise,
it might take us a
while! It’s kind of a long list!”

“Long
list? Oh, why didn’t you say so? Please,
take your time. Your
words are music to my ears.”

“Now, keep
calm, don’t get so upset! To
continue, the seats are
broken, the windows won’t roll up, the speedometer is stuck on eighty
and the
trunk won’t close. Other than that, it is a perfectly good deal!”

“And I’m
sure you already found a way on how to
solve all these
otherwise minor issues.”

“I
actually did. To hold the seats up, we’ll
buy enough bottles of
water or beer, whatever your preference is.”

“Beer. I
fear after such a long day we might desperately need some.”

“Beer
then. About the speedometer, we’ll have
to get used to not knowing
when we’ll get a fine and how many will they be. Not a big deal, right?”

“No, not
really. If nothing else, we’ll just
meet a few Indonesian
policemen on our way. Who knows, maybe you’ll fall in love, as you
wish.”

“Maybe…but
don’t worry, the brakes are working,
albeit temporarily.”

“Bravo!
How I love those good deals of yours!”

And so we
rolled.

At the
first bump, we lost the window at the
back. At the second
bump, the radio came out, at the third bump, after seeing a local on
his motorcycle
laughing and waving at us, we started to smell a different fragrance:
that of
the fresh manure the car was just sliding on.

After we
drove for a few hours, singing and
chatting away, Jessica said
a bit scared:

“Hey Dora,
I don’t think the fuel gauge is
working.”

“So what?
I’m sure you have a solution for this
as well.”

“Don’t be
mean! It should be simple. We’ll have
to find a gas
station.”

“It should
be easy, but I haven’t seen one
since we started
driving.”

Just when
we were close to do what any true
traveler does, at least
once in his lifetime, namely hitchhike, here it was: not the gas
station, just
the gas. And it has been there all the way, on every corner, at every
turn.

“Dora,
what do you think is in those Vodka
bottles? It cannot be Vodka.
The color is not right. Do you think they might sell gas in them?”

“Gas? In
Vodka bottles? Now you have some
imagination.”

“Me or
them? There is only one way to find the
answer. Let’s go ask.”

Whoever
said life beats fiction was
right. In Vodka bottles or
Fanta ones, depending on your preference, stacked on shelves outside
people’s
houses, was the gas. Wasn’t it common, expected, assumed? It
might have
been,
but only for the locals.

Other than
that, not much worth mentioning
happened on our way to
Ubud.

Once we
arrived, to be on the safe side, we
decided to have dinner
at a German restaurant. We were both aware of how sick one can get in
Asia and Bali was not making an exception. People get food allergies,
food poisoning, or
even worse, people die on their holidays not of pleasure, but of pain.
So for
two born and bred Europeans, German standards sounded like the way to
go.

But, we
were both mistaken. In Asia, even
German standards take it a
notch down. From the supposedly fresh-caught fish we ate, we both got
terribly
sick.

“These
trips between the bathroom and the bed,
do they count as traveling?”
Jessica asked after a whole week of torture.

“They
could. Just not in the right direction.”

“That
explains why they don’t feel too good.”

“Let’s go
out. It might cheer us up!”

In Ubud,
local markets sell everything you know
or you would prefer
not to. You just have to look in the right place. I wanted to buy a
mask; as
for Jessica she wanted nothing else more than to go back home. But
then, she spotted
something and she was back to life:

“Look
here. Cock-of-the–rock extravaganza, a phallus made out of hard
wood. The guy told me it’s good. I mean, good as a present,” she
rapidly added.

“How would
he know?” I giggled.

“How would
we know it’s not?” Jessica gave me a
wink.

“You
aren’t serious, are you? Don’t tell me you
want to buy a penis?”

“It comes
in all sizes, all shapes, with all
the curves included.”

“Do they
have his size?” I asked, amused about
where the whole thing
was going.

“If we’re
talking about who I think we’re
talking about, namely your
famous Stallion, I am pleased to inform you they even have bigger ones.”

“Bigger
ones? You want to kill me, girl?”

“Kill you?
No dear, you got it all wrong! It’s
for him! It will be
his present!”

“One to
remind him it was
just sex
,”
I said, suddenly recalling
how much it hurt when, after the first time we made love, he said that
to me.

“Yes.
Plus, if he didn’t know how to keep you,
it’s entirely his
loss!”