Most Aussies seemed to have been to Bali so we thought we should probably give it a try. We spent a week at Sanur on the islands relatively quiet and protected east coast. We chose somewhere well away from the surf of west coast Kuta in the hope that our toddlers could enjoy the calmer waters. Wed also heard a lot about the drunken antics of our fellow countrymen over in Kuta, and werent overly keen on experiencing any of that first hand either. Our resort was called the Segara Village. It did indeed seem to us like a series of small Balinese villages with simple single and double storey set in gardens filled with traditional statues and fountains. Our room was right next to a small pool and we spent a lot of time there cooling off and lazing in the sun.
We were struck by the beauty of the local temples, and the apparent inner calm and friendliness of the vast majority of the local people. We had to be careful not to forget this after we left. A lot of our more vivid memories of this island paradise were of a number of perhaps less savoury
experiences. We could understand some of the local wildlife being a bit feral, but hadnt figured on quite the same degree of savagery from the local traders.
My workmates in Kuching had told me that we should expect to be constantly hassled by people trying to sell us things. I was warned that if we wanted to avoid being easy prey we shouldnt tell anyone that wed just arrived on the island. There was a white line painted prominently on the ground under the carved archway separating the resort from the public walkway along the beachfront. Security guards were quick to pounce on any souvenir sellers who crossed it, but any guests who ventured over it were considered fair game. We took a deep breath and crossed the threshold. The hordes descended. Where did all these from? Watches, tee shirts, jewellery - if they could carry it, you could buy it. Despite our best efforts we somehow managed to get separated. One young lady tried to engage me in conversation by asking me when wed arrived. My training kicked in. I lied that wed got here about a week ago and had been staying over on the
other side of the island. It seems that I may have neglected to mention to Issy what Id been told about not revealing that wed just arrived. A few minutes later the same young lady asked my beloved the same question. When she responded that this was our first day here any pretence of friendliness suddenly evaporated. She didnt hold back on the venom. You lied, your husband told me youve been here for a week. If Issy wasnt intimidated enough before, I think she was now wishing shed stayed by the pool, or perhaps even never left Oz. Id never thought accusing potential customers of lying as being a particularly effective marketing strategy. It wasnt. Issy made a point of going to every stall except the one belonging to her accuser. My beloved clearly has a long memory for those whove wronged her. A quarter of a century later she still remembers her name, Irene, as if it was yesterday......
Now weve been to Bali a few times since, and I would much prefer to stick pins in my eyes than to consider trying to drive there now. The traffics frenetic and most of the drivers appear to
be insane. It seems however that I was much braver and more foolish back in 1995. We hired a car. The hire very kindly delivered the car to the hotel and off we set. What could possibly go wrong. We hadnt gone more than a couple of hundred metres when the engine spluttered to a halt. Wed run out of petrol....
We wanted to head up to the Kintimani Volcano. No GPSs in those days, and most of the signs were in Balinese. The volcano is a mountain, we thought, so surely you just keep driving uphill until you get there. How hard could it be. Well harder than we thought apparently. We found ourselves on a narrow, windy, and very poorly constructed back road in amongst the rice fields.
