"Don't drink water, fish jiggy-jig in it." -Bintang Ad (Bali beer)

Today I met back up with Sean, the SF ex-pat who proposed I come and work here. I found out he's ex-marine and a pro-bono doctor around the island. Medical services suck here. He had to rush over last month and save a kid from drowning in his own vomit cause they just didn't know what was going on. If you get a vicodin in Bali, it's because he taught them how to requisition them. He took me to their future school and I met with Desak Astini, who runs the English school behind their property. She's a wonderful woman and it's an amazing program (PRO-BALI FOUNDATION). Kids running all over the place and right now it's just her keeping them all in line. Somehow, I'm going to help Desak. An exceptional and worthy lady.




(Desak and her husband)



(New buds at the Help Bali school)

My new friend Sean said it best. Fuck Sanur. Instead of south I headed east to Amed. A sleepy town with heart. Mostly dive shops and fishing boats. At Sean's suggestion, I got a room at Kadek homestay. About 8 US dollars for a very acceptable bed and really nice service. Dinner was cooked by his daughter across the street and it was excellent. Kadek was quiet until he found out I played guitar. Then he pulled out his ragged fiddle and we swapped songs for a few hours. I played Pixies and Sublime tunes and he taught me some Indonesian music. We sang together on "Wish you were here." Pink brings us all a little closer together. A fine man and a fine voice.




(Kadek)



(I've been dousing my food in this sambal asli (chili sauce), then I read the label - now I have to pretend I don't know what "mononatrium glutamat" means)

It was a series of narrow and run-down roads that brought me here to cavort and make new friends. I went to a bar where some young Balinese were playing reggae. A lot of Bob covers. "Turn your lights down low" was actually really good. I was sitting alone, but a group of local Balinese boys brought me into their flock and fed me arak till my face went numb as a statue. I met more très-cool Frogs and a pleasant girl from Holland named Kitty.




(Non-sequitur duck-herders)

Imagine a piña colada that jumps up and kangaroo-kicks you in the teeth. That's arak. Lemon, sugar and honey left to ferment. I don't like to drink, but tonight was special. Don't ask me why. Maybe it was the boys goading me on. One laughed and said I was fat so I smiled and told him it's because I like to eat skinny fucks - then I took another shot of arak. It was a rocky walk home, but I managed to avoid projectile vomiting. A marked improvement from my last sip of booze. Still, no plans for a repeat performance anytime soon.

Tomorrow (yes, I'm full of arak writing this one) I think I'll go see what they call the "Japanese wreck." The sunken remains of a cargo ship that you can snorkel.

I'm going to miss it, but next week is Indonesian independence day, when they celebrate kicking the Dutch out. Instead of yielding, the Balinese royalty marched against the Dutch in a suicide mission where over a thousand died. Reminds me of the Muscovites burning down their gem as a fuck-you to the little man (Bonaparte). It was only the beginning of the tough times, really, but who doesn't love a little G.D. independence?

The Indonesian flag is two colors bisected horizontally. Red and white. "Blood and bone," Komang informs me. So it goes.

Location:Singaraja & Amed, Bali