Bali I
Jan 26-28
After spending the last five months in fairly Westernized countries, we felt like we’d been on an extended summer vacation and were anxious to challenge our travel skills in a new culture. We were excited to be heading to Southeast Asia and had been told that Bali would be a great introduction to the culture and we weren’t disappointed. Since the terrorist bombings against tourists in 2002 and 2005, the tourist industry in Bali has been devastated and has yet to recover and we were amazed at the quality for money that we got when we were there. At first, however, things didn’t seem to go so well. Our first experience with corrupt officials occurred when the immigration officer in Bali asked Claude for a tip while he had his stamp poised over Claude’s passport. Cool as a cucumber, Claude replied, “I’m sorry, we don’t do that where I come from.” I guess the guy was just fishing, because he just shrugged and stamped his passport anyway. Since our flight from Darwin arrived around midnight, our first view of Kuta, the tourist capital of Bali, was the taxi ride to our hotel, the Balisani Padma (booked online). The streets of Kuta were clogged with motorcycles and partygoers and we were soon hopelessly disoriented in a maze of narrow streets and alleys. Finally, our taxi came to a halt in the middle of a narrow alley and could go no further, thanks to a huge pile of dirt that was blocking the way (street repair). The taxi driver leaned back and said, “Your hotel is about 100 metres that way and around the corner – you can’t miss it.” I looked at my sleeping kids and the thought of humping them and our backpacks around this dark, strange city at midnight did not appeal to me. “No way!” I insisted, “There’s got to be another way to the hotel – find it!” Our driver gave me dirty look and rolled his eyes before reversing out of the alley. We spent another ten minutes winding our way through one way streets before he finally deposited us on the doorstep of the Balisani Padma.
Inside the walls of the hotel compound, it was like a completely different world from the chaotic streets outside. The place looked like something out of a movie with beautiful Balinese architecture that reminded me of a temple and we couldn’t wait to see it in the daylight. The next morning, we emerged into the beautiful gardens to sit beside the infinity pool and enjoy our delicious breakfast (included in our $40 room price).
After breakfast we went exploring and discovered that we were only a 5 minute walk from the beach. As we walked, we were bombarded by high-pitched cries of, “Transport?”, “Massage?”, “Hairbraiding?” When we finally made it to the beach, there were dozens of hawkers lying in wait for us, wanting to know where we were from and if we needed anything from a beach chair to jewelry, watches, sunglasses or massages. We finally caved and paid a guy 20,000 rupiah (relax, it’s less than $3Cdn) for two beach chairs with umbrellas for the day. No sooner had we sat down than we were accosted by a couple of ladies wanting to know if we wanted massages or manicures. I thought it would be nice to get a massage on the beach so I consented to a back massage. Once they had me lying down on the chair, however, I found that my hands and feet were also being massaged by her friends. “Whoa,” I said, as I tried to pull my hands free, “Is this included in the price?”
“Just a little bit extra,” she assured me as I protested that I hadn’t asked for a hand or foot massage. They had me captive, though, and all I could do was insist that I didn’t want their services. Next, several more ladies gathered around my head showing me their jewelry and sarongs.
No matter how many times I said I didn’t want anything, they kept insisting that I buy something. They even employed guilt tactics like, “I talked to you first so you should buy from me.” By now, I wasn’t even enjoying my massage and was getting very annoyed. When my massage was finished, I discovered that they had also painted Alexa’s finger and toenails and I was supposed to pay for that too. In the end, I had to spend about 300,000 rupiah (~$40Cdn) on massages, manicures and jewelry in order to get them to leave me alone. Claude was quite amused by my ordeal as he sat back and let me take the consequences. Like most first-time visitors to Bali, I learned my lesson the hard way and didn’t make that mistake again. We later learned that there is an invisible line on the beach that the hawkers are not allowed to cross. As long as you stay close to the water, they leave you alone. We also quickly learned to ignore the constant badgering and to say no politely but firmly. It doesn’t take long to get a hardened look about you that says, “Leave me alone, I’m not buying anything!”
We spent the next few days exploring Kuta with its crazy traffic and frenetic shopping district, and couldn’t believe the deals there were to be had. It was sobering to stand in front of the memorial erected at the site of the 2002 nightclub bombing and see the names of the victims engraved there. Finally, we decided that we’d had enough of the madness of Kuta and it was time to see the rest of Bali.
Tags: Bali, Kuta, South East Asia, Travel
tambour
Leave a Reply