The Road To Kuta..

Our time in Bali was as much a lesson in traveler's hindsight as it was patchwork of intersecting experiences, all made more glorious by our freedom to move places without the hassle of bus times, tour guides, or fear. Motorcycles/motorscooters make all the difference.

We faced another 12-15 hours of travel time into Denpassar - the capital of Bali.... and found our selves chaffed at the bus full of awful tourists we were packed into. First we dealt with a group of evil poles who put their bare feet on our back packs (which had been stuffed into the aisles) and were greatly chided at the request to move their seats forward as all four of them sat one to a set of two seats. Poor Becca's long legs suffered greatly on this journey as she tried angling herself in any number of creative contortions. Finally the poles were forced to share seat pairs as the bus filled up and we found ourselves behind a French couple, the gentleman extremely tall and very very sick to his stomach. As the journey dragged on we met two Canadians living in Korea, clearly rushing off to find the parties in Kuta and chance a trip to East Timor, so as to complete their 'I've travelled to every country in Asia' pick up line. The bus wheel popped and we were sidelined for thirty minutes, gratefully so as the french man had put his seat all the way back into my lap and refused to move it even after I requested quite nicely several times. Eventually we stopped for food, and after they got off I fixed the seat in upright position so as to save myself the hassle of getting really New York on them. Becca and I snuggled the rest of the journey me propping my knees firmly against the seat back of the poor French man least he try that crap again... and both of us trying not to die from the slightly toxic smells the poor fellow was emitting. Alas I fell asleep and once again his head was firmly in my lap..

Gratefully we came to the ferry which took us into Bali, both of us awake and teasing with the Canadians now... moving about the boat and laughing at the on board entertainment of a vivacious, somewhat scantily clad Karaoke host... we were in Balinese territory now. Finally we stumbled off the wretched smelling bus, and shared a cab to Kuta with the Canadians where we spent many hours in search of an actually affordable hotel. Deciding on one for 40 dollars split between us (believe me this is expensive for Indonesia). We relished the air conditioning turning it up to refrigerator temperatures and used all the hot water we could possibly use before sleep over took us.

The next morning saw breakfast with the Canadians, a swim in the swimming pool (with two rather pervy, overly tanned, old men sitting poolside in their non existent speedos) and a long backpacked search for a good place to stay...a place that apparently did NOT exist. We settled on a room for 250,000 RP (25 dollars) and called it quits. I made arrangements for motorcycles the next morning - while Becca planned out the first leg of our time in Bali. We spent the day girling out, shopping for ourselves, friends, and family... getting massages, eating the most MASSIVE and delirium enducing meal of fried crab, fried catfish, and chicken curry. I'll never forget the expression on Becca's happy face as we covered our faces/ bodies in foodWe were elated, calmed, relaxed and soothed by the time the day was finished... finally having worked out the kinks of several days bus travel from our systems.

Kuta is described by Lonely Planet as "a tourist ghetto" and where I only occasionally trust the full opinion of lonely planet, on this.. it is exactly right. The place is swarming with cheap perfume, almost naked tan barely legals, and millions of trashy Australian surfers.. "SPRING BREAK MATE.. Woooooooo....no" We were glad for the day of R&R but thrilled to be leaving... the place stunk to high heaven of everything we don't want to be doing..and promised all kinds of bad decisions.

We ran into an adorable Irishman, an accountant on holiday and told the poor forlorn soul to meet us for dinner... we of course insisted on returning the the place of the fried crab (definitely my first really solidly good meal in Indonesia)..and talked politics.. the Irish man seemed rather taken with knowing an American who could speak. He was so shocked that I had just decided to travel, being my parent's only child, and had never done such a thing before. He was sweet and I was so chuffed by his admiration. We all parted ways kindly, and Becca and I began preparations for our big journey. Being stunning and blond she was dragged off at one point to help some poor dumb lost surfers who couldn't seem to locate their friends. Somehow she apparently ended up at a dance club for a drink or two.. saww the minor appeal in a night of debauchery and turned back....we had things to do on a motorcycle journey after all. We were off to bed.

The following morning we hid our big packs away at the back of the hotel, stashing away only what we thought would be needed for 4 days.. and were formally introduced to our trusty steeds...and absolutely inferior protective headgear.

Next up: Ubud's magnificence, Extortion, and white lying hysteria....