“Oh, he was fantastic! He can change the S into two turtles swimming top-to-tail and the T into a palm tree and the U into a vase of flowers …”
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At this point I noticed her tattoo: an armband tribute to a man named Stuey – apparently no longer on the scene – that would now be transformed into the turtle-and-flora motif.
The conversation was interrupted by a man emerging from the room that might have been occupied by Stuey, had he been a keeper. It was 10am on my watch, but it must have been 5pm somewhere because the new Stuey was carrying a drink that matched his Bintang singlet. The lady on the other side of the pool pointed at him.
“Are you going to get his name next?”
“Yeah.”
The ladies laughed. I got the feeling they both already knew that, this time next year, his tattooed name would also become a motif. And why not? It’s not like it’s going to break the bank. Getting inked in Bali is a third of the price you’d pay in Australia.
The next day, I booked a driver to take me to Ubud, a two-hour drive from where I was staying. I imagined being dropped off and roaming the busy streets at my own pace, perhaps picking up bits and pieces to take home as gifts.
“Do you like silver or gold?” the driver asked. We had been exchanging pleasantries about the weather and family, but this was taking it a step further.
“Umm … silver.”
The driver smiled.
“Rice paddies?”
“Yes, I don’t mind rice paddies.”
“Waterfalls?”
“Yes?”
“Volcanos?”
“Umm, yes.”
I didn’t realise that, with every positive response, I was writing my itinerary for the day – one that didn’t include Ubud. I spent the day in places with high tourist traffic, places that trigger major anxiety in me due to spending too much time as a child at Old Sydney Town.
For the next few days, I lay on a sunbed at the beach. It was somewhat relaxing, but the rubbish disturbed me. For every two plastic bags I picked up, another 10 were waiting.
On day four, the dreaded Bali belly struck. And the rest, as they say, is history. I didn’t get poolside or beachside again.
I’m home now.
Will I go back? No.
I’ve shifted back to my original camp. Bali is not for me.
Annemarie Fleming is a freelance writer and author.
#Bali #people #fall #camps #week #switched
