Nama saya Mikal. Saya berasal dari Amerika. Saya tinggal di Denpasar, Bali. Umur saya dua puluh enam tahun. Saya Belum Menikah.
A bombardment of questions. Walk alone. Forget it. The Balinese seemingly have an art of rapid fire questions.
What’s your name?
Where are you from?
How long are you in Bali?
Where do you stay?
Are you on honeymoon?
Are you married?
Would you like to see my shop?
Would you like a message, manicure?
I have a motorbike/taxi, can I take you somewhere?
They survive on us. Tourist. A tourist industry that has only been on the decline since the Bali bombs and ‘Boxing Day’ Tsunami. We have only just arrived thus have yet to properly begin to explore the Bali, one of 17,508 islands (although a mere 6,000 are inhabited). Nevertheless, do indeed plan to traverse the sprawling country in the ‘ring of fire’. To intake the lush greenery, hidden underwater world, smoking volcanoes, and glimpse the unrivalled Komodo dragon. Thus a tourist.
Yet, not forgetting my purpose.
Much like the Peace Corps, VSO is dedicated to strengthening development initiatives. However, they work with local partners to build (in my opinion) more sustainable projects. Rather than being part of a government, the volunteers are employed by the local organizations with VSO providing support and training. It’s funny to think that I work in the hopes of not being need in the future. That the local people will be able to fulfill my place.
This is rainy season. The tourist crowds are not plentiful here, now. Just a handful of expats lie glutinously on the pale sandy beaches. They wear their tiny swimsuits. Indonesians wear their clothes into the turquoise tie-dye of the Indian Ocean. By contrast the locals are copious. Indonesia has a mounting population of over 234,000,000. The islands range from overpopulated to not. Bali is booming. The streets are a constant traffic jam of motorbikes and ‘Bemos’ (the local public transport vans). The motorbikes zip in. zip out. no cares. Children and babies ride along. Sometimes two. Sometimes the whole family. The roads are a bit of a free for all. The whistles and horns endless. Traffic patterns seemingly sporadic. Median and edge lines erratic.
Perhaps just as treacherous are the sidewalks. Rumpled like the clothes pulled from my overstuffed suitcase, lost in transit for two days. The brick walks uneven and jagged. Missing. Holes that look as if they would swallow me. Seemingly bottomless. On my walk home today I saw a rat dart into one of the holes. Moments later another. No, my mistake. A monkey tethered to a posted plays in. out. in. out.
The street is perfumed with the exotic mix of exhaust fumes and incense. My lungs strain to find the oxygen amongst the overabundant carbon monoxide. High heat and humidity adds weight to the air. North. South. East. West. In each direction my eyes rest upon a temple or shrine. A plethora of spiritual symbols. Each home, each place of business, pays homage. Offerings are placed outside of homes and at shrines. Mini woven baskets of leaves filled with various gifts of flowers and food. They are underfoot before you even have time to dodge them in the path. This is the ‘Island of Gods’. The people in Bali are predominately Hindu. Unlike the islands to the west, Muslim, and the islands to the east, Christian. The religious mix translates into loads of public holidays!
The toilets and shower situation will take a bit of getting used to. No doubt after 2 years, I will welcome flush western style commodes and a shower. Most toilets are squats. A bucket and water source near by to ‘flush’… the same to bath. I carry my supply of toilet paper and hand sanitizer without shame!
These past few days have been spent mainly in the VSO office with yesterday and today at the language school. Difficult to grasp the newness of the language. Nothing familiar. Still find myself wanting to toss out Spanish words from my last trip to Ecuador and Peru! Nevertheless, VSO keeps emphasizing the importance, as I will be working with many farmers who don’t speak English. The pressure is on!
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