Monday, January 11, 1999
Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia

In the evening, while sitting at the Suci Bar, watching the faraway lightning that occasionally lit the black night sky and listening to an American and a German fellow discuss something that happened in World War II or before, I wasn't really interested either way, I remembered the conversation that Nyoman, the driver, and I had had a couple of days ago.

Nyoman had visited my hotel and we were discussing me renting a car with him as driver and taking a trip up north to visit Besakhi, the 'mother' of all temples in Bali, just to get out of Kuta for a day. After all, I had been in Bali over two weeks and just thought I'd act like the tourist I really was! Besides, the old 'sandals' I brought with me had, after my first couple of hard day's walking, worn a blister on my left foot. I ran out and bought a new pair which promptly put another blister on my right foot, and I was more in the mood (condition) for riding, not walking!

Nyoman told me his license had expired in December. His van (mobil) had been sold a couple of years back to finance the addition of five rental rooms to his house. The rooms, which he rents to employees of the airport, are somewhat of a safety net for him, assuring income during his latter years. With the mobil gone, Nyoman said, "What for I need license? I have no mobil, or money for license anyway." He did have a point!

As we were talking about the northern part of Bali, Nyoman told me he was born in Gianyar near the areas I wanted to visit. He said his father and grandfather had lived in Menanga, not far from the temples I wanted to see. He suggested we take a bemo and, while there, visit his family.
Just then, the thought of walking and riding untold miles on those hot, crowded bemos, sent a searing pain through both of my blistered feet!
I like a little adventure but, at that moment, his idea was right up there with 'bungy jumping'!

Now, at the Suci, after drinking a pot of coffee, attempting to remedy my no caffeine headache, listening to the Eagles sing Hotel California at least five times, and the pointless war stories, I have given more thought to Nyoman's idea.
After all, my visa is still good for at least another month, I can now walk without cringing, bungy jumping can't be 'all that', right?

I'll buy one of those vests you see professional photographers and safari people wearing, the ones with all the pockets, to carry my equipment (Band-Aids) ! 'The Gods must be crazy.'

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