“How about a get together tomorrow”, suggested a few of the school parents as we were breaking into vacation.
“Sorry, I cant. Am traveling for work.”
“Oh no, so soon? where to…?
“I am traveling for work”, I tried to keep a somber face.
“Ok, but where ?
“Bali” I said and my lips naturally parted into a wide smile.
I think the pronunciation of “Balee” has something to do with the way the lips part into a smile, for each time I had to repeat, the smile just followed. Even when I said it to my self….a smile simply flowed.
“WOW, what kind of work in beautiful Bali?” was the common reaction I had to face.
One of my friends warned…..its very Indian, in terms of corruption and looting tourists she said.
At Denpasar-Bali airport, we were stopped by the customs as we were carrying a few kgs of our company brochures and other Indian spa magazines.
Customs officer “You will have to pay $300 for it”.
“But these are magazines for the Global Spa Summit, to be given away to the delegates. Nothing to sell.” we reasoned.
He called for a senior officer who seemed more soft spoken and polite. Very softly they mumbled between themselves.
“You can pay $150 ” he said.
With the sudden drop in custom duty, I recalled my friend's warning. It gave me some confidence to handle them.
"Well then, we will have to leave it here at the airport. We don’t have $300 for it”, we said.
The customs officers retreated into a soft discussion again.
“You can pay $50 without receipt and take it” he said.
They probably realized that their govt may not be impressed with the brochure collection by the customs department, so it’d be better to earn double on duty than collect junk at the customs.
“We don’t have change”, I said.
“No problem, I have change” he said.
We thought for a moment and decided to pay and move on rather than be dragged into leagalities in a foreign land.
We gave him $50 and he slipped it in his pocket.
We repacked the brochures into the boxes.
On our way out as we passed by him, I looked at him and said with a straight face "What you do is not good".
He stared, maybe in disbelief, so I reiterated a little bolder and louder than before, “What you do is not good”.
My husband also stared at me in horror and disbelief, "What are you saying Jas we will get into trouble".
“What you say madame”, the customs officer asked feebly, “excuse me, come hear madame", he called me.
But madame just moved on after giving him a last glare, pushing the trolley and her husband right out of the airport.
Through the airport exit passage we passed umpteen small cabins of money changers, manned by women only. The cabins were designed to seat only one person. Each female staff staff waving and politely inviting all exiting passengers through the little glass window with the (untruthful) lure of a best exchange rate!
(Btw,the city gives a better exchange rate).
When dealing with “Indonesian Rupiahs” nothing is worth below 10,000 rupiah.
($1= 8400 rupiah).
The huge numbers are intimidating as the expenses easily run into lacs, millions and crores.
But mathematically I think it is good for kids to grow up handling such big numbers from infancy.
If I stayed for long in Bali, it'd help me get rid of the number phobia.
As soon as we boarded the cab……
“Jas, we are getting down to work immediately”, FJ announced.
“What’s so urgent” I queered.
"We have come here for work and we will have to try out different 'Spas' morning and evening. We are heading straight for a spa treatment”, he said seriously.
“Ok, I will put in the hard work” I replied sincerely.
I guess the phrase 'Mushrooming of Spas' must’ve originated in Bali.
As we drove thru, we saw signages of Spas every 50mts.
Some were average, some below average and some were simply fabulous!
Unwittingly, we got a taste of all!
In some spa’s, I had to guide the therapist how to do a particular massage stroke. Some took the learning eagerly but one of the therapist's almost tore my muscle in aggressive defense. It was a good learning for me not to teach in Bali.
9 am to 6 pm we were busy attending the Global Spa Summit.
After which, work continued to continue for us, i.e. visiting different spas, undergoing spa treatments et al.
And then rush to the Gala dinners organized by the spa summit.
It was long since I had worked so hard and was enjoying every bit of it.
After the summit ended, it was time for Bali pleasures.
Bali is a lot of sun-surf, shorts n slippers.
People are casually dressed in shorts n slippers or ultra light, flowing linen. (Unlike Italy where all are fashionably dressed in latest trends, designs, boots, heels.....dressed to kill.)
There was a striking Indian connection with Bali.
Apart from the hindu connection (90 % Balinese are Hindu), the opulent display of Ram, Sita, Arjun paintings, large statues on the road roundabouts, some similar sounding words and names, the Balinese also look so Indian. With their bodies evenly and beautifully browned by the sun, large brown (Chinese) eyes, black hair slightly thick n wavy, the balinese are humble, friendly, and simple people.
The localites had a few standard questions for tourists….where are you from? If the reply was “India” then pat followed an eager expectant question "you Hindu?". If you were, they were happy. If you were not, no further questions were asked.
This enchanting little island has absolutely everything one can want for a true, good quality life. White sands and neelam blue seas, hilly terrains of dormant volcanoes, rivers, lakes, abundant greenery washed daily by the rain, light blue skies with fluffs of clouds, a plethora of birds and bees flirting around mankind fearlessly, neat-clean city and comfortable weather year round.
Each time I looked up into the blue sky, it was always dotted with kites...big bird, fish or butterfly cut-out kites with fins and streamers fluttering in the sky.
The abundance of natural beauty, the simplicity of the place and its humble content inhabitants stole my heart completely. The simplicity is now interspersed with top brands and malls.
That is how we rented a 'Harley Davidson' for a day to tour around the island.
Now let me tell you that the 'Harley' is a head turner and show stealer for sure.
Head turner - due to the deafening engine beat ‘dhup-dhup-dhup-dhup’ that arouses people hearing (irrespective of age n gender) ½ a mile away. The harley riders can never hear anything other than the engine beat on which they seat.
Show stealer - for being over weight and over sized.
The Harley Davidson is a "selfish-individualistic-solo-riding-bike".
The poor pillion has to hang on for her life, on a small hard 2X2 inch seat compared to the sofa designed for the driver. The engines protrude laterally from the sides and the exhaust is so big n close to the feet that every ride you can land up with a deep burn souvenir on your legs.
How did Mr. Harley’s wife sit on the pillion's seat is a mystery?
Perhaps it was intentionally designed by Mr. Harley to deter his wife from tagging along.
The ride was back breaking but even then enjoyable, thanks to the natural beauty all around and FJ drove on the streets like he was born in Bali.
He must have swallowed a compass when young, hence his amazing sense of direction. On the rare occasion, if he was unsure of the route, he would ask for my help and then take the opposite direction of what I suggested. We never got lost.
We were particularly impressed with the respect motorists had for the other vehicles on road. It was Safe, peaceful, horn free driving. None behaved like “mere baap ka rasta hai”.
At one of the traffic signals, a young guy ran towards us to sell us some magazines. His first question was..."from where you come?"
"India" I said.
Suddenly, ussey huch hua (something happened to him). He started doing a few jhatkas n matkas (jerky body movements) like Kajol, loudly singing for us a song from Karan Johar's "Kuch kuch hota hai".
We stared in delight and amuzement. He ended it gracefully with a bow (still clutching his magazines) and a colgate smile.
This was the true Indian connect!
We continued on the Harley. We rode and rode and rode all day, passing thru the villages, green paddy fields, thru the black volcanic rocks of Mt. Batuk, to the lake in Kentamani (sounds like Chintamani). We passed by endless number of work shops of wood furniture, carved artifacts, stone carvings and statues. By the quantum of production, it is surprising that the industry hasn’t depleted the island's natural resources.
Before take off, we had a our last foot reflexology at the airport.
There was so much more to see, feel n experience, but as is for all mortals, we are always short on time.
So someday, we will have to go back to Bali...
a tiny island, just 90x50 miles wide.
a gem in the middle of the ocean.
a dream time destination.
Bali....I just think of the name and my lips curve into a smile.
**********************
“Sorry, I cant. Am traveling for work.”
“Oh no, so soon? where to…?
“I am traveling for work”, I tried to keep a somber face.
“Ok, but where ?
“Bali” I said and my lips naturally parted into a wide smile.
I think the pronunciation of “Balee” has something to do with the way the lips part into a smile, for each time I had to repeat, the smile just followed. Even when I said it to my self….a smile simply flowed.
“WOW, what kind of work in beautiful Bali?” was the common reaction I had to face.
One of my friends warned…..its very Indian, in terms of corruption and looting tourists she said.
At Denpasar-Bali airport, we were stopped by the customs as we were carrying a few kgs of our company brochures and other Indian spa magazines.
Customs officer “You will have to pay $300 for it”.
“But these are magazines for the Global Spa Summit, to be given away to the delegates. Nothing to sell.” we reasoned.
He called for a senior officer who seemed more soft spoken and polite. Very softly they mumbled between themselves.
“You can pay $150 ” he said.
With the sudden drop in custom duty, I recalled my friend's warning. It gave me some confidence to handle them.
"Well then, we will have to leave it here at the airport. We don’t have $300 for it”, we said.
The customs officers retreated into a soft discussion again.
“You can pay $50 without receipt and take it” he said.
They probably realized that their govt may not be impressed with the brochure collection by the customs department, so it’d be better to earn double on duty than collect junk at the customs.
“We don’t have change”, I said.
“No problem, I have change” he said.
We thought for a moment and decided to pay and move on rather than be dragged into leagalities in a foreign land.
We gave him $50 and he slipped it in his pocket.
We repacked the brochures into the boxes.
On our way out as we passed by him, I looked at him and said with a straight face "What you do is not good".
He stared, maybe in disbelief, so I reiterated a little bolder and louder than before, “What you do is not good”.
My husband also stared at me in horror and disbelief, "What are you saying Jas we will get into trouble".
“What you say madame”, the customs officer asked feebly, “excuse me, come hear madame", he called me.
But madame just moved on after giving him a last glare, pushing the trolley and her husband right out of the airport.
Through the airport exit passage we passed umpteen small cabins of money changers, manned by women only. The cabins were designed to seat only one person. Each female staff staff waving and politely inviting all exiting passengers through the little glass window with the (untruthful) lure of a best exchange rate!
(Btw,the city gives a better exchange rate).
When dealing with “Indonesian Rupiahs” nothing is worth below 10,000 rupiah.
($1= 8400 rupiah).
The huge numbers are intimidating as the expenses easily run into lacs, millions and crores.
But mathematically I think it is good for kids to grow up handling such big numbers from infancy.
If I stayed for long in Bali, it'd help me get rid of the number phobia.
As soon as we boarded the cab……
“Jas, we are getting down to work immediately”, FJ announced.
“What’s so urgent” I queered.
"We have come here for work and we will have to try out different 'Spas' morning and evening. We are heading straight for a spa treatment”, he said seriously.
“Ok, I will put in the hard work” I replied sincerely.
I guess the phrase 'Mushrooming of Spas' must’ve originated in Bali.
As we drove thru, we saw signages of Spas every 50mts.
Some were average, some below average and some were simply fabulous!
Unwittingly, we got a taste of all!
In some spa’s, I had to guide the therapist how to do a particular massage stroke. Some took the learning eagerly but one of the therapist's almost tore my muscle in aggressive defense. It was a good learning for me not to teach in Bali.
9 am to 6 pm we were busy attending the Global Spa Summit.
After which, work continued to continue for us, i.e. visiting different spas, undergoing spa treatments et al.
And then rush to the Gala dinners organized by the spa summit.
It was long since I had worked so hard and was enjoying every bit of it.
After the summit ended, it was time for Bali pleasures.
Bali is a lot of sun-surf, shorts n slippers.
People are casually dressed in shorts n slippers or ultra light, flowing linen. (Unlike Italy where all are fashionably dressed in latest trends, designs, boots, heels.....dressed to kill.)
There was a striking Indian connection with Bali.
Apart from the hindu connection (90 % Balinese are Hindu), the opulent display of Ram, Sita, Arjun paintings, large statues on the road roundabouts, some similar sounding words and names, the Balinese also look so Indian. With their bodies evenly and beautifully browned by the sun, large brown (Chinese) eyes, black hair slightly thick n wavy, the balinese are humble, friendly, and simple people.
The localites had a few standard questions for tourists….where are you from? If the reply was “India” then pat followed an eager expectant question "you Hindu?". If you were, they were happy. If you were not, no further questions were asked.
This enchanting little island has absolutely everything one can want for a true, good quality life. White sands and neelam blue seas, hilly terrains of dormant volcanoes, rivers, lakes, abundant greenery washed daily by the rain, light blue skies with fluffs of clouds, a plethora of birds and bees flirting around mankind fearlessly, neat-clean city and comfortable weather year round.
Each time I looked up into the blue sky, it was always dotted with kites...big bird, fish or butterfly cut-out kites with fins and streamers fluttering in the sky.
The abundance of natural beauty, the simplicity of the place and its humble content inhabitants stole my heart completely. The simplicity is now interspersed with top brands and malls.
That is how we rented a 'Harley Davidson' for a day to tour around the island.
Now let me tell you that the 'Harley' is a head turner and show stealer for sure.
Head turner - due to the deafening engine beat ‘dhup-dhup-dhup-dhup’ that arouses people hearing (irrespective of age n gender) ½ a mile away. The harley riders can never hear anything other than the engine beat on which they seat.
Show stealer - for being over weight and over sized.
The Harley Davidson is a "selfish-individualistic-solo-riding-bike".
The poor pillion has to hang on for her life, on a small hard 2X2 inch seat compared to the sofa designed for the driver. The engines protrude laterally from the sides and the exhaust is so big n close to the feet that every ride you can land up with a deep burn souvenir on your legs.
How did Mr. Harley’s wife sit on the pillion's seat is a mystery?
Perhaps it was intentionally designed by Mr. Harley to deter his wife from tagging along.
The ride was back breaking but even then enjoyable, thanks to the natural beauty all around and FJ drove on the streets like he was born in Bali.
He must have swallowed a compass when young, hence his amazing sense of direction. On the rare occasion, if he was unsure of the route, he would ask for my help and then take the opposite direction of what I suggested. We never got lost.
We were particularly impressed with the respect motorists had for the other vehicles on road. It was Safe, peaceful, horn free driving. None behaved like “mere baap ka rasta hai”.
At one of the traffic signals, a young guy ran towards us to sell us some magazines. His first question was..."from where you come?"
"India" I said.
Suddenly, ussey huch hua (something happened to him). He started doing a few jhatkas n matkas (jerky body movements) like Kajol, loudly singing for us a song from Karan Johar's "Kuch kuch hota hai".
We stared in delight and amuzement. He ended it gracefully with a bow (still clutching his magazines) and a colgate smile.
This was the true Indian connect!
We continued on the Harley. We rode and rode and rode all day, passing thru the villages, green paddy fields, thru the black volcanic rocks of Mt. Batuk, to the lake in Kentamani (sounds like Chintamani). We passed by endless number of work shops of wood furniture, carved artifacts, stone carvings and statues. By the quantum of production, it is surprising that the industry hasn’t depleted the island's natural resources.
Before take off, we had a our last foot reflexology at the airport.
There was so much more to see, feel n experience, but as is for all mortals, we are always short on time.
So someday, we will have to go back to Bali...
a tiny island, just 90x50 miles wide.
a gem in the middle of the ocean.
a dream time destination.
Bali....I just think of the name and my lips curve into a smile.
**********************
No comments:
Post a Comment