BALI STORY 2000   -   Day 16.
Saturday 30 September 2000.

This is the eighteenth chapter of the personal diary of this trip.

It is not the usual ‘Just Back’ report posted on the Bali Travel Forum.  (www.balitravelforum.com)

Don’t even try to read it if you’re not patient.




Day 16The Last Day – well, almost.

We fly out at 1.00 am.  Yes that’s one hour after midnight, tomorrow I suppose really.  If there's anything we haven't done so far then we’ve got to get it done today. 

OK !

Let’s get this list organised and start at the top. 

Have a massage.

Today I’m not wearing a watch until later tonight, but I think the massage, foot scrub, rubbing and hand-holding must have gone on for nearly two hours.  Whenever I looked up, even if it was only to see who was doing what, my head was just gently but firmly pushed back down again.  In the end it was me who was exhausted I think.  I recall trying hard to focus on what was happening around me, so that I could recall this time, by sound as much as sight, but it was difficult. 
I have brief memories of the first touch on the soles of my feet briefly tickling, the kaleidoscope of leaf shadows moving on the sand, and later, through eyes narrowed to slits, the same pattern of black leaves moving against a dark blue sky. 
The thumping sound of breaking waves and the soft hissssss as the water ran up and down the sand, sometimes with a rattle as the pieces of dead coral were tumbled together by the outward surge. 
That peculiar high-pitched chatter of the girls further down the beach and the way it changes pitch when a potential customer is seen approaching.  There is a period of relative peace if they troop off to make a sale. 
The cool breeze of course, bringing smells of oil and lotions one minute and the smell of smoke from a smouldering leaf and litter fire another.  An occasional gust moves the remaining hairs on my cool pate from time to time. 
The gruffer voice of the Security Guard is engaging everyone in conversation this morning.  He’s probably telling them that the Inspector is coming this morning and they’d better be wearing their compulsory licence/ID tags that usually lay discarded by their sides.  My imagination prefers the thought that he is telling everyone that he has posed for me this morning and his excellent photographs will be going home to Australia with me.  Out of the corner of my eye I caught him once, repeating the ‘standing rigidly and watching steadfastly out to sea, with his head turned sideways-just-so, and inclined slightly forward’ pose. 
Strangely, even the rhythmic, mechanical thuds of the hotel’s pool pump further up the path seem to fit very naturally into all of this. 
Wayan knows where all the troublesome places are of course and in those moments of fierce attack she homes in on these like a pigeon coming to it’s loft to roost.  Just when I feel that I must groan in protest, or pull away from the torture of the probing thumb she reverts to the flat palm of her hand working in the opposite direction bringing peace and ease.  Just when you think it’s safe to back into the deep blue pool of semi-aware bliss, however, the thumbs go unerringly to the first tight spot. 
At times I find that I am looking at the weft and warp of the coarse fabric in the cloth covering the mattress, like the hairs on the end of my nose the other day.  The next minute my eyes close and an effort of concentration is needed to open them. 
At times I can feel every drop of fresh oil as it hits the skin of my arm or leg or back.  At other times I do not recognise the insistent patting on my shoulder which signals it’s time to turn over. 
Such contrasts of sensations which I don’t think I can associate with any other activity I’ve experienced. 
But did I say ‘turn over’?  Now there is an exercise in mental confusion and muscular un-coordination which is only surpassed by trying to sit up at the end to have the final thumping of the back and shoulders.  It takes minutes at times, and she waits patiently, helping when movement ceases totally.

Massage on the last morning is both a joyful time and a time that is bordering on the traumatic.  Everything we have brought over and not totally used we take down to the girls.  Old towels, nail polish and lip sticks, skin creams, shampoos, soaps, champagne and big brandy-and-dry glasses, sandals and socks, old shorts and T-shirts, biscuits and dips, anything and everything almost, except for some wineglasses we save for Ruben Fransiskus at the Pantai. 
The girls know we are going of course and, after sharing out the goodies, our massages are a full mixture of fierce passion and gentleness.  They have to last us until next year after all. 

The final parting is a time for hiding wet eyes.  Half way down the beach towards the Inn I have to turn back for that last look and wave, but they are gone, back behind the trees and the wall. 
Occasionally now, as I walk with Max in the morning, I think of them there.  They are putting out their little offerings on the beach of Paradise Island and chirping to one another.  And I’m here. 

Cynics will no doubt see in their regret, that their well-paying and regular customers are leaving.  And it may be. I prefer to think of it as a parting of friends, a separation of immeasurable, even inconceivable distances.  Certainly on their part the distances are unachievable. 
I want to believe that we all look forward to the time that we will meet again, to cries of, ‘Papa, you come!’, ‘Where Chrees?’, Where Claire?’, ‘Where Nell?’ 


I also have to take two of last year’s watches to Fast Eddy, (Gang Samudra No.15X, off Jl Kartika Plaza near the Tuban end, Ph756 755).  Yes, we often get the Bali watches repaired.  Sometimes it seems to be a very simple thing and they do it quickly while you watch, but you never quite see what they do.  At other times the old case and band takes a complete new ‘works’ and you wonder if it’s really worth it. 
Eddy is the true master of repairs.  Tony Marrone has had our bag of junk for a week, and in the end has given up on these two.  One only needs a catch on the band and the other only worked for a week.  ‘By this afternoon is OK’, says Eddy.  True to his word, just before dinner at the Pantai tonight, I am able to pick them up, ticking away quite happily.  The cost is Rp 20,000. 

By the way, if you have a collection of watches, sort of a one-for-every-week-of-the-year thing, or more as someone I know has, you can save the batteries running down when they’re not in use simply by pulling the winding knob out to the first stop.  This acts as a switch and, the next time you want to wear it, you just set the time correctly and push the winder in to its normal position.  Saves a lot of battery changing. 

There is no doubt that the grapevine works better than the telephone in this place.  We had some initial trouble finding Eddy in his new shop and had purchased a number of watches before we found him.  Eddy knew who we had purchased watches from (within the Tuban area), what sort they were and how much we’d paid.  He would hold out a blue faced CK watch and say, ‘You got this one from Tony with pink face. I give you this one cheaper’, and he’d be exactly right. 
While I’m seeing Eddy the others (It’s been suggested that they should be known as ‘The Cabinet’ but I’m not sure that this would not ruffle hierarchical feathers.) had their last pig-out at the Inn’s breakfast smorgasbord.  And a real smorgasbord it is.  I’ve seen youngsters sit down to eight helpings of different fare, seen young adults wrap croissants and other pastries into serviettes and pop them into bags for lunch later, even make up sandwiches, and seen gentler folk stagger when trying to rise from the table. 
I tried to make a habit of skipping breakfast, to save time and to keep the old body moving a little more lightly through the morning.  Most of the time I succeeded in this.  When I didn’t, I tried to skip lunch.  Most of the time I did succeed in this.  When I didn’t, I tried to skip dinner and never succeeded in that. 

Today I refuse to wear a watch.  I don’t want to know what time it is until later tonight when I know it’s getting closer to flight time. 

I had a swim to cool off as it was by now late morning.  A shower followed while the water was still hot.  I write up some notes and suddenly feel hungry – it must be lunchtime.  Sandwiches I think. 
Back to the pool to join Claire and I changed my mind, ordering fish and chips instead.  When they came I wished I hadn’t.  I’m not a fish eater like Claire, not that there is much fish here – mainly batter and lots of oil.  The chips are nice and I like the ketchup, but I wish I’d ordered sandwiches. 

I’m feeling very flat.  It’s last day blues. 

I retire back to the room for a lay down and a back stretch.  I read the Jakarta post from front to back, which is not hard as it’s only eight broadsheet pages.  I removed the shower rose and extension and called for a plumber, with difficulty, to put the shower back to normal so I can take my long-neck one home with me again.  When the little man in blue coveralls arrives he looked in disbelief at the hole in the wall where there should be a shower.  After looking at me with equal disbelief he hurried off without saying a word.  I made a mental note to check the final bill for ‘Shower, 1, New, Missing – Rpxx,xxx.’ 
Shortly he returned with the original equipment and fitted it with a big grin from ear to ear and nearly beyond. 
I gave him our last Chuppa Chup. 

I glanced at the watches on the dresser.  3.30 pm here – 5.00 pm at home.  Max will soon be looking for his dinner.  I spent a moment or two anticipating his welcome.  It felt good.  Perhaps it is time to go. 

The rest of the day is a bit of a fog really.  I know that we must have got the bags packed.  Well, Claire must have.  I know when the only thing I can do is get in the way so I keep out of the way.  It seems to go best that way. 
We probably went to Happy Hour, even though it may not have been. 
We checked out and paid the bill for the extras.  Lunches, dinners, laundry and so on. 
We certainly went to the Pantai for our now traditional last night dinner and to say goodbye again to Fransiskus, the waiters and the cooks and I picked up the repaired watches from Eddy. 

The Inn transported us to the airport and I can remember waiting at the check-in counter as the man looked again at the little digital numbers that showing baggage weight, and we had almost as much in cabin luggage I thought. 
But no problems, it all goes through. 

Upstairs to Immigration and downstairs to the bus. 

Upstairs again to the rear seats in the Garuda A-300. 

Buckle up, out with the barley sugars and the map. 

We were pushed out backwards onto the taxiway and the engine’s note increased as we moved forward. 

It is 1.10 am.


24.10.00
'You go home Papa!'
Mum's fixing my crook bunny.
LINKS -

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Getting Back.

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