Too late. The girl closed the curtain, turned and smiled triumphantly at me. “My boyfriend will put money in my bank tonight, I will collect it in the morning. I don’t need you, goodbye.” Then she dressed and left.
I did the only thing a red-bloodied male in the situation could do. I followed her outside, picked up my new motorbike helmet and brought it inside. Then I walked to the pub and got drunk.
I did see the girl again but she would never talk or acknowledge me. She did however take great pleasure in parading men in front of me. I didn’t mind, I had learned a lot about Indonesian women … plus I’d shagged her and all it had cost me was an old motorbike helmet.
Sour Chocolate
Naked phone girl taught me a useful lesson involving Indonesian women, but not all Indonesian women are like this. I had met the girl in a pub off the strip and that should have been an indication that she wasn’t working but it is sometimes hard to tell. An Indonesian girl you meet in a big nightclub in Kuta will almost always be a hooker. A girl you meet working behind a bar, on the other hand, is usually not on the game and may not be interested in foreign men at all. I have seen many tourists walk into a bar and treat the girl behind the counter like she is a working girl. The poor girl is probably pulling twelve-hour shifts and working six days a week; all she wants to do is to go home and spend her one day off with her Indonesian boyfriend.
A lot of the time these girls take revenge for this unfair treatment by accepting gifts from men, and why shouldn’t they? I know if someone treated me like a commodity, I would. Unfortunately this often leaves the guy bitter and the girl thinking all Western men are pigs with money.
A simple way around this is to chat to the girl and ask if she is in a relationship—she will generally be straight up.
Indonesians girls are very forthright and they will ask the question themselves, they will also prompt a man to ask them by posing the same questions. Are you married? Do you have a girlfriend? This can be misinterpreted as a come-on but what they are saying is, “ask me if I have one” then things can be placed on an even playing field and the guy will find he is given a level of respect.
More than once I have been warned of danger or told to avoid a particular person by a girl who works behind a bar, simply because I enquired about her background and was then able to afford her the level of respect she deserved. A good example of this is a girl I met called Lovi. The name says it all; Lovi was sweet, funny, smart and an all-round nice person. I fell madly in love with her.
Lovi worked at a Chinese restaurant quite some distance from my place. I just happened to pop in for a drink one day and the girl that came out to serve me instantly caught my eye. Lovi was about twenty-six or twenty-seven; she had long curly hair, a stunning smile and an infectious laugh. I did all I could to get her to go out with me.
Lovi was from Sumatra and had just arrived in Bali so she was a little shy and didn’t have a wide circle of friends; I was in the same boat. She was also a Christian and would go to church every Sunday. She had once even dreamt of becoming a nun. For some reason that I have never delved into this appealed to me, perhaps an analysis of this would be better left to a psychiatrist.
I would go to meet Lovi at her restaurant any chance that I could get and I would try and work out a way to ask her out. Eventually, after at least six months, I came up with a plan that probably sounds foolish but as I have said when it comes to women I am eternally shy and a little stupid. One day, while chatting, I mentioned that I had to go back to Australia for a short stint and I asked if she would like me to bring her anything. Lovi asked me to bring her a koala, a real one, and then a kangaroo. When I told her I couldn’t she feigned disappointment and settled on some Australian chocolate.
I told Lovi I would bring her the chocolate, but I mentioned if I did she would have to come to dinner with me. She told me she would think about it and the two weeks I spent in Australia felt like the longest stretch I had ever endured. To cut a long story short, when I returned to Bali I delivered Lovi’s chocolate and she said that she would come out with me. Unfortunately, she said something along the lines of, “why not, you’re the best one.”
Obviously this got me thinking I was not the only suitor and when I called her to go out she didn’t answer my first two attempts so I sent her a nasty message along the lines of “fuck you”. Very smooth, even I say so myself. Lovi then called me a few minutes later and told me that she didn’t answer because she was talking to her sister who had just given birth to her first child, and then she cancelled our date. Eventually Lovi met another guy and they are now married. I wish her nothing but luck, but again I learnt a lesson: don’t tell the girl you are in love with to go fuck herself.
About three months after I met Lovi she introduced me to a friend of hers, Shia. Shia was a fourteen-year-old Balinese runaway who lived in the room beneath Lovi; apparently her father used to beat her and she had been left with no choice but to get away from the family home.
She had taken a shine to Lovi. I knew this because she wore a Christian cross similar to the one Lovi wore, and this is very unusual for a Balinese Hindu girl. When I enquired about the cross, Lovi explained that she was doing her best to look after Shia, teach her English and help find her a good job. Shia in turn had come to see Lovi as an older sister and protector, so she wore the cross as sign of her dedication to Lovi. She had also started accompanying Lovi to Mass every Sunday. Every time I meet with Lovi, Shia would be at her side, she would say hello, then sit quietly and do her best to follow the conversation. She did this to better her English, she was a sweet kid and I took a shine to her.
One afternoon, Lovi, Shia and I were sitting at the table when a seedy Balinese guy of about thirty-five walked across the road and sat down with us. I knew something wasn’t quite right because Lovi became uncomfortable. Shia on the other hand beamed. Uncertain what was taking place I introduced myself and started a conversation. The newcomer introduced himself as Wowan and began touting for the tattoo shop across the road. This was expected and although I wasn’t interested I listened to what he had to say.
Wowan carried on about the shop for a while and then as he was speaking he reached under the table and placed a hand on Shia’s leg. He must have noticed my look because his shop talk suddenly dried up. Wowan smiled showing me his nicotine stained teeth. “What?” he asked. “Do you have problem?”
I hadn’t liked the look of Wowan to begin with; he was skinny and tattooed and he had the eyes of a snake. I cringed at the idea of him placing his hand on the young girl’s leg. “Do you know Shia?” I asked him, trying to keep the indignation out of my voice.
Wowan laughed, his eye’s hooded over. “What has it got to do with you?” he asked.
I tried to err on the side of caution. A hand on the leg didn’t necessarily mean anything I told myself, the Balinese have a different perspective when it comes to touching. “It has nothing to do with me,” I said, “I’m curious because Shia is a friend of Lovi’s.”
Wowan hissed laughter. “She’s also a friend of mine,” he said, then winked in a way that left me in no doubt about their relationship.
I paused to take in what Wowan had said. I could feel the anger and bile rise up in my throat. I felt protective over Shia and I couldn’t help but think that if a man said the same thing to me in Australia I would have done all I could to inflict some kind of hurt on him. I also knew I had to be careful, I wasn’t in Australia and I had been warned on numerous occasions not to attack an Indonesian. I took a deep breath and tried to control my temper. “You do know she’s fourteen?”
Wowan giggled. He lifted his arm and draped it about Shia’s shoulder. “What you think, I’m stupid?”
I took a mouthful of beer, swallowed and placed my bottle gently on the table. “She’s fourteen,” I said again and smiled, “and no, I don’t think you’re stupid.”
Wowan smiled back, then looked over at Shia. “I know she’s fourteen,” he said. “She’s my s
weet chocolate.” He ran a finger lightly down Shia’s cheek and brushed a piece of hair from her forehead.
I clenched my jaw, fought my anger, leaned forward against the table, and squared my shoulders. “You make joke, ya?” I asked him.
Wowan laughed in my face, he gave Shia a peck on the cheek and she smiled. I watched as his hand moved up and down the young girl’s waist. “I not make joke about my sweet, sweet chocolate.”
I couldn’t help myself. I leaned forward and glared at Wowan. “You should be careful, ya.”
I felt Lovi’s hand grab the back of my shirt and she gently pulled me back into my seat. “Leave it, Mal,” she whispered.
Wowan held my eyes, he put his hand back under the table and gave Shia’s leg another squeeze. Shia giggled. “Do you like sweet chocolate?” he asked me and smiled.
“What do you mean?” I replied and I heard my voice break. Emotion had got the better of me. I coughed to clear my throat and took a moment to control myself. “What are you trying to say?” I managed through clenched teeth.
Wowan laughed. It had a false and flinty ring to it that put my nerves on edge. “What do you think I mean?” he said and leaned forward to stare at me, “she’s my girlfriend, my sweet chocolate. Maybe you want some of my sweet chocolate?”
I reminded myself that it was not smart to attack an Indonesian and I fought myself not to react but I couldn’t help myself. “Fuck you,” I uttered.
Wowan snickered, goaded me, “sweet, sweet chocolate”. He rocked his body, started to sing. He placed his arm back around Shia’s shoulder and pulled her close.
I pushed myself back in the chair. I was too angry to formulate words and I knew I was seconds away from flying over the table and grabbing the seedy bastard by the throat. As I started to rise, Lovi stopped me. She clamped her hand down on my leg, then reached over and placed her other hand on my chin. She turned me to face her, pushing me into my chair with her eyes. “No,” she said firmly. Lovi waited, watched me settle, then she turned to Shia and spoke in blistering Indonesian.
Shia got up from the table and left without a word. Lovi then turned her attention to Wowan and let fly with angry Indonesian words and aggressive hand gestures. I didn’t know what was said but the two of them became involved in a heated argument. The argument went back and forth until Wowan suddenly stopped talking. An uncomfortable hush settled over the table. Wowan stared at Lovi and I watched as his eyes filled with hatred. Lovi held her ground, she clenched her fists and bared her perfect white teeth.
I was ready to jump in if he tried to hurt her, but I needn’t have worried. A brief glimpse at Lovi’s eyes showed me the full force of her Sumatran anger. I had no doubt she would have hurt Wowan far worse than I could have if he’d tried anything.
Wowan tried to stare Lovi down but then he yielded. He pushed his chair back, got up from the table and stormed back across the road.
When Wowan had gone back to wherever he had crawled out of, I turned to Lovi and asked what had happened. I could see she was still angry, but she explained that Wowan belonged to that corner and that he was thirty-six and married with three children. She said that he was part of a group that touted for the tattoo shop across the road and that, if I had attacked him they would all have joined in the fight.
She said that Wowan had been hanging around Shia since she’d arrived and that he had taken her out and got her drunk a few times. She said that Shia looked up to him and that yes, they were sleeping together. Lovi told me that she was doing her best to keep Wowan away from Shia, hence they went to Church, but that she had no real power over him because he was Balinese and she was Sumatran and new to Bali. She then told me that the only reason Wowan had got up and left is that she threatened to tell her boss that he was disturbing customers, namely me. She said that I would be safe around the restaurant but that I should be careful if I ever met Wowan in another place.
Shia was around a few times after the incident but one day she disappeared. When I enquired about her, Lovi told me she was gone. I asked her if she had returned to her home, but she said she didn’t know. Kuta is no place for a homeless fourteen-year-old girl.
You may be wondering why Lovi and I didn’t go to the police, there is of course an age of consent in Indonesia. I’m a foreigner and if I accused a Balinese of doing something to another Indonesian the Polisi would have laughed in my face and charged me for the privilege.
Lovi was a waitress in a restaurant and for her this would have been pointless, dangerous and expensive. It also goes against the way Indonesians think, they do not involve the police as it’s too expensive.
Smoke and Mirrors
Despite what many may think, the Balinese run Bali and they have no great love for their Indonesian cousins. Asli Bali (original Bali) is all that matters. If the Balinese had their way, anyone who was not Balinese would be out and that includes Westerners. Different Indonesian societies tend to distrust each other so the Javanese, Sumatrans, Lombokians, etc display no great affection for the Balinese but, understandably, they distrust Westerners the most.
Do not be fooled when a Balinese tells you that it is the Javanese who rip everyone off in Bali. The Balinese stick their fingers into the tourist pie as much as anybody. I hear this all the time from Westerners and it annoys me. A lot of tourists trot this out as way of showing they understand Bali.
“Watch out for the Javanese, my wallet was stolen but there were too many of them, the Javanese are all criminals.” This is in fact a falsehood spread by the Balinese that is designed to vilify the Javanese and clear all Balinese of any wrongdoing. I instantly think any Westerner that says this to me is naive. The Balinese in general have a tendency to blame somebody else if things go wrong (and when they run out of people, they blame ghosts or gods). I have seen the Balinese pull as many scams as the Javanese, the Balinese are just better at the blame game.
The Javanese consider the Balinese to be stupid, while the Balinese consider the Javanese to be criminals. Amongst most Indonesians the Javanese are considered very hard workers while the Balinese are considered lazy—logic would dictate that it is the lazy person who becomes a thief, but of course this is a generalisation.
The first time I came to Bali was in the late Eighties. I was twenty at the time and I came for a two-week holiday with a girlfriend. While sitting on Kuta Beach I had a run-in with a Balinese beach vendor because I would not buy his product and the gentleman then threatened me with a knife. This happened more than twenty years ago and all though I may have been an obnoxious tourist, I certainly did not do anything worthy of being stabbed.
The fact that things like this have been happening in Bali for such a long period is beyond me, the fact that Bali wins the best tropical holiday destination year after year when things like this happen is astounding. The only thing I can put this down to is the Balinese habit of blaming anybody but themselves. Balinese are experts at employing the smoke and mirrors tactic and they use it all the time.
On numerous occasions I have witnessed Balinese in full ceremonial dress pull up at the seafront in a flatbed truck fully laden with rubbish from a ceremony then dump it in the ocean. Recently an article appeared in Time magazine entitled: “My Holiday Hell”. The article highlighted the problems Kuta Beach had with rubbish, amongst other things, and it caused a bit of a stir on the island.
A Balinese regent and spokesman in charge of rubbish collection came out and released a statement to the press in which he claimed the rubbish problems on Kuta Beach were not the fault of the Balinese. This rebuttal to the Time article was entitled “Kuta Merely Victim of Wind-Blown Rubbish: Regent”. In the article, the Balinese regent was quoted as saying that “This rubbish that is washing up at Kuta Beach is all from outside Bali. Nothing is locally produced; it’s all from outside Kuta. Kuta is just a victim … For example, we all know there are no forests in Bali, but the rubbish that washes up in Kuta includes logs. Also, there’s lots of plastic that certainly didn’t originate in
Kuta … we also hope that Indonesians outside of Bali will stop throwing their rubbish into the sea and making Kuta a victim.”
This is the Balinese mindset, it is also perhaps why Balinese never seem to be taken to task for what happens in Bali. Far from what the Balinese like to present to the outside world, all the criminals in Bali are not Javanese. There are good, honest and kind people from all over Indonesia who live in Bali. There are also good, honest and kind Balinese people, but they are not the problem. The problem is that misdeeds are often expertly hidden or passed off as somebody else’s responsibility.
Unfortunately a lot of tourists swallow the hype presented in travel guides that the Balinese are a peaceful, spiritual race of people without a bad bone in their bodies. This is just not true. There is good and bad in any society.
From Paris with Love
I first learnt the simple truth that good and bad exists in every society from a prostitute who used to visit me a long time ago, but I would experience it in many forms during my time in Bali. This prostitute was a real piece of work and well known about town. I had a soft spot for this woman and she hung around until one fateful day when I just couldn’t take it anymore.
I had given up my policy of no payment for sex after two years. I had tried my best but as they say man doesn’t live by bread alone and I was finding semi-celibacy hard to take. If I had to justify this, and I’m not sure I do, I would say that I came to Bali to work, not for the illicit nightlife, but somehow I became ensnared.
Unfortunately, prostitution in all its forms is almost considered a way of life for men and women in certain segments of Balinese society. I was stuck in a less salubrious part of the island and I would be for the next few years. To avoid prostitution was to remain home, alone, single and celibate. I was given a choice, live like a saint or become a sinner, and for better or worse I chose the latter.
Bali Raw Page 4