How Long is a Balinese Block Though?

It seems no matter where I go I find myself in this same situation. Whether the issue arises from being naive or over confident, this ill-fated deed seems to be a re-occurring one. Scootering is the most popular method of transport here so of course being the hip cool cat I am , I opted to rent a bicycle. Let’s be honestly I’m way more frugal than I am hip. I’ve been traveling wearily between the villa, the language school and the dojo until Thursday when I put my quads and sense of direction to the test.

Last time I went to Kuta in a taxi and made a conscious effort to recall the route. With my little note pad and pen I recorded the details from left turns to yellow pants I should pass on the right. After the third Alfa Mart turn towards the large crab, at the intersection at the top of a hill follow the road signs...seemingly fool proof...that is until I passed the 700^th Alfa mart .

It wasn’t so bad, traffic was heavy but on a bicycle I can weave through and sometimes sneak onto the sidewalk.  Maybe it was this sleazy , easy , beautiful vibe that lead me to believe I didn’t need to review my "road map".  Once I ended up cycling into opposing one way traffic I realized I was nowhere near Kuta, nor had I any sense as to where I’d gone wrong. It must have been the 699^th Alfa Mart.. 

Resorting back to the path that had previously gave zeal to my expedition, I walked along the sidewalk holding my bicycle with one hand and starching my head with the other. The road signs were saying “Kota”. I thought maybe they forgot to cut the top off the o and I’m not so far gone.  Optimism is key in the Balinese heat , so is speaking at least a little of the language.  Down the street I could see a very green, very statuesque park and figured it would be a good spot to contemplate my fate.

I perched my bicycle and myself in the shade, sweat ceased to remind me of how far I was from the villa and I allowed time to relax the worry of being totally off course.

Between the maze like brick path leading from white toga’d goddesses to swing sets, people enjoyed the space doing various activities. Two boys juggled glass bottles and metal cups with bartender-esque moves.  A large group of students practiced routines, some elders did aerobics and I even saw some people filming.

*checks be an extra in a foreign film off bucket list*

My mind focussed on making a sentence in Indonesian. My stomach focussed on the food I had at home; spoke with words of wisdom, let’s go eat!

“Selamat Siang”

(Good day. Or good baby if you pronounce ‘see-ang’ as ‘s-eye-ang’... I'm still not sure how many people I’ve been flirtatious with)

“Kenalkan, Saya Nama Raisha! Saya niak sepeda desini. Dan tidak tahun , ke pergi rumah saya”

(Greetings, My name’s Raisha. I ride bike here and no know to go my home”)

“Salamat Siang, Where do you live”

...It never hurts to try right! With a bit more English/ Indonesian I introduced myself but still didn't know the street the villa is on... I got the name of the park and a general direction of how to get back to Canggu. So yet again I left my fait to my good judgement of road signs and land marks.

At this point I'd been riding for a total of 4 hours. Hunger and frustration steered me into a market place, where upon buying jackfruit and chocolate milk I realized I had the card to the villa in my wallet! A prime example of why chocolate milk is a vital part of my existence.  Into the sunset and passed once familiar sights I road my bicycle thinking about how to remember my way back to the park for another day.  Or how to ask my language teacher to say the word lost.

Ps. Help is ‘batu’