Where the Wild Things Are

I'm in Bali, and will be now for the next two months. It was so reminiscent of landing in Mauritius when I arrived on Thursday night - the tiny airport, the stuffy night air and the crowd of drivers waving names at Arrivals.

I got searched in customs. That's never happened to me before and I'm not sure why it happened here, but of course I got grilled about what I was up to and had my hands scanned for traces of drugs. I had my suitcase opened out for all to see, my personals on display. I smiled and answered the officer's questions but I could feel my cheeks growing hot. He looked through my Navajo souvenirs and I had to explain what they were but he didn't understand what a Native American was, none of what I was saying was in his vocabulary. But thank god for Keith, my cheery wooden spoon buddy made the customs officer chuckle when he found him buried under my clothes - it broke the tension. Well done, Keith.

Needless to say, I was clean, so he let me go but being pissed off and sweaty the minute I got to Bali was not a good start. The discomfort was eased away by Nengah, the lovely driver who had come to pick me up from Desa Sanctuary, the place I'm staying at. When I asked him if he minded that I have a cigarette before getting in the car (customs had stressed me right out, of course) he told me that I could have one in the car, saying: "can smoke, open window, relax, be happy."

Nengah is the sweetest man ever and his wife Taman, who is also lovely, works at the Sanctuary too. Nengah and I chatted all the way to Ubud. He kept repeating my name and saying that he liked it very much and that he'd never studied English but has learned what he knows just from driving the guests. Halfway into the drive he said: "your heart...good. I can tell...you have...kind...very good heart." Even though his English was broken, his words still managed to make me emotional. I was so taken aback from his kindness, I just kept saying "thank you".

When I got to my bungalow, I threw my things down, changed into bedclothes and slept quite deeply. I didn't need to set my alarm, the roosters outside made sure to get me up bright and early the next morning. The cock-a-doodle-doos had me waking up in the past, back to being a kid in my Nana's house. That, and the clicking noises that the geckos make. It's never absolutely quiet - as I write this now the crickets are going crazy.

When I say Bali is like Mauritius, it's like my average, everyday experience of Mauritius which aren't the bits you see in a Thomas Cook brochure. Those luxury parts exist here too, of course, but my budget is never going to grant me the pleasure of seeing them. Although I'm lucky enough to be tucked in from the manic unpaved main road. I'm staying in a gorgeous cloister of stunning traditional Balinese lodgings. I'm only booked here for a week so I have to find somewhere else to stay, pronto.

The garden and pool


My bungalow

Everyone here is baffled by the fact that I am not hiring a motorbike and refuse to at that. It's the way that everybody gets around over here and I mean everyone. They don't care if you don't have a license or have never ridden one before. You pay for it, it's yours to ride in an instant. The rules are: if you crash into someone, it is always your fault, always, regardless of whether you're to blame or not. And if you get stopped by a policeman, never look him in the eye and offer him 'cigarette money' (slip him 20,000 rupiahs).

All this considered: no thanks. I'll take my chances by walking. On no pavement. Avoiding ditches. Jumping out the way when motorbikes zoom past...

So there you are, so far Bali for me has been about perilous walks into town and dripping with sweat three minutes into doing so, geckos coming into my kitchen and 'chatting', a butterfly flying around in my bathroom, a bird tapping on my window (flapping against the window, if you prefer) a dragonfly dying in my kitchen, the biggest insects ever known to man flying at my face, ants jumping out from the sugar jar when unscrewing the lid and guard dogs barking at me in the dark.

A good heart? I hope so.

A brave heart? It bloody well has to be.