Part VI
I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore

by Mad Dog

    You get used to being in a developing nation. Sort of. The electricity goes out pretty much every day, usually for about ten minutes, but one day it was out for eight hours. I heard there was a short circuit at a hotel that blew out the whole Ubud metropolitan area, a demographic term I use very loosely and they wouldn’t use at all. It’s surprising it doesn’t happen more often considering every time I plug something in I see a fountain of 220-volt sparks that makes the Aurora Borealis look like a burned out bulb. I suspect the whole island is on one circuit breaker. A defective one they borrowed from Australia and never returned.

    A while back I was returning to my cottage when I saw a group of men screwing around with the power lines. They were knee-deep in the rice paddy using a homemade bamboo ladder just like everyone here uses. They were holding bamboo poles to prop up the power lines while one guy was shinnying up the main support pole like it was a coconut tree, which at one time it was. I was certain I’d stumbled on a remake of The Three Stooges Defy The Electricity God.

     I figured they were cutting into the line to “borrow” electricity and that when I got home I’d find out I didn’t have any. And wouldn’t for days until they returned the electricity they borrowed. Silly me—it turns out they actually were from the power company, Bali Electric and Gas (B.E.G.). Just kidding. Not about them being official, but about the name of the company. You see, there are no gas lines on Bali. Well, not unless you count the people waiting to put petrol in their motorbikes or those trying to get a table at Dewa’s International House of MSG. Everyone here uses bottled gas.

    The Internet, well, let’s just say it exists. None of the ISPs can handle anything faster than 33.6k bps and that’s metric so it’s really half that when you calculate today’s exchange rate. It actually does pretty well early in the morning. After that it’s deadly slow. If, that is, you can actually get past the busy signals. The Internet cafés use the same ISPs so they’re no better. I hear some afternoons you can sit in an Internet café and have a three-course meal (rice, rice, and rice) while they keep redialing in the hope that you might get connected before bed.

  The water’s not drinkable so everyone uses bottled water. It’s not that the tap water tastes bad, there’s just no telling what’s in it. I once turned on the faucet and dead fish heads came out. You quickly get used to it. Having a bottle of water in the bathroom so you can brush your teeth becomes normal. Though I do wonder how much good all this tap water avoidance does. After all, I shower in the stuff, my clothes are washed in the stuff, and I do the dishes in the stuff. If any nasty little thingies want to get into my intestines and build a planned community there they’ll have no problem finding their way.

In France they make kitchen appliances which are beautifully designed yet fall apart quickly. Here they look like the crap they are. 

    This is surprising since no one here is into giving anything away. The biggest industry on Bali—next to growing rice and burning everything in sight—is tourism. Ubud is touristy but not in the way you’re used to. If you want the Hard Rock Café, T-shirt shops, aggressive vendors on the beach, and Fosters-filled Aussie surfers you go to Kuta. Here in Ubud it’s mostly art and crafts, much of it locally made. Everyone, it seems, can paint, carve, make kites, weave, or build furniture. It’s amazing.

    Different villages have different specialties. In one village they make silver jewelry. In another stone statues. In Ubud it’s art. Every home and store has a sign out front advertising their genre, often offering to make it to order. One says, “Antiks Made While You Wait.” My favorites though, are the ubiquitous “Parasite Wood Carvers.” Their honesty is refreshing, but in reality can’t you say that about all craftspeople who cater to tourists?

   Manufactured goods are cheap here, in more ways than one. In France they make kitchen appliances which are beautifully designed yet fall apart quickly. Here they look like the crap they are. Everything is a cheap imitation of a quality item, and many have packages and names remarkably similar to the company they’re ripping off. Ebeready is an inferior battery. Generally Elektrik doesn’t make a great TV. And Shic razors don’t give you a close shave. About the only product that’s the same here as in the states is Firestone tires—they blow out everywhere. It’s nice to know McDonald’s isn’t the only consistent thing in the world.

    Everyone’s a salesman here. The other morning I was out for a jog, something I don’t do often because unless I get to it very early in the morning it’s too hot and I hate doing anything in the morning, including waking up early.

     Everyone along the route was friendly as I ran, smiling at me and calling out “Hallo!” and “Selamat pagi!”, which mean “hello” and “good morning” respectively. After the run I was walking to cool down when a man on a motorbike slowed beside me.

    “Selamat pagi,” he said with a smile as he paced alongside me.

    “Pagi,” I replied, still walking.

    “You like Balinese girls?

    “Ya,” I said, breathing hard from the jog, not his question.

    “I like too.”

    “Bagus,” I replied, which means good.

    “I get you girl?”

    “Tidak, terimah kasih,” I told him. “No thanks.”

    I continued walking. He rode slowly and silently alongside me for about fifteen seconds.

    “You like Balinese paintings?”

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