What a lovely way to go, I thought, as our plane banked steeply over Istanbul while being tossed about and swung about by turbulence. The pretty lights danced outside in the dark, myriads of people living their lives unknowing of the deadly perils faced by this intrepid traveler in the dark winter skies above them. In fact, I would go as far as to claim that many of the passengers facing these deadly perils with the aforementioned traveler quite unaware of them as well. Pah. Ignorant peasants. They clearly haven’t watched as many Discovery Channel’s Air Crash Investigation episodes as I have.
But yeah, the three hop flight went fairly well. Helsinki - Istanbul - Jakarta - Bali, went by in a flash as we slept during most of the long haul flight, rocked to sleep by gentle turbulence over the mid-eastern skies, sometimes shaken awake roughly by thunderstorms over India or by the somewhat alarmed voice of the flight attendant telling us to fasten our seat belts. It all went by quick as a charm. Even the wait at the Jakarta airport, where I got the first taste of the humid and cloying southern night when I ventured outside to exchange some cash. The local company that ferried us from Jakarta to Bali, Garuda, was even EU approved, and so failed to kill us.
We arrived in Denpasar and had to shell out 200k local cash for the taxi that was supposed to cost us 50k. Whatever, it’s still peanuts compared to Finland, especially when divided by 3. The place turned out to be a shit hole though. We went to the beach, threw our towels down amidst the disappointed shouts of the lounge chair touts, and waded into the warm embrace of the Indian Ocean. The fucker was full of mainly plastic garbage. It was incredible. You saw a majestic wave rise up ahead of you, and in its blue thickness lurked a plastic bag or twelve, along with their little friends, the condom family. I ground my teeth and went in, and sure, the waves were perfect for novice surfers. Apart from the aforementioned piles of shit in them.
So after we were done dodging the traffic and the piles of shit embedded in the waves, we took off towards the tantric capital of Ubud. That’s where all the “Eat pray love” reading shitheads go. Garbed in their casually flowing yet moderately expensive yoga clothes, armed with a suitably condescending demeanor, looking down their noses at everyone else, because they are clearly tourist trash, as opposed to their enlightened person… Yeah. Well, we met a lot of those. Mostly aged over 45, younger people had that sense of self-irony around them that the oldsters sorely lacked.
Bu Kuta got old fucking fast. How could it not. We got a transport to Ubud from our hotel, and off we were…
Anyway, we are in Pemuteran now, in the north west corner of Bali, and the thunder is crashing about like it’s the end of the world and nobody else’s business, and it’s all too lovely and I am not sure when the fuse is gonna blow, so I am gonna cut this transmission short now thanks. Even though these tropical thunderstorms are fucking awesome.