Oh just hawk off will you
So for elmo's birthday he brought along 5 bottles on Indonesian vodka between 6 of us. I was wary that I had an early flight booked to bali in the morning, so I set my alarm for 6.30am and packed my rucksack before the drinking began.
At 5am, and barely able to stand, I decided that enough was enough and stumbled to my dorm. The circa 55yr old bloke on the bunk above had, for some reason, stayed up until 4am watching 'the cable guy' on tv. We could see him from our seating position and, whilst I know the film isn't jim carey's finest work, he didn't break a smile once. What he did however break was wind, spectacularly. As I lay in bed contemplating getting up in an hour for the bus ride to KL airport I was ushered into a deep sleep by a symphony of some of the most inhuman noises I've ever heard.
So I woke up at 8.30am, two hours after my alarm had gone off (I either turned it off or the toxic gases coming from johnny shit pants above me caused it to temporarily cease). In a blind panic I got up, put my pack on and legged it out of the guesthouse. After 5 minutes of running/stumbling I realised that I still had my room key and I needed the 10 ringett key deposit to get to the airport. so I had to run back again, which wad nice. By this time I was really in a blind panic as I'd paid a fair whack from my flight and I really didn't want to miss it, so I went to the cashpoint and hailed a taxi. Inevitably there was a painful level if traffic, and as the take off time approached and passed I felt like headbutting the driver. When I got to the airport, which seemed unfamiliar, I decided to see if airasia would give me a refund or some money off a rearranged flight. After half an hour of searching for their desk I found out that I wasn't even at the right airport, tidy (I had no idea that KL even has two airports).
So I eventually landed in Bali pretty downtrodden and not in much of a mood for the painstaking process of finding the cheapest hostel. I had taken out 30 dollars for the 25 dollar visa fee, but on the plane I was so dehydrated that I paid 3 dollars for a water, and the change was given to me in local Indonesian money. When I went to pay for the visa I was told that I could only pay in one currency, so I'd have to find a cashpoint in the airport. When I got to one I realised that my cashcard was in my fucking backpack (wiseguy) and I therefore had no way of paying for my visa. I was pleading with the witch behind the visa counter but she would not budge. By this point I was almost broken, and sensing this, a kind couple said they'd exchange my local money for dollars, thank god for human empathy, because at that point I was ready to cause quite a scene (possibly starting with screaming and ending with crying and rolling around on the floor)
After this i only had 50,000 indonesian ruppies which was just enough to get me, against my wishes, to kuta, which id heard was a bit of a shithole. What I was greeted by was one of the most irritating experiences of my life. Hawkers, hawkers, hawkers. Every 5 steps someone was trying to push something on me, whilst I lugged around my backpack sweating out a pungent mixture of vodka and rage.
I'd say I am probably as polite and patient with hawkers as most - in fact I think I probably purchase more of their crap than most of the people in SE Asia. But the sheer volume of these people in kuta almost made me scream (again). The things compounding my rage were the amount of mopeds flying past in impossibly narrow side streets, the heat, the amount of people trying to rent me mopeds, the amount of women offering massage (one every 5 feet) and the dialect used by the hawkers. The place is full of Aussies, so the hawkers kept coming up to me and saying things like 'g'day mate, Viagra?', 'alright sport, need a lady?', or, 'hey boss, you want good time?'. I mean, couldn't they tell that I was already having a cracking time?
After an hour or so I couldn't take it any more and checked into the next place I found, had a cold shower and a nap and calmed the burning rage.
This place is grim. Today I thought I'd relax and go to the beach (which you can barely move on, and certainly can't venture into the sea for fear of some bodacious dude ploughing you down on a surfboard). I lay down and within 30 seconds the hawking began.
The first to approach was a woman selling sarongs. As if I need or want a fucking sarong. So five minutes after I used the last of my money to buy a sarong some fucking bloke approached me trying to sell me a bow and arrow. I told him that i was not interested (although, for once I actually was) and went through the motions of telling him another 15 times that I had no money. Needless to say he didn't get the message and sat down next to me, after which he slipped a 30cm long blowpipe from his shirt sleeve. Before I could even express my bemusement at him even sitting next to me he fired a dart straight into my flip flop (which constitute my only footwear). Whilst I was secretly impressed I explained, to the great amusement of the group of Aussies sat next to me who'd just watched me battle in vain to not buy a fucking sarong, that I had no possible use for a blowpipe (although he was giving me reason in itself to purchase one).
Wary of the fact that he had two semi-lethal weapons at his disposal I put it as subtly as my temper would allow, and told him that I'd give him my last 10.000 rupies if he'd just fuck off out of my life forever, which he duly accepted before asking if I wanted some Viagra.
Whilst I felt a little ashamed for my abruptness I think sometimes they just push too far. There are times that I feel genuinely awful for not buying this tat. The street kids at Angkor wat and land mine victims in Cambodia certainly spring to mind, but purchasing things only encourages more to do the same.
In the case of children in particular, I have seen some pretty terrible things, many of which I suspect are the result of encouragement of unscrupulous parents. Things that stick in the memory include mothers sat with motionless children sprawled on the pavement with begging bowls lay infront of them (who many speculate are drugged), packs of children no older than 6 years old trying to sell bracelets at 2 or 3 in the morning, and small children leading blind men holding cups through crowds. Perhaps the most disturbing one I've seen was in Bangkok, where a young girl was sat on the pavement playing with a dead baby rabbit, whilst her mum held out a bowl.
This leaves you in a position where you either donate and encourage this behaviour or withhold and suffer the inevitable guilt for what you have and choose not to share. I have been advised along the way that the best thing you can do is offer food and drink. Each time I have done this the child looks at me in disgust and the mother looks like I have taken a shit on her childs head.
Anyway, rant over, tomorrow I get out of this hell hole and meet nick at the airport to head to the hill town of ubud, where hopefully we'll be away from the hawkers and hookers. Peace
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