On the Edge of a Dream. Michael Wiese

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      Today is market day. Push or be pushed, we make our way through the crowded market. Village women display jackfruit, durian, oranges, mangos, papaya, bananas (a dozen varieties), coconuts, lemons, and pomegranates. Eddie walks through the market surreptitiously squeezing the fruit and eyeing the women. We are hot and sweaty from the heat.

      There are heaps of herbal concoctions that boggle the imagination. A polluted river next to the market sends up an unbelievable stench. Several women stand at the side of the river, pull back their sarongs, and relieve themselves. Jeez! We’re talking funky. Packs of semi-wild Bali dogs scavenge and fight over the remains.

      I want to get a sarong. We buy several but we’re not sure how to tie them. A market hag with red, betel-nut-stained teeth cackles as she carefully folds then ties mine. Looks pretty good.

      Eddie buys some kreteks, Indonesian clove cigarettes. We each light one up.

      “These aren’t real cigarettes, more like candy cigarettes,” justifies Eddie, who doesn’t really smoke. They give off a wonderful scent which permeates your clothes all day.

      Denpasar has gone cosmopolitan. The government workers prefer white shirts and black trousers, which they think give them a modern look and the right to look down on sarongclad farmers, craftsmen, and food vendors. We strut along in our purple and orange sarongs. Power to the people.

      We come to a large open field, a square in the middle of town. On the other side is the Denpasar museum. We enter through a large gate. Inside are two large, masked ritual creatures. One is a very frightening woman with bulbous eyes, fangs, long fingernails, and a long red tongue. She’s covered in hair. The other is a kind of lion creature like those you’d see at Chinese New Year.

      A guide comes smiling, “Salamat pagi, darimana tuan?”

      “Salamat pagi. Saya dari Salt Lake City,” replies Eddie confidently.

      The guide speaks no English but we come to understand the two creatures are Rangda and Barong. Lining the walls of the museum are displays of shadow puppets and magic kris (daggers). I wonder whether this stuff is old or still used in Balinese ceremonies.

      We stop at a warung (tea stand) in the street for some high octane kopi susu, which is essentially raw coffee grounds in a glass of milky hot water. I’ve learned that if you let the grounds settle to the bottom of the glass before drinking, you won’t have to spend the rest of the day picking coffee grounds from between your teeth. It’s pretty powerful stuff. My stomach starts to gurgle. I look around for a toilet, but there’s nothing in sight.

      A crowd starts to gather around us. Knowing he is being studied, Eddie pulls out his cigarette-rolling machine, and begins a performance. With every move, the audience grows bigger. Concentrating intensely, Eddie begins by opening the tobacco pouch and religiously rations out its contents into the machine. He delicately takes the white rolling paper from its package and gently lays it in the slit in the roller. Next he exercises his fingers until they are ready to twist the machine, which eventually births a cigarette. Continuing, he then slowly raises it to his lips, lights it and savors the taste before exhaling the smoke. The audience coos with every move and cheers on the exhalation. Eddie loves making a spectacle.

      When we are ready to leave, a mob follows us.

      “Hey, man,” I say, “this is kinda scary. Now I know how the Beatles must feel.”

      Eddie and I walk faster and faster. The crowd follows. Kids shout, “Minta wang, minta wang.” (Give me money). We start running. Several dozen crazed young men chase us. It’s getting out of hand. We’re sprinting now. We duck into a funky tourist restaurant. A toilet at last! The crowd disperses.

      I look at Eddie. “That was close.”

      He is sweating like crazy and he’s out of breath. So am I.

      “What do you think they would have done with us,?” he asks between pants. He makes a face and we can’t hold back the laughter.

      We tuck in our shirts and smooth back our hair. The smell of chicken saté gets Eddie’s attention. We look around and see we are at The Three Sisters. A sign shows it’s famous for its magic mushroom omelets. Three vivacious siblings run back and forth taking orders and delivering food.

      We order nasi goreng (fried rice) and mie goreng (fried noodles and vegetables), saté, and more coffee.

      This is obviously a popular hangout; between the flirting and socializing, it’s the place to be. There’s not much to it: cobalt blue tables with benches, a coffee-tin can stuffed with dirty forks, and paper napkins. There’s a seedy, but necessary pit stop like this in every Asian city where unofficial information is shared between travelers.—where to stay (cheap, cheapest, free), buy dope and/or sex, extend your visa, or learn what’s happening in Thailand or India. I like to go to these places for a day or two, compile information, and then get off the beaten path.

      Eddie isn’t comfortable here with the other foreigners. Bali is his discovery. Everyone else can buzz off. Period.

      Eddie is still hungry and orders second, then third portions of everything and eats with a ravenous appetite. He can really put it away.

      Several teenage boys are hanging around the table marvelling at how much Eddie can eat.

      As he finishes, a big, bearded guy steps through the crowd and sits down at our table and introduces himself. “Ida Bagus.”

      “I’m bagus, too,” I say. (“Bagus” is Indonesian for good.)

      “No, I’m Ida Bagus. That’s the name my Balinese father has given to me,” he says with a heavy Swedish accent.

      Whatever. I call him “Big Swede” for short. He is very tall and thin, with long hair and eyes filled with experience. I’d guess he’s about forty. He’s a righteous vegetarian and wants everyone else to give up meat too. He orders three plates of food as he divulges his big discovery.

      “The Balinese are the healthiest people in the world,” he tells us. “They live to ripe old ages because they can’t afford to eat hamburgers.”

      He’s been traveling for twenty years and now lives in Bali. A rule of the road is that the longer you’re away, the hipper you are. (I’ve been in Asia over a year, Eddie only a few weeks.) That makes “Big Swede” top dog. His passport is filled with dozens of expired visa stamps. Morocco, Pakistan, Istanbul, Afghanistan, Nepal, Thailand, Cambodia, Hong Kong, Sumatra. It might as well be an Olympic Gold Medal. In twenty years my passport will look like his.

      Two Javanese girls in halter tops that barely support their mango-shaped breasts sit down on the bench on each side of Big Swede in front of their plates of food. One of the girls reaches down into her bag and pulls out a hairbrush. We can’t take our eyes off her. From our vantage point, we can see where the brown tan line meets the pale skin and pink nipple.

      The girls braid his hair and fondle him.

      “My tantric experiments. They’ll do anything for me. We balance our energies, don’t we?” he says, as he pats one on the butt and laughs.

      Eddie, who is sheepish and silent, rolls another cigarette and covertly blows smoke towards the Swede while eyeing the girls. Big Swede proclaims that Kuta Beach is one of his favorite places. “Pure, untouched.”

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