Bali

I didn't like it. No sir, I did not. The land is beautiful, the weather warm, the beaches sandy. But the people? Sadly, I can count the number of locals whose company I enjoyed (mostly couchsurfers) on one hand. There is a single reason for this: tourism. As a white person in Bali you are, in the eyes of most locals, an ATM. I was short-changed almost every time, especially in bars. Hotel staff had no qualms lying that the dorm room was full in order to fill the suites. The taxis, peddlers, beggars and massage girls swarmed like flies on a fresh turd.

The last photo my camera took,
moments before it flooded.

Okay sure, I spent most of my time in tourist places. I made an honest effort to stay away from Kuta, but when I went to another suburb looking for accommodation, I was redirected back to Kuta. Damn. I met up with some couchsurfers, hit the town like a proper tourist, travelled around with some folks from my backpacker dorm and went diving.

To be fair, I didn't have a bad time; I just disliked the way I was treated. I met with some couchsurfers and made friends with Fabrice, a newly-arrived French-Swiss guy was couchsurfing also had a backpacker guitar! Sadly we never quite managed to jam. His host (a local) was a cool guy and showed us a really cool bar by the beach.

I joined a merry band of backpackers in Kuta; Shira (USA), Narua (Spain) and Bart (Netherlands). Together we taxied out into the country with grand intentions of hiking up Mt. Batur. The cartels in Bali are well established. Even in this little place in the middle of nowhere locals were waiting for us when we arrived in the taxi. They followed us to our hotel where they sat and waited like cops on a stakeout. They wanted to know where we were going and what we wanted to do. Basically, they wanted to get a cut and were patient and persistent about it. Sometimes they boldly fared into the hotel to ask if we wanted to buy their art. Even the Arrack (homebrew rum) we bought as a novelty was clearly watered down. Well we still drank it. There was a hippy rave happening not far from us, which we went to. "Dance for peace".

Next morning, after around four hours sleep our man came to take us to the mountian. Oh, don't think we could simply have walked up the mountain - nonono. The cartels had identified a tourist demand for walking to the top of a volcano so a guide was necessary. For safety and shit. Yeah whatever. We rose blearily and stumbled into the waiting car, paid our fee and zombied our way up the hill, passing the hippy rave site, now in its death throes but still emanating a booming base pulse across the valley. The guide took us to the 'lookout' area and protested when we wanted to, like, go to the top. We went, and he led the way, albeit grudgingly. The sunrise was spectacular however.

So true

Next stop was Ubud, yet another tourist destination, full to the hilt with white fools and unscrupulous money-grabbers. I'm convinced that the restaurants across the whole town deliberately serve tiny portions to keep people ordering seconds. The locals there listen into your conversation to get your name, after which it's 'Hey Marco! Would you like a massage?' Crafty buggers.
We checked out the local monkey temple and took a taxi out to some temple other (incredibly the entry was free there, though I had to run the gauntlet of sarong saleswomen to get to it).

The group eventually disbanded and I headed out to dive a WW2 shipwreck in Tulamben, on the east coast. I had a 24 hour gut bug, did some pretty good diving and finally found myself in a taxi to the airport in Denpasar. Next stop Darwin, Australia.