Wedding Fever

Our wedding: 1 afternoon, £107.50, excl. lunch.
Nieces wedding: 1 day, £15,000, incl. lunch.
Bali wedding: 4 days, 1 pig, incl. lunch (unless jewish or muslim!).

Our wedding: bride, groom, 4 guests, 30min ceremony 4 hour party.
Nieces wedding: bride, groom, 100 guests, 2 hour ceremony, 8 hour party.
Bali wedding: bride, groom, 1000 guests, 2 hour ceremony, 4 day party.

Ok, you could argue that hen/stag nights are a party on a different day to the ceremony and that a honeymoon could be classed as a party but you get the idea.

So one of our girls, Kadek (yes she has a real name but since she's only been working here a year I still don't know what it is), gets married. We are invited to attend on 2 of the party days that follow the ceremony.

Day 1:  Our invitation is verbal - "be there at 5:30pm, dress up". I assume this means I have to wear a skirt again. At 5:28pm a group of us are standing outside the grooms house synchronising watches. It seems that in order to accommodate the magnitude of guests one has to allocate 20 minute slots per 10 guests (so in 10 hrs you can see [3 slots*10 hours*10 people] 300 people) which doesn't include the static entourage of 50 family members all milling about giving out cups of tea and cigarettes. Now by popular agreement it is precisely 5:30 and we can enter. The bride and groom greet us at the entrance - actually they've been standing there since 08:00am and look ready to collapse but they put on brave faces, we say hi and are ushered through to a table for our tea & cake. Sitting there, I get the feeling that everyone is looking at us - silly me, they are looking at us! We smile & wave & stare down the children who only know one word of english (hello) and insist on using it constantly - after 10 minutes I'm ready to snap, luckily I get a poke in the ribs by some toothless hunchback who urges me to move to the next table. This turns out to be the 'exit' platform where we sit for a respectful 10 minutes before leaving. On the way out it appears we have passed some test and are invited to tomorrow's bash as well. "7:00pm, casual".

Day 2:  This is more like it, the band is setting up in the front garden, a huddle of menfolk with big wedges of cash (probably worth a pound) play a gambling game of what could only be described as 3D dominoes. A 50 gallon drum of stinky, home made alcohol stands in the middle of the grounds surrounded by - waiters? - who beckon you to try a glass. A plastic jug is plunged into the barrel, the frothy scum on the surface parts exposing the semi-clear liquid beneath and we are poured a glass of stuff that smells like a maggot infested gamekeeper's crow but if you hold your nose it tastes ok. As we haven't eaten yet we restrict ourselves to an unusually puritanical 4 glasses.
The band starts to play so in true pop festival tradition we push through to the front where 50 people have taken to the dance floor. 5 women (and I use the term loosely) take the lead. The band reaches fever pitch & the ladies drift off into a maniacal trance and start to really let their hair down - good job there are 3 supporting hairdressers associated with each prima-donna ready with pins/bones/barbed-wire to try and pin it back. We stand there open mouthed as the dance moves on to the next phase where the ladies plunge swords into their bosoms - I don't see any blood so I assume it's safe, I mean, they wouldn't, would they? The music stops abruptly, the spent women are dragged off taken away and we leave before dance 2 in case we get roped in and have to bite the heads of a few live chickens/bats/geckos - although, I am rather hungry...

Only one picture for this episode, but it's an S95 dammit. The boss is so impressed by our performance he's given us a bonus of going halves on a camera.
Oh, go on then. Here's some of the very first shots from said camera.

One is of our friends Robin & Chez who popped over for a week and are standing by the road to our land.  The other is a view of Menjangan Island from our boat. Nice eh?

Butter wouldn't melt

Our resident Golden Labrador Coral dog (yes, that's what we call her; the same as our Bali Whippet Luna is called Luna dog - or Snowy) is the proud mother of these 2 bundles of joy. Both little porkers since there are only 2 and Coral dog has at least 16 nipples capable of supplying a small African country (or Wales). One we like to call Ripyerfroataht dog, the other Chewyernutsoff dog because in spite of their super-cute appearance, the father (Blacky dog) was from "the wrong end of the beach" where men are men and boys are satay!  It hasn't happened yet but ever since "the curious incident"  where our resident adolescent turtle took the top off a small boy's finger (Silly sod - what responsible parent says "Go on Joey, see what it's powerful beak feels like") I do worry when I see the look on Coral dogs face as another tourist's child tries to walk off with one.
Apologies:
1) Holger. This has some rather unusual grammatical content - not very BBC I'm afraid.

2) Tanya. Please don't cry, they're not really puppies, just a couple of my old socks with a gecko inside photoshopped to look like puppies.

It'll cost yer

It's OK, Adrian's medication is kicking in now and he has opened up Pisspad for me to create this blog (note from Ady should read PSPad - wife is pisspad, due to it being EvenToad¹)

After very nearly 2 years we think the staff have accepted us. Nengah has given us pet names. I am now Ni Luh along with 50% of the female population and Adrian is Wayan right down to the stinky wetsuit.

We have also added a few words of Bahasa Balinese to our smattering of Indonesian. It's the usual start to any language learning. We can say "How are You?", "I'm fine", "That's a nice arse/big tits/big knob?" I've tried Google translate for balls but all I get are recipes.

Dear Holga, does Sula have a sister? Nengah swears her doppelgänger was sitting in our bar only last week, right down to the facial mannerisms - but without the skin-tight leather catsuit.

I know we should get out more but we don't and instead the world and his wife come to us. Our only references are the dim memory of former life in the civilised world - with TV & Radio

If anyone out there wants some material for the next series of the Fast Show or the like, we've got it all here. (note from the editor again, some names have been changed to protect the identities of the innocent but if the real McCoys are listening we hope you will forgive us)

Welcome Tim nice-but-dim & Lucy darlings; ex-pat brits living in Hong Kong but Oh My. She would walk to the end of the earth for him and he would protect her from hell's fire but how on earth they have managed to get through life so far is beyond us. "Lucy darling come here you'd love this". "Oh yes, yes (intensely)) it's lovely" or for exactly the same thing "Ooh Lucy darling don't go there you'll be scared "Oh gosh yes that's scary" but the scariest thing of all is they probably run a multi national and there is another little Tim on the way...

Our day to day work requires us to deal with our potential guests through a series of emails until their eventual arrival. We have a saying "5 strikes and you're out" implying if it takes more that 5 exchanges to secure a booking for a 2 night stay and a day's diving there is something wrong with you and we'll suddenly become full & suggest some other nice place for you to stay.

But just sometime we get brave or curious...

Sally Creek and her lovely friends. Far too long since her first stay in Bali and the pit-pat of emails was not the usual idiotic request for me to be a travel agent, more "what can we bring you from blighty that will make your life better?" - cheers to Mr Gordon!! And the curiosity - she created and runs an organic lubricant company...

Chan; in spite of his seriously Asian name lives in Lancashire. Mmm I think, isn't that where cheese comes from? "Dear Chan, Yes, we have reserved you a room and put your name on the diving calendar. You will receive an invoice through PayPal bring cheese to secure the booking" And bless him he did - not exactly Lancashire but a B.O.G.O.F. deal from Tescos with Branston Pickle :)

Mrs Penguin brought us books and pile of Indian spices which are mixing well with the perfected yoghurt recipe. (Note to Peter for Jane, I've found the secret is to strain it).

The stream of guests is endless and we will be sure to share the highlights as they unfold.

¹That's another story...

Armageddon

Sula rammed a new clip of armour-piercing shells into her Glock and slid a fresh round into the chamber before the ejected magazine hit the floor. The tinkle of hundreds of brass shell casings echoed away into silence. She stretched the skintight leather catsuit, slick with her own blood, over the powerful Honda and fired it up. Crunching over the spent cartridges, she snaked out of the hangar doors leaving a black smoking trail of rubber and powered into the daylight towards the launch site.

The Apache's mini-guns were locked into Holger's infra-red signature as he planted the last of the C4 charges on the rocket and set the timer for 'remote'. The co-pilot's finger hovered over the fire button waiting for a clear shot so as not to hit the thousands of gallons of LOX. Meanwhile 4 black clad ninjas abseiled down from the chopper onto the gantry and were closing in. Holger unslung the anti-aircraft launcher from his back and aimed at the Apache. The pilot snatched the collective and pulled away but it was too late. The chopper exploded. The shockwave hit Holger like a charging bull and tipped him over the scaffolding into oblivion. Still reeling from the blast it took him a second to realise he was freefalling and yanked the ripcord. The canopy opened immediately but wasn't much larger than a tablecloth - he was going to hit hard. The crumpled body of the helicopter sailed past him and splintered as it smashed into the ground. The rotor blades followed, they were much closer to Holger and the still spinning blades snagged the 'chute and catapulted him sideways out across the marsh towards the black forest.

Sula raced towards him wringing the nuts off the Honda, changing gear only when she felt the rev-limiter kick in. She nearly overshot the point where Holger went down and braked so hard the rear wheel lifted. Scanning the tree-line she saw the ragged canopy and her eyes followed the ropes down to his lifeless body suspended just above the ground. She leapt off the bike and sprinted across the soggy ground to the tree. A quick thump into Holger's chest released the harness and he slumped to the ground, she felt for a pulse, alive but unconscious. Her fingers reached beneath his jacket and removed the small metal box from his utility belt. Without turning she pressed the button, the sky lit up, a wave of burning hot air singed her blonde hair and Holger opened his eyes.

Shuttlecocks

I am composing the next blog but I have to get this off my chest NOW!
Dear NASA. Do you seriously expect us (the general public) to believe that you have to delay the launch of the space shuttle due to bad weather?  This thing has been designed and built by the best scientists and engineers on the planet to withstand the incredible extremes of temperature, pressure and turbulence required for re-entry and you're telling me that you daren't launch because there's a few clouds in the sky! Come on,  that's like British Rail saying there's the wrong kind of leaves on the line, and no-one believes that.
So if it's OK to subject thousands of fare paying airline passengers to "fasten your seatbelts" in a bit of lightning but not astronouts? Jeez, can you imagine being told "We're going to send you into space in a craft that can't cope with a bit of a light breeze, now just sign here".  I think not, Watson.

The Ants are my friends

Hi. My name's Ady and it's over 2 months since I last posted a blog.

What's been missing from the last few posts is what's life really like to be ex-pat Brits living in Bali. Well let's do the things we miss first:

1. Our friends. We haven't really made many friends here, well not what you call friends. There are many nice people we meet but they're all transient - even the nice Dutch villa owners are only here for a few weeks at a time. I miss my mate Neil and I miss going down the pub.

2. Food. Man cannot live on chicken, rice and things alone. I need baked beans on toast and lamb chops once in a while. Unfortunately, even though there's some pretty good lamb in New Zealand, the trade route between there and here is more tortuous than to England. Drink, we can't bring ourselves to pay the duty - £40 for a bottle of imported spirits or wine is just too much.

3. Our own place. We love living on the beach, it's great but we never go home. There's always someone wanting something at dinnertime or at bedtime that we have to deal with.

4. Communications. Everyone here relies on mobile telephones, there is a wire phone network but it doesn't work, hence there is no broadband internet. The best we can get is a shared wi-fi link which at best gives us download speeds of 10kbit/s. Now I remember getting my first modem - 2.4kb/s so at least it's better than that but I know you lot are enjoying 8mb/s which is about 800 times faster! Skype is our main line of communication outside, but look! that needs a transfer rate of 20kb/s to be any good and for video - forget it. Our provider will speed things up slightly if we double our already steep (Rp350,000/£25 per month). On a Bali wage? not going to happen.
5. A car. We both miss our cars (stiff upper lip darling, we don't want their pity). You forget how much you used to drive - most days, so it isn't surprising we miss it.

But there's good stuff too:

1: The weather. Year-round temperatures of 30 degrees mean it's too hot to work which may explain the relaxed pace of life. Shall we go shopping? Nah, too hot. Shall we jump in the sea instead? hell yes! My wardrobe consists of 15 t-shirts and a pair of shorts. I don't have to decide what to wear, I don't have to conform to society dress codes. I put on a button down shirt and long trousers for dinner not because I have to but because I'm British dammit.

2: Food. There does seem to be an endless supply of Walls Magnum ice cream which we enjoy, in moderation of course - currently a mind-numbing once a month. Eggs are lovely - all free-range (no lion stamp though). For some reason I've lost a couple of kilos in weight but Amanda has stayed pretty much the same.

3: Transport. We probably will just buy a car, Amanda still doesn't like riding the bike so feels trapped and can't just nip down the shops. I, on the other hand, can just nip down the shops but I don't wanna.

4: Our own place - we're working on that. We have put in a bid for a plot of land as an investment. To live there may take a little longer. There is no water, no electricity and no house. Water can be obtained by sinking a pump down to the water table. Simple - except it's a long way down and going to need a mighty deep hole. Electricity can be purchased from the power company but the installation cost is likely to be astronomical. Alternative energy is another option but our (potential) neighbours have just spent €30,000 on theirs! The house. Hmmm. From what I've seen so far I'm going to struggle to find a competent builder. They do exist, I know because I've seen some well built homes however the owners all assure me that quality doesn't come cheap.

OK on the face of it we should come back, but I don't miss the weather and I don't miss the politics and I certainly don't miss the endless pursuit of earning more money. And there are other joys:

1. You get to see Whales and Dolphins! Right here! No shit!


2. You can see bird-eating snakes! OK not everyone likes snakes and it may be pretty distressing to see a baby bird taken from it's nest and swallowed before your very eyes (look carefully, you can see the chick's little legs poking out of the snake's mouth) but hey! that's nature. We get to see giant caterpillars, giant butterflies, colourful Kingfishers just sit on our counter for a while.  By the way, I know it looks like a plastic toy, that's what I thought before it winked at me and flew off, still annoyed that it doesn't seem to exist in our bird book. Today another 50 baby turtles hatched - Wow, how cool is that!

3. We have got rid of the ants. Amanda has stopped chanting "the ants are my friends, the ants are my friends" as they jubilantly march another insect carcass around the kitchen. Clean kitchen - no ants. Simple.

4. We got rid of the rats. Clean kitchen - no rats. Simple.

5. On your birthday you get to go away for a few days and unwind (if you needed to) in an exclusive private villa. I spent most of my time contemplating its construction methods, obviously.

6. You get to appear on telly, not the BBC but still...

7. Amanda has perfected her bread recipe and we are now self sufficient in yoghurt.

So on the whole I think we'll stay.

Defcon 1

I think the pesky mouses have up-to-date sat-nav for routes into the kitchen. 'Primary route blocked' [squeak] 'Turn left in 1.5 metres' [squeak] 'scale outside wall' [squeak] 'At the top of the wall, wriggle through eaves and jump onto wall fan' [squeak] 'Climb down fan pull-cord (ignore whirring noise, it stops on your way out) until level with spring-loaded cheeseboard' [squeak,squeak] 'do not enter spring-loaded cheeseboard' [squeak] 'You have reached your destination'.
The last place (we think) they can get in is the vent above the doors which used to have a mesh to stop insects. They've chewed their way through this so we need something a bit more sturdy (like wire mesh) to stop them. Mesh like I saw at the builders' merchant the other day so I hop on Mike and set off. About 2 miles up the road the bike starts to feel weird, Earthquake? no, have I ridden past some burning dope fields? no, must be a flat rear tyre then - bugger. So I snake my way to the side of the road and madly gesticulate (although we're slowly picking up the language ie. we've moved on from numbers, colours and vegetables to using some of the nice joiny-uppy words like 'and' and 'you' but nothing quite so complex as 'Excuse me my dear lady, would you be so kind as to point me towards the nearest motorcycle service station') to some old dear hanging out her washing who says in almost perfect English '200 metres on the left'. I stand there with my mouth open waiting for her to end the sentence with 'Luv' before I thank her and slowly wobble Mike down the road to the menders.
I do a double-take because it's hard to believe that the shed I've arrived at is the right place but sure enough there are 2 disassembled bikes on the forecourt  mudpatch and a guy comes forward wiping his hands on an oily rag. By the time we've exchanged pleasantries his mate has already levered off the tyre and is inspecting the tube shaking his head. 'Too far gone to patch, you'll have to have a new one'. 'Um, ah, OK then' with which he pulls up a block of wood and indicates for me to sit down.  Five minutes later I hand over 50,000 things (about 4 quid) and am about to leave when the mechanic very helpfully tries to start Mike with the electric starter. It's just the thing you don't want to happen, like going to the police station to get a pamphlet on home security and coming out to find 4 large officers pointing at what looks like a trail of blood dripping from your car boot. 'I fix, no problem' and again his mate is straight in there like a rat up a pull-cord drainpipe ripping off the sidepanels and exposing the starter motor. This is summarily removed and carefully disassembled. The 2 brushes and some iron filings fall out and the chap gives me one of those looks before rummaging in spare parts department (a drawer) and comes back waving the replacements (new ones mind, in a sealed bag). The soldering iron is plugged in, the guy again points to the waiting room block of wood where I sit and contemplate my wife at home wringing her hands and ringing my phone which is, predictably, still on the sideboard. While I wait, Guy no.1 shows me round the back where there are 4 secondhand bikes and a tarpaulin sheet which, in the style of a Ritz waiter, he rips off to reveal his centrepiece - a chopper! I coo in amazement and awe until I realise he wants me to buy it. Half an hour later the iron is hot, the brushes replaced, motor reassembled and I'm handing over another £4 - daylight bleedin' robbery.
The shopping is a bit of an anti-climax, I hand over my sample and 7,000 things and leave with 1 sq metre of shiny new rat-proofing. The mesh is installed, the fan relocated and it's cord greased, even relocated the cheese-loaded springboard. I'm half expecting to find a miniature Trojan Horse on the doorstep tomorrow.
On a more positive note, they no longer have a reason to come in. The new Reef Seen kitchen is in operation and the old one has been stripped and officially handed over to us Amanda who is busy cleaning all those places that haven't seen the light of day for many years, ready for all the shiny things we brought from the UK last year. We don't have a bin, brush or mop etc. but an afternoon trip to the 'Adi-Jaya' in the van soon takes care of that.

Putih

I have agreed to visit Doktor Gigi. (Note the Gee is hard as in doG "ghiggy" not like the wonderful Maurice Chevalier film "JeeJee") I have a pain in my tooth, I am a diver, it's not getting any better and could be really bad.

It's only in Singaraja so I should be home by elevenses. We (that's me and the 2 Ketuts) leave at 6:45. Now I realise we are going to run a few errands on the way, that's what the Ketuts do. About a mile down the road Pak Ketut starts peering strangely and waving frantically at every oncoming truck until one finally stops a little way off. He leaps out of the car for some discussion with the driver. It takes only a few moments of chin scratching and head shaking before a final wave we can move on. This, it transpires is how to buy sand for the new building. "Better we get it before it reaches the builders' merchant" says Ketut and looks pleased with the deal.

Next stop Seririt, Ibu Ketut has to stand in a queue at the bank for an hour for apparently no reason. I amuse myself left alone in the car watching with disbelief (pun intended) as a young girl spends the entire time on her daily task of making offerings - at least a dozen different mini shrines outside the bank to be fed fruit & honoured with a prayer. Then we stop in Lovina for the photocopy shop to make the papers for Ibu Ketut to hold while she stands in a queue for 1/2hr at immigration before we leave her in the 4 hour queue at the tax office in the centre of Singaraja.

I'm dropped off at Doktor Gigi a mere 3 hours after we left home. I'm number 10 and they are currently working on number 3. Mmmmm, should have brought "World Without End". I admire three famous toothy smiles beautifully framed on the reception desk.

I turn my attention to the mayhem showing on the telly, I think it's a youth talent show, you know that kind of Japanese lunacy Chris Tarrant used to find - I've no idea what's going on!! But it makes the time pass until it's my turn with Hilda, the chinese lady dentist. To my relief she takes an x-ray which reveals that there is in fact nothing wrong - no holes or infection just floss user-error. I leave Rp200,000 poorer, armed with a tiny tube of Sensodyne.

On the way home we stop at Hardy's for essential supplies. Discover Sensodyne is only Rp10,000. Much more importantly (and more expensively) found pure unadulterated live yoghurt. Essential for the new addition to our household. No, not a small person, a yoghurt maker. We are indebted to Balvine for this inspired belated wedding present. After a miraculous 8 hours of continuous overnight electricity we have a pure, heavenly, creamy white, blanket smothering our fruit & muesli for breakfast

Speaking of white blankets, we forgot it was Christmas time until the card arrived - That to Pete & Hannah - but we heard it was a bit of a white one in Europe. If Geneva & Schiphol can't keep their airports open what chance do Heathrow & Gatwick have?

Chicken Rice & vegetable have new interest with jipang - not sure what family it comes from, grows on trees looks a bit like a smooth avocado, behaves a bit like a turnip when cooked, and tastes like... well nothing really.