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Bali
And Beyond
Well, where to begin . . .?
Love gone wrong and job gone west!
I had been in love with an Indian girl called Janice
in Melbourne. We lived together for two years in a
gingerbread style cottage in the Dandenongs. She was
beautiful and I fell hook line and sinker for her. I
swallowed the lot! Alas and alack! However, she walked
away with a French guy and left me holding the baby ...
myself!
So I focused on my career and found myself with a good
salary offer from a Melbourne company, which sells aluminium around Australia. I worked very hard and
produced a good number of new accounts within three
months, which should have guaranteed me a bright future
in most companies. This generated annual revenues of
hundreds of thousands of dollars in sales and I felt
confident in putting an offer towards the purchase of a
new house.
I worked for three months, less a couple of days, and
was eyeing off a property at Seaford, Victoria. It had
four bedrooms and a music studio, so I considered it an
ideal base for domestic and musical pursuits. After
inspecting it, an offer was required, with a deposit, so
I rang my employers to get their assurance that we
would continue our fruitful relationship.
Then the bombshell hit. “I wouldn’t do that yet, David!”
Surely, he was jesting! I had worked my butt off to
make my new career work and had dropped a lucrative
Sales and Marketing manager’s role in Sydney to take
it.
The next day, after an embarrassing morning waiting
around, I was called into the office to see the
MD. In the most farcical
situation, I was told how much they loved my work but “Hasta la vista, baby!” [Good bye,
baby!]
I was to leave with only one week’s notice.
At this point, I dug in my heels and extracted one
month’s pay, my only compensation.
They had the new accounts coming and didn’t really need
me now. Some of the guys who had
committed to buy from them pulled out in disgust at the
way they treated me. Others started their new business
relationship with the Aluminium Co. I was out in the
cold, unemployed, and totally disappointed at the
treatment I had received at their hand.
So what does a man do after 20 years in the corporate
arena? Get stuck into the frequent flyer points and see
the world!
I had been to Bali with Jan, the Indian girlfriend, in
1998, so I thought it would be a reasonable place to go.
It was cheap, friendly and the weather was hot. I
always liked hot weather. Being a creature of habit, I
booked into the Aquarius Hotel in Kuta. I had stayed
there with Jan, my ex, and knew it was close to the
nightlife epicentre.
On the way there, I decided to stay with an old friend
in Perth. His name is Peter and he professes to be a
chef. He is also the owner of the corniest collection
of jokes you’ve ever heard! Sorry, Pete!
Pete was busy creating a wedding cake business after a
stint at Koko’s Restaurant, working as the head chef.
As he was busy, I had to amuse myself and wandered
aimlessly around Perth for a few days. Fortunately, I
met a girl called Danielle, and we spent some time
together. Long walks around the river, the pubs and a
wine show ensured that it was great fun. One memorable
time was at the Fremantle Markets, playing harmonica
with Bob, their in-house, silver-haired minstrel.
All good things come to an end, so I left for Bali. I
was getting a little too comfortable in my cameo visit
to Perth.
Bali was everything I needed after my time in
Melbourne. I had lost my job, my girl, and my life in
Melbourne, and I needed to regroup.
So to the Aquarius Hotel in Kuta - just what the
lonesome boy needed.
I had my guitar with me so I just sat on the porch and
played songs for a day or two. I met a few locals and
travellers and was invited to a party with some French
guys. This proved to be a low-key affair but it broke
me into the social scene and encouraged me to mingle.
The French restaurant they frequented was to be a
welcome base in the future whenever I felt at a low
ebb. Laurent and Riri were perfect hosts and
raconteurs, always good for a chat or a tall story.
Unfortunately, they parted under love’s constant
pressure and, at the last reckoning, were enjoying the
singles scene with some exuberance.
Well, I had come to party, so party I did! My way was
to meet people and play music so I went hard at it for
three days. I played harmonica with any band that would
let me and found them to be very amenable. I had
previously played with bands in venues in many
countries: England, Ireland, Australia, France, Turkey,
Thailand, Vanuatu, and many others. So why not here?
I played a memorable set with local guys at the popular
outdoor café called Millertime. Kadek and Ketut were
talented, and our sessions became a regular event over
the next two years. At this stage, I was planning to be
in Bali for one month before leaving for India and
England. These plans were about to change!
Four days in, after a music- and nightlife-led recovery,
I went to Millertime for a coffee. The waiter there
happily advised me that I shouldn’t touch their coffee.
He said I wouldn’t be pleased to taste it as it wasn’t
very nice! Nonetheless, I ordered it. This caused some
great amusement to a pleasant-looking girl who was in
the vicinity. She was very impressed by the honesty of
the drinks waiter and further amused at my
determination to forge on regardless. I drank the
coffee and survived. However, it heralded the real
beginning of my Bali adventure.
Her name was Paula and she seemed a little too
inquisitive for my liking. I evaded her for a while,
then slowly warmed to her girl-next-door qualities. I
was interested to meet someone from Borneo. I didn’t
even know that Borneo belonged to Indonesia. My coffee,
which wasn’t too bad, became two and we talked for a
long time. She was waiting to see the owner about some
local land sales and had an amazing depth to her
character.
To meet someone from Borneo was cool and she admitted
that she didn’t have many friends in Bali and was,
therefore, lonely. So, being an intrepid traveller, bound to learn about new cultures, I offered
to accompany her to the beach to enjoy the sunset. The
famous Kuta Beach was the location. We sat there and
watched as the sun lazily made its way down over the
horizon.
To watch a Kuta sunset
And feel a cooling breeze,
There's magic here in Bali
For your spirit to be released.
The above is from my song ‘Bali Dreaming’ It was
probably conceived at this time as I sat talking to
Paula about things of a world beyond my own. She told
me of her experiences in the Dayak world of West
Kalimantan. They had been through a nasty war with
Madurese people who were forcefully resettled on their
Dayak territory. These stories were not shown on
TV, so
no one knows how real people feel when subjected to the
violence and horror of such a situation.
It was hard for her to talk about it, but I imagined
quite therapeutic. She went on to talk of her Dayak
world, in which visits from spirits were an everyday
occurrence. This was to be a forerunner of a series of
incredible twilight zone events
which seemed to follow us. She had an advanced sixth
sense, which aroused mine also.
I had experienced a little of this phenomenon when I
came with Jan, my ex-girlfriend, in 1998. Whilst staying
at the Istana Rama hotel with her, I experienced a
strange tingling feeling, which crept up my body from
my feet. The spirits are awake? I recall looking at my
Indian girlfriend and seeing the whites of her eyes
loom large in contrast to her beautiful brown skin. We
passed this off as something weird, but the hairs on my
neck didn’t get much rest around Paula.
There were many occasions when I felt strange spirits
in the air only to have her knowing smile confirm the
presence of something from beyond our realm. Mine was
not to question why! Ironically, I was a strong sceptic
prior to meeting Paula.
Jan was exasperated earlier when I could not open my
mind to the spiritual world. Was Paula to be the next
stage of my spiritual awakening?
So back to Kuta. After the sunset scenario, Paula and I
developed a warm friendship, which blossomed into love.
We developed a closeness, which still pervades our
lives even now.
I wanted to be a big brother for this likeable girl but
our softer personalities came together to create a
wonderful union. Humour soon emerged in the
cross-cultural gaffs that we constantly shared.
She asked me what the seed in an apple was called and I
happily told her it was a pip. Lo and behold, the next
morning she proudly announced that breakfast was to be
a bowl of pips. I looked and saw a bowl of muesli ready
for consumption.
Another funny moment was when showering together she
shared a most intimate comment on noticing that I was
not Mr Universe. She declared, “You know something? You
look like Mrs Doubtfire!” Not quite the compliment I
was hoping for!
So many quirks come to light when living in another
country. One of the strangest occurred when a 747 plane
was labouring to get off to Singapore or somewhere
similar. The plane disturbed the local frog population
and a cry of “Flick off” resounded from the throng of
amphibians. Nobody believed me so I recorded the
delinquent frogs as they sang another plane off to
Singapore!
Another interesting event was the visit of the
electricity meter reader. He came on a monthly basis
and told me I hadn’t paid enough. The fact was that I
had gone well ahead in payments because when he had no
access in my absence, he estimated in excess of my
usage. I had a bank of electricity to be used for which
I could gain no credit. At each visit, he assured me
that the credit would be processed. The next visit showed
this not to be the case. Eventually, like Custer, I
made my stand.
With more than six-months’ electricity unused, I stated I could
not pay until all of the credits were cleared. I called
my trusty interpreter, Paula, in to the fray.
After an exhaustive explanation to her about the
morality of the situation, I was happily advised that I
was wrong. I must pay because the bill was always
right. I left my Bali flat with electricity for a
further eight months and just accepted the wiser ways of
those who know better!
Another interesting event was the incessant driver’s
license check that occurred almost daily. I could have
up to five Polisi all admiring my international license
with a view to turning flaws into cash. I was armed
with everything needed to appease my examiners. In
spite of this, I often came to grief.
Eventually, one learns to go with the flow and help the
officers quench their thirst or appease their hunger.
I remember leaving the Jaya Pub after playing harp
there in Seminyak, one evening on my 100cc motorbike. A
friend asked me to give him and his slim girlfriend a
lift to his home a kilometre and a half away. Frank and
Julie alighted and we crawled off up the road. Our
3-man episode was not spectacular considering 4-5
locals ride the one bike at one time. Sadly, we were
caught in a Jaya Pub stakeout. Two Polisi came after us
in warm pursuit - hot being not appropriate on this
occasion.
We duly pulled up, and my inebriated friend, Frank,
proceeded to fall into a bush. Our dignity blown, it
was now time to negotiate. It was determined that we
should be fined on the basis of only one helmet being
worn, but there were three noggins [heads] present.
Funnily enough, after receiving their cash booty, the
police wished us well and gave us immunity for the rest
of the ride. As for drink driving, they sent us away
calling, “Hati, hati!” [Be careful!]
Another evening was not so amusing and could have been
disastrous. I played harmonica with a band at the Jaya
Pub on a stand-up basis. It was a really good session
and I was proud of the way we had played. No free
beer had been offered so I bought a pot at Melbourne
prices, which is expensive for Bali. I quaffed it and
thought I might head off to a party, which had already
started. No barman was in attendance so I left the
money and set off. As I went to put the bike keys in, a
guy raced up and tried to prevent my doing so. It was a
dark area and I was not happy with the intrusion in
such a shady spot.
I assured him that I had left the cash and waited for
his return. Return he did, with two Bintang bottles in
his hand, destined for my head. Looking carefully at
his eyes, I saw he meant business and prepared to try
to weather the storm. Should I fight? Well, luck was a
fortune, as the band’s drummer had emerged and stated
that he’d seen me leave the money. And ,on re-entering, we
found it was, in fact, still there. It’s a fine line
between pleasure and pain!
Still smarting from that experience, I rode away
steaming inside that the guy intended smashing those
bottles over my head. When he found my money, and saw
the manager was watching, he had beaten a hasty verbal
retreat. However, his eyes told me the story. He would
have been happy to break the bottles over my head as he
thought I was stealing his beer.
The night still young, so I tried to regroup and refresh
my attitude to enjoy the balance of the evening. I rode
into the bend, and into a Polisi roadblock!
I felt I could handle it. I approached the band of
merry men, who are always pleased to welcome an errant
westerner.
“Do you have license?”
I nodded and proffered it.
“Do you have Alphabet?”
“What Alpa...?” I asked.
A jumble of incoherencies followed, resulting in my
being the focus of attention to the encircling throng.
All of a sudden, I realised that he wanted registration
papers. Ok, it was covered. I had them under my bike
seat. On producing them, the band of deflated men
narrowed their eyes - at 2 a.m. not a good look or
feel.
Suddenly, they brightened. They had focused on my
externally-worn money belt. “Ah, you got something for
me?” the main protagonist ventured.
I alerted them to the fact that it wasn’t cash bulging
there, but a bunch of harmonicas. Immediately, they saw
alternate opportunities. “You give to us?”
“Sorry guys,” I smiled hesitantly, “but I am a
professional musician.” And to emphasise the point, I
pulled out a harp and played it to the gang. Can you
believe? They immediately jumped into party mode and
started to dance with each other and me.
Dark lane, and potentially dangerous then, suddenly, I
am playing with the kids. What an amazing moment!
Dancing arm in arm with a member of the Bali
constabulary!
I then gave them money to buy themselves a drink as
they, in fun and good heart, had earned it. Riding
away, I had to shake my head and think, What am I doing
here? Bali was Heaven and Hell, was Paula’s view.
After I had been in Bali for a few weeks, Paula and I
were strolling towards Kuta Beach one afternoon when I
saw the Hard Rock Hotel and thought how good it would
be to play there. I mentioned it to her and said that I
would set myself a goal of recording some of my own
songs there if they had a studio. I loved the thought
even though it may seem a bit cheesy.
Well, lo and behold, my dream came true. I booked in
and paid the fees and recorded 12 songs in the Boom Box
studio. I followed the Australian artist Diesel into
the cans. He had been practicing for a show there. I
heard some of the practice
session and it sounded great. I recorded the songs and
was particularly proud of a
song called
Bali Dreaming. It came to be played there
by a number of bands and
was requested often prior to the Bali bombing.
It was a great moment when the three managers of the
Hard Rock came to me in the bar one night and asked me
to join an American blues band and an Aussie band to
play harmonica with them in a festival.
Although intimidated by their musical high standard, it
went off really well. I played with maybe 10-15
different bands there as a guest performer.
Then, of course, the explosions occurred which
devastated Kuta, and the whole island. I had been based
in Bali for nearly two years by then, writing songs and
living with Paula. We had the run of Bali, which was an
idyllic existence after the difficulties that I had
faced in Melbourne. I was playing music three or four
times a week and really enjoying a creative lifestyle
in Bali. Something hitherto not experienced during my
corporate lifestyle at home.
On the eve of the bomb blast, I had agreed to join a
band at the Millertime Café to play a few songs. It was
always fun there and the guys in the band were always
very welcoming. We did old classics like Knockin’ on
Heaven's Door by Bob Dylan and Roadhouse Blues from
the Doors stable of songs.
I had organized to meet a friend from Seaford at Kuta,
and we were to connect via hand-phone later that night.
However, Paula and I decided that we could walk the 4
km up the beach to Batu Belig for dinner first.
On arrival at Batu Belig, we discovered some Indonesian
friends who had set up an impromptu beach party there.
I loved the atmosphere of people dancing on the beach
whilst we strummed the songs. It was like the Caribbean
in my imagination. Well, time dragged on and the party
grew with new dancers and revellers. A group of Koreans
from the Intan Hotel, Bali, joined us and danced the
night away. The hosts insisted that I be sociable and
stay and have another beer, and so I decided to have a
night off from the Kuta lifestyle.
We stayed and danced and played, unaware of the
impending attack planned for Kuta.
At 9.30 p.m. a trifle tired, we bid our friends
farewell and walked towards our flat at Seminyak. On
arrival at our abode, I definitely didn’t feel like
running the gauntlet of pollution and the crowds of
Kuta and decided to have a little sleep. This was much
to Paula's chagrin who wanted to dance the night away
at Paddy’s Bar.
I fell asleep amidst the happy tiredness of the walk,
the party and a few beers, and drifted into my dreams.
This was odd behaviour as we would normally be in Kuta
or Seminyak on the party trail.
Strangely, at 10.30 p.m. I awoke and remembered my
friend Cyril who I had been ‘babysitting’, as he was
alone. He was in Paddy’s Bar in Kuta and planned to
meet me, so I called him and told him I would play at
the Jaya Pub in Seminyak instead. He was pleased to
catch up with us and left shortly afterwards for the
Jaya. Unfortunately, I dozed off again and waited for
him to call on the way through. He didn’t get that far
but heard about the blasts in Paddy’s and the Sari Club
and returned to help. He carried four dead people out
of the Sari Club that night and suffered a horrific
experience. He was never quite the same guy after that
event.
We were puzzled by the plethora of text messages the
next morning asking if I was ok. I thought I must have
sent a multiple message to them all by mistake. Then
the reality of the bombings hit us. How lucky? We were
due to be there only 200 metres from the site. Further,
it was odds on that we would have been in Paddy’s for a
dance and to meet Cyril. Luckily, I saved his life by
my call after suddenly waking up.
The aftermath of the bombings was devastating for
everyone associated with this beautiful island. So many
people were killed and hurt and so many innocent lives
and businesses were disrupted or permanently maimed.
Paula and I visited the scene the next day and were
stunned. We just didn’t know how to react to such
devastation. It was a massive blow to the Balinese
people, their economy, and their spirits. Everyone had
goosebumps from shock evident on their arms and they
were all devastated by the blast. It was so unexpected
on this beautiful island. The Balinese were acutely
embarrassed that this act could be perpetrated on their
cherished guests, especially the Australians who they
welcomed so heartily. We were stunned by it all for a
few days and then Paula announced, “This is bad for my
psychology, I’m going home.”
She did.
It brought back feelings of the past, such as the
Madurese Dayak wars that she had seen, and it was all
too much for her. I didn’t argue, as the immediate
future was uncertain for us now. Travel warnings were
issued by the Department of Foreign Affairs in
Australia saying Bali was off limits and, further, the
rest of Indonesia was even more dangerous.
Despite the warnings, I travelled to Kalimantan to see
Paula once again, but I couldn’t live there in the
predominantly Muslim area as I was the only westerner,
and Paula would have to wait for a year to come to
Australia.
Originally, I wrote the song
Bali Dreaming so we
could always be together.
Alas it was not to be.
In the end, we parted, and started new lives. The
bell tolled for Bali, and still does.
- Dave Fisher
Kuta, Bali, Indonesia.
http://www.thekutabeach.com
http://groups.msn.com/balidreaming/balidreaming.msnw?albumlist=2
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