Sunday, May 9, 2010

White Walls, Concrete Floor

Upon landing in Bali at 1 in the morning it dawned on me that it was going to be next to impossible to find proper accommodations for the night. No drama I thought, I know this island pretty well and should be able to make due. Fast forward 3 hours and I'm wandering the streets of Kuta lugging about 50 lbs of camera equipment on my back and
a surfboard over my shoulder desperately in search of any place with vacancy. Sleeping on the beach wasn't an option because the rainy season was taking its sweet fucking time transitioning into summer.

Just as the first trickle of rain came down a Balinese man zoomed up on a motorbike offering me drugs and/or prostitution. "How bout a cheap place to stay," I said. His response? ...No problem boss. Normally I wouldn't hitch a ride with a drug dealing pimp but there I was zig-zagging through the back alleys of this third world hedonistic hell-hole barely holding on to my bags. Once we got to the losmen I breathed, slapped his hand, and said goodbye. I don't know how good he is at slanging and pimping but he sure makes on hell of a tour guide. The room was pretty nice too.

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