Final Entry 25 Tuesday June 1, 2004, China Airlines Jet

In the end, our last few days were spent with Iketuts family at Puri Bambu.  

Iketut on duty greeted us with a welcoming smile when we returned a few days before our departure so that we could organize and gather our delivered and stored items for the return home.  




















He surprised us by telling us his Charlie and Billy (names we gave them) were waiting to play with Morgan at a nearby co-workers home in this very same village.  Yay!















Morgan and I followed Iketut on his motorcycle on Spicy bike and once again we were fortunate to be able to enter behind mysterious village compound walls.

This one also came with a lovely grandmother who was sitting peacefully on a mat, creating offerings with palm fronds on her tiled floor.   

Again, as the other home in Iketuts village, this room was also sparse in furniture but there was a television on displaying the outside world to her open eyes, in this case music videos India style and Anime.

The three children swam in the pool that day while the rain came and went as it had the whole of five days.  When they became bored they hid from each other in the hallways playing the universal game of hide-and-go-seek with lots of sounds of giggling and pitter-patter of little feet and down the hall.  


Later when the rain let up I happily drove all three of them on spicy bike down to the beach where they ran from the waves laughing, not fast enough intentionally, soaking themselves in the salty water within a matter of minutes.  




When their energy was passive and they were entirely wet, knowing their clothes would not dry in the very damp air, I negotiated a new set of shorts and t-shirts for all three of them at a cheap stall near the end of the beach and now dry they piled behind me on spicy bike. Driving with three children on one small motored bike!

Our last night was spent gloriously with our now family, feasting at sunset over kilos of fresh fish and prawns served up with chili sauces and tasty side-dishes, the kids playing delightfully in the dark with light-up yoyo’s bought from a beach vendor.  


Songs trickled out of the warungs when the rain began to drizzle on us once again. 

The next morning we packed our musty bags and our delivered, just as promised, Bali Aga Village souvenirs, were carefully stuffed into a new suitcase for transport.   




I said goodbye to spicy bike, my loyal friend, who carried us  a thousand miles up and down and through these numerous roads of variety in rain and shine.  


Iketuts wife and children accompanied us, first time, to the airport in the Hotel transport taxi.  Treating them to McDonalds at the open-airport was bittersweet.  Happy Meals certainly got their name from somewhere.  

Making our sad goodbyes, them saying “come back, stay with us again, please”.  Us saying, “come see us” as if they had simple choice to make.  We moved on slowly with our bags and what seemed at one moment fast and chaotic on the next moment was slow like a dream.  On with our bags, zombies, passing through the airport, already the changes were taking place.  The faces, the sounds, the features, the money, the colors, the smells; within hours we were transported back to another place and time. Bali a distant dream, a mere thought in our minds.