In anticipation of an upcoming trip to Australia, I am sharing an excerpted, serialized version of a travelogue written in 2016 while visiting family in Melbourne. Australia to Bali, Indonesia. The entire travelogue may be found at kenballinger.com (with pictures.)
Bali, Indonesia, Feb. 15 – 29, 2016
I would not try it without Imodium. Since arriving in this bedeviling world of contradictions called Bali, I have lived on the edge of an impending intestinal thunderstorm. I can see the clouds in the distance moving obliquely to my given path. I can hear the distant rumble of thunder. I fear getting caught in the storm and it restrains my movements. And, although I have been wet from the rain, I have not yet felt the full force of the storm. I wish I could say the same for my wife Donna. For even though in the pre-trip she dismissed my “silly” fears of the “Bali Belly,” as it is commonly referred to, she in fact was the one who spent two days in alimentary canal distress. It was not pleasant for either of us. She looks and feels wonderful now, by the way. Me? I am still cowering out of concern for the pounding rain I can see in the distance.
Let me tell you how we ended up in Bali for two weeks amid a two-month adventure to Australia. I realize most of you see me as an alpha male, but as often happens, I lost this battle of wits with my significant other. After staying a few weeks near beautiful Melbourne, lounging lazily in an Airbnb on the beach of Port Phillip Bay at the top of the Mornington Peninsula, she hit me with a question for which she already had an answer: “What else would you like to do during our time in Australia, dear?” she asked in leading fashion. As I was shaping my lips to say, “Well, even though we have seen many wonderful sights here in Victoria, and we have visited Sydney and New South Wales on other occasions, as well as Adelaide and Perth, and found them delightful, I have never seen Tasmania, and I have never been to Queensland to see the Gold Coast, or to Cairns, where we could hire a boat to see the Great Barrier Reef, and I have always dreamed of making the trip across country from Sydney to Perth on the Indian Pacific Railway just like Bill Bryson did in his travel book on Australia, ‘In a Sunburned Country,’ you know, that we read before we came here to visit Adam (our son) on our first trip 12 years ago? There is so much here that we have left to see… and of course, being here with you makes it all doubly special, because you know how I adore you, and quite honestly dear as long as I am with you…”
“I want to go to Bali!” she spouted before the first sound waves of my intended, never to be heard, response crossed my lips. “Bali?” I repeated with a sense of impending dread. They say that some animals can sense an upcoming earthquake and become instinctively agitated the nearer the natural disaster comes. So, it is with me. I seek shelter with weak arguments. “Do you even know where Bali is on the map? Isn’t Bali in Malaysia or Indonesia or some other place where we know neither the language nor the culture? Why would we go to Bali when we are already in such a great place with so much to see? I mean for god’s sake; we have not even seen a kangaroo yet on this visit. Can we at least see a kangaroo before we go off on some half-baked, poorly planned, god-forsaken adventure? What are you going to say to your grandchildren when they ask about the kangaroos?” “Bali is where Australians go to play.” She replied. “I am not Australian.” I whimpered. “Bali has great temples, great art, wonderful food, and the Balinese are the kindest and most accommodating people in the world.” She read as she stared at her phone. “Darn Trip-Advisor.” I replied.
Straight away, as the Aussies say, knowing how these disagreements have tended to work out over the last 40 years, I was soon on the internet scheduling the flight and hotel package. I booked a relatively new hotel in Seminyak because we have heard that this is the most central and safest area of Bali for tourists. I say to Donna, “You know, honey, when they say this is the safest part of Bali, does that raise any warning flags for you?” Of course, she answered with questions. “Did you book the hotel? What does it say about the weather? Will I need something long-sleeved for the evenings? How close are we to the beach?”
As chance would have it, we booked our Bali trip while our Aussie Airbnb host Sally was spending a week in Bali with her daughter. Sally is our age and given to eccentricities of personality. When she returned, I immediately inquired as to her trip and impressions. She said, “Bali was great, except I was sick with the Bali Belly for four days and had to be hospitalized overnight.” I replied with a, “Hmm.” Continuing, she began an unsolicited description of her experience in her rugged Australian brogue. “I was vomiting. Not just regular vomiting, mind you, but projectile vomiting!” She seemed oddly proud and emphasized projectile as though as a naïve American I might never have heard the descriptor used with vomit before.
“Not only that…” I was afraid she would go here, “…I had the poo.” As she said “poo,” she directed the index finger of her right hand toward her ample nether regions and then pointed directly behind her while fully extending her arm in an aggressive fashion. She looked anxiously at me for confirmation of my understanding. I staggered backward half a step and nodded my comprehension hoping to settle my runaway imagination. I held up my right hand and said softly, “I got it.” Not being one to readily interpret slight nuances of conversation, she began a fuller description of her illness, but I quickly interrupted to tell her that we just booked an upcoming two-week trip to Bali when our lease was up with her. She brightened. She said to me, “You guys going to Bali? You will love it!” She grabbed the dog’s leash and left for the daily walk.
Here’s The Thing: …to be continued.
ken.ballinger@yahoo.com
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Editor’s Note: This is one of a series of articles written by a group of retired and current teachers — LaNae Abnet, Ken Ballinger, Billy Kreigh, Kathy Schwartz, and Anna Spalding. Their intent is to spur discussions at the dinner table and elsewhere. You may also voice your thoughts and reactions via The News-Banner’s letters to editor.
