The entire travelogue may be found at kenballinger.com (with pictures)
Making Friends
I’ve spent most of my life avoiding eye contact with strangers to expedite my flow through life and avoid unnecessary time-wasting interaction. Donna, on the other hand, has spent her life trying to make eye contact with people so that she may engage them in conversation. I will give you one guess as to which of us is the most popular guest at a party. This trait of hers serves her well as she engages the concierge, the hostesses, waiters, cooks, store clerks, and especially other guests.
As often happens, she engages a couple about our age at the hotel’s rooftop grill and begins a covert line of questioning. This leads to Donna and the wife becoming immediate best friends while the husband and I hang on the edge of the conversation, alternatively looking away and pricking our ears as the conversation begins small and opens into a cornucopia of information worthy of a Wikipedia page on family, work, and travel. I will spare you the details of their lives but as often happens with unintended consequences, Mr. and Mrs. Peter Peterson (real name), of Gold Coast, Queensland, know someone who knows someone, which leads us to a local driver, Burhan, to motor us around for the rest of our stay.
Another evening at the hotel restaurant, an unsuspecting single man sat two tables over from us. He was middle age with a ponytail. Donna grinned at me and wondered aloud about what his story might be. I suggested she leave him in peace as he seemed reluctant to make eye contact. We had seen him at various other times in the hotel and even as far away as Ubud. Ignoring me, she startles him with a question, “Are you enjoying your stay?” He spoke without looking up directly. “I take it you are Americans?” We replied in the affirmative and his lack of perceived accent dispelled our assumption that he was Aussie.
He indicated he was from San Diego and had been coming to Bali for twenty years. “What do you do here?” Donna questioned as she was undiscouraged by his lack of enthusiasm for the conversation. “This is our first trip.” Relenting, he put down his fork to say he comes here annually to buy unique woodworks and furniture for his stores back in California. Well, if you know Donna, he might have well said that he was the King of England. Her back arched and her diction improved perceptively as she moaned, “Really, how interesting.” I wanted to remind her that I was a former tennis champion of Wells County and that I started every game for my high school basketball team, but I remained quiet.
We returned to our own meals for a full silent minute, then she looked at me, smiled and said, “I am going to ask him to join us!” Before I could issue my rejoinder of, “Oh, for god’s sake, leave the poor man alone!” she was boldly on her feet. He had taken the bait and was now trapped. He slowly nodded his head in the affirmative, finished the last bite of his dinner, and then joined us for the next two hours of conversation and laughs. He brightened visibly as Donna peppered him with precocious questions about his history as an artist, store owner, failed businessman, successful businessman, furniture buyer, husband, divorcee, father, grandfather, and his hair style. He said he rarely speaks to strangers. We met him on two subsequent occasions where the conversation continued. By the end, he had described for Donna how to be a successful buyer in this resource rich world of Bali furniture. She looked him up for a picture the night before we left. Steve smiled broadly.
The Suit
Upon request our driver, Burhan, delivered us to a small tailor shop where three men of big smiles, diminutive stature and bare feet would make for me a finely tailored suit of fine wool fabric for $100 USD. The shop was small with a dirt floor among other roadside batik shops, furniture shops and parked scooters.
How did it fit? Thanks for asking. Measured on Friday, the smiling 25-year-old scooter riding tailor arrived punctually Sunday morning with his shoulder bag and my new suit. He fitted the suit in our room and smiled broadly as he said in his broken English, “It feets you good!” I must admit I did admire myself in the mirror quite a long time, and Donna admired me to an uncomfortable degree. If we were not married, I might have been offended. She said that with my long bohemian style hair, that she insists on, that I looked great (with emphasis.) What I believe she was thinking was that I looked about as good as a six-foot-five, sixty-six-year-old, slightly overweight, jowly man can look. Either way, it was all good. The tailor parted with prayerfully folded hands and a bow. “Thanks for bringing me business,” he said as he backed out of the room.
Here’s The Thing: Most of the Balinese working in the tourism industry speak English; however, each interaction and conversation is replete with blank stares and delayed understanding. One undeniable characteristic, however, is the polite kindness displayed by all the people of Bali that we had the honor to meet.
Will we ever return? Donna would in a minute. Me, I am more reluctant. However, I do look pretty good in this suit.
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.
