Beginning in Bali

The sun was setting I lugged my backpack out of the Denpensar airport in Bali. I phoned James, an English guy I prearranged to couchsurf with (I contacted him while I was at my friend Kristin’s in Jakarta), but he was tied up until 9 p.m. with work and couldn’t pick me up. My second call for help was to Tianri, James’ Indonesian English teacher, she was also busy and recommended I hang out in Kuta beach until she or James was free.

No problem . I got a taxi and headed for the beach front.

These things are always easier in theory than practice. First I had no idea the lay of the land, where I could just “sit and wait” and if I was even going to have a place to stay the night after all.

The cab dumped me on the water front road of glitzy, glamorous and oozing tourism Kuta. I tramped along the sidewalk with my red shell of a bag, weary from a day of commuting, while girls in high heels and miniskirts strutted with cocktails in tow.
I chatted up a roadside information stand and Jack, the proprietor, let me set my bag with him for a few hours while I walked around making a plan.

The windy narrow streets crowded with vendors and motorbikes all looked alike and I scoured the town for a cheap room (I was forming a backup plan if staying at James’ fell through).

An hour of wandering and I stumbled upon a hotel driveway where a surfer (tan with shoulder-length sun-bleached hair) was chatting in Bahasa Indonesian with the local security guards.

“Excuse me, but do you speak English?” I asked upon approach. “I’m looking for a cheap cheap place to stay. Can you help?”

“Sure. I’m waiting for my friend Joana, then I can take you to a cheap place.”
And so my friendship with Diego from Peru was formed.

Diego had lived in Bali since 1996 and he was seasoned in all things Bali and worked for a surf camp off the coast of Java.

We waited for awhile for his friend, who was a actually his Brazilian ex-wife and his daughter Sophia, who never showed, before bouncing and going to a restaurant for a beer.

Diego, who I discovered was prone to rapid decisions and changing his mind, decided I could just couchsurf and his place.

“You can just stay at my place if you want. And stay as long as you need.”

So we grabbed my things from Jack, and drove away on his motorbike to the upstairs of a traditional open and multi building Balinese house he rented from an elderly couple who lived below.

We drove around that night for hours meeting up with hundreds of his local friends, until I could barely keep my eyes open.

I was finally able to get in touch with James, but since I was secured in a place I offered to meet him another day.

For the next four days I joined Diego along the road of his crazy life. Driving to check out a boat with his Australian boss, swimming while he surfed in the advanced waves and promoted his surf camp, and touring around local eateries.

Friday morning I packed my bags and left in search of my own place. Diego helped direct me and put me in contact with helpful folks and by the end of the day I had my own motorbike, room on the beach and cell phone.

Independence at last.