Bali- Kuta Beach

Bali is constantly in rush hour; horns honk, scooters zip by, people push past, taxis pull up and ask if I need a ride to the beach a block away. People and noise surround me, pulling my attention in every direction. My eyes try to take in the mass of people; wary of predators and interested in their customs of merchandising; but they are trained to the ground for fear of stumbling on broken cement or stepping on a burning offering. 

They sell me silver rings, colorful dresses, corn on the cob, petrol from Absolut bottles, massages, motorcycle rides, manicures, bags, bintang singlets, bracelets, Aladdin pants, pineapples, surf lessons, wooden puppets, blow darts, a bow and arrow set, magic mushrooms--anything. You want a guy killed, they ask who. You have a girl with you, they ask how much. I haggle and argue for a pair of pants, trying to make up for the obvious nature of my foreign nationality to prove I cannot be fooled. I constantly pat my pockets to be sure everything is there and convert rupiahs into dollars in my head to be sure I didn’t actually just pay $100,000 for a shirt. 

I confidently step out in the middle of the street into the oncoming herd of traffic to cross the street, pushing down my fear of being run over: a simple causality in the daily life of the Indonesian masses. The contrast of crumbling original buildings, ornate carvings, and capitalism’s prominent presence through modern KFCs and McDonalds reminds me that I am in a third world country surviving on its tourism industry. When I finally reach the beach I breath a sigh of relief, thinking I can relax: but I’m wrong. The crowds of merchants increase and the ferocity of their selling pitches grows with the heat of the sun. 

I run towards the water, mostly to cool my feet from the scalding sand, but also to get away from the madness. The water is warm, but still refreshing as the waves crash onto the stony sand. I close my eyes and think how amazing this all this-- I never imagined that I would be in an Indonesian country and yet here I am--standing in the Indian Ocean, surrounded by better friends than I've ever really had, on this amazing adventure and I am just so thankful. I begin to think how my grandparents--even my parents--would never have had an opportunity like this and I are so incredibly thankful it brings tears to my eyes. I become motivated to give the kids I didn't know I wanted all of this and more. I feel connected to God again and say some prayers as I slowly slip into sleep on the sand, the sun searing my skin, sweat pouring off my body, and a smile lingering on my face.