may 29, 2012
padangbai, bali
made and i are at the denpasar airport, bali’s only domestic and international air connection to the outside world. da wife is flying in from medan, sumatra, her home town, for 2 days before we both fly back to our routine lives in LA. we’ve delicately mended our infamous “divorce” rift by phone, and i’ve prepared my padangbai troupes to roll out the red carpet for her. i’ve told them that as a young tourist-trade employee, fresh out of high school 10 years ago, she was not treated very well by the local balinese. “sure, dey smile so nice for de tourists, but dey very closed to other indonesians.” so made and dani are more than ready to give her the royal padangbai treatment, knowing that without her, my future in bali could be entirely non-existent. da wife and i have sort of “negotiated” a of bob dylan-type of balinese bargain, “i’ll let you be in my dream if i can be in yours.” which means that i am 100% behind her family’s new home and fashion store in medan, if she will support my long-held dream of a “3rd act” in bali.
before this trip, she had no desire to return to indonesia. she had given up her indonesian citizenship when she got her american passport in 2008, as indonesia does not allow for dual citizenship, although america does. this is what created the need for me to partner with made and pak putu as “sponsors” because i no longer had an “indonesian” wife who could “own” property for the two of us. even more significantly, my wife had long ago bought into the “american dream” hook, line, and sinker. she not only marveled at america’s visceral and real sense of financial “opportunity”, but she also greatly appreciated its equally real and visceral feeling of “freedom”, where she no longer had to feel the scrutinizing and judgmental eyes of her muslim countrymen for being with a much older man, or for wearing sleeveless dresses, or for saying and doing exactly what she truly wanted to do. no thanks to 3rd world, provincial indonesia; she had it much, much better in america.
so real was this feeling of “freedom and opportunity” for da wife, and almost all of her other immigrant friends, that it had made me re-see and re-experience my own country, which i had so often maligned and denigrated in my conversations for so many decades. now, standing with her at 5:30 a.m. on the long, immigration-processing lines at the federal building in downtown LA, or doing all the legal paper work for her green card and U.S. citizenship, or simply advising and enjoying her wide-eyed and appreciative russian, brazilian, chinese, and senegalese friends, i was forced to see the hegemonic, greedy demon of america anew – as much more of a benevolent welcomer of “the poor and huddled masses”, and as the iconic “land of the free”, just as my russian and ukrainian grandparents had, two generations before, as they arrived with empty pockets and equally wide-eyed dreams of their own – to ellis island – an entire century before.
once again, the wife is not at the airport, waiting for her two enthusiastic porters. her plane has been delayed. hell, at least her sister isn’t here, telling me she’s in the denpasar hospital with another bout of dengue fever! so… made and i hang out for an hour and have a cheap, tasty indo-chinese meal of nasi goreng (fried rice) cap cai (“chop chai” = mixed saut�ed vegies). right at the airport. it certainly helps to have a local friend and guide when you’re in a foreign country. especially at tourist traps like the airport. eventually, there she is. da wife.
walking out of the domestic flight terminal in a fashionable sarong, like the world traveler she now is. it’s hard to believe that just over 10 years ago, when i went back to bali to visit her for christmas, after having just met her for a single night in kuta in june, 2000 when she was just 21, she had never been on a plane. nor did she have a passport, or if memory serves me well, even worn a pair of high heel shoes. wow! how a decade had changed us both. i was no longer the surly, bohemian lone wolf, and she was no longer the provincial batak girl from sumatra.
made and i load her stuff into the car that we’ve decided to rent to make our lives easier than the 2 person motor bike we’ve been on for the last 4 days, and made speaks to her in indonesian for most of the hour long drive up the coast to padangbai. i enjoy the always-luscious scenery, hearing the easy laughter between them, being content and simultaneously quite used to people speaking their native language to each other while i’m an uncomprehending and silently-observant visitor in their country. i get the sense that made is telling her his life story, about being a body builder and gigolo, about growing up on the streets in bali and jakarta, having nothing, and now about being a husband and father in padangbai. i also have a feeling that he’s earning his credibility in her eyes with his combination of openness, vulnerability, and truth-telling about his hard scrabble life. i’ve told him enough about da wife’s own economic struggle to make him believe that this is the way to earn her trust and respect.
“yah, trrrules. your wife verrry nice. we become frrriends verrry quick.” i look at my wife who i’ve intentionally planted in the front seat next to made, and i hope his words ring true. she’s smiling and she seems happy to be back with me in bali. a lot has happened in the week she’s been gone and i’ve been holed up in padangbai with my gout. i’ve met the village chief, pak putu, his wife, dani, and her “brother”, made. i’ve become their partners; they’ve become my “sponsors”. i’ve outsmarted the evil bank of america and i’ve plunked down 20 grand on a half-built villa in the middle of a banana and coconut field. i have a new “home” away from home, and my wife seems to be back on my side again. she knows that i still love her, that my love has never wavered, although it’s been tarnished and abused more than a few times, and that my devotion and support includes her family in medan. in fact, if i remember correctly and give credit where it’s due, it’s da wife who encouraged me to not give up after the dengue ordeal in kuta, where everything looked so overcrowded and over-developed in the australian backpacker mecca around the airport beaches. “keep looking, trrrules. travel around da island. don’t give up so soon.” and now, here she is back with me in bali, going to the notaris with made, dani, and pak putu in the morning to sign and witness all the paper work.
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i make one good decision before she’s arrives. it’s to move my ass out of the corner fan room next to the two teutons. i can only imagine my wife’s re-embarrassment and re-fueled rage if and when she has to see the two blond frauleins again. better to let sleeping dogs lie. one threat of divorce has been more than enough for this trip. fortunately, dani has agreed to give us the fancy upstairs room with the air con, tv, hot water, and frig � for free � as she knows the importance of da wife’s enthusiasm and support for our new partnership. i’ve had all my stuff moved to the new room by the time made deposits us from the airport, and we get a good night’s sleep after i fill da wife in on all that’s occurred since she’s been gone and what the plan is for the next 2 days. it’s nice not to wake up thrashing to an empty bed under a mosquito next for the first time in a week.
the next morning, as per my now well-established routine, i meet made at the breakfast table. this time with da wife in tow, but with no putu or dani. it seems that the negotiating stage has been concluded with yesterday’s arrival of the 2nd 10 grand, and that they will just be meeting us around noon for the trip up the coast to amulpura to the notaris for the long waited paper signing. i introduce da wife to the lovely ayu and to the rest of the staff, who i all know pretty well by now. what with my regular meetings with their bosses, i’m pretty much treated like “one of the family”. we order banana pancakes all around with 3 ginger teas, and everyone is more than friendly to da wife, whose youth and beauty seem to come as a shock to them all. i get it: what’s this old, limping bule doing with such a vibrant young woman from sumatra? instead of the scorn and judgment that da wife is familiar with from the local balinese, she’s suddenly greeted with smiles, warmth, and most importantly, respect. i think being a “mixed” indo-american couple has raised both our stocks, as i joke around with the girls over breakfast in an obviously friendly and familiar way. “pretty wife, eh, ayu?” “yah, pak trrrules for surrre.” likewise, i think da wife is mutually pleased and impressed.
after breakfast, made and i give da wife a quick crash course in padangbai and mimba village. she gets to see the land speculation properties of the foreign internationals, the french villa on the black sand beach, and finally the 2 half-built units in the middle of the banana and coconut field. “what’s that smell?” i inquire as we approach the house. “babi (pigs)”, da wife answers, having more than her share full of rural farm life as a kid. sure enough, just 2 houses away from “ours”, there are 2 thousand pound pigs loafing and reeking in a pen along the dirt road. “funny, i didn’t see them before.” made laughs. “surrre, trrrules. da pigs dere before.” what am i gonna do? argue with two thousand pounds of pork? i guess land-hungry enthusiasm can shroud a lot of things. the only pig i’ve ever seen bigger than these two, is the one and only “harley hoss”, the 1100 pound show pig i saw grunting in the iowa state fair. “looks like our friends will have to enjoy the smell.” “yah,” da wife laughs, “dey gonna like being out in da country.”
before we know it, we’re back at the home stay and dani and pak putu are ready to go with us to the notaris. we’re standing talking to made, who’s giving us the plan, when i hear pak putu from the breakfast table. it’s the 2nd phrase of english i’ve heard him speak since i’ve met him. “young wife.” i turn my head to meet his admiring glance. he’s said it just loud enough for me to overhear him, and he’s smiling at me when we catch each other’s eye. it’s sort of uncanny how pak putu comes up with the perfect english phrase whenever he seems to want one. this one is to back up his first, “i know you have no money, professor, but i respect you.” it seems when it comes to “respect”, putu speaks the necessary international language.
two hours later we’re all standing in a driveway in amulpura, the nearest town to padangbai to do business. me, da wife, dani, and pak putu have been driven there by made in pak putu’s shiny black ford escort, and the four of us, both couples of record, have each just signed the legal documents at the notaris to make the sale official. made is the “broker” of sorts, standing to make 5% of all the money spent. he’s the paralegal-jack of all trades in this situation, being also the real estate agent, contractor to be, architect, chauffeur, and general all around man friday for all concerned. we’re standing in the shaded horseshoe driveway of the notaris, a close associate of pak putu, with whom he does all his business. we’re shaking hands and hugging, congratulations all around. even pak putu is chatting away – with da wife, who has clearly charmed him with, if not her youth and beauty, then with at least her ability to speak indonesian, and even a little balinese.
i’m waiting for a copy of what we’ve just signed, a request that has come as a shock to the notaris and everyone else. apparently, i’m not to have questioned the great man, his legal ability, or his knowledge of procedure. but hell, we’re flying home tomorrow at noon, and i want at least some record of the thousands of dollars i’ve just spent in my last, life-changing week in bali. when i’m back on my mundane, but still beautiful back deck in the california sunshine, to prove to me that i do actually own a little bit of paradise in the middle of a banana and coconut field 13,000 miles away in the south pacific of bali h’ai. sure, i know i won’t understand a word of the signed documents, but there’s something in my still my middle class, college-educated, bad boy heart that wants to extract at least a token of percaya from my new balinese “partners”. after all, this whole, self-determined 3rd act jump off the cliff of life is entirely and irrationally based on percaya, balinese for trust.
we spend our last day around the infinity pool and leisurely pack our things, which as per usual, seem to have doubled in size from what we came with. we take made, his wife, and two kids, hendra and beni, out to dinner that night at the local fish joint along the waterfront, and they take us to their local spa the next morning where we pay for the works: full body massages, facials, hairdos, and even a special “colonic” for da wives’ private irrigation systems. by noon, we’re all standing around the front driveway of the padangbai beach home stay, loading our bags into made’s rental car and hugging our goodbyes to the loyal staff and to our new balinese partners in crime. that’s right, we’re partners with the village chief and new members of pak putu’s extended family… something i will have to remind myself of many times when made will inevitably skype me in LA, telling me he needs more money for the renovation or he has missed another deadline because of yet another hindu-bali ceremony that has delayed construction for yet another week of magic and ritual.
dani comes over with a small box from the local post office. “just arrive today.” i take it from her and see it’s my box of chinese herbs that my student house sitter has mailed over 2 weeks ago from LA. in the meantime, my gout has completely subsided, so i open the box and make a final gift of percaya to made, giving him the 2 plastic vials of herbs � for his own gout. just then the two blond teutons walk by conspicuously, no doubt making their way to the white sand beach for another day of balinese boy fishing; also no doubt silently celebrating our conspicuous departure. it’s been an eventful 2 weeks since i first greeted them so enthusiastically beside the infinity pool, having just arrived from lombok island with my 3 princesses in tow. by now, the princesses have all gone their separate ways. i’ve successfully combatted yet another gout attack, and… maybe saved my marriage along the way. da wife and i are now proud owners of a yet-to-be-built villa on the pristine east coast of idyllic bali, and the third act….
has begun…………
