padangbai, indonesia

“next?” i have no idea. but it’s clear that i’m not in charge anymore. i get on the back of made’s motor bike for the 2nd day in a row, and we roll past padangbai’s white sand beach for the 2nd day in a row. up over a little hill and down into… mimba village. “follow the yellow brick road.” “follow the yellow brick road.” i feel something is drawing me there. perhaps it’s some kind of… balinese “magic”.

c’mon, trules! in this modern, over-developed, rational and technological world? what the hell do you mean by “magic”? well, perhaps it’s nothing more than coincidence… coupled with consequence. or having consequence unexplainably exceed expectation. or comprehension. having things happen for absolutely no logical or predictable reason. like discovering a new window of opportunity behind the door just closed in your face. or… taking advantage of an ephemeral moment, knowing that opportunities are as singular and transitory as whims, as fantasies, as ships passing in the night.

but you thought “magic” was some kind of dark, unknowable force. a grasping, penetrating, third world “black” magic. a psychically-intuitive, primitive power – channeled by shamans and witchdoctors and bomos, as they’re called here in indonesia and bali. bomos who can cast spells, create potions, and abduct children, as my wife’s younger sister, lita, was back in the village when they were children.

or… you thought “magic” was… pulling a rabbit out of a hat, levitating a body, or escaping from a strait jacket inside a leaden safe, under water, like harry houdini or david copperfield and their prestidigitating ilk. practiced acts of show biz diversion and illusion.

but “magic” here in bali? probably not the slick, professional skill of contrivance and manipulation. probably more the dark and unknowable force. but of… good? or of… not so good? which of these is taking me back to mimba village? i don’t really know. in fact, it’s probably neither of the two. it’s probably all just in my gout-effected, divorce-threatened mind. and we all know the kinds of tricks, deceits, and rationalizations that that survival-driven organ is capable of. but who’s taking me back to mimba village? that i think i know. it’s this swarthy, bodybuilding ex-gigolo, made, in whose “spell’ my fate and future seem to be held. then again… maybe i’m just along for the ride. having survived cancer in 1989 and a now a head-on motor bike accident in amed as recently as 2 weeks ago… maybe i’m already on borrowed time. bottom line, i simply don’t know, other than the fact that i like to believe in a life beyond accident and incident.

“i have new idea, trrrules.” “tell me, made.” we’re rolling up and down the now slightly more familiar streets of mimba. i’m again holding on to made’s waist, on the passive back seat of his motor bike. “you verry funny, trrrules.” “you too, made. what’s your new idea?” “well, i tinking, trrrules, dat you no have money to buy expensive villa. or even �nuff money to buy land den build villa.” “i still have 50 thousand dollars, made.” “yah, sure, trrrules. but i tinking… to show you land wid villa already on it. already built.” “land and building for 50 thousand?” “yes, trrrules. sure. family have to stop building. money problem. son very sick wid aids. dey need money very bad.” “i see. i see…”

…that i’m really being played like a fiddle. a “family with a son sick with aids who really needs da money now.” c’mon, made, i know i’m a 64 year old bule who you think has deep pockets by indonesian standards, but do i really look that fucking stupid? “he very sick, trrrules. i see him dis morning when i talk to family. he very white and yellow. very skinny.” “he’s going to die if he looks like that, made.” “yah, sure. but dey need money for hos-pi-tal. and medicine. dey sell very cheap.” “i’m sure they will, made. how much?” “wait, trrrules.” i show you property.” “yah, sure, made.” i repeat his optimistic sales phrase as we snake our way through the back roads of mimba village. i can’t help but think of that coiled python in the glass cage at the beachfront homestay.

we curl through the dirt roads of the village. past modest hindu-bali homes, all with small altars for daily food and incense offerings, many breeding colorful and well-fed roosters for the omnipresent, neighborly cock fights, which although officially banned by the local government, are still a notoriously brutal entertainment for local fathers and sons. we slow down in front of a home at the end of a road with a large pen of healthy and offal, hindu-bali pigs, and then we barely make the turn onto an even smaller road upon which apparently sit… the aforementioned, pre-built bargain homes. “how can you drive a car here, made?” “no problem, trrrules. road fix verrry soon.” it’s amazing how made has an answer to every one of my questions and concerns. we park the bike and walk onto the property.

now in my mind, long before i ever got to padangbai, or ever came down with another gout attack, or was threatened by another divorce by my malu-challenged wife, i had a picture in my mind, of what my so called “retirement property” would look like. maybe it was a little vague, but it was clearly there – based on other properties i had seen in my many travels over the last many years. like the one i had seen and stayed at, on boston bay in portland parish, on the east coast of jamaica. it was owned by a retired british couple who rented out their modest beachfront home, perhaps 95% of the year, who had it managed by a local neighbor they obviously trusted, and who stayed there whenever they wanted to on their 5% of the time. in fact, da wife and i were staying there when they arrived a couple of years ago. we were overlapping their arrival, staying in the guest room a day or two longer, while they were hosting their kids who had arrived from america. they all shared with us how happy they were with the property’s ownership, management, and… passive income-earning ability.

i had also seen other long distance-run home stays, and they all seemed like workable models: owning a home abroad, staying there whenever you pleased, and renting it out the rest of the time. of course, it depended on finding a trusted local manager, and probably a lot of other things i didn’t yet know about; yet there it was, in the back of my mind… now clearly pushing its way eagerly forward. i could even “see” the 2 little, separate houses, in my mind, with a blue-green infinity pool between them, some lovely greenery surrounding them for privacy… just a stone’s throw from a local beach – to which i could bring my friends from around the planet, both for periods of time when i was there, and for the time i wasn’t there. so yes, here it was in my mind, to this point mostly unseen even by myself, just waiting to be discovered and manifested in reality.

made leads me intrepidly forward onto the property. and there… if you haven’t already guessed… are two small, separate, but sturdily-built houses, sitting under one roof, on a on a 3.5 are lot in the middle of a un-ending field of coconut and banana palms. the lot is defined by cinder block walls, and it’s pretty overgrown from abandonment and neglect. but… the structures are solid and strong. “look trrrules, very good wood. last long time. verrry strong.”

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oy! what do i know about strong wood? teak? mahogany? ironwood. i’ve heard of them all… strong, durable southeast asian rain forest woods, used for carving and building, especially here in bali, by its renowned master artisans. but although my father was a self-taught carpenter extraordinaire, i never followed in his intimidating footsteps. i dropped physics 3 times in college, and calculus twice. i barely got through geometry in buck-toothed miss jarkin’s 10th grade class. i wasn’t good at “space relations”, nor was i good with my hands. so i am definitely a fish out of water, here in the middle of this coconut and banana field.

but we continue to walk around. “look, trrrules, already well for water. verry good. and look, kitchen, bathroom… almost finished.” we walk behind the single living room of one of the two half-built houses, and i see 2 concrete adjacent cells completely overgrown with vines and spider webs.

“these are the kitchen and bathroom?” “yah, trrrules, sure. easy to finish.” the two houses are identical. two single living spaces, self-contained, strong walls and bamboo ceilings, with perhaps a 2 foot alley between them. they share a common tile roof, and there’s quite a bit of property surrounding them both. “here you build bale, trrrules. i already have wood. verry strong.” “bale,” the free-standing, pagoda-like wooden structure, usually placed near the pool for relaxation and spiritual revitalization. of course, there’s no pool in this coconut-banana field. not yet. but no doubt, made already has the solution at the ready. “i call dharmo, get price for pool. he very good contractor. best in padangbai. he work for you. sure. good price.”

“and exactly how much does the family want for this land and villa, made?” “verrry cheap, trrrules. family need money right away, like i tell you. good price.” “how much?” “440 million, trrrules.” i quickly do the math in my head. “about 44 thousand U.S. dollars?” “yah, sure, trrrules. less dan 50 thousand. like you say.” “yeah, made… but it’s not finished. how much to finish it?” “with pool, trrrules?” “yes, with pool, made.” “wait, i call dharmo.”

he flips out his phone before i can stop him and soon he is rattling off numbers and words i can’t really understand, but i’m getting the gist. “how long pool, trrrules?” “i don’t know, made. long enough to swim in.” doesn’t he know i’m no good with geometry. “3 meters, trrrules?” “i don’t know. how long is 3 meters?” made paces off the 3 meters, right in front of the 2 half-built houses. and for some “magical” reason, i’m already seeing the “retirement property” in my mind – materialize right in front of me: 2 separate houses, one for guests, both surrounded by succulent greenery, with a dharmo-to-be-built poooool waiting to be dug. now where’s the beach?

“beach over dere, trrrules.” what? has he read my mind? or did i say it out loud? “which beach, made?” “black sand beach right dere, trrrules. same road, next to swiss villa. public road, trrrules.” “and the white sand beach?” “just over dere, trrrules. one hundred meters more.” now i’ve never been very good at metric conversions, but my father’s life-long love of track has the quintessential “1500 meters” clearly ensconced in my mind as the equivalent of a mile. so… the gorgeously uninhabited black sand beach is just a 100 meter stone’s throw from this coconut and banana field. a quit trot down the dirt road. and one of bali’s most beautiful and pristine beaches, padangbai’s famous “white sand beach”, is just 2 stone throws away. a double trot or a motor bike’s blip away. this all seems too good to be true. how did the vague picture in my mind just become an actual villa-to-be in front of my nose?

magic?

okay. i’ve already recounted how i met my wife-to-be in front of a bank in kuta beach. twelve years ago. kuta beach, the last place in bali i ever wanted to go. kuta beach, the over-crowded australian and backpacker mecca for modern day beach blanket bingo, high surf, and bintang beer in bali’s all night beach bars. but there i was, 6 months into the new millennium, at the end of my 1st southeast asian adventure, at the end of my health rope, right shoulder hurting, lungs filled with flu, in front of a local BCA indonesian bank.

i had just dipped my plastic card into the local till, come out with a few million rupiah, and there, directly in front of me, were two young local women walking by. “excuse me, do you speak english?” i needed directions, and i literally turned to ask the very first humans i saw on the street in front of the BCA. giggles. “lit-tle.” one girl is very young and very pretty, the other is a little older and a little heavier set. “do you know where the matahari is?” more giggles. “matahari?” “yes.” still more, self-conscious giggles. they show me – with a combination of finger points, “lefts”, and “rights”, straight out of the english dictionary they’ve clearly been studying. “ok, thanks a lot.” and off i go in the finger-pointed direction.

the next thing i know, i feel a tap on the back of my left shoulder. i turn around to greet it, and… it’s the young, pretty girl… smiling up at me. “i so you,” she smiles generously. “you so me?” i repeat incomprehensibly. “yes, i so you,” she says again, struggling to be understood with her thick indonesian accent. she points up ahead, then to the left, then to the right, obviously giving me directions. “ohhh, you SHOW me!” i say, greeting her smile with a broad, toothy one of my own. it’s an offer i can’t refuse… and so i don’t.

we walk together for the next 3 and a half hours. kuta isn’t that big a town, but we cover the waterfront, up and back, many times. i buy her a non-alcoholic drink, and we fill the evening with laughter, with loneliness, and with some post-lingual, between the lines, soul connection. by midnight, we’re walking along the, by now vacant beach, and she warns me, “dis beach bery dan-rous.” “really? it doesn’t seem dangerous.” “pros-tee-toot,” she says squinching up her face. “oh… i see,” although i probably don’t see much at all… until 12 years later, this young girl is now a young woman… and my wife of 10 years.

magic? coincidence with consequence? dumb luck? fate? who knows? but bali has always been “magical” for me. what more proof do i need than randomly meeting my wife on kuta beach in front of a bank – for 3 hours only – before i fly out the next morning to bangkok? after which, i go back to visit her for christmas 6 months later. after which, she gets her very first visa and flies to LA just 3 weeks before 9/11. after which, we marry on valentine’s day, 2003, and somehow contentiously stay together for the next 9 years… until 2 days ago, when she threatens me with divorce, after which i get on the back of made’s motor bike and end up in this banana and coconut field with the projection of my mind’s eye of a “retirement property” affordably in front of me.

not to mention, again, my surviving a death-defying, head-on motor bike collision in amed. just 2 weeks ago. and da wife surviving a death-defying bout of dengue fever in denpasar. just 3 weeks ago. all i can say is that something mighty and powerful is going on here with the two of us in bali. do you still not want to call it “magic?”

“listen, made, i really like this place. i can see myself living here, finishing and building a villa here… i can see myself bringing my friends here… but… how much to finish building it with a pool?.” “total?” “yes, total. land and villa.” pause. we look each other directly in the eye. “800 million rupiah, trrrules.” my eyes roll to the top of my skull as i do the math. “i don’t have 80 thousand dollars, made!” pause. “don’t worry, trrrules. we find way…………….”