may 24, 2012

padangbai, indonesia

i spend another rough night, bolting upright every 2 hours or so, not knowing where i am when i awake, until i discover myself enmeshed inside of my gauzy mosquito net and notice the still-empty space next to me, usually occupied by my lovely wife who is now far away in medan. at about 4 in the morning, 4pm boston time, “doctor bobbha”, my childhood psycho-pharmacologist friend, awakes me with a call. he’s now living outside of boston “amongst the rats”, and has turned into one of the most paranoidly-cautious men i know, although i still love him dearly. “thanks for calling back, bobbha.” “man, i just spoke to my price waterhouse accountant on your behalf. he says you should delete all your e-mails talking about foreign investment in bali. they have a way of tracking them, man. i shouldn’t even be talking to you on the phone.” “whoa, take it easy, bobbha, i thought you were trying to meditate more these days.” “I am. I AM!” “it doesn’t sound like it’s working, bobbha.” “it’s working. it’s working! i just don’t want the IRS or the CIA coming down on you, man. you gotta be careful about the feds and…” …off he goes… for the next hour and a half.

by the time made arrives at 9 sharp on my front porch for the next day of his real estate seduction, i’m still bleary-eyed from bobbha, and none too refreshed from my, by now routine, breakfast of mango, melon, banana jaffle and ginger tea. “new idea, trrrules. very good news” i eke out a laugh. “why doesn’t that surprise me, made?” “yah sure, trrrules. you say you cannot pay 80 million for land and villa.” “true, made, that’s what i said.” “well, i speak to my sister, dani. and she speak to husband, pak putu, and she say, he want to pay half.” “half what?” “half de 80 million for property and renovation, trrrules.” “what? why?” “he say you ‘verry smart’. make good partner. bring many people to padangbai.” “really?” “yah, sure, trrrules. dey want to meet wid you.” “really?” “yah, sure, trrrules. i meet you in front, ok? wid dani and pak putu. yah?” “uh….”

“…o–kay, yah…”

another sharp turn of events. dani and pak putu want to be my partner? holy bali! it seems that every day i’m thrown another wicked curve ball. but who’s the pitcher here? it’s certainly not me. i don’t even think i’m at bat. but there seem to be an awful lot of forces conspiring with (or against?) me here in padangbai: not only am i literally “stuck” here with gout, completely in the hands of my new best friend, made, the body-building, ex-gigolo- real estate hustler, but my indonesian-speaking wife is a thousand miles away on another island, leaving me to my own devices, and advices, which, with exception of the cautious carl and crazed bobbha, have me feeling like a tether ball being batted back and forth between two diametrically-opposed cultures, east and west. who knew that 3rd acts required so much tension?

i limp my way from my air-conless cell to the beachfront dining area. at least the two scowling teutons are absent from their front porch. hopefully, they’re asleep. and the python too. although i don’t know about the coiled snake. it’s impossible to tell about its wakefulness, or to know about when it just might sneak out of its glass cage, and pounce with a venomous bite. i get to the dining area and there are made, dani, and pak putu. they’re sitting around a wooden table, waiting for me. i feel like the main course.

as soon as i limp up to the table, pak putu rises. he stands to the side of his chair, puts his two hands together vertically over his chest, and bows to me formally. “pro-fes-sor.” i can’t tell if he’s slyly toying with me or if his gesture is an actual sign of respect. but i play along. i put my hands together over my chest and match his bow. “pak putu.” (“pak”, with a silent “k”). the appellation is the greeting for a man of… ahem… a certain age, and the bow hopefully, a sign of respect). we smile at each other. there seems to be a twinkle in his wise, balinese eyes; as i said, something that makes me think of a sleek, mr. miyagi from “karate kid.” does that make me “young grasshopper”? some kind of over-educated, bule snake food?

“how your foot?” dani asks politely. “hurt?” “yeah, still hurts.” “made take you to doctor, yah? get medicine?” “yah.” it’s true. along with the daily mimba village moto-tour, made has taken me to a nearby town’s clinic, because oddly enough, he also has gout. “uric acid too high, trrrules. verry painful.” i’m surprised. i thought gout was a “rich man’s disease”, but here in 3rd world indonesia, made has it too. it’s probably all the shell fish and the peanut sauce balinese people eat. but at least our common malady has gotten me some help. made’s personal doc, who has the biggest ears and saddest eyes i’ve ever seen on a human being, has prescribed me allopurinol, even though i already know it’s merely a gout-preventative drug, not one for acute attacks. still, i’m taking it religiously, along with his steroidal anti-inflammatory, while i wait for my expedited shipment of chinese herbs to arrive from my house sitter in LA. it’s not a great position to be in – waiting in pain for the efficiency of the corrupt indonesian post office, which goes through every package shipped from america, especially valuables like computers, personal gifts, and money! but what would they want with some gout-treating chinese herbs, right?

So they continued their research for some more years and finally came up with a medicine for solving this purpose which was named as tadalafil in uk. Due cheap viagra australia to stress a number of people fall sick or are prone to some or the other problem in their life. This viagra sales india is not to be mistaken for analyst who is not in a position to get rock hard erection. Women, who has taken the help cialis no prescription overnight of proper analyzes.

never mind. back to the main course. dani gets a nod from pak putu and she breaks the ice. “my husband ‘pologize ‘gain. he no speak english good. he ask me talk to you. is ok?” “of course. tell him he speaks and understands english much better than i speak bahasa or balinese.” “oh, you know bahasa indonesia?” she’s impressed because i know the name of the dialect of my wife’s matriarchal local tribe in sumatra. “yah, sure,” i say, trying to pick up the native rhythm. “i’ve been married to a batak woman for 10 years.” dani looks at made as if to verify what i’m saying, raises her eyebrows, and translates for pak putu, who nods in approval and speaks. dani translates. “my husband say batak ‘very strong’.” “tell him, this i know.” smiles all around. i wonder if they also know that my lovely wife is with her batak family right now in medan, giving as little attention to her wayward husband as humanly possible, who, by the way, she’s threatened to divorce. i’m going to hope for the best and act like the answer is “no”.

“made say you want to buy villa.” alright, finally the main course of the main course. “yes, but i have only a little money. i am a teacher in my country, not a businessman.” pak putu smiles. why do i get the feeling that he understands a lot more than he admits to. we all look at each other from the great distance of our separate worlds. made speaks. “listen, trrrules, verry good news.” i smile again at his familiar approach. “pak putu and dani speak to owner dis morning. dey get verry good price.” “that’s great. how much?” “you know, trrrules, pak putu is head of culture in padangbai. very important. big respect. his wife, dani, can be your sponsor. not me.” “really?” “yah, trules, verry good. everyone in village come to pak putu for every ting. he decide what fair. what correk.” “he’s like a judge?” “yah, trrules. like dat.” made is smiling, like maybe this new york bule is finally getting the picture. “when people want to buy land, get married, have fight between brother and sister, dey come to pak putu. he listen to all. den he decide all. if he agree, ok, people can marry. buy property. if not agree, no.” “he’s very powerful.” “yah, trrrules, verry powerful.” they all look at each other. pak putu deflects the attention by swatting a fly. he reminds me not only of mr. miyagi in “karate kid”, but of toshiro mifune’s character in the great kurosawa movie, “yojimbo”, where the powerful, steel-willed samurai catches a pesky fly – with a pair of chopsticks. whoa! maybe i’m not snake fodder here, but the fly, buzzing around the breakfast table in front of the all-powerful samurai-mayor-judge-village chief of padangbai.

“owner agree to 400 million, trrrules.” “that’s only 40 million less, made.” yah, trrrules, but dat very good price. already verry cheap, 400 million. owner crying dis morning in front of pak putu and dani. say cannot sell for less. pak putu agree. verry fair.” “ok, i understand, made. everyone has to feel good.” “yah, trrrules. you agree to price?” “uh….” i hesitate… as the world starts whirling around me.

what have i gotten myself into? i just met these 3 padangbains, made, dani, and pak putu – 2 days ago. now they want me to be their partner for a half-built villa in the middle of a banana and coconut field. my mind is reeling. bules cannot own property in bali. yesterday i was stuck with the prospect of made being my sole “sponsor” on a 440 million rupiah property that would cost me another 400 million to renovate. now i’m suddenly looking at buying a property for 200 million (just over $20,000) and spending another 20 grand to fix it up – and it will have a pool! i can be “partners” with the village chief, the head of the local culture, of this remote balinese fishing village, just because he thinks i’m “smart”, and because…? because…? because… i don’t frigging know. and maybe i never will, but right now, they want to know if i “agree to the price?”. and i have to decide all this without a western lawyer or accountant, without my wife, and in the next… minute and a half.

ok, trules. train of opportunity. sure, you’re stuck inside of padangbai with the bali blues again. stuck with a potential divorce, a giant pain in the big toe, and not at all knowing how things will turn out. but, c’mon, step up. take a risk. live without a net. how often does frigging opportunity knock so loudly and clearly and… cheaply… at your door? magic, trules dude. coincidence coupled with consequence. making the most out of the moment. seizing the day. saying yes to the information, man. closed door, open window. third act, man. this is it. right here, right now, sitting at this table with these 3 indo-aliens – the beginning of your magical 3rd act –

“ok. i’ll do it. let’s buy the property. be partners. yes.”

i look directly into pak putu eyes. he knows exactly what’s going down. what i’m thinking and what i’m feeling. he’s the village chief. his eyes are smiling. my eyes are smiling. he offers me his right hand. i take it. “partners,” i say. “partners,” he mimics. made and dani look on with satisfaction. they’re smiling too.

pak putu speaks to me in his native language and he gets up. he bows. “pro-fes-sor.” i get up and return his bow. “pak putu.” i’m partners with the richest and the most powerful man in padangbai.

pak putu walks off towards infinity… i mean, the infinity pool and made, as is only right, has the last word. “pak putu say you come to his home tonight. make contract.”

nope. the last tentative and panicky words are actually mine. “uhhh. o… kay.”