Beginning
At ten PM I woke up to the souds of our plane prepping for landing. Next to me Roxane stirred but did not fully wake. Twenty-four hours ago we were in Wellington, and Roxane was just finishing her last shift working at Rosemere Backpackers hostel. Our departing flight was scheduled for six in the morning, so rather than pay for another night in a room, we had contrived to spend the night celebrating with all our friends from the hostel.
After five hours, many farewells, the better part of a spirits bottle and countless bleary games of Bananagrams, we wobbled our way into a waiting cab and were whisked off to Wellington International. We paid our unpleasant driver as much as we could in coins, half because we needed to get rid of them and half because he was unpleasant.
Shivering from the early winter chill, we waited for the airport to open its doors for the morning. We had arrived exactly two hours and three minutes in advance of our flight, and three minutes too early to enter the airport. Soon the doors opened, and we waited in a series of empty queues until the necessary workers arrived to fill each post.
Our first leg was to Syndey, where we had a ten-hour layover. We paid the entry tax and filtered through immigration and customs to meet Frances for a whirlwind tour of Sydney’s sights. Frances is a good friend of Roxane’s mother, and treated us an absolutely wonderful time, showing us a lot of things I never saw on my previous Sydney visit. We also stopped by the Westin and picked up a package – an entertaining story for another time.
Now we were finally arriving in Bali, after thirty-eight hours without proper sleep. At the arrival gate a man with a sign waited to take us to our accomodation in Kuta.
My first impression on the way out of the airport was of stonework. There were intricately carved sculptures and gates everywhere, even in the airport parking lot. I wondered who commissioned all these works, and how many stoneworkers there must be in Bali to produce them all. Later, we would find that most of them are made from volcanic tuff ground up, mixed with cement, and carved when still wet for a much easier medium than stone.
Kuta has a reputation as a rowdy resort for hot young things. As we rolled through the main street, this was confirmed by the many bars and nightclubs, but few people were out and about on Sunday night. Our driver turned down one alleyway, and then another, navigating a maze to Suji Bungalows, whose address is listed only as “off Poppies Lane.” We never could have found this place on our own.
Our room was the top floor of a small cottage. The wooden door was beautifully carved, and the lock was a simple expedient – a padlock looped through the two metal rings that were the door handles. The room was simple and a bit dingy, but we had our own bathroom and an air conditioning unit. We high-fived each other and fell immediately asleep.