Location: Wouldn't You Like to Know, Bali

Let me say upfront that I know most (all) of my posts are usually non-serious in nature and have a somewhat (really) sarcastic tone.   I've been struggling to compose this latest entry but I really have nothing to be facetious about.  There are no particularly funny stories or humorous tidbits.  My life has just been good.  Really good.  

The lack of funny stories may or may not directly correlate with our lack of drinking in this country.  After single handedly boosting the cider market in New Zealand, we have unintentionally taken a break from the liver abuse.  It was never a conscious or stated attempt to dry out, we just naturally found ourselves shuddering and curled up in the fetal position underneath the table when the waiter asked if we wanted a beer.  So naturally we do what most ten year olds would do while their parents are ordering poolside margaritas by ordering delicious, thirst quenching, fresh squeezed juice at EVERY meal (and Kelly couldn't figure out why she hasn't had a solid bowel movement in a week, ha!).  

While I may have sounded slightly overwhelmed when describing our first week here in Bali (ok, I was definitely overwhelmed), I am totally on the Bali train now.  As previously predicted, our lives have mainly been occupied with swimming in the ocean several times daily, eating to our hearts content for less than $10 a day, reading on the beach, yoga, tea time, cooking classes, daily massages and afternoon siestas.  How to make that into a funny story?  It's beyond me.  How to make this into a permanent lifestyle?  I'm working on it.  

The sole difficulty has been the inability to blend in.  Being overly pasty, sweaty and at least half a foot taller than everyone else, we just scream tourist.  Fundamentally rejecting the Teva-wearing tourist, we are clearly cultural scholars, it has been hard to accept that moniker.  Then you see your puffy reflection in the Starbucks' window and realize that you look exactly like every other camera toting ass-hat (Disclaimer: under no circumstances have we actually patronized a Starbucks).  So much so that everyone thinks we're sisters; the locals even make bets on whether or not we are twins.  We get the twin question at least three times a day.  At a minimum.  Yep, big, brunette, amazonian twins.  Thanks to our scholarly backgrounds and our refined optical sense for detail, we have never confused one asian person for another.  Never.

Most recently, Kelly and I found ourselves in a random, sleepy beach town.  I hesitate to even tell you where it is, because it is one of the few unspoiled areas in Bali (since this blog is so widely read, I wouldn't want the burden of being held personally responsible for the tourist boom).  It has yet to be overrun by tourists, the prices are incredibly low and the people are fantastic, hospitable and put up with the likes of us.  We are staying in the above pictured beachfront bungalow that we have nicknamed the "Honeymoon Sweet" for obvious reasons.  Kelly gets major points for finding this piece of paradise.  The look on the owners face when two ladies showed up to check in was not judgmental, but perhaps a little confused as why we would have choose such a romantic little get away rather than your typical, action packed, bar filled backpacker destination.  So we are politely asked the less awkward, and hopeful, segue question, "Are you sisters?"  

The hotel owner's sister in-law even makes house calls to our bungalow every morning.  They send over two masseuses after breakfast so Kelly and I can ease into our stressful day of lounging.  Again, I don't know why they'd get the impression that we're on our honeymoon.  Can't two girls just rent a romantic beach bungalow because it's cost effective?  What we call hobo-ing gets misconstrued as homo-ing these days.  I digress.  The massages, for the price of your frappaccino (yuck, another Starbuck reference!), are ultra thorough.  Perhaps too thorough?  Or maybe I'm just underestimating this culture's lack of boundaries.  Prior to this week, I didn't know butt crack tension existed nor do I know how one develops tension in this particular crevasse.  They, however, seem to dedicate some serious time to this condition during each session.  I'm not complaining, it feels nice-ish and I have to give it to them for their keen sense of adventure.  Kelly after proof-reading this would like me to add, for the record, that her masseuse has not entered her most holy of cracks and she remains untarnished in that respect.  Lucky me.  At least they use delicious coconut oil that keeps that area nicely scented and greased (too much?).  It's more than enough to convince us that a mid-morning swim is absolutely necessary.  There goes the two twin, oaf-sized, lovers taking a swim again.  

Cooking Class in Ubud

One of the billions of rice paddies here in Bali