The Most Extreme State of Chill

'Uhh, sweet' is about the only thing I could think when we touched down in Bali last Wednesday.  From everything I've heard, Bali is a pretty cool place.  Being the type that doesn't expect much in case it isn't incredible, I was relatively blown away by how awesome this trip was.  The best way to describe Bali is that it's a poor man's Hawaii.  It has less of a touristy ambiance, it's dirt cheap and you can't drink the water.  A flight to Hawaii from the States, hotel for seven nights and the cost of activities/food would range anywhere from $2,000 to $3,000, respectively.  Our trip cost less than half that.  Love Southeast Asia.

After feeling the grind of everyday teaching in the Cambridge System (feel lucky American teachers) and being observed by the administration, I was ready to have a book burning and pee on the ashes.  I'm sure we were all at that point (others maybe a little more so).  When we found the beach our first day there, we all found our zen, didn't move a muscle and fried like the albinos we were.  Some of us failed to use sun tan lotion and paid the price (hope you're walking normally by now, Joe), but my state of chill could only be rivaled by Isaal's.  If anyone gets within 12-20 kilometers of Isaal's chill zone, they're doing pretty damn good.  

This is a sweet picture I saw in a magazine and attached it to this blog.  Psych! My fat ass scaled this somm bitch on Indonesia's Independence Day.  It was a happy coincidence that we did it on that day and we were rewarded by over a hundred proud nationals singing their national anthem.  It was about a 1770 meters up (roughly two miles) and we had to make the trek starting around 4:30 AM.  Why that early? Because the sunrise was beautiful and we would have died if we did that in 85 degree heat.  Our breakfast was made by our guides using the steam coming from the mountain.  Pretty neat stuff.

Kuta was just 20 minutes south of where we were staying and my wallet felt much lighter after going there.  Did I find jeans that fit me yet?  No.  Damn Indonesians and their abnormally small bodies!  But I'm fairly confident that if I was sharing a budget with my wife, I'd never take her to Kuta. Ever.  That shit cra.  Everything you could possibly want (minus jeans for normal sized individuals) could be find in Kuta.  I found some nice gifts for my friends and family (hint:  I can't post pictures on a public blog).  Pull your mind out the gutter (I'm talking to you, Dingle) and read on friends.

Ubud was the cultural hotbed of Bali.  Lines of stores with art, wood carvings and cultural products that you could haggle for.  And you all know how I like to haggle.  They want $40, you end up getting it for $25.  They want $10, you end of getting it for $5.  It's like going to the Denver Flea Market, but the merchants are nicer.  Any memory of Ubud (the zoo, the culture, etc) was masked that I finally received my first professional massage for, wait for it......$5. My roommate and I got into the van to go home and just looked at each other and smiled.  In a borderline coma because we were that relaxed. 

The thing I was looking to most was scuba diving.  I've never been a guy who's big into water sports.  I tend to just sink and I live in Iowa.  Enough said.  After a quick run through of what to do (which didn't exactly reassure me), we were off to a designated diving spot.  Though it took ten minutes to figure out how to squeeze in a wetsuit two sizes too small and even longer for them to get the damn tank on my back, we were all in the water and dropping 6 meters down near the reef.  My ears were protesting and it took me a while to rely solely on that little piece of plastic in my mouth to keep alive, but it was pretty beautiful down there.  The fish are crazy and it was amazing to see things yourself that you only see on the Discovery Channel. 

Of course, those that could handle the atmosphere (cough cough) raged hard the night before we left.  Taught all those Indonesians and Aussies how we do things in 'Merica.  Learned some things about my fellow teachers. Mostly, that they have a lot of pent up rage that they channel through dancing with themselves and others.  I could only imagine that those bars are like the bars in Panama City and Cancun:  a lot of bro's (Richter, if you haven't downed eight of the black death by now, I'm talking about your kind).

Well, another super long entry, but it was an eventful time in Bali.  The Bule Band is now back in Jakarta and getting back into the swing of work.  Joy.  Until next time, enjoy 'Merica and drink a diesel for me.