Birthday princesses and men in uniform

apologies avid blog followers (read mum and lil sis!), the birthday princess in true homage to her mothers childhood ethos of you can do whatever you want its your birthday and the girls mantra of birthdays last a whole week, has been stringing it out hence the lack of blogging.

To those of you wondering if i really did a literature degree so apalling is my grammar (see mothers with no apostrophe for example) I should explain that in addition to being infuriatingly slow, balinese internet cafes kindly put useful little things like apostrophes and quotation marks under different keys than the ones marked as such

So the birthday day was pretty much a non event. I went to teh airport to change my ticket and get some legal immigration advice on extending my current 30 day visa. Hum, first was fine, legal advice involved a man in uniform telling me to meet him outside the airport, not talk to anyone and pay him $200 in return for a new visa (read tear out the old and paste a new one over it).

It was pretty pissed off having explained clearly to him I wanted a legal solution not a dodgy one. The upshot - I am off to singapore for a few days to rerturn legitimately for around the same money. What really annoys me is that whilst the westerners can happily fork out a few quid here and there to the guys in uniform, the Indonesians can ill afford it and get treated the same. Take the police for example, they are forever holding roadblocks to get passers by on a series of jumped up charges, all of which miracilously vanish for a bung. I got caught with one of the guys from the tour office today but luckily they found nothing to fine him for. half an hour later as we were returning the buggers were counting their takings and sharing it out between the 4 of them. It is harly suprising there is so little faith in Indonesias fledgling democracy, it seems everyone in a position of authority and what should be trust takes full advantage of it to line their own pockets.

Anyway, post immigration I decided some birthdaying was in order and I took the boys for japanese food ( a first for them) then off to a pub to watch some live music followed by a bit of clubbing. I went mad, cocktails, beer, great food, more jugs of balinese Arat ( a spirit that is suprisingly drinkable to someone used to used to national drinks siuch as that nasty stuff you get in Greece whos name escapes me) Oozo? the whole night including taxis, set me back a paltry thirty quid for five of us. bargain! There was much hilarity with the boys first chopstick encounter, me falling off podiums, and then a collective male collapse around 2am when I suddenly had five beseeching and definately swaying faces asking if it could be the birthday finale now, though not using the word finale cos their English is not good enough.

Life in Bali continues to amaze me, there's so much (where the hell did that apostrophe come from and how can I get another one?) we take for granted in the West. Being able to get a passport for example, one of the guys has a sister who is marrying an Aussie guy and yet because she hasnt finished school (not enough money to pay for it) she cant get a passport. One area where actually you would think a backhander would be helpful, but no, doesnt work apparently. How bad is that, no money for education, no passport? It seems the whole system here is designed to really kick those who have it toughest.

On a more positive note I am loving the indonesian food, and the number of toptastic people I am meeting is speading faster than a fungal toenail. there's ( See sometimes it pops up, the apostrophe, maddening!)Mac the Spanish jewellry and clothes designer who eats fire in her spare time, Agu the pregnant woman in my hotel who has been disowned by her family for getting pregnant and marrying a man below her caste, whos just lovely albeit naturally very pained about the fact she has to snatch ten minutes with her nephew in the school playground then ask him not to tell mummy. There's happy a woman worth her name who sells fruit on the beach. Wimpi, the man with the best theraputic massages in the world, who is definately not as him name implies given he does up to 15 of them a day. Theres Mr Jerry, a lovely man who cooks the best balinese food on the planet, with his lovely wife and two gorgoeus kids, he used to have a leather jacket shop but with two small kids and 2 months without a sale he decided drastic action was needed and as both him and his wife can cook, they opened a restuarant and display their jackets in cuboards at the top of the walls just in case the old business picks up. When I first went there they had very few customers having just opened, now words spread and the place is frequently heaving( in Balineses terms that means more than four cusrtomers at once).

Life is like surfing, sometimes you fall off and smack your head, but the rides worth it.

Julie x