Gigilos, escorts and friends

I'd booked myself an escort to the arty part of Bali today. Not that kind of escort - although it's true that Bali has many gigilos. The Balines Princess offered to treat me to one - but as you know that's not my style so I politely declined. Why anyone would pay for sex here astounds me - I've had more offers of "boyfriend" in the past week than in the rest of my life put together. To the caring friend who kindly suggested I bugger feminism and get myself a cheap gold wedding band - I say, great idea babe but really not necessary here. maybe for Thailand. In contrast to your average beered up bloke in Sydney or London who gets all aggro when his ego gets dented, the men here swallow my "no thank you darling" with exceedingly good grace and humour. If pushed I explain that having just come out of a five year relationship I am having a year to myself, and despite the occassional "A year, that's crazy" people seem to understand.
I'm meandering, my escort
Also comes at the recommendation of the Balinese Princess although I'm told giogilo-ing is not his style either. It's safe and easier to take a guide if you wish to deviate from the tourist centres and Ngurah (pronounced Goorah) was given glowing refernces, gentlemenly, centred, totally trustworthy. All week I have been declining offers of transport with the words that seem to have become a mantra, whether talking about massages, manicures, shopping or anything else, " I already promise someone else". That's cos on average I give a promise once an hour when someone has a particularly strong sadness or desperation about them. It's good excercise as I then spend the rest of the day retracing my steps to find whoever it was in whatever back alley I made a promise to last time I was out of cash.
Stick to the point woman
So Ngurah. After two days of searching I finally locate the right, the real "Ngurah". The number of men claiming to have his name but falling far short of the tall, young, sexy description was quite astounding. He is as promised. I tell him "I no want boyfriend, no want jiggy jig, just want transport" He looks at me like I am a loon, teases a little and we make a plan to meet at eight thirty this morning. I tell him I want him to ensure I get no hassle from other men. Basically given that he's hotter than an active volcano I am quite happy to have people think he's my boyfriend. The same however cannot be said of his older, shorter, larger and balder brother who turned up this morning with Ngurah because Ngurah has to stay in the office.
Naturally, given that I do not have the same trustworthy refernces and he's hardly as pleasing eye candy I rescheduled my trip to temples, volcanos and tradional Balinese village to tomorrow which is Ngurah's day off. I'll end the day in Ubud, the cultural centre of Bali which is another tourist area boasting Bali's finest art galleries )including one for female artists which is naturally on my itinerary) and home to the best of Balinese dancing. Here I'll be staying with the daughter of a lovely lady I met on the plane from Jakarta, and having dispatched Ngurah back to Bali will hang out there for a few days before coming back to Kuta for some final shopping - last orders in now please.

I'm cyurrently stayiong in a place called Merka Jaya in Kuta where I've been since I arrived. It is cheap (eight dollars, three pounds a night), has beautiful gardens with hammocks and kittens and lush tropical plants. I have a simple bunglaow, two beds, a bath (cold, but the humity is so stinking contemplating anything else would be ludicrous), a fan that doesn't rotate but gives off plenty of air and a wardrobe with two hangers that scream under the weight of anything more than a bikini.

It's safe according to the Balinese princess. And I have grown to trust the staff and feel relaxed there. Until last night, when at 1am someone tried to get into my room. When I called out he replied it was "just security checking the door". Well given that that hadn't happened before and I had diesmbarked the innocent trusting tourist boat after two muggings in other cities, I was not falling for it.
I hardly slept convinced someone had sen through my patchy descriptions of my home town of Auckland, discovered I was English and was coming to avenge the perceived evils of my nation on my lone body. I slept fully clothed, with the fan off so I could hear any noise, with my contact lenses in so I could identify the bastrard if I made it out alive, with my phone ready to dail the lovcal police at the mereset sound, with the light on and a can of mosquito repellant and a pair of nail scissors under my pillow. Naturally given the heat and my mental state slept is not a wholly accurate description. Sweated and fretted is more truthful. Turns out it was in fact security who do do the rounds every night to check the guests have locked their doors, and it was just that I was up later than usual last night having made a friend and chatted until the point I'm normally snoring. There's a note on my door warning we about it, but I never got past the breakfast times!
The friend by the way is lovely, a Balinese boy, very sweet, very honest, very appealing to my maternal instincts.
I have so much still to tell, about the flowers shop keepers leave outside their doors as a gift to teh gods to bring them good luck, abouyt what a sucker I am for the sad faces and lines I have heard over and over "no business today", "just for luck lady", "just lookie madam", I've scooters with whole families on to depict, anidotes galore, but they'll have to wait. I'm already aware that those surfing from the office run the risk of getting rumbled so long are mo entries, so, simply noting that
Life is a bike ride over varied terrain
I'll love and leave you
Julie x