I have a couple more Bali posts for you, but before I leave here for Beijing, I wanted to warn you that I might be offline for a while. Or, for the entire time we’re in China. According to Cara in Shanghai, it’s impossible to access my blog from there. This could be because she has really good firewalls at the Holiday Inn where she lives, or it could be because CHINA HATES ME. Either way, I will find a way to get the posts up, though it might not be until we’re back in good ole SE Asia, where I am beloved by all (especially dark-eyed women selling crap).

So keep checking, hang on and I should be back at some point. Do not fear: I am probably not dead in China, though I will make no guarantees.

So T and I are happily walking down the beach in Sanur when suddenly a woman materializes out of nowhere and starts talking to him as we walk. Just as quickly, another woman pops out and starts speaking to me. They are charming Balinese women, asking all the typical questions about where we’re from, how long we’ve been married, whether we have kids…and giving us hilarious answers like “You still practicing for kids! You come to Bali to practice kids!”

The woman speaking to me is named Grow (or pronounced Grow, anyway) and she tells me she also has no kids, but she is either too old or too sick to have them (I’m unclear which). We’re walking along, and it’s obvious these women have some kind of agenda other than finding out more about our fascinating lives, but we’re not sure what. Then, we pass the market. Grow suddenly grabs my arm and veers down the long corridor of shops. T’s friend does the same with him, taking him down the other side. Grow brings me into her shop, and T is ushered into one across the way.

This is Seller’s Step 1: Separate. I am left alone in the shop with Grow as she immediately starts putting sarongs and other clothes on me, thrusting more and more stuff into my hands. I had planned on buying a sarong anyway, so I let her do it. I find the one I wanted, and one for our friend Cara, and I’m feeling okay about my performance thus far. Grow refuses to give me a price, however, and will only tell me “I give you good price, I give you good price.”

T suddenly appears in the shop, looking very disdainful. He is giving me the stinkeye as Grow searches for more stuff to sell us, and mouths the words “We have to buy from her, too”, nodding toward the door, where his woman is standing, calling “Tim, I still here!”

Buyer’s mistake number one, caused by seller’s step one. Every time I try to get close to T to discuss whether I should buy them, Grow jumps in between us with a Bintang beer shirt or another sarong. She is clutching the two sarongs I said I would buy when she tells me to sit down. Like a dog, I do. T is giving me the stinkeye of death by this point, and between Grow’s woeful eyes and his burning eyeballs, I feel like I might pass out.

Grow kneels down beside me and gives me a price for the two sarongs: 650,000 rupiah. People, 650,000 = $65. FOR TWO SARONGS. At this point, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, because she’s really desperate to sell these, and T’s about ready to explode in a fiery rage. I think I have misunderstood her, and I look at T. He mouths, “That’s $65″ and I tell Grow no way. We then begin the bargaining.

Seller’s step two: make use of deep dark eyes and practice near-crying. Also, practice Oscar worthy performance of asking stupid white girl to buy sarongs for 100 times their actual value without laughing. Buyer’s mistake two: buy into the deep dark eyes and near crying.

And so we continue the dance, and I say to her, “We won’t pay more than 20,000,” which I know is more than these things cost, but I figure $20 isn’t too disgustingly outrageous to pay. She keeps up with the “Please, 500,000 rupiah, for my good luck”, and clinging to my arm. Finally, we get down to 200,000 and we leave, with Grow looking forlorn, like I just set her entire store on fire, and T glaring at me, saying “She made a killing!”

And then we have to go across the street to buy from T’s friend, practicing the age-old Hmong adage, YOU BUY FROM HER, YOU BUY FROM ME. In the end, we spent way more than we should on a t-shirt and 2 sarongs, but the upside is that every time we see something expensive now, we say, “It’s cheaper than two sarongs!” And also, I have become a masterful bargainer in Ubud, buying things for way less than they’re willing to sell. I am drunk with bargaining power.

$65. That Grow was good, man.

Oh my God, we’re in Bali.

I was giddy with excitement to be back in Asia from the minute we got off the plane. I had no idea this would happen, but everything was familiar and soothing to me, from the pandemonium at the airport to the endless lines to go through endless checkpoints to get a visa and get out with our bags. I was even thrilled to hear the airport announcements, which were spoken in the kind of outrageously loud voice that people save for the hearing impaired or speaking in a foreign language: “Attention, please.  JAPAN AIRLINES FLIGHT SEVENTEEN IS NOW ARRIVING AT GATE 3! JAPAN AIRLINES FLIGHT SEVENTEEN IS NOW ARRIVING!!!’ It took about 30 seconds for helpful Balinese men at the airport to grab our bags while T was at the ATM and look at me with those deep, dark eyes and say “Welcome to Baleeee.’ I could have died of happiness right there.

It’s nice to be back. Our first day in Sanur was unbearably hot and humid, and I thought perhaps we had made a mistake. Fortunately, the temp. dropped significantly, and the sun went away and it’s been perfect ever since. Not being beach people, we’ve been reading a lot by the tiny pool in our guesthouse and eating copious amounts of Indonesian food.

The guesthouse, called Flashback’s, is owned by a very friendly Aussie couple, and is made up of a cafe, a number of bungalows, and some single rooms. Our first two nights, we were in room nine, which was an open-air room above the cafe. It was a little disconcerting to be so exposed (literally, we had half-walls), but the room itself was very nice. The bad part was waking up at 7am to the sounds of Fox News from the TV in the lounge below us, where our first creepy Westerner plonks himself daily. Creepy Westerner is a flabby, white, balding American in his mid-50’s who wears a wifebeater that says Bali every day. He is accompanied by a very young Asian woman who talks to him in a baby voice and spends a great deal of time on his lap as they watch Fox News together. They appear to be living in the guest house, and Flabby McWifebeater spends a large proportion of his time yelling at the staff while watching Nancy Grace.

Oh, the staff. The staff at this place is nothing short of perfect. They are all very gentle, smiling Balinese who appear to spend most of their time beaming and sweeping. I love them. They are all charming and kind and very sweet, like most of the Balinese we have met.

After two nights in our open-air room, we managed to move to a smaller, private room nex to the pool, which has been heaven (since as we all know, there’s no Fox News in heaven). We share a bathroom with the room next door, but since no one is in there, we get the whole stone room to ourselves, complete with frangipiani on the sink and toilet. Our bedroom is small, brightly colored and airy.

T and I might be the only people on earth to come to Bali for the locals–even the drivers, who sit alongside the road next to their vans, calling out “Transport?” while mimicking a steering wheel. And when we say no, they smile and say “Maybe tomorrow?” People are always calling out to say hello, even from a rickety-looking construction site, where they yell “Hellooooooooo! Where you from?”

One last thing. Seeing the Balinese smile is like French kissing God. There are few experiences in life during which a stranger shoots a beam of sunshine straight to your heart. Man, I’m going to miss it here.

As you already know, we spent five days in Sydney after NZ, trying to regroup, get T a green card, and spend some time with our friends Dennis and Ali, whom we met in Vietnam on our honeymoon. Spending time with these two is fun. A testament to their funness is the fact that they are grown-ups, and we met our friends Cara and Ian through them, because Cara is Dennis’ daughter. It’s rare that you meet people traveling who are in a totally different age group, but whom you like so much that you continue a friendship with them, as well as with their children. We met these two on our most expensive outing in SE Asia last time, and it was the best money we ever spent.

Not only are they fun, but they are also excellent hosts. Dennis picked us up in Sydney AT RUSH HOUR when we came in from Christchurch, and drove us all the way back to Manly. Ali hung out with us all day and made us banana bread. It’s unusual to feel completely at home in someone else’s house, but we really did. Not only did we eat their food and watch their movies, but we also cooked dinner for them–a Mexican feast that surely put at least five pounds onto my thighs.

Because they were working a lot of the time, we were on our own. We went to the zoo, had the interview, came back for the visa, and did some shopping. We also had a gorgeous brunch with them on Saturday, where we walked along the water in Manly, past homes of unreasonable proportions. And, we ate crepes. I heart crepes.

The last night we were in town, Dennis and Ali went to the symphony, so we had a dinner in town by ourselves. By the time we ate, we were starving, so we decided to go to a nearby Chinese restaurant. This was a big mistake. We thought we had chosen well when we came into the restaurant and it was full of Chinese people. This was not the case. We ordered what we thought was simple Chinese food, impossible to screw up: spring rolls and sweet and sour pork. This was a terrible idea. Had we been in another, less sophisticated country, I would swear that we had dog for dinner. I’m still not sure what it was, but it tasted like a wet golden retriever smells. We ended up leaving almost all of our food on the plate (save for one chewed up hunk that T deliberately left) and ran for the hills. Back at the house, we had PB+J and tried to forget. $47 later, and I can say it was the worst food I have ever had, and let’s not forget, people–I found fingernails in my milkshake in Cambodia! When you’re longing for fingernails in your food, something is surely wrong.

I’m taking that meal as a sign that it was time to leave Australia. Out of all the beautiful food in Sydney, we ate wet dog. It is definitely time to go.

I am pleased to report that T is now the proud owner of an immigrant visa to enter America…his lifelong dream! Nothing makes a Brit happier than being able to spend the rest of his days in America!

The whole purpose of coming back to Sydney was for his green card interview, which has caused us much consternation over the past six months. It was not a simple process, nor was it cheap. We had to file a million forms at the Melbourne consulate, then send some more to Sydney, and then come to the interview.

Consternation aside, I had a good feeling about this. The people at the Sydney consulate were always surprisingly helpful and polite, unlike their counterparts at other consulates who shall remain nameless. What I didn’t expect is for them to be even more organized and kind than I predicted. We spent about an hour and a half waiting to speak to people, and about 10 minutes in the actual interviews. Our interviewers were charming and not intimidating in the least. I’m not sure how we got so lucky, but I’m glad we did.

The couple before us was half Aussie, half American, and when their visa was granted, the wife did a spontaneous dance right in the office. T later discovered that their flights to LA were on Monday; their interview was on Wednesday. There was a lovely woman in the line behind us from Spain, who told me she’s been waiting for three years to have her interview, and that “her whole life” is in America. She has two sons already living in Miami and they are American. She was missing a couple of forms, so I’m not sure that her visa was granted, but I’m praying it was, because she wanted it so badly.

Seeing her made me really think about how lucky I am to be American. I don’t always appreciate it, and Lord knows our government makes me want to stick a fork in my eye, but seeing people like that lady clarifies it all. We have friends who have been waiting to come to America for years: people like the Spanish woman, who want nothing more than to live there. When I think about that, it makes me appreciate my citizenship and T’s ability to get that visa (which is shockingly easy, as an educated white European). It just makes me so sad for the people who want it so badly and will never have that opportunity. Cross your fingers for that Spanish woman.

One of the things I have wanted to do since I first came to Australia in 2000 is go to the Taronga Zoo in Sydney. This week, I finally did it. I’d wanted to see it anyway, but when I heard that they had a baby gorilla, that was all I needed to know. I’m not generally a huge fan of zoos, but this one was okay. The views of the city were fantastic, but I wonder whether the giraffes really appreciate it. In the end, I got to check it off my list and I even got to see the baby–though it was pretty far away. The zoo itself was pretty good, but I think I still prefer the Melbourne zoo.

At the end of our stay in NZ, T and I were both depressed to leave. What are the chances of being in a country (especially NZ) and having it be sunny every day?  It’s obvious that we got to see the best of the weather and the country, but now we’re screwed, because we just want to come back and live there forever.

I’m not sure what brilliant comments I have to describe New Zealand, except that I love it here. Even in the rain (and I’ve been here in the rain), it’s a glorious landscape. There wasn’t a day that passed that I didn’t think how lucky I was to be here, and how glad I was that we came. I felt independent and strong and healthy, and it felt good. In conclusion, all I can really say is that New Zealand makes me glad to be alive, and that’s a pretty nice feeling.

After gaping at Lake Pukaki for what seemed like hours, we headed on to Lake Tekapo. I had a lovely picture of Tekapo that T took, but I just erased it accidentally. I do apologize. Tekapo was all right…the caravan park was really big and kind of weird, but it was fine for one night. (After the Wanaka campsite, everything is a disappointment. Since T and I had promised to swim in the ‘trifecta’ ofNZ rivers, oceans and lakes, we decided to jump in Tekapo. It was hot and we hadn’t yet swum in a lake. And now we know why. It was bloody freezing. T kept telling me it was colder than Golden Bay, and I argued with him until I was submerged up to my neck and totally convinced my heart would stop.  We spent the night eating some bad couscous, and practicing for T’s green card interview. I would ask him questions in a variety of different accents, and he would answer. I think my best accent was drunken pirate, but he thought that was unlikely. Psh. What does he know? I’m sure plenty of drunken pirates work at the Sydney consulate.

From there, it was on to Christchurch, along a road full of perfectly hideous lupines that had us once again questioning why we came to such an ugly country.

Christchurch is a very pretty city that looks a lot like England. The last time I was here, I had just spent three years in the UK, so the charms of the city were lost on me. This time, I feel as though I got a little more out of it. I even said to T that Christchurch is a very pleasant city, and he responded, “Yeah, if pleasant means boring.” Pretty rich coming from an Englishman, whose cities are practically identical!

Rid of the campervan, we stayed in a beautiful hostel called the Old Countryhouse. I kid you not, it was the nicest hostel I’ve ever seen, and baby, I seen me some hostels. After nearly three weeks in a van, having our own room and bathroom were almost too luxurious to imagine. Here are some shots of the courtyard outside our room and our door.

Again, one of the most exciting things about being out of the van was eating Food We Didn’t Cook Ourselves. And so we had dinner at Dux de Lux, a restaurant and microbrewery where we got to have a salad! And calamari! While drinking a bitter! (OK, only one of us had the bitter. 50 cents if you guess who.) We also had  lunch at a spectacular burrito restaurant, which T declared The Best In The Southern Hemisphere (I am excluding Latin America from this pronouncement, obviously.) We also had a delicious Indian dinner to conclude our stay in New Zealand–and it was lamb! (Which is kind of cheating, but at least I can now say I’ve eaten lamb in NZ.)

And of course, I added this picture to prove that everybody loves Clussic Huts.

One of the things here that we’ve been astonished by, repeatedly, is the water. It comes in all shades and is usually remarkably clear–at least in the rivers and lakes. We thought we’d seen it all until we drove past Lake Putaki, with Mt Cook in the background.

Do not adjust your screen. That is actually the color of the water, I kid you not. I can do some exciting things with the enhance option on iPhoto, but I can’t do this.

1. Kiwis drive fast. On the NZ roads, the speed limit is generally 100km/h, which is about 65-70mph. In actual fact, Kiwi drivers drive about 345km/h, or whatever is the speed of light.
2. Kiwi roads are always longer than they seem. Road signs will tell you that there is only 100km to your destination. Hurrah, you think! I will be there in an hour. Then you get onto the road, to realize that it is 100km of hairpin turns along a mountainside, upon which you can only drive 10km/h. To see the speed at which the locals travel these roads, please see above.
3. Kiwi dogs are full of love. I found that Australian dogs are highly ambivalent, snooty creatures who couldn’t care less about being patted or getting affection. I find this sick and wrong. Their Kiwi counterparts, however, are good dogs and will happily receive attention without making you feel like a fool for offering it. In addition, it appears that there is a law that every ute in NZ must have four dogs in the back. I think this is a fine rule, as it greatly increased my daily dog viewings.
4. Kiwi sun is astoundingly strong. When most people think of NZ, they think of skiing, or of little hobbits trekking through mountains to deliver some ring. In fact, NZ has one of the highest rates of skin cancer in the world, because there is about 1/10000th of a mm of ozone over the country. I managed to get a pretty fantastic farmer’s tan on both my arms, just from driving with my arm out the window. Had I not started putting sunscreen on, I would be the human equivalent of fried chicken right now.
5. Kiwi bugs are all bloodsucking vampires, wanting to drain you of every last drop of blood. I never thought I’d meet a bug I liked less than the mosquito (roaches excluded). Now, I have. The sandfly is a hideous monster created by Satan to torture me in the most picturesque places. They got me so often around the ankle that T suggested I grow my ankle hair into a cuff to keep them away. Instead, we agreed that I would grow my leg hair as a deterrent and he would grow a beard, just for fun. (Please note: If my brother is reading this, he has now just keeled over dead from horror at the thought of my hairy legs. Sorry, Bub.) Please also note that leg hair is not an effective deterrent.

It seems the West Coast of NZ is infested with these little *&^$#@% and T believes that’s why it’s so sparsely populated. Either way, I will not miss them at all, and neither will my bite-scarred legs.