It’s time to leave for India and say goodbye to SE Asia. This trip seemed very different from our last visit to the region, largely because we knew what to expect and what to do. We were a lot lazier (read: more relaxed) this time, due to the fact that we had already seen most of the big attractions.

Bali seemed more or less the same as the last time we were there, though perhaps a little bit quieter. This was to be expected, since the place was bombed about a week after we left the last time. If anything, though, the sellers seem to be less aggressive than before, and much more willing to barter, which worked for me.

Bangkok was a welcome relief after China, even though I’m not so keen on the city. In our second trip, the shopping was an excellent balm for my exhaustion and anger, and regardless of how many taxi drivers tried to rip us off or how many guesthouses were completely inept, it was still easy to get around.

Laos was almost perfect. For years, people have been telling us about how great Laos is, how  laid-back and easy it is, and they weren’t lying. I left with a deep fondness for the place, and a burning desire to come back and see more (our excuse for being so lazy—leaving us things to see the next time).

Cambodia seemed really different from the last time we were there. I still hate Phnom Penh: all the streets are numbered in a bizarre fashion, so one block will be Street 156 and the next will be Street 187. It’s confusing as hell, especially since everything looks the same. The one thing we found really different from our last visit was the number of people everywhere. On our honeymoon, it was almost creepy in the city at night because it was so quiet. Not so now. There are zillions of people zipping around on motorbikes all the time, and crossing the street is a terrifying experience. Even in Kampot and Battambang, it seemed as if things were improving (or else it’s just my secret hope). And, as always, the Cambodians more than made up for the hellishness of public transport.

Malaysia, again, was a delight. Going to KL is always great, because our friends take such good care of us. It’s almost like being on a free package tour—our accommodation, food and transport was always arranged, and we got entertaining company to boot! Because we have such a good time in KL, we have a lot of the country left to see, which we will hopefully be able to do when our British friends move there. (We are all about visiting our far-flung friends in exotic places. They always know the best food to order.)

I really love SE Asia, but I’m basically crazy for any kind of travel, so I dont know how much my SE Asian adoration really means. I think this area is growing really quickly and I’m so glad we managed to get in before it really explodes (especially in Cambodia, where we seemed to have missed the massive tourist boom in Siem Reap…ha!). I’ll miss it here.

On our last day in Bali, Ubud staged a cremation which was clearly designed for our entertainment. I have since decided that upon my death, I would like the same celebration. Please take note.

A Balinese cremation entails the entire town shutting down to watch the procession (or to sell sarongs). Hundreds of townspeople gather together to beat drums, march en masse and carry brightly colored decorative masks on sticks, waving them about in the air like flags. People walk back and forth along the main street for hours, jammed together like sardines. It is truly an entertaining spectacle.

Thus, I have decreed that I would like a similar spectacle when I die. Please keep it in mind. In the upcoming days, I shall post video of this performance, so that you know exactly what to do, so that you don’t screw it up and end up with me angrily haunting you for eternity.

The other night, T and I went to dinner at a relatively new restaurant in Ubud called the Dragonfly. We had wandered past it earlier in the day and seen that it had burritos, and we were most interested to try Balinese burritos, so we went.

When we arrived at the restaurant, we were greeted by a little guy who was all blinding smile. He asked us whether we would like to sit inside or out, and when we hesitated, he cried, “Sit outside! It is more romantics! There is a candle!” And then started cracking up.

Let it be said I liked this man immediately.

So we sat at the romantics table, and ordered our food from another server: some spring rolls to start, and one burrito and one Cobb salad. Our friend soon returned with our spring rolls, and asked where to put it. When we told him we were sharing, he said “Of course! Sharing is more romantics!” And then walked away laughing to himself.

After we finished our spring rolls, he returned with the mains. He tried to give me the salad and T the burrito, and we corrected him. He stopped for a minute, thrown, and then looked at T and said “REALLY?!” and then collapsed into giggles. Apparently men don’t order salad in Bali.

He came back a little later to check on us, and told us he was going to do a magic trick. He took a flower off the table and told us he would make it disappear into his arm. It took three times, but he did it in the end. We were suitably impressed, and once again, we were rewarded by his laugh, which is a little like water in a waterfall: beautiful to see and hear, and you don’t want it to stop.

At this point, I wanted this man to be my best friend.

It should also be said that he would walk around the restaurant serving other tables, and would look back at me and smile. This was the most endearing thing he could do, and I wanted to take him on our trip, in my backpack, and have him laugh all day long.

He came around again during dessert, and by this time, the restaurant was nearly empty, so we talked for a while. His name is Wayan, but he has a nickname that sounds like Shaquille. When I told him he was a very good waiter, he told me he has been waiting on tables for three years all over Ubud. I said he was a master waiter, and he shook his head and replied, “No master waiter, but one day….I will be!” (complete with fist pump for the eventual master waiterdom and, of course, a fit of giggles at the end).

He asked us if we were boyfriend and girlfriend, and when we said we were married, he made a sad face and asked if I had any sisters or cousins for him. Oh my, Wayan is so smooth. Lucky for him, I was already married or I would have considered eloping with him just for the laughter.

He told us more about himself, as well. He is the eldest child, with a younger brother. His greatest dream is to work for Carnival Cruise Lines as a waiter, and then one day, come back to Bali. He wanted to go to college, but his mother was sick and he had to give the money he saved to her, and he was trying again to save up. He lived in a nearby village, and he could take us there—would we like for him to take us there tomorrow? He didnt have to work until 1, and he could come with a friend on motorbikes and pick us up.

Guess who said no. (Hint: it was not me.) Its a good thing I have T around with me, or I would be giving money to every dark-eyed person who came asking, as well as going home with people like Wayan, who may well have good intentions, or who could just as easily get me to his village and not let me leave until I gave him a MILLION DOLLARS.

So, we did not go to Wayan’s village. I did, however, get his email address, and I plan to use it. I have no Balinese friends, and I can’t imagine a better one than him. Unfortunately, laughter doesnt translate as well over email, but I’ll give it a shot.

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.

After saying goodbye to Australia, we’re going back to Bali. Yeah, yeah, I know. Bali was bombed just after we left the last time. New York was also attacked when I lived there–where was your concern then?!

We’re going to Bali because it’s BALI, man. I was all ready to cut it from the itinerary until I read Eat Pray Love and then bullied T back into it. Reading it made me remember the beautiful people (Balinese men are some kind of gorgeous and the women are also stunning, and they’re all so gentle) and the way everything smelled like flowers. I figure it will be a nice break after spending 3 weeks trapped in a campervan together.

We’re planning to go to Nusa Lembongan, an island off the southern coast, for a few days. Then we’ll go back to Ubud, which is one of the places we did on our honeymoon (remember the attempted homicide-by-monkey?).

I’m not going to lie: I love Bali. It was one of my favorite places on our honeymoon, and I would go back more often if I could. Unfortunately, we’re not great beach people (since T’s skin reflects the sun and I can’t sit still), so we’ll only be there for a week or so. I’m sure it won’t be long enough, but I’ll take what I can get.