Ubud – the next 48 hours #BaliDisey

After Tanah Lot, Made dropped me back to the Sens so I could have a shower and freshen up.

A half an hour later, I was astride his motorcycle, sans helmet, careening through the streets of Ubud. All I can say is that my time hanging out with semi-biker dudes in the 80s has paid off. I was balanced, poised and lent with the bike at all the right times. My hands were resting lightly on his waist. I said: ‘Remember, you’re not allowed to kill me.’ He laughed.

There is something incredibly freeing about being on the back of a motorbike, especially in Asia. I had a tiny taste of it in Vietnam, when I was taken by motorcycle to a tailor to have a dress altered after it was made, but it was nothing like this. I was right down deep, in amongst it. The wind on my face was warm, and I caught a hint of incense and smoke from char-grills every now and then. I was conscious of the man in front of me; he had showered and changed too, and smelled clean and fresh. He had changed out of his black jeans and black t-shirt, into shorts and he was wearing a white t-shirt. ‘You hungry? I take you to restaurant so you can eat.’

And he did. Except, I would be eating alone. It seemed it was a good restaurant for me (as a tourist) but bad for him (as a local). ‘No, no,’ I said. ‘You eat with me.’

So he took me to another place. And this time we ate together. ‘I pay,’ he said. ‘Cheaper. Otherwise charge you tourist price.’ The meal was delicious. I had satay, something chickeny in a broth with beans and carrots, and rice. And there was braised jackfruit, and of course, Bintangs. Not that I was keeping a count, but it was my third that day. We ate and he paid, waving away my offer to pay. ‘No problem,’ he said. ‘We go to bar and listen to music now.’

‘You’re the boss,’ I replied. I had been saying that to Made a lot. Over the day and a half I had known him, I found him to be kind, thoughtful and considerate. It was part of his nature, I learned. Over a short space of time, he earned my trust with his actions. He was reliable. He kept his word. I even let him into my wallet to count out my cash. That’s how much I trusted him; you never let ANYONE near your cards and cash in a foreign land. I would see him be kind and thoughtful to the people in his peer group as well, so he wasn’t putting on a show just for me. If he were out and about and he saw someone he knew and they asked where I was being taken, I’d reply: ‘He’s the boss.’ I was happy to follow his lead because he was so trustworthy.

He took me to the Bamboo, a bar that just happened to have the one of THE most ridiculously amazing bands I have ever heard in my 52 years on this planet. An amazing vocalist and a lead guitarist who would rival Hendrix. Made ordered me a Bintang (I would be at #7 by the end of the day. Made didn’t drink much; he needed his licence for work so was conservative with his alcohol consumption) and stayed at the bar until the band finished. They played a couple of sets, and continued to be in awe of their talent. Made introduced me to the band in between set breaks because he knew them (he knew practically everyone everywhere we went). I was told later by some other Australians (and coincidentally Adelaideans) sitting near us (I think they had talked to the guitarist in one of the breaks) that he had been chosen to play with Robert Plant in Bali next year. He was THAT good.

When the bar closed, it seemed like the whole of Ubud closed to, so Made took me to another bar that was more like a club. But quiet. Only a few people were inside. House music banged out of the speakers while people ate and smoked and drank. We grabbed more Bintangs and sat outside. At Bamboo, Made had edged closer to me, and I didn’t stop him; I liked his arm around the back of my chair. So when he leaned into kiss me, I wasn’t surprised and again, I certainly didn’t stop him, but I did say: ‘I’m an old lady…’

‘No,’ he replied. ‘Not old.’ And he leaned in and kissed me again. It was a lovely kiss; warm with a hint of cigarette smoke. He’s a chain smoker; most men in Bali are. And I didn’t mind one bit. We rode back to the hotel, the night air cool on my face, my hands on his warm chest, my body pressed up close to his. His hand was on my leg. It was obvious where this was heading, and even though things were moving quickly, I didn’t mind one bit. I did manage to remind myself that my libido is a terrible judge of character, and I probably shouldn’t be considering sexy times with a man I’d just met, but from what I had seen, he seemed a good man.

I liked him, and he liked me…