Wrapping up Kuta
Michael Altschul
description of it as a love it or hate it kinda town. Sort of. It's
more of a love it AND hate it kinda town. I arrived at Kuta, the most
popular tourist spot in Indo, in search of travel companions. I
depart companion-less tomorrow morning (it's been quite a challenge to
find cool folks at a similar leg of their journey). Having spent
nearly a week here, I've had more than my fill of Kuta and can come
back to a statement I made in an email to my family awhile back that
this is "strange, sick, beautiful place."
I look back on the past week and realize that Kuta is just what I
needed when I came here. Jakarta had hardened me, Jogja had
enlightened me; both rather depressed me. It was really challenging
to go from the opulence of San Francisco to the destitution of Java
Island. I've said it before, but it bears repeating: they've seen it
all in the past five years and it weighs heavily on their faces. I
consider my travels in Morocco and Turkey. I saw many down faces.
But I also saw faces that hadn't collectively been down on their luck
for a long stretch. Additionally, my travels in those regions came at
a much different time; I was poor then and had been travelling for so
long that I really didn't have a grasp of the global inequalities that
surround our myopic lives in America. When I bargained, it was out of
necessity, not out of entertainment (which explains why I struggle so
to bargain here); every million Turkish lira that I saved meant that I
could stay that much longer. Those sad, smiling faces on Java were
just too much for me to bare. I had just wrapped things up in San
Francisco, and needed a little relaxed entertainment, I needed my
travel time to be leisurely, not challenging. And Java, while
personally rewarding, wasn't giving me what I needed at the time.
So I came to Kuta, hoping to get cheered up. And generally I have
been. I've met loads of people, refreshed my French language skills,
talked politics with Europeans (always fun), laughed my ass off with
my Brazilian homies, met a few friendly Indonesians from various walks
of life, learned to surf (kind of), got a number of feelings off my
chest and onto paper/email, slowed down (there were times early in my
travels when Radiohead's "The Tourist" kept playing in my head: "Hey
man, slow down, slow down, slow down..."), ate some tasty grub (from
Balinese...YUM...to American breakfast...YUCK, but that protein's huge
before surfing), saw this spectacular temple called Ulu Watu, got a $5
massage every day before bed lately (ahhhh...), witnessed a marvelous
sunset nightly, I've seen a side of Indonesia that I love.
I also saw a side of Indonesia that disgusts me. My first night here
I arrived late, but needed to go out on the piss (drink a few beers).
My Brazilian mates called it quits early, so I went out solo. Marcio
warned me, "Hey man, it's crazy out there. I mean, really crazy. Not
dangerous or anything...just crazy." He was right. I hit the main
strip of Kuta in all its glory -- little stands peddling crappy warez,
incessant calls of "transport?", massive luxury hotels, incessant
calls for "massage?", massive night clubs (relatively empty), Circle
Ks (~ 7-11), a memorial for the terrorist bombing four (?) years ago,
one large empty plot of land, Starbucks, many large asses side-by-side
cheering for their English football team at a very non-local bar,
Indonesian tourists lined along the streets with cigarette in one hand
and large Bin Tang in the other, and with all this going on it was
necessary to negotiate crossing traffic and substantial pedestrian
traffic. This crazy place was as close to capitalism gone wild as I'd
ever witnessed. And a couple hours later (in response to the
foundations of capitalism), the "massage" and "transport" calls
changed to "lady?" and "hash?" Perhaps to some, this sounds like
paradise; to me, it was a level between purgatory and inferno. Before
my eyes were a people whose rich culture had either been discarded or
commercialized and the people who were responsible for this heinous
act. At least they appeared to be living in this crazy city
harmoniously -- as long as the latter were still willing to compensate
the former for their rather blatant appropriation of land. I suppose
what upset me most was the wanton disregard for anything Indonesian or
Balinese in Kuta, excepting Bin Tang beer, massages, and a cheap plate
of nasi goreng. I've seen nary a sarong worn and heard gamelan music
only once since I arrived in Bali! Consider that gamelan is the only
Eastern music that can be enjoyed and appreciated by the Western ear
and you can start to understand how little was maintained here. No
offense to Aussies (although if they were to take offense, much would
be rightly placed), but it's as though Sydney (or Perth, or Melbourne)
wanted a beach town to be less expensive and they settled on Kuta.
So why did I stay so long? To be honest, I'm not sure. Subconscious
explanation: I needed time to process what I had seen in Java.
Conscious explanation: I truly was excited about learning to surf and
hey, I've had some fun over the past week. Further I needed to slow
down and realized day 1 that Kuta could help me get there; it's likely
that the first city I had visited on Bali would have housed me for
awhile. It would be too easy for me to call staying this long a
mistake. It was not. What did I give up? A couple days. What did I
gain? Understanding of where I was and where I wanted to be in my
travels. I now have something of an itinerary, I now have made a
decision to do my thing and not try to work around the thing of other
travellers, I now have slowed down to a level that will permit me to
enjoy Bali while I explore it. And, oh yeah, I now can surf the face
of a (modest) wave with relative confidence!