I want to be a Giggle-Oh- Wed 12/03/08

Dear Y'all,

Oh, the conversations I've had in just this last week. (From time to time I feel compelled to remind you all that I make nothing up. These letters are entirely true. I hardly ever feel the urge to exaggerate because life does that for me.)

First of all, I have gotten new insight into the whole "ice-water makes you fat" phenomenon. I was in one of the restaurants, talking to the manager(who speaks pretty good English) about the whole ice-water thing. He agreed with me that it was stupid to think that about something with no calories and no fat. Just to illustrate the concept, I asked one of the waitresses nearby, who also speaks better than average English, what she thought about the issue.

"Ya, I hear that. I don't drink ice water."
"Why do you think it makes you fat?"
"Don't know. That what my sister tell me. She say, you become pungiin."

That one took me five minutes to decode. After she drew a picture, I realized she was talking about Penguins. Apparently, the new 'logic' is this: Penguins are fat. Penguins drink and hang out around ice-water. If you drink ice-water you will become like a penguin. I just can't get enough of this stuff. (since then, I have seen other cooks drinking ice-water. They are usually older ones though. They must not care about their figures anymore.)

There is much more to the world of superstitions here. I'm am hardly scratching the surface. Just when you think things are familiarly mundane here, something happens to turn that upside down. The other night I was out with Poleng, the bartender at Cinta. He is a fairly level-headed guy and has become my regular going out companion despite my desire that he stop telling me to hump every woman we see. The other night we were out at our local bar chatting about the restaurant group we work for. There is a new Thai restaurant opening soon and having tried the food, I feel very good about its prospects.

"I think the new restaurant will do good." (I always say 'do good' now because for some reason I think it makes me easier to understand. Probably I'm just promoting bad grammar in Asia.)

Poleng replied very mysteriously, "no, I tell you why. The old lady from the place across the way, she very strong with black magic. She no want the new restaurant."

I admit to being a little caught off-guard by this new information. Recovering, I said, "That's ok, the boss is Orang Asing (foreign). Magic only works on believers." This is essentially the same argument as the ice-water thing so I figured I would test it on him.

"Ya, no good. But I help Cinta. I go get ocean water. Very strong because of ocean gods. We put on signs, front, everything. Person tries black magic, it don't work, not powerful enough."

"Yeah! That sounds good. Let's go get some more of that sea water!" For a second I wondered if me saying this was kind of like the adage that you are not supposed to play along with a schizophrenic person's hallucinations.

"Not simple. Not the same. It your personal energy too."

Wow! Black magic followed up with a semi-non-sequitor. The perspectives we get or give when trying to communicate in other languages are really something. I must now assume that it is not only super-powered ocean water that will protect against black magic, but also your personal spiritual output. I wouldn't have placed them both in the same strata but hey, whatever keeps the bad spirits at bay. He was so serious about it all. That, plus his reluctance to tell me about it, leads me to believe that he knew my second impulse would be to ridicule him behind his back. I on the other hand, believe that an important step in processing new experiences is to make fun of them. I think most Balinese people would agree with me, but perhaps not on this particular subject matter.

Ah well. On to the next vignette.

The other day I was behind in my journal so I sought out a quite place to sit and write. Usually when I need to write I go to Kafe Batan Waru. There are fewer customers and because the staff doesn't really know me, they don't approach me or talk to me. If I go to Cinta it is just ridiculously social, and if I go to Terazo, the chef hovers and the managers, bless 'em, talk my ear off the entire night.

I settled in, ordered a sandwich and prepared to do some serious catch-up writing. Just then, Ibu Dayu (the chef I had just catered a wedding with) and 2 girls from the main office showed up and without invite, joined me at my table. That's just the way it goes here. What's yours is mine and what's mine is yours.

I accepted my fate and put off thoughts of writing. Right away they started asking me about Anik, the single girl who had come to the catering event with us. I should say now that I have no interest in Anik and as far as I can tell she has no interest in me. That doesn't really matter to my Balinese friends. We are both single, hence, we should be married to each other.

"You want Anik? You like Bali-girl?"
This is the standard opener. I respond with my typical non-committal answer.
"I don't want marriage yet. Bali-girls only want marriage."
Then they pulled a sharp left on me.
"She too fat, isn't she?!"

How bizarre? This is rude to us, but just stating the obvious to them. The fact is, she is a bit overweight. While I don't personally give a damn, that can seriously hurt a woman's chances of getting married over here. They just have the balls to say it like it is.

I wonder if this blunt attitude has anything to do with how superficial the women at the restaurant are? If I don't shave for a day or two, someone is bound to comment.

"Why you don't shave, Alek? You no handSOME. I no like you this way!"

Conversely, if I do take care of these little details, the feedback is immense and the number of times my ass is fondled and my nipples are tweaked goes way up.

Oh yes, it is a bloody grope-fest back there. The male cooks fondle and playfully smack any body part of any waitress within reach. The waitresses give as good as they get, as do the female cooks, and all of the lady-folk treat me as if it is a petting zoo and I am the prize goat.

Things could be worse. I haven't gotten as sick of being a piece of meat as I have of their efforts to constantly shove rice, crisps, and fried animal parts in my face. Still, I do get a little frustrated sometimes. Some of the waitresses are really cute. Don't they understand that I'm not used to living in a sexually repressed, PG-13 society and that my libido is now supercharged with nowhere to go?

I'm clearly not the only one wound up because there is this dish washer in the restaurant who is the horniest guy I have ever met. He is also one of the prime gropers of the ladies, who put up with him because he looks remarkably like the hobbit that turned into Gollum. He swoons over every picture of a woman he comes across in a magazine or newspaper and rushes over to show me as if it was Christnukkah morning and he had just gotten a new Tonka truck. Endearingly, he is trying to learn English and practices with me all the time.

"I want to be a giggle-oh on Kuta beach but I no have good body" he said to me mournfully one day.

I assured him that I had seen plenty of gigolos in Kuta that looked just like him but he still seemed unwilling to give up his job at Cinta. Later that same day, he came up to me while I was eating lunch. He first showed my a picture of a blond with a boob job advertising a resort. Then he changed gears and started to caress the hair on my arm. This is not a gay thing, guys do a lot of touching here too. It is a way they show you that you are a friend or that they trust you. You just get over it.

"I like this on woman. On arm, on neck, on back! So soft!!! Ahhh."

He could barely contain his excitement for hairy women. Wacky little fucker.

I do feel for him though. With nowhere to channel sexual tension except for marriage, it's no wonder so many Balinese guys I meet try to send me to prostitutes. They flat out deny going when I ask them but think it would be a fine way for me to be with a local woman (from Java, not from Bali). Ugh.

Well, that's the wrap from the week. Peguins, black magic, the trials of single women, gigolos, and getting groped. It is colorful, that's for sure. I'll leave you with one final conversation from last night.

Guswidi, the head chef, came to me very concerned. He said that he was worried about me and thought that maybe I was unhappy in my new home. He cited my reluctance to eat, the job at the restaurant, no salary. I had to reassure him that I am loving being here. I told him that I don't want to eat fried crap but I am fully capable of getting my hands on whatever kind of food I could possibly desire. I told him that I love working for him and I could actually handle a lot more work than they can give me. In fact, I told him that there was only one major problem with being here and that was the incredible distance between me and my friends and family. Maybe that was what he was really driving at? The idea of being that far from one's center is difficult for the Balinese to grasp. Hard for them to grasp, harder still for me to live with daily. It helps that I'm having such a great time but I miss home an awful lot. That is not a solicitation for pity by any means, it's just good to let loved ones know you care, especially when you've left them to gallivant around the world.

Guswidi seemed to cheer up after I reassured him that everything was great. This is good because while I appreciate his concern for my well-being, I'd rather he be as happy and excited as I am.

Love,
Alex