Day 7 was spent shopping in Legian. Bargain shopping. Again, the shops were pretty quiet and so a little haggling was more than welcome by shopkeepers keen for a sale.
Stopped at a shop selling musical instruments. His Royal Highness ended up buying an acoustic bass guitar. He has a real name but I call him HRH because he's a normal teenager who usually prefers his own company and that of his teenage friends. But when he decides to grace us with his presence, he is wonderful company and dazzles us with his wit and humour. He was over the moon with his new "best friend".
Street in Legian.
Charming painting for sale in Legian.
Assorted headwear. Not just for hellriders...
Little Buddha sitting at the front of Nero Bali.
We ordered a meal at a simple non-descript pub that served "fusion" meals - which means a mixture of local as well as western menu. They had an open kitchen and you could see the cooks in the kitchen. Well, this lot of 4 or 5 of them - men - were running around like chooks without their heads. We saw them produce three plates of sandwiches for other tables and still our meal was nowhere in sight. With our stomachs beating a the back of our bones, we left after 45 minutes to the announcement that our meals "maybe" another 10 minutes or maybe not (?). What the...? We walked into another restaurant a few doors down - Nero Bali and got our meals within 10 minutes. Their cocktail was fabulous too.
Absolute petrol, actually. Not the kind of vodka anyone could stomach.
Still spruiking counterfeit luxury products... at least this one's upfront about it.
Street urchins who roam the shopping districts of Kuta and Legian. Each carrying a handful of braided leather wrist straps selling for 10,000r (A$1.05) each. They tail you and pester you til you give in. At least this lot of kids were selling something. Some of these little kids can also be found begging from cars stopping at traffic lights. Some of them, not even tall enough to peer over your car window. Parents lurk in the background. Some even resort to hiding behind a tree or some obstruction to keep a watchful eye as their little offsprings dodge the crazy Balinese traffic begging for money. Many a young pre-pubescent girls can be seen with a baby on their hip to increase sympathy, hands outstretched imploring for money from passing motorists. Our guide and many a taxi-drivers advised us not to be sucked in, explaining that this is illegal. The government send out trucks and vans to round these kids up to return them to their villages. They put their parents on a "re-education" program aimed at teaching them not just to take these kids off the streets and putting them back at school but also helping these parents find work. Sadly, often than not this seems to be the "easier" way for these ne're do wells.
Princess and I finished off the day with a lovey massage at our favourite Ajeg Bali Spa. Well, we had nothing but lovely spa treatments there the last few days. Oh, but alas, my luck ran out. We asked for a honey massage. Big mistake for me - while Princess enjoyed the sensation of rubbing honey on to the skin, I found it to be the most revolting feeling. I had to ask my masseur to stop administering the honey. My masseur was a lovely be-spectacled lady whom I mentally called Mrs Magoo for some reason. She was chirpy and friendly but her hands were as rough as sandpaper. In fact, Mrs Magoo could grate cheese with her bare hands, I kid you not! The only time it felt good was when she was rubbing her hands over my itchy mosquito bites on my legs! Now that was a satisfying feeling if there ever was one when the urge to scratch yourself is met by someone else.
You know how you are asked to turn over and lie on your back after she has finished working on your back? Mrs Magoo proceeded to put a towel over my head instead of over my eyes! I felt like an Englishman with a handkerchief with a knot tied at the four edges plonked on my head. She didn't even check of course and so rather than lying with a towel over my eyes to block out the light so that I could actually relax, I could now see everything that was going on. I could see her staring into thin air day-dreaming as she pulled on my pinkies - I thought she was going to pull them out of the sockets - all ten of them! I had to tell her to take it easy. I mentioned her hands, asking tactfully if she had a ring on or something that was causing the abrasiveness. She immediately washed her hands with soap in an attempt to correct the situation but things did not get any better. I think she did not dry her hands well enough so much so that when mixed with the massage oil, it stopped being oily and smooth, appearing to hit a speed hump every so often and I can assure you that had nothing to do with my skin or muscle tone! My skin was pretty sore after that experience. Needless to say Mrs Magoo did not get a tip!
...abraodin5inchheels
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