A Barney in Bali--Day 17, 24JUNE2011 FRI

Zula earth cafe

Pre Blog:


    I got home pretty late last night from Chat Café. Before I got to post yesterday’s blog, their internet went down. It was a hectic night just getting there. First, I went to this one café that Jessica and Randy recommended; it’s called Zula. It’s a vegetarian “earth café.” It was definitely earthy in there. When I walked in, a chick and this guy were in the middle of getting to know each other. They were both talking about surfing, and I over heard the names Canggu and Tugu. I almost chimed in and mentioned Balangan, but . . . I reconsidered. The energy of their conversation changed when the guy’s friend arrived, and they both tried to get her number and invite her out for drinks. She wasn’t havin’ it. Then more chicks started walking in, Aussies.

     I ordered a chocolate drink, and I found a thick black bristle in it. I thought it was a hair at first, but it was too wiry, and there was no follicle. If their internet wasn’t slow, I would’ve stayed. I paid, went to Chat Café, but when I got there I realized that I forgot my 220 Volt plug-in thingy at Zulas. I had to go back, then come back to Chat Café, and they had some issues with their wifi too.

   

     At 2300, I got home, ate some cold dinner, and had the hardest time going to bed because of all the caffeine.


Lay Day:


    I wake up at 0500. I can’t believe it’s already time to get up. I’m so tired; I feel it. I get up, and the thought of doing the reef dance and paddling out into the new swell hits me. I’m drained, and my body’s is really telling me that I need some rest. I fall back asleep until 0600. I open the door, and before I can even say good morning, Randy says, “Dude, I think we need to take a break today.”

    “I think that's a good idea.”

    “We’ll get massages instead, two hour massages.”

    He says that his shoulder hurts too, and it gets that way from too much surf. I don’t think the lay day is a bad call. I take a shower to dissolve the grease in my pores from last night’s adventure and go back to sleep.

    At 0800 I stumble out of my room to find Christine cleaning the place up, and I get more details from Randy about the massages. He says that it’s only $10 for two hours and that tip is not expected. I for one have never ever had a real  legit massage. I only know what I’ve seen on TV. I’ve had acupuncture for a slipped disc but never massage. In Los Angeles, it just seems like I have more important things to spend my money on, but for $10 how can you go wrong?

    We ride out just before 1000, and traffic is a little thick. Randy likes to shoot the gaps, but every time he does, the gap gets too critical when it’s my turn. I always end up several cars behind him, and I’m always racing to catch up. We’re nearing a red light, he waves his hand to keep going, and we both punch it. Randy’s the first to cross the intersection, and the traffic in our left comes to a steady halt as he’s running the light. Randy swerves, a van next to him swerves, the guy in the van’s pissed and starts honking, but we make it.

Now who in their right mind would want to take a gander at this guy's asshole?

    When we pull up to the massage place, I already have a coat of sweat from the stress of riding. I’ll have to say that at this point of my Bali vacation, riding a motor bike is the most stressful thing of all. Back home, I pride myself in my safe, defensive driving. But here . . . those things don’t help me. There’s no such thing as safe driving out here. Or should I say, safe driving is not driving “slow.” Safe driving is keeping with the flow of traffic, being fluid, fitting yourself into every and any opening in the direction that you’re traveling. One month isn’t enough to get this riding thing down over here. Every time I park and find myself in one piece, I consider myself grateful and lucky.

    We walk in, and Randy does the talking. It’s really modern, there’s an interior waterfall on the wall, and they give us some water before the festivities. We are led to our massagers. We each get a tiny Balinese woman. They look only strong enough to lift a purse, but I find out their true strength later.

Scene of the crime

    Randy goes off with his masseuse, so I’m left to fend for myself with the language barrier and what to do. I follow my masseuse to our little curtained off area. I snap a pic on the way there. It’s low lit with candles, there are all these fresh indescribable scents, and then she hands me this little black thing that looks like a hair bonnet. I’m quite mistaken, as she motions for me to put it on. Hmmmm, the thing is practically see-through, and it’s tiny. It’s funny how, being a military man, I’m so used to taking a shower with dozens of dudes, sometimes even sharing one shower head with two or three guys, but all of a sudden in this atmosphere I get shy and nervous. Well . . . when in Bali. . . .

    I open up the flimsy see-through thong thingy, and it’s so small that I can’t figure out which hole my legs or waist goes through. As I put it on, I barely get it around my waist without ripping it. Something doesn’t feel right. My right testicle is being squished, while my other walnut and worm are fully exposed to the left. Is this motherfucker on backwards or something? I force the mouse back in the house, and the masseuse comes back. I’m smiling and laughing, both hands up indicating that I’m an idiot. She laughs, pulls out another thong thingy, and holds it open right-side-up for me.

    I finally get this flimsy black thing on; and I struggle to keep it from going up my ass. I lie on the table as instructed, a cloth is draped over my back, and homegirl goes to town. Jessica’s and Randy’s advice is to relax and let go, so I do . . . or I try. I’m a bit surprised when she hops on the table and straddles me. She peels the cloth down to expose my whole back, but she goes even further to see my g-string action. Expected. Then she yanks down my thong to expose my bare ass cheeks before her. I’m wondering what she’s thinking. I know what I’d be thinking: Why, those are the thickest and longest anus hairs I’ve ever seen! And why is his ass so white compared to the rest of his body?

    This little woman . . . so harmless looking, how deceiving. Her fingers are like iron. She could be a member of the X-men. Code name: Death Nubs. All of my back muscles are tight. She goes over a muscle in the middle of my spine that makes me squirm in reaction to the pain. I tighten up, my nostrils flare, and I exhale in her mercy. I start to sweat again; it’s like torture. She knows it hurts, and she keeps going over it. There’s a spot like that too on my upper back, same thing. As she massages my lower back she keeps spreading my ass cheeks apart. I find this unnecessary, but she’s the one asking for it. It can’t be a pretty sight, I know that much. Oh well. Do your worst! I think to myself.

    Later, she flips me around and gets the lube going all over my chest. I don’t know why, but I find this hilarious. It seems something I’d do to myself in front of the fellas for a good laugh, but she’s really going for it. Now she’s pushing on my stomach, and I feel a couple farts brewing. I’m thankful that I took a shit before we left home.

    To top it off, she puts me in “the huckle buck.” She full nelsons me and swings me left and right to crack my back. I gotta give this girl credit. She sits me up, gets me into submission, and just manhandles me . . . all on the table.

    The session ends with a shower. It’s the fastest two hours I’ve ever had in my life, and despite my complaints of pain earlier, I feel like a car that had all the dents banged out of it. There’s some suffering in the process, but I feel brand new in the end, brand new and tired. I pay my ten bucks, and give about two dollars for tip which is totally optional.

    So one extreme is traded for the next. From being relaxed and ready for a nappy poo, we’re back on the bikes swerving through traffic. Randy takes me to this local Balinese restaurant for a local dish which is barely another two bucks. There’s tempe (Indo mix of nuts), vegetables, tofu, an egg, rice, and peanut sauce. It’s a really small hole in the wall spot filled with Aussies. We barely talk because we’re so drained. The nourishment is filling as it is scrumptious.

Lion face for my girlfriend Lauren. She likes it.

    We handle a couple errands and exchange some US dollars for more Indo Rupiah. I’m back at the Bali Delhi. I already had an almond coffee, fries, and now I’m working on another drink. I didn’t know what it was, but it’s a very strong ice coffee with a scoop of chocolate ice cream in it. This is my favorite internet café so far. Bob Marley’s “Jammin’” plays in the background, the sun hangs low outside the window, it’s air conditioned, and tonight’s spending won’t be more than six or seven bucks. So there’s no surf story today, but it’s a much needed lay day. Tomorrow we’ll hit it hard. The swell’s increased again, and I hope to get some nice, long lefts in.

Bali Deli