Dark chocolate faces is what I notice first. Then the hustle which can’t be helped. “Taksi”. Thin and sinewy men with sun beaten faces, days and years  have registered quite nicely on their face. Stares continue throughout the time spent  here. What must they saying to themselves? “Oh you again” I  say “no no you have it wrong I wish to learn and love more my Indonesian brothers and sisters.” Economic dependence on tourism  is 69% as I was told. Brochure says at 55 years of age I can retire here. Proof of pension, health and life insurance and an agreement  to hire balinese is in the handshake. The food although not questionable, is suspect. “Fry the heck out if it I say and forget the cloudy fish eyeball. My dear mother got the Bali Bug. There is madness in the traffic and  delight in finding the motorbike with the  greatest number of people riding on it.  I personally like to ride side saddle so I can’t see.  I feel like an unwelcomed cousin, a necessary evil and wish to apologize and explain as I am not a tourist nor a traveler but somewhere in between. 



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