Sit in a surf bar. Sip a Bali Hai beer. Stare at the ocean bobbing with surfer hard bodies and string bikinis. Even a breeze over the waves cannot cool our sweat soaked bodies. Eighty-eight degrees Fahrenheit has a feel of one-hundred-one degrees (38 C) in this water-drenched air. Pirated American hit songs via “Techno-Muzak” play in the background and mellow the vibe. The only question of the day, “Is it too early for a beer?” needs no pondering. Welcome to Canggu, Bali, Indonesia.

Bali Hai Beer in Bali

Not sure what day or time it is, after 36 sleepless hours of flights, long connections, delays, and standstill traffic. We must remind ourselves what country we are in. We could stay here forever and watch the surfers. Hundreds, no, thousands of them.

Rain or Shine

The locals all greet you with hands in prayer position, a wide smile, and a bow. “Hello. What are you doing today? Where are you from? Do you like Bali?” You cannot walk down the street, or the lobby, or the hallway without what feels like hundreds, no, thousands of friendly greetings. A “gauntlet of kindness” of sorts. Meanwhile, sunset puts on a show. We have sat here longer than we thought.

Sunset in Bali

Need sleep, but first must eat. Bring on the Indonesian food with chicken satay, next to rice noodles mixed with herbal conglomerations. Throw in a bowl of an unknown fried thing and I be happy. Marilynn’s dish, topped with an egg, does not have a chance of survival neither. We eat like that YouTube clip of a drunken David Hasselhoff devouring a burger.

Mie Goreng

Chicken Satay

Nasa Campur Bali

Cannot wait to sleep. In a bed in a room with cool air conditioning. Out go the lights. Not so fast. Simultaneous snores awaken us ten minutes later. So, so, so exhausted we cannot sleep. Jet lag or whatever. Wide awake. “Let’s go downstairs and have a cocktail,” Marilynn suggests. “If that doesn’t put us out, nothing will.”

Whoa! We sip cocktails with a bird’s eye view of another show, a Friday night street party. Scooters galore crowd the streets and serve as taxis. “Techno-Muzak,” blares, but the non-techno song, “Dancing Queen,” blares louder and repeatedly steals the show, getting the crowd hopping each time. Half of Australia’s youth must be here. We certainly are the only folks over thirty-years-old. Way over. Fun to watch. Not so fun to drum up memories of my unsuccessful days trying to pick up women at a disco. Maybe a few of these scantily clad young women could have daddy issues, but certainly not “grandaddy” issues. Gross just thinking about it. On the other hand, we have not been up this late in years. Outlasted the late-night show. Still, cannot avoid the insight of how old, and quite invisible we have become.

Canggu – Let’s get this party started!

Finally, we fell asleep. Slept hard! Foolishly, I set the alarm so that we would not miss the hotel grand breakfast buffet. (Serious old man behavior)

Fresh Fruits from the Breakfast Buffet

What now? If you do not sunbathe or surf, there is nothing else to do here. Yesterday, we wanted to stay forever. Today, we think that seven days might be too long.

Canggu – Echo Beach

Bring the beers! While sitting rooftop poolside, finally recovering from jet lag, everything feels better.

Welcome to Bali

Uh oh, “Bali Belly” starts to rumble. I must make a beeline to the bathroom. (Not just old man behavior) Suddenly, the walk through the “gauntlet of kindness” becomes a “gauntlet of potential disaster.” I try hard to smile, but dreadful things could happen if I bow. Once inside the stall, I halfway expect someone to open the stall door, smile, and say, “Hello. What are you doing today? Where are you going? Where are you from?”

Beach Hut Art

Canggu – Echo Beach

Strolling on the beach after breakfast, passing the plethora of surf schools reminds me of yet another activity that has passed me by. (Whiny old man behavior)

How many Australians can you fit on Echo Beach?

Surf’s Up!

Then, a sign above a bar inspires me. “Old Man’s Not Dead Yet”

Old Man’s (not dead yet…)

I shall learn to surf. Afterall, I am a tad athletic, with more heart than athleticism. Off I go, after brief lessons, proud to simply paddle out past the breakers.

Can you spot the “old man” in the crowd?

Bobbing around hundreds of others fellow surfers, we are much farther apart from each other than it looks from shore. I am too cool. Ready to ride a respectable size wave after watching how my other surfer brothers and sisters do it.

Where’s Ron??

Up! On a wave, albeit a bit wobbly but gliding for a bit until, wham! Shooting pain rips my groin, or hip, I do not know. I tumble and then climb back onto that dreaded board, unsuccessfully trying not to wince while paddling pathetically towards shore and gagging on swallowed water. Ungodly pain intensifies with every bouncing breaking wave that pushes me closer. Marilynn helps me up, and onto the sand where she is worried and relieved. I limp my way back to the hotel, leaning on my angel of a wife, trying to smile and bow through that dreaded gauntlet of kindness.

We pass the “Old Man’s Not Dead Yet” bar and I am glad to be alive. I tried. Ended up in pain in a country where the penalty for using marijuana is death. No differentiation between weed and heroin here. They executed two Australians in 2015 caught with heroin. I shall stick with massive amounts of Ibuprofen and watch from the sidelines from now on.

Adios Echo Beach

Onward, to the mountain town of Ubud. This is more like it. A tad cooler, with an even more relaxed vibe and “gauntlets of kindness” replaced with more reasonable greetings. We sit on our balcony in comfortable weather during a downpour. Sip wine. Stare at the jungle. We could stay here forever.

Our balcony in Ubud

Thank you Abundant Universe!