Well, not actually on a boat ... but I *am* in Bali. We made it here late on Monday night, after flying from New York to Sydney, Sydney to Denpasar.
It's ridiculous. The scenery and the weather and the smells and the people. THE FOOD. Local time is 6am now - 8am in Sydney. 11pm in New York.
I've stopped eating burgers.
I miss my boys so much that I can't believe I even actually have any children. Max has had a tummy bug, vomiting - Rocco is on antibiotics from a really dreadful cough. And mummy is staying in a luxury villa in a third-world country, wearing luxury shoes.
Yesterday, we were in the street market and kept walking past a beggar woman holding her baby. She was saying "Baby hungry. Baby hungry." We ended up giving her some money. I knelt down and cooed at her baby. She pointed out a rash on his wrists and arms. I asked if this was her baby and she said yes.
I hope so , hope she wasn't using it to make more money from begging. I put some money in her hand, her eyes wide, she quickly got up to leave because she didn't have to beg any more that day.
Dave thinks she will be back today.
Amazing as it is, something doesn't sit well with me about being "served" by the local people. It reminds me of when I lived in Fiji as a child .... even at five years old I felt guilty, that it was their country but they were so submissive. I asked Dave what he thought of the local population being so dependent on tourism - should they not grow and develop on their own? He laughed and told me that even Australia is dependent on tourism .... most countries are.
I guess. I just keep thinking about that babies beautiful brown eyes, how he wasn't wearing a nappy ... and the mother grabbed his little hand and waved it at me.
My mum is back at my house, manning the fort. I keep ringing her, to see how the boys are. I stood at Sydney airport the other day, crying on the phone, not wanting to come to Bali at all. But Dave wouldn't let me cancel, and mum has it under control.
Every time I have been away these past few weeks .... seeing children has made me stuff my feelings underneath inside somewhere. I can't wait to kiss them and hug them and promise to be there for them forever. To be present and patient and not yell and make them read more books and let them run free.
Soon we will be home and this whole holiday will be over. I have so much to say, so much that I learnt and saw and realised. But right now, Dave just crept up and jumped in the pool and scared the SHIT out of me. Now he's singing .... "On my own .... in Bali. Yeah my wife's on the computer and I'm on my own ..... in Bali."
So I better go. One more hour until breakfast is served - I'm on a strict diet now. The memory of Five Guys Idaho hand-cut-never-frozen-cooked-in-peanut-oil-fries taunts me, softly.
There are so many beautiful carvings and stone sculptures and paintings .... the ones that really caught my eye yesterday were ones like this:
Freaky and weird and red and crazy.
The picture is too.
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