anytime you need anything, just hit three times on this ... ting
... ting ... TING ... and i come."
houseboy smiled, bowed and vanished behind the riot of frangipanni
and hibiscus overhanging the path.
was a beautifully carved wooden hanging drum, known as a kul kul,
depicting a fearsome fanged demon, with a long slot down the middle
out of which, at a rakish angle, stuck the striker, carved, with
true Balinese humor, in the shape of a penis.
kul kul, flaunting its masculine charms, hung at the door of my
thatched bungalow, and as I gazed reflectively at it, 1 had no idea
that, far from being a quaint innovation for calling room service
- the kul kuls of Bali are a way of life.
hours earlier I had arrived in Bali - for my first visit. Now, having
driven 30 miles up into the mountains, through a landscape tiered
with terraces, drenched with irrigation canals, studded with temples,
and carpeted wall to wall with rice sawahs, small wonder my senses
were reeling feebly around, groping for something to steady them.
Something a little more stable than the phallic symbol. I felt as
though 1 had been catapulted onto some exotic film set. The ride
through Denpasar, for instance, was pure Hollywood .....
if you can, a veteran taxi, so large it could barely ease itself
into the streets streets already crammed and seething with gay little
horse drawn carts, called dokars; with pushbikes and scooters, minibuses
and bemos, with shoppers and school-children, with peddlers balancing
long racks of baskets precariously on one shoulder, with women swaying
gracefully along, carrying
tall pyramids of earthern pots on their head, with ice-sellers and
their eternal cry of "Es-Es", cheerfully edging their
way through the crowd .....
taxi, which looked as if it would have difficulties even if preceded
by a police escort, hurled itself merrily into the assorted melee,
honking its horn with unflagging gusto, weaving around