The Case Of The Kidnapped
Customer

The agent I consulted on my first trip to Bali could give me little information. (You can see it all in three days.)

But two points she did stress: It was hot, and there were few shops as we knew them, except down on the beacles, and these were over-run with hippies.
I began,to picture Bali as a kind of Simpson's Desert, ringed with a fringe of hippies.
Oddly enough, I did not make a booking through her
There are shops galore in Bali, but not all selling is done indoors.
The meat, for instance, arrives in the saddle-bag (box, rather) of a motorbike, and a lively bit of bargaining is conducted in the courtyard, under the critical eye of the resident monkey, before the day's quota of pork flesh is handed over. Then, of course, there are the warungs (roadside stalls) usually nothing more than a table, piled high with a variety of cakes, fruit and cordial, plus a bench where customers can sit, all carried to and from the desired spot, incredibly balanced on the head of the dainty little vendor.

Even more mobile are the artists and craftsmen who pack a sample of their art in a canvas bag and wait patiently outside likely hotels or temples, trying to catch the eye of arriving or departing guests.

Such a one was the woodcarver who twice-weekly parked his motorbike in front of our hotel. Then, his carvings spread enticingly around him, puffing peacefully at a clove-scented cigarette, he patiently awaited custom.

The day came when 1, not so patiently, waited beside him, for a bemo. Fifteen minutes crept by, but that was all that passed. No