Bali Update

Blog13
Another diary entry from Bali. But it’s justified.
First is the conclusion of the ATM saga.
Those of you who have persevered with reading this sad little tale of a misadventure through Asia will remember that I lost my ATM card in Kupang. Whilst it is alleged that I left the card absent mindedly in the ATM machine whilst distracted by the guard outside the booth wielding an AK47, I am certain that I dropped it in the street while stuffing several million Rupiah(AU$150) into my inadequate wallet. Come what may it meant that I have survived on $300 (and the goodwill, generosity and tolerance of several cruising friends) from Kupang to Bali over about 8 weeks. I looked upon the experience philosophically to begin with as a means of compulsory saving of my inadequate cruising kitty. Liz couriered the card to the Royal Bali Yacht Club here on the 2nd September but my nerves were getting strung out by the 13th since the supplied tracking number drew a blank every time I entered it. I was on the point of cancelling the (new) card, ordering a new one and hopefully have it ready for Ted flying to join me here in a few days time. It was all looking a bit scary.
Finally Nathan and Ruth from the Yacht Club suggested that I go to the Post Office in Denpassar to check in person if it had arrived. Nathan kindly drove Rob and I there where a scene redolent from Mr Bean ensued.
Drive into Post Office car park, ignore all parking restrictions and park round the back where all the delivery trucks live.
Disembark
Look round for a friendly face. There are plenty, this is Bali after all.
Pick the most authoritative figure and sidle up.
The following conversation ensues between Nathan and Mr Fixit (In Balinese so please excuse paraphrasing)
“This Dickhead is looking for a parcel addressed to him from Australia some time ago”
“Hmmm, Australian hum! ” Looks speculatively at me then at his desk and rearranges some papers. “Not here, when was it sent?
“2nd September”
“Walk this way”
We follow Mr Fixit to another room where 6 workers (sic) loaf around in a scene from Sewing Mailbags OHMS.
Mr Fxit asks legitimate question (Balianese paraphrasing again). “This Dickhead is looking for a letter addressed to him from Australia. The first glimmers of (malicious?)humour flit across six faces.
Chief from mailbag room asks, “Tracking number?”
“We…..elll…..”
Now I’d be exagerrating a bit if I said they all fell off their seats and desk perches with hysterical laughter at this stage but it certainly felt like that to me.
“I don’t suppose he has a tracking number then?”
They all look at me and say in English “Tracking number?”
With horror I realise that this may be important and is of course on Scot Free, a half hour’s suicide drive away. (Did I mention the death defying ride in Balinese traffic to get here?)
I have it however in my email history, can I use a computer… Use a government piece of equipment, no go away and find an Internet cafe please. Not such a friendly Balinese face after all.
Back to car, face traffic anew and finally find an internet brothel. One sits on the floor on a sweaty matress and pokes hopefully at a keyboard with all the characters worn off the keys. After 1/2 an hour I realise that the password which I thought I could remember I couldn”t. Give up and abandon hope wherupon Rob suggests that Liz might hav it on her, ‘here use my phone and call her it may have a few seconds call time left.’
“Liz, Can’t talk long, do you have the tracking number on you”
“Oh Hi Dad… yes!”
“SMS it to this nummber as soon as you can.”
Hang up while Rob still has some credit.
Get back to Post Office and SMS comes in with TRACKING NUMBER.
Make purposefully for Mr Fixit’s office with new confidence.
Hand tracking number triumphantly over.
Mr Fixit enters digits into the only computer I saw in Denpassar regional Post Office headquarters and….
Left Australia 2nd September,
Arrived Jackarta 3rd September
Arrived Denpassar 13th September
“It is here!” Mr Fixit stares at screen in surprise.
We then poke around his desk and office with no success and, oh no, not the mailbag room again! I coulldn’t face the ignominy, but then again we do have a tracking number. now. This will wipe the smiles of their faces.
Enter mail room (to the fading echoes of sniggers?)
Mr Fixit holds up the ACE card… The tracking nunber in all its glory.
Employee one goes to a rusty filing cabinet and tugs at top drawer which does open but sort of flops sideways a bit. Rummages unsuccessfully through packages many of which seem to be addressed to Mr Roger Pendicott of the Marriot Hotel.
Tries lower, more decrepit drawers but draws a blank.
Employee number two says (In Balinese)
“Maybe in today’s mail” points excitedly at large garbage bag tied shut. (I do NOT exaggerate this).
Employee #1 tugs the knot open and upends contents onto his already full desk.
I AM SURE I SEE IT LAND SECOND FROM THE BOTTOM.
Now mailbag room is breathlessly interested and surreptitiosly gather round while Mr Fixit, employee #1, Nathan, Rob and I crowd the table.
One by one 48 pieces of mail are checked for the magic tracking number. Slowly, slowly, string out the agony……….
The 49th item appears. Iain White c/- Royal Bai Yacht Club, Serangan, Bali, Indonesia.
But ….. the tracking number needs to be checked digit by painful digit. This is the fine art of ‘Digitsu’ developed in Indonesia to an art form.
“YES” I finally take possession of my worldly wealth, sign for it and walk out ‘Scot Free’.
As I said the above account is barely exaggerated which can be vouched for by Rob .
What a day, get back to Scot Free and in my flush of positive outlook take control of the rebuild mmy chartplotter lying dismembered across the saloon table. Did I mention I’d decided that since it was outside warranty there was no penalty in having a go at repairing it myself?
I reassemble the technical marvel and to cut a long story short, it worked perfectly first time.
I could do no wrong that day, Out on town in Kuta, Mackers for late lunch, steak for dinner late night and deep, dreamless sleep back on Scot Free.
Next saga. The Dinghy Saga.
We had organised to head out to a jazz club in Sanur where one of the expatriates living in Serangan played drums on a Wednesday night. We all piled into one dinghy leaving mine tied up behind Ballyhoo and went off for a good night out.
Returning at midnight and motoring out to the yachts at anchor Rob was the first to notice. “I don’t see your dinghy Iain, maybe it’s round the other side.” But no, no dinghy. With quailing heart we offload Lucy, grab a more powerful torch and for the next hour and a half quarter search Serangan harbour in the dark. No success so I drop Rob at Ballyhoo, take his dinghy, tie it VERY securely to Scot Free and have a restless night’s sleep before heading in to the village to see if daylight helps.
Walking past our ‘Warung’ (Balinese for wine bar cafe which also does fuel, laundry and water sales) The owner’s wife waves and points at my laundry, ready to be picked up. I pay her for it and explain about lost dinghy.
She is horrifed and calls for Wyan her husband who walks out with me to look at the harbour. I explain I’m going to walk along the water’s edge as far as the mangroves to see if anyone has spotted it and pulled it ashore. Did I say that this town is honest to a fault? I mean that literally.
I walk on but after 15 minutes Wyan overtakes me on his scooter indicates I should jump on and drives me back to his Warung.
We make for his boat, the one which supplies fresh water to ships in the harbour and push it out. We then motor along the shoreline easier than I could walk and head over to the mangroves. Wyan drops me on the mud flats and indicates I should explore the mangroves on foot while the tide is so low. I walk about half a mile keeping pace with his boat in the shallows seeing nothing. Then, Wyan curses, he’s hit the prop off the bottom and sheared the pin driving his propellor. I wade out as a neighbour motors over to take him in tow and take us back to his mooring. The neighbour speaks good English and explains that the dinghy willl turn up. Seems like it’s a regular occurence and nobody has lost one yet.
Back at the Warung I see some of Mande’s gang. A group of kids who do the boat boy thing (remember the mooring heist?)
“Leave it to us mister!” They run off and jump into Mande’s runabout and disappear in the direction Wyan and I had taken earlier.
It was Wyan who saw what happened next.
Fifty feet right of the track we had taken an hour earlier there was my dinghy resting against a moored pontoon!
Had we missed it the night before?
Had Wyan and I driven past it that morning and missed it again?
Who knows, but it seems suspciouys that although it had been ‘out’ all night there was no rainwater in it despite several heavy showers in the night. Also there was a poly bag round the prop which certainly wasn’t there when I tied it behind Ballyhoo.
I paid a Ru50,000 (AU$6.00) reward and considered mysel lucky.
The day ended well with Ted emailing me to say he has his passport and Bob Clow from Yaringa to say my Autohelm data head had arrived ready to be hand carried to Bali by Ted. We also went out to Carrefour and stocked up ready for the 3 week journey to Singapore via Kalimantan.