It seemed an unusually pleasant morning today, so I decided to crawl out of my usual rut and take a trip down to the beachfront in Sanur. Stopped in for a coffee first on Jalan Tamblingan, then parked up at Mertasari Beach. By that time, it had become very hot indeed, but I had a nice stroll anyway. Although strolling is less than an accurate description of the weaving and stumbling I do. People must surely think that I've had about five too many--and first thing in the morning at that! But no, I do this weaving and stumbling all on my own without any help, except from MS. Happily, the beach was all but deserted this morning. Lots of hotels and restaurants, but nobody in 'em. So I didn't make too much of a spectacle of myself. And I didn't actually fall down.
If you walk up to the far end of Mertasari--I guess that would be the west end (although I continually get these directions mixed up), you come to a wide open beach, free of any structures or projects, and a river enters here. A path runs along the riverside and there is a little wooded glen full of shade and convenient boulders to sit and rest on. A very pleasant place. Toward the inland side, a wooden bridge spans the river and one can see, beyond the bridge, a row of newly built Java huts all in a row. I've never been down there before, so I walked across the bridge. This brought me to a sign reading "Dream Island".
Dream Island. Huh. What the hell is that, I wondered? So I walked on until I came to a little guard station on the path with a little guard sitting inside. Outside the guard station was a sign listing things that you cannot bring into Dream Island, one of which was cameras.
"No camera?" I said to the little guard.
"No camera. Phone okay. No camera camera."
"Hmm. So it's kind of a secret resort, yeah?"
"No secret. No camera."
"I see. Well, what is 'Dream Island', exactly? I've never been here."
The guard listed off, a bit sourly, I thought, a number of activities and luxuries offered by Dream Island. Salon, massage, yoga, yoghurt, and so on.
"Can I go in and walk around?"
The guard held up a little booklet of yellow tickets, with Rp. 20.000 printed in large letters on each ticket.
"Oh, hell no. Are you kidding me? Twenty-thousand just to walk in?"
He held the little booklet closer.
We said goodbye.
My goodness, imagine that. Twenty-thousand just to walk in. And see what? Bule's with too much money trying to find ways to spend it? No thanks. Not that 20.000 is a lot of money. It's less than two dollars. But still. Since when does one have to pay to walk on the beach? I object. I protest. Fuck Dream Island. Lol.
And anyway, just wait and see. The place will be out of business within a year.
And, Oh, by the way, there is no island. There is sand, and those Java huts, and beyond that, the impenetrable mangrove forest.
If you walk up to the far end of Mertasari--I guess that would be the west end (although I continually get these directions mixed up), you come to a wide open beach, free of any structures or projects, and a river enters here. A path runs along the riverside and there is a little wooded glen full of shade and convenient boulders to sit and rest on. A very pleasant place. Toward the inland side, a wooden bridge spans the river and one can see, beyond the bridge, a row of newly built Java huts all in a row. I've never been down there before, so I walked across the bridge. This brought me to a sign reading "Dream Island".
Dream Island. Huh. What the hell is that, I wondered? So I walked on until I came to a little guard station on the path with a little guard sitting inside. Outside the guard station was a sign listing things that you cannot bring into Dream Island, one of which was cameras.
"No camera?" I said to the little guard.
"No camera. Phone okay. No camera camera."
"Hmm. So it's kind of a secret resort, yeah?"
"No secret. No camera."
"I see. Well, what is 'Dream Island', exactly? I've never been here."
The guard listed off, a bit sourly, I thought, a number of activities and luxuries offered by Dream Island. Salon, massage, yoga, yoghurt, and so on.
"Can I go in and walk around?"
The guard held up a little booklet of yellow tickets, with Rp. 20.000 printed in large letters on each ticket.
"Oh, hell no. Are you kidding me? Twenty-thousand just to walk in?"
He held the little booklet closer.
We said goodbye.
My goodness, imagine that. Twenty-thousand just to walk in. And see what? Bule's with too much money trying to find ways to spend it? No thanks. Not that 20.000 is a lot of money. It's less than two dollars. But still. Since when does one have to pay to walk on the beach? I object. I protest. Fuck Dream Island. Lol.
And anyway, just wait and see. The place will be out of business within a year.
And, Oh, by the way, there is no island. There is sand, and those Java huts, and beyond that, the impenetrable mangrove forest.
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