transport? young girls?

The first and final legs of my holiday in Lombok were flights between Yogyakarta and Denpassar (the airport in Bali). Because I had a night flight on my way out and a morning flight on my way home I got stuck stay two separate nights in Kuta Beach, Bali.

I knew that Kuta Beach was sort of the hub of the island in the sense that Bali is sometimes treated by visitors like a playground for adults, but I was not quite prepared for an experience that left me hoping it was my first and last trip there.

(Some of you may recall that Kuta Beach was the scene of the last two Bali bombings.)
I should have been tipped off on the plane by the presence of a few (loud—but I think we can chalk that up to national disposition) sweaty middle aged Australian men talking quite casually and graphically about all the drinking and whoring they were going to do in Kuta.

For those of you not aware, this past month has been Ramadan, Islam’s holiest month. The end of Ramadan, Idul Fitri, is like the holiday season in Indonesia; everyone takes off and travels back to their ancestral homes. The plane was literally filled with Muslims (most devout based on the presence of headscarves) and all of them traveling with children. These three guys talking loud enough so the entire plane could hear them was more than a bit uncomfortable.

Kuta is basically a flashy strip of beach—stuffed with expensive nightclubs and overpriced hotels—crawling with drunk Caucasian and Japanese people falling down in the street. All the locals are there hawking ‘transport,’ rides on motor bikes for inebriated tourists. Once you decline they inevitably regroup: 'maybe, my friend, we find some girls?' Stopped again, they inevitably lean in close and ask in a hush, 'ok, listen, maybe young girls?'

It was really disappointing and kind of disgusting. Coupled with the fact that everything was twice as expensive there than the rest of Indonesia, I was ready to move on.