Indo-need-ya

I've never lied so much in my life.

"I don't have any money with me."

"I'm in a hurry."

"I don't need a massage."

Walking through the streets of Bali was never a relaxing stroll. Taxis would honk as if I didn't know they existed. Store merchants would inform me they were selling things in the shops. Girls would ask my name, shake my hand and not let go as they desperately attempted to give me a massage. Everyone called me "boss".

One woman wanted to do something to my fingernails. "I do one for free," she offered.

"I like my fingernails just the way they are." This was no lie.

The word "no" went in one ear and out the other. I didn't know what else to do other than be rude and completely ignore them or lie. I felt guilty in a way not buying anything. I felt bad lying. It was a lose-lose situation. Yesterday, I made the mistake of walking back to my hotel carrying my freshly-done laundry. I walked by the same people who I told minutes earlier I did not come to Bali to shop. Conveniently, my laundry was folded up in perfect order and was given to me in a shopping bag. However, my onlookers' eyes widened as they saw the American kid walking through the streets with what looked like the result of a shopping spree. It seemed as if all I came to do in Bali was shop.

"Buy one more!" the merchants shouted. "I give you better deal in my store!"

I started off as a giant target, and now I had painted myself bright red. I finally made it back to home base unharmed, but mentally stressed.

I suppose I asked for it, wandering around such a huge tourist destination. The people are friendly, but a bit too relentless. When I need a taxi, I will flag one down. When I want to buy silver, I will come to the silver store. Really, their tactics hurt them more than helped them. I was afraid to even look in the windows so I wouldn't spark added interest in the store owners. I stopped shaking the girls' hands. I stopped telling people my name. I wore my sunglasses and looked straight ahead whenever heading to the beach or to grab a snack. Bali made me a temporary introvert.

Before heading to Bali, I spent four days in Yogyakarta -- a city in between Jakarta and Bali. The same flight I took from Jakarta to Yogya on the same airline had crashed on landing a few weeks earlier, killing several people. The woman on the plane next to me decided to bring this up just as we were landing. Not the best timing.

A nonfiction writing teacher of mine from college is currently living in Yogyakarta to work on his writing, and he gave me a place to crash for a few days. I did normal things, and it was very refreshing. We played tennis every day. I read, played guitar, and slept a lot. I cruised the streets on the back of his motorcycle and learned what the heck a guy from Minnesota was doing in a town I had never heard of in Indonesia. One night we went to his friend from Ohio's house. I couldn't stop thinking how odd it was that three Midwesterners were hanging out in Java together.

Ben paid for a few of my meals, so I decided to buy a round. The total for two filling lunches including drinks -- $1.80. I thought there was a mistake, but as it turned out, they were basically giving food away. Since the screen on my camera has been broken for three months, I finally caved and bought a new one. I also bought three pirated DVDs for 90 cents a piece. One afternoon was dedicated to watching Rocky VI. It was the best 90 cents I ever spent.

I fell in love with the food. Half the time I had no idea what I was eating. I saw cooked chicken heads, pigeon eggs, and was asked if I would like to try dog meat. I like to do things in the name of culture, but I declined the offer.

Part of me wanted to stay for a while longer, lounging and talking to Ben about writing and life. Another part of me craved to get back on the road, meeting travelers and seeing new places. I almost didn't make it to Bali. Without my knowledge, the hour-long flight made a pitstop in another city. Since I slept throughout the entire trip, I failed to hear any important announcements, like the one saying "this isn't Bali". I found it a bit odd that half of the people on the plane remained seated, but regardless I gathered my things, deplaned, and headed into the airport in a town I've never heard of and wasn't supposed to ever set foot in.

I began talking with an American guy as we walked toward baggage claim. He had been living in Indonesia for almost 20 years. I asked him what was a good taxi company to take and what were some good things to see in Bali.

"You are aware that you aren't in Bali," he said.

I was not aware of this.

I looked out the window to see my plane still sitting on the ground. The man handled the translation for me and got me back on the plane I was never supposed to get off of. I felt like a little kid. I guess we all need a little help here and there.