Cowboys in Paradise?

I took a look at the trailer teaser on the documentary entitled Cowboys in Paradise which has upset the Balinese by its imputation that Bali boys are sex toys for female tourists.

As a long time fan of Bali who has travelled there more times than I’ve been anywhere else in Asia, I think the documentary has been intentionally provocative by making what’s a minor activity that can occur anywhere, even right here in Singapore, into a major activity, if not attraction, of the island.

hotel attraction

Bali has many attractions like food, shopping, super hotels, culture, sea, beaches and a certain mysticism, but alas its indigenous men are rather sub-standard when compared to its other lures.

The Balinese authorities by kicking up a fuss over Cowboys may be unintentionally helping the film and its Singapore-based Indian national director Mr Amit Virmani, in his 30s and a first-time documentary film-maker, gain more attention than either would have otherwise done — because sex for hire is such a big yawn in today’s widely permissive climate.

The authorities should instead take a closer look at who is behind the truly vituperative  blog  that has been spewing its poison against all things Bali for more than two years. I am of course referring to http://balibollocks.blogspot.com

If anyone deserves to be hauled over the coals it is the person/people behind the blog.

As for Mr Virmani, the next time he wants material for a documentary to raise eyebrows and perhaps cause controversy, he should first take a stroll across the beach from Petitenget to where the Oberoi is in Seminyak!

Bali better…

Just a few quick paras to assert that while on and off there has been bad press abt Bali (two bombing events), Bali remains good, if not better.

While it might be quite alarming for people in Singapore, used to our settled and certain ways of life, to hear of a bomb going off and masses of people killed, long-time residents of Bali, including those with Singaporean passports, are pretty cool abt it all.

I remember when the first bombs went off in 2002, and hearing about it on the radio, I  immediately called someone I knew who lived in Seminyak, using Bali as a source for tourist memoribilia which she supplies to super-lux hotels around the region.

Yes, some bombs went off, she confirmed, calm and collected, adding that when she heard the far-off explosions, she asked her maid to go to the top of the road to find out what caused them.

Later, when she had more news she called me back to inform that an Italian restaurant to which she had taken me for dinner when I last visited was among those hit.

Later still, I heard that the mother of Hu Bar’s owner actually flew out from Singapore to Bali the very day after the bomb blast to lend her son a hand, in case Balinese staff upset by the tragedy were not reporting for work in full strength.

It is against the backdrop of such calmness that I faced the 2nd lot of bombing in 2005, coming as it did within a few weeks of my return from a holiday on that island.

Indeed, the bombs went off around Matahari supermarket and its immediate neighbourhood which invoked a sort of frisson in me, as no trip to Bali was ever complete for me without a recce thru the supermarket.

I buy my best Balinese coffee and snacks from the supermarket and also all the gift-souvenirs (which people at home expect holiday makers to bring back) in good condition and at great prices (without having to bargain till I’m breathless or lose my perspective of what’s value and what is a must-have because it’s so incredibly cheap!)

Immediately in front of Matahari are vendors of copy watches who sell the products with such panache that they insist every customer signs the receipt recording the purchase, even though all transactions are in cash. I like their temerity and am a regular sucker for the 30-50,000 rp copies.

And after a satisfying haul, my regular travel companions n I wld retire to the cafes just a few doors away to dine in style but at reasonable prices. It’s a grim reminder that one of those were hit by the 2nd bomb.

Yet, at no time did we feel “there but for the etc go I”.. Instead, our very next trip saw us back at Matahari again, because besides the shopping we wanted to see for ourselves what had happened.

It was not an attempt at desensitisaton but to see for ourselves there was nothing to be afraid of. Yes, bombs did go off in Bali. But there’s no reason to avoid it and so miss all the rich experiences it has to offer… and still replete with new discovery despite more than a dozen visits… but I don’t mean this  

this not for us,leh!

  … this is what we go to Bali for…

uluwatu…

Food for thought

One of the favourite topics when eating out and in, with family or friends, the favourite topic of conversation to help the chow go down is? Food!

Where one can get better or equivalent food, the prices, memorable meals.. oh the reminiscing can go on and on so much so that when we talk of past and future eats, we can quite overlook what we are eating at present!!

One meal that’s often reminisced about whenever me and the group who dined at Gunther’s (recorded in an earlier post) eat together is the fabulous brunch we enjoyed a few years ago together while holidaying in Bali.

Oh, my, the egg benedictine, one of us will recall. Others will chip in about the bread, the bacon and ham, the coffee, the fruits, the beach, the laidback atmosphere on Ku De Ta in Seminyak on a hot sunny Sunday.

And all the bargains as the beach hawkers come right up to our table to tempt us with their artistic and colorful wares.

Nothing brings back good memories as evocatively as a shared meal thoroughly enjoyed but in recent years, I notice that some friends have this tendency to bring up less happy food-related pictures whenever we  break bread together.

Take for example when Mrs Seow and I were gorging on expensive all-day breakfasts at Riciotti by the Singapore River on Aug 19. And greedily eyeing all the scrumptious cakes in the chiller next to our table all the while, as I bit into my poached eggs on a bed of spinach supported by cibiatta bread while she tucked into her scrambled eggs with crabmeat.

 

poached 2 perfection

scrambled

“I must tell you something absolutely heart-breaking,” she said in between bites, now that we had gotten the gossip abt a mutual friend living 10,000 km away out of our system.

“Who now?”

“You know I always shop at Cold Storage at Parkway, while waiting for the boys at their enrichment classes?”

Yah? So? And it came out. As Mrs Seow was at the check-out counter, there was a commotion behind her, with a man in a windbreaker jacket holding on to a grubby elderly woman and shouting at her to empty her shopping bag.

At first the woman protested but because the man was so fiercely insistent, she complied. Her bag contained mostly rubbish, discarded wrappers and tissues; there was a Gardenia bag and what looked like mouldy bread slices (according to Mrs Seow) in it and yes, a bar of chocolate.

The man demanded the receipt for the chocalate. The woman cldn’t produce it but insisted she had paid for the chocolate. The verbal struggle went on a bit.

Then Mrs Seow intervened. She picked up the tab for the chocolate. End of episode.

“You should have bought her other foods,” was my comment, at the end of her story.

“That’s what my kids also said.”

Yet I understood why she didn’t do more. In such distressing encounters, it is only too easy not to want to get involved. I call it the doubt paralysis syndrome. What if the old woman is a regular shop-lifter? What if she refused to be helped? What ifs ad infinitum. Then the chance to do anything at all would have passed.

Even when one does get involved, it is only too easy to do just what is needed to resolve an ongoing situation. Because doing more could mean  starting an ongoing engagement that might demand more of what one is prepared to give, whether in time, emotion or money.

Nowadays, topics like this sad encounter at Parkway Parade has become quite common meal-time conversation.

Yes, Singapore is a very rich nation but like all rich nations, it doesn’t mean that everyone is a clone of Warren Buffet. Go to any Swiss train station and you’ll see what I mean.