Nobody Home

I am torn. Bali is a magical place. Physical beauty aside, there is a sense in the air that magic is possible, that your hopes, no matter how absurd, are not unfounded. There’s just one problem: it’s deserted.

I’m in Kuta, the tourist destination on this tiny island. I hadn’t planned to come here, but it’s the closest town to the airport and it was so damned late by the time I got in that I figured what the hell. I thought, a night or two of civilization will be just fine as I acclimate to a new country.

There are surf stores the size of a Gap superstore here. About 20 of them. There are, by my count, 3 McDonald’s, a Wendy’s and 3 KFCs. Also a Pizza Hut, and I’m certain I’ve missed as many as I counted. There are more bars and restaurants than you can shake a small forest at. There’s even a Hard Rock Cafe, Hotel and Superstore. There’s an Armani A/X store, a Versace boutique and I can’t even count the number of places with D&G and Stussy on their signs. It’s everything I heard it was – tourist hell. There’s only one problem: no tourists.

I heard the warnings, I read them. US CITIZENS ARE ADVISED NOT TO VISIT INDONESIA DUE TO POLITICAL INSTABLITY AND TERRORIST ACTIVITY. Everybody did. I assumed that those who knew this island would ignore them. But having gone out tonight in search of a chat over happy hour, and having combed the entire town in that search, I realize I was mistaken. It’s 11:45 now and I’m back at my hotel, planning to head up to Ubud tomorrow, hoping against hope that the dearth of visitors will be less obvious and less heartbreaking there than it is here.

New York got bombed by terrorists. Nobody issued a no-tourist warning. People, in fact, came from all over to see the place where it happened. I walked past what used to be Paddy’s and Sari Club and Maccaroni today – which even now amounts to a few empty lots with some rubble scattered about – and there were wreaths and banners from well-wishers and mourners, but that’s it. It’s not that people are oblivious – it’s just that the only people I saw walking by that corner (one of the biggest corners in town) live here. The pain is part of their lives now.

At every t-shirt stand, there are shirts that weren’t there last year. “Bali Cry” they say, or “Bali Black Day” or “FUCK TERRORIST” or (my favorite), “Osama Don’t Surf”. I wish I could afford to buy something from everyone. They need it.

The thing that’s hardest about all of it is the people. Their smiles beat the living hell out of any I’ve ever seen, and they’re the only people in Southeast Asia I’ve seen so far who will let you go without buying someting, without being angry about it. The terrorists who did this, who are themselves Indonesian, did an incalculable amount of damage to their own people. I do not mean to trivialize the deaths of the Australian, European and American victims of the bombing, but the aftermath, I fear, will last much longer and will affect most those who have the least recourse.

And yet, a voice tells me, take heart. There is beauty here to behold, and joy to live in!