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	A Short Wade Home (1-22-02) It was near the end of our 35-day stay in Bali. The general theme of going to a non-western country is "hardship management". You are constantly being thrown curve balls that seem like normal to locals but raise the heartbeat with fear, amusement or disgust in the unseasoned traveler's beaten body. By this time, I hadn't seen 'everything' but I had seen plenty. I am told that this stuff builds character. Resisting the urge to slap someone when they say that must also contribute to my character skyscraper. Besides, if you let things worry you, bad things will happen. This particular evening I felt it would be a nice gesture to go with my new Aussie friend Dave and meet some nice Danish girls for dinner. To be expected, the girls met their other Danish friends and had a lively conversation, in Dutch. It was one of those situations where it would have been cooler if none of them were there. After finishing one of the few good meals of the trip, we started to pack up to go back to our hotels. The time was near midnight! I had worn my fancy hiking boots for the walk so as not to get one of those gnarly cuts on my foot that don't heal by the equator. Being the tropics, there tends to be rain. Granted this was the dry season, you still expect a little rain, so when it comes, no big deal. It usually was an opportunity to rinse off the sweat for a few hours and flush all the filth into the ocean. So it started to rain. And rain it did. We peer out the doorway of the restaurant and are amazed at the quantity of rain dumping down. In 5 minutes there is about 3-5 inches of standing water on the dirty street outside (Poppies 2). Drunken partiers are fleeing as though they can out run the drops. I assess the situation and remove my gortex boots so I don't fill them with filthy water and take my chances barefoot. A taxi drives up and I run out and jump in. I tell him I want to go to the next street and he says 10,000 rupiah. "NO WAY! It is usually 2000 rp!". The thought of getting gouged for an additional 80 cents so I don't have to walk barefoot a quarter mile in a biblical downpour is too much to handle for this veteran of Bali. I am already soaked so what's the point? I climb out of the cab and regroup. Dave has bailed back to his hotel across the street so I start knocking. He lets me borrow a rain jacket and some sandals. Unfortunately his feet are size six so my size 11 toes dangle over the front. I stand on the street corner trying to decide which way to go back. There is the longer, and possibly less deep way, or the shorter, poorly lit way down the alley. A pleasant indo guy comes up and starts chatting. He offers to take me to his apartment for some drinks. I was sure the "idiot" sign on my back must have washed off with the rain but I guess he thought he saw one. I said, "no thanks, but let's go for a walk". We take off down the alley through the warm, filthy water splashing around my ankles. A ways down I notice that the stretch that normally had an open sewer/gutter on the side is now solid water wall to wall. We press on. I say goodbye and continue on to the Fabulous Masa Inn on Poppies 1. The pool was always well chlorinated so I just stood there in the rain in my long pants trying to decontaminate myself. Worked like a charm. The next day I waded out and took a photo of the street out front with about 4-6 inches of standing water. The little stores had small breakwaters built permanently for this common occurrence. Good for them. Nowadays there is an actual drain system to more efficiently shuttle the filthy water to the ocean. more stories >>