30.10.2007 - 30.10.2007
At long last after an interminable enforced sojourn in Kuta, I finally managed to bag the by now notorious parcel today but not without a suitably crazy rigmaroll. Having religiously, earnestly traipsed the short distance to Kuta's hidden little Post Office every day without fail for weeks now, I had tired of checking the small box of Post Restante mail upon its counter, and had finally found the resolve in exasperation the day previous to make a direct enquiry despite my limited vocab. Lo and behold as it transpired I had chosen to do so on the very day that the place came up trumps, with a card safely filed in the box to proclaim that an item had duly arrived forcollection. besides my enquiries........... Expecting a rip off bribe to corrupt Customs officials, the anonymous untranslatable palace out by the airport which I had mistaken for ground zero proved to be the wrong spot. However unintelligibly the residents between them were actually remarkably helpful in directing me to a hitherto unknown Post Office closer to the airport terminal whose location seemed to elude me in exasperation at security fences, but it was a bonus that in the search for it I stumbled across a lone preserved aircraft ensconced in a small park which prompted the inferno busting pit stop for a cold drink. Finally it was only the promise of a small innocuous mosque which gave me the resolve to encircle the whole neighbourhood in search of its promise, to finally find the Post Office adjacent, a small bungalow.
Under a massive wave of relief upon simply paying the peanuts service fee in receipt of the parcel, I tried to further redeem my long scorchy water guzzling traipse with first a return to the airport terminal where security measures precluded the realisation of any airside viewing, then dodging the persistent transport hopefuls once again in escaping its throes towards the nearby beach. Fortunate in readily tracing it, the beach wasnt actually the priority which was just as well, a squalid looking seafront facing onto an unappealling dirty littortal was qualified by variously coloured outrigger canoes bobbing offshore. As surfers turned up on bikes to be whisked away into the surf, provoked by an offshore reef, I compounded the freshly realised feel good factor by lacing myself with scrummy noodles and more cold drinks from a down to earth shack sprawled in the dirt by the airports approach, feeling like a pig in shit as I watched more gullible punters winging in on the redeye to succumb to the touts feeding frenzy.