Bali: kindness and motor bikes

I walk downstairs to a buffet breakfast of pineapple fried rice, noodles and toast made from Australian-style white bread and jam. The coffee is excellent. The waitress is beautiful, like all the rest of the women here. I can't believe there is a place on this planet where people are this friendly. Indonesian satellite television showed some footage of some kind of riot in Kuta from the day before I arrive, so I know it isn't all roses. I walk to a Circle K down the street to get some cash from the ATM. Perhaps Tom Friedman was right with that "The World is Flat" business. I walk another block and get a latte from the Starbucks. The clerk gives me a sample of the Anniversary Blend. He wants to know what I think. I say the stuff smells like Seattle. I decide that walking just won't do. I rent a fast motorbike for my entire three week stay for $60. I'm told later from a Sumatran friend that I was ripped off for paying so much. Oh, well. I drive into a hive of activity, with motorbikes and minivans buzzing around with no discernible traffic laws. I dive in and eventually feel a part of the giant sea of urban Bali. I dig it. I drive down the motorway to Denpasar City with its warren of alleys and typical Southeast Asian chaos. I love it. I get lost and eventually end up driving through little villages and rice paddies. I am almost out of gas. I stop at a roadside store for directions. By the time I get to the gas station, a traffic cop, truck driver and another motor bike rider guide me to the nearest petrol station. My point me in the general direction of Kuta and I am back at the hotel. My ethic background and demeanor fools the locals. Only my American accent gives me away. The young women seem to be particularly interested in me. I am far to kind to resist. I want to be a good American. The security guards wave me through the blast gates. They think I'm a dish washer, I think. The door man asks for my business after I park the bike and enter the lobby. When you hears my American voice, he suddenly puts on the smile and it seems apparent that the locals are stunned by my recent attachment to motorbiking on Bali. It is a nasty business and many tourists are too afraid to take the plung. They hire drivers for the day to take them to crafts markets and Italian restaurants. I sleep for six hours and then write a chapter of my novel.