I'm in Bali! And I'm not even an heiress. (And yet I am blogging. Does this make me a little bit sad? I think so) No actually, I WAS working, she said defensively, and since I have access to the internet and since I love you all very much and since I got most drunk last night on margaritas and champagne, I feel the need for confessions coming upon me. I have the most copious notes all bloggable, but I've left them all in my room, so detailed update will happen later.
Is it cold where you are? Is it? Is it? Because down here in the Southern Hemisphere, I'm chilling in a skirt and a tiny tank top, having spent my evening sitting on the beach, watching the waves, smoking a cigarette with my iPod playing Thousand Miles (if I could fall into the sky, do you think time would pass me by?) Although, you've probably figured I'm here on work, as part of a junket, so I really wish I was with my friends. This is a clubbing sort of place, all glamour and excitement. Fuck my friends, I really wish I was here with my lover. Sigh.
I had actually earmarked this very hot American to be my holiday romance. (His name is Dylan and his sister's name is Marley. They're getting a dog called Bob. I am so not making this up). He was quite yummy when I met him last night. I asked him for a light and when he did, he said, "Now you have to tell me your name" and I was all, "Okay! And here's my number! And call me!" Actually, no. I gave him my name and we chatted, and then I got very drunk and the last I saw of him, he was following around this Pakistani guy who was his friend and I suspect they were in the closet because they spent the entire evening murmuring to each other. (Don't mind me, I'm just bitter because he didn't hit on me. AND I was wearing my new tube top.)
Anyway, I should go. Work beckons and I'm also quite hungry. Look out for an update tomorrow night?
UPDATED, ALREADY: So many, many things need to be taken care of now that I'm back in Delhi. I got home last night, and started in alarm to see how empty my room was till I realised that I had actually packed most of my stuff to send off with Shark Tooth. Moving is done, therefore, except for my clothes, which means my entire summer wardrobe needs to be forced into one suitcase. Not to mention knick-knacks that I don't go anywhere without. And photographs. It all seems so close now, only three weeks to go.
In other news, it's my birthday tomorrow. And when I called Small last night to say hello and tell her joyfully about duty-free tequila that we will consume to celebrate the quarter century, she said, "Dude, how many people have you asked?" "Oh about twenty five," I said happily confident. "Erm.. I think not," she said, "Because I know a LOT more people are coming." Oh dear. I am, to put it classily and in a foreign language, uber fucked. Because now I have to buy lots more alcohol. And food. But at the same time, I am also secretly thrilled that so many people will be there to celebrate the glory that is me.
Back to Bali then. I did manage to go clubbing, twice in fact, with the TV journos who were there as well. Actually, we were at this place called GWK (a big tourist spot in Bali, the highlights of which are two ENORMOUS statues of Garuda and Wisnu--Vishnu to us--remind me to get back to how weird it was to see Hinduism in a place that wasn't India) and I met this guy who owned an Indian restaurant there called (dum-dum-DA-dum) Gateway of India. Fifty points for not calling it the Taj something or Dilli something else. Anyway, no, he was fat with a huge gold Om hanging on his hairy chest, but he was sweet and knew quite a bit about the nightlife, so at his suggestion we went to this place called Kama Sutra, where he also said, "If you have any trouble getting in, just tell them you know me." And so, all three Delhi girls, and so all three quite expert at name dropping we breezed into Kama Sutra, sat for a bit watching the empty dance floor and then decided to inaugurate it. Of course, inevetibly, as soon as we hit the dance floor, the DJ played Mundiyan To Bachkey. Followed by Dhoom Machale. Sigh. So we exited and sat on the beach and watched the lightening crackle over the sea and walked with the waves slapping against our shins and it was lovely. Till it started to rain and we headed back to our hotel.
The next nightclub was on our very last day, where me and one of the TV journos decided to be adventurous and again on the Gateway Guy's recco went to a nightclub called Mbargo, which was much nicer than the first. And not just because the name had an 'm' in it, though that did help. The music was more jumpy, people were dancing, the locals were hooking up with firangs and the booze was affordable. In fact, all in all Bali is pretty cheap. One Indonesian rupiah is about 200 bucks, and since my drink cost me 40k, that would be about Rs 200. It's a little disorienting dealing with hundreds of thousands, but cleverly, I wrote down all the conversions on a piece of paper with the help of a calculator (my mental arithmatic is terrible. So is my any-kind-of-arithmatic) and I had something to refer to each time I wanted.
I managed to do some shopping as well. Most of the shops had huge summer sales on (Southern Hemisphere, remember?) and the clothes would have made Sarojini Nagar blush, because the shops all had DKNY! 90 PER CENT OFF! and joyfully I entered, only to find DKNY was yeah, the local version. Genuine ripoffs. But I found a very cool DVD shop, selling for 10, 000 (50 bucks) and completely stocked, so I bought Borat, Transamerica and Fast Food Nation. I would have bought more, but I wasn't sure how the print would be and whether I'd get home to find Indonenesian porn or something, so I refrained nobly. And I bought some very cool flipflops at Bata, of all places, but they don't look Bata-ish, so it's all good.
Lalalalala. I'm sure there's more, and my computer is here so they'll keep popping up. :)
Have a good My Birthday!