We arrived to overcast skies in Bali, which was odd, but we didn’t let the weather hold us back. It was now officially my last night with “the frenchies,” so we decided to go out with a bang. After some Bintangs and padang food (local Indonesian cuisine), we made our way to Kuta, sin city of Bali. How you can detest a place, yet find yourself back there again and again is beyond me, but that is Kuta. It’s dirty, debaucherous but oh so much fun.
We headed to some bars off of Poppies 1, where Flo and Marty decided it was a good idea to drink tequila. I stuck to my tasty tropical drinks for as long as I could, but when Flo came back to the table with 9 shots of tequila, I decided I couldn’t really let them try to drink all of it themselves now, could I? Plus, the peer pressure was mounting. So, with each of my three shots I not so silently cursed Flo, and they laughed at me as I just about managed to gulp them down and keep them down. Tequila, really?
From here, the night took a course of its own. The next thing I remember was a loud knock on my bedroom door at 7am. I figured it was the guys saying goodbye before making their way to Bromo, but it was Flo just making his way home from the club. I wish I could post one of the many nice pictures of the three of us on our last night, toasting our tequila, but cameras were lost, phones were lost. We did all manage to hold onto our dignity though, I think.
We all said an awful, hurried, hungover goodbye that morning, and I fell back into bed for a couple more hours sleep and then ventured out for a cure, a full English breakfast.
It was immediately odd to be without the guys. We had been on the same path for over 2 weeks in Indonesia alone, not to mention our other crossings in Borneo. Thankfully, we had promised each other at least an attempt to meet up in the Philippines if it was possible to make our paths cross.
My last few days in Bali were spent sorting the last leg of my trip to the Philippines, and needless to say, were a lot calmer and quieter.
