The Rabies Scare: Part 1

Bali was a blast. An expensive one, but well-needed.

We’d tried our luck at the Skyscanner contest but lady luck wasn’t on our side – but spontaneity sure was. A few hours after the results were announced we saw ourselves at Changi, paying for one-way tickets to Bali and frantically looking for the best place to stay at.

A villa, we said.

A villa we had.

Slept late. Woke up late. Chugged a bunch of unhealthy things. Ate like paupers, ate like kings. Bounced up and down, attempted flipping around an entire room filled with trampolines (which ended in a bloody mess. Another story for another day). Surfed a few till I got tired from riding, then fighting the sea. Got hit on the head by the board and gave up. Retired to my favourite activity – lying on a sandy deck chair, facing the vast sea. The sound of waves coming in is like my lullaby. Looking out, you’re always reminded that life goes on and the world is bigger than all your problems put together. I understood why they called this place “the break up place“. You can really find some solace here.

The last night in Bali saw the other two falling asleep. Hendric and I got bored. We talked to her and her and her and finally decided we couldn’t waste the night.

So here’s the story behind my dog bite, that cost me a couple thousands.

We’d asked the security guard if he could help us get a taxi. Our villa was smack in the middle of nowhere. What surrounded us were paddy fields and a few token eating joints that weren’t in any way stellar. We’d wanted to head to Seminyak.

But it was past midnight and everyone was simply asleep.

Pohts and I thanked him for the help, and told him we’d just start walking. If we managed to get a taxi, that would be great. If not, we’d probably just walk till we got tired. Not much of a plan, but that was it.

We started, and were walking for about five, ten minutes till the security guard rocked up beside us on a small motorbike. He gesticulated for us to get on, and explained that he would take us there.

There were about three dogs barking at us in the near distance.

We got on the bike, with Pohts in the middle and I, on the end. (2 pillions, not a great idea, but no choice.) You know how a motorbike’s only designed to take two? I had nowhere to put my feet. And they couldn’t rest too close to the exhaust pipe (lest I got burnt) so they were dangling quite precariously on the sides.

We set off. When we passed the dogs, they started running beside the bike and barking at us. Didn’t think too much about it; until I felt a sharp pain on my right foot.

On hindsight, dangling calves on a bike would’ve been the best target for a dog to chew on.

Didn’t think too much about it either. Pohts mentioned no blood was drawn. We’d passed them. I was a bit shaken, but the rest of the night was peculiar enough to be a distraction.

Like I said, it was a small motorbike. It probably wasn’t a good idea to have three people on it. Moreover, it was running on empty, but that didn’t seem to faze Mr Security. (I forgot his name.)

I remember clinging on to Pohts like a koala – flinching at every dog we passed.

I also remember the bike chugging up dirt paths, stalling, starting, going. I remember riding past empty fields and looking up at the sky, wondering what mystical powers the moon borrowed from the sun to be able to light up the entire night like that. And stars, countless stars; and nothing but the sound of the chugging motorbike.

When we rode into Seminyak it was strangely quiet. I’d never seen it like that, totally devoid of tourists. The lights of consumerism were still on, but shutters were closed. We rode past a group of locals sitting in a circle in front of a cafe, but that’s about all the people we saw. Rode around a while longer, and then gave up on finding a place to chill.

The little bike chugged back towards our villa (still running on empty) and Mr Security stopped by their equivalent of 7-11. That’s when I realize that the dog bite did bleed, but it had dried at that time.

Still didn’t think too much about it.

Instead, Mr Security bought us a few bottles of beer. We sat outside, with some flying beetles, clumsily crashing into florescent lights. He taught us how to open beer bottles with beer bottles and a ring. He showed us pictures of his family. He asked us if we liked music, and let us listen to some spanish songs, and then some Jay Chou (seriously). I remember thinking, I’d never felt this alive in a while.

And when we got tired, we headed back. I washed the wound a bit with water and promptly fell asleep.

We headed back to Singapore the next day.

Still wasn’t thinking too much about the bite. Got my hair cut and dyed red.

One Comment

  1. I think Mr Security is called Ning Ar.

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