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The
dinner
with
the
expatriates
was
great
fun
,
and
I
felt
myself
revisiting
all
these
long
-
dormant
aspects
of
my
personality
.
I
even
got
a
little
bit
drunk
,
which
was
notable
after
all
the
purity
of
my
last
few
months
of
praying
at
the
Ashram
and
sipping
tea
in
my
Balinese
flower
garden
.
And
I
was
flirting
!
I
hadn
’
t
flirted
in
ages
.
I
’
d
only
been
hanging
around
with
monks
and
medicine
men
lately
,
but
suddenly
I
was
dusting
off
the
old
sexuality
again
.
Though
I
couldn
’
t
really
tell
who
I
was
flirting
with
.
I
was
kind
of
spreading
it
around
everywhere
.
Was
I
attracted
to
the
witty
Australian
former
journalist
sitting
next
to
me
?
(
"
We
’
re
all
drunks
here
,
"
he
quipped
.
"
We
write
references
for
other
drunks
.
"
)
Or
was
it
the
quiet
intellectual
German
down
the
table
?
(
He
promised
to
lend
me
novels
from
his
personal
library
.
)
Or
was
it
the
handsome
older
Brazilian
man
who
had
cooked
this
giant
feast
for
all
of
us
in
the
first
place
?
(
I
liked
his
kind
brown
eyes
and
his
accent
.
And
his
cooking
,
of
course
.
I
said
something
very
provocative
to
him
,
out
of
nowhere
.
He
was
making
a
joke
at
his
own
expense
,
saying
,
"
I
’
m
a
full
catastrophe
of
a
Brazilian
man
-
I
can
’
t
dance
,
I
can
’
t
play
soccer
and
I
can
’
t
play
any
musical
instruments
.
"
For
some
reason
I
replied
,
"
Maybe
so
.
But
I
have
a
feeling
you
could
play
a
very
good
Casanova
.
"
Time
stopped
solid
for
a
long
,
long
moment
,
then
,
as
we
looked
at
each
other
frankly
,
like
,
That
was
an
interesting
idea
to
lay
on
this
table
.
The
boldness
of
my
statement
hovered
in
the
air
around
us
like
a
fragrance
.
He
didn
’
t
deny
it
.
I
looked
away
first
,
feeling
myself
blush
.
)
His
feijoada
was
amazing
,
anyway
.
Decadent
,
spicy
and
rich
-
everything
you
can
’
t
normally
get
in
Balinese
food
.
I
ate
plate
after
plate
of
the
pork
and
decided
that
it
was
official
:
I
can
never
be
a
vegetarian
,
not
with
food
like
this
in
the
world
.
And
then
we
went
out
dancing
at
this
local
nightclub
,
if
you
can
call
it
a
nightclub
.
It
was
more
like
a
groovy
beach
shack
,
only
without
the
beach
.
There
was
a
live
band
of
Balinese
kids
playing
good
reggae
music
,
and
the
place
was
mixed
up
with
revelers
of
all
ages
and
nationalities
,
expats
and
tourists
and
locals
and
gorgeous
Balinese
boys
and
girls
,
all
dancing
freely
,
unself
-
consciously
.
Armenia
hadn
’
t
come
along
,
claiming
she
had
to
work
the
next
day
,
but
the
handsome
older
Brazilian
man
was
my
host
.
He
wasn
’
t
such
a
bad
dancer
as
he
claimed
.
Probably
he
can
play
soccer
,
too
.
I
liked
having
him
nearby
,
opening
doors
for
me
,
complimenting
me
,
calling
me
"
darling
.
"
Then
again
,
I
noticed
that
he
called
everyone
"
darling
"
-
even
the
hairy
male
bartender
.
Still
,
the
attention
was
nice
…
It
had
been
so
long
since
I
’
d
been
in
a
bar
.
Even
in
Italy
I
didn
’
t
go
to
bars
,
and
I
hadn
’
t
been
out
much
during
the
David
years
,
either
.
I
think
the
last
time
I
’
d
gone
dancing
was
back
when
I
was
married
…
back
when
I
was
happily
married
,
come
to
think
of
it
.
Dear
God
,
it
had
been
ages
.
Out
on
the
dance
floor
I
ran
into
my
friend
Stefania
,
a
lively
young
Italian
girl
I
’
d
met
recently
in
a
meditation
class
in
Ubud
,
and
we
danced
together
,
hair
flying
everywhere
,
blond
and
dark
,
spinning
merrily
around
.
Sometime
after
midnight
,
the
band
stopped
playing
and
people
mingled
.
That
’
s
when
I
met
the
guy
named
Ian
.
Oh
,
I
really
liked
this
guy
.
Right
away
I
really
liked
him
.
He
was
very
good
-
looking
,
in
a
kind
of
Sting
-
meets
-
Ralph
-
Fiennes
’
s
-
younger
-
brother
sort
of
way
.
He
was
Welsh
,
so
he
had
that
lovely
voice
.
He
was
articulate
,
smart
,
asked
questions
,
spoke
to
my
friend
Stefania
in
the
same
baby
Italian
that
I
speak
.
It
turned
out
that
he
was
the
drummer
in
this
reggae
band
,
that
he
played
bongos
.
So
I
made
a
joke
that
he
was
a
"
bonga
-
leer
,
"
like
those
guys
in
Venice
,
but
with
percussion
instead
of
boats
,
and
somehow
we
hit
it
off
,
started
laughing
and
talking
.
Felipe
came
over
then
-
that
was
the
Brazilian
’
s
name
,
Felipe
.
He
invited
us
all
to
go
out
to
this
funky
local
restaurant
owned
by
European
expatriates
,
a
wildly
permissive
place
that
never
closes
,
he
promised
,
where
beer
and
bullshit
are
served
at
all
hours
.
I
found
myself
looking
to
Ian
(
did
he
want
to
go
?
)
and
when
he
said
yes
,
I
said
yes
,
also
.
So
we
all
went
to
the
restaurant
and
I
sat
with
Ian
and
we
talked
and
joked
all
night
,
and
,
oh
,
I
really
liked
this
guy
.
He
was
the
first
man
I
’
d
met
in
a
long
while
who
I
really
liked
in
that
way
,
as
they
say
.
He
was
a
few
years
older
than
me
,
had
led
a
most
interesting
life
with
all
the
good
resume
points
(
liked
The
Simpsons
,
traveled
all
over
the
world
,
lived
in
an
Ashram
once
,
mentioned
Tolstoy
,
seemed
to
be
employed
,
etc
.
)
.
He
’
d
started
his
career
in
the
British
Army
in
Northern
Ireland
as
a
bomb
squad
expert
,
then
became
an
international
mine
-
field
detonation
guy
.
Built
refugee
camps
in
Bosnia
,
was
now
taking
a
break
in
Bali
to
work
on
music
…
all
very
alluring
stuff
.
I
could
not
believe
I
was
still
up
at
3
:
30
AM
,
and
not
to
meditate
,
either
!
I
was
up
in
the
middle
of
the
night
and
wearing
a
dress
and
talking
to
an
attractive
man
.
How
terribly
radical
.
At
the
end
of
the
evening
,
Ian
and
I
admitted
to
each
other
how
nice
it
had
been
to
meet
.
He
asked
if
I
had
a
phone
number
and
I
told
him
I
didn
’
t
,
but
that
I
did
have
e
-
mail
,
and
he
said
,
"
Yeah
,
but
e
-
mail
just
feels
so
…
ech
…
"
So
at
the
end
of
the
night
we
didn
’
t
exchange
anything
but
a
hug
.
He
said
,
"
We
’
ll
see
each
other
again
when
they
"
-
pointing
to
the
gods
up
in
the
sky
-
"
say
so
.
"
Just
before
dawn
,
Felipe
the
handsome
older
Brazilian
man
offered
me
a
ride
home
.
As
we
rode
up
the
twisting
back
roads
he
said
,
"
Darling
,
you
’
ve
been
talking
to
the
biggest
bullshitter
in
Ubud
all
night
long
.
"
