Wake up at 5. Direction Tanjung Luar. Target, and I quote from the Lonely Planet: “The most beautiful fish market in all of Indonesia.” Unmissable.
It rains, but we hope that at dawn the clouds could go away ‘. We cross a small stream coming down fast on the road strewn with potholes.
After an hour we arrive. It’s not raining anymore.
Maybe Paul is tired – usually he is more responsive in avoiding traffic jams – and, without realizing it, we find ourselves stuck between a cart and a bemo, near the entrance of the market.
A hundred frenzied women, laden with baskets of fish on their heads, pass us by side. We’re stuck.
We understand in an instant how Rick must feel himself in the Walking Dead.
There is no way to overcome the zombies !!
He intervenes to our rescue a man who, shouting, stop human trafficking around us.
We park. After a few steps, we understand that there is no way of avoiding the quagmire.
The havaianas sink into the mud. Fishing boats already moored in the small harbor and skilled hands are already intent on eviscerating mahi mahi fishes.
The stench is terrible, but we go on.
The stream of patrons is uncontrollable. We are sucked into the vortex, and we find ourselves at the center of the market. Some men walk without shoes, tucking their bare feet in the mud, heedless of the blood streams flowing beside the road. Miraculously I avoid a bucket of water putrid, pulled strongly from a seller.
I l scream for the narrow escape. I look at Paul: “Ok, can we go?”. I Beg him. He reciprocates, nodding
And then in a moment, all hell broke loose. Two drops down fast from the sky. Many begin to scream: “Ujang!”; “It is raining”. And by a black cloud, water load, someone opens cataracts.
In the hurry we end in a couple of puddles. We smeared of mud down to our knees, but we have to run. There is no time for delay. Two more jumps and we are safe, under a roof. In the square is unleashed a storm. Within seconds, all those who have not found a shelter, are soaking wet.
Let’s wait. Paul took the opportunity to clean up his feet under the water jet of a drainage gully.
A woman eats some rice with vegetables. Hands as spoons, fishing rapids of the bowl. The food that does not end in the mouth, back into the container. “Makan?” She looks at me and laughs, offering me her concoction. I hold back a retch, whne my idiot husband encourages me to taste the delicacy. No joking matter. Here it is likely typhoid, cholera and hepatitis in one bite !!
As soon as raindrops quite, we come back to the car.
It’s 7.30 am. Direction: Novotel Kuta, where our children are waiting for us.
Target: clean up ourself, make a hearty breakfast, complete the ping-pong tournament, jump into the pool for a last swim and come back again to Bali.
The civilization sometimes has its advantages !! 😉😉
And then, while we were driving along the road to the airport, we discovered Desa Sasak, a small village.
So, you stop and realize that the time here has stopped and a young girl still plays with pebbles. Unaware of her beauty.
She catches you. With a look.