T H I S+W E E K > Bali low By Cintra Wilson Loveless in paradise D E P A R T M E N T S The Surreal Gourmet By Bob Blumer The $25 Upgrade Mondo Weirdo By Amanda Jones Sleepless Goddess Readers' Tips and Tales Trips Close to Home -- In fact, in 'em - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Your virtual travel agency - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - LA S T+W E E K Tuesday, Sept. 2, 1997 Burma or bust By Joshua Cohen A charmed traveler in China takes the hard road to a forbidden border A full list of all Wanderlust articles

___________bali low ________________WHEN YOUR BODY IS IN PARADISE AND ________________YOUR MIND IS ON THE LOWER EAST SIDE, ________________IT'S TIME FOR ANOTHER CLOVE CIGARETTE. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - BY CINTRA WILSON | there is something really glaringly inept about Indonesia. Maybe these people have too much sunshine and water in their lives, and too little stress and cancer and technology. It takes a staff of 14 or more restaurant people to get an egg right -- they keep looking back at the menu for clues, like it is going to suddenly unfold itself three-dimensionally and produce an illuminated breakfast, extended on one of the many arms of some braceleted, mystical sea force. They twirl the restaurant radio knob around and around for periods exceeding 10 minutes, with the volume up full, hoping for a strong frequency to grab hold like a Ouija ghost, fouling the 8 a.m. breakfast vibe with painful sonic fweets and barking swatches of chainsaw guitar-metal, finally landing on some barely tunable, static-linted station for the endurance of exactly one pop song, then aimlessly rolling around, all over again. These people live with and master the presence of earth magic every day. They can call distant dolphins by blowing music through their teeth, they can build campfires in the palms of their hands out of peanut shells. Neurotic, sterile, time-fearing Western logic hasn't hit home here. A broken Xerox machine gets fixed the same way as a goat or canoe does: Boil some string and some tinfoil, wrap the broken parts in scrap rubber and patiently poke at it until it acts normal. "There is nothing that can be done," seems to be the implicit statement of a broken Indonesian anything. No jumping in a taxi for the nearest specialty store, no calling the 1-800, 24-hour technical support number. Forget your immediate needs, have another large Bintang beer and a clove cigarette. Tomorrow the sun will rise again like a shimmering red yolk over water splintered into light green and lavender and orange Dali pencil woodgrains, evenly dented with cups of molten gold. The nets will pull small mountains of blue coral and snapper onto the mist-wrapped shore, and tourism will prevail, day after day. The business of leisure will tock forward in its own warped time zone. Nothing is crucial here, to anybody. NEXT PAGE | Cheerful thoughts of the romantically disemboweled ________- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ILLUSTRATION BY KATHERINE STREETER

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