“So in effect you have known them for twelve weeks, that is if you spent every day with them while you were here.”
“Well that isn’t entirely true, I have called them from time to time, and they send me a text message every now and again.”
“Oh that’s nice, did they ask for anything when they sent you a text?”
“They had a few problems, one of their children got sick so I helped out, that’s what families do and they help me every time I come to Bali.”
“I can understand that, nobody likes to hear that a child is sick and hospital treatment is expensive in Bali. I guess you sent some money right?”
“Yes, but only a little, just enough to get the child medical treatment.”
“Fair enough, I think it is a nice thing to do. Before you said your family helps every time you come to Bali?”
“Oh they’re great. If I ever need to hire a car, or to book a tour, or to organise a hotel room, I just give them a call and they get the whole thing sorted.”
“That’s nice of them; did you know that most bookings in Bali run on a commission basis? But your family probably doesn’t take commission when they book things for you, right?”
“I don’t know, I doubt it, they wouldn’t do that, I helped pay for their son when he was sick and I’m putting their daughter through school. My family is also thinking of bringing the children to Australia next year.”
“OK, so this makes you family, seems to me you give them money though?”
“I have never given them money unless it was important, you can’t call putting a kid in school is giving someone money; would you call buying the family a motorbike so their daughter can get to school, giving money?”
“Yeah sort of, you bought the family a motorbike?”
“I really trust them. They have nothing and they would give anything to me; plus they have never asked for money, it’s just she needed a motorbike to get to school. They’re also going to use it for the family business.”
“The family has a business?”
“They have a few cars they rent out; they own a small tour company.”
“How much was the motorbike?”
“I brought a brand new Mio, it only cost twenty million and they gave me receipts.
“Strange, a brand new Mio costs thirteen million.”
“No it doesn’t, I checked the receipt.”
“Was the receipt book written in Indonesian?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know you can buy a receipt book in Bali for about five thousand Rupiah?”
“No.”
“Did you know that for about one hundred thousand you can get any person anywhere to put whatever price you want on whatever receipt you get?”
“They wouldn’t do that, they are my family.”
It’s about this point that I give up, especially when the subject matter is some bloke’s wife or “my Balinese brother”.
Just the other day it was reported in a local paper that two Westerners were sent to jail because they defrauded another Westerner of US$195,000. The victim transferred her money as a deposit on some land to a business partner of the Westerners—the business partner was Indonesian and the money was sent to his bank account. It soon came to light that the land was not owned by the Westerners or the Indonesian and that the Indonesian partner had disappeared with all the money.
What I found amusing about this story was that one of the Westerners was named Angus. The Indonesian partner was also named Angus. I’m just guessing but Angus is not a common Indonesian name and the coincidence of a Westerner and an Indonesian named Angus going into business together is somewhat unlikely. My guess would be that Angus the Indonesian changed his name so that he and Angus the Westerner could be brothers. I would also like to bet that Angus the Westerner was chuffed at this—so chuffed that he trusted his Indonesian brother to secure land, do all his legals and open a bank account that money could be transferred into.
Why wouldn’t he? Angus the Indonesian had changed his name and you have to trust a person that has changed his name to your own, don’t you?
Shame that the land was never purchased and that all the money and the Indonesian once known as Angus soon disappeared. I wonder what Angus the Westerner now thinks as he sits in Kerobokan Jail. I also wonder if Angus the Indonesian ever changed his name back.
There are of course exceptions to these rules but I haven’t come across many. I have also been caught before, as has anyone who has lived in Indonesia, and I am very lucky that I was given advice when I arrived in Bali by people who had spent a long time in Indonesia.
Many Balinese traps do not involve the locals at all but unscrupulous expats. A great deal of people get caught up in dodgy business scams. Bali is a tough town full of crooked people trying to make a buck.
About two weeks ago I had a beer with a guy who I had just met. He seemed like a nice bloke at the time but two days ago I heard the same guy had pulled a scam for US$100,000 and had fled the country.
Things like this happen all the time here. One hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money in Southeast Asia. Southeast Asia is also an easy place to get lost in when you have that kind of money. I heard about the rip-off from a friend of mine who happened to associate with both people involved. At the time we were sitting in an expat bar and the scam was the topic of conversation. My friend was filling me in on the finer details as the conversation flowed amongst the other expats. While we talked, the guy who had been fleeced walked in and everything went quiet.
The victim of the scam must have realised he’d been the topic of conversation and after a brief moment he brought up the uncomfortable situation. The bar then discussed the scam openly until my friend piped up with a bit of information that stopped the conversation dead in its tracks—he told the bar that he was still in touch with the scam artist by email and that he had received mail earlier that day. The victim was shocked; he asked my friend if he knew this perpetrator’s whereabouts and the content of the email.
My friend explained that the email he’d received had contained little more than a hello, but he volunteered to contact the guy there and then and he retrieved his laptop from his car. After a brief discussion an email was sent stating plainly that my friend was sitting in a bar with the victim and that he would like to get in touch.
“Do you have anything to say?” it asked.
No one at the bar thought this would work but almost instantly we received a reply. My friend opened the email. “A man’s got to do, what a man’s got to do,” it said simply. The victim was livid and more emails were sent. Unfortunately no further replies were received and after a while he left. As soon as he’d gone the jokes started.
What struck me most about this scenario was that the guy who had pulled the scam had no remorse and the people in the bar had no sympathy. Most found the perpetrator’s reply funny.
The Demise of an English Rose
Some of the first people I met when I came to live in Bali were a couple called Mick and Tracy. The couple had met in the UK through a dating service and they had sold up what they owned and come to Bali to start a new life and business together. I knew Mick and Tracy well enough to have a beer once in a while but didn’t consider myself close. The couple were English, as were most of their friends, and they seemed reluctant to allow an Australian into their circle. Mick and Tracy did what a lot of people do when they come to Bali: they opened a small restaurant-cum-bar, and despite the odds they were reasonably successful.
Things went well for the couple until for whatever reason they decided to break up and go their separate ways. Mick continued to run the restaurant and he seemed unfazed by the separation. It was easy to see that he’d instigated the split. Tracy on the other hand was heartbroken and she spent the next month traipsing around Bali in a filthy state of drunken desperation.
Most people have faced an emotional low period at some stage of their lives and generally with the help of family or friend
s they manage to drag themselves up and move on, but sometimes people publically fall to such a level that they are noticeably in need of help. This is was what happened to Tracy. The once bubbly English redhead transformed into a broken pitiful drunk in a matter of weeks.
I would often see Tracy as she stumbled from bar to bar. She was dirty and unkempt, her hair was a matted mess and the makeup she wore was a grime-filled swamp on her face. Sadly, everyone loves a train wreck, and a thirty-year-old English woman roaming Bali’s streets covered in her own vomit was, to some, a great source of mirth.
I watched Tracy’s demise from a distance. I’d had little contact with the couple for some time, and was only an acquaintance, but I felt that Mick or someone within the couple’s circle had an obligation to help her. Unfortunately I was given no choice in the matter. One day, at about three in the morning, Tracy turned up on my balcony. I woke to hear a banging on my door. Tracy was drunk and could barely stand, but she begged to be let in and asked me for help through the closed door.
I had no idea why Tracy chose my door and I didn’t want to get involved. As far as I was concerned Tracy was somebody else’s problem so I ignored the ruckus and pretended to be asleep. Tracy eventually fell asleep on my doorstep. I checked on her every now and then and I placed a blanket over her and a pillow under her head. Later that morning she moved on.
The following night I was in a bar with a group of friends and another of my brothers, Jack. Jack was on holiday and I was showing him around. We were catching up and enjoying a quiet beer when Tracy entered the bar.
She looked dishevelled and dirty, she wore the same dress I’d seen her in the night before and it was covered in vomit stains. Tracy lurched over to Jack and me and she started to scold me for not letting her into my room the night before. I felt embarrassed. To anyone watching, including my brother, it would have appeared that Tracy and I were in some sort of relationship. I ordered Tracy a lemonade and tried to calm her down. She took a sip of the drink and then vomited over Jack’s and my feet.
Tracy apologised drunkenly and Jack and I went to the toilet to wash. While we were in the bathroom I explained the Tracy situation to Jack. I told him how Tracy had knocked on my door and how I had not let her in, I also said that I wasn’t sure if should get myself caught up in somebody else’s situation and asked him for advice.
Jack didn’t mix his words. “Do something about it, but be careful, you may have to confront Mick.”
Tracy was holding court when Jack and I returned. A group of local men followed Tracy around like buzzards—she had money so it was easy to guess who supplied the drinks, if not the laughs.
A couple of the staff were on the floor cleaning Tracy’s spew, so I bent down and gave one of them a tip and asked him to call me a taxi. I finished my drink then, waiting for a lull in Tracy’s conversation, I walked over and grabbed Tracy by the hand and dragged her outside. The buzzards tried to follow but I warned them off.
Once we were outside I pulled Tracy around to face me. “You’re going home,” I said.
She tried to pull away but tripped in a pothole and nearly fell over. I held her up and she tried to hug me. “Come on,” she said, “we can go get a drink.”
I fended Tracy off. “You’re not going anywhere,” I said, “I’m sending you home.” She looked at me and laughed then tried to walk back into the bar but I kept hold of her. She got as far as her arm could reach then came to an abrupt halt, she pulled against my grip but I held her tight. “You’re not going back in there.”
Tracy pulled on her arm, she pointed at the bar. “Leave me alone, I just want to go inside,” she slurred over her shoulder. “I want to see my friends.”
I kept hold of Tracy’s arm. “Tracy, they’re not your friends, you should go home. I’ve ordered you a taxi.”
She flapped her free arm in the air, the local boys waved at her and I could see Jack behind them keeping an eye on things.
Tracy again tried to pull away, I didn’t let her and she rounded on me. “Just fuck off and leave me alone,” she said. “I want to finish my drink.”
I took a step forward and looked Tracy in the eyes. She struggled to focus. “Tracy, you need to go home, the taxi will be here in a moment.”
Tracy nodded. “Yup,” she said, then tried to walk away.
I put an arm about Tracy’s waist and led her across the road, away from the bar and the local boys. She stumbled with me. “Where are you taking me?”
I propped Tracy against a wall. “I’m sending you home, Tracy. I will pay for the taxi, but you need to go.” She slid down the wall and I caught her, I hefted her back up. “You have to stand, mate.”
Tracy pushed me away, “I can stand.”
I let go of her and she wobbled back against the wall, so I stepped to her side and placed a hand around her arm to steady her. She tried to brush my hand away. “Fuck off,” she said, “I’m not going home.” She giggled and changed tack. “I will go to your home,” she said. “Take me to your house.”
I ignored her, lit two cigarettes and passed one to her. Tracy took a drag then threw the smoke over her shoulder. “I know where you live, you live over there,” she said and pointed. Her arm swung around in a wide arc. “Just over there.”
She couldn’t keep her arm up and it flopped to her side. “Somewhere,” she said and laughed. “Take me there. Take me to your fucking house.”
“Tracy, I’m sending you home. We can talk tomorrow.”
She tried to slap me but I pulled away. “I’m not going home,” she said, “I will go home with you, but …” Tracy laughed put her hand over her mouth to cover it.
I tried to keep my voice stern. “Listen to me, Tracy, you can’t do this to yourself.” I thought I sounded like a dad and I felt like an idiot, wishing I hadn’t become involved.
She put a hand on my chest and tried to shove me but I didn’t move. “What would you know about it?” she slurred.
“I know you’re making a fool of yourself,” I said cruelly, then I placed a hand lightly on her shoulder “Tracy, just go home, mate. Sleep it off.”
She tried to slap my hand away. “I’m going out,” she spat. I could see she was getting angry.
“Listen to me,” I said, “I just cleaned your spew of my feet, I’m already sick of this shit. You’re going home.”
The taxi pulled up beside us. Tracy tried to pull away to the side but I stopped her and she spun back and tried to hug me, I spun with Tracy and danced her onto the back seat of the cab. She flopped onto the seat and I tucked her legs inside. “Tell the driver where you live and do it now, Tracy.”
She mumbled out her address, then placed her hands on her eyes and wiped at her tears, smudging her makeup even further. Her face was a mess. “I don’t want to see Mick,” she sobbed, and I felt sorry for her.
I stuck my head into the car, made sure the driver knew where Tracy lived, then turned to her. “Tracy, I’m going out tonight and if I see you around town I promise I will do the same thing. I promise I will drag you into a taxi by the hair if I have to.” I felt like a bully.
Tracy smiled, laughed, then cried harder, black eyeliner tears streamed down her face. “You wouldn’t,” she said.
I returned the smile and shook my head. “I am not fucking joking. If I see you, I will grab you by the hair and drag you kicking and screaming into the closest cab.”
Her smile disappeared and she looked at me wide-eyed. “OK,” she whispered, “I’ll go home.”
I felt even worse. I had meant the threat as a joke, I have never hurt a woman in my life and never intend to, but Tracy seemed to take me seriously.
I decided to let it lie. Bali was a dangerous place for a drunk and lonely woman and I was worried for her safety. I pulled myself out of the car and slammed the door. I opened the taxi’s front passenger door and sat next to the driver and asked for his name and put it into my phone.
Tracy murmured something and I looked into the back to check on her. S
he seemed half asleep, I hoped she would be alright. I turned back to the driver and took Rp100,000 out of my wallet. It was more than triple the fare. I held up the note so the driver could see it. “This is my friend. Get her home and take her nowhere else. I don’t care if she asks you to drop her off at a club, you make sure she gets home and you make sure she goes inside.” The driver nodded.
I placed the money in the driver’s hand. “This is yours. I will call my friend in fifteen minutes and if she is not at home I’ll make trouble for you.”
I got out of the car and watched the taxi take off down the street, then went back into to the bar and noticed Tracy’s lackeys had left. There was no point hanging around once the cash cow had gone.
Jack sat at the bar waiting. “Are you OK?” he asked.
“Yeah, fine,” I said, and took a long swig of beer. “I’ll visit Mick tomorrow.”
That was the last time I saw Tracy in Bali.
That night I decided I would do something about Mick, but I wasn’t sure what. The next day fate supplied the answer.
I was sitting in a bar having a quiet beer when one of Mick’s friends rode by. I yelled at him to stop, he did and I called him inside. He walked into the bar and I offered him a beer. He declined and ordered a Coke, and I asked him what was going on with Tracy.
Duncan took a sip of his drink. “Yeah I know, mate, she’s become a unit. I’m worried about her also. I had a word with Mick and he says he doesn’t give a toss, says it’s none of his concern what she gets up too, says she’s on her own now.”
To me this sounded like a cop out. “Can’t you talk to him again, mate? She’s going to get herself in trouble. She’s been knocking at my door asking for help. She fucking threw up on me the other night”
Duncan shook his head, nursed his Coke, “Yeah, I know mate. She asked me and the lads for help also.”
I lit a smoke and offered one to Duncan. He declined and I could tell he was uncomfortable as we had never got along. “And so, what did you do?” I asked.
Bali Raw Page 6
