Where the gods live

I remember my early visits to Bali.

I remember how the mornings dawned in shafts of gold and silver through the thatched alang-alang roof of a Bali cottage. It would be another day of peaceful happiness on the island.

Already, young women were making their way to the many, many shrines with offerings of fresh flowers and fruits. And the gods would bestow their blessings upon the tropical paradise in the form of glistening lagoons, majestic mountains, rich paddy fields, blooming orchids and bouganvillas.

Everything about the place and its people was simple, even basic. Amenities for the tourists were at best adequate. There was a sense that this place was heaven on earth, where visitors and locals shared moments of each other's happiness.

I don't always feel this way about Bali anymore. I don't deal well with cab drivers who rig their meters to jump about 30% faster. My mood turns foul at the hotel check-in when they try to switch me away from the class of accommodation I had booked and paid for in advance. I don't like the aggressive purveyors of cheap tourist-grade goods. I am tired of having to fight my way through everything everyday.

These days, I go to Bali specifically for the Paul Ropp warehouse sale. I particularly look forward to seeing the team of women who work the shop floor of the facility.

It has become a habit for us to bring them fresh fruits and pastries from Singapore. It gladdens us to see their eyes shine with delight at the sight of these "luxury" gifts as much as it tugs at my heartstrings to understand that they could otherwise never taste anything as extravagant as this.

And for those brief glimpses of happiness shared with these special people, I feel again that maybe the gods do still live on this island.