Our friend Nick has been searching high and low for crew to help him get Kika to Singapore and beyond. On Friday night we, along with Ryan and Bryson from Khulula joined the search party. Figuring that pressgangers know a thing or two about finding potential crew, we headed for the bars. Fortified with roast duck, many Bintangs and too many shots of tequila (those 2 for 1 happy hour specials will get you every time), we prowled the Kuta club scene looking for potential candidates. Armed with pitchers of drinks to share with any likely looking applicants, we chatted up every attractive woman between the ages of 22 and 42 that we met. As one of the guys exclaimed, "This is the best game ever!" Seriously, when else do a bunch of guys in long-term relationships, get the opportunity to approach beautiful women without putting anything on the line? If they get shot down, it isn't them getting rejected, it's Nick. Poor Nick.
My job, as the token chica, in addition to making the guys look less like a pack of roving wolves, was to hang fliers in the ladies rooms of the clubs, bars and restaurants in Kuta. Early on, this wasn't such hard yakka. But as the night wore on, and the heads got nastier and nastier, I started to wonder if I'd drawn the short straw.
I didn't have long to wonder. Sometime around 2am, the tequila got the best of me. I'm a little fuzzy about the details after that, but apparently the booze also kicked Sten in the butt, causing him to fall off his bar stool, busting a flip flop in the process. I missed this whole episode. But around the same time, I realized that I had become a ticking timebomb. I said goodbye to Nick, and managed to find Sten, who was roaming around the dancefloor with one flipflop in his hand and one on his left foot, knees and shorts black from the sludge on the floor of the club. Somehow we managed to find our way down two flights of stairs and convince a cabdriver to take us back to Serangan.
When we got back to the harbor, we managed to find our dinghy and get off the dock, but wouldn't you know it, the dinghy engine wouldn't start. After tugging on the start cord for a few minutes and cursing about water in the bottom of the dinghy (we'd both forgotten that there had been a downpour earlier in the night), Sten decided to row back to Mata'irea. He sat down on the dinghy seat with his back to me, bumping me onto the floor. I laid there, sprawled across the bow, as he rowed us back. Actually, it was quite pleasant. I'd tossed my cookies on the way home, so all was right with my world, for a few minutes at least.
The next day was a total loss. We were laying about recovering when the phone started ringing. Nick, who hadn't sealed the deal with the Swedish woman he had been chatting up when we left the club, was out hanging fliers around town. He called from Bali Deli to ask if we wanted anything. Just the thought of the cheese case at Bali Deli was enough to make me run for the head again. Some time later, I noticed it getting dark. I called out to Sten, asking if there was an eclipse scheduled for today. "No that's the sun setting. You've been in bed all day." We sacrificed our livers and a day of our lives, but it was for a good cause. Hopefully one of the women we approached will give Nick a call.