Member-only story
The things that are better left unsaid
There’s a thing about me you should know. I hate touristy things. And on top of the list of touristy things I despise most, I’d write the phrase package tours.
And yet, due to an unfortunate sequence of events that are too complicated to get into here — simply because it requires a bit too much vulnerability on my part — my wife and I recently found ourselves on just such a thing on the island paradise of Bali.
Look. I am probably making it sound worse than it was. It wasn’t quite as bad as having to run to assemble under a yellow flag, just to be piled back into a bus, off to duckface at the next great Instagrammable spot. But, still. There was a brochure with lavish photos and superlative copy. And it involved having a schedule and transfers and being delivered unto cars and places and things to do and see, like meat being thrust through a grinder.
But I digress because I really want to focus on something that happened during one of these transfers. For this stage in the trip, we had to be moved from Hotel A to Hotel B, with Hotel B being on a different land mass to Hotel A, which meant we were dropped off into the waiting area of Rocky’s Fast Cruise — approximately two hours before Rocky was scheduled to take us to the island of Lembongan.
