Bali Night Life

Down on the strip, it's all Bintang wife bashers,¹ street drinking and the allure of another peak in the endless cycle of revelry. In a heady mix of exhaust fumes, bass leakage from nightclubs and constellations of illuminated brand names, two helmetless half-dressed chickiebabes on a scooter shriek with excitement at a near miss as they wobble their way through the river of traffic toward their date with the dancefloor... or a hospital.

It's Saturday night in Kuta.

Scootergirls safely on their way for now, my eye is drawn back to a wildlife that flits and darts above the thrillseekers that ply this noisy thoroughfare. Bats loop unnoticed above the heads on the crowded footpaths, pursuing the insect horde that's also irresistably drawn to the lights of Jalan Legian. The street's illuminated signs are bright fields of plenty for contending geckos who wait motionless in splay-footed silhouette for the incoming winged manna. As I mount my bike for the ride home, the gecko that's laid claim to the letter B successfully repels an interloper whose rightful turf is over at N, flipping him clear of the sign to land amid the larger wildlife prowling the footpath below. I wish him luck.

Our place at Kulibul is far from the mayhem of the Kuta/Legian/Seminyak strip, but nights here are just as wild. As darkness falls, hordes of onomatopoeically named critters begin their chorus. Kodok (frog), cecak (said "chechak" - the sound the common geckos make) and tokek calls echo through the house. The tokeks are cool. Monster (up to 40cm) geckos with chameleon attributes and jaws large and powerful enough to draw blood, they hide behind the pictures on our walls, sometimes startling us with the volume of their barks. It's said that to hear one call seven times in a row is most auspicious and whenever we count a call it's almost always seven. We sure feel lucky to have them, which is a good thing because they're long term house guests, having life spans of up to ten years.

Outside, the ubiquitous small bats orbit the lights of our verandah. Their much larger vegetarian brethren show up whenever our papaya tree bears ripe fruit. Just after sunset large brown butterflies arrive and almost always scribe circles around us for a while as if checking us out. Butterflies are kupu-kupu here, and night is malam, so we refer to these regular visitors as kupu-kupu malam. Which is kinda apt, seeing how showy and overfriendly they are: "Butterfly of the night" is a kind Indonesian term for a prostitute. We hope the butterflies are not offended...

Just like down on the strip, rain drives the action indoors. Just before rain falls, winged ants will miraculously appear in great piles beneath our ceiling lights. As they shed their wings on the tiled floor and make for cover, they're attacked by legions of almost invisible little ants that swarm in through the doors for the feast. The winged ones are annoying, but the little ones have a sting out of all proportion to their size. Rain slick horned toads jump onto the verandah and dare the cats (who'll kill anything, but know better than to mess with Boss Toad) to have a go. Giant snails with shells as thick as bottle glass track up the windows from the garden beds below. Snakes (venomosity unknown) effortlessly mount flights of tiled steps and slither across the threshold thinking they'll find warm welcome here.

It's a zoo.

Also just like down on the strip, the later it gets, the freakier it becomes. Especially on a full moon. The sounds from the surrounding padi grow louder as the night gets old and voices totally unidentifiable call from beyond the wall. Coughs, hoots, warbles and groans. Whistles, clicks and sighs. Something that sounds like crying. Shadows of flying things unseen flutter across the moonlit sub-green lawn. Levitating stones drone across the yard to clack against the windows and fall whirring and scratching to the dark ground. There are furtive rustlings in the coconut palms. The occasional shriek.

The weirdest of all though, is a voice that calls inside when the house is quiet. Usually at night, but sometimes also in the day. It sounds like it's coming from beneath the glass topped table I work on. The glass rests on a slab of rough hewn timber supported by two 50cm square wooden legs. Something lives in the network of voids that remain from the days when the legs formed the trunk of a weathered tree.

Unlike the night voices from the padi which are merely unfamiliar, this one is truly spooky. Maybe because it doesn't sound like any animal we've ever heard. A skittering insectile voice from a throat way too big to be any insect. A voice somewhat akin to the sounds made by that damn juvenile Alien as it scuttled away from a freshly exploded chest.

I'm gonna try for a recording. Stay tuned...

¹In case there's anyone left in the universe who doesn't know what a Bintang wife basher/beater is, it's a singlet (like a sleeveless t-shirt) sporting the logo of Indonesia's most popular beer.