Yesterday we went over to Double Six Beach at Legian to continue our surfing lessons. And when I say surfing lessons, I do not mean me. My surfing days are long gone. I am talking Mr Woog and the Woogettes (plus niece Rose).
This particular beach in Bali is quite forgiving of novice surfers. In the early morning the tide is low, the waves are gentle and the circus has not yet opened. The circus being the beach hawkers.
For $1, you rent a beach lounge, and umbrella an a little table to put all your shit on. And because we have made friends with Eddie the chair man, we no longer have to pay to hire surfboards. As long as we keep coming back to his "chair patch". Fine. Done. Good Chairs Eddie.
Jack is best suited to a boogie board at this point. And I could watch him all day. He flaps his little arms like a crazy turtle and catches wave after wave in. Harry and Rose are both standing up now. Mr Woog, who has perfected the art of stand up paddle boarding, now believes he is a surfer. And he is not too bad, for a late starter.
We spent the whole morning there. I get used to saying "No thank you." to the lady selling jewellery. "No thank you." to the man selling wooden bottle openers carved into the shape of a huge penis. "No thank you." to the sellers of paintings, pearl strands, strange looking fried food, Viagra (yes... Viagra!) and fake designer sunglasses.
Jack comes in from the beach and Christine (beach hawker) and he have decided it was time to change his nail colour. The sun is getting hotter. I notice Mr Woog's ancient white rashie is totally see through.
I am not sure if this is typical man behaviour, or just my man's behaviour. Mr Woog hangs onto strange things well past their used by date. And as I suspected, this old white rashy was now nothing more than a magnet for the suns rays, which beamed right through it.
Later that afternoon, Mr Woog starts to complain about not feeling well. He gets all rugged up in jumpers and blankets and shivers. Then he gets hot. Then cold. He asks me to hit up Dengue Fever on Dr Google. I know, one should never self diagnose on Google. But I did and Mr Woog checks off all the Dengue Fever symptoms.
A call to the Hospital suggests he does not have Dengue Fever, but possibly heat stroke, caused by that fucking stupid rashie and it non rashie effect. I throw the rashie out.
If he has not recovered from his "man flu" by lunchtime, I have to take him to the hospital for a blood test. He obviously has not been having his Gin and Mosquito Repellent as regularly as me.
Viva La Travel Insurance!
