Chasing Amy-Lou

Canggu, Bali, Indonesia;

Last night I was kept awake by the pitter patter of rain on Gusti’s roof (and by Serbia’s snoring). This morning I awoke to the pitter patter of rain on Gusti’s roof (Serbia was still snoring). And to my dismay, neither of them stopped.

Now, I could’ve used the rain to my advantage and spent the morning being productive – I could’ve filled a bucket and chucked it over Serbia’s head (jokes); I could’ve done some research into the course I was due to start back in England in September and used the shit weather as an excuse to order some books or start learning shorthand online; I could’ve used the morning to apply for the loan I needed in order to pay for my course. I could also have used the morning to read up on and try and get my head around Australia’s and/or other hot country’s immigration rules and visas (for when I inevitably got sick of the weather and constant stress of life back in Britain and wanted to emigrate permanently).

But I didn’t. Instead, I sat moping around doing sun-salutations in my head; I did little internal sun-dances and prayed for a reprieve. Rain was not what I wanted. Rain was not what I needed. Rain in Bali was bad for my mental health. And quite frankly, the rain could piss right off.

It was to my utter amazement and sheer joy then that at around 11am it did just that. The rain pissed right off and glorious sunshine broke through the clouds. Hallelujah! Someone was definitely looking down on me from above and my old friend Karma had decided to stop being a moody cow and provide me with what I needed – either that or the meteorological climate and something to do with geography and clouds and stuff had caused the rain to cease. Whatever the reason for the sunshine, I was happy. And I spent the rest of the afternoon basking in it, in all its wonderful, sweet, shiny, hot, delicious, burning glory.

Around 6pm, after some considerable time baking on Gusti’s roof, I decided to take a walk to find some authentic Balinese food. I’d had my fill of Nasi Goreng (basically fried rice with veg) and Mie Goreng (fried noodles with veg) in the past so I was looking for something a little different. Something spicy. Something interesting.

Taking a stroll down the main road, a stray dog started to follow me. Wherever I went, he went. Whenever I stopped, he stopped. For a good five minutes the dog just wouldn’t leave me be. In order to try and get rid of it I attempted to cross the road, thinking that the dog wouldn’t be so stupid as to follow me and would stay where he was. Turns out I overestimated the dog’s intelligence and he proceeded, once again, to follow me. Turning my head to see where he was I suddenly cried out in a panicked disbelief – in what felt like a split second I heard an almighty BAM and then a yelp and then a whimper; I saw the dog somersault across the asphalt about four times and curl up into a scared little ball, and then I heard the sound of a scooter revving away and saw the dog limping and struggling to return to his side of the road. My stalker dog had literally just become a hit and run victim. It was awful.

Not knowing what to do I stood there in shock. Had it been my fault? Had the dog been following me for a reason, to protect me from traffic, to try and communicate with me? Had my annoyed irritation caused the accident to happen? All these thoughts were running through my head, and I couldn’t help but think of Karma – what was going on and why had this happened? Trying to pull myself together and trying not to panic, I looked to see where the dog had vanished to and saw his limp little body curled up underneath the awning of a darkened shop. I hesitated a little as I didn’t know whether to go back and help it – I had no idea where he’d come from and I had no idea what he’d do if I went to try and comfort him.

In an attempt to think rationally I went to the nearest pet store (which was about twenty metres away), to see if anyone spoke English and could give me some advice. The kind lady in the shop told me there was nothing she could do but the nearest vet was a short distance away in Seminyak. Feeling slightly responsible yet not responsible at the same time (it wasn’t my dog after all) I battled with my conscience. I didn’t want to go and try to pick him up in case he bit me – I hadn’t had a rabies shot before I’d left the UK (or Australia), and I wasn’t about to put my life at risk for the sake of a stray dog. So, I made the executive decision to leave him where he was and check back in on him on the way back from the restaurant to see if he was still there. If he’d vanished then I could leave with a clear conscience knowing he’d probably tried to make it back home. If he was still there…well…I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.

Feeling the need for alcohol I surrendered myself to a lovely little restaurant called Taman Nauli, purchased a very large Bintang, and ordered some Nasi Campur (which by the way was bloody delicious). It consisted of rice and fried shrimp and chicken and tofu and green beans and chilli and all sorts of tasty goodness. It immediately became my new favourite Balinese dish.

However, despite trying to enjoy my meal I could not shake the thought of that God forsaken dog. On the way back to Gusti’s I went to see if he was still there. Expecting the worst, I saw his tiny little body sat sullenly in the corner, so I bent down and shone my torch on him to see if there was still some life in the poor guy. Thankfully he looked up and it was at this point that I noticed a collar and a tag round his neck. It was a relief to know he wasn’t dead, and that he probably had an owner somewhere, but as I gestured my hand towards him to try and check for contact details on his collar, he made a growling noise. I took this to be a good sign (if he could growl then he must’ve been half ok) and so I backed off cautiously. Hopefully he’d find his way home and hopefully his owner would know what to do. I made a mental note to check again in the morning though, just to be sure.

It had been a strange old day, and as I settled down in bed back at Gusti’s I prayed that tomorrow would be normal – I wanted sunshine, I wanted smiles, I wanted beaches and beers, and I wanted no more dog drama.