"Hi, I am Wayan and I will be your tour guide for Git Git waterfall"
Wayan was about 10, bronzed and skinny in that balineses way.
His thousand megawatt smile dared us to disagree with his lofty premise.
He skipped along the path in front of us, turning to deliver his oft repeated spiel.
He pointed out the trees and plants , and explained their medicinal uses. As we turned a steep curve, he wandered accross to an ice cream vendor and said.
"You like ice cream, its very hot day!"
Further down, Wayan pulled us toward a stall, selling satin dressing gowns in the middle of a balinese forest.
" You buy here, good morning price" So young, so skllled.
I observed the wooden penises. Who teaches these people these things? It cheapens the stall.
It defines the Western influence.
Wayan smiles again, and I drift out of the moment.
He says " Do you know the story of Git Git Waterfall?"
I wonder what Wayan will be doing in ten years time. Will he be found in a darkend Legian gang with a needle in his arm?
Will he live in a cramped apartment with 20 like balinese?
Will he drive taksis for 14 hours a day, and sleep in one roadside?
Wayan skips over the rocks to the first pool.
He is no longer our tour guide.
He has our money. He is happy and free