the great french wine debacle

Like Elizabeth Gilbert, I once came and stayed in Bali for a whole month to lick my wound. It was the end of 2005 and I just got out of a messy situation. Needless to say I was a bit of a wreck and hated everyone in my hometown Jakarta. One night at a friend’s house I was introduced to a guy who was high on weeds and he slurred that he spent a month or so in Bali doing practically nothing but lying on the beach or his cheap rented room getting high. He was my inspiration.

I booked my flight and kind of quit my job (yes, in that order). I was working freelance at that time so it was no big deal. I just told my boss that I needed to get away for a while and would give her a ring when I came back to town and see if my post was still available. Being in the state I was then, money was the least of my worries, let alone a career path. Next I asked around if people knew people who could find me a cheap rented room to stay for a month or so. One of my girl friends did. So I got the accommodation sorted out. Next I packed my bag and flew.

I didn’t know what to expect really, I never stayed in Bali for more than 5 days before that and it was always at nice hotels or villas.

Anyhow, for the kind of price I was paying, the place was not bad at all. It’s got air con, TV, a small kitchenette and a big comfy bed. But, the place being some kind of a guest house where people stay long term for a low price, you could expect to find some dodgy characters there.

On my first night, after I went out for dinner I walked towards my room after deciding to spend the first night staying in with a book rather than intoxicating myself. I walked past a room where two Caucasian guys and an Indonesian girl sat on the patio drinking and laughing. They must be my neighbors, so I waved a friendly hi. They waved back.

Now, on the risk of sounding snobbish and judgmental, to get a full picture of this story, you need to know that the Indonesian girl was what Singaporeans call “sarong party girl”, the type of local girls, usually from the small towns, who shag Caucasian tourists for money. Naturally, I never hung out with those girls because I didn’t even know where to find one in Jakarta. But it was Bali, the land of anything goes, and also I was game for adventure and I figured that I wasn’t the one to judge. She asked me to join her and the two Caucasian guys, whom I learned to be French guys, on their wine session.

Now, with a couple of French guys in the picture, I automatically assumed it would be French wine, so of course I said yes, somewhat gratefully, and sat down with them. On my first night and already got an offer to get drunk on exquisite French wine? Not bad at all.

So, the girl gave me a plastic cup and reached for the bottle of… not wine. What the hell? From the shape of the bottle I knew it wasn’t wine. I tried to read the label as she poured the foul-smelling liquid. And my heart sank. The drink was what we the locals call Anggur Obat or AO, roughly translated as Medicine Wine. It was an alcoholic beverage so cheap, beggars and street kids and homeless people of Jakarta got drunk on it.

Now, I couldn’t not drink the drink after I so gratefully said yes earlier, could I? So I took a deep breath and took a sip. The bloody drink burned my throat. It was so hard to swallow and I was sure my face went red at once. I suspiciously looked at the two French guys and wondered how the hell they could stomach the deadly drink when they’re used to French wine? But I figured that being travelers in Bali of course they were keen to try anything remotely local and “exotic”, the weirder the taste the more heroic they would feel.

So, being the friendly woman that she was, she kept pouring the wine and I didn’t have the heart to say no. Also, it was really entertaining to see how she tried to seduce the two French guys. It was quite an experience so I stayed on drinking with them for quite some times.

The next morning I woke up with the feeling that an elephant was sitting on my head. It was beyond horrible. Thank God I managed not to throw up because it would be even worse if I had to taste that deadly liquid on my throat again.

So, lesson learnt. Except for beers, never again did I accept an invitation for free drinks from questionable characters in the guest house. Ha!