The Circus is in town

And you guessed it, I am the circus. Now, being an actor, I'm used to having eyes on me. This, however, is entirely different. This, is me being watched all the time. Cameras click behind my back, children gather all around me, looking at what I'm typing, whispering openly in each other's ears as strange sounds come out of my mouth. Today I was brave and ventured out onto campus where the only "hotspot" is outdoors, next to the local caged rooster. What people don't realize is computer screens reflect much like mirrors. And what they don't know is that I can see their group, poised behind me, right now, taking pictures of my back. When I turn around to smile at them, they are shocked that I caught them in the act. They giggle, and return to watching me. No stage, no curtain, but still, the circus has arrived.

Bathrooms. Oh the glory. At my University, in my department, there is no flushing toilet. Although my campus is stunning, the facilities are way outdated. To use the lav, one must bring their own toilet paper, or take a "wet" bathroom break. There is nothing dry about the experience of using the bathroom, even if you have your own paper. You're going to come out of the experience with something splattered on you. Picture a small tiled room like the inside of a shower. Except there, in the corner, is a "potty", and you are supposed to remove your pants (put them where? no hooks, so be creative) and squat on either side of the pot. You do your business, and then get dressed again. The toilet paper goes on the shelf next to you. I still have not figured out who removes it, but every time I visit this little room, the tissue and what I left behind have been removed. The sink is outside the wet room. There is soap, but there is not always water. Sometimes the pipes just don't feel like producing anything, and sometimes they do. Thank God for hand sanitizer. I take it everywhere I go. Oh! For those who do not use toilet paper, there is a spigot on the wall of the wet room for you to "wash" (no soap) yourself after you are done (using your left hand). How you dry yourself is still a mystery to me. No towels. And the floor is always wet, so you have to wear bathroom sandals to use the bathroom as your regular shoes will not suffice. You'll end up slipping and soaked in god knows what.

I start teaching tomorrow, but before then I'm going to get a hot stone massage. They cost $15 here. My pedicure yesterday (I had to...my toes are on display every day and they were in dire need) cost $3. It was nothing like the pedicures back home. My feet were placed in a bucket that had little bumps on the bottom. They were washed, and then the woman grabbed my ankles and rubbed my feet back and forth over the little bumps. Afterwards she took about 45 minutes removing the dead skin, bit by bit, from the bottom of my feet until I swear I'd lost 5 pounds. My feet now look nothing like they usually do. They look brand new. Like baby feet. Smaller, and as smooth as a stone at the bottom of the ocean. Then the massage. This tiny woman was so strong I thought she actually was going to pop a blood vessel on my shins. At this point my friend Wayan was with me, and I told her to ask my pedicurist if she could cut my nails. Apparently she was not planning on doing so, but she did after it was requested. Then came the polish. They had 6 choices (total) for me to choose from. I chose clear. Once the polish was applied, my amazingly strong new friend blew on my toes. That's right. She BLEW on them to dry them. With her mouth. No fancy machines here to do that for you. Everything is manual. I'm glad she didn't pass out from the loss of oxygen. So, the hot stone massage should be interesting. I'll be sure to report back.

And that's it for me. It's 9am and everyone around me has been up for many hours. No such thing as sleeping in on the weekends around here. People were up and active by 6. Their buzzing motorbikes were proof. And the starring has begun again. Behind me. In front of me, all around me. The children are the worst. The adults at least try to control it. Some of them. The women seem more attune to how it all might effect me, while the men look at me as if I'm not wearing a shirt. You see, as I type this, my collar bone is showing. And I think a tiny bit of back tattoo might be as well (it's the weekend and I'm tired of looking like I work in the White House). Where's my Scarlet Letter? Quick! Somebody find me a big red "A".