I often have insomnia. This month was HOT. I woke up at sunrise in Penestanan. Jumped into my running shoes, and walked. The rains were late, the heat was an inferno. There was steam rising from the rice fields. The light was flooding golden everywhere. I passed a couple of men, starting work early, but otherwise I was alone. And then I saw the bike.
A rusty old bike, parked up by the path, with a generic red plastic shopping bag, hanging from the handles. Every country has their identifying item. In NYC is the blue paper coffee cup. In Bali, it’s the red trash bag. Not glamorous, but real.