Posts Tagged ‘accommodation’

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Bali Villa Guests – You Get All Kinds

September 5, 2010

After talking to other expats here in Bali, I realise how lucky I have been with my villa guest experiences to date. It can be a little bit hard having visitors sharing my home, but it morphs my customary solitary existence into something approaching sociability. Scary, but nice. My house guests have been companionable, respectful of my space, aware that they are living in a home and not a hotel, and they have been relatively undemanding of my time. And this is as it should be. If in a fit of uncharacteristic generosity I offer free accommodation to impecunious friends and acquaintances, I neither want, nor expect to be subjected to demands that I add value to their stay. That is their job.

Not so for some other Bali expats though. Hearing some of the horror stories about guests who have ‘crossed the line’ have caused my eyebrows to climb well up into my receding hairline and a shiver of apprehension to course through both my belly and my wallet. Despite being really lucky so far, their stories make me question the wisdom of future sharing.

“Where’s the shampoo? There’s no shampoo!” complains a guest, irritated at having to march out of her quarters while wrapped only in a towel. Her compressed lips betray her annoyance at the lack of consumables in her bathroom. “Umm … didn’t you bring any?” asks the perplexed host. “Well of course not!” is the terse retort. “This is supposed to be a luxury villa, isn’t it? You’d expect that a place like this would provide some basic bathroom stuff. You should talk to your landlord, you know.” The irascible guest, staying for free, seems to be under the impression that she is in a hotel. The host, a paragon of patience (which far exceeds mine),  explains that this is her home, and like all expats, she buys her own bathroom goodies, or brings in the locally unobtainable high-quality potions from overseas.

Instead of apologising, the guest from hell promptly demands to ‘borrow’ the host’s personal shampoo, her conditioner, a different towel and some toothpaste.  She then complains about the soap provided which apparently is no good for her ‘sensitive skin’. During her subsequent three day stay, she not only avoids returning the expensive bathroom supplies, she ‘accidentally’ packs them in her bags on her departure. I suggest to my villa-dwelling friend that she lay in a stock of Drain Cleaner in shampoo bottles, conditioner seasoned with sump oil and some soap embedded with glass slivers specifically for obnoxious guests. The expat demurs, feeling that my proposal is a little extreme, but does hint that this guest won’t be invited back.

At a different villa, with different guests who have stayed for three weeks: “A tip? For the pembantu? What for?” says the visiting family’s matriarch, a fearsome woman who has treated the villa staff like indentured slaves. The host, a gentle man (and a gentleman) of my acquaintance, calmly explains that it is customary in Bali for guests to leave a tip for house staff. After all, with normal villa occupancy, there is an accepted workload that attracts an agreed salary. With the added room cleaning, laundry and other extra demands by guests, staff workload increases and a tip is not just payment, but a recognition of worth. “Rubbish!” is the rejoiner. “She gets a salary already. You can’t spoil these people, you know.” After his guests leave, the host pays the staff a bonus anyway. They are happy, but of course he is out of pocket. He is philosophical, but not so much that he would invite those guests again.

Yet another expat who has now sworn off taking in guests is one whose attempts to be hospitable have cost him dearly. His visitors insist on leaving the bedroom air-conditioners on all day ‘because it is really unpleasant coming home to a hot room’. They also keep the temperature at 16 degrees all night – while sleeping under a thick duvet ‘because it’s too cold otherwise’. When he points out that electricity is expensive in Bali, they dismiss his objections with an airy “Don’t be silly – everything is cheap in Bali”. They also demand that he change their money “because we don’t trust the money-changers here”, proferring him a fistful of badly-worn, small-denomination bills. Because he works here and employs a driver, they want to be driven around the island every day, for free, because “your driver already gets a salary from you”. His patience is more on a par with mine; after three days, he pleads urgent business in Singapore and kicks them out to stay at a hotel. Good on him.

What is it with some of these people? Are they just ignorant, or stupid, or just incredibly selfish?Remember that these stories are from private homes, not commercial villas. There is no profit in accommodating guests, in fact there is a loss. We expats are happy to absorb the cost of being hospitable to friends and acquaintances because it is part of normal social interaction. We don’t expect them to be pathetically grateful, but we would like them to act like responsible, albeit temporary family members in our homes. In my case, I have been fortunate, because my guests have been delightful company as well as good friends. But to the users and losers out there, how about you stay at a hotel – I suspect we will all enjoy the experience much more.

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The Gap – it’s bigger than I thought

November 23, 2009

So there I am, sitting in my villa, gazing at the things around me that I take for granted. Multiple luxurious bedrooms, ensuite bathrooms, a big, well-equipped kitchen, a garden and a nice pool. Then there are all the bule toys that many of us seem to hold sacred, like satellite TV, airconditioning, fridges, fans, wifi, comfy furniture … it’s a good life. But my local friends that come to visit don’t really see all that with the same perspective as I do. They look around and take in the surroundings, but they don’t really seem to view it as a home. “You live here by yourself?” they say in a tone of incredulity. To them, it’s some sort of aberration, something so far removed from what they consider to be a home that it may as well be a department store, or a monument.

They wear the same expression as they do when walking past a luxury hotel – it’s there, but somehow it doesn’t seem relevant to them. The first question they always ask is not “How many bedrooms?”, but ”How much do you pay in rent per month?” I’m too embarrassed to tell them, because they would be shocked, knowing that they could buy a house in Denpasar for an amount equivalent to just four months of my rent. Their second question is never articulated, but hangs in the air just the same: “How well do you treat your staff?” After some rapid-fire colloquial Bahasa interchanges with my pembantu, they relax a bit. I get looks which approximate guarded approval, mixed in with subliminal messages which inform me that they still think I’m crazy, but at least I’m the happy sort and therefore probably harmless. I feel like I have correctly answered Question One of some bizarre unspoken exam. In their eyes, I have perhaps moved one step closer to being qualified to live here in this peculiar, oversized, unBali-like edifice.

I can understand this, because in Bali, family is everything. Even if I have my own family or guests staying here during visits, my live-in helper is considered to be my permanent ersatz ‘family’. Therefore the measure of my worth as a human being is how I treat her, not where I live or what I own. I have always thought that she has been happy staying here. On one level, she probably is. But I see the anticipation in her eyes and her joyful body language as she leaves for her one night and one day off each week – a parole of sorts – to stay with her family and spend some time with her fiancee. And that has nothing to do with the physical surroundings of the family home where she stays. I’ve been there. It’s tiny, consists of one room and absolutely minimal furnishings and facilities. It’s also spotless and tidy, and the hospitality of her family is absolutely heart-warming. It’s home – in a way that my villa, for all of its excesses, can never be for her.

And now, she is getting married in a few weeks. Off to Java for an intimate family and friends wedding, then back to work at the villa after an appropriate break from duties here. Her sense of responsibility (more likely her desire to keep her job) meant that she offered to stay on as live-in helper for me after the wedding, but her eyes begged me to refuse. Her look of utter relief was priceless when I told her that of course she could keep her job – as long as she went home to her freshly-minted husband after work each day. 

So now she is looking for accommodation – and not having much luck. “Everything is full” she says wistfully. Curious, I asked what she was looking for. “A kost”, she says, meaning a communal boarding house. ”In Kerobokan, near my family, and under 350,000 per month”. At that price, everything goes fast.
“So, what sort of  place are you looking for?” I ask. “You want, what – a bedroom, bathroom and  kitchen?” She is shocked. “Oh no – too expensive! Only one room”. It’s my turn to be shocked. No bathroom? No kitchen? She reassures me that it is OK – the shared bathroom for all residents will be just 20 metres down the corridor, and there is usually a gas burner for cooking in the room. Besides, she says shyly, “my husband will be there”. What she doesn’t say is that it will be theirs. A home. And she seems so happy at the prospect.

After all this, I spent a fair bit of time gazing around my palatial digs and reflecting on economic gaps, relative wealth and happiness. I’ve heard it said that success is having what you want, while happiness is wanting what you have. I’m successful; she is happy. I’m happy too, and I realise now that she is also successful.

At least I now know what my wedding present to her and her husband will be. I’m going to stake them a year’s rent on her new kost, but I’ll make damn sure that it has at least a private bathroom. Am I spoiling them when they are already so happy? I mean, it’s not as if I’m buying them a villa or anything. All I need to do is sacrifice one meal a month at La Lucciola. That I can do. I prefer warung food anyway.

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