Having finished an extraordinary final meal at my favorite restaurant in Bali, Lamak, I was looking forward to a quick ride home, an hour of rice field and lightning bug watching, and an early bedtime. We walked slowly down the half flight of steps onto Monkey Forest Road, the main shopping and eating street in Ubud. My driver of five years, Wayan, had dropped us off in front of Lamak and headed up the street to find parking. We walked uphill, window shopping and making final plans for completing the to-do list before I had to fly home the next day.
The sidewalks in Ubud are difficult during daylight hours and treacherous after dark, so the stroll to find the car and driver was slow but enjoyable. After a few minutes, we spotted the car, but couldn’t find Wayan. 
Usually, a musical call “Wa-yan” is enough to bring him to life, wherever he may be napping or chatting. Not tonight – “Wa-yan B-a-lik” we called again. The other drivers and taxi guys were all laughing knowing our driver was MIA. I joked with them, “No tip tonight for Wayan.” We all laughed again. Still no Wayan. I called his cell phone and no answer. “Uh oh. Now he is in trouble.” More laughter from all within hearing distance.
On my second try to call him, he picked up, but was fumbling with the phone before answering “Oh no, Pak David, I’ll be right there.” A minute later, we saw a figure in a long sleeve white shirt emerge from a side street, about 50 meters down hill, at a dead run, but still buttoning up his shirt. “Massage, Pak David, I was getting a massage. So sorry. Really bad idea.” “Maybe really long massage, I don’t remember.”
It looks to me like the world order is changing. The client now waits for the driver’s massage to be over, not the other way around….
