Bali Forever - a mysterious story

(SAU/IDN) Riyadh, Saudi Arabia’s capital, is fascinating for visitors for a short time, but after a while, during a longer working stay, one misses the uncomplicated and free lifestyle of the West very much. No alcohol, no cinemas, no bars, the local women veiled beyond recognition and the mutabas, the religious guards, always on the lookout for sinners who go against the local customs.

After a few months, you come to terms with the situation, and after a little longer, you get used to it and in a way you have arrived in this society. Then you can live better in Riyadh than in many other big western cities.

Lonely and unhappy in Riyadh

That’s how it was for me and that’s how it was for my German colleague Walter (name changed by the narrator). We lived in Riyadh for seven years. For the first four years we even worked for the same company. Then we parted ways. I was not sad about it, because Walter was a difficult personality. He worked around the clock and seemed quite friendly at first sight. However, he could also be quite arrogant and would often resort to any shabby intrigue to use opportunities to his advantage.

His Balinese wife Sindi (name changed by the narrator) only lasted with him in Riyadh for a little less than a year. Then she preferred to return to Bali, where she lived in the house they shared. Walter had a hard time coping with the long-distance relationship. Especially in the evenings, he was on edge. He worked even harder, drugged himself with drinks and withdrew more and more from his circle of friends.

Something was tormenting him, maybe a depression or some vague anxiety. We couldn’t get through to him. Only when he spent his annual holiday in Bali with his wife would he liven up and the obvious pressure of suffering seemed to leave him. We always noticed him a bit more relaxed when he returned.

So it surprised me when I was passed on an e-mail from a friend with whom he was still in contact, which Walter had sent during his holiday in Bali and which seemed a bit strange to all of us, especially against the tragic background, which I will report on at the end.

Walter’s strange email:

Escaped from the jaws of death

On the night of 30 November to 1 December at around 04:30, my wife and I only narrowly jumped off the cliff of friend Hein. Only a chain of truly miraculous circumstances saved our lives. And that is how it happened:

We had a German friend in the house who was supposed to leave on Sunday. Around midnight we went to a small farewell party at “Lips”. Sindi at the wheel of the Toyota Corolla.

Because it was finally raining steadily after days of sultriness, President John kept the “Lips” open a little longer so as not to have to let the guests out into the torrential rain, as there were no taxis to be seen far and wide.

When the rain thinned out around 4 a.m., Sindi and I headed home, thinking that the new, slightly longer bypass to our house would be safer. Which was confirmed at first.

The only disadvantage of this decision was that neither of us knew the area and its topological features. And so it happened.

Somewhere in Kerborakan, which is a little north of Kuta in the direction of Denpasar, the water partially reached the bottom. Suddenly, there was a Toyota Kijang in front of us in the middle of the road: lights on. However, its wheels were already up to the rubber coating in the water. Because the Kijang was not moving, I said to Sindi:

“Man, the cart has been abandoned, make sure we pass by on the other side of the road”.

This new road in front of us was higher and quite visible in the darkness of the night. What we didn’t know, however, was that here the road crosses a small branch of the larger Kerborakan River. Obviously, this relatively small overpass had already been washed away or breached. As we passed the Kijang, our Toyota suddenly started to float and immediately a powerful current across accelerated us faster and faster towards the river.

It was clear to me in a flash: the current always looks for the shortest way to the sea, so out, out, out of the cart. Sindi screamed desperately, but my calm voice calmed her down enough to keep control of the Toyota and not to stall the engine. That was the prerequisite for opening the automatic windows at a favourable moment and flooding the car for the exit. And so the current carried us about 25 m down the river, until the Toyota first hit a house wall with the rear end, and then touched down on something in the water. Later it turned out that it was a motorbike under water. Now the water on the outside was already up to the height of the windscreen, and the front part with us and the heavy engine sank relatively slowly, with the rear end floating up. From the scraping noises coming from the chassis, I realised that any moment now the entanglement on the ground would loosen. So, as calmly as I could, I said to Sindi: “It is time to leave the car now! Open your window”. Thank God the engine was still running and the window opened.

Sindi was on the side downstream. I guessed that was the only place we had a chance to open the door. On my side it would have been impossible against the pressure of the current. The water shot inside, over Sindi’s lap. I climbed over the back of my seat to open the window and possibly grab the ledge about a metre above us. But the back window wouldn’t open; the motor had stopped working.

By now the water in the car was up to our waists. The Toyota began to tip over onto Sindi’s side. I pushed Sindi’s door open with both feet and slowly let myself be pulled out by the water suction, feet first, above Sindi. And now something extremely miraculous happened.

A whirlpool had formed behind the Toyota on Sindi’s side. From the side of the wall, it slowly sucked in a metal rack. A rack like the ones the small shops use to store bottles of moped petrol. This metal frame gave my feet some support for a few seconds, until it was caught by the current and swept away from under my feet. However, those seconds were enough to free one hand, grab Sindi by the scruff of the neck and pull her headfirst into the water.

I had to let go of the Toyota and we were already hurtling downstream. In the process, I lost my grip on Sindi’s neck and then on her sleeve. So we shot downstream at breakneck speed. I really don’t know how far.

And again something miraculous happened: Suddenly I saw bushes in front of me on the left side. My first thought was to immediately try to scramble in that direction to maybe grab a branch. And after a few failed attempts, I succeeded. Then, after drifting frantically downstream like a spider monkey, hanging on a relatively thin branch, my backside with my water-heavy jeans down, gasping for some oxygen, I was overcome by real panic for the first time: “Where is your wife? My God, now she’s drowning!” My thoughts raced: just let go, then it’s over, then you don’t have to experience this pain too!

And then something wonderful happened again: somewhere above me, upstream, I heard Sindi’s voice in the dark: “Walter, Walter, Where are you? I am alive, don’t worry!” My God! That gave me the new energy. I have to describe my position in the rushing current: So I clung with both hands to the relatively thin branch, which cut rhythmically under the water due to my weight and chased the surge of water, which was more oil than water because of the moped filling stations, over my head. So I only ever had tiny windows of time to catch my breath. And it dawned on me: you can’t keep this up for long.

And again a miracle: indistinct voices from the side of the bush. Sindi kept shouting, “Tolong sini, Tolong sini (help here, help here)”. And I yelled – whenever my breath allowed it:” Tolong, ada orang dua (Help, there are two of us)”.

The time became interminable because in the darkness and with my head mostly under the spray, I saw nothing and heard nothing. My ears were constantly exposed to the pulsating water and hurt like hell. All I could think was: save your strength, don’t let go!

And then I felt it, more than I heard it: crack, crack…! The small branch began to splinter at the fork. My thought: You have to pull yourself towards the branch fork against the current. You have to reach the mother branch. Otherwise it’s over. I really don’t know where I got the last bit of strength to do that.

The new position was even more unpleasant, though, because this thicker branch caused an even bigger gush, so that my head cut more under water than before. I had had to swallow a lot of oily water, but thank God nothing was in my windpipe yet, so I didn’t have a coughing fit.

Eternities passed until I suddenly heard a voice next to me: “Misterrr, perempuan sudah ada (We already have the woman)”. My brain signalled: hold on now, now more than ever. For the first time, I felt warm blood in my body again and my heart began to race with happiness.

What I was to find out later: Sindi had been driven a little deeper into the bushes about 30 metres behind me and was able to hold on there. At this point, the rescuers were able to hand her a bamboo pole from the relatively firm hold, as there was one of the many temples, and pull her out by it.

I, however, had been driven – probably by my greater weight – further downstream and relatively far away from built-up areas. And here again a miracle: Where did the rescuers organise such a long plastic part under these conditions? (As I was to see later, their own huts were about 1.50 m deep in the water and almost everything they owned had been destroyed).

In any case, two of the Balinese on this rope let themselves be carried by the current near me at the risk of their lives and now pulled themselves from branch to branch into my reach. And then the moment came: I saw two outstretched arms of two people and now simply had to find a moment to let go. To find a hold on these brown Balinese arms. – It succeeded. – The men called out to me with gasps at the top of their whistling lungs, “Sindi masih hidup! Sindi is alive.”

The rest was backbreaking work, but now without fear of death. One by one, the rescuers pulled the three of us against the current on the rope to the temple. The Toyota was not sighted until the next day, half a kilometre further downstream. Salvage is not to be thought of until the rains subside and the river returns to its normal width of a few meters.

However, today, Sunday, December 2, 2001, at 5:00 p.m. Balinese time, it is still raining now and then.

Finally, dear reader, some reflections. Everyone who knows me knows that I am neither inclined to superstition nor exceptionally religious. Can anyone explain to me how just in this situation only life-saving conditions were on our side? To name only the most important ones:

1. who gave my Indonesian wife Sindi the inspiration to visit the Kuta Gym every day for four weeks before my visit and do fitness training? This gave her the strength to withstand this inferno.

2) Why did the alcohol not taste good to me at all that night in the “Lips”, so that I only more or less reluctantly sucked down a few “Bintangs” and spurned the offered “Jack Daniel’s”? So I was relatively sober and still strong enough to save my body even at almost 60 years of age.

3) Why was there something on the bottom that kept our Toyota stuck to the ground for about 1-2 minutes and prevented it from drifting? This is exactly what allowed us to get out

4) Why did the Toyota engine run for exactly the time it took to operate the electric windows?

5) Why did the vehicle lie across the current in such a way that on Sindi’s side there was no pressure, but on the contrary the suction of a whirlpool that facilitated the opening of her driver’s door – if not made it possible in the first place?

6) Where did the metal frame suddenly come from that gave my feet support for a few seconds while I was getting out of the car to pull Sindi out?

7. why were there so many bushes, trees and bamboo growing there of all places?

8. why were there so many helpful people around at this very spot at about 04:30 in the morning?

9. where did the 20-metre-long rope for the rescue operation come from? Such a thing is an unaffordable possession for poor people!

Questions upon questions. I don’t even try to look for answers. My attitude to life and to God changed decisively that night.

Walter Bertram (name changed by the narrator), Just escaped from the jaws of death

Denpasar, 2 December, 2001 at 7:11 pm Balinese time.

A mysterious end

When I received this email, Walter was already dead. He had died two or three days after sending what was probably his last message.

What exactly had happened, I do not know. According to the scant information that filtered through to me from Bali, he had suddenly fallen seriously ill. Maybe he had swallowed too much harmful or even poisonous stuff in the river. After all, he had written himself that the water was contaminated with oil, probably also with petrol, because of the flooded petrol station.

The rumour spread that his wife had desperately tried to raise $10,000 USD for treatment at a clinic, which she apparently had not succeeded in doing. Others told that since he obviously could not be treated in Bali, his wife had tried in vain to have him flown out to Germany.

The fact is that Walter’s life still could not be saved after this great rescue from the river. He stayed in Bali with his new attitude to life, whatever that may have been.

Aftermath – shock and reflection

Walter’s sudden death came as a shock to all of us in Riyadh. We puzzled over the cause of death, Walter’s sudden belief in a higher power, the kind of change he must have envisioned, the irony of dying of a mysterious illness after this great rescue – and we finally went about business as usual – without Walter.

I didn’t miss Walter, but I still think of his last email telling his story, unaware that life no longer held a future for him.

Alongside this enigmatic narrative, I am also moved by the thought of how it would have felt to have walked part of the way together, not as adversaries, but as friends. (NS)

Note from the editors

At first, it was not easy for us to assign this story to a category. Actually, it is a classic experience, as life often has in store. On the other hand, this story also gives an insight into an unusual life path that ends abruptly.

Walter’s life crisis, as described by the narrator, had actually been heading for a climax or turning point for some time. Where did his constant restlessness come from? His life as a workaholic with drinks to compensate? He seemed to be compensating for something. Was it Riyadh? The foreign country? The foreign culture? But then what was Bali for him as a German? A new home? Familiarity and security? But he was also cut off from that for most of his life. Did he feel his uprootedness and hardly see a chance to put down roots again?

When, after surviving the fear of death in the floods of the river, he realised that he and his wife had been incredibly lucky, he could not leave it at that. A higher power must have arranged all this for their good fortune. What for? A second chance! A new life! A U-turn! The way out of the crisis, whatever it was, was suddenly recognisable to him. He obviously felt confidence and joy in life again, as well as the need to open up to friends and share his insights with them. This seems almost biblical.

What is really tragic is that there was no time left for him.

In any case, this story has reminded us that life has many different rational and irrational “pushes” in store that can or even should move us forward. This can be a mental or physical illness, an encounter, an arduous learning process or even a happy or terrible experience.

Even the relatively uninvolved narrator has not let go of this story for 20 years.

Perhaps other readers would also like to tell about strange, puzzling or “terribly happy” experiences that have led to a turning point in their lives. It would be interesting to read about them. Our blog is at your disposal.

(LL/TA)

Bali forever