ERIN GO BALI 1990

My first trip to Bali was in 1990. Kuta Beach was the island's most popular tourist destination for sea, sun, and fun. Being a pseudo-intellectual I opted for Ubud, an idyllic village of Legong dancers, ornate temples, and quiet evenings.

I rented a small house surrounded by verdant rice paddies. My room overlooked a ravine at the bottom of which the stream served the village's bathing needs. Ketut the house boy served breakfast and instant coffee in the morning. I wrote on a Brother Electric Typewriter. At night croaking frogs vanquished the gamelan music from the temple at the top of Monkey Forest Road. There was no phone service with the outside world and traveler’s checks were the sole form of international money transfers.

At night I listened to the BBC World News on a Sony World Radio and read tattered used books. Dragonflies buzzed through the room and the stars tolerated no earthly rival. I loved Ubud and stayed in the town for months.

Nearing March 17th I suggested to several westerners or ‘mistahs’ that we should staged a St. Patrick’s Day parade. None of them had Hibernian roots. My Balinese friends were enthused at the idea of celebrating being Irish by drinking beer.

"And we wear green."

My house servant Ketut shook his head.

“Can not wear green. This unlucky color.”

“Unlucky.” He had used the Bahasa word ‘blog’. I had never heard it before.

"Yes, my uncle he have green car have many accidents.”

"Green is good luck in Ireland and Ireland is the European Bali."

"Ireland tidak Bali. No green and you not wear green too." Tuut was adamant about this edict, but said, "We drink beer and make music."

"That is good luck?"

"Drink beer always good luck."

Especially if a 'mistah' paid for it.

I didn't argue with tradition and adjusted St. Patrick's Day in accordance with local customs.

On March 17th Ketut, his friend, and I drank beer at the Cafe Bali. They brought drums. I sang Irish ballads on British oppression and at sunset we marched down Monkey Forest Road with me singing BY THE RISING OF THE MOON. I adlibbed the words.

Ketut said it was a sweet song.

“By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon, the pikes must be together at the rising of the moon."

Other Balinese joined the march. N one wore green. We trooped back to the Cafe Bali and switched from beer to 'arak', a strong palm wine. It wasn't as strong as Jamison's Whiskey, but it was a good drink for the first St. Patrick's Day in Ubud and I told Tuut, "Maybe one day you will wear green."

"Maybe a long time away from today."

"But not as far as never. Semoga Beruntung."

I thought that meant good luck and replied, "Go n-éirí an bóthar leat!"

At least I thought I said that.

Everyone clinked beer glasses.

And I told myself that maybe one day I'll get the Balinese to wear green.

It's a color close to my heart.