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"Sana", I announced firmly, "I want to wash my hands AND FLUSH THE TOILET."

Again Sana smiled, like a mother encouraging a backward child, "Later, first to see garden."

"Sana, i want but 1 was talking to myself, my houseboy was already outside.

The garden was indeed something to look at. It swept away in irregular terraces to stop at the top of a

the swimming pool, its curved ledges repeating the pattern of the

rice sawahs across the river, its surface lightly sprinkled with frangipanni dropped from an overhanging tree.

A river and a pool - then why no water in the bathroom? Back again in the bungalow, all was made clear. Rather, it was the water in my bathroom "tank" that was so clear i hadn't seen itl


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Satisfied that my conducted tour of the grounds, followed by a glass of the local rice wine, had sufficiently braced me to hear the

secrets of the plumbing system, Sana explained that the white-tiled tank was filled daily by the water boys, who carried it, two buckets at a time, up three flights of steps from the spring in the corner of the garden and poured it carefully through a spout hidden in the wall.

When i needed hot water, just remember ting ting ting on the kul kul and he would bring it from the big urn in the kitchen.

"In Australia", sighed Sana, looking wistfully at the shower bag, "other guests tell me bathrooms very good, with hot and cold running water."

"This guest", 1 assured him, "prefers Bali bathrooms - with hot and cold walking water."


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