BALI GAY'S STREET - ÎLE DE BALI - INDONESIE
It’s an colorful mix most nights, Bali’s “gay street,” Jalan Dhyana Pura.
A boyish Indonesian man (or two) coyly approaches. His prey’s western face flushes with amazement, thrilled, because for this magical moment at least, he’s relevant, desirable again.
In the west, as a gay man ages, he generally descends into invisibility. Here, in these few crowded bars, he royally ascends to the center of lustful attention. Indonesian men flaunt their bedroom eyes by nature. Westerner’s are suckers for them, and the boys know it.
Hawkers are enticing hapless patrons into the lesser known bars. Drag queens are primping for lip-synced stardom. Scores of rent-boys are hanging across the street, choosing who will seduce whom. Bewildered tamu (guests) struggle to appear cool, but melt under the glares that strip them to the soul in the hot flashing night.
If out on Dhyana Pura with a friend or two, consider first Mixwell’s, around 9:00. Strong drinks, same price as the seven or so other gay haunts there. Then dinner next door at The Antique, good food, quieter for conversation. But if alone, just wait until 11:00, then head to the busiest bar, usually the den with the brightest lights and best music.
These days that might be Bali Joe’s. It looks pretty much like the other places, narrow and long to the back, but fresher, with nicer art on the walls. Here the evening meat rack gathers first.
Dhyana Pura, its bars and boutiques, could not thrive if not for the iconic “Kuta Cowboy.” A left-over label borne of gay 70s NYC, meaning gay-man-ready-for-sex. There are still a few who parade in too-tight jeans, and high-heeled snake skin boots (most likely the purchase and gift of a longer-term ‘BF,’ or boy friend).
Fact is, Dhyana Pura is all about a quick shag and a few drinks. Don’t let the practiced innocence of a prospective date fool you. He’s available for an hour, a night, a week. And many of them hunger for that rich tamu who’ll keep him in rice and sate’ for life.
You know you’re here for a little adventure, right? Just grab the second or third guy who comes-on (the first might just be too desperate) and ask him to find you both some privacy for an hour. Pay him, afterward of course, Rp. 50,000 to Rp. 100,000, depending on what you do together. Condoms, respect, and gentleness, absolutely!
With Hollywood hopes, these boys arrive from Java, in search of a living away from poverty and often wretched conditions. They embody jealousy and beauty, violence and passion, starvation and lust. Many aren’t actually gay by genetics, but adapt for survival. You gotta have compassion for them, their’s can be a difficult life.
That’s the funny thing about ‘gay’ in Indonesia. Nobody really cares, nor can usually tell, if one is actually gay. Males here hang all over each other, in public, at home, wherever. Same with females, any age, any occupation.
When a boy is about four or five, he’s usually paired-off with another boy from the village. They spend most nights together, are usually best friends for life. It’s not unlike a first arranged marriage, preparation for what’s to come. The opposite sex is strictly off-limits until marriage here, most say their vows as virgins. Few actually know what to do when the honeymoon begins.
It’s because of this hetero-innocence that few people here actually care how and when a tamu uses his or her plumbing, as long as it’s not with children. And generally not with the opposite sex unless married. Gay men have it the easiest here, no strings.
So, after midnight, after the trick, if dancing turns your tussle, head to Dhyana’s old-timer, the Q Bar. Q boasts a good floor and sparkling sound system. And on weekends a drag show or two. Find another guy, a hot number who wants to dance, and take him home if you so desire.
And when ready to sober up and blow off the cigarette smoke, why not just walk down the street to the beach, hang under the bright lights that emblazon crashing white waves. Stark contrast to the night siren of Jalan Dhyana Pura. You might be glad you took along your flesh-toned ear plugs though.
Text J.C. Renaud, Jimbaran, Bali.
It’s an colorful mix most nights, Bali’s “gay street,” Jalan Dhyana Pura.
A boyish Indonesian man (or two) coyly approaches. His prey’s western face flushes with amazement, thrilled, because for this magical moment at least, he’s relevant, desirable again.
In the west, as a gay man ages, he generally descends into invisibility. Here, in these few crowded bars, he royally ascends to the center of lustful attention. Indonesian men flaunt their bedroom eyes by nature. Westerner’s are suckers for them, and the boys know it.
Hawkers are enticing hapless patrons into the lesser known bars. Drag queens are primping for lip-synced stardom. Scores of rent-boys are hanging across the street, choosing who will seduce whom. Bewildered tamu (guests) struggle to appear cool, but melt under the glares that strip them to the soul in the hot flashing night.
If out on Dhyana Pura with a friend or two, consider first Mixwell’s, around 9:00. Strong drinks, same price as the seven or so other gay haunts there. Then dinner next door at The Antique, good food, quieter for conversation. But if alone, just wait until 11:00, then head to the busiest bar, usually the den with the brightest lights and best music.
These days that might be Bali Joe’s. It looks pretty much like the other places, narrow and long to the back, but fresher, with nicer art on the walls. Here the evening meat rack gathers first.
Dhyana Pura, its bars and boutiques, could not thrive if not for the iconic “Kuta Cowboy.” A left-over label borne of gay 70s NYC, meaning gay-man-ready-for-sex. There are still a few who parade in too-tight jeans, and high-heeled snake skin boots (most likely the purchase and gift of a longer-term ‘BF,’ or boy friend).
Fact is, Dhyana Pura is all about a quick shag and a few drinks. Don’t let the practiced innocence of a prospective date fool you. He’s available for an hour, a night, a week. And many of them hunger for that rich tamu who’ll keep him in rice and sate’ for life.
You know you’re here for a little adventure, right? Just grab the second or third guy who comes-on (the first might just be too desperate) and ask him to find you both some privacy for an hour. Pay him, afterward of course, Rp. 50,000 to Rp. 100,000, depending on what you do together. Condoms, respect, and gentleness, absolutely!
With Hollywood hopes, these boys arrive from Java, in search of a living away from poverty and often wretched conditions. They embody jealousy and beauty, violence and passion, starvation and lust. Many aren’t actually gay by genetics, but adapt for survival. You gotta have compassion for them, their’s can be a difficult life.
That’s the funny thing about ‘gay’ in Indonesia. Nobody really cares, nor can usually tell, if one is actually gay. Males here hang all over each other, in public, at home, wherever. Same with females, any age, any occupation.
When a boy is about four or five, he’s usually paired-off with another boy from the village. They spend most nights together, are usually best friends for life. It’s not unlike a first arranged marriage, preparation for what’s to come. The opposite sex is strictly off-limits until marriage here, most say their vows as virgins. Few actually know what to do when the honeymoon begins.
It’s because of this hetero-innocence that few people here actually care how and when a tamu uses his or her plumbing, as long as it’s not with children. And generally not with the opposite sex unless married. Gay men have it the easiest here, no strings.
So, after midnight, after the trick, if dancing turns your tussle, head to Dhyana’s old-timer, the Q Bar. Q boasts a good floor and sparkling sound system. And on weekends a drag show or two. Find another guy, a hot number who wants to dance, and take him home if you so desire.
And when ready to sober up and blow off the cigarette smoke, why not just walk down the street to the beach, hang under the bright lights that emblazon crashing white waves. Stark contrast to the night siren of Jalan Dhyana Pura. You might be glad you took along your flesh-toned ear plugs though.
Text J.C. Renaud, Jimbaran, Bali.