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SNOWING IN BALI

the perfect waves spoke to his heart. This was the faraway island he so often dreamt of in his youth.

I was like, ‘Wow, my god, beautiful place and good waves, very good waves.’ I thought, I love this place, I want to stay here.

– Rafael

He quickly met other like-minded westerners, who offered him a golden key to stay in Bali and pay for his dream life. Being a drug runner would be far more lucrative than his first run with a bag of sarongs. He’d taken the colourful fabrics to Rio to sell and flown back to Bali with cash, but quickly ditched the rag runs for coke runs.

It started on the beach. A bunch of surfers and expats from across the globe hung out, played music, danced, and smoked marijuana at a hotel fronting Kuta beach, dubbed ‘the club’. Every afternoon, music blared from speakers, while guys played frescoball on the sand and girls sunbaked topless. Marco, a dark-haired hang-gliding champion from Rio, barbecued fresh fish and sold top-quality grass he trafficked from Holland, euphemistically trademarked ‘Lemon Juice’. A rich Balinese man, a member of one of Bali’s royal families gave the crew carte blanche to use his beach hotel, joining them daily for a smoke.

This guy smoked marijuana every day – the whole day. This is crazy, because drugs get the death sentence, but the Balinese guy can smoke in front of everyone. He doesn’t care about tourists, doesn’t care about staff, nobody can touch him.

– Andre, drug dealer

Unless you were a hot girl, or had a connection, it took time to become a club member. Rafael spent several days coming out

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