The place was rammed and it was not even midnight. I came upon the Apache Reggae Club completely by chance.
A smiling, petite teenager with a tattoo of Bob Marley on her uncovered navel beckoned me towards her, as I was walking the narrow pavements, constantly on the lookout for speeding scooters who happily use the pedestrian walkway as a way to avoid the congested traffic.
The young lady was thrilled that although coming from London I had Jamaica roots. She ushered me into the club, where the live band was playing a medley of Bob Marley songs. Apart from the massive portraits of Marley adorned across the club what I noticed that it seemed that every other person was a rastafarian of Balinese origin. The other patrons were white rastas from Australia.
I felt completely at home. Talking about the only gay in the village I was the only Jamaican in the club. As soon as I informed people of my heritage I was greeted with a loud Jah rasta far'i and a warm brotherly handshake.
After every song the lead singer would drop some serious Jamaican patois as if he was straight from the slum Yardie streets of Kingston. It didn't matter a jot that most of the crowd did not understand him, it simply got them worked up into a frenzy. I was skanking with the best of them now, as the strong aroma of hashish circulated the dancefloor.
The band played well beyond 1am nearly 2. The club was still buzzing well after they're left the stage. I departed myself after several servings of Arak (local spirit) and diet coke. It was a minor miracle that I wasn't knocked over by moped whilst unsteadily advancing towards my hotel.
Just want to say a massive big up to all the Balinese rastas at the Apache and no doubt I will looking forward to jamming with them on several more occasions before returning to England.
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