They say 'G'day' in Bali too

Bali is a gentle place. Its calm informality sits oddly with the starchy business of a world leaders' meeting.

It's a place to be absorbed — not inhaled — and you don't get a full dose in a rush-fest like the seven-hour swing-by that was John Howard's visit.

We press-packers spend most of our assignment time gadgetised — our minds locked onto laptops, mobile phones, PDAs and voice recorders.

Much of the history, beauty, smell, feel and wonder of a place sails by barely noticed.

It's both an astonishing waste and a necessity to keep up with a bloke whose time is far more precious than our own.

After Howard had gone, Ten Network camera operator Dean Halpen, SBS journo Richard Davis and I hired a driver to take us for a quick look about.

A lively young man introduced himself to me.

"Nice to meet you. My name is G'day."

A journo's reflex response to something like this is deep scepticism — i.e. fake name pitched as an appeal to an Australian group in the hope of increasing the size of the tip at the end of trip.

This says more about me than him, or at least where my head had been for the previous hours — i.e. those who speak to me are likely to have political motive, so it should be assumed they are lying for their own benefit.

I resisted asking G'day to produce identification to support his claim and instead questioned him further.

He happily assured me 'G'day' was a reasonable English approximation of his name; and anyway, his last name was not 'mate'.

Reassured, I stooped to the predictable, as I introduced him.

"Hey Dean, say G'day to G'day."

"Richard — G'day. G'day — Richard."

G'day took us to some sights and shops. He pulled up at the vacant Kuta block where the Sari Club stood until terrorists blew it apart.

Today, the 202 names of those lost are remembered on a monument across the narrow shopping street from the block. Soon it will be five years from the attack.

Standing there intensifies the sense of horror — of how violence in such a place would have been as bewildering as it was horrifying.

It also makes sense of a point both Howard and Indonesia's President Yudhoyono alluded to as they opened an Australian funded commemorative eye hospital in Denpasar.

The attacks have brought Balinese and Australians closer. Both have shared in loss and the healing from it.

Before Howard flew out, he held a joint press conference with Yudhoyono in the grounds of one of the island's swish resort hotels.

Organisers set up the microphone stands on the paved sunbathing area next to the swimming pool.

This seemed an unusual choice, all the more so because they neglected to remove any of the patrons.

Two realities of Bali were suddenly mingled — slow moving bikinis and towels, with a wild pocket of developing news. Wet and stupefied meets sweaty and preoccupied.

There was skin at a Howard press conference, some of it just peering over the edge of the pool with an "Oh bull****. That's not who I reckon it is, is it?".

Others wandered between tripods and security to retrieve their belongings.

There were no loud splashes at key moments in the conference. Howard was not even towel-flicked.

Neither reality could communication with the other — that was a bridge too far — but both went about their business tolerating this odd, short co-existence.

It lasted for the 30 minutes the leaders' schedules allowed for a press conference, and then they separated, the leaders hurtling off elsewhere.

As I said goodbye to G'day and headed to the plane, it occurred to me I had been in the lesser of the two realities.

Bali deserves to be visited gently. Don't go there with John Howard.