Snowing in Bali Read Free Page B

have chemistry, you can fuck in front of other people, you don’t care. And that’s what happened a lot. There were a lot of orgies in Bali.
    â€“ Alberto, Bali drug dealer

CHAPTER TWO
    COMING TO PARADISE
    Surfing, sex and cocaine were Rafael’s passions, but the sport of Hawaiian kings had come first. As a child he had natural flair on a board, riding Rio’s waves with grace and agility. The rush of hurtling down a breaking wave, and sense of freedom quickly had him hooked – the same potent emotions that drug trafficking later induced. But surfing was his first love and the young boy dreamt about one day going to a faraway tropical island called Bali.
    When his chance came, typically it involved a girl. Flying home from a surf comp in South Brazil, he flirted with the flight attendant and before hitting the tarmac, he had her number. Soon they were dating and the girl put her hot new boyfriend’s name down to share the airline’s free flights for staff-plus-one to anywhere in the world.
    Before long they hit the skies to Bali. Rafael fell in love, but more so with the island than the girl. After a month’s holiday, she flew home alone. The sunshine, palm-fringed beaches and the perfect waves spoke to his heart. This was the faraway island he so often dreamt of as a boy.
    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.
    â€“ 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.
    â€“ 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 of the surf and walking past with his board tucked under his arm before being welcomed to join the club’s cool crew. Soon afterwards, he was offered a drug run.
    They were a very close gang. It’s hard to go in, to even say hello, because I think they are so cool, these guys. I want to be friends, you know. They didn’t open the door. They were always rude. And then I met them on the beach one time and we smoke together.
    â€“ Rafael
    Marco, the charismatic wisecracking Lemon Juice dealer, sold Rafael a small bag of grass for $100, and knew he’d be a perfect mule, or horse as they started calling runners when the word ‘mule’ got too hot. Rafael possessed all the traits to slip invisibly through customs. He was smart, well-travelled, white, western, good looking and a surfer – meaning no cover story needed for frequent trips in and out of Bali with surfboards. Marco, always on the lookout for a new horse, made his pitch on the beach one afternoon.
    â€˜Hey man, what you doing here in Bali to make money?’
    â€˜Not much, selling sarongs,’ Rafael replied.
    â€˜You