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foot. This masterstroke should catch them all off-guard, especially as you will first make an early morning visit for a preview before any of the shops open.

All right Exercising every wisp of will-power, you drag yourself out of bed virtually in the middle of the night. O.K. O.K. don't labour the point - so 7.00 am is not the middle of the night. What do they think you are - a health freak? Well, like you were saying, you get up at daybreak - well, 7 o'clock anyway - you have a quick cup of coffee (breakfast can wait) and you creep over the bridge towards Ubud. Perhaps "creep" is not the right word, since you've had to dodge two crowded bemos, three motorbikes and a girl carrying an 8-ft. banana palm balanced lengthwise over her head.

Anyhow, here you are in Ubud, ready for a quiet snoop and the first toko you come to has its shutters wide open, a group of Ky-It's grotesque figurines standing in the window, while overhead, suspended from bamboo poles, hang a gay array of batik tablecloths, wrap-around skirts and embroidered kebayas.

Maybe this is just an early riser you tell yourself, and move stealthily on to the artist next door, who is squatting on the floor of his studio busily painting a scene of farmers ploughing in a rice terrace. He sees you watching, puts down his brush, and asks you in - to a small, dark gallery - paintings edge to edge on every wall. He waits while you look, then leads you down some steps, across a courtyard to a small hale (pavilion) where more paintings hang. Maybe you like one of these.

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A tiny bird flutters out of a hanging cage, lands on his shoulder and commences an urgent "peep-peep-peeping" into his ear. The artist calls, his young son toddles out, takes the bird from his father and carefully drops - one by one - a few grains of cooked rice into the open squeaking beak.

The bird again back in its cage, he guides you out on to the road. "You like to buy painting I give good price. If not buy today, perhaps come back tomorrow"
(Actually there are a couple you would like to buy, but you want to look around first.)

Across the street a different reception awaits you. A young. 'artist dashes out of a studio, flashes a magic smile, asks where you are going, where you come from and eagerly steers you inside.

Before you can move you are offered bargain after bargain, in garish reds, yellows and blues. You are told how many the Italians buy, how much they pay, and how many this artist sends each month to America. Every movement towards the door brings a new painting for you to admire. No, none of them are his - all done by his friends.
See, this one by my young brother", he holds up a picture of an old man herding ducks. Very cheap.only 7,000 rupiahs."

By now you are determined to escape; and inspiration strikes.

"Seven thousand rupiahs" you repeat incredulously. (You have not a clue what this means in dollars, but you have reached