There seems to be a shortage of names in this place. My hotel owner is named Wayan, so was my greedy and unhelpful taxi driver, as was our rafting guide, medicine woman, and countless others people here. God forbid anybody gets named Sam or Jenny.

It turns out that there are only four names in Bali. They are Wayan (pronounced “why-Ann”), Made, Nyoman, and Ketut, and they mean “first”, “second”, “third”, and “fourth”, respectively, to indicate which order you were born in. So the first born child is named Wayan, and so forth. Number five gets named Wayan and the cycle starts again. Now I’m tempted to yell “Wayan” on the street and see how many people turn their head. Anyway, please call me Wayan from now on.