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SNOWING IN BALI

sisters, 'I don't want anything. You can share between you and mamma, I don't need the money.' But I tell everybody else, 'Oh, now is my time because my father passed away and leave for me good, good money.' Now I can realise my dreams, build restaurant, build my house.

He relished the prestige of being the young, sharply dressed, successful man, invariably with a beautiful girl on his arm, but feared one day his cover would be blown.

I really care about my position in the city, in the society. Nobody had any suspicion about me. Everybody was looking at me like a successful business guy. Good lifestyle, come to Bali for six months, live in Brazil for three months, three months in Hawaii. Always working restaurants, people look, 'Oh, this is a successful guy.'

And you liked that image?

Yeah. But I am always afraid of the truth.

His Thai restaurant won Best Oriental Restaurant several times, and his Japanese restaurant, with a Bali corner, was also booming. But he was uncomfortable with accolades, aware that, with the cash he was laundering on everything from imported Bali furniture to Balinese-created uniforms for his staff, even a fool could create a beautiful ambience.

I never like to talk too much like, 'Oh, I'm fucking good, my restaurant is the best.' I never like these titles for me. It's really, really beautiful, but why is my restaurant beautiful, the best restaurant? Because I had support of $1 million a year. If I don't do the best restaurant, I'm stupid. Also, I don't want to call attention on myself. 'Wow . . . how does this guy have so much money when his restaurant's only open three months a year?'

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