The big sign above the barbed-wire fence reads Super Maximum Security.
But the Australians housed inside the death row jail within a jail come and go pretty much as they please.
Welcome to Bali's infamous Kerobokan Prison, where nothing is as it seems and convention is definitely not the rule.
Without our bags being searched, The West Australian stepped through the gates of the prison, which holds Schapelle Corby and the so-called Bali Nine, to take advantage of the "open day" sanctioned on the anniversary of Indonesia's 1945 independence.
For the next four hours, we chatted to most of the high-profile Australian prisoners and watched the day's entertainment of hired comedians and scantily clad go-go dancers. More than a dozen two and three-star Indonesian army generals, invited for the official ceremony, had left when the miniskirts came out.
Renae Lawrence, 35, the only female member of the Bali Nine, took part in a greasy-pole climbing contest after being front-and-centre of the prisoners' parade.
Serving 20 years for her role in the botched 2005 bid to traffic heroin from Bali to Australia, she smiled and offered an understatement.
"I'm going OK under the circumstances," the prisoner of 8½ years said. Her best chance of being out before 2026 are sentence remissions along the way and being granted an elusive early parole, something fellow inmate Corby is chasing.
"Corby, Corby, Corby," laughed Kerobokan's governor Ngurah Wiratna when asked about the 36-year-old Queenslander, who was arrested at Bali's airport in 2004 with 4kg of cannabis.
He has about 1300 prisoners to manage inside his cramped jail, 20 minutes from the island's tourist melting pot of Kuta, and is bemused by the obsession with one inmate.
He says Corby is out of sight because she is "traumatised" whenever she sees photographers and television cameras.
"She is starting to attend workshops," Mr Wiratna said. "She is showing a significant change in the last six months. It's quite a significant change for her."
After he spoke, a German prisoner wheeling a suitcase was seen heading for the gates and freedom. His 14 months inside for minor possession of drugs had suddenly ended courtesy of an independence day reprieve.
"I cannot believe it," he said.
"You never know what will happen, but I'm not out of the country yet."
Death row prisoner Andrew Chan - a former Sydney catering company manager - emerged from the super-max compound wearing an Australian cricket team shirt.
Chan, 29, and Myuran Sukumaran, 32, the other Bali Nine conspirator awaiting death by firing squad, have secured a number of education programs for the prison and its inmates.
But they have so far failed to secure clemency and have their sentence downgraded to life.
Sukumaran has enrolled in a Perth university's bachelor of fine arts distance education course.
Intelligent and articulate, when asked about his family in Australia it was clear his smiles masked the grim reality.
"It's pretty tough for them," he said.
"It's hard for my mother. I don't really want to talk about this."
Scott Rush, arrested at the age of 19, is one of the Bali Nine's youngest. Now 27, he emerged from the entrance to his squalid-looking cellblock in a T-shirt bearing a futile message - Carpe Diem, or seize the day.
He isn't scheduled for release until 2029 and didn't feel like talking.
By that point the comedians had the prisoners and their guards in stitches with send-ups in Indonesian, a language the Australian prisoners are now fluent in.
"You learn patience in this place," the Bali Nine's youngest Matthew Norman, 26, said.
"You can kick and scream, but you're still going to be here.
"There are people who get depressed and cry, but you have to move on, admit you've made a mistake and do all you can to show you deserve a second chance at life."
For a young man facing the rest of his life in Kerobokan, it's a stoic philosophy to have.
Days like this one only come around once a year.