Just got back on Wednesday from Trip 19. I'm sitting at the computer, armed with iced Sariwangi tea and Sampoerna. Javanese music plays softly in the background. Now I'm in the mood to begin, but what do I write? We did so little and yet so much. I know everything I cover will have been said many times before... but that's just too bad. Here goes!
We left Melbourne airport an hour late on January 9, on our no-frills Jetstar flight. The key to enjoying Jetstar is to plan ahead. If you don't want to pay for all the extras, take your own. We certainly did. A tailor-made activity pack for Princess L, her Nintendo DS and a walkman ensured she was kept busy for the duration. Not one ‘I'm bored, there's nothing to do' was muttered (oh, the joy!) A litre of freshly-made margaritas, $35 worth of sushi, plus nuts, chocolates, glasses, coasters and napkins kept the grown-ups nicely occupied. The next five hours whizzed by. Six of us sat in a row: Anniswan and her crew (aged 10 and 14), EH, Princess L (aged 10) and yours truly. We dished out margaritas liberally in Jetstar's little paper cups, paid for wine when the margaritas dried up, and chatted to people we knew. A smooth flight and a smooth landing. One of our cases was marked with a large white X. EH tried to wipe it off, but he only managed to smear the thing. Of course it had to be on the case that was hard to open and even harder to close. Once Customs felt assured that we carried no drugs, contraband, explosives or excess grog, they set us free. Five minutes of wrestling with the case, and we were out of the airport, greeted by the Bali that we know and love so well: people milling around, calling out and waving signs, tourists, luggage, buses, bikes, heat, the smell of cloves, the noise, the clutter. We'd arrived!
We found our driver and sped to the Bali Garden Hotel. Normally we move around a bit, but these two weeks we planned to stay put, just puddling around in general. Our room was clean and comfortable, plenty big enough for two king singles and an extra bed for the Princess. We had the room next door to Anniswan, which meant our ten year-olds could entertain each other, leaving us free to relax. The hotel itself is tired, but the garden is pretty, and the veranda large enough to sit and enjoy the vegetation. The pool is good, with lots of Forumites to meet and talk to. BGH's location is oh so very convenient too. Sitting on the wall by the beach, listening to the waves and enjoying the sea breeze at night was divine: enchanted, I gazed at the curve of the coast, dotted with twinkling lights; the effect was somewhat marred by Kuta's Golden Arches, which stuck out like a boil. Hotel management is smart enough to keep prices sufficiently low for guests to order drinks and snacks at the pool, instead of finding somewhere cheaper. Buffet breakfasts at BGH are adequate, but suffer from a distinct lack of variety and imagination. There are only so many banana pancakes and boiled eggs that I can eat. A little cereal, some yoghurt, and a change of fruit and juices would have made a big difference. It would also help if they covered things - Princess refused to touch breakfast after noticing flies on the food. Before long, we skipped breakfast altogether, or ate elsewhere. Oh, before I forget, WARNING: A gang of European toast bandits has arrived at BGH. These people have no shame, and no concept of breakfast etiquette. Do not leave your toaster for a second, or your toast that took forever to cook will be nicked!!!!
Tourist numbers are still well down, but Kuta was anything but quiet. That part never changes. There's always a buzz of activity, of energy; always the hustle. Little pony carts waiting by the road, a constant procession of bikes and cars, endless stalls and shops and restaurants, toots and whistles, shouts and laughter. People approaching you with ‘excuse me, I'm not selling anything', or offering manicures, pedicures, plaiting and tattoos. Guys waving wooden phalluses in your face as you pass by (I glared at the last one who did that, pointing to 10 year old Princess; he looked abashed and apologised). And then there are the traffic jams - Kuta at its worst. 40 minutes to drive from BGH to Poppies Lane II is no joke. Yes, I know, we could have walked in half the time, but Dad finds long walks a bit heavy going these days, and Princess whinges incessantly when required to use Shank's pony.
Matahari at Kuta Square was as chaotic as ever - I much prefer poking around their Bali Galleria store. But when you feel up to browsing, the bargains are amazing. Matching appliquéd denim jacket and pants, another pair of jeans and six pretty tops for Princess cost a little over $50. At the supermarket I stocked up on my favourite Bee brand soap at four for a dollar, saffron flowers, vanilla bean pods for a fraction of the price here in Australia, MT toners and cleansers for about a dollar. Discovery Mall was still an eyesore. They were working on the front when we were there. Teams of workers chipped tirelessly at the stone steps ten hours a day, creating congestion and raising dust. If you enter via the beach, the view is appalling: tatty, peeling iron sheets tacked onto lower walls, bits of derelict building. I'd hate to think what an earth tremor would do. Security was tight at Discovery last time, but erratic this time around. Very easy to walk in without having bags checked. There were three main reasons to visit the mall: the Black Canyon Coffee shop, the Johnny Andrean hair salon, and Bread Talk. Once I discovered that I could pop in to Black Canyon any time for an iced tea or coffee, a lime crush, an excellent Thai lunch, or a tuna sandwich, I was there every day. I miss those coffees already! At Johnny Andrean, I had a manicure, pedicure, nail art, foot reflexology and a back massage. The whole shebang took over four hours and cost 145,000 rp. Princess had her hair braided at Discovery too. Although she was determined to remain braid-free this time (she hates being made to sit still for hours, having her hair pulled), Mother Cruel insisted: those few hours of discomfort would ensure hassle-free hair for at least a week. No screams and wails after her shower, as I attempted to wrench the knots from her hair, and no constant cries of ‘plait your daughter hair, mum?' every time we set foot outside the hotel.
After a few days, I took a bunch of Princess's outgrown clothes and picture books, plus a few spectacle frames, to give to the beach folk behind the hotel. Everything was snapped up in seconds. Then came the cries of ‘what about me, mum? What about me?' One cheeky thing insisted that I give her the shoes I was wearing. I told her no, that I needed them myself, but then I assured her I had a few more things, which I'd bring back later. Big mistake. Word spread fast. When I returned I was mobbed. Hands grabbed and snatched from all directions, pulling and pushing and shoving. An overwhelming sensation, and not a particularly pleasant one. When I stepped onto the beach the next day, I heard my name called. There was one girl, proudly wearing Princess's pink Target hat and my outgrown brown pants. She was delighted with her clothes, and I was delighted that she appreciated them.
One afternoon we went to S&S with Anniswan and co. While Princess had her nails done and EH had a tattoo, I met up with Juba-Anne (I do believe she's 21, just like me, and lives in the next suburb - hello, Juba-Anne, let's do dinner soon!), listened to Smudge talk about life after retirement (what a great way to live when you finish working for wages), and bought a copycat watch (which I had no intention of doing, only the ugly piece-of-garbage Terner ‘waterproof' watch, bought at the airport, packed up after a few days, leaving me watch-free).
On our fifth day, my 83 year old dad Clif arrived with a case full of dog shampoo for the Bali Street Dogs. He'd kept his bottle of Jetstar water and successfully washed off the big white X on his suitcase. He sailed through Customs without having to explain what he was doing with the vet supplies. I met him at the airport and took him to Green Garden. They'd given him a room at the far end of the hotel, on the first floor. It was clean, comfortable and certainly spacious enough, but it was Spartan, to say the very least. Very little cupboard space, and a curtained window that looked out onto the balcony. I went out there to check the view. What I saw took my breath away: a brick wall adorned with two sad plants. If you leaned over the rail and peered to the right, ignoring the crick in your neck, you could see a little patch of garden and the very end of the pool. Dad's not one to make a fuss about things, but everybody urged him to ask for a room change, which he did. His next room was at the front of the house, overlooking the street, and what a difference it made. Still nowhere to hang your stuff, mind, but it was light, airy and relaxing, all marble tiles, with a large marble bathroom. No complaints from Clif about Green Garden. He loved their breakfasts, and was delighted when a man popped out of the shadows at GG's entrance one evening and offered him a girl. I do believe he asked the man what he was supposed to do with her (he's a wag, my father! The next day, I told him the facts of life!) Timeshare people rang him on day three (we didn't get a call, as we didn't put BGH on our immigration card). Dad very nearly arranged for us all to go to a presentation - again. That man is Trouble! In June 2005 he dropped us right in it. We'd just scrambled across the road at Kuta Square, to go into Matahari, when we realised Clif was missing. We turned around, and there he was on the other side of the street, talking to a sweet young thing with a clipboard. Horrified, we shouted and waved at him. He and the sweet young thing smiled and waved back in unison. Then they both crossed the road and headed in our direction. ‘Dad', I hissed, ‘it's TIMESHARE'. ‘I know it is,' he replied calmly, ‘but they give us breakfast.' ‘But Dad, you already get breakfast. How many breakfasts do you need each day?' The next morning he ate two: one at Kuta Lagoon, and one at the Peninsula Beach Resort.
So what were the highlights? Eating. Definitely! But then eating is always a big part of the Bali experience for me. I went in search of the perfect soto ayam. I ate it at Waran Batu (BGH's excellent Balinese restaurant), at Nagasaki in Jl Bakungsari, at Febri's and at the nearby Melasti. Melasti won hands down.
One evening we went to Kori for the first time. Gorgeous look and feel, and great food. There are certainly cheaper places to eat, but if you choose carefully, you can keep the cost down. And if you pay with your Amex card, they give you a 15% discount!
Nero Bali is always on our must-visit list. It's a handsome, stylish restaurant with good service and great food. We ordered the large mese plate, which offered little dollops of this and that, and bowls of tasty thingummies. We polished it off quick-smart, along with piles of fresh-baked bread, and found we had no room left for a main course.
One morning we decided to escape the ho-hum breakfast at BGH and headed to La Lucciola for a treat (26 years of going to Bali, and I've never been there before). What a delight! Sitting on the first floor, with a patch of lawn, a beautiful beach and a Hindu ceremony to entertain us, we feasted big time: Lime and lychee granitas, eggs Benedict, hash browns, mushrooms, spinach, avocado slices, toasted pannini filled with gruyere and Parma ham, washed down with a big pot of Toraja coffee. Absolute bliss! Okay, it cost $50 all up, but it was worth every cent. We left via the beach and started to walk off our meal. After quite a distance, I realised that I still had their batik serviette dangling from my waist band (it blended in with my skirt so nicely that I never noticed). I had visions of La L staff saying ‘those bloody tourists will steal anything'. Sorry, guys, I'll return it next time I come over! We walked as far as the Sofitel, where we strolled through their lovely grounds and caught a cab from there.
Gado Gado. Three times a week they offer a set lunch. It's cheap enough, but add two glasses of Chilean wine, a few Bintangs and a couple of soft drinks, and the bill escalates alarmingly. Still, it is wonderful eating on the beach front, watching the surf, and trying to ignore the hawkers waving watches, kites and tattoo books.
Tao (on the beach at the Ramada Benoa). We were taken there to help make up for a major jewellery disaster. Tao has to be one of the best Thai meals I've ever eaten. Their Tom Yum soup is to die for. Course after course of the most delicious food appeared magically in front of us. There was no way we could eat it all - a wicked, wicked waste. Don't ask me what it cost, coz I have no idea.
Warung Sobat. After Forum recommendations, we decided to book. At 6.30 we hailed a taxi outside the BGH. The cabbie assured us that he knew where it was. He lied like a sausage on a plate. After driving round and round in circles, and waiting with the meter running while he asked three separate people, we finally arrived at 8 (the booking was for 7). Fortunately, they'd kept our table. At that stage I was hot and bothered, far more interested in chilled French wine than food. I dithered over their extensive menu for ages, incapable of deciding Eventually, I settled on the chicken in coconut milk stir fry, although I didn't particularly fancy it. One mouthful and I was in gastronomic heaven - my taste buds still dance when I think of it. The bill for four main courses, a bottle of wine, a Coke, a few beers and an arak madu came to 250,000 rp (the wine accounted for over half of that). You can have a three-course Balinese banquet for 35,000 rp.
Seaside. We had terrible trouble finding the place. Due to road works, the driver dropped us off early, leaving us to walk a few ks in unfamiliar territory. We took the very long way round, stopping frequently for directions. New shoes, open drains and severe chafing made the trip painful and hazardous. We've stayed in Legian many times, and have never explored that particular area. And what a pleasant spot it is - lots of interesting restaurants and a great ambience. Seaside features good food, a nice setting, reasonable prices and over-loud music. Our driver on the way home refused to put his meter on. Sure, we could have found another cab, but Dad's feet had packed it in by then, and my thighs were on fire! We paid through the nose to get back to BGH.
The Dynasty dim sim buffet. We're a family of yum cha fans. Dynasty does a buffet every Sunday in their Chinese restaurant. Here you can pig out on dumplings of every shape, size and colour, drink endless cups of Jasmine tea, and leave with stomachs fit to burst.
As a treat on our last evening, we went to Ma Joly. Although we've been there several times now, I'm not sure that we'll go back. The setting is splendid, the meals are skilfully art directed, but overall taste seems to have waned - and my pasta was way too rich. Our bill came to $100+ for four; the meal just wasn't worth it. Our waitress was very attentive until we paid, and then she vanished; we left a much larger tip than we'd planned.
Even with all that eating there was lots of time to shop, and shop I did. I finally made it to Geneva, where I bought incense and knickknacks. I went to Supernova for MT, returned to the Animale outlet for some ritzy outfits and baubles, and visited Jacques Ruc, where I bought NOTHING at all. No trip to Bali is complete without a visit to Jeny 29 shop, in the lane where Bakung's Beach Cottages are, and a nice chat to Amy, Jeny's daughter. We made two trips there, missing Amy both times. A few days before we left, we returned with the best of Princess's books, to leave for Amy's three year old daughter. As we approached the shop, I heard a delighted squeal of recognition. There was Amy, sitting by the roadside. She jumped up and hugged us like old friends. After we'd bought up big (yet again), she presented us with a carved Buddha head for our kitchen window sill, to remind us of Bali.
No problems on the way home, apart from losing the suitcase keys. We'd bought scales to weigh our luggage, including hand luggage, and avoid problems at the Jetstar counter. They didn't even look at our carry-on stuff. We paid our departure tax and did the lounge thing for the first time. Premier is well worth the money (the manager refused to negotiate on price), and substantially softened the blow of leaving. Lots of good food, which was regularly restocked, generous servings of spirits, if you wanted them. The flight left more or less on time - the only problem was getting off the damn plane, as the ramp malfunctioned, leaving us stuck on board for ages.
We came home to a pristine and tidy house. It's now littered with shoes, clothes, cases, bags and trinkets. I'm happy to report that we've had no time for Bali Blues, as the morning after we returned, a new baby was delivered to our door: one delightful eight-week old guide dog puppy called George. I know it won't be long, though, until the Bali itch returns. I'm accumulating FF points like mad, ready to book trip 20. I'd go back next week, if I could.