One poor meal choice had stolen a whole Thursday from my holidays - I had plans for that Thursday too!
Once I was back on my feet, and able to face food again, our Week of the Big Eat began. It wasn't officially planned as such, but that's what it turned out to be.
I'd discussed possible activities with both Dad and The Princess before we left. We had lots of options. But ultimately, three generations of varying interests and physical capabilities to take into account limited choice substantially. Dad always liked to be doing stuff, but he wouldn't swim and couldn't walk far. Horse riding, bungee jumping and mountain climbing were all out for him (thank goodness). The Princess and I were both born to shop, but Dad had already bought his two shirts; he was therefore not remotely interested in buying anything else. Me? I would've killed to have had an Untidy Night, filled with cocktails and laughter and ribald jokes, but this was not an activity to share with my daughter or my father.
The one common interest we had was in food.
‘I'm not putting up with any more of your nonsense about what you will and won't eat,' I told The Princess. ‘Do your research and make up a list of places you fancy. Then we'll choose.'
She likes good nosh, our Princess. No chips and coleslaw for her; she went straight for the top shelf. Her list included Sarong, Chandi, Tulip, Jemme, Pantarei, and breakfast at La Lucciola. I approved her list and added a few choices of my own. Dad didn't get a say. Not because The Princess and I were being mean spirited, but because my father would eat just about anything put in front of him. Including his own cooking.
Our first stop that Friday was Biku, where EVERYBODY goes for High Tea. Everybody was there that afternoon, too, and we nearly didn't get a table. After much deliberating, Dad and I opted for the Asian High Tea. ‘I'm not eating cake for lunch,' announced The Princess, promptly ordering a salad.
While she tucked into pumpkin and couscous, Dad and I sat back and stuffed ourselves silly. Samosas (a bit bland), little chicken tarts, rice paper rolls, home-made date scones with jam, flourless orange cake in syrup, coconut-filled pancakes, curried-egg sandwiches, and other bits and bobs - all washed down with large glasses of iced lemon tea. Those curried-egg sangers were sensational. (OMG, I can't believe I just raved about a curried egg sandwich!)
I loved Biku. Great atmosphere, eclectic music, lots of interesting things to see and eat and buy. We ate our High Tea from deco crockery adorned with gold etched palms. All around us were knickknacks for sale: cake stands and teapots and bronze dragons and buddhas. I fell instantly in love with a series of bronze figurines: rotund women wearing coloured leotards, doing their yoga. I bought one of the larger figurines in lotus position - a birthday gift for a friend. Then I did something really stupid: I stopped myself from buying the one I liked best for myself. ‘She'll only be something else to dust,' I told myself, and put her back. She was a lovely pigtailed lady balancing on her hands, legs jutting out in front of her. I'm now kicking myself for not buying her when I had the chance.
Once we had returned to the hotel, I deserted the family and disappeared for a few hours. A bit of me time. Nobody to whinge at me, and nobody to look after. There were pressing matters to attend to: 1. Get a quote on having an overcoat made, 2. Drop in a pile of trousers for repairs, 3. Drop in my Smart Black Frock for ironing, and 4. Get my legs waxed.
First came the coat quote. I'd seen a tailor on Jl 66 whose tailoring looked good, so I wandered on in and explained what I wanted. Oh yes, they could help me. My coat would cost 1.8 million. Fully lined, of course. After they'd revived me, they dropped the price to 1.5 million. I was so choked up by their generosity that I had to leave immediately, before they could see the tears in my eyes.
I walked on down to the small tailor shop on Jl Werkudera, the one sort of opposite Kumala Hotel. They'd done my clothing alterations before for a good price. This time, four zip replacements and a pair of jeans to be shortened would cost me 100,000k. I wasn't about to argue. I took a look around the shop, inspecting seams and collars, more than happy with the quality of the workmanship. How much for a long woollen overcoat? 650,000rp? Done! I selected fabric and style, paid a deposit, and went away feeling very pleased with myself.
After dropping off my dress to be ironed, there was only one thing left to do: get my legs waxed. The closest salon was next door to Waroeng Asia. ‘No waxing today because boss not here,' one of the girls explained. ‘You take massage now and come back tomorrow to see my boss.' The legs would have to remain hairy for one more day.
When I got back to Pearl, Princess was in my face. ‘Where have you been? I'm HUNGRY! Where are we going for dinner?'
‘Dinner? But we've just had a big afternoon tea.'
‘No, you and Grandpa had a big afternoon tea,' she pointed out indignantly. ‘I only had salad.'
I sighed. My dream of G&Ts on the veranda, accompanied by a good book, vanished. Oh well, at least going out to dinner would give us all a warm family activity for the evening. ‘Where do you suggest?' I asked her.
‘Sarong.'
Sarong? Oh hell; I wasn't even sure I had enough cash.
We made it to Sarong that evening, but we didn't eat there - all booked out. Instead we found ourselves at Waroeng Bonita, just up the road. A fairly ordinary meal was enhanced by ‘Baliwood Night', lots of high-stepping show girls and boys miming to Gloria Gaynor. Not quite what we were expecting, but it was a bit of fun.
We stayed and watched the spectacle until the rain arrived and sent us home early for a good night's sleep.