been home nearly three weeks now, and I'm not handling it at all well. I'm bored and restless, with a serious case of the blahs.
I keep thinking of my holiday, how delightful it was... and how I long to enjoy it all over again. Faces and places new and familiar, giggles, cocktails, shopping, and the occasional bizarre surprise to remind me that nothing happens quite the same in Bali as it does at home.
I didn't do anything earth shattering, but I had a damn fine time all the same.
November 14 to 26 was a KISS holiday. The camera and laptop stayed at home with the cat and The Princess - travel docs and cash aside, the only valuable I was prepared to worry about losing or damaging was me! I did, however, take two vital things: my Bali phone, an ancient Nokia, that nobody would ever want to steal, and an aluminium thermos flask that kept water cool when I was out and about, and doubled as a cocktail shaker for sunset drinkies. I packed light, apart from too many books and way too many shoes. This left lots of room for shopping.
My first stop was Sanur, to do nothing at SBV for six nights. And nothing is exactly what I did. It's not that I didn't go out for nearly a week, but I just enjoyed simple pleasures: I moseyed on down to Hardy's for massages and groceries; I drifted along the beach front, watching squealing school children splashing in the shallows; I floated in Ron's pool and talked to the other guests. I even tried Mama Putu's again - very brave of me, since I'd been forced to rename it ‘Mama Two-Poos' after my first visit. Mama Putu's was actually fine, providing you stuck with simple local dishes- the mie goreng was excellent. And who could complain about paying $6 for a cocktail and main? Certainly not me!
I'd never been too keen on Sanur in the past, for various reasons. But this trip I became a convert. Sanur gave me a big dose of the sort of Bali I remember fondly, which is fast disappearing now. The pace of life was so much slower than around Kuta/Legian/Seminyak. Flowering trees lined the roads, rather than litter. Nobody seemed interested in plaiting my hair or selling me timeshare. I was never in danger of being knocked off the footpath by a speeding motorcycle. And I was amazed at how cheap things were there - over my six night stay, I spent about $250; I ate and drank whatever I fancied, whenever I felt like it; I bought provisions, and paid for pampering sessions and taxis.
Ron's place was a first for me, perfect for someone on their own - friendly, comfortable, unpretentious and easygoing. There was always someone to talk to. The garden was lush and colourful. I sat for hours on my veranda, watching squirrels and listening to birds (and motorbikes, dammit!) I loved staying somewhere I didn't have to bother about locking my door when I was in the pool, which was only a few steps away from my room. Guests tended to venture out for short trips, then return to fire up the barbie and natter, or float about in the pool for hours on end.
I tried a few spas in Sanur. C** Spa, near Hardy's, was a nice little find. Clean, cheap and professional, with well trained staff. The only negative was their choice of ambient music. I expected something soothing. Javanese music was always calming: lots of little pipes and gongs and things that went ting. Harp was good too. I could even put up with Enya... for short periods.
But C** had one particular CD they liked to play, which I heard again and again and again: ‘Cheesy Love Songs with Guitar and Piano', aka ‘Music to Gag By'. I heard tunes I'd thought I'd erased from my memory banks years ago. ‘All I Have to Do is Dream' was played numerous times. Remember that gloopy song that goes: ‘Only trouble is, gee-whiz, I'm dreaming my life away'? The tape featured two versions of that very same song, one with lyrics and one without. I heard them both so often I wanted to howl. The only song that could've possibly been worse was Leapy Lee's ‘Little Arrows' - I promised myself that if that ever came on, I was OUT OF THERE, dressed or not!
One afternoon I tried out D'A** Spa, which was walking distance from Ron's. The prices were higher than other places I'd seen, but I liked the look and sound of the place. Soft harp music played in the background. My massage room was tastefully decorated with tub, shower, massage table and shiny new toilet. The toilet was a boon, and I plonked myself on there pronto, before the massage started. Big mistake: the loo was obviously only there to impress visitors... thank goodness I only needed a tinkle!
The ensuing massage was without doubt the worst I've ever experienced. My painfully young masseuse: 1. had never done a massage before or 2. hated her job or 3. hated me, or 4. a combination of 1, 2 and 3. She'd pat a thigh, half-heartedly rub a calf, and stand frozen while the clock ticked. What was she doing? Translating ‘War and Peace' in her head? Sooner or later, she'd start again, only to stop just as quickly. At one point she poked a finger into her open mouth, muttered ‘drink', and rushed from the room. She was gone ten minutes. When she eventually returned, she decided my right pinky toe needed dusting; she spent ages rubbing it feebly, while all my other toes were neglected. She finished well short of the 90 minutes I had booked and would pay for. I wasn't prepared to point this out, as I really didn't want this woeful massage to continue.
On my way out, I spotted a name and phone number left for anybody who cared to complain. I was tempted to call the number and see what happened, but I didn't. No point, really... after all, this was Bali, and it was all part of the Bali experience.
My six nights in Sanur were over all too soon. It was time to move on and revisit the N** in TB.
Before I left, I'd booked four nights at the N** for The Princess and the ex-Evil Half, who were leaving for Bali ten days after I returned. I was not happy: they would get to stay in one of my favourite Bali hotels, and I wouldn't. ‘This is stupid', I muttered to myself at the time. ‘Change your bookings and treat yourself to a couple of nights'. So that's exactly what I did. As soon as the prices came down to a respectable amount that included breakfast, I booked two nights at the N**.
With everything else changing so rapidly in Bali, it was good to see the N** - and TB itself - pretty much the same as when I'd last seen it ten years ago.
The same pineapples topped the N**'s front walls (pineapples?? Gotta love it!) The crossing guard still stopped the traffic for guests, the rooms looked much the same, and you could still help yourself to chilled and hot water from dispensers dotted about the place - a real plus, in my eyes. Perhaps there wasn't as much jungle garden as there used to be, swallowed up no doubt by the bunch of extra luxury rooms and villas added since I'd last visited. But the rooms were still stylish and comfortable, and those wooden balcony chairs were still as stylish and horrendously uncomfortable as ever. (I know now how they've weathered a decade without being replaced - nobody can sit in them for more than two minutes at a time!)
After dumping my bags, I headed down to the beach, to the hotel's beach cafe. The pool area still reminded me of Flintstones meets Shangri La: primitive and lush, all stone slabs and monoliths, with Mayan heads spitting water into the pool.
I sat at a table in the sand at their beach-side restaurant, and looked out across the water. Fishing boats, jet skis and parasailing kept me more than entertained.
Restaurant price weren't too bad. I ordered a special of the day: home-baked focaccia with salami and melted mozzarella. This was to come with French fries and salad. My meal was slow to arrive, and I was more than a little peckish by the time it turned up. I bit into my focaccia with gusto. What the*)!?** I inspected the filling, gob-smacked. For some unfathomable reason, staff had decided to substitute saveloy for salami. Yes, that's right, I was about to eat thick slices of cold frankfurter with strips of unmelted yellow stuff, in a soft, tasteless bun. This was, without doubt, the culinary lowlight of the whole trip. Still, the French fries were good - as was the salad...
That evening, I visited the spa next door to the N**. Good prices, clean and professional setup. The moment I undressed and lay down on the table, on came the music loud and clear: ‘Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream...' I tried my best to relax and enjoy the massage...
After hearing about ‘lips like wine' a gazillion times, I needed a drink something fierce. Across the road from the spa was A*. I'd been on a hunt for the perfect mojito since arriving in Bali, so I tried one of theirs - it was very, very sweet, and didn't come even remotely close to perfection.
Dinner that night was at Bali C* next door. I ordered duck cooked two ways. Good taste, good presentation (not quite Art on a Plate, but not far off), and good prices. The highlight of the meal was the ginger tamarind mojito, which came pretty close to mojito perfection.
The next morning, my appetite and I went to revisit N**'s buffet breakfast. Last time I was there, I spooned out dollops of clafoutis, rice pudding and crème caramel from little bowls. Bliss! (I know, they sound more like dessert than breakfast, but why shouldn't things made essentially of eggs and milk work just as well early in the morning?)
That morning, I looked around hopefully for the baked custardy things. Gone, all gone... Plus, anything that had previously been served in a bowl, like the bircher muesli, was now presented in shot glasses. Food in shot glasses and jars now seems to be the arty way to serve food. Sure, it looks good, but it's often impractical to eat. And if you're a bircher muesli fan, like myself, a shot glass is nowhere near enough. I could have helped myself to six, but I really didn't want to learn the word for ‘pig' in ten different languages.
I tried the bubur, which was good (and didn't come in a shot glass). I left the sushi, sashimi and cold cuts well alone, as they were uncovered and attracting a LOT of fly action. I tried all the blended juices that N** had added to breakfast offerings, like pineapple and coriander (big tick) or tamarind and rice water (yuk).
For the rest of my stay in TB, I just hung out and enjoyed the resort. No massage for me on my second day, as I'd scorched my bod while reading by the pool (I had been sitting under an umbrella, but the sun moved, and I was so immersed in my book that I didn't notice until it was too late). I had a salad at the beach bar for lunch on the second day, and went for a dip in the sea, for the first time in years. I still sigh contentedly when I think of it.
Two-For-One Happy Hour by the pool presented another surprise. The lady bartender informed me that only strawberry mojitos contained alcohol. ‘See,' she said, sticking a menu under my nose. She was quite right - there was no mention of light rum with the regular mojitos. I didn't like to point out that this would surely be an oversight on the hotel's part, and that no hotel would seriously expect a customer to pay 90K++ for a glass of lemon, mint and soda with a dash of syrup. So I ate my crackers and drank two strawberry mojitos, avec alcohol, then went back to C* for dinner. This time I ordered Nasi Campur, which came with lots of tasty little accompaniments. The man at the gate welcomed me back like a long lost friend.
After eight nights of lazy bliss, it was time to get a wriggle on. My list of to-do's awaited me in Legian/Seminyak, along with the associated traffic, noise, grime and litter that comes with the territory. On the agenda were homewares to compliment my apartment's spiffy new colour scheme, several handbags, more caftan thingies, new bedside lamps, and a list of old and new restaurants to try. I also planned to catch up with a friend who'd sold up and moved to Bali a while back.
I had discovered the joys of the Jl 66 area a few years ago, and I've been spending time around there ever since. I stayed at another of my favourite hotels in Jl Werkudara. It's not on a par with the N**, but it's clean, comfortable and great value for money. It's a simple hotel, not a resort. There's no swim-up disco and daily noodle-riding lessons. No Happy Hour, themed buffets, Arak Attacks by the keg, or dolphin petting in the pool. Business and budget travellers stay there. Rooms are spacious, and the grounds are well tended and pretty. Strangers smile at each other and say hello - sometimes they even start up a conversation. I LIKE the place!
The lady at reception topped up my simcard for me, then I left my dirty washing at the laundry across the road. I dropped into Waroeng Asia for lunch. Steering clear of the dish that made me sick last January, I ordered iced tea and my favourite tom ka gai instead. The soup could've been a good deal spicier, but then I could just as easily have asked them for some decent sambal to heat it up.
Then it was time to start shopping. I jumped in a cab and headed for G**, via the moneychanger at Bintang. There I met Mr H**, who thrust a card into my hand as I leapt out of the cab. Lucky for both of us that new specs were on my shopping list.
Geneva was as hot and dusty as ever. I bought new placemats (the nice smelly sandalwood ones), soap, incense, and not one cushion cover (on my list). As I wandered down the aisles, two lampshades jumped out at me and shouted, ‘buy me now'... so I did. I LOOOOOVE those lampshades. At 100k each, they're cylinders the colour and consistency of toffee, dotted with shell circles in various sizes and colours. Brittle as anything, I had to double-bubble wrap them and nurse them home in my hand luggage. I've since bought two lamp stands from Ikea, and put the new lamps on my bedside tables. Providing the cat doesn't knock them over and break them, they will remain one of my favourite Bali treasures for years to come.
So in my last few precious days, I ticked off a few things on my to-do list and left a few on my yet-to-do-list.
Unfortunately, I never got to eat at Mama San: I went there for Sunday lunch, and they were closed. I had high tea at B** instead.
I bought three new pairs of specs from Mr H** for 2.5 million, ordered and supplied within 24 hours. Very, very pleased with my new specs, I am - one's a pair of prescription sunnies.
I bought eight new caftan thingies at wholesale prices from a shop in Jl 66. I had been talking to my neighbours, two Greek women on a buying trip. When I told them what shops were asking in the area for caftans, they looked horrified: ‘But that's TOO MUCH. Tomorrow we take you to our place!' And so they did.
One evening I went for drinks at Frank's bar on Legian beach. Such a wonderful feeling of freedom and elation, watching the sun set and life wind down for the day. I don't drink beer, so I added Bacardi to my thermos to take with me, and bought mixers to add.
I'd missed out on doing brunch at St R* again, as well as trying M'san*, so I was still hankering for Art on a Plate. I decided to do dinner at P* (name associated with an oyster) on my last Saturday. All I can say is that it's time P* either changed their menu or offered specials. I loved my meal last time. But this time my dish lacked taste, the overall meal was under-seasoned; the accompanying spuds came in a jar(!?!) which made getting the contents out with a fork very tricky indeed; and the chocolate trio I ordered for dessert was a big disappointment. I was sorry I hadn't chosen something else instead.
But the overall evening was lovely: I was half way through my meal, when two women at the next table asked me if I wanted to join them. Being on my own, I was delighted at the offer of company.
On my last day, I lashed out on a lovely red leather handbag and matching wallet from the swanky leather shop in Jl 66. I can't remember the name of the shop, but it's easy enough to find - it looks, and IS, expensive (for Bali).
While in Legian, I also had the massage to end all massages. I'd been traipsing around Galleria one afternoon, when my feet and legs gave out on me. They were screaming for attention. I hobbled into one of the small Eden Greens across from KP, the one on the left, as you have your back to KP, and bellowed, ‘my feet hurt - HEEELP!' Staff giggled and put me into the capable hands of Citra, a lady from Sumatara.
Citra knew her stuff. She worked with a skill, diligence and professionalism that I hadn't often seen in Bali. When she'd finished one leg, she looked up at me. ‘How's that?' she asked.‘My leg is in heaven,' I proclaimed. She grinned and went to work on the other one.
I was in an altered state after that massage. My feet and legs were pain free. I floated back to my veranda to mix a drink, then sat back, watching the fairy lights in the palm trees, an idiotic grin plastered over my face. I so wished I could have taken Citra home in my suitcase!
All too soon it was time to go home. On the day I was due to leave, I kept my room for another half day, just for comfort's sake. I left for the airport early and checked in my luggage. Then, to finish my holiday on just the right note, I paid $25 to use the Premier Lounge. Good food, good service, and plenty of space to relax.
The flight home was uneventful, my lamps arrived back in Melbourne in once piece, I didn't have anything confiscated (or get yelled at for bringing in a few too many kreteks).
All in all, I had a wonderful time, and hopefully before too long, I can do it all over again. I'm just waiting for the next super-duper airfare to be published.
In the meantime, I'll just ‘Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream...'
I'm leaving my email addy open, just in case you have any questions - there's heaps I haven't written about here, and I'm also having problems posting this with names. Also, if you're interested in doing a girlie trip, hopefully around June (even if you're a bloke wanting to do a girlie trip, no probs), let me know. The Gilis are also on my must-do list.
Christmas Cheers to all!
Meredith