January 16 - 21. Better late than never, I suppose...
Seminyak turned out to be my favourite part of the holiday. It had everything a holiday should have: beautiful weather for serious pool time; laughter and conversation; great food; excellent accommodation; a bit of shopping here and there; and a few interesting experiences along the way.
I'd booked five nights at the Amadea (another Luxury Escapes deal). This included Deluxe Pool Terrace room, breakfasts, massages, a couple of cocktails, a three-course meal for two, and transfers.
Princess and I arrived about half an hour before my father got in from Melbourne. We were given inter-connecting rooms right opposite the pool bar, and a few steps from the main pool. I love a pool I can have a decent swim in. This one was long and narrow, with water the perfect temperature for endless wallowing.
There's no garden to speak of at Amadea. However, it's not one of those high-rise monstrosities squished onto land the size of a toenail, and there's enough greenery to remind you that you're in Bali. The hotel runs little golf buggies up and down the long driveway 24/7 to ferry the hot and lazy like me or the disabled like Dad. Lovely friendly drivers too, even if they thought Dad was my sugar daddy, rather than my real daddy.
Actually, Dad's not disabled, he's just very old. He turned 90 last year. He's great for his age, but has slowed down considerably in recent years. Walking doesn't come easy any more. Before we left home, I'd suggested that he buy a cheap light-weight wheelchair to use on the holiday, which he could sell once he returned home. Dad rejected that idea, so I hired him a wheelchair instead. I thought this would solve his mobility problems. I thought wrong!
Getting Dad around Seminyak turned out to be an ordeal. The wheelchair itself was old and tired, just like Dad, with a wonky wheel that would scrape against the side of the chair at every rotation, sending the chair off at a tangent. Wheeling him around was very hard work. Although he's 20 kgs lighter than he used to be, Dad's still a big man. He would sit back regally on his mobile throne, while I heaved him up and down all those little slopes that formed part of the sidewalk. Every 20 metres or so, I'd have to stop and take a breather. The weather was VERY hot, and I would get so sweaty that my hands would slip off the handles. I also had to negotiate the decorative tiles now in place on the new Eat Street footpaths. The tiles may have looked pretty, but they tended to stick up above the rest, adding another obstacle to negotiate over or around. I nearly ejected him from the chair on several occasions.
Our first few days involved buying the things Dad forgot to bring with him. He arrived with carry-on luggage only, even though he was flying Garuda Executive with a sizeable luggage allowance. For his ten-night holiday, he'd packed two pairs of pants, four pairs of jocks and four shirts. He left hat, sandals and swimmers at home.
Our first mission was therefore to buy him some something cool to stick on his feet. The next mission was to find a cheap hat without having to go too far. This is when The Princess had two marriage proposals. The first guy was just hoping a good laugh would make us pay ten times more than the hat was worth.
But the next proposal was a doozy. Waiting to catch a cab from Eat Street to Bintang Supermarket, we were approached by a grim-faced dude in mirror sunnies. He reminded me of Walking Boss from ‘Cool Hand Luke': no eyes and no smile - all he lacked was a rifle. But he did have a car, and offered to drive us to the supermarket.
Once we'd negotiated a price, we climbed into his car and sat waiting while he stared long and hard at Princess in his rear-vision mirror. As we drove to Bintang, he asked if she was married. ‘She very beautiful,' he announced. ‘She could marry me and live in Bali. Good life in Bali.'
I asked him how many wives he had. ‘None,' he snapped. He stared some more, with me wishing he would keep his eyes on the road, rather than on my 17 year-old daughter. ‘I like this girl. She Bali-sized girl. I don't like those Big Fat Aussies.'
The Big Fat Aussie in the back seat refrained from hitting her future son-in-law. We were told all about the good life to be had in Bali - just ask Mercedes Corby - and that Princess would love living there. And then, just an afterthought, he added that he could always come and live in Australia instead, if we got him a visa. Oh really? I was wondering how long he'd take to get to that.
When he pulled up outside Bintang, he leaned over the back seat and extended an arm in The Princess's direction. ‘Here, girl,' he said, ‘touch my arm.'
Princess looked as if she'd just swallowed a turd. She bolted from the car as fast as her Bali-sized-girl legs would take her. Mr No-Eyes scowled and shook his head as I paid him. ‘No,' he told me seriously, ‘she not ready for love yet.'
* * *
Amazing how quickly you get into a routine. After our first night at Amadea, the pattern was set. Me up at eight and into the pool. Swim for an hour. Reserve two sun lounges. Breakfast at nine. Straight back to the pool. Lie in sun and read until boiling. Hurl self into water. Chat to other guests. Get out and read some more...
Sometime round 1pm, The Princess would emerge from our room (she's not a sun lover) and give me a meaningful look, which basically meant ‘feed me or I'll chew your arm off.' Dad, having eaten everything on the breakfast buffet, was never hungry for lunch. He'd read by the pool, while Princess and I went in search of good vego food. We didn't have to look far. Right across the road was Earth Cafe, which had an extensive menu full of interesting meat-free meals. I could never go past the tasting platter with tahini, babaganoush, falafels, tabouleh, etc - the small serve was so big that I couldn't fit it all in. The home-made ginger beer was wonderful. On my first visit to Earth Cafe, I spent $70 on essential oils for my burner at home. I also bought a small bottle of frankincense oil to dab on my wrists. I must admit I've not worn it much since I've been home; I love the smell of frankincense, but there's something a bit unsettling about smelling like a religious ceremony.
Sometimes we'd shop in the afternoon, or we'd just hang out in our cool room. Once sunset drinkies had been dispensed with, it was time for dinner. Being right on Eat Street was great, but getting Dad across in his chair was not. And here I should mention the one individual who made it so much easier for us. He was on duty outside Amadea the first evening we ate out, and stopped the traffic for us while we crossed safely. When he saw what a struggle I was having with Dad's wheelchair on the other side of the road, he hurried over and wheeled Dad to Ginger Moon. Every evening after that, he'd keep an eye out for us. ‘Hello, Papa,' he'd call, all smiles, and come on over to help us out. One evening he offered to give Dad a lift to The Bistrot on his scooter. (Now, that WOULD have been something to see!!) Dad graciously declined, and we walked instead. After an excellent meal, just as we were thinking of leaving, the heavens opened and rain came down in sheets. Dad left before us to shuffle back slowly, while Princess and I waited to settle the bill. Our friend had been watching out for Dad, brolly at the ready, to escort him back to Amadea and keep him dry. Then, once Dad was safely home, our friend came back for Princess and me with his umbrella.
‘What a lovely person,' I said to The Princess when we got back to our room, ‘If you're looking for a husband, why don't you marry him?'
She wrinkled up her nose. ‘Ewww.'
‘Well, in that case,' I replied, ‘I think I'll marry him myself.'
All in all, I had a fabulous time in Seminyak. Although I was looking forward to Sanur and a change of scenery, I was really quite sad when it came time for us to move on.