Bali Part 5 - Ubud with Bali Belly

At 2am in our glorious hotel Griyan in Sanur, poor J had an attack of the runs, which persisted until our 10am pick up. We had booked Made again (from luckybalidrivier.com – highly recommended by A&M on their few previous Bali trips and also now by us) to take us to our hotel in Ubud with sightseeing along the way. However, poor J was in no state to do anything but breathe easy and hope to make it to Ubud without ‘incident’. Made was very understanding and happy to drive us directly there, giving us good information about the various areas and villages we passed through along the way. I sat in the back of Made’s lovely air-conditioned van, moving from window to window like an excited puppy trying to see all the sights bombarding me as we drove through each town. All those carvings, and silver, and kites, and paintings... Oh, poor J – I wished we could have stopped an explored. Instead, we were at Alam Indah in less than 45 mins in medium traffic (which was significantly worse as we got closer to Ubud with many large busses semi-blocking the narrow roads).

I instantly fell in love with Alam Indah, and Ubud. Somehow, I had a sense of being there before – in a homely, comfortable way. We had the hibiscus room and poor J was up the stairs and lying on the bed a minute after check in. I set about walking around Alam Indah’s lush garden and pathways. A major bummer was that there was maintenance underway on their pool (they emailed us so we knew), but we could use the pool at the other Alam properties if we wanted. That part was great, but that angle grinder went on and on all afternoon. But it wasn’t enough to ruin our stay.

Leaving J dozing and close to a bathroom, I took myself for a walk down the road (the opposite direction of the monkey forest) to explore. The small road has a number of wood carvers, textiles and little shops to browse through. But what I loved the most was just the feeling of being in a Balinese village, with all the locals’ compounds, mossy fences, Ganesh statues watching out from open gateways, broody chickens with little flocks of chicks scratching around the roadside, dozens of motorbikes running to and fro, and smiling faces everywhere. I took my time wondering along to the end. I wish I had gone further, as, when we were leaving, we took a right at the intersection where there was a gorgeous little bridge over the Campung (?) river gorge with tall palms standing over the leafy green jungle. Further on were a number of wood carvers with a huge variety of wares on display. But I was too concerned about poor J and wanted to get back and check he was still OK.

So the afternoon was spent on the hibiscus room’s balcony day bed with a book, looking up every few minutes to watch the lizards climbing up and down the trees out front chasing insects, or looking down to see monkeys playing the trees below. J slept and by evening was much better. I was starving and checked whether he was up for going to dinner. Laka Leke is almost directly across from Alam Indah and I crossed my fingers he was OK to go. In addition, Mr A & mrs M were already in Ubud (staying at the Cendana which they really liked) and I thought they may like to come see the local dancing there with us. Mr J confirmed he was OK (but would probably only eat steamed rice) but was keen to get out of the room.

The dance at Laka Leke was advertised to start at 7pm, but it was actually 8 when it commenced. We arrived about 6 and SMS’ed A&M to tell them to come along. When we asked the staff to help us give directions to A&M to get there, the staff at Laka Leke offered to pick them up and bring them to us, which was great! Before long, Mrs M and I were getting into some wine, Mr A was joking with poor J over a Bintang, and we were exchanging stories and enjoying a delicious meal. That night, the children performed the ‘Joged’ dance. It is different from the other dances commonly seen, as it’s not a ceremonial, temple dance, but one specifically for entertaining guests. There were a few little dances by the groups of gorgeous kids, with a rabbit dance, a butterfly dance and a wonderful ‘baris’ dance, which a solo (awesome) little boy depicts the feelings of a young warrior prior to battle that we all really loved (this line lifted from wikipediea as I wasn’t 100% sure what that little dude was looking so fearsome about), and the joged dance itself. During the joged dance, the dancers invite members of the audience up. Young B was first to be dragged up, followed by both A&M – it was a real highlight watching them. Poor J stuck with plain rice and was ready to get back to bed soon after the performance ended. So we bid our goodbyes as A&M with young B were taken back by the Laka Leke staff to their hotel, and we walked back to our gorgeous hide-w-way hotel.

Then it all went pear shaped... I don’t know what time it was, but the pain started in total darkness. At first, it was a few cramps that subsided quickly. Over the next few hours, they escalated to being like child-birth, leaving me moaning and writhing in pain, tearing at the sheets. Poor Mr J still wasn’t 100% and now had me to deal with (let me state for the record, I am not a good patient – I may have a high pain threshold, but a low inconvenience threshold). Strangely enough, between attacks of the cramps, I was kindof ‘OK’ but weak. By morning, I tried to fight on and tried to have breakfast when the sun came up. Bad move. I couldn’t stomach more than a few mouthfuls of coffee and a bite of toast. I crawled back to the room and deteriorated. Mr J took off for the main street to see if he could find a chemist to buy something to help me. By the time he came back with a box of ??? (showing a picture of a stomach with nothing in English) I wasn’t able to keep even a sip of water down. After another urgent trip to the bathroom and pain wracked crawl back to bed, J went to reception and asked for a doctor to be called.

The ambulance arrived within 20 minutes and a kind and patient doctor with his nurse had an IV in my arm in minutes, filled with anti nausea & anti cramp meds, as well as glucose and a dose of antibiotics. They took a sample to test and promised to be back in a few hours. I felt better within 30 minutes, and rested until the kind doctor returned with news of e-coli poisoning and a bag of medicines to keep me comfortable and feeling better. You could not get this kind of service anywhere in Australia (or in fact a home visit by a GP – let along personally delivered test results and prescriptions). And the bill for these services you ask.... about 1,600,000 rupiah (translated to $180 AUD) total. We didn’t have that much cash with us, so they took J to the clinic to their EFTPOS machine and delivered him back at no charge. We were thoroughly impressed with the service and made comment on how better off you were getting sick in Bali compared to home, where we frequently can’t even get a doctor’s appointment on the same day.

So that was Ubud. I was frustrated. Not only because I’d done next to no shopping, but because Ubud was probably the place I thought I’d love the most. I had plans to see the temples, the terraced rice fields, possibly a trip to the Batur area, and take 1000’s of photos of what I was sure to be the most wonderful scenery. Instead, I took photos of the roof of the hibiscus room and the end of the bed looking out the window. J did make some fun of me (as I would have of him) and laughed that at least he got to do nothing and relax because of my incapacitation, instead of running around trying to see 100 things in a day like my usual crazy pace.

By evening, I’d recovered enough (and was completely stir crazy) to stroll through the monkey forest, have a little shopping stroll up Monkey Forest road, and a few mouthfuls of brown rice at Cafe Wayan. Having read all the daunting reports about the monkey forest, I was apprehensive. J told me that his walk through earlier than morning had been nice enough and the monkey were not an issue. He was mostly right. We did see silly other tourists with bottles and plastic bags that the monkeys stole. I mean, come on, the signs are everywhere warning you not to take these items in. I had some baggy pants on and down near the bridge and water fall I was ‘patted down’ by a mature monkey to see if I had anything. We wondered around at a very slow pace (I was only at maybe 50% by now – but had to see it) and I really liked it. I didn’t have my ‘real’ camera with me and my ‘toy’ camera didn’t do any justice to the beauty of this place, or its inhabitants. There was a great photo opportunity around every bend – those moss covered statues, the old logs fallen over the stream, the temples, the bridges, the tall trees blocking out the blistering late afternoon sun (and heat). Everywhere I looked I saw a masterpiece framed with a live compliment of long tailed macaques. Those babies are sooooo cute – and mischief in the making!

Out the other end of the forest we came to MK road. I wasn’t expecting to go far as I heard that there was a hill. With my energy level so low, and only propped up by electrolyte replacement drinks (and I have to recommend ‘pocari sweat’ which you can buy from all the convenience stores ready made up, or as a powder to add to water – it works well and perfect regardless if you have Bali belly or not just for shear energy in the hot humid Bali climate).

So I dragged myself (and poor J) through many of the stores and stalls along the road, ending at the market. It was almost closing time and a few stall-holders were packing away their wares. My big Ubud purchase was a patchwork bedspread containing lots of different triangles of Bali fabrics. I made the poor stall holder work for it – asking to see many of the neatly folded packages. I like blue and most of them were either very red or brown. I settled on a maroon blue one with a creamy white boarder. 780 was the first offer, already discounted I was well informed. 400. Laughter and something I couldn’t understand. I laughed along. ‘This one good one – hand made – look at all work – nice colour, 650.’ 450. 600, 500. Much smiling and laughter. 600 is good price. Sorry, 500 and I walk away looking at the stalls over the way with patchwork goods.... OK OK 500. Deal. I still don’t know whether it was a good price in the scheme of things, but I was happy. I bought a few little carved items for gift for back home, bargaining only a little. Many more stalls were now packed up or closed. We were heading home tomorrow so I didn’t have any other opportunity.

A few more soaps and little gifts bought at one of the fixed prices stores back down the hill of MK road and we had to stop. Cafe Wayan (owned by the Alam group) was on my must do list. The surrounds were worth it alone – so gorgeous! Water falling all around us and a choice of different tables; from sit up regular western style, to on the floor on cushions, to little ‘bungalows’ down the back. Just gorgeous, And so were the staff. Pity food was still my enemy so I ordered gado-gado and ate all the ‘bland’ ingredients. J had an awesome dinner of a local noodle dish.

After picking up a few necessities across the road at a convenience store (pocari sweat, dry biscuits and more water), we got a free lift back to Alam Indah. It was maybe 7pm, but I felt like an old towel that had been put through the fast spin cycle one too many times. Sleep came quick and uninterrupted (thanks to buscopan ).

Our airport transfer pickup time was 11am. That gave us an hour after wake-up, breakfast, showers, and packing to have a last wonder and look at Ubud. That hour melted away, but in which time we found a local guy called Ali (can’t remember his name for sure now) whose shop had distinctly different paintings from most of the others we’d seen. If you turn right when you come out of the monkey forest instead of going up the main MK road, you’ll find him maybe 75 metres down on the same side as the forest (Tuban Art is the name on the business card).

The paintings are done by his wife and father-in-law using traditional designs depicting scenes from Hindu stories. They were each unique. Some using acrylic paint, others using paints made from corals and rocks hand-ground to form the colours. We would have loved to purchase one of the huge canvases, but instead bought a medium sized canvas with a picture of Krishna wielding a chakra weapon on the back of a garuda. It’s stunning. Ali took it off the wood frame and rolled it for our trip home, chatting to us about his business and family the whole time. He told us he was a wood carver, but his wife and father-in-law were painters that were sick of painting the same old pictures that all the tourists buy. They wanted to do something different and more traditional. So they opened their store, which had only been open a week before we arrived. When I walked In, Ali had apologised that he was going to make offerings so was going to away for a few minutes. But as it turned out, we kept him from offerings by asking too many questions, and when we left, Ali was looking forward to making his offerings as well as give thanks for his first sale of the day. He was a great character, and I can say that the paintings in his stall were completely different from all the others we’d seen in Ubud (which admittedly wasn’t many due to the limited exploration that we had done).

With tears welling in my eyes, J settled the bill, that included the airport transfer, and our driver put our bags into the rear of the van, and we were heading home. I took my last photo of the Ganesh statue adorned with garlands of chrysanthemums around his neck in the driveway, and we were gone. Through all those artists’ villages. All the incensed alters; the spluttering scooters; the fragrant nasi goreng, the garden-covered walls, the chickens, the dogs, the people and the smiles. We were leaving before we even got there. When we saw that great big white statue in the middle of the road not far from the airport, I turned to J, and he knew.... we had to come back. We say that about most of the places we’ve been to. But this time we mean it... - k

Bali Part 4 - Sanur with 3 swimming pools

We awoke to our last morning on Lembongan to a misty mountain over the Bali straight. The water was as flat as a mill pond, the sun fighting to get up to full speed, burning off the night fog, with Mt Agung looking like a scene from a movie.

Scoot boat had confirmed a pick-up at 9:45 for the 10:30 shuttle back to Sanur. We had our last breakfast with our feet in the sand. J had the local nasi goreng which was good – I stuck to my toast (with that awful sweet bread) and fruit. If I had the time again I would have had an extra day there (not hot water and all). I felt there was more of the island to explore and I would have loved to gone snorkelling... oh well.

We bid farewell to Lembongan and loaded onto the Scoot boat on time. Strangely, the passengers on our boat were the same as the passengers on our way there two days ago. So we chatted briefly about our stays. They had been staying with a friend who had his own private villas on Lembongan the next little bay around from Dream beach. When were on the little minivan being picked up, we were lucky enough to peek in and it was heavenly! The view was to die for with cliffs surrounding a private, white sandy beach. The owner mentioned he may be opening it up for private rental sometime next year. He said to watch the Lembongan villas web site...

On the other end of our smooth 30 min ride over to Sanur, we were quickly dropped to Griyan Santrian by the efficient Scoot boat driver. And wow! To get to the lobby, you walk through a gorgeous Balinese garden with statues, carved doorways, lily ponds and offering alters. Check-in was swift and we were informed we’d been upgraded to a suite. Sweet! We were given a little Santrian passport containing info and discounts for all the Santrian properties, as well as free drink vouchers. Nice!

The porter led us through more lush gardens to the hotel block right on the beach, next to the pool. It was a huge room with sitting area and four-post bed. It is available as a family unit with another bedroom upstairs, but as we were only a couple that was blocked off. Mr J gave the porter a small tip and we set about exploring to hotel. There are a number of different wings, with 3 separate swimming pools. The beach had a number of different lounge areas and sunloungers, with the main pool overlooking the Sanur sands. We were very happy with our choice.

Lunch was on the agenda and after ruling out the hotel’s two restaurants, we walked left on the beach path and only got as far as next door to Batu Bata. I had a seriously delicious roast veggie foccacia with feta and pesto, and J had a great steak sandwich. After eating, we walked a little further along to acquaint ourselves with the area before heading back to Griyan. The Sanur beach path is wonderful. Lots of shade with the beautiful sea and sea breezes making it very comfortable to have a decent stroll without melting. We caught a lot of ‘Massage? Manicure? Look in my shop’, but I smiled friendlily and politely refused. I enjoyed the little chit chat when it wasn’t too intrusive. Without all the hawkers, that beach walk would have to be up there as one of the best in the world. The rest of the afternoon was spent either in the pool(s) or on the pouch reading and relaxing.

That evening, we had arranged to meet our friends Mr A & Mrs M and young B at La Taverna. Mr A had proposed to Mrs M 20 years ago poolside at La Taverna so we decided to meet so they could show us the spot where it all happened. They also recommended the food and were keen to hear about Lembongan. They were going a few days after us and wanted our tips. Around 5, we slipped into a couple of cocktails before heading off to meet our good friends. Oh, and an hour before that, the most wonderful warm shower after the cold ones at Lembongan, much to poor J’s delight...

Over bintangs and bruscheta, we told our Lembongan stories and had a good old catch up. The meal was delicious as promised. Mr J had a Bali tasting plate with many different small dishes and I had a very yummy veggie calzone. We were all very happy with our meals, but the restaurant was pretty empty. A few hours later, we walked back to Griyan to show our friends our wonderful lodgings, where they caught a taxi back to Legian. Mr J and I headed beachside to their bar for another drink. Once again, I tried a local wine, and like my first one on Lembong, I was surprised by how it wasn’t as bad as what everyone had said – sure nothing like a crisp aussie sav. blanc but totally drinkable for the equivalent of $6.

The next morning, I slept in (OMG until 8am) due to the very comfy bed and quietness of the hotel. A leisurely breakfast in the glorious morning sunshine shining in over the sea onto our table followed. The air was moist with the on shore breeze but already warm. The plan was there was no plan – except checking out Sanur. Consulting the map, we decided on turning right up the main street out front of the hotel. Less than 100 metres up was a cafe called something like ‘the glasshouse’, with a sign stating ‘number 1 coffee in Bali as voted by TA’. How could we not go in. (BTW do we TA’ers vote on these things? Maybe I don’t read those emails....). The couple beside us were served their cappuccinos as we sat down, which looked fantastic! Mr J is a bit of a coffee drinker so was excited by the prospect of a decent coffee – the ‘Bali’ coffee was not his favourite. He ordered a large latte which was better than ‘Bali’ coffee, but wasn’t half as good as Mugshots, so he wasn’t impressed. My lemon juice on the other had was sensational –freshly squeezed and just perfectly refreshing.

Onwards up the road. Many stalls and shops were closed (it was after all barely 11am). We passed many restaurants and warangs so noted to come back in the evening for dinner. I browsed through a few stalls but nothing much took my fancy. The only thing we bought was one of the collapsible wooden baskets with the little handle. Ingenious invention these things. From a cute bowl with spiralling wooden layers to totally flat in one second, we liked them – practical and functional... So a quick lap up to the end where McDs is and back to Griyan in about an hour. By now, the sun had well and truly woken up and we were hot and sweaty from the dusty sunbaked sidewalks.

Ok, let’s go the other way now (I also had an ulterior motive of having lunch at the cat & fiddle). Again, lots of window shopping and browsing through most of the stores. But you know, I just wasn’t in the mood for shopping (weird). Not far from the Hyatt, there is a decent size supermarket (can’t remember its name), and we grabbed some cold drinks. On my list (based on tips from the regulars on TA) were the Bali soaps and the satay blocks, both of which I bought here, as well as a single decent quality ‘bintang’ stubby holder (not those fall-a-part six pack ones) and fridge magnets (you should see my fridge – apparently it’s got a white door but I haven’t seen it for a while - it is 100% covered with magnets like a patchwork quilt from all the places I’ve been local and abroad).

After taking a wrong turn at the bottom end of Sanur, we made it to the Cat & Fiddle and found ourselves to be the only customers in there. In fact, the whole time we were in Sanur, many of the shops and restaurants seemed very empty. This was the last week of April, mid week, and Australian school holidays were over – maybe this was why? Not sure. But the food at the Cat & Fiddle was worth the hot trek. The hard part was making a decision from the huge and extensive menu. I settled on satay tofu sticks, and Mr J had pork pies. Both meals were excellent! Still not in the mood for shopping, we strolled all the way back along the beach path, thoroughly enjoying the view, sights, smells and sounds of Sanur. Definitely will be back one day... Tired from the long walk, I jumped into the beach pool, leaving J read and relax, followed by another one of those wonderful, hot showers.

We had decided on walking left from the hotel and first checked out the restaurants along the beach. Funnily enough, there didn’t seem too many veggie options (with all that fresh seafood you can understand why). So we dived through one of the little alleys to the main road. It was significantly more lively than when we walked there earlier that morning. Before long, we came upon ‘Randy’s’ dinner. Randy’s mother was Canadian, and father was from Bali. He had learned to cook both of their favourite recipes and opened his own diner with a menu containing a selection of both cuisines. The wait staff were very friendly and our meals were tasty and so cheap! Definitely worth a look if you’re in the area – its 100 metres down from where the night market is on a little bend in the road. After a little more browsing at the stalls and market we headed back to Griyan for a night cap and sleep. We had a 10am transfer to our last two nights in Ubud and wanted to get a good rest... - k

Bali Part 3 – Nusa Lembongan with no hot water

Leaving our best friends in Legian after a dubious breakfast, Mr J and I head to our villa as the roll-a-doors are being lifted and shops start to come to life on the main road. Stall holders sweeping dust, leaves and rubbish into the gutter, locals’ young children protesting being made to eat breakfast and behave, and that sweet smell of incense as the morning offerings are placed on the family alters. It was in these surrounds that I made my first purchase in Bali... a drink holder. ‘A What?’ you say. Not a stubby holder.... a little drink holder. It’s a woven or knitted or macramé bag-like invention that you can sling over your shoulder with a little ‘pouch’ the exact size of a 600ml drink bottle that sits at the hip. Practical and awesome. I must admit I didn’t bargain too hard. The asking price was 50, and I got it for 40.

Scoot boat includes a pick-up and drop off service and they called the day before to confirm our pick-up time of 9:45. They were prompt and we were packed and ready. Mr A & MrsM and young B arrived back at our villas in time to say ‘see you in a few days’ and we were off in the light morning traffic.

The van parked at what appeared to be a public car park near the north end of Sanur beach. A narrow side alley provided the way to the beach where our boat was waiting. The staff checked us in, giving us a little snack pack containing a croissant and a fruit bread along with a bottle of water (straight into my new holder). Our packs were carried on and we walked into ankle deep, warm water to step onto the boat. The boat was one of the small Scoots that carried 10 people. We were on our way in minutes (even 15 mins early due to the other passengers also being prompt). The trip over the straight was pretty smooth and within 30 mins we were back in ankle deep warm water to walk up the beach to the boat office on Lembongan.

Coconut beach is a long stretch of yellow/white sand to the north, with a cove to the southern end, with side-by-side resorts and villas on the side of a steep hill. Below them, a small cliff with rocky outcrops rounded out the bay. Our van (actually a mini-truck with seats installed where the tray would be) whisked us away to Mushroom Bay within minutes. The trip took maybe 10 minutes through some local jungle and a few hills. The road abruptly ended at the beach. The driver carried one bag and Mr J had to carry the other, down the beach path, over the soft sand, 100 metres to Lumbug Bali Huts.

The view was stunning: turquoise clear blue water, Mount Agung looming over the water with clouds obscuring its peak, colourful Balinese outrigger boats tied up near shore, and small overhang crags at either end of the bay. The little walk to our huts was a little strenuous in so far as the sand was really soft and deep, and the sun was blazing down. The staff at Lumbug welcomed us with cold fruit drinks and showed us to our room, which was 3 metres over the sandy path. There was one sour note, about 20 day trippers noisily drinking cocktails and Bintangs, occupying every sunlonger directly in front of our hut. It was a sign for us to drop our bags and go for a walk.

We had lunch at Mushroom or Lembongan beach cafe consisting of a couple of good club sandwiches with fries and Bintangs. A good sea breeze blew directly in from the sea making the temperature and humidity far more bearable. We took our time enjoying the relaxing view and watching the boats come and go. Making sure the day trippers were on their way before we went back, we took a slow stroll along the beach, through the Mushroom Beach Bungalows to the road behind, to check out the local store and dive centre. The dive instructor informed us we couldn’t dive the following day as they were booked out. That was fine for us – it was a last minute idea. Poor Mr J (again), we had walked off for lunch bare foot, not expecting to walk far. But the walk to the shops was over some pretty crumbly bitumen with lots of sharp little stones – not to mention how hot the parts of the surface were that were in the sun. Due to me being a ‘walking freak’, often walking bare foot on sand or road, the soles of my feet are like asbestos so no problems for me. Mr J hobbled along behind me, relieved once we returned back to the sandy beach. When his feet hit the water, I’m sure there was an audible ‘ssssssss’ as their surface temperature quickly reduced.

Before dinner, we took a stroll through the other resorts. Mr A & Mrs M were due to stay at Lumbug huts a week after us, and we knew they wouldn’t be happy. The huts are gorgeous looking and our bed was very comfortable. But the bathroom was below par. No hot water would be too much for Mrs M and young B, not to mention how cramped the huts are. For Mr J and I it was fine (or sort of fine – Mr J wasn’t keen on the cold showers). We particularly liked Lembongan Island resort and explored all the little paths and look-out platforms.

The evening ended with a nice dinner at Lumbug; Mr J having the special green rice with pork which was a fusion of Japanese and Indonesian flavours; me having the grilled veggie kababs on rice – both with a few more bintangs. A real blow had come on over the water and we actually were ‘cold’. The whole island lost power that evening. All the resorts have their own generators, so they were fired up quickly. Unfortunately, Lumbug’s kept cutting in and out, plunging us into darkness a number of times over dinner. We took that as a sign to have a last drink and early night.

Day 2. After a quick and simple breakfast we took a quick snorkel at the far end of Mushroom beach. There was next to no coral, but a good amount of colourful fish, including a pair of large garfish hunting amongst the seaweed. Cold shower later, we were shown to the scooter we’d hired for the day (70,000.) ‘This one go, this one stop, ignition here, have fun’. Simple yeah? Well true it was. With map in hand, I jump on behind mr J and off we went. The plan was to head to the main town for a look around (Mr J had left his cap in Made’s van when we did our day trip to Tanah Lot), so we needed to buy a replacement. Otherwise, poor Mr J would have a red scalp and be none too happy.

From what we saw on our way to Mushroom beach from town, and after consulting the map, we just road up, followed the road, and we’d be there in a few minutes. Mr J was doing great driving around and the scenery on the road looked familiar. A few more minutes down the road, I was wondering whether we had missed a turn. When we hit another small town and saw a different beach, I knew we had gone the wrong way or something. A few minutes later, the scenery was very familiar – there’s that temple on the corner, the store, the bike hire stand, and then the dive place – we were back where we started. J pulled over and we had a good laugh. The locals joined in with our giggles, though probably didn’t know exactly what was so funny. ‘Ahhhh, at that little bend after the school, make a hard left instead of following it around’.... OK. This time we were at the main time in less than 5 mins.

We parked in the shade and walked down the beach front to a small cafe (I think called coconut beach cafe). Cold drinks were gulped while we checked out the large map of Lembongan and Ceningan (wish they had this one up on line somewhere – probably the best map of hotels and resorts we saw). From here, the view up and down the beach was lovely. There were heaps of boats coming and going over the patchwork seaweed plots a few metres off shore.

There’s not much in town – a couple of small shops and no hawkers outside. J purchased a blue ‘Bali’ cap from a tiny store that had only a few items for sale. The lady promptly set about trying to sell me a sarong or tee-shirt – got to give her points for trying. Lembongan is really very quiet and I think it was still low season.

We return to our trusty little Honda scooter. Mr J inserts the key, turns it to the ‘on’ position, and hits the ignition button. Nothing. Try the other way. Nope. What does this thing do – oops locks the ignition so you can’t put the key in... J and I burst into fits of laughter. I suggest to walk to the main street to flag down a local who can show us how to turn over the scooter.... how embarrassing... J turns the key in his hand and sees the plastic hexagonal ‘unlock’ piece. That’s a start. So, we can now insert the key to try to start the scooter again. Maybe push it and hit the button while you’re turning... arrhhh. By now I’m crying from laughing and J is starting to lose it. ‘Let’s push it up to the road at least and see if we can find someone’, I suggest. J wheels the bike a little way (flicking up the kick stand in the process). Near the main road, J tries the key again and ‘shazaam’ it starts. To me, it almost sounded like the scooter was snickering at our stupidity – turns out you need to have to kick stand up before it will let you start it... Could have done with that information 20 minutes ago. I jump on behind J, still giggling like a loon, and we set off towards the mangrove.

It was a quick and relatively easy ride. Some parts of the road’s surface were a bit rough and Mr J manoeuvred to the side to avoid the worst potholes. We passed many seaweed farms along the narrow white-sand strip of beach along the north tip of the island. The view over the straight to Bali was stunning. A small strip of warangs marked the end of the road. A guys holding tickets pointed to a covered area and charged 2,000 per person to enter. Another guy sprang out of no-where and tried to herd us to the mangrove swamp for a boat ride. We were not up for paying 100,000 for a 20 minute ride in the hot midday sun on a boat without shade. ‘OK, 60,000, 50,000. How much you pay?’ The poor guy tried hard. If it wasn’t so hot we would have, but we just needed to rest and have a cool drink. The smell of cooking food was making us hungry too.

Towards the end of the line of warangs, the mangroves thin out and you can see the reef and crystal clear blue water beyond. It’s gorgeous. A small stall has snorkel gear for hire (and the masks and snorkels all looked as good as new). We should have come prepared (kicking ourselves now). Instead, we settled into a little place with cushions on the ground and low tables. The menu wasn’t huge and we just stuck to the club sandwich with chips – and those chips – yumm-ooo! They were hand cut and cooked in coconut oil. I’d go back just for those chips tomorrow. And the fresh lemon juice was one of the best we had in Bali.

With food in our belly, we headed off to drive around the mangrove forest towards the bridge over to Ceningan island. Well the map we had showed just a little ‘loop’ around the forest and it didn’t look very far to the bridge, maybe a little more than the trip we just did from Mushroom. We were wrong. This map is more accurate http://www.theislandkey.com/island_maps_area/lembongan/lembongan

The ride was long and the road was ‘interesting’. Poor Mr J hadn’t ridden many (he says any) motorbikes. Muddy ruts, gravelly crumbled bitumen, sand, with on coming mini vans and lots of other bikes. Mr J had a tough time keeping the bike upright and moving forward. In what seemed like an hour, we finally made it back to good roads and the little village beside the bridge. By now his nerves were frazzled but they were about to get worse. When I motioned for him to ride up the steep ramp up the bridge, he couldn’t believe it.

Frazzled Mr J was not keen to ride up the narrow bridge between Lembongan and Ceningan islands. ‘Up there?’, ‘Yes, up there’, ‘Are you sure you’re allowed to ride scooters over it?’, ‘Yes, I’m sure’ (as a young local whizzed past us up and over the bridge). A few locals were relaxing under a tree near the bridge, amused buy our antics. Appealing to them to say we couldn’t go, Mr J reluctantly turned the bike to face the bridge. ‘Sure?”, ‘Sure – you’ll be fine’...

Now, to be fair, the bridge is maybe a little over a metre wide, with rough palings as side guards, and looked a bit rickety. The ‘on ramp’ was quite steep and Mr J knew he’d have to get the scooter up to a good speed to make it up. ‘OK, here we go’. Revving the bike up to a blistering speed of maybe 40kms p/h, we hit the first plank of the bridge with a clunk, followed by a quick succession of clunks as the tyres passed over each board in turn. Clunka-clunka-clunka-clunka-clunka-clunka-clunka-clunka-clunka.... To me, it felt strangely like being in one of those video games, where you have to manoeuvre a space ship through a narrow canyon – the event horizon approaching rapidly with the railings forming an inverted ‘V’ coming at you. Mr J kept the bike at a steady speed all the way, without a single wobble (Ok maybe a slight correction as we were at the end) but he did so well. The bridge is maybe 60-70 metres long, but quite elevated from the water’s surface. I don’t know when it was built, but I’m guessing it wasn’t recently.

As soon as we reached the other side, Mr J had to pull over to calm his nerves. I could feel his heart pounding with adrenaline. From my new trusty little bottle holder, I pulled out some water to offer J, and told him what a good job he did. We had a chuckle about it, remarking that if another bike came the other way, we were toast.

Just then, a local guy turns up and asks if we are OK. ‘No problems – thanks’. ‘Where you staying? How long you staying? Where you going? Want to see Secret beach?’ Can you believe it, a tout. This apparent friendly local was trying to make us follow him and let him show us around. We politely answered his questions and chatted about where we were from etc. Then came the ‘no thank you’. I whispered to Mr J to let’s make like a tree and we took off, turning down the road to the right. Sure enough, he followed us, yelling from his scooter ‘I show you best place. Secret beach. Good view’. I nicely yelled back a ‘No thanks – we’re OK and will take ourselves’. He got the hint. We were not going to follow him, and he speed off.

We rode slowly along the road that starts off following the beach. There’s a couple of warangs (but Mr J didn’t want to stop) and temples, local village and jungle. It then has a few winding corners and a moderate incline. But the road was B-A-D – completely potholed and crumbling beneath our tyres. From my map, I could see the road ended at Blue Lagoon and Swallow House, with Secret Beach close by. A steep hill took us to what appeared to be the end of the road, with a few guys working on a road off to the left, and a sign pointing to Secret Bungalows to the right. Then another tout ‘You want to see Secret beach? I show you. Come’. ‘No thank you’... The guys working on the road indicated we could ride through, so we chose that to escape. Within 50 metres, another bike road up, this time with a guy and a girl, ‘yes yes – come look at new bungalows’, and they overtook us and rode a few metres in front to the end of the road. We were had. The tout couple pointed to a shady spot to park the bike and came rushing over to us.

Admittedly we could have just turned around and rode off. But we both didn’t come all this way to turn around and not look around. And the view – wow! Rugged cliff faces with Bristol blue water crashing to shore. A new set of bungalows were near completion near where we parked. A rough garden and paths were being layout out. There was a 240 degree view of the ocean with jungle landside. The guy introduced himself as Wayan, and the girl Madi (or like Made?). They shook our hands and made small talk about where we’re from etc (the standard questions – you all know them, where you from, how long you stay Bali, where you stay in Bali....). We walked towards the edge of the cliff to check out the view further. I’m not sure, but I think Wayan was talking to J as if he owned the half-dozen or so bungalows and tried to offer one to him. ‘Come up – look’ he motioned for J to go up the stairs to check them out. J politely refused and walked over quickly to join me as I took photos. Madi pointed out a spot to get a better view of the blue lagoon, and we followed her over some ragged rocks not far from the cliff face, which was really gorgeous. Then we went back the other direction to see the ‘Swallow House’, where apparently 1000’s of birds roost in a deep sea cave. It really was a stunning spot. After about 20 mins looking around, we made our way back to the bike. J and I were ready for it. As we were preparing to get on the bike, Wayan put out his hand and said, quiet demandingly, ‘Aren’t you going to give me something for showing you around?’ So we’re a long way from anywhere, and knew how many other bikes and touts were just up the road. We did not feel comfortable, but J had a 20 in his pocket and placed it in his hand. He didn’t look happy at the meagre offering. Too bad. It was lucky we gave anything at all. We easily could have shown ourselves around. Then, they were gone as fast as they appeared. J and exchanged exasperated comments, and a chuckle, and decided to get the flying-duck out of there.

Passing back where the guys were working on the road, we could see that they knew we had been done by Wayan and Madi. They exchanged knowing looks and snickers. Sorry to say, but it wasn’t a good feeling, knowing that the little town were probably all in on it. And to top it off, another bike came up offering to take us down the other road on the right to ‘Secret beach’. This time, we didn’t even bother with a polite ‘no thank you’, and simply ignored him and rode on. Not far up the road were a couple of other tourists, also being ‘chased’ by locals to go with them. We gave them smiles and advice to not follow them, and rode back to the bridge. It was a real shame. We were hoping to go down to the Secret Beach, but felt like we couldn’t without being followed. Back near the bridge, another guy offered to take us to the view point, which too would have been wonderful, but not with these unsolicited advances by so called tour guides. Enough. We rode back to the bridge, stopping not far from it to stretch our legs (and for me to take photos). The little beach and straight between to two small islands is a lovely spot. More clear blue water with a little flotilla of small local fishing boats anchored near the shore. Rough surf crashed on a reef far out to sea that was empty of any riders (but looked well doable for experienced surfers). Like I said, there are a couple of warangs overlooking this lovely view. I was keen to stop and have a drink, but J was past it – with the bad roads, daunting bridge, touts and lack of experience riding a motorbike, it was time to get back to ‘our’ beach.

The bridge on-ramp from this side was nowhere near as steep as the other side and J took the little scooter over with confidence (well a lot better than was on the other side). We rode a little way along and stopped at a few lookouts and photos. Consulting the map, I asked J if he wanted to look at Dream beach, which wasn’t far from Mushroom. He agreed (though I’m sure he really could have done without it), and we set off. Before we knew it, we were back on that familiar road that terminated at Mushroom. I then realised we’d missed the turn to Dream beach and told J over his shoulder. ‘Oh well’, he said and just kept heading along. Though he didn’t deliberately not take the turn (which I didn’t see until it was too late too), he wasn’t about to go back. Well, there was nothing else to do but let poor Mr J hop off and me hop into the driver’s seat. Look out Lembongan here I come!

In my teenage years, I rode dirt bikes with my friends a lot around the paddocks of my home town suburb in south-east Melbourne, before they were built up and turned to housing estates. As I got older, I rode a couple of street bikes that scared the be-jeezus out of me, so stopped in fear of killing myself. I had a bit of a reckless attitude and a lead hand on the throttle. This was the first time on a motor bike of any description for maybe 20 years. But the attitude was still there – but maybe a little bit tamed down. Checking the grip on first the rear then front brake, easing the throttle I took off, leaving J shaking his head calling after me to be careful – and I was – mostly. There were a couple of places where I maybe went over a pot hole too fast so I bounced off the seat and swerved a little. And a tight bend that I took a little too fast, so I ended up wide on the other side of the road as I exited the corner (with a couple of local women nearby laughing as I gasped expletives to myself), and a spot where I veered to the left side of the road to avoid the rough road surface and had to put my foot down to not end up in the undergrowth. It was a pretty funny sight I’m sure and I had fun. But bear in mind, I’m talking top speed of say 35kms p/h.

I made it to Dream beach and walked through the resort there (totally where I’d stay if I go back). The Anzac day AFL game was on the TV near the bar and I watched a few minutes, contemplating grabbing a Bintang and watching with the other revellers. But J would die worrying that I’d come off, and I don’t drink and drive at home – I’m not about to start here. I checked out the resort and walked down to the beach. It was a stunning little place. But I didn’t stay long (it was a fair little ride down a narrow and bad road to get to it from Mushroom). I return to the bike and go to start it. Guess what? Yeap. I can’t get it to start. I flick up the stand – still no. What the? After a few attempts, I told myself to stop being so silly. Just roll the bike forward a little and try again. It came spluttering into life. Away I go again, laughing to (and at) myself.

Back at our huts, I hand the key back to the staff and Mr J lets out a sigh of relief (not because I was back, but because I wasn’t going to get him to ride more). Time to jump in the water and cool off. The only bad part about this was that there are many boats tied up along the beach and the only place to swim is in the narrow corridor of water between them, or walk a way up the other end of the beach. It didn’t matter mush and we just enjoyed floating around and rinsing the dust from our faces. A cold shower later (poor J) and there were bintangs in our hands.

We decided to have dinner elsewhere and tired Hai Tide. When we arrived, the waiters were setting up the ‘dining’ tables with tablecloths, but the tables near the bars were empty and we chose to sit there – for another great reason too – they had cushions and the other tables didn’t. That brings me to a point I need to explore – what is it about (not just in Bali) much of Asia and their hard wood seats? We’d be in lush surroundings in all ways, but no cushions on seats. I’m talking in Malaysia, Singapore, Vietnam, Thailand – all over... Usually this doesn’t warrant such a big comment or problem, but after the day on the bike and all those pot holes, a cushion was mandatory.

Dinner was preceded with more bintangs and snacks of garlic bread and fries (both hit the spot perfectly). By now, I was getting a bit bintang’ed out. I’m usually a white wine type of girl. So with trepidation, I ordered a local white wine. After reading many non-favourable comments on them on TA, I was braced for the worst. And it was only $6 (I pay more at my local for a glass of house white). The smell wasn’t good, but taste was ‘OK’. Kindof reminded me of a colombard chardonnay you’d get in those big nasty 5 litre casks... but doable. Lucky Mr J (not poor this time) had the best meal of the trip to date – fish steamed in banana leaves with herbs etc. I had some veggie noodles with local pickles. For those that don’t know, local pickles are another name for ‘out of control, mega hot, super spicy, pickled chillies’. They were little stinkers! Mr J and I aren’t scared of a little spice and they were good – but only in small doses admittedly.

We could see poor Lumbug Huts were having issues with their power. A massive electrical storm was coming in from behind the beach, flashing lightning every few seconds with only the occasional boom of rolling thunder. Mr J and I enjoyed sitting in the still evening air, chatting with the scent of citronella candles in the air, while Mushroom bay was illuminated by the strobe lightning. It was really nice.

Oh, now to end this chapter, a funny last incident about the language barrier... We go back to our hut for the last night. I wanted some water and J thought he’d like a cold lemon juice. He asked the bar for the same and they said they’d bring it to us. We sat on our little porch and the lovely girl came over with a bottle of water, and a plate of sliced lemons. It was priceless! Mr J didn’t have the heart (or energy) to get her to bring him the lemon juice he asked for. - k

Bali Part 2 – Legian with Bintang

So you know how we got here. Yuli’s beach bungalows are up a tiny side street (Gang Abdi) opposite the Melasti Beach Resort. To get to the beach, there is an even smaller alley almost directly across from Abdi, which takes you to the entrance of the Sari Beach Hotel. You then smile and say hello to the Sari hotel staff and wonder through the gorgeous gardens to the beach. It isn’t a huge resort, with maybe 30 rooms (?). A little pebbled path swayed through frangipanis and tropical palms, onto a small lawn with steps to a great carved door. On the other side is a little road and the sands of Legian beach. I have to say, the Sari looked lovely, and Mr J and I remarked how that place was more our cup of tea compared to Yulis, but hey – it was all good.

My thongs were off in micro-seconds and I had my feet in the warm waters a few more seconds later, with teenage Miss B (A&M’s daughter) splashing me. Giggling like a child myself, I looked up and down that long stretch of blacky-yellow fine sand seeing the distant cranes of Kuta to my left, and the bungy tower to my right. A small swell was producing 0.5-1 metre messy, closed out surf and westerners were body surfing or jumping white wash as far as the eye could see. On shore, the wet sand left behind from the high tide created a mirror reflecting the walkers, sand-castle makers, hawkers and local children with a silvery glow in the afternoon sun. The warm breeze carried the scent of the sea, mixed in with sun creams and the occasional waft of BBQ’ed food.

The others gave the signal (you know the one – elbow bent with hand cupped near the mouth, making a pouring gesture). Miss B and I rejoined them as they walked towards Seminyak passing a few OK looking restaurants (and you will come to hate me not noting the names down but I know you Bali regulars will know them), finally deciding on the ‘Sea-side’, less than 100 metres down from where we came onto the beach. They had mainly western food with a good tex-mex selection. We all had snacks for starters (onion rings which were really good, pumpkin empanadas equally yum, calamari and satay sticks reported by A&M as good too), with main meals and large Bintangs (x2 by the time we were finished). With the yummy tacos and chimichangas consumed we headed to Frank’s bar for sunset and more Bintang.

Frank’s is no different to a dozen of other ‘bars’ on Legian beach – a few layed-out sunloungers for seats, large eskies up the back holding Bintangs, with Frank and his mates hanging around playing guitar and chatting with the drinkers. Dreadlocks down his back looking Jamaican/rusta (and pretty spunky to boot), Frank is a happy host quickly running to the aid of Mrs M when her Bintang was ‘broken’ (i.e. empty) and joking about being a life saver. We all had a good laugh with him, singling along to the tunes being played, relaxing and enjoying. Young Miss B and I had Ari, a local temporary tattoo artist; draw Bali style designs on us – 100 for the both of us which I thought was a good deal, and my first Bali bargaining effort.

 Clouds had gathered on the horizon robbing us of an absolutely spectacular sunset, but it was magic all the same (especially by what was now Bintang number 4). As it was getting dark, Mr A & Mrs M had had enough and we walked back to Yuli’s. Young Miss B was in the pool before we even arrived back. Mr J and I (OK, mostly me) had itchy feet, just dying to explore. I’m not one to sit still for too long unless I have to. A&M refer to me as ‘the walking freak’ due to my daily 5-8 km walks. So it was no surprise to them when Mr J and I emerged from our villa 20 mins after a quick freshen-up ready to head off for a ‘little walk’. They just rolled their eyes and told us to be safe.

We walked along the beach to Kuta, enjoying the gentle warm Bali breeze. “No thank you – tidak mau terima kasi’’ all the way; don’t need a bouncy ball that lights up, or a sling-shot glider, or watches, or bracelets, not maybe tomorrow I look in your store. I’m a veteran of Vietnam’s dreaded Benh Thenh market, and Phuket – not to mention the Russian market in Phnom Phen and Bang-la road Bangkok. I knew how to take them – smile, be friendly – have a chat and then firmly say ‘no thanks’. Another tip which works really well, smile, gently shake your head, and make a sort-of side-to-side (or what I call the ‘wishy-washy’) action with your hand – even before they offer you what they have.

The only thing we really wanted to see in Kuta was the memorial and it didn’t take long to find it. I had a single frangipani that I had picked up on the beach and lay it down, reading all those names. It is done so respectfully and nicely understated – I like that. A drunken Canadian guy was trying to count the number of names to figure out how many people had died. We chatted and he was taken aback by the full story, which I think most of us Aussies know by heart. His girlfriend asked whether it would happen again and we chatted about how you never know what’s going to happen – the only way would to be truly safe would be to wrap yourself in cotton wool and never leave your house. With the info exchanged, they staggered off to find more Bintangs. Disappointingly, there were a number of touts at the memorial trying to take advantage of people. Mr J got bailed up by the ‘come to our hotel and claim your prize’ trick and I had to be very firm to drag him away.

By now I was ready for a Bintang (and need to find a toilet). Mr J and I have a few silly traditions when we travel, one is eating Mexican food and the other is visiting hard Rock Cafes (yes I know, tacky). We walked through the ‘main’ street in Kuta (with the McDs etc) and around the streets back to the beach road and found the Hard Rock easily. To my amusement, there was a newly-wed couple having photos taken in front of the big, hard rock guitar sign – OK... each to their own. Our barman Nix chatted to us like old friends while we drank our Bintangs. Mr J had one of his other Hard Rock tee shirts on and we talked about travelling and how many hard rocks we’d been to. As always, we loved the vintage video clips playing – Elvis doing one of his Vegas shows in his ‘fried peanut butter sandwiches’ period, Deaf Leopard before drummer Rick Allen lost his arm – and all that glorious spandex... ah the 80’s – but I digress.

We wondered back mostly along the beach road. Mr J was so proud of me – all those shops and I hadn’t even looked sideways. Today was only day 1 and there were 8 to go. The shopping would start soon enough.

Day 2. Mr A had organised with a driver he had used a few time before (Made from luckybalidriver.com) to take us on a day trip around the Tabanan region - Taman Ayun temple, Margarana Memorial park, Butterfly park and Tanah Lot. The temple was lovely and very few tourists were there. We wondered around, me taking photos etc but we didn’t stay that long.

The highlight by far was the Margarana memorial park. We were the only westerners there. A gorgeous wide spreading lawn greets you as walk in the gate. Scenes of the battles with the Dutch are depicted by statues, with a central obelisk-like monument shaped like a Javanese candi symbolising the fallen in their fight for freedom. To the side is a little building accessed by little arched bridges containing relics, weapons and artefacts (here’s a good page with info: http://getbali.blogspot.com/2007/12/margarana-memorial-park-honors.html). To the back were rows and rows of headstones.

Now you’d think a war memorial would have a sombre atmosphere – yeah? Nah? Apparently we had totally lucked in. A local Bali biker gang were having their 25^th anniversary rally that day. A marquee had been put up on the lawn and a DJ was pumping out the most inappropriate, booty shaking doof doof tunes in preparation of the arrival of the gang. A&M, young B and I had a great laugh and we amused the DJs by busting out some booty-liscious moves of our own. The sight of us middle aged, white-arse westerners, with a few years of love around our waists - except young Miss B that is - would have been something to behold to be sure. Mr J walked away in disgust, not wanting to associate with us degenerates...

As I was taking photos of the central monument, I heard the roar of 100’s of heavy motorcycles accompanied by sirens of the escorting police (yes, bikie gangs in Bali get police escort – go figure). Mrs M and I hurried our way back to the gate to observe. In front of the gate to the memorial park is a bit of an open space with a huge banyan tree marking the town square. Two-by-two, the Harleys, Hondas, Yamahas and other hogs rode up and round the mighty banyan tree to park their beasts in rows and rows of gleaming chrome and studded leather. Most riders worn a blue/aqua tee-shirt over their leathers, carrying their gang name, ‘IMBI’ (anyone know what it stands for???). Within minutes the square was filled with lines of bikes, with riders chatting and admiring each others’ machines. They were as amused as us to see us there. Mr J and Mr A joined us as the bikes were being settled into their parking places and were stunned to see the metal mass. A few came up and asked where we were from. One older guy chatted to us for while, telling us about the 25 year celebration, how the gang was friendly, peaceful and never fought etc.

From behind the bike park, the sound of cymbals and drums drew everyone to the gates. A procession of locals and a priest made their way through the line of bikes, to the gate, followed by children clad in white shirts, saris and head scarves. My ears hurt when the huge metal gong, suspended from a large horizontal bamboo pole being carried two men, was struck right next to me. To my dismay, my ‘real’ camera (DSLR with all the tricks) decided it was too hot to open its shutter, so I went crazy taking shots with my ‘toy’ point and shoot camera. The procession was followed by the bikers into the memorial park. That’s where we left them.

Onwards to the butterfly park. We were still coming down from our great experience seeing the bikers and chatted excitedly about it the whole way. So the butterfly park paled in comparison. It was still lovely, though you see more at the butterfly house at Melbourne Zoo, or even at Singapore airport. The park is kind of small with a few different insects on display, and a few dozen flutter-byes flapping around inside the netted canopy and little garden. It’s nice spot for a cool little break and for sure great for kids. In the centre of the small park, a few of the large stick insects were out of cages and available to be handled. Mr A has quite a bug phobia and did so well letting a smallish orchid mantis be placed on his arm. I had a gigantic green spiny stick insect (20 cms long), brown leaf insect (nearly the size of my hand), and small mantis all on me – much to A’s terror. Young B was too timid to get too close. Mr J thought it was so funny. For years I’ve had a moth phobia (I really don’t like those horrible Melbourne moths the size of a 20c piece – yuk!). Letting these huge insects and butterflies all over me when I hated the relatively tiny moths was so amusing for Mr J and he ribbed me for hours about it. – yeah, real funny, OK...

Now it was lunchtime – or should I say way past it. Made suggested we have our lunch at Tanah Lot. It didn’t take long to get there. I think because it was only 2pm or so, the worst of the crowds hadn’t descended for sunset. We ate at the sea food restaurant on the further side to Tanah Lot (not the one that almost overlooks it). The view was fantastic and the stiff ocean breeze more than welcome. But OMG the prices! Not uncommonly, the fish was charged by the 100 gram. I can’t recall the amounts, but let’s just call it 3-4 times what you would pay in Legian. The only thing for us poor vegos was fried rice (again....) and I think that was 70,000 (way too much). Mr J’s spicy sweet and sour fish was average at best. The others meals were good though.

Mrs M and young B were all tried out after lunch and found a shady tree to sit under while Mr J, Mr A and I walked around. We went to all the vantage points, and what’s normal for me, took 100 photos. Poor Mr A! Mr J and I dragged him right down to the rocks and sea where you could cross to the temple. A large crowd of people were carefully clambering on the few rocky outcrops. To the left, below the cliff, was a small cave, made by the millennia of waves undercutting the wall of rock, with a sign saying ‘Holy snake’. To get there, you had to clamber over rocks that were a bit more precarious. Mr J and I were onto it, and made poor Mr A come along too. The view of Tanah Lot from that angle was great. Two men with little boxes beckoned us to go into the cave to see the snake, for a small donation of course. But none of us had and cash with us so we smiled and said no thanks.

We made our way back to Mrs M and young B who were in a silly state. They told us that crowds of other Asian tourists had been coming up to them to take their photos with them. Mrs M has lovely red hair, and young B is blond so I can see why they may have drawn some attention. And sure enough, as we were walking back to Made’s car, they were stopped a few times for photos. It did make them feel a little uncomfortable, but we all just laughed it off.

We were back in Legian by 5 or so following the long drive in thick traffic back to Yuli’s. After a dip in the pool to refresh, we headed out for dinner. There were many bars along the main strip of Legian showing AFL, and lots of people walking up and down the winky-wonky footpaths everywhere. Lines of headlights crawled along the narrow road causing little dust storms in their wake. We walked past a few places and decided on La Mond for no particular reason other than it was a roof-top restaurant and we could get away from the street dust up there. I can’t say it was a good choice. Mr A & Mrs M had ‘ok’ meals, young B and I had pizzas that were totally forgettable (no taste just melted Kraft cheese on dough) and poor Mr J got a terrible chicken dish that was meant to be a local specialty... ah well. The long island teas were good and the Bintangs cold.

Mrs M and Miss B went on to a spa for a massage, Mr A, Mr J and I headed on to browse the shops. We had a great time just looking and joking about things we saw  – trying on hats and shirts, talking with stall holders, just enjoying the whole Legian vibe.

OK – this is getting long but last thing to add for this chapter:

Mug shots –towards All Season hotel – best coffee for sure. Run by an Aussie lady and the coffee was great! Not much choice for food though. We started our breakfast there and went back for another after we ate at another terrible place a few doors down (again, didn’t note the name). We should have known by the fact no-one was in it that it wasn’t going to be good. The menu looked promising and the cafe itself looked lovely. But the food took forever, they messed up all but one of our orders and we sent back a couple to be re-made (which took another decade), and the food itself was very average. The one thing that was great to see is that they gave us a big discount for the mess up. As we left, they were smiling and waving, saying “see you tomorrow” – yeah, like that’s gonna happen....

From here, Mr J and I leave Mr A & Mrs M and young B for Nusa Lembongan... - k