Strolling through the duty free there were some last minute must-haves that I hadn't accounted for in our budget but knew they would enhance our trip. Like an underwater digital camera. And a few moleskins for Tom to write his journals. I walked slowly past the Camilla Kaftans on sale because the thought of buying one (or two) and then having it ruined by dragons was too much to consider. Besides, I'd brought along some Akira dresses to impress them with, although I did forget the heels.
It was very sad leaving Jack and Chloe behind for this trip, I wished that Jack especially could join us but was so proud that he decided to remain back and focus on school. He's being looked after by family friends who are almost like family.
After gulping down a disgusting McDonalds burger, we ran for the final boarding call to our DJ4145 flight as per our normal mode of boarding flights, except this time without our names being called. I now call that Travel-Maturity.
Our seats were perfect, one row behind premium economy with no one in front to lean back during meal times. Until the supervisor hostess moved her mum into one of the seats, but she was hardly a bother. I sat between my two travelling companions, son and husband and six hours later, frazzled and stressed, I wished I had upgraded myself only to business. Despite the website and Virgin magazine advertising the ability to hire entertainment units onboard, the hostess with the mostess told us this was a privilege reserved for business class passengers. Of which there was one. Not using an entertainment unit. If I’d known about this, I would have brought along more to keep Tom busy during the six hour flight. John managed to escape having to act as dedicated entertainer by commandeering the iPad and playing angry birds. For six hours. A new question had been thrown at me every two and a half minutes, usually it was "how long till we get there". I stopped answering after a couple of hours and started on his education, showing him Lake Eyre and meandering rivers and deltas, coastlines, clouds, and various other weather/geography related topics that he could include in his journal. And we did every crossword and puzzle in the flight magazine - even though they had already been done.
Disembarking our flight into the tropical earthy smells of Bali - I’d forgotten the stress of the flight and started to get excited about the weeks ahead exploring.
Normally I would have booked a car to collect us, but this time I decided to be a semi-real backpacker and head for the taxi cue. This was an experience in itself. There is a formal system to getting a taxi in Bali, and then there is an efficient system. We chose the latter and were in an air-conditioned car within a few minutes with a smiling driver named Ketut. Or Wayan. Or Nyoman, or Made. NO worries (sin can can), we were headed to our new temporary home.
I’d booked us into a private villa in Sanur, the sleepy snory beach of Bali known mostly for its luxurious resorts and wealthy westerners. After I'd made the booking, I read the tripadvisor reports of disappointed guests and dreaded what we would find. What we found was heaven! Waka Maya lived up to its website page and more. Our private little space for a few days was away from the heady noise of mainstream Bali, and far enough away from the expensive resorts not to smell the Chanel. Our little plunge pool provided hours of uninterrupted entertainment and respite from the heat. Our king sized bed has a cave of mosquito net and privacy - Tom is also sharing our room on a mattress on the floor sans mosquito net (but in air conditioning so it doesn't really matter). Our bathroom is an open room with a sunken bath where I plan to spend some time reading and indulging in some bubbles. Of the bath foam variety!
An afternoon beachside walk reveals a low tide where families fish and bath amongst ancient style fishing boats. The mangroves sadly harbour too much plastic rubbish. Over the years the rubbish seems to have become a major problem that has been ignored. Roadside dumps are scattered every few metres and it makes me so sad. This tourist mecca has been ruined by the tourists, we have brought the need for so much disposable waste without any thought to where it was all going to go.
Despite coming to Bali regularly for the last 25years, I still get culture shock and find the heat oppressive and needs some time to get used to. The smells of daily offerings with incense and fruit and flowers mix with the smells of fuel and sweat. The noise from cars and motorbikes beeping their horns are the signals I am in Asia, and remind me I have forgotten the Panadol. I am angry with myself for feeling culture shock and not falling gracefully into the stress-free mode I remember. This is my first trip to Bali as an unemployed person, on my arrival card I allowed myself for the first time in my life to tick the "housewife" box under occupation. I should not be stressed but happy not to have any thoughts of home and unfinished projects. I’m now thankful for my forward thinking of booking us into Bali for our Flores trip to acclimatise, as silly as that sounds.
I sleep at 8pm in my mosquito netted cave. I love Indonesia.
