A week in Bali.

This post is not sponsored in any way. All opinions are my own and peppered with Bintang Beer.

Friday 10th June 2011
I found a non grumpy flight attendant!

She is a slim brunette who works the back to back Bali-Sydney route. We shall call her Kelly, as a lot of flight attendants seem to be called Kelly, or Stacey. She worked the isle with a genuine smile and seemed to care a lot for her passengers. Kelly explained the dinner service identically to each customer like a fembot. And when she finally reached me, I told her I already knew what I wanted. I would have the “egg noodles with chicken and ginger served with Asian greens.” As she served me, I asked her how she managed to maintain her demeanor during the entire flight. She said she was just a happy person. I am immediately suspicious.

Later as the flight progressed, I started to feel like I had performed fellatio on a cactus. I asked Kelly whether she was packing any Panadol and she returned with a selection of pharmaceuticals for my oral pleasure. Which gave her bonus points. She bought me wine, food AND she was a drug pusher. Thank you Kelly. You will always be remembered fondly.

Saturday 11th June
The resort we were staying in can only be described as Heaven. It runs along Seminyak beach and is a grand dame of old school style and glamour. This has been my 5th visit to The Legian and if at all possible, I would like to move here permanently. And as I keep abreast with current affairs during my stay, I silently prayed that the Chilean Volcanic Ash would shift slightly, thus granting my wish to be stranded here.

There are two types of guests that stay here. Those who rise early and engage in exercise before having a breakfast comprising of freshly squeezed juices, a bran based cereal and a fruit platter. And those who rise later, slightly hungover and hit the coffee and chocolate croissants. I am going to leave it up to you to place me in the camp of your choice.

My travel mate, my childhood friend Kracker is a Bali Virgin, and took about 17 seconds to slide into Bali Life. She is an extremely good travel companion, prone to downing 4 beers at lunch. We frolic in the pool like newlyweds. I keep my wedding ring on at all times. Not because I am concerned that people think we are lesbians, more so to stop onlookers thinking Kracker could do so much better than me.

Sunday12th June
Eventually I started telling everyone that Kracker and I are in fact newlyweds on our honeymoon as I wanted in on all the free shit you get when you are newlyweds on honeymoon. Kracker was always quick to explain that we were not in fact newlyweds on honeymoon, but sometimes she was not there to correct me.

Kracker and I watch the romantic sunset over the horizon in the company of a little friend we shall call Long Island Iced Tea. I tell Kracker I feel like Kelly. I am in this moment indeed a happy person. Armed with our spiritual friends under our belt, we wander off to dinner to a wonderful little place called Bali Sate, a restaurant so small and so popular, you basically sit on your neighbours lap. Our neighbours turned out to be a delightful Irish Couple who we started chatting to. Like all couples it seemed, they were on honeymoon, having been married the day before.

We have a long chat to our new friends and I thought it appropriate to ask him his age. He told me 57. I was stunned. “You are HOW OLD?” I basically yelled and that moment the whole restaurant fell silent and stared at me.

I just could not believe the youth on this couple. We then went into a long discussion of the evils that the sun can play on one’s skin, and the fact that there is not much sun in Belfast. I am still not convinced they were telling me the truth. His wife looked like a teenager but turned out to be 47. If you ever find yourself in Belfast and need advice on repairing antique watches and clocks or wish to hear a harpist in action, I will give you their details. They were adorable.

Monday 13th June
The Pool at The Legian is one of those infinity affairs and is the social hub of the resort. The clientele of the resort are rather fancy. I inherited the gene of striking up conversations with complete strangers from my mother, and as Kracker was mainly focused on beer consumption and grunting at me from behind her book, I had to find my conversation elsewhere on occasion.

I struck up a conversation with a lovely older lady from South Africa while swimming. After a while, I had the uncomfortable feeling I needed to pass a little gas, so I did a little splash to hide the fart bubbles while still speaking. The problem however was that when you fart in a pool, it comes out in concentrated form. The poor lady looked like she had been bitch slapped when the fumes stung her nostrils. There was no denying it. I was the now the stinky Australian loud Lesbian and I was concerned that my poolside reputation was ruined. Like forever.

Damn you fart.

Bali Fart.

Tuesday 14th June
My new wife and I hit up The Potato Head Beach Club, a new bar on the scene. It was packed with no seats anywhere. We eventually asked this couple whether we could share their table. The lady recommended a cocktail. She looked like someone who enjoyed a cocktail so I was only too happy to take her advice.

So of course we started chatting. They were Aussies from Perth, escaping their kids for 3 nights. Again with the adorable. Kracker is from Greek Heritage, as was Christina, my cocktail reviewer. Christina asked Kracker where her parents were from. Kracker explained that they were from a tiny Greek Island near Turkey called Castellorizo.

Now no one has ever heard of Castellorizo, so Kracker is always explaining where it is and how there are very few people that live there. But she did not have to explain to Christine where it was, as her parents hailed from there as well! RANDOM. I concluded that they must be related somewhere down the track. Turned out that Kracker’s first cousin was their babysitter back in Perth. Of course she was…..

Wednesday 15th June
I have a Balinese friend called Nyomen who is a third generational Balinese healing masseuse. She has been coming to my room each day to pummel my body. She has the hands of a giant man and I liken it to being licked ferociously by a huge oxen. She always points out that I carry a lot of tension in my bottom, and giggles when I explain to her that that is the reason why it is so large. Neither of us ever tire of that gag.

But today, Kracker and I decide to treat ourselves to a fancy-ass facial in the hotel spa. You have to fill in a form with your name, blood pressure, zodiac sign etc. I diligently write my name as Kate Middleton, as I am convinced that NO ONE actually reads those forms. Turns out I was correct, and I was addressed my my correct name. One of the questions was about which type of underwear you preferred to wear during your treatment. Paper panties, paper g-string or boxers.

“Kracker, what type of underwear are you going to choose?” I ask in a whispered tone.

Kracker points out that she is going to be wearing her own, as we had booked in for a facial, not a vagazzle. We enter this divine, divine room which reeks of calm and peace. Within 3 minutes of the treatment, I ask Kracker if it was indeed possible to have an orgasm during a facial. Without missing a beat, Kracker asks me if that is going to happen to let her know, as she would like to leave the room if that was the case. Turns out the facial was the next best thing.

Later that afternoon, I was having some difficulty with the wi-fi connection in my room. The head of all things computery and the concierge descended on our room in horror at the thought that we may have been inconvenienced for even a second. It was swiftly dealt with with much apologise delivered. I was then asked if there was anything else they could do for me.

I pondered this question before requesting 6 white kittens be delivered to my room.

Kracker glanced up from her beer. The concierge looked at the computer dude and you could just tell she was thinking “Where are we going to get 6 white kittens from?” And I swear if I had not told them I was kidding, they would have spent the next few hours scouring the streets with a bucket of bleach looking for kittens.

Thursday 16th June
We spend the day doing what we do best, which is our impersonation of a couple of rotisserie chickens poolside. The day goes slowly and is peppered with Bintang, Books and small talk until I fall asleep, waking myself up occasionally with small grunts.

The evening falls and we attend Carla’s cocktail party. Carla is the General Manager. The Assistant General Manager is Carlos. Carla and Carlos. Cute.

Having truly availed ourselves to the generous hospitality (read free wine) we take off to a French eatery called Sip. There we indulge in the most exquisite meal of King Crab ravioli in a seafood bisque, 7 Hour lamb, Duck with Peppercorn Sauce and a Lemon Souffle which is like eating air. (please allow 20 minutes) So impressed were we with the food, and so lubricated with the wine, we ask to meet the chef.

The Chef, Christian Vanneque, comes out. He is short and has the face of a man who has experienced much. Kracker is a foodie and the two talk for what it seems like hours. After the hours have passed, I stand up, hold Christians hands in my hands and thank him very much for the most amazing meal… maybe ever! And then I do my tres jolie thing and plant 2 kisses on him. On each of his hairy ears.

We cross the road and come across one of those massive fish tanks that contain thousands of guppy fish that you pay to put your feet into. The fish then nibble off all the dead skin on your legs and feet. I suggest to Kracker that we spend a while doing this. I mean it is only fair! We have had had dinner and who were we to deny these little fish theirs.

Kracker looks at me like I have asked her to stick her head through a meat mincer so instead we get a taxi back the The Legian and watch The Bucketlist.

Friday 17th June
Last night I fell asleep in a king sized bed on 1000 thread count cotton sheets under a canopy of white chiffon while listening to the ocean.

Tonight I will toss and turn and try and snuggle up next to Kracker as some fuckwit kicks the back of my seat, under a nasty polar-fleece blanket while listening to the sounds of plane engines. I hope Kelly has a really good sleeping tablet.

Tomorrow night I will cuddle up to Mr Woog in our own bed and bore him to tears with tales of my mid year escape to paradise. I will tell him of the 5 books read, the discovery of many new and interesting cocktails, the hours of laughing, the long stretches of pondering my navel lint and of course the food. And the sleep. And update him on my new marital status.

And I will reflect on my week in paradise for many months to come. I am refreshed and face WoogsWorld Part 2 2011 with new vigor. And in the words of every bad reality show judge, yes…. I will be bringing my A-Game.

And to you. If you EVER get the chance to escape to The Legian in Bali, just do it ok? Or at least put it on your own Bucket List. And with any luck, you can kick your bucket list twice.