I set off for my long-awaited trip to Bali and Australia on 19th December with a slightly sore throat. Everyone I know in England seems to have a really nasty virus. I am hoping that I have escaped it. Our flight to Singapore takes off late and when we are almost there after thirteen long hours, I realise as I am about to land, that my next flight to Denpasar is departing very soon. In fact, as we touch the ground, I know that my next flight is already boarding. Changi is a very big airport and I am not in the right terminal and need to take a Skytrain. I run and run and manage to reach the plane as the last person is boarding.
It is a short flight and when I get into the terminal it is chaotic, trying to get my visa online, fill out a customs declaration and a new thing called a tourist tax. I finally get to the baggage carousel and wait for my red suitcase to appear. It doesn’t and I finally see my name written on a notice which informs me that my bag is still in Singapore. Now this has happened to me before, so I ask myself why I am not better prepared. I queue up to give my details to lost luggage and I am assured that my bag will be on the next flight. The man behind the counter takes pity on me and fills out my health form for me. He then solemnly counts out several rupiah notes to compensate for the inconvenience. The next hurdle is to find my driver as I arranged a pick-up to take me to Sanur. I emerge into the blinding sunlight and feel the wave of humid air hitting me as if I am walking into a steam room. I am wearing my travelling clothes so I quickly become soaked in sweat. Can I find my driver? No. Does my phone work to call the numbers I have been given? No. I am mobbed by taxi drivers who want to take me to my destination. I persuade one of them to use his phone to try to call my driver’s number. He is very obliging but tells me the number doesn’t work from his phone either but I think he just wants me to use his taxi. I scan the large number of people holding up pieces of paper with names on and suddenly I spot my driver. He tells me he has been waiting for me for three hours. A slight exaggeration, I feel. We set off through the traffic to my first night’s accommodation, weirdly called the Swastika Bungalows. It takes forever, due to the heavy traffic and this is not quite the Bali I recall from my visit twenty years ago. My throat is now so sore that I am finding it hard to swallow and I have developed a cough.
I arrive at my destination and am greeted by very calm, serene staff who offer me a hot drink. They tut and nod when I explain that I have no luggage but offer to carry my rucksack to my room. I am told that the trip guide, Budi is here, and he is duly summoned. I explain that I don’t have my luggage and that I am feeling more ill by the minute, so he offers to take me to the medical centre. It is not far but I am still wearing my travelling clothes, including my knee length flight socks and sensible walking shoes. We set off. It is hot!! I am seen at the Bhakti Vednta Medical Centre and the doctor concludes that I have an Acute Upper Respiratory Tract Infection and dispenses some “runny nose” medication and antibiotics. On the way back to the Swastika Bungalows, I stop to purchase a pair of elephant pants (reminiscent of the last time I lost my luggage in Thailand), a tee shirt and a pair of flip flops which are too big.
That evening, I meet my fellow travellers and we go for dinner. I try not to fall over in the oversized flip flops. I ask at reception whether my bag has arrived and it hasn’t. I wonder what I am going to do if it doesn’t arrive as we are moving on tomorrow. At 4am, reception ring me to say that it has arrived but I leave it where it is for now. I am embarrassed to mention that at midnight when I questioned its whereabouts for about the third time, I actually cried in front of the helpful man on the reception desk and he made several phone calls to check where it was.
The next morning we are leaving to head north. I have never seen rain like it as I open the door my room. I take off the flip flops and paddle to reception and breakfast. I am very pleased to be reunited with my belongings but I am still feeling very poorly. In fact, overnight I have lost my voice. I can just croak a little bit. I am beginning to sound like a forty a day smoker. We climb into our bus and head for our first stop, which is Jatiluwih Rice Terraces, a UNESCO World Heritage site. It is raining very hard. I feel that I am going to repeat that phrase very often. Why didn’t I know that it is the rainy season In Bali? I didn’t do my research properly. We then move on to visit the Pura Ulun Danu Beratan temple on the shores of Lake Beratan. It is a beautiful temple but it is still raining very hard and I am mesmerised by the colourful umbrellas of the visitors, in addition to the temple. Eventually the rain stops and we head to Gobleg and hike to the Munduk waterfalls. I am doing my best to keep up but my voice has also just about gone completely and I can’t speak. This makes it difficult when you are travelling with complete strangers and trying to get to know people.
When we arrive at our next destination, the rooms are very dark and the rain is relentless but it is somehow magical standing on my balcony in the humidity, looking at the lush green vegetation and listening to the clicking noise of the cicadas. I decide to go for dinner and as I sit down, I am greeted by someone I haven’t spoken to yet, shrinking away from me and saying that I surely must have Covid. Of course, that is a possibility and needs to be investigated but we are in a pretty remote location currently. I decide to leave the table and go back to my room and ask at reception for a kettle so that I can make a hot drink. I manage to get lost three times and by the time I get back to the room I am soaking wet. Still torrential rain and still no voice.
The next day involves a lot of travel on the bus and we head off, first to some hot springs. I don’t go in as it is still raining. I sip some ginger tea and try to soothe my throat and make some conversation which is pretty impossible really. We head on to a place for lunch near Koko beach which is dirty and unappealing to say the least. Then we move towards Kintamani, our destination for the night, which is overlooking a lake and Mount Batur, an active volcano, which last erupted in the year 2000. I did a bit of research into the likelihood of it erupting again while I am in the vicinity. I found some tips on what to do if it erupts. The first tip is to be calm, never panic. It says, “if you find animals, they can be your pattern” It also says, “maybe you should leave the stuff you bring to make you can move easier. Your life is more important than this stuff”. The second tip is to cover your nose. The third tip is “go back soon and leave the summit.” The hotel we are to stay in is aptly named Lake View Hotel and indeed the views are splendid. I have been excited about this as the plan is to climb the volcano to see the sunrise in the morning, which involves leaving at 3am. I realise though, that I am too poorly to do this and decide to join two others on a jeep trek which will involve driving across the black lava fields but we still need to leave early to catch the sunrise.
Added to my other symptoms, I have now developed itchy eyes and really can’t see. So now I can’t talk or see. When we get back to the hotel, I speak to Budi and he takes me to the local pharmacy, who advise that I need to see a doctor. We leave to drive to Ubud, stopping on the way at a community venture called Yayasa Bhakti Senang Hati, which the travel company support. The residents here have physical disabilities and it is explained to us that the majority of Balinese people are Hindu and believe that people born with a disability is the result of black magic and bad karma for that person and their family. However, this foundation provides programmes to support people with a disability and bring them out of isolation and into society. They are taught skills to help them to become more independent. They have cooked lunch for us but I am a bit disappointed that we don’t get to interact with the residents. We just stare at them in a room and wave which feels very uncomfortable.
We arrive in Ubud in the afternoon and strangely we are staying on the same street I stayed on with my daughter twenty years ago. Ubud is unrecognisable, however. I remember one street with tuk-tuks and now there are many shops, cafes, restaurants and traffic! I need to see a doctor so Budi orders a taxi and we set off. It takes about forty minutes to drive a very short distance as the traffic is at a standstill. I ponder on what will happen to this island in another ten years. The only form of transport is by car or tourist buses, it seems. I see another doctor at the Ubud Care Clinic and she examines me thoroughly, giving me a Covid test and a blood test to determine whether I have a bacterial or viral infection. She also gives me steroid drops for my eyes, and I discover I have conjunctivitis. I wait for the results of the blood and Covid test and finally receive a WhatsApp message concluding that I don’t have Covid and the infection is viral rather than bacterial so the doctor suggests I stop taking the antibiotics. I eat a small meal on my own and have an early night as tomorrow is Christmas Eve! As I walk back to my room, I encounter a lot of monkeys from the nearby sanctuary and there are two on my balcony when I climb the steps to my room. I have been told that they are mainly looking for mobile phones to steal. That makes me smile. I have a vision in my mind of the monkeys texting each other.
Christmas Eve is a day to spend at our leisure so I investigate the shops In Ubud, which don’t hold much interest for me, go for a swim in the pool and have a massage, the first of many. My eyes are beginning to feel better but I still have little voice. I see a poster advertising a bluegrass and rockabilly evening in a bar called The Lighthouse and feel that will be just the thing for the evening and send the group a message suggesting it. After dinner we head that way. We lose a few younger members of the group as they hear some music they think they will prefer. I’m feeling a bit more myself so do some crazy rocking and rolling with one of our group and then get involved in some dancing with three young people who I learn are Russian. The conversation is difficult due to my lack of voice but they seem happy with the dancing and are enthusiastic about meeting us.
December 25th dawns and a few of us are heading out for a Balinese cooking class. First we go to the market to buy a few extra ingredients and I try not to look at the raw chicken heads sitting in the intense heat with flies buzzing around them. The stall holders must have been up early as many of them are asleep behind their stalls. We head back to the Bali Manggang cooking class, which is housed in a traditional Balinese compound, where several families live together. The kitchen area all looks well organised and clean and we are shown how to cook a whole range of Balinese dishes, which we then eat. This is the most unusual Christmas lunch I have ever tasted, but delicious. We head back to our hotel and leave for the beach town of Candidasa, visiting the site of Kerta Gosa en route, the ancient court of justice, where we are entertained by a local guide who tells us stories of harsh punishments in the past, which included torture, public humiliation and afterlife consequences in line with their spiritual beliefs. These are depicted in the paintings on the ceiling in the main pavilion. We head on to Candidisa, which used to be a popular beach destination in the eighties and nineties apparently, but due to a lot of coral mining the beach is a bit of a mess. Budi tells us that there are plans to improve the beach and build better transportation links. We eat in a local restaurant and enjoy some live music. That brings Christmas Day 2024 to a close. Boxing Day is a relaxed affair, with a few people opting to take trips out of the town and others relaxing in the hotel and in the pool. I have another massage in one of the nearby hotels and at last begin to feel a bit better. That night we watch some Balinese dancing in our hotel and say goodbye to four members of the group and hello to some new members who are joining us for the Lombok part of the trip.
Today we begin our journey to Lombok, which involves a fairly long ferry ride. We are helped on board with our cases for a small tip and stack them in a corner of the boat. I opt to sit outside and spend an agreeable few hours getting to know one of the new members of the group, Sonja. We chatter on for hours and I am really glad she has arrived as there have been some pretty strange dynamics in the group for the last week, which has made me feel uncomfortable. Later that evening I realise that I have burnt the top of my feet. We pile off the ferry and onto our new bus, which is not as quite as luxurious as the last one. We are driving to Kuta, not to be confused with Kuta on the island of Bali, where the horrific Bali bombings occurred in 2002. First, we stop at a traditional village called Sasak Ende. It’s raining again, pretty heavily. We politely listen as a guide tells us about the village. One hundred and seventy four people live here and they are self-sufficient, relying on land cultivation. We are told a story about how girls are allowed to have more than one boyfriend before they marry but are sometimes kidnapped. I think he might have used the wrong word so I research and discover that the Sasak people follow a tradition called ‘merariq” which is known as elopement marriage. If a couple decide to marry, then the man must “kidnap” the woman, with her consent, and take her to his family’s house where she is hidden from her family. After pretending to search for her, negotiations take place between the families and a wedding ceremony ensues. It seems that you are allowed to try out a couple of boyfriends before choosing the one you want and we are shown the basic room with a bed where they are able to get to know one another. We are getting wetter by the minute as the rain is really torrential but we are instructed to watch something called stick fighting, which involve two fighters who duel with sticks and a shield. It is not quite clear who is winning, but it seems to be up to the referee. We “stick” it out for as long as we can in the rain and then depart to head off to Kuta Mandalika. We follow Budi to a restaurant for dinner, which seems a long way away and once again we are paddling through mud and water. Sonja and I are joined by another new member of the group, Nienke from the Netherlands and we sit and watch the enormous cockroaches scuttling around until we can stand it no longer and go to bed.
The next day is spent relaxing and exploring the local tourist market which has many stalls which seem to sell all of the same things. The rain continues to fall and we decide to eat more locally that evening. The next day we head to a village called Tetebatu, where a local guide takes us for a “trek” through the terraced rice fields and we see rice, coffee and cacao cultivation. It is hot but we are pleased that this time the rain holds off. We eat lunch, prepared for us by the villagers and then continue to the Durian Indah waterfalls, where once again the rain starts. I purchase another poncho, a green one this time. I keep buying them and leaving them behind, hoping that the rain will stop. Some stalwarts hike to a higher waterfall but I take the offer of a lift on to the next stop for the night, Sengigi. The hotel is out of the main village but has a fantastic pool and as the rain has stopped, we spend some time in there before heading into town by bus to eat.
The next day is New Year’s Eve and the preparations continue on the beach for the Under the Sea New Year’s Eve party. We are told the theme is blue and gold and we need to find something blue to wear. My friends disappear and I find them in a tattoo parlour. I am not convinced I want to join them in this activity so I disappear and get my toenails pained blue instead. Luckily, I have a blue dress. We gather on the beach and head off to our tables. It transpires that some people in our party have decided that there should be two tables, one for old people and one for young people. This annoys me and I can’t see the reason. I challenge and ask why this is and assure the young people that I can probably party them under the table as I have had more practise than they have. They try to make excuses for the decision but I feel aggrieved. The night continues. The tables of food have everything you could wish for. The entertainment is slightly odd with two quite strange young people compering the evening but they are very enthusiastic. We see a band or two, some traditional dancing and some dancing with fire. We wonder what is going on down the street and the three of us newfound buddies go to look. We buy some flashing bunny ears. We watch some people dancing in a bar and Nienke says even she feels old here (she is 31) so we decide to go back to the Under the Sea party. We dance a lot and finally there is a countdown to midnight. There is a brilliant firework display and more dancing. I begin to feel a rumbling in my stomach and feel as if my Crohn’s is going to make an early appearance in 2025. Around half an hour after midnight I go back to my room and realise that I am not going to leave it again that evening. I clearly have the dreaded Bali belly. I am told later that it is probably due to swallowing seawater, which contains raw sewage as during rainy season in Bali this can enter the sea along with other pollutants.
The next day is the last and we leave the Gili islands. I’ve got off quite lightly as a boat trip can always be a challenge in these circumstances when you need to be close to a toilet. This is a fast boat, so we are soon on shore and heading back to the Swastika bungalows. The charming receptionist is there and congratulates me on getting my bag back, although I didn’t do much, and he reminds me that I cried. Embarrassing. We go to look at Sanur beach, which I had missed on my first day due to trips to the doctor and buying clothes. It is a bit disappointing and grubby but possibly part of the reason for the mounds of rubbish stacked up on the beach could be due to the New Year’s Eve party the night before.
One last meal and a goodbye to Budi who has been a great guide. An early start for me in the morning as I am due to take an early flight to Perth. I reflect on the trip. Would I come back here again? Probably not. I feel as if Bali has seen its best days. The group experience was interesting and not one of the better ones I have experienced but I have made one or two good friends. You know who you are! The nasty virus I think I brought with me from England is still lingering and I have a mouth and throat full of ulcers and a slightly upset stomach. My immune system is fighting back hard and I have more adventures to come so bring it on Australia. Here I come!
