Surfing at Sunset
The Ubud Hanging Gardens stretch so deep into the valley that it requires two separate funicular train rides to reach the bottom. The could have just built one, of course, but it would have meant guests waiting an eternity for a ride down to the swimming pool or the restaurant, both of which sit at the half way point and have stunning views over the far hillside. That’s where Ling and I eat breakfast. Despite the stunning surrounds, the ambiance is one of a mid-market Mediterranean hotel. It’s the food, I think. It’s a bit naff. There’s one of those bloody awful timer toasters and little packets of imported French jam. It’s not bad, you understand. Made for the market, I guess. There are too many customers to make things too personal, and most are European who want predictable breakfasts. Saying that, there are a fair few Taiwanese this morning. One couple have ordered a bloody great pizza for their breakfast. They chatter away in Mandarin as they cram into their bellies.
A dip in the larger infinity pool just below the restaurant is in order. The sun is shining and, every time I come up from a stroke and emerge out of the water, I can’t help smiling a long, broad smile and I seemingly dive towards the sun-soaked jungle that appears just in front of me. This is living. Today is my first wedding anniversary and Ling and I shoot celebratory pictures by balancing the camera on a couple of stacked tables and then splashing around in the water. I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be right now.
We check out at 11am to yet another completely clean account. The girl who phones around to check the state of the room seems quite flustered when she realizes we haven’t touched a thing from the mini-bar, eaten at the restaurant or taken a spa etc.etc. The final bill – nadda. Not only that but we aren’t even going to be paying for a ride back into town. We’ve blagged the last two seats in the free shuttle bus.
The couple behind me in the bus are curious. With my big sunglasses and a laptop, appropriately, on my lap, I am chatting to the driver about taking tours of the east coast, chatting with the PR manager, and doing all manner of exciting, professional things. When I ask how much a helicopter ride costs, I can almost hear then splutter. I reckon they think I am Rupert Murdoch’s grandson, or somesuch. If only they knew that my father-in-law still catches rats in order to feed himself.
We spend a few hours in Ubud in a little book/coffee shop on the main street. It’s a lovely spot to sit and browse through the stacks of magazines. We’ve got a guy to take us back to the south for 130,000 Rupiah (about 14 USD). At 2pm he swings up in his little white van and off we go – having to first ask him to ditch a down-and-out ‘mate of his’ who seems to want to come along for the ride. There’s a time for charity, and this aint it. The guy looks wild, and we are carrying too much valuable stuff. Amazingly, the driver says it’s no problem at all, and out he gets.
The driver is a lovely chap who insists that he can’t speak English yet chats to us nearly the whole way back. He thanks us for choosing him (from the million other drivers back in Ubud we could have gone with) because, ‘you know, business is bad at the moment’. As we pass a driver being pulled over, he tells us about the corruption in the police force in Bali. Basically, you have to go to Police School to join the force. This obviously costs money. Then, if you are Balinese and want to stay in Bali, you must then pay some big shot in Jakarta several million Rupiah, naturally requiring a bank loan. With your posting secured, you then spend the next several years stopping drivers and making spurious fines in order to pay back your loan. Corruption, or just the way it works? Sounds well dodgy, whatever way you look at it.
Our driver stops at a recently built big tourist shop specializing in wood carvings. It filled with Japanese and the prices reflect this. The bad thing about living in China is that whenever you travel – even to a relatively poor country like Indonesia – everything seems so very, very expensive. 60 USD for a wood carving? Only costs 5 USD back home – I’ll pass. We leave empty and any hope our driver had for a commission evaporates.
We check back into the cheap and ever cheerful Surawathi Hotel. The chap on reception remembers my name but still tries to charge me more for my room than I paid the first time round, which is a bit annoying.
At sunset Ling and I walk along the beach and admire the huge waves that are crashing in, silhouetted against a big, red sun. Sunset surfers swirl about out on the breakers. The beach is like one vast mirror and reflects the colours and textures of the sky. It’s absolutely magic. I already suspect that Ling and I may never have another anniversary quite like this one.
We ate pizza tonight. Two pizzas, plus a lovely big spaghetti dish, to be precise. After being unable to afford a single thing for the last three days, we are happy to be back in our comfort zone. We sit on the first floor balcony of a funky little restaurant in what feels like quite a blue-collar section of Legian. Next door, for example, there is wild-west whooping as a Balinese band play epic rock classics (think Aerosmith, Nickleback etc.). We passed the front gate earlier and there were offering whole-hog spit roasts with buckets of free beer thrown in. The patrons were all, to the last man and woman, fat and exceedingly rough-looking Aussies. Nevertheless, our little place – just next door – and soft lighting, ambient beats and feel very salubrious. The contrast is fab.
The moon rises over the roof tops in front and Ling and I are entranced. Isn’t it amazing how you can stare at a full moon for hours without getting bored? Wispy clouds occasionally pass in front, above us the stars shine. It really is one of the finest feelings – being well fed, with the woman you love, staring at the moon. In front of us are two man – probably gay – who are sitting staring into their drinks. While we are having such fun, I can’t help but reflect on their plight. Is there a more depressing sight in the world than two lovers, together on holiday, in a romantic setting, who are so bored with each other than they have nothing to say. Their faces are long, and sad. They are searching for conversation, but nothing comes. They just stir their drinks, try to look interested in the architecture and occasionally muster the odd-half smile. This should be the highlight of their year, as it is ours, but they look desperate. Ach, who cares? Ling and I are having too much fun.
