Bali – Middle Seat Passenger

Well I can honestly say my Indian meditative state has long gone, more the pity. Waiting in a coffee shop with the thought of updating my travels in a peaceful, calm environment – there’s babies screeching, a vicar with no volume control and how long does it take to make a latte??? told you the calmness is long gone…anyway I’m staying put! Time to update Bali…

Off we go again, thanks to good old Trailfinders and their special offers…Bali here we come (well providing we don’t get shot out of the sky or just go missing) I’m thinking that the Malaysia Air flights were giving discounts for a reason!

Anyway, as you do, when you get bored of your own book, newspaper, film on the flight you start looking over other peoples shoulders in the seats opposite and reading their texts, laptops – oooh happy days someone is playing a picture = word game however, after 10 minutes of this man staring at a 4 leaf clover and having the letters UCKLMF and putting: MLUK…LCFU…ULCK… it took all of my calm yogic breath not to jump out of my seat and use the F instead of the L just so we could just move onto the next picture!

Now you might think that its just me that spends time watching other people and what they are doing but apparently not, some woman on her way back from the toilet stopped and said “can I just watch your TV?” and shoved her head in front of Richards then did a “humpf” of disappointment and walked off…we’re on a flight of thick, nosey people (yes I include myself in that).

Arriving at the hotel the place is swarming with Police & here we were thinking it was going to be the flight that was going to be the iffy part of the journey. Low & behold the hotel has the Annual Interpol convention so we’re either in the safest place in Bali or at the highest risk of being blown to pieces! It’s sunny who cares!

Taking a little wander around the area there’s lots of “go to the roundabout with the dancers on then turn left at the cow” it couldn’t be further from home which at a push theirs some daffodils & the odd Christmas tree that the council haven’t bothered to move. Now, it’s a standing joke that I’m always looking for my £1 on the floor as I walk but it definitely helps here due to the huge holes in the pavements and missing manhole covers, which, if you were staring at the dancers on the roundabouts you’d be down a hole before you know it.

After a little persuasion, as the diving has been described as “not of beginners” and bearing in mind I didn’t like putting my head under the water only 12 months ago off we go. Ok, so we expected basic’ish but this is a seriously small boat so they set all of your equipment otherwise it would be “man overboard” if everyone tried to move around. It was at this point Richard decided to tell me he didn’t have any swimwear with him so there he is trying to squeeze himself into his wetsuit whilst the boat bobs up & down and I hold a towel around him…it’s a sight not to see. It’s all a bit of a rush into the water, my tank keeps banging me on the back of the head (as you can imagine…not that comfortable with that) and Richard has very rosey cheeks, I put it down to the fact that we were doing a drift dive but they are making us swim against the current – no, I have no idea why that was? It all becomes apparent when they shoehorn us back onto the boat and they say ‘we think we gave you the wrong kit…you have each others” no wonder Richards head was nearly purple with my BCD on. When we got back on shore Richard gave up trying to be modest, off came the wetsuit on the beach, thankfully I threw him the towel before he had to bend down for it…the man has no shame!

Returning to the hotel, Richards complaining of water trapped in his ear and those fateful words come out of his mouth “do you have anything that can sort this out?” me being Mary Poppins goes to the bottomless toiletry bag…I have drops that should dry it up. Good…sorted. Then he says “these drops are running back out of my ear, can you put some cotton wool in?” back to the Mary Poppins bag muttering to myself “cotton wool, cotton wool..who the hell takes cotton wool on holiday…mmm this will do” so I shout “yes sorted on my way”. So there he is chilling on the balcony, head tilted to one side, drops staying put oblivious to the fact that he has a tampon sticking out of his ear…ok I have no shame either!

Escaping Interpol for another day and off to Ubud, the place where backpackers decide that they have to look like hippies and by all accounts soap and water are optional, a couple of uncovered manholes wouldn’t go amiss here just to freshen the air from them or to take a few of them out! As its a more touristy area it also comes with all the “looky looky” crap, my favourite being the misspelled football tops, unless that is, David Beckham has changed his name to David Beacham & is now being sponsored by coughs & colds.

Off to the Monkey Forest &, I know its childish, but it still make me giggle when you see one as proud a punch having a wank (2 hands as well – impressive!).

Time to chill, with the lovely relaxing words of “lets go and get a massage” so we find the one place that looks least like a knocking shop and go in…”yes we can do couples massage in the same room” they reply as they quickly drag another massage bed in front of the window with just enough room to squeeze between it and their net curtains. As we go in they say “you can leave your underwear on or we have some”…thanks but i’ll keep my own knickers on rather than getting any of yours out of lost property.

Now, doing massage myself, it’s quite obvious when someone’s not too sure what they are doing – even in a language I don’t understand I could tell that the therapist massaging Richard was telling my “trainee” what she should be doing, with varying degrees of success. You may or may not know what I’m like for not having boobs out on display but every time she walked passed the bed her arse either pulled back the towel or the net curtains, she then couldn’t quite work out where to put the bottle of massage oil down so where else? thats right she wedged it between my thighs.

As Richard’s having his lovely relaxing massage by an experienced therapist there I am net curtains now wide open to the street, one boob hanging out, with a massage bottle clenched between my thighs and just as I turn my head I see their disposable pants rolled up on the pillow like a small black vibrator which is now resting on my cheek! How do I end up in these situations????

It would be safe to say, “at least when your back in the hotel its relaxing” I’ll not bore you with all of the details but we have lost count of how many rooms we’ve had.

1st one – view of a brick wall.

2nd one – view of a smaller brick wall, patch of grass and mobility scooters (I’m thinking they weren’t Interpol’s getaway vehicles).

3rd one – lovely maisonette, until the Mother of all storms arrived and a waterfall decided to appear down the bedroom wall, at one point we could have done with a light & a whistle.

4th one – the one we said “who would pay that much for a room just so you have your own pool” Result…got that one by default!