The Travelling Life of Silvan Colani
April 2004 - Bali
This was my third trip to the Island of the Gods, otherwise known as BALI, an acronym for Beer And Liqueur Island - at least that's what all the Australians think who have infested the island like a swarm of mosquitoes.
But aside from the Aussies (and mosquitoes), it's actually quite a nice place. Fine weather, excellent resorts, decent beaches, plenty of temples, friendly people and cold beer all make for a very pleasant break from the daily grind in Hong Kong.
We stayed at the
Sheraton Laguna in Nusa Dua, a superb resort by any measure. It's called Laguna for good reason, as several swimming pools snake their way around the hotel. In fact one pool was right below our room and if I had been sufficiently stupid (or drunk) I could have jumped right into it from the balcony. I'm sure some of the resident Aussies have done that before!
The beach in Nusa Dua is acceptable, but for anybody who's ever been to Boracay - you know the benchmark. The sea is not particularly inviting - full of algae, particularly at high tide - while there is no sea at all during low tide.
Bali, for the geography illiterates among you, lies in Indonesia, which means that everything is priced in rupees. Thus a good meal will set you back a million local bucks. Our biggest contribution to the local economy was the hire of a Suzuki Jimmy (not related to my dad), which at 97,000 kms (and counting) had an exhaust pipe that was about to fall off and breaks as soft as soggy bread rolls. But since we had no airport transfer and wanted to see a bit of the island I figured it was a good deal at US$ 60 for four days.
Saturday afternoon we rode our trusty (or should that be "rusty") red Jimmy to Uluwatu, the Monkey Temple on the southwestern tip of the Nusa Dua peninsula, perched on the cliffs high above the breaking surf. The temple is famous for is naughty monkey population and you are advised to leave your belongings in the car or a bag, as these primate thieves will otherwise run off with your Gucci glasses. The advice also applies to hair bands as Mei found out soon enough. After much negotiation, prodding and threatening, the perpetrator abandoned his loot, having discovered after much chewing that it is inedible.
I thought it might be a good idea to have dinner at Kuta, supposedly the surfers' hangout and nightlife center of Bali. As far as I could tell it was mostly a drab, traffic-choked slab of cheap designer imitation stores and equally drab hotels cut off from the beach by an overcrowded road and a sizeable moat - presumably a construction ditch for a new sewer system. The Aussies seem to love it, but we didn't even get out of the car.
On Sunday we really put the Jimmy through his paces, driving the two or so hours it takes to get to Ubud, the "spiritual center of Bali", or something like that. For all I know, it is the stone and wood-carving center of the universe, with nine out of ten shops dedicated to that craft. Who on earth buys all these sculptures? In any way, I couldn't see what all the fuss about the place was all about, but then again I'm as cultured as a can of coke (no, make that a bottle of beer, please!).
One thing I did like about Ubud, though, was the duck we had for lunch - apparently a local specialty although there was no lake anywhere near that these birds could possibly call home. But for sure, it was the juiciest duck meat I have ever tasted.
We drove back to the Sheraton in time for a clandestine Happy Hour with a member of The Liechtenstein Princely Navy who happened to stake out the area for a possible future operation NIGHTCRAWLER. Sailor Beat had established base at the Westin next door and after having depleted its supply of Foster's and passed out on the breakfast buffet called in for reinforcements (of Foster's, that is). As it happened, Captain Widmer was reportedly also in the neighborhood but couldn't compromise his own mission by blowing his cover of a happy family father on holiday. Small world, isn't it. Anyway, we played lots of pool, which Beat mostly lost by pocketing the black ball prematurely.
Well, all good things must come to an end and after paying our hotel bill of several million we dropped the trusty rusty red Jimmy off at the airport and headed back towards civilization - whatever and wherever that is!
Go Back