Two pale chicks get off the plane...
It sounds like that start of a joke, but there's nothing funny about escaping a surprisingly cold Australian city to bask in the beautiful Balinese sunshine. Dreams of paddle boarding, drinking Bintang and gradually turning a dark golden brown linger above our heads in almost visible thought bubbles.
At this time of year, Uluwatu is a perfect thirty to thirty-five degrees and a warm breeze follows the jagged coastline, scattered with little coves and caves and tropical secret beaches with golden sand and clean breaks out on the reef. Paradise.
"Shall we get some gin?"
Famous last words seem to be a backpackers downfall, don't they?
As we sit on the tiled steps outside the traditional-styled accommodation, drinking gin and tonics and smoking $2-a-pack cigarettes, we promise to never, ever reveal the fuck up that occurred on the way from the airport.
[Travel Advice: ALWAYS get a taxi from one of the companies inside the airport. Not the scary strangers stood outside, just in case you happen to leave anything precious behind.]
We were already making friends. Hannah and I had arrived at the airport early, groggy-eyed and weighed down by our possessions. Sipping on coffee to keep us alive and alert, we'd raced an Australian surfer through customs, narrowly winning thanks to an over zealous security guard scrutinizing his bag.
The surfer was sat near us on the plane and, when it comes to Bali, that basically means your friends for life. The over excited holiday mode that takes over the moment you arrive at the airport, almost as if flicking a switch as you check in your bags. "Can I see your passport and remote control?" the check in lady should say, "Make sure you've been set to the right mode". Of course I'm pretty sure that's another idea for some dystopian literature.
"So what's the plan then?" Says Hannah.
"Oh, I don't know. Stay alive, get a tan, make some more friends" I replied.
"Friends like the friend you met on the plane?" Hannah threw me a look while I sat there trying to reply to my new friends message.
"Exactly." I said without hesitation. She'll understand in a few days, I thought, everyone's just friends with everyone in Bali.
We spent days on beaches and evenings watching sunsets in marvelous places. Gazing over at Hannah, I wondered if it would be a bad idea to ask, for the tenth time that day, if she was enjoying herself. The little cross of guilt resting on my shoulders after losing her on the way to Padang Padang on our mopeds. Driving across the bridge, I'd glanced in my mirror to check she was following and would notice me indicate into the car park. Trundling across the bridge, at a rather gentle pace, was a lady in a white top, moped helmet and aviator-style sun glasses. 'That'll be her!' I thought speeding on up the road and coming to an unsteady, but reasonably successful stop. Two minutes later, I came to the conclusion that she's either collided with the seriously misplaced coach, or had simply not seen me pull into the car park and was currently speeding off towards the unknown land beyond Padang.
"Oh fuck."
I think she'd forgiven me. I did defy the laws of mind over matter, ignoring all fear of my own capabilities (or lack of them) on a bike, hastily chasing her down the road, begging to the higher power that I rely so heavily on when the fuck up is probably my fault, to discover her coming towards me with a line of cars in tow, smiling pleasantly like she was going to kill me in my sleep. 'It's okay,' I thought, 'we're at the beach now.'
As I pulled up in the car park for a second time, I laughed and pointed openly at a lady climbing off a bike, wearing a white top, helmet and aviator-style sunglasses. Just like Hannah. I ignored the fact that this doppleganger also turned out to be about 20 stone heavier than Hannah. We had 7 more days together yet!
"What are you wearing tonight?" She stirred from her sunbathing slumber and I realised that I hadn't given it a second of thought. It was our last day in Uluwatu and tonight, which happened to be a Wednesday, we were going to Single Fin. For all those aware of the famous cliff top bar and sort of night-club-come-restaurant venue, you'll know that Wednesday's the best day to go. Some of the more raving, mushroom loving lunatics might suggest that the other music night on Sunday is better, but I like the chilled atmosphere that surrounds the midweek party goers. The music is a mix of guilty pleasures from Bob Marley to Blondie and Florence and the Machine to Flume (all relative, unoffensive remixes of course). Angel by Shaggy even came on at one point and if anyone wants to know a little fact about me: this was not something I was against. In fact, we even made a video.
However, while we lay in the hot afternoon sun next to the infinity pool we'd cleverly made available to ourselves despite not actually staying at the resort, I was somewhat saddened that trip was already half over, and then reality would have to be faced right in the, well, face. I decided to wear my pale grey and white spotted pixie dress which was pale enough to make me look tanned and light and loose enough to generate some airflow. Turns out it was so light and loose that it was also a little see-through but c'est la vie. Que sera, sera and all that jazz.
It was, of course, a hot and humid evening as sunkissed dancers sucked on the ice cubes from their empty drink glasses and fanned themselves with napkins and leaflets and and anything they could find in their bags. We danced, surrounded by lanterns, illuminating puffs of cigarette smoke in the clear night sky until we couldn't ignore the temptation of the air conditioned bathrooms any longer. The sight that met us as we burst through the doors was one of girls desperately trying to save their make up from sliding down their face, while still disguising patches of sunburn, which glowed with embarrassment in the heat. I splashed my face with water before soaking a paper towel to dab over the rest of my body. Oh the trials and tribulations of looking fabulous on holiday! Instagram would suggest that we effortlessly frolick in the sea and sand, smelling like sea salt and coconut with beachy hair cascading down our backs. In reality, we're all just really fucking hot and sticky.
Waking up the next morning incredibly hungover and full of shame and regret, I try to forget that we very nearly didn't make it home alive thanks to packs of wild dogs, let alone the fact that I was the new reining champion of emptying the contents of my stomach. Whoops.
"How are you feeling?" Hannah looked concerned as I squashed large mouthfuls of pancakes covered in lime and honey into my face like I'd been fasting for a week.
"Empty" I attempted to reply, feeling grossly primitive talking with food in my mouth. She chuckled, slightly, before returning to her plate, probably trying to block the scarring visions of my disgrace.
After arriving in Kuta later that day, spirits were raised with the promise of a relaxing afternoon by the pool and drinks with our plane friend.
"Hey! I'm in Kuta later, where you girls staying?" The message had read
"Suka Beach" I replied.
He checked in two hours later and we went to meet his friends at the beach to watch the sunset, perched in deckchairs, drinking Bintangs at one of the many makeshift beach bars that line the sand from one end of the beach to the other. As you walk along the sand there is a cacophony of calls and beckons from the locals that own the bars; "come sit! Cold beer! Very good, very good!"
"Terima Kassih" we say when we choose our seats and they bring us beer. "Tare in my car seat" jokes our friend, very pleased with himself. "That's how I remember how to say it!" It's clearly not the first time he's made this joke. After dinner we go for drinks at Stakz, voted the best food venue in Bali in 2014. We nurse our hangovers with Smirnoff Ice and secretly placing wagers on the age of our new friends. To sum up, one of them apparently looked like a younger version of Hannah's Dad. Thankfully, we concluded the rest were much younger.
Because I'm absolutely appalling at leaving reviews on Trip Advisor, I'll tell you now that the hostess at Stakz is a good enough reason to go on her own. A fabulous Indonesian lady dressed in electric blue who stroked my hair, called me beautiful and classily flirted with her guests like a pro, making everyone feel welcome and raising the atmosphere with her jokes and radiant smile. The breakfast the next day was pretty banging too.
Our next and final stop was Berawa beach in Canggu. A black-sanded stretch (caused by the volcano further in land) where tourism is a thing of the past and the beaches population consists mainly of the Australians that have moved there or own a house nearby so they can ride lonely waves with little competition from ametures and swimmers. The only beach bar here is a more established one called The Naked Coconut, nestled in colourfully painted palm trees with beautifully printed floor cushions arranged in their shade, their biggest seller is, suitably, chilled young coconuts. The top of which they hack off with a machete-type knife and stick a straw in it for convenience. Tah Dah!
Our hotel is called Charlie Browns, and for about $30/day (a step up in price from our previous residence on the trip) you get absolute luxury. Two double beds to a room with en suite wet room, television, complimentary water, incredibly efficient air conditioning, a fridge, a wardrobe and a pillow shaped perfectly for spooning. What more could two single girls want? And let's not forget the pool and included breakfast of eggs, toast and fruit made by a loving hostess who explained that regular guests have taken to calling her Momma. After daily lifts to Seminyak, Deus' Temple of Enthusiasm, Echo Beach and the airport for very cheap rates, we understood why.
At Seminyak beach, we sat and sunbathed at a bar that had developed leaps and bounds ahead of its competitors, with a generator for music, bean bags to sit on and an actual approachable bar containing fridges and mie goreng for the occasional peckish beach-goer. We made friends with manager, a young man from Jakarta who sat and smoked and talked with us most of the afternoon, introducing us to his very adorable puppies and keeping our drinks flowing. As we chatted and cooed over the puppies, a collection of Australians inhabited the bar next to ours, attempting to call us over to sit with them.
"We have puppies and they're just jealous!" stated Hannah
Needless to say, as we left the beach after sunset, they caught us, promising just five minutes of our time and a free drink, so we stayed an hour, had two drinks and then went for dinner with them at the beach front restaurant right next to their hotel which had only been open four days. I'm currently cursing myself for forgetting the name, because the owner, who had spent the last three years managing some of the best restaurants in Melbourne was fantastic, offering the best service along side free starters and deserts and even a tequila shot. If I go back to Canggu, I will undoubtably go back because the food was delicious! The live music was provided by a woman who knew every song we asked her to play and an incredible voice that, without sounding too 'X-Factor judge', gave me goosebumps.
Our new friends were from Wollongong in Australia and, because the world really is that small, we have mutual friends who we marvelled at for sometime, challenging the coincidence with more names and places that the other might know. They were also the same age as us which thrilled Hannah into a high pitched excitement.
On our last day the rain came, as if protesting our departure and sulked, rather hungover from the night before at Deus, over our last meal. A deliscious curry from the restaurant just a 30 second walk away. We also sulked over ice cream and more beer while we packed.
As we stepped off the plane in Syndey, a much colder rain greeted us, with a painful Australian twang we were guided round the airport and smacked with the reality of joblessness and dwindling funds.
That's what travelling is all about though isn't it? Meeting people who will laugh at the disasters that almost had you panicked into a fit, scooping you up, handing you a beer and reminding you that you're on holiday for fuck sake. Because, for fuck sake, we were on a bloody marvellous one. And we still are (even if Sydney is one big rainy poverty pit for a short while). The next adventure lingers on the horizon.
'Till then, my pretties!
P.S: If anyone is struggling to figure out how to spend their New Years Eve this year, whether it be in icy London or wet and windy Cornwall (or even the toasty delights of Sydney and their mind-blowing selfie sticks... I mean, fireworks) I strongly recommend joining the party on Gilly T, a magical paradise island just off the coast of Bali. See you there x
