Eat, Pray and Ubud...

So after four good days getting to grips with the Balinese 'ways' we descended, thanks in kind to a stormer of a taxi driver (more of him later)into the chaos that was Ubud at 1pm in the afternoon. After dropping our bags off at the deserted and eerily quiet homestay (essentially a room in the grounds or building of a family home) Pondok Krishna, we veered back onto the main road and into Ubud. After the dual successes of being named Conde Naste Asian City of the year in 2010 and riding high from the Eat, Pray, Love explosion our expectations, much like anyone else turning up in Ubud for the first time, were to be initially dampened. Half expecting a small community of spiritual healers, backed up by a number of artistes, what you actually get, on first impressions, is a really crowded and sweltering hot Brighton or Camden. Initially put off by excessive and at times incessant exhaust fumes and traffic we decided that our mood probably wasn't being helped by our lack of food so being at the cross section of Monkey Forest Road and the main road we stumbled unexpectedly upon a really famous Warung (small, local restaurant). The Warung, called Ibu Oka, was apparently so eponymous that islanders say the suckling pig, is the tastiest on the island. It didn't disappoint. Shavings of lusciously moist and tender pork accompanied with spicy sausage more reminiscent of black pudding, deep fried tenderloin and most amazingly of all, the most amazing crackling you could ever possibly imagine. Apparently this has been a local favourite for over thirty years and by looking at the queues that had formed outside and then down at clear plates it wasn't hard to understand why. Although according to locals the prices have increased almost fivefold in recent years, the price was still only 80,000 rupiah for two massive banana leaves full of pork and beans and two soft drinks (about £5.80).

From our pork-tastic heaven, we headed south down Monkey Forest Road feeling calmer and more at peace with Ubud and we were rewarded almost instantly with something resembling the Ubud of your imagination. The road, similar in ways to Edinburgh's Royal Mile (in an Asian way), carries on for almost that distance whilst being peppered almost incessantly with boutique shops, local warungs, trendy restaurants and bohemian cafes building to a climax down towards the Monkey Forest. After agreeing we would return the next day we cut through a side roadand onto the road of our homestay through rice paddies and most depressingly of all, rubbish. It is a disturbing and depressing sight to see such a naturally beautiful land be abused in such a way. According to our driver, who I engaged in an animated debate about politics, the Indonesian government, based in Jakarta on the large island to the west, Java, demand extortianate taxes from the Balinese due to their obviously healthy tourist profits, but recieve inadequate services in return. Unfortunatly for Bali this means a greatly strained tourist economy without the infrastructure to support it, such as rubbish collection. Another major issue, the enormous number of transport touts, could also explained. The Balinese are incredibly spiritual people meaning that ceremonies and offerings play a central part to everyday life, upto 25% of their annual earnings can go on offerings alone. This coupled with three ceremonies per day means that holding down a stable job can prove incredibly difficult, especially as Bali becomes even more Western-centric in outlook. All of this means that jobs that used to be filled with local Balinese are now being filled with workers from the surrounding islands such as Lombok, Flores and Java who are predominantly Muslim. To survive, most Balinese men have no alternative but to turn to taxi-driving as their sole means of income. A fact made evident by the masses of men who constantly ask you whether you need 'transport' or 'taxi taxi boss', Shell seems to have the rebuttle sussed, they don't understand my 'no ta mate'.

Anyway, that night we ate at a place called Havanas, our first non-Balinese fare of the trip. The restuarant, top pick in the guide, was apparently reviewed in the New York Times quite recently. Although a tad expensive for our modest budget, we gorged on tapas of mini quesadillas, empinadas and spicy beef filled potato croquettes, all for 100,000 (about £6). On the way back we stopped for bintangs at a place called The Shisha Bar overlooking the famous football field. Whilst the live band played Fleetwood Mac and Lighthouse Family covers we watched three mental artists painting both impressionist and surrealist murals, Karl, well up your street. Clarky, if you ever read this, you would absolutely love this place.

In the morning, we rose early and sat outside. I again had an awful sleep, meaning I both felt and looked like a cross between Percy Sugden and Claude Greengrass. As we sat we felt increasingly confused about the set-up, essentially, would we get breakfast? Never one to be shy, I went in search of food and found a fridge that I thought was for the guests. As I rumaged through I was collered by the owner and kindly escorted out of the family kitchen and back to my area! Within five minutes he had returned though with fresh papaya smoothies, plates of lavish fruit and green banana pancakes. (He's still a strange bloke).

After breakfast we walked to the Monkey Forest where, for 40,000 rupiah between us, we could spend as much or as little time as we wanted being threatened by rabid macaque monkeys (everytime I say that I hear Alan Partridge). In the first ten minutes we saw a monkey wrestle a bottle from a bloke's hands then unscrew the lid, neck the lot then through the bottle away like a teenage rioter. Another went routing through a womans bag, found her sunscreen, then proceeded to eat the lot. Strange beings but Mr Darwin, I think your early theories are justified when comparing this with say, Commercial Road-Portsmouth on a Saturday afternoon....

From there we went to find cheaper lodgings and after three failed attempts found a cracking place called Warsi's bungalows, where I currently write from the porch overlooking the rice paddies, for 200,000 per night (£14). From there we dropped by Art Cafe where, and we are both in agreement, we had one of the nicest things we have eaten anywhere, not just in Bali. It was essentially a veggie burger but with an incredibly moist Butternut Squash and chickpea pattie, heaps of fresh salad and a dollop of thick garlicky houmous. Quite honestly, other-worldly. Also not a bad meal yet in seven days.

After lunch and suitably nourished we headed for Campuan Ridge, a walk in the guidebook that states 9km and slight climbs. In reality this would turn out to be 10k through Balinese country and villages, chased by stray dogs and onto deathly main roads. But, alas, we survived, and were rewarded with the most stunning place I have ever had a beer. A place on top of the ridge, in a hut propped above water, overlooking rice paddies. Bliss. And after writing for a good hour now I must stop but this is such a beautiful spot, you can understand why people book a couple of nights and end up staying for a year. We may linger.... Tommo xx