Same, same but different...

So after another tasty concoction next door to 'Havanas' at a place recommended in the guidebook called 'Jus bar' of tuna sate and milkshakes, we rose at 6 in the morning the following day to be greeted by our eager taxi driver Wayan. Just as a side note, he could have only have been called any of three names as all Balinese boys are only ever called Wayan, Nyoman or Catuk, in respective order that they were born.

So off we went after quickly eating and slurping our next installment of fruit before our longish drive north to Goa Gajah and then onto Gunung Kari, a temple of Indiana Jones magnitude. First stop Goa Gajah and the driver had provided us with two incredibly fetching sarongs to wear as entering any sacred temple site without sarong would, apparently, be incredibly disrespectful. Although I did see around four French men wandering around in denim, but they are you know..French. The complex itself was quoted in the book as being 6,000 rupiah to get in but had miraculously catapulted to 15,000 rupiah which, although it had some discernible features, was a tad over-hyped. Although the remains of various spiritual figures were impressive they were only worth a half an hour visit before we dodged past the souvenir stands and now compulsory stray dogs and into the comfort of the Toyota mini-van, the only car the taxi drivers drive. It's all about economy apparently although they look like the automotive equivalent of corrective walking shoes...

Onto Gunung Kari and again passing through the fifty or so stalls selling essentially the same products- wood carvings, weak lemon drink, paintings of the devil, that sort of thing, we ventured down the two-hundred and seventy steps down into a spectacular cauldron of temples, fountains, incense, and statues. It basically looked like, if you are up on your Indiana Jones, the set for the Temple of Doom. Visually stunning it also smelt amazing. Basically a mixture of incense, wood smoke, humidity and fresh water. After three hours circling temples, pretty much all to ourselves due to the time it was time to head back to Ubud for the sanctity of a cafe and a chill out.

After a much needed rest bite back on the terrace of our homestay catching up on reading we woke the next morning early to get to our pre-booked Balinese cooking class. After we arrived and introduced ourselves and sat down we were then told to follow our chef, Catuk, to the market to snuff out the produce and introduce our tepid western pallet's to Balinese spice. The market was phenomenal, literally no space was wasted with something happening everywhere you looked. As we headed down into the lower level things became even more chaotic. After sharing his knowledge about some amazing produce we headed back to the school after about an hour to prep the spice paste, involving about thirty ingredients, that is so integral to everything the Balinese cook. The whole day was a blast, we learnt six dishes and shared our final product out after each with the other twelve students. We both went up in front of the class to both mix and plate food. I have definitely got the taste for my own show, imagine that! Shell conquered her own chicken demons in front of the class by hand marinading twenty chicken thighs with the spice mix. A great day's work.

Tomorrow we roll on up to Lovina on the north coast to hopefully try and work up a bit of a tan. As we are now entering the start of the low season we are hoping we can wangle some money off our hotel too. Ubud though, like a less aggressive but bigger version of Southsea or Brighton with it's eclectic mix of shops and people, we will miss. For the past few days it has supplied us with some amazing food and given us a much different feel for the island we are so quickly getting used to. Tommo xx

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

Horizontally challenged!

After two days spent 'acclimatising' two doors down at the relatively sulubrious Puri Sading we have now spent the past two days, three doors down at a place called Flashbacks. Despite the name conjouring up images of Vietnam War Vets lounging on armchairs the place is immaculate, (all for 265,000 rupiah-£18 per night). In all honestly, despite it only being four days into our trip, I have not felt as chilled as I do right now for six years. The last time being sat on a sun lounger in lushly green surroundings in Greece. Yesterday was spent turfing our increasingly heavy rucksacks the distance of about six Mini Cooper's to our current residence, the aforementioned Flashback's then lounging around the plunge pool (see photos above) and then making our way down to the shopping fortress that is Hardy's, a place so bustling with cack it would not feel out of place on a wet weekend in Skegness. We went with the intention of buying a plug adapter, since the one we brought with us is as much use as our Mosquito net, another dud. What we didn't realise, and were rightly castigated for, was that to buy anything electrical we would have to inform one of the thousand employees so that they could write you out a piece of paper quoting your intention to buy said product. Once you had peroused the other multitude of items in the store, cheese donuts, chocolate made from bark-that sort of thing, you then paid at the checkout where the checkout girl shouted something about electrics and one of the employees came rushing over with our plug. A rather strange if not laborious process?! I also, after searching through what was essentially a mountain of clothing items, bought a pair of swimming shorts that after inspection back at the hotel, could actually stand up on their own.

Last night we ate at by far the best restaurent we have eaten in and it goes by the name of Swastika Restaurent. That's right people, Swastika's, but not a fascist in sight. In contrary the food was unbelievable, basic chicken sate taken to the next level gently simmering on the table straddled across hot coals. I opted for the Barbecued chicken 'Balinese style', a delicious plate full of Chicken thighs devoid of bone and a plate full of semi-hot, garlicky sauce to pour atop. We shall be going again tonight.

Today started off slowly, after a terrible night's sleep and feeling let down by the fact that I couldn't watch Match of the Day this morning via the Beeb's website due it not being available to resident's outside of the UK. We then ate our free breakfast of delicious homebaked bread topped with fresh tomato and freshly brewed coffee and then followed that by walking down to the beach area for a walk. What started as a stroll turned into a three hour amble due-south through some of the nicest sets of villa's and resorts you could imagine. Passing through the hoards of sellers who can all still remember our names and relationship status we reached prime 'honeymooners' territory and wasted no time in lapping up the manicured beaches and photo opportunities. From there we dodged the rabid dogs and made our way back to the hotel to collect our bags and mangoes to return to the beach for a bit of beach action. Despite the constant threats of invading rabies we had our first proper beach session under the midday sun. It was also the first time we acknowledged how lucky we are to live this lifestyle, it is bliss. From the beach we headed back to the plunge pool for bintangs and to email as many Ubud homestays as possible in preperation to learn how to cook Balinese-style and dance like a bit of a twat. Ubud tomorrow! Much love, Tommmmmmo (thanks Claire!) xx