Following swiftly on from our adventures in Java, we flew from Yogyakarta to Kuala Lumpur. Having been to KL before, and had a rotten time in its fleapit cheapo guesthouses, I decided to finally give Jacqui a Christmas present. And so we found ourselves on the 18th and top floor of a 4-star hotel bang slap in the middle of the swanky, urban centre of KL known as the Golden Triangle. Certainly made a welcome change from lumpy pillows and cold showers. Oh no, wait, we're hardy, worldly-wise backpackers and therefore positively relish lumpy pillows. Oh yes. And we definitely never have a sneaky McDonalds when there are Asian eateries nearby. *Wipes ketchup off chin.*
Actually, I'm just kidding, we're eating Asian food almost every day. But one thing I will say about the odd cheeky McDonalds we have had - the staff here could give their English counterparts a lesson in customer service. I was quite taken aback the first time. Smiling, politeness, immaculate personal hygiene and - unlike in the UK - an excellent grasp of the English language greeted us as we placed our order.
The swanky hotel would provide much-needed respite from KL's many frustrations. Seriously, its a decent place, yet despite being more Westernised than most Asian cities it could not be more bewildering to tourists if it tried. I was feeling the rage on several occasions. We went to find the queue to go up the famous twin Petronas Towers. After a convulated journey via two seperate monorails, which linked up about as well as a British Olympic relay team, we found ourselves at the foot of one of the towers. Right, so which way? How about a signpost? Maybe its round the corner? No. Eventually we found a very small sign saying we had to go down an escalator and queue in the basement. We got down there at about 8.20am to be greeted with a snaking queue of around 350 people. Sigh. Luckily, when we finally got to the front, the extremely camp man serving seemed to take a shine to me and somehow sneaked us in to the 9.30am tour - when the board was saying next available time slot 2.45pm. Nice view.
The pattern repeated itself at all the other attractions we visited. Given that KL has recently merged its National Museum and its National History Museum, it doesn't go to any great lengths to show you the way there. Damn fine museum once we found it, but that was after hiking around for 40 minutes or so.
And don't get me started on internet in KL. It literally took 15 minutes to get the BBC front page to load up. This had me pretty much bashing my face into the keyboard, while Jacqui spoke in hushed tones to try and soothe my fury. That was until the rubbish internet made her mess up her fantasy football team's weekly transfer and bring in a player that was suspended!
We also visited the Islamic Arts Museum which had models of some of the most impressive mosques in the world as well as the National Mosque, a large and very modern looking place where a floaty and well-meaning Canadian girl, who'd settled on Islam after dabbling with most of the religions out there, told us some interesting nuggets of information about Islam. Plus a few things that just weren't true, but maybe she'd been misinformed.
On our last day we witnessed the sad spectacle of a transsexual fishing half-eaten crisp packets out of a rubbish bin. She was wearing what was probably once a rather racy short pink dress. But it was now a grimy faded pink. You see some weird things in South East Asia but that was one of the strangest.
One final note. If you ever find yourself in KL's Little India district, go to the ABC curry house and order the mutton saagwala. Mmm, mmm, mmm. Just don't visit in the wet season like us. We've seen some epic rain in recent days. Deciding that Malaysia was too wet, too expensive and just too damn awkward to get around, we've already left. We're now back in Thailand. Time for some sunshine and some seriously fiery chillies.
Wednesday, 25 February 2009
Yogyakarta, Java: In a stupa stupor
Yogya is the hotbed of Javanese culture and intellectual goings-on, and is steeped in history - it's still ruled by a Sultan, who operates out of an enclosed mini-city in the centre of town. Returning to busy streets and traffic took some adjusting, but we found the Yogyakartans (or Yoghurt Cartons, as I much preferred to call them) much friendlier, and less out to rip us off, which was a nice change.
Yogya's two biggest tourist attractions are two temples, Buddhist Borobudur and Hindu Prambanan, both relics of much earlier civilisations on the island that were subsequently driven out by the Muslim sultanates. Both temples have been badly damaged by centuries of neglect and earthquakes but are undergoing reconstruction now. Borobudur is a Mahayana Buddhist stupa (or temple) built in around 800AD and abandoned 300-400 years later, rather mysteriously. It was lost for centuries to volcanic ash and the jungle, until Stamford Raffles (who got around a bit) rediscovered it and began restoration. It's now safe to climb to the top of the stupa, which we did, although seriously heavy rain curtailed our visit. Nearby Prambanan is a Hindu monument built around the same time, and abandoned almost as soon as it was completed - an earthquake damaged the temple and frightened the people to the extent that they fled to Bali. Reconstruction has been hampered by Borobudur commandeering most of the funds, and serious damage inflicted by the 2006 earthquake. It's now open to tourists but only to walk round the perimeter as much of the stonework is very precariously held in place. In both temples, we were lucky to have excellent guides who really knew their stuff. Our Prambanan guide was our favourite (despite his fantastically awful teeth) as he not only gave us a guided tour, he also performed some Javanese dance, and recounted the whole story of the Hindu epic, the Ramayana.
Speaking of which, we combined our visit to Pramaban with seeing a performance of the Ramayana Ballet - the story of the Ramayana told through traditional dance. The epic tells the story of Rama and his wife Shinta, and her kidnap by the King of the Giants. With the help of Hanuman, the white monkey, and his magic arrows, Rama faces a series of trials before eventually defeating the giants and winning her back. The story, in various forms, is of religious and cultural significance across Asia, so it was interesting to see. The dancing itself was fantastic, though we were disappointed that the much bigger open-air version is only on during the dry season.
The next day we visited the Kraton, or Sultan's Palace, which was actually quite disappointing. We were expecting more in the way of opulence. It did let us pay a visit to a traditional Wayang Kulit (or leather shadow puppet) workshop. Inspired by our visit to the ballet, we bought ourselves Rama and Shinta puppets. The puppets are intricately carved in Buffalo leather and beautifully painted. You can bend them as much as you want and the leather will give, so they should survive in my rucksack.
We also paid a visit to the Yogya bird market. The craziest place on earth. As well selling thousands of tiny songbirds (which are immediately released on purchase for good luck), the market had on offer: dogs, squirrels, mice, rabbits, bats, owls and just about everything else that flies. Along with a seriously horrible assortment of bugs and cockroaches to feed them with. The oddest sight was a crate full of little chicks dyed in garish shades of pink, orange, blue and green - given as presents to children on Chinese New Year apparently.
Yogya's two biggest tourist attractions are two temples, Buddhist Borobudur and Hindu Prambanan, both relics of much earlier civilisations on the island that were subsequently driven out by the Muslim sultanates. Both temples have been badly damaged by centuries of neglect and earthquakes but are undergoing reconstruction now. Borobudur is a Mahayana Buddhist stupa (or temple) built in around 800AD and abandoned 300-400 years later, rather mysteriously. It was lost for centuries to volcanic ash and the jungle, until Stamford Raffles (who got around a bit) rediscovered it and began restoration. It's now safe to climb to the top of the stupa, which we did, although seriously heavy rain curtailed our visit. Nearby Prambanan is a Hindu monument built around the same time, and abandoned almost as soon as it was completed - an earthquake damaged the temple and frightened the people to the extent that they fled to Bali. Reconstruction has been hampered by Borobudur commandeering most of the funds, and serious damage inflicted by the 2006 earthquake. It's now open to tourists but only to walk round the perimeter as much of the stonework is very precariously held in place. In both temples, we were lucky to have excellent guides who really knew their stuff. Our Prambanan guide was our favourite (despite his fantastically awful teeth) as he not only gave us a guided tour, he also performed some Javanese dance, and recounted the whole story of the Hindu epic, the Ramayana.
Speaking of which, we combined our visit to Pramaban with seeing a performance of the Ramayana Ballet - the story of the Ramayana told through traditional dance. The epic tells the story of Rama and his wife Shinta, and her kidnap by the King of the Giants. With the help of Hanuman, the white monkey, and his magic arrows, Rama faces a series of trials before eventually defeating the giants and winning her back. The story, in various forms, is of religious and cultural significance across Asia, so it was interesting to see. The dancing itself was fantastic, though we were disappointed that the much bigger open-air version is only on during the dry season.
The next day we visited the Kraton, or Sultan's Palace, which was actually quite disappointing. We were expecting more in the way of opulence. It did let us pay a visit to a traditional Wayang Kulit (or leather shadow puppet) workshop. Inspired by our visit to the ballet, we bought ourselves Rama and Shinta puppets. The puppets are intricately carved in Buffalo leather and beautifully painted. You can bend them as much as you want and the leather will give, so they should survive in my rucksack.
We also paid a visit to the Yogya bird market. The craziest place on earth. As well selling thousands of tiny songbirds (which are immediately released on purchase for good luck), the market had on offer: dogs, squirrels, mice, rabbits, bats, owls and just about everything else that flies. Along with a seriously horrible assortment of bugs and cockroaches to feed them with. The oddest sight was a crate full of little chicks dyed in garish shades of pink, orange, blue and green - given as presents to children on Chinese New Year apparently.
Monday, 16 February 2009
Gili Trawangan, Lombok: Island hopping.
Delighted to escape our grotty, bug-ridden room in Senggigi, we made the extremely choppy longboat hop over to the remote Gili Islands. Of the three islands, we settled on Gili Trawangan as our base and spent about double what we usually spend on a really plush room set back from the beach. Part of the reason for this was that the islands were suffering daily power shortages, so we picked a place with its own generator. However, we were soon cursing our luck when the generator broke. The embarrassed manager promptly gave us 50 percent off until power was back to normal. As it turned out, we ended up getting three nights half price.
Trawangan has a reputation as the party island, but as it was low season that just meant that there were a decent sprinkling of people having drinks in most bars, whereas Gili Meno and Gili Air are largely deserted this time of year. The lack of motorised transport (and dogs) on all three islands makes for a peaceful experience. Some of the horses and ponies pulling tourists and locals around in carts looked a little overworked though. Not much meat on most of them.
We met up with a few English lads, a Swiss guy and a giant beanpole Dutch guy who delighted in telling people that his nationality was 'Hollish'. The majority of them had come for the surf, which they found to be decent but dicey as the waves would tend to send them crashing into dead corals as they fell off.
Turtles are becoming plentiful around the Gilis thanks to a conservation programme where baby turtles are reared on the beach until old enough to fend for themselves. Only two percent survive in the wild otherwise. We saw three large turtles on a snorkelling trip, which was made extra memorable by a small jellyfish that has left a v-shaped (thankfully not painful) rash on my arm.
We also spent a day exploring Meno and Air, staying the night in a rickety thatched cottage on Gili Air complete with hammock (damp), large double bed (damp) and mouse/rat/some kind of rummaging vermin (noisily fond of our still-wrapped Oreo biscuits at 3am). The islands are perfect for those seeking isolation - the only thing likely to disturb the peace being falling coconuts (and even coconut tree branches, which seem as prone as the fruit to falling to the ground with a loud thud).
We've now flown to Yogyakarta in Java, where the second leg of our flight was delayed by an enormous storm that blew over the big trolleys used to shuttle luggage across to the planes. First impressions are really good. Tourism is less widespread here - we're noticeably getting looks as we walk down the street. It's interesting to be seen as a curiosity. There's still plenty of English spoken though. Indonesians are up there with the Dutch when it comes to an aptitude for languages. We're off to see the Borobudur temple in a couple of hours.
Trawangan has a reputation as the party island, but as it was low season that just meant that there were a decent sprinkling of people having drinks in most bars, whereas Gili Meno and Gili Air are largely deserted this time of year. The lack of motorised transport (and dogs) on all three islands makes for a peaceful experience. Some of the horses and ponies pulling tourists and locals around in carts looked a little overworked though. Not much meat on most of them.
We met up with a few English lads, a Swiss guy and a giant beanpole Dutch guy who delighted in telling people that his nationality was 'Hollish'. The majority of them had come for the surf, which they found to be decent but dicey as the waves would tend to send them crashing into dead corals as they fell off.
Turtles are becoming plentiful around the Gilis thanks to a conservation programme where baby turtles are reared on the beach until old enough to fend for themselves. Only two percent survive in the wild otherwise. We saw three large turtles on a snorkelling trip, which was made extra memorable by a small jellyfish that has left a v-shaped (thankfully not painful) rash on my arm.
We also spent a day exploring Meno and Air, staying the night in a rickety thatched cottage on Gili Air complete with hammock (damp), large double bed (damp) and mouse/rat/some kind of rummaging vermin (noisily fond of our still-wrapped Oreo biscuits at 3am). The islands are perfect for those seeking isolation - the only thing likely to disturb the peace being falling coconuts (and even coconut tree branches, which seem as prone as the fruit to falling to the ground with a loud thud).
We've now flown to Yogyakarta in Java, where the second leg of our flight was delayed by an enormous storm that blew over the big trolleys used to shuttle luggage across to the planes. First impressions are really good. Tourism is less widespread here - we're noticeably getting looks as we walk down the street. It's interesting to be seen as a curiosity. There's still plenty of English spoken though. Indonesians are up there with the Dutch when it comes to an aptitude for languages. We're off to see the Borobudur temple in a couple of hours.
Friday, 6 February 2009
Senggigi, Lombok: The mosquito and the mosque.
Following on from Jacqui's Ubud blog below, we then travelled to the north coast of Bali and the sleepy seaside town of Lovina. Apparently its rammed in the summer, but now during low season it was bordering on desolate. The reason for going was dolphin watching. We headed out at dawn with the promise of a 50 percent refund if we didn't see Flipper and Co. This proved unnecessary as we were soon bobbing around with a couple of dozen inquisitive bottle-nosed. Our longboat-cum-bamboo-catamaran was surprisingly speedy, and we were able to follow the pod (one of various collective nouns I could have chosen here) and get some great shots as they swam in - and even occasionally jumped clear out of - the water.
Next day we were off to the mountain village of Kedisan, from where we would begin our trek up Mount Batur (an active volcano which last erupted in a frighteningly recent 2000). We didn't know that we both had to hop on the back of someone else's cruddy motorbike when we signed up for this. We set off at 5am and clung on tight as the biker dropped us off at the starting point. It was rainy and foggy, and so you can imagine we weren't in the best of moods as the trek begin. In fact, for inexperienced climbers like us, it was gruelling all the way up because we were soaked and the fog meant we couldn't enjoy the scenery. However, once we reached the top, the skies cleared and we were able to get some good photos of Lake Batur and other even bigger mountains in the distance - not to mention shots of the craters from previous eruptions. Our guide then cooked some eggs in a hole that had hot steam coming out of it. Jacqui enjoyed hers, but I gave mine to a mangy dog with tics that had been hanging around looking like it might die if it didn't eat. The locals in Kedisan were weird. One cocky chap with less English than most here claimed he was 'intimate with Beckham'. I think he chose the wrong word, but Jacqui smiled politely anyway.
Our journey from Kedisan to Tulamben (where we snorkelled the wreck of the US cargo ship Liberty, which sank in 1942), was peppered with coloured flags and posters of election candidates stuck onto any available surface. It seems that if you want to get ahead in Indonesian politics you need a) shedloads of flags; b) a nifty little thumbs up gesture in your campaign poster; and c) a moustache. The last of these is perhaps the most important. My favourite were the candidates for the red PDI Perjuangan party, mainly because of their rather ominous party logo.
Snorkelling was tough but eventually rewarding. The rocky beach and crashing waves made it damn difficult to get started - especially in flippers which would catch with every wave and make you lose your balance. Soon enough we worked out that going in backwards - while odd looking - was the best solution. We saw all the usual wrasse, etc, but the highlight was a huge shoal of spooky, beady-eyed jackfish.
One part of Indonesian culture shock that I didn't experience last time was the concept of every man being able to sell you everything from transport, to a hotel, to trips to other places. What this actually means is that you pay slightly over the odds, and he then calls the real experts and takes a slight cut. Or a big cut if you negotiate poorly. A few times now we've booked transport with one man, who sometimes even points at his car and uses phrases like "I will pick you up at 8am". Next morning: different (often better) car, and different man. Replacement is usually the 'brother' or 'cousin' of the seller. Apparently.
One final note on Bali: its pleasing to discover that white dog poo still exists here. Most children of the 1970s and 1980s will remember seeing white dog poo when they were kids, but you just don't see it anymore. Jacqui gave me an odd look when I made a small cheer upon spotting a crusty, white pile of canine dung. The things you get nostalgic for...
We're now in the coastal resort of Senggigi on the island of Lombok (east of Bali). The locals seem less determined to charge us stupid prices and the whole approach seems a lot more relaxed. Last night we took advantage of happy hour at a beach-side bar, haggled with locals over jewellery and a sarong, before having dinner in a bar with the tightest house band I've ever seen. They mostly did Stones covers, so I was in my element. Our night's sleep was disturbed by a mosquito that found Jacqui very tasty and also the nearby mosque at about 4.30am. The muezzin making the call to prayer - through a very loud but fuzzy sound system - was really going for it. Far more gusto than you hear from the big one in Regent's Park. His incessant warbling then started again mid-morning which eventually got us out of bed. Next stop: the Gili Islands, for much needed rest and recuperation. All three islands - Gili Trawangan, Gili Meno and Gili Air - are devoid of motorised transport, which should be jolly peaceful. We've done so much in our first month, slowing down a bit should do us - and our budget - plenty of good.
Next day we were off to the mountain village of Kedisan, from where we would begin our trek up Mount Batur (an active volcano which last erupted in a frighteningly recent 2000). We didn't know that we both had to hop on the back of someone else's cruddy motorbike when we signed up for this. We set off at 5am and clung on tight as the biker dropped us off at the starting point. It was rainy and foggy, and so you can imagine we weren't in the best of moods as the trek begin. In fact, for inexperienced climbers like us, it was gruelling all the way up because we were soaked and the fog meant we couldn't enjoy the scenery. However, once we reached the top, the skies cleared and we were able to get some good photos of Lake Batur and other even bigger mountains in the distance - not to mention shots of the craters from previous eruptions. Our guide then cooked some eggs in a hole that had hot steam coming out of it. Jacqui enjoyed hers, but I gave mine to a mangy dog with tics that had been hanging around looking like it might die if it didn't eat. The locals in Kedisan were weird. One cocky chap with less English than most here claimed he was 'intimate with Beckham'. I think he chose the wrong word, but Jacqui smiled politely anyway.
Our journey from Kedisan to Tulamben (where we snorkelled the wreck of the US cargo ship Liberty, which sank in 1942), was peppered with coloured flags and posters of election candidates stuck onto any available surface. It seems that if you want to get ahead in Indonesian politics you need a) shedloads of flags; b) a nifty little thumbs up gesture in your campaign poster; and c) a moustache. The last of these is perhaps the most important. My favourite were the candidates for the red PDI Perjuangan party, mainly because of their rather ominous party logo.
Snorkelling was tough but eventually rewarding. The rocky beach and crashing waves made it damn difficult to get started - especially in flippers which would catch with every wave and make you lose your balance. Soon enough we worked out that going in backwards - while odd looking - was the best solution. We saw all the usual wrasse, etc, but the highlight was a huge shoal of spooky, beady-eyed jackfish.
One part of Indonesian culture shock that I didn't experience last time was the concept of every man being able to sell you everything from transport, to a hotel, to trips to other places. What this actually means is that you pay slightly over the odds, and he then calls the real experts and takes a slight cut. Or a big cut if you negotiate poorly. A few times now we've booked transport with one man, who sometimes even points at his car and uses phrases like "I will pick you up at 8am". Next morning: different (often better) car, and different man. Replacement is usually the 'brother' or 'cousin' of the seller. Apparently.
One final note on Bali: its pleasing to discover that white dog poo still exists here. Most children of the 1970s and 1980s will remember seeing white dog poo when they were kids, but you just don't see it anymore. Jacqui gave me an odd look when I made a small cheer upon spotting a crusty, white pile of canine dung. The things you get nostalgic for...
We're now in the coastal resort of Senggigi on the island of Lombok (east of Bali). The locals seem less determined to charge us stupid prices and the whole approach seems a lot more relaxed. Last night we took advantage of happy hour at a beach-side bar, haggled with locals over jewellery and a sarong, before having dinner in a bar with the tightest house band I've ever seen. They mostly did Stones covers, so I was in my element. Our night's sleep was disturbed by a mosquito that found Jacqui very tasty and also the nearby mosque at about 4.30am. The muezzin making the call to prayer - through a very loud but fuzzy sound system - was really going for it. Far more gusto than you hear from the big one in Regent's Park. His incessant warbling then started again mid-morning which eventually got us out of bed. Next stop: the Gili Islands, for much needed rest and recuperation. All three islands - Gili Trawangan, Gili Meno and Gili Air - are devoid of motorised transport, which should be jolly peaceful. We've done so much in our first month, slowing down a bit should do us - and our budget - plenty of good.
Thursday, 5 February 2009
Ubud, Bali: Get the monkey off my back
Last Tuesday we flew from Bangkok to Denpasar, Bali and made our way on to Ubud, a lovely little town that is the centre of Bali's artistic community. After a long night at the airport and a very uncomfortable flight (seats even I was too tall to be comfortable in...) we were relieved to arrive and easily find a nice place to stay. Our accommodation budget stretches a lot further here in Indonesia, so we found ourselves in a nice place comprised of a network of intricately carved stone buildings resembling temples, in a big room with breakfast included for the grand sum of about seven pounds a night.
Ubud attracts a slightly more upmarket crowd than some parts of Bali, so we were spoilt for choice in terms of nice restaurants and bars, although most of them were totally empty, as it's rainy season in Bali now and sensible holiday-maker types are waiting for the better weather. We've only got soaked a couple of times though, and low season means low prices...
We started our Ubud adventure with a visit to the sacred monkey forest, which is a sacred forest full of monkeys, unsurprisingly. It was amazing to see the monkeys so close, and we were even able to feed them some bananas, though this turned into a rather nerve-wracking experience as they're feisty little kleptomaniacs. I made the mistake of hiding the bananas in my bag, and as I opened it to get something else, one monkey leaped on to me out of nowhere and tried to steal them. Needless to say I entertained the locals with my high-pitched reaction, and the monkey scarpered.
We also paid a visit to a couple of galleries, in keeping with the arty nature of the town, the best of which was the former home and studio of an eccentric (read: totally bonkers) Spanish artist called Antonio Blanco. The gallery is outside the centre of Ubud, and during the long uphill walk there in the rain we were both tempted to give up and go home, but we would have missed out if we had. As we entered the beautiful gardens surrounding the house we were greeted by a welcome drink, an ornate fountain and a friendly parrot. The house itself is an incredible construction of marble and primary-coloured walls, ornate sweeping staircases and some of the strangest art you could ever hope to see. Blanco described himself as an erotic artist and some pieces were certainly on the risque side. Most of it was just insane. Very impressive though, and Chris had a go holding the parrot on the way out. We both braved holding a rather terrifying looking bird we couldn't even identify - the fear is etched on my face in the photos.
To further our cultural pursuits, we spent our last evening in Ubud at a performance of traditional Balinese music and dance. Entertaining, but slightly bonkers.
In the interests of not appearing too smug, in light of the somewhat inclement weather back home: on our second night in Ubud we followed a poster advertising live music by a 'Jakarta guitar genius' in a cool-sounding bar. After walking for an hour or so (about five times as far as the poster suggested), in a monsoon, we arrived cold, soaked and miserable to find a totally empty bar. All that awaited us were over-priced drinks and soggy peanuts. The 'guitar genius' did not exist.
Ubud attracts a slightly more upmarket crowd than some parts of Bali, so we were spoilt for choice in terms of nice restaurants and bars, although most of them were totally empty, as it's rainy season in Bali now and sensible holiday-maker types are waiting for the better weather. We've only got soaked a couple of times though, and low season means low prices...
We started our Ubud adventure with a visit to the sacred monkey forest, which is a sacred forest full of monkeys, unsurprisingly. It was amazing to see the monkeys so close, and we were even able to feed them some bananas, though this turned into a rather nerve-wracking experience as they're feisty little kleptomaniacs. I made the mistake of hiding the bananas in my bag, and as I opened it to get something else, one monkey leaped on to me out of nowhere and tried to steal them. Needless to say I entertained the locals with my high-pitched reaction, and the monkey scarpered.
We also paid a visit to a couple of galleries, in keeping with the arty nature of the town, the best of which was the former home and studio of an eccentric (read: totally bonkers) Spanish artist called Antonio Blanco. The gallery is outside the centre of Ubud, and during the long uphill walk there in the rain we were both tempted to give up and go home, but we would have missed out if we had. As we entered the beautiful gardens surrounding the house we were greeted by a welcome drink, an ornate fountain and a friendly parrot. The house itself is an incredible construction of marble and primary-coloured walls, ornate sweeping staircases and some of the strangest art you could ever hope to see. Blanco described himself as an erotic artist and some pieces were certainly on the risque side. Most of it was just insane. Very impressive though, and Chris had a go holding the parrot on the way out. We both braved holding a rather terrifying looking bird we couldn't even identify - the fear is etched on my face in the photos.
To further our cultural pursuits, we spent our last evening in Ubud at a performance of traditional Balinese music and dance. Entertaining, but slightly bonkers.
In the interests of not appearing too smug, in light of the somewhat inclement weather back home: on our second night in Ubud we followed a poster advertising live music by a 'Jakarta guitar genius' in a cool-sounding bar. After walking for an hour or so (about five times as far as the poster suggested), in a monsoon, we arrived cold, soaked and miserable to find a totally empty bar. All that awaited us were over-priced drinks and soggy peanuts. The 'guitar genius' did not exist.
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