Well our rough old life just keeps getting rougher and rougher. We arrived in Bali a few days ago and have been staying in the major tourist centre called Kuta. It was here on October 12^th 2002 that a crew of nefarious, murderous pigs ended the lives of 202 people, locals and tourists alike. It shattered not only lives but the Balinese economy too. Since that date the number of tourists visiting the island has plummeted. This is a horrific state of affairs, especially when one considers just what a terrific place this is and how exceptionally friendly the people are. Consequently the tourists who visit now are able to get exceptional value for money. I know it sounds shockingly mercenary that we are in some way benefiting from the evil events but that is, I suppose, just the way of the world.

We were able to find a hotel room which was massive. The bedroom was like some Oriental palace and the bathroom about the size of an ice rink. It also “featured” a kind of tree wall. I’m not entirely sure how to describe it as I don’t really know what it is, but it’s something like a cliff face covered with moss and trees and at the bottom of this thingie there is a large trench. Any suggestions as to what it could be will be gratefully received. My best bet to date is that it is some kind of outdoorsy, back to nature urinal, but I’m probably wrong. For this terrific room in a hotel just a short walk from the beach and bars we paid about 20 USD per night, and for a sweetener they threw in a big breakfast too.

We spent much of the first day just walking around Kuta and feasting on marvelous Indonesian food. Sometimes I really wish I was much bigger as I might actually be able to eat the entire portion they put before you. Honestly you have to wonder what the locals eat because none of them are tubby enough to chow through that which we’ve eaten every day. Well three times a day actually. The town is actually very clean, well it would be if it wasn’t being dug up to lay new pipes and there was only one piece of graffiti that I noticed. It simply read  "Fu@k Terooris" Well quite.

We decided to relive our never lost childhood and went to a water park to play for the day. What fantastic fun. Heide was a bit concerned that I was getting too anxious and would have some kind of heart attack if I didn’t calm down and just walk up the stairs to the top of the slide. But the point of these places is to go mad. Isn’t it? We were howling like a pair of crazed banshees as we rocketed along the rapids and down the shoots, through the tunnels and then out in to the splash pool at the bottom. It was fantastic fun, especially the parts that made Heide squeal, they were definitely the best. I’m delighted to say that most people at the park had good manners and knew that you do not push in front of me on waterslides, that can be very dangerous, after all the surfaces of the stairs get wet and just a wee nudge can send naughty people flying. One oik had the shocking impudence to actually try it twice. He failed on both occasions. There most certainly wasn’t a third attempt. Sadly, the day came to an abrupt end when I got sick. There is water everywhere, well it’s a water park isn’t it, but I was dim enough not to drink any of it. This together with high humidity and becoming the Stair Master himself with all my runs to the top, ensured a quick bout of dehydration and sickness. What a plank. I guess Heide was right all this excitement would come to no good. Still nothing a refreshing beer and a nice view of the sunset wouldn’t put right eh?

We were also treated, or perhaps mistreated, to a private concert. After having stuffed my face with one of the finest curries I’ve ever eaten we were walking past a bar that just happened to be showing football on a big screen. Oh what a pleasant coincidence! Well in my best dulcet, proletariat Birmingham tones I asked Heide: “You fancy watching the Villa on the tele?” Much to my delighted she only rolled her eyes once and asked who they playing. “Tottenham” I replied. Then showing a true grasp of the intricacy and nuances of the game back home she said “Hotspurs. I hate them. Cockney scum get outta Brum!” You just got to respect that. So there we were, all lined up to watch Villa take on Spurs in a cracking little bar in Bali. We were the only punters in the place, which perhaps should have raised the odd red warning flag, especially when every other bar within a 16 mile radius seemed to be full to the rafters. Still it’s nice to have a ratio of twelve bar staff to each paying guest. Plenty of attentive service I can assure you. Well all was really just swell, until the music started that is. The singing duo was an Indonesian Elton John wannabe (yep, ‘fraid so) and his partner who managed to offer a strange Dianna Ross / Celine Dion vocal combo with the look of Madonna circa 1985. Well it was a little disconcerting having this pair provide us with a private concert. It’s not that they were bad (indeed as one beer led to another, then another, they actually sounded quite good) it’s just that it was all a little embarrassing really.  Here were two folk just trying to make a living by belting out a medley of easy listening classics (though I’m more than a shade troubled by the soft rap version of John Denver’s “Leaving on a jet plane” they attempted) and there was a mere two people in the bar. At the rate we were drinking we’d have had to stay there about four months just to cover the cost of paying the wages of the silent bloke sitting at the electric keyboard that was the source of the backing music. We just felt bad. What could we do but stick around, drink a few more and applaud politely at the end of each “number”. I suppose we could have slipped away to a quiet corner but that would have seemed rude and my view of the big screen would have been impaired. This could have gone on for a while without too much bother I guess, but then they wanted some “crowd” interaction. It started gently enough… “Have you guys got any special numbers you’d like us to play?” or “This one goes out to all the lovers in the house” but then when they’d come off the stage and thrust the mike in front of us to encourage singing, well, it started to go wrong. I actually took up the challenge and joined them in an utterly awful rendition of “Brown Eyed Girl” by Van Morrison. I think there may have been a bit of iffy stuff going on with my mike (i.e. I think they turned it off from a remote location) as I couldn’t catch my virtuoso performance on any of the speakers. Their loss. Well things actually managed to deteriorate from this seeming hopelessly dark point. They wanted dancing. Well dancing they got! It doesn’t take too much encouraging, as long as I’ve had a few ales, to get me to trip over the light fantastic. I’m up there giving it the big one, much to the amazement of the entertainment providers and the delight of the very bored, but still very attentive bar staff. Indeed my slip sliding, gyrating, leaping lunacy so enthralled the jaded beer bringers that a pair of them even stopped playing pool and took up their cues as guitars and danced along. Oh what a sight we’d have made, had anyone been there to witness it that is. Heide meanwhile contented herself with keeping our private wait force busy and watching the big screen as Juan Pablo Angel scored to give Villa a lead they would not relinquish. All good things, and even those not so good, come to an end and so it was with our private concert. Just as the dazzling duo were about to wrap up their third “set” a party of Chinese folk arrived and joined us. Much to my surprise and the chagrin of the pros on stage one of the Chinese troop must have thought he stumbled into a karaoke bar and he bumbled on to the stage, picked up a mike and let loose on the Elvis classic “Can’t help falling in love” To say that it put in perspective just how good our private entertainers were would be an understatement. I reckon that The King’s lip would be curling in his grave. It was awful. Still it prodded several of the Chinese party to get up on the dance floor and waltz. This is odd, but somehow very civilized. Luckily this interloper didn’t last long and it was back to the paid entertainment soon enough. At which point the Chinese party left. By the end of the evening we were both a little the worse for wear (we still couldn’t bring ourselves to walk out on these two) but very, very happy and we’d experienced something that quite literally no one else had, a show for two by Bali’s finest.

As I said, it’s been a rough life!

We’re now off to the centre of the island to get a feel for real Balinese life and culture.