Among the joys of planning trips is breathing in air so heavy with possibilities; stretching out an arm, and picking the sweetest, shiniest one of the all a-twinkling lot. I suppose I am unstoppably, non-stoppedly chuffed about putting together getaways, because that arm is often mine. Bully.
We've been researching Bali a fair bit for a fair while and really, one is spoilt for choices. Bali is as thrifty as you can manage and as spendthrifty as you would allow.
Weather-wise, Bali in August is just about perfect. Wallet-wise, the deluge of Ozzies eager to escape the winter cold means that hotels charge peak rates. Ah, what can you do? Happily, a bonus pay packet (and an embarrassing number of emails) meant The edge and "Book Now". Joy!
The edge is located in the southernmost part of Bali, cosseted in the heights of the Bukit Peninsula, resting splendidly on its very fringes. The property is built atop a cliff some eighty meters above ground, and offers sweeping views of the Indian Ocean and the stark relief of the south's chalk cliffs.
We were met by the GM, Melida, who was quite the engaging lady and sent on our way in some style. A quick buggy ride... And in seconds we were delivered to our pocket of paradise. Bestest of the bests: We were the only guests!
Keys to unlock the doors of heaven...
I don't claim to be an expert but I will say that if you plan your trip long enough, fuss and fret about it as you would over a newborn (I wouldn't know but I am told...), pore over hotels, motels, B&B's, special lodgings, vacation rentals, etc. for hundreds upon zillions of hours, send out countless email inquiries, harass-beg for early bird rates and extra extras, your obsessive laboring will bear fruit and will gift you a trip that shall henceforth, be your benchmark for bliss.
At last...
I knew Bali was big but I did not know that it was big to the litany of Amed, Candidasa, Canggu, Denpasar, Gianyar, Gilimanuk, Jimbaran, Karangasem, Kerobokan, Kintamani, Kuta, Legian, Lovina, Negara, Nusa Dua, Nusa Lembongan, Padangbai, Pecatu, Pemuteran, Sanur, Seminyak, Singaraja, Tabanan, Tanjung Benoa, Tanah Lot, Tuban, Ubud, Uluwatu, Umalas, Ungasan big. (Gasps. Now there's a mouthful.)
Initially, it was Ubud for the arts, Jimbaran for the seafood fiesta, and Nusa Dua for the seascape escape. Easy peasy.
Before long, it was Umalas for the ricefield vistas, Uluwatu for its towering chalk cliffs, and Sanur for its sunrise views. Not so lemon squeezy...
I changed my mind again and decided on a Gianyar forest retreat, Candidasa for its underwater wonders, and Lovina for cavorting with the dolphins. But...
As happenstance would make happen, as luck would have it, as good fortune would bestow, we ended up dividing our time between Canggu, Seminyak, and Pecatu. That is how you do bliss.
Ametis Villa in Canggu was selected almost solely on the strength of these two statements on their website:
1. Canggu is a place that most surfers will know about, apart from that, it is quite (sic), very local and offers lovely views of rice fields as opposed to cement in Seminyak.
2. Ametis is located in the sleepy coastal village of Canggu. It is now the preferred destination for savvy travellers seeking an alternative to the urban sprawl of neighbouring Seminyak. The serenity of Canggu is a refreshing change to the hustle and bustle of Seminyak with its crowded streets and limited parking.
Well, I am an odd girl and found it good for a laugh.
Since the commonly-held view of Seminyak is a locale with some of the best lodgings, restos, and beaches in Bali; I came to the conclusion (convoluted, to be sure) that any place that feels itself worthy to be derisive of Seminyak must offer something special.
Canggu does! Although, I should confess... the word "surfers" sealed the deal.
The hard-core tourists in us had originally penciled in a trip to the Tanah Lot Temple, Alas Kedaton, and the Mengwi Royal Palace on our day of arrival. But we were well and truly knackered by our Singapore exploits (Tut tut, self. It is a sad day when you say "exploits" the same time you recall "museums", "cereal prawns", "endless walking"; god, what a marmishly middle-age thing to say.) and found indoors too great a force to resist...
How to even entertain the outside world when...
The. Sorriest. Coffee. I. Have. Ever. Had. The. Misfortune. Of. Having.
While not strictly true, since I once salted (eeeek) a cuppa as I sleepwalked through the kitchen for my caffeine fix, Cebu Pacific’s “brewed coffee”, was-- on preponderance of evidence, in satisfaction of that considered substantial, beyond all reasonable doubt, verily, verily, past any quantum of proof by which coffee goodness is gauged-- the sorriest coffee I have ever had to pay for.
Premium, my foot! Yeah, yeah. And I'm the Queen of Bathsheba!
Miko declared that she was done with hers after three unsuccessful attempts to convince herself, it was indeed coffee, and not wash water; but I had about P40 worth of mine before I gave it up for... well... the sorriest coffee I have ever had to pay for. But I wasn't the one who couldn't resist telling the flight attendant how terrible it was.
Pink guava juice at check-in was just the thing to counter that disastrous drink!
Fresh fruit and flowers are love.
It’s not as if we were tired, but we couldn’t drag ourselves out of the room, and spent a good three hours engaged in our favorite pastime, Aimless Talk, e.g. discussing, among other monumentally meaningful things, whether there were indeed tomato plums (we know there are plum tomatoes).
The certainty with which you make a statement is frequently half the battle, much like law school recitations.
Cynch: Plums that taste like tomatoes cannot be anything other than tomato plums.
Not so in this instance.
Cynch to Self: They are red plums, you plum!
Incidentally, Annsley is convinced that boys are such red plums. (They are a bunch of grapes as well, but that is another story from another trip for another day.) They promise so much and deliver so little. Of course she didn’t say that. I did. But the beauty of blogging is that you can put words in other people’s mouths. Unless Annsley, of course, and by right, exercises her superduper mod powers, very prior restraint-ly, in which case this portion will be expunged or otherwise annotated.
The title is so original it will earn me writing accolades. But I have the supporting photos, I would have you know.
My little family hols started with as little an incident as would be expected with my mom around-- which is to say that she had a completely unwarranted response to NAIA security personnel; she misunderstood what was said by the hapless man and infliicted on him quite an earful.
Our beloved metropolis, right after taking off, was a picture of... uncontrolled particulate pollution. Lovely, nonetheless.
This reminded me of my favorite football player, i.e.; skies and sole star (squint and there's one smack dab in the top center) and splendor and all that.
And then Incheon International Airport, which is an accomplishment in megalomania and airport planning for dummies. I have no, absolutely no head for directions but I skipped from drop-off point to a walkalator and down flights of escalators, waltzed through immigration, boarded a train to the exit, and hopped on a bus to the hotel. The airport awards are smashingly deserved.
Coat and scarf (and flip flops) weather,
A warm welcome from my home away from home,
And midnight dinner, although the acronym for the resto, Fried Chicken Baengi, called to mind a football club which drubbed (in convincing fashion, yes) Arsenal FC in the Champions League...
Starters were popcorn and pickled radish, which is a blinkingly odd combination, if ever there was one...
Instead, FCB came up with two... One of the chicken platters was as head-scratching... kimchi (surprisingly amazing), a blob of boiled noodles (cold, unseasoned, made me ask "why?"), canned peaches (fancily called "Imperial Peach"), and fried chicken. In the odd pairings charts, that's a combo that can't be beat.
It's hard to go wrong with chicken, almost impossible to go wrong when the same is fried; but FCB got everything right.
We wanted a steaming soup bowl to counter the cold, so the most exotic one on the menu, the gigglingly intriguing "A Fish A Cake" it was. It had sea cucumber, fishcake and rice cake (aaahh, that's why), and shrimp.
The blur of hands only prove the hunger.
Seeing as I get carried away with pretty much everything I write, I have decided to narrow this post down to my Fave Five in Seoul (I was striving for alliteration but unless I change the name of the city...)
A sister who did not want to drive, a brother who couldn't be troubled to check his flight details, an aunt who had no address labels, a mom who wanted to be a saint, a friend who was late-ish (ha) did not exactly bode well for my R&R. Add the beginnings of a migraine, the heat and humidity of HCMC, a cabbie who dropped us off at the wrong hotel, and another one that charged us more than what was fair and my temper was all set to go off.
But sometimes the universe remembers its conscience, grows kind and directs its forces to conspire and deliver the fantastic. I was reminded of its ultimate benevolence: PAL seat sale (and flight attendant, a sibling's old friend who gave us a great booty bag) + IHG friend and family rate (courtesy of another sibling's friend who cannot possibly resign his post).
I took to the city instantly. The streets were wide, the greenery was lush and the skies almost constantly blue. It was every bit as tumbledown and shabbying chic as it was luxe and modern. It had a sense of languor about it even as a million motorbikes zoomed by/tried to mow you down. And anywhere you went, there was something to intrigue (wares at Cu-chi), appall (the escalators at Anh Dong market were so ewww), amaze (magic tricks at Bonsai), snicker about (the display convertible Audi's godawful floral decor), or get teary-eyed over (War Remnants Museum).
Here is to making a beeline for the bright side!
My other reasons for hearting HCMC follow.
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