Trouble in the Hen House

This is my fourth small group tour with G Adventures. While it isn’t my preferred way of travel, there are many advantages, and I have seen and experienced things that would have been difficult or impossible to organize on my own.

Cooking class with chef extraordinaire Ketut.
Grinding the spice mixture. Not my finest moment fashion-wise.

But there is a down side. There are many personalities with which to contend, and sometimes things break down. This happened last night. A fight broke out on the dance floor of a cool little bar across the street from our beach bungalows. Two women. Canadian. Apparently, the days when we can be smug about our reputation as being “nice” are gone.

Before the kerfuffle.

As these two older women who should know better hurled insults at each other, the younger crowd of Australians, New Zealanders and Canadians tried to calm things down. The reggae-influenced band members played on, likely all too familiar with the ugly effects of too much alcohol. This sober and embarrassed Canadian woman called it an early night.

And the band played on.

Balinese people, on the other hand, seem to have cornered the market on sweetness. Take for example the doctor from the clinic down the road. Instead of me going to her, she made a house call! Turns out that one of the blisters sustained on my first walk on the beach more than a week ago is now infected which accounts for the swelling, pain and redness. So I’m grounded today and banned from the water for the next few. Sigh.

$150 and I’ll be as good as new!

Monkey Business

We were five minutes into the walk along the wooden platforms in the Monkey Forest when I felt the weight of a medium-sized monkey land on my shoulder. Don’t panic, I reminded myself. Sandi said not to panic if this happened. But I really didn’t expect it to happen, and my heart was beating like a jackhammer.

It may have been a female because she was showing intense interest in my brightly-coloured bracelets. Of course, it could also have been male. These are, after all, monkeys. I don’t even like monkeys particularly, ever since that mugging-for-oranges incident in Rishikesh.

Babies are so tiny.

Monkey Forest is in Ubud, centre of spiritual tourism on Bali. Way too busy for my liking, but I did manage to get some laundry done and we had an amazing meal in an authentic Bali home the first night, so no complaints. 

We got a lot of use out of this pool.

The tour so far has exceeded all expectations, and we still have the beautiful island of Lombok ahead. Part of the group will be departing on Sunday and six new people will join us, so the energy will change. I will miss Chloe from London who is afraid of everything, Elizabeth from Mississippi who is always wandering off mysteriously on her own and returning with a satisfied smile on her face (she says it’s massages…), sweet Sam from Australia whose rafting guide fell in love with her and proposed marriage on the spot, Andy and Thomas from Germany who can usually be found in the pool with a beer.

Stopped for lunch at a centre for the physically challenged. They had a great band!

A prolonged tropical downpour started not long after our arrival in Candidasa. This cancelled our rooftop yoga session with Sandi, so we all piled into the pool. Nothing like being in water in a heavy downpour, especially since we’ve been battling temperatures in the high 30s and 100% humidity

And the monkey? it finally gave up on getting the bracelets off of my arm and leaped into a tree, where it belongs. Much too close for comfort.

It’s all fun and games til one of them lands on you.

Refreshing Tangerine

I don’t generally take Canadian money with me when I travel. As a matter of fact, I rarely have much money in my wallet period. So the last-minute decision to stash $100 CAD (part of annual Costco rebate) in my backpack is one of those little blessings that the universe doles out from time to time.

Spent most of today under this tree, hiding from a very strong sun.

I researched money and ATMs and found they were plentiful in the tourist areas of Bali. And that information was spot-on. Stopped at the first in a line of them at the airport, however the machine simply ejected my bank card and told me to have a nice day I stood in line at the next machine but when the guy in front of me couldn’t get money, I decided on a whim to exchange my CAD cash so that I could pay for the taxi (which by the way the hotel forgot to arrange leaving me to the devices of the international taxi mafia). 

Every home and business features these tiny offerings each morning.

Yesterday, Maria and I pulled ourselves away from the pool to hit the cash machine early afternoon before it ran out. Maria gets money. None for me, and not even the courtesy of best wishes or a smiley face. 

The prettiest of the three pools on the property. I have tried everything to orient this photo properly. Nothing worked. Tilt your head😀

It appeared that contacting Tangerine with my travel dates was just another one of those wasted phone calls where I try to do my due diligence and they pretend to listen

So of course I have to buy more Skype credits. And remain on hold for much longer than the promised “2 or 3 minutes” only to hear that it’s the middle of the night there and the systems are undergoing maintenance and maybe I should try another bank or perhaps my card will work tomorrow once it has been “refreshed”. 

Ditto for this picture of the sweet little reading nook next to the pool.

Gotta tell you, not feeling that refreshed at the moment with Tangerine. This isn’t my first time at this rodeo. They may soon find themselves fresh-squeezed .

Update: The “refresh”worked! I have money. 

Ghost Town

I have arrived in Hong Kong. It’s just after 5:30 am, and I feel as though I’ve been dropped into the middle of a futuristic sci-fi film. There are a number of reasons for that, but before I go into them, let me back up and give an account of the flight so far.

Halifax airport…deserted. No one ahead of me at the check-in counter and only one at security. The TSA agent said it was partially the time of day, but also because of the Coronavirus scare playing out on the other side of the world.

The flight to Toronto was crowded but otherwise non-eventful with the exception of the flight attendant who provided comic relief during the pre-flight safety announcements. He wasn’t the best I’ve seen, but it’s always heartwarming when the airline staff try to make the flight a little more enjoyable.

Overheard from seat behind me “Toronto…a nice place to visit but I wouldn’t want to live here.”

I had been dreading the Toronto-Hong Kong leg. Fifteen and a half hours in a plane is hard, I suspect even in First Class, where I was not. I took my seat in 63A, but it wasn’t long before I realized that the plane would not even be one quarter full. The flight attendant confirmed this, stating there would probably be space for every passenger to have their own personal row of seats. I didn’t have to ask why…90% of the passengers and 100% of the crew were wearing face masks.

Long story cut short, I stretched out in the seat ahead, slept for close to 12 hours, watched a documentary on the Serengeti, had breakfast, and we landed in Hong Kong (with a thud).

I know it was early, but according to Wikipedia this is the ninth busiest airport in the world, and it is empty. Every single employee is wearing a mask. The lounge is so quiet you can hear the bread toasting.

Weird.

Freezer/microwave safe?

There’s a brisk breeze blowing outside my ninth floor window. It’s warmed up somewhat since the -18C temps of early morning, yet the scene below still resembles a concrete slab of Canadian winter under cloudless blue sky. 

Denpasar, Indonesia, on the other hand, had temps in the low 30s the last time I looked, with feel-like temperatures in the +42C  range. I wonder how a body reacts to temperature swings of approximately 60 degrees…

It was a pleasure seeing my backpack again…a bit of a surprise really given that I was ready to sell it when last I unpacked in early September. Interesting how a few months of routine (more or less) can make me yearn for uncertainty. New cultures and languages, making new friends, avoiding the local taxi scams. Being robbed by taxi drivers is a universal experience, kinda like music and love and wondering how Donald Trump got elected.

Portable hand sanitizer at the ready!

I leave for Bali Tuesday evening. Wonder of wonders, I am mostly packed. This has never happened quite so early before, and I chalk it up to being sick with a cold. Given the state of travel in Asia due to a certain virus, the very last thing I want to do is show up at a health check point with a fever and chills. So I am isolating and self-medicating and putting good thoughts out into the universe in the hopes that the headache eases and my voice comes back. I don’t pray, but if you have some spare time…