Bali, in many respects, was the whole point of the trip. The idea that Gamelan music would be echoing over every rice paddy was a dream that we dreamt during a rather boring music appreciation class at Southampton. But we were, indeed, here.
Not after, however, a lengthy and exhausting trip on a very hot bus sat next to a very fat man. The arrival in Denpasar was alarming in its midnight mayhem but we somehow managed to make it out of town to a place in Ubud that had been recommended to us and who's owner was waiting at the bottom of the steps for us at 4am in the morning.
And our Ubudian experience began in this gorgeous, garden-set bungalow where a chronic case of gut-rot set in. E left me to it whilst I tried to ride the journey out in bed.
Ubud is rightly famous for its art, its atmosphere and its Monkey Forest Road. We made many discoveries of our own, notably a cafe with its own turret that we made our own. The biggest discovery was, however, the Bechak Dance. About 10 minutes in I remembered an account of it that J gave me, weeks and weeks ago in India. I laughed out loud at the memory and at the spectacle of around 100 sarong-clad men 'chak chak'ing their way through the most extraordinary ritual of dance, stamping, fainting and more!
There was little doubt that a great deal of Ubud was laid on for the tourists but a great deal of the fruit-carrying and flower-laying was part of everyday life.
And Christmas was approaching. The run-up was marked with a complex and neck-burning journey back into Denpasar where I collected a good handful of letters for us both. And E being a Dane, we celebrated on Christmas Eve with a treasure hunt, poetry writing, present-exchanging and BBQ Duck dinner. You can tell from my writing that I'm the happiest and most excited that I have, perhaps, been for the duration of the trip.
I was well onto Day 108 and it wasn't as if the trip to date had been a bust but you truly felt that this was, indeed, the reason why we came.
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