Even though it lies within the largest Muslim country (235 million) in the world, ninety-five per cent of Bali’s population of three million practice Hindu-Dharmaism, a local variation of India ’s Hinduism.

The Balinese just might be the friendliest people on the entire planet. They live in harmony with nature, and have a fascinating blend of culture, artistry, and religion that make Bali one of the most culturally alive places on Earth. It’s so easy to fall in love with this place!

Here, daily life revolve around satisfying and appeasing their many gods and spirits – both good and evil. Bali is appropriately called “ Island of the Gods” because it has over 20,000 temples dedica ted to a huge array of spirits. Almost everywhere you look there are Buddha figures, demons, and other mythical figures with a variety of toothy stone faces with bulging eyes and long fangs that seem to peer, leer, grimace, and smirk as you walk by.

Gods even play a big part in their dentistry. The Balinese have a tooth filing ceremony where they file their incisors teeth(fang ones), which is meant to remove the devilish boar-like quality in us as humans. It’s imperative this is done before one goes into to the afterlife. If it’s not done, one will look like a ‘fanged boar’ - and will not be allowed to the "holy" place, and instead, be allied with the "devil" or "monsters". Interesting perspective, but then again, they also live in a society that believes in "Black magic".

Whether or not you appreciate their religion, their beliefs are fascinating. Even the simple blessing of each home and shop each day is a lovely ceremony to witness. In the early morning hours frangipani and other flowers are collec ted and used along with palm leaf, betel nut, and rice, to make beautiful offerings to the ‘wads of Gods’. It’s lovely to watch the elegant and perfectly postured Balinese women lighting sticks of incense and presenting the offerings while praying to the divine spirits.

Well, once again we are traveling to Asia in less than ideal circumstances. Last year we were travelling in Vietnam during the middle of the SARS outbreak, and the Iraq war. This year, we learn that Bali now has the deadly Bird Flu! Hmmmmmmmmm – must try to work on our timing next year!

Jeeze……. what ever happened to the good old days when you went on holidays to relax, and didn’t have to worry about terrorists, bombings, earthquakes, kidnappings, SARS, and Bird Flu?

Departing the EVA airline plane after 30 hours of travel, we arrive in Bali , and drag our butts over to Immigration. After a painfully long wait, we are cleared and rush to luggage pickup to grab our bags. I notice that mine has the lock and part of the zipper bus ted off – damn!! Eager to get away from the teaming chaos that awaits all new arrivals, we grab our bags and use a couple of rugby-like deeks to avoid the swarming hoards of porters, and bolt to the exit!

Outside we are quickly enveloped in the familiar woooosh of warm humid air. After leaving chilly Victoria , this old sun vulture is deligh ted to be back in a land where the mercury has made it’s way north!

Day one of life two was a lovely day. A wander around to pick up a few essentials, and then down to Salon Babi where Christine got a manicure and pedicure. Even yours truly succumbed to a pedicure (but don’t tell anybody)!

Next, we change some money but need to be careful, as many of the moneychangers are more crooked than a cork screw. The rate is 6,200 rupiah to the dollar and when I pulled out a thousand dollars cash to convert – I instantly became the six million dollar man!

Back for relaxation In Sanur on our wonderful balcony, surrounded by Jatti, banana, coconut and papaya trees intermixed with bougainvillea, hibiscus, and other tropical greenery. At happy hour, we break open one of the two 40 ounce bottles of rum (Vitamin R) that we’ve impor ted . At one point a flying lizard launches itself out of a tree and whizzes by Christine ’s head to land on a nearby bush. The only sounds we hear are from the melodious and brilliantly colored little songbirds flitting about.

Dinner is down on the beach at the wonderful Bonzai Café. Serene setting with stunning bonzai trees all about, and the breakers rolling in, with the massive Mt. Agung as the backdrop. Here I have my important meeting with ‘Mr. Bintang’, and bend my elbow with thoughts of you back home. As darkness approaches we are trea ted to a sizzling lightening show illuminating the sky, and kerosene lanterns illuminating the sand. Strolling home along the sand, the frogs are leaping for cover as we pass by. Ahhh life is good!

Out wandering, we notice how quiet it is and how few tourists there are. Many are staying away because of lingering fear from the bombing, upcoming elections, and the travel advisory warnings. This is so sad for the sellers here, who desperately rely on the tourists.

As the locals approach their intended quarry, we are gree ted with the same old jargon on the streets – “You have prrrrogram?” “Trrrrransport?…Maybe tomorrow?”, “Come to my shop…just looking”, “Morning prize”, “I geef you sepesial prize”, etc.

The humorous broken English conversations with shopkeepers are great. In a CD shop they asked where we are from, and when I tell them Canada , I get “ahhh.. meeno selon ding” (Celine Dion). Delightful.

We make a few purchases to the delight of the sellers, putting our hands together palm to palm, fingers pointing skyward at chest level and bow gently whilst saying ‘terima-kasih’ (thank you) – and they return the gesture with “sama sama” (you’re welcome). In some of the stores, they usually don’t have enough small money to make the right change, so the check out girls give you candies instead.

After all the bartering we enjoy coming back home to our little bungalow sanctuary. I rescue a frog trapped in the swimming pool, then start bintangulating with a nice cold ‘vitamin B’. Co lou rful little yellow birds with long curved beaks are hopping from flower to flower on the hibiscus trees looking for a tasty little meal.

Yes, this is a great place to hang with a bottle of Bintang, but the dead Binny’s are multiplying at a scary rate. It takes only one to get me drunk. The trouble is, I can’t remember if it’s the thirteenth or fourteenth! You think I may be getting addic ted ? Nahhhhh.

You may remember that on last visit, yours truly received a Balinese PhD (periodic heavy drinking) – in the art of Bintangology. In fact, just earlier today whilst strolling down a back lane we passed a funky little bar, and ‘Dr. B.’ succumbed once again to a Bintanic possession by the lurking God of Guzzle known as ‘Thirstus-Throatus”. The only course of action of course was a barstool meld, to exorcise the demon with a bottle of the magical golden elixir.

As my legs are eating up the black sand beach on a morning run, I pass by cone ha ted fishermen casting their nets into the surf. Stopping for a photo of an old guy along the shore, I learn that he is an elder of the village and he invites me to a little ceremony being held. Nice gesture.

Next we are off to the Bali Orchid Garden – a huge place with an awesome collection of orchids and heliconia. Also, we got to see a Bunga Ban Kai – called the dead body flower because of it’s rotten stench. It is the biggest flower in the world, but only flowers for one day.

The lady working there was kind enough to show me how to prep a lotus seed so I can try and grow it into the exotic plant. Her name was Kadeck, and as we were leaving, I said “thank you Kadock”. She looked at me wide eyed, and then stomped her foot saying …”No Kadock - Kadock …frog!” Oooops, I quickly apologized, and then kidded her about hopping around the gardens…we all had a great laugh.

Awoken during the night by monsoonal rain bucketing down on our tiled roof. Fortunately it rained at night, and didn’t dilute the Bintang! Out on the balcony I notice a Jurassic sized bug apparently half drowned, then as I sit to read my book I’m joined by a lovely butterfly landing beside my foot that stays for about an hour drying her pretty wings.

After using Sanur as a good base camp for outings we decide it’s time to make a move. We travel by bus up the north east coast to Candidasa. What used to be a beautiful place when we first visi ted almost 20 years ago has become a bit of a ghost town since it lost it's beach – But this was where we had agreed to meet our friend Mollie , from Saudi Arabia .

The good news is that we get lovely accommodation at the Candidasa Beach Hotel for a bargain price. Our first morning there as we are walking down the streets, I have my Tilley hat on and from someone who is up a tree, I’m gree ted with “Good morning Mr. Jones”! I tipped my hat to him, and stroll on to a lovely café called TJ’s. Lunch is pan-fried Mahi-Mahi served on a bed of beet root, rhubarb, & pomelo with an orange ginger vinaigrette. Mmmmmm ….. one of those melt in your mouth moments!

During dinner with some mellow jazz playing in the background, a lovable little cicak lizard scampers up my leg for a visit. Before he gets too far up I redirect him to one of the conical cowhide lamps where he can pursue his bug buffet.

At first light, a time I have really come to appreciate over the years, I meander down the rocky beach to watch locals searching for small octopus to spear.

Later that day we stop at a small lagoon to watch a man and little boy fishing for minnows that didn’t look much bigger than a guppy. At one point, after watching the young fellow continue to loose them, I go down and put a grain of rice on his tiny hook, and sure enough in less than a minute he catches one. He looks up at me, giggles, then flashes me one of those great big wonderful Bali smiles!

On this same walk we’re followed by a black Balinese dog which seems to have taken a shine to me. This darn canine followed us for miles. If we went in a shop so did he. If we stopped and sat down, he did the same. Very unusual, since most Bali dogs are very suspect of people and often can be aggressive since most of them are starving. Dogs are one of the truly sad and unpleasant things about Bali .

We visi ted a beautiful white sandy beach called Virgin beach. It probably got it’s name because it is really off the beaten track. Our 4-wheel drive creaked and groaned over a bumpy dirt road with potholes the size of P.E.I.

At one point along this road we are passed by locals returning from a cremation ceremony on the beach. In the procession is a duck being carried on a straw matt. I though perhaps our feathered friend was the dinner, but am told that the duck was just along for the ride as a symbol of purity. Just goes to prove that you just never where you will find those magical Bali moments.

Sipped, tripped, slipped, and dipped! One night during happy hour, with our rum supply dwindling, we find ourselves slurping Arak . This is a somewhat dangerous local grog made from the palm plant.

As we are heading out to dinner with Mollie , Mark slips beside the pool and yes…. SA-PA-LASH - falls right into the deep end of the pool fully dressed, and carrying everything of value (passport, digital camera, money belt, air tickets, international driver’s license, calculator, wallet etc.)! What a bloody shock! I pop up for air and hoist myself out of the pool bellowing and cursing! Now, I’ve heard of money laundering in Indonesia – but this is ridicu lou s!

Dinner is delayed, whilst Christine helps me change, and we spend a great deal of time trying to salvage what we can. I’m really pissed that I could have been so stupid, and that the water has penetra ted everything! Christine and Mollie I know are trying to hold back their laughter, at what must have looked like something right out of the movies.

Finally, an hour or so later, we go for dinner, and I’m so hungry I could eat the crotch of a low flying duck!. At our table the candle unexpec ted ly starts to catch fire on the sides. I decide to play fireman and try to snuff it out with a serviette. Clearly a mistake. That catches fire as well, and in the process I manage to spill hot wax all over my hand. This will cause blisters that will last the duration of the trip. Figuring nothing else bad could happen, we head home, only to find our air-con has conked out. Oh Shit, I can’t wait for the dawn of a new day!

My last Arak attack was about twelve years ago in Bali , and that night I was also whacked, and played Tarzan by hanging upside down in a Jambu tree in my underwear. This time it’s taking all my gear for a swim…do you think perhaps I should reconsider my choice of happy hour beverage? Yes, from now on methinks I shall stick to either the ‘Vitamin B’ or ‘Vitamin R’!

We finally find a driver willing to take us along the seldom used coast road north to the fishing village of Amed . Ketut has a good command of English and a very good sense of humour .. we get along well and are thoroughly entertained during the trip.

Once in Amed, we check into the Santai Resort where we have stayed before. A small place on the beach with a lovely pool and several funky looking bungalows. I know this sounds strange, but the bathrooms are a highlight. They are loca ted outside the bedroom in the open with a little garden area. Imagine sitting on the throne amongst the jungle flowers, with the sun beating down, and all around you there are birds aflitter and butterflies aflutter – Very cool!

Miracu lou sly, my digital camera appears to be functioning once again. All the soggy paper stuff has dried, although it now has more wrinkles than an elephant’s butt. The only complete write off seems to be my calculator which ran amok then died! I am as happy as a butcher’s dog that the digital camera seems to be working again.

Next morning is a walk along the beach taking with me the boxes of stainless steel fishing hooks I’ve brought from Canada for the fishermen. They seem thrilled as I try and share the hooks into all the outstretched gnarly old fishermen’s hands. Makes my day, and apparently theirs too.

In Amed, the locals pull a living from the sea, and it was fun to watch them on the beach unloading the mackerel from their nets, while the women eagerly scoop them up into buckets.

The people of Bali are very appreciative of anything they receive. Before we left home, we had filled our suitcases with clothes to give away to the people here. We gave them away to hotel staff, and people on the streets, who were thrilled. I’m so glad we had the chance to do that and would do it again in a second.

We are now in artistic village of Ubud in Central Bali . Our bungalow overlooks the swimming pool and verdant green rice fields beyond. With incredible artistry, fascinating ceremonial dances, delicious restaurants, scenic hiking, etc., you can’t help but be wooed by the mood of Ubud!

We are entertained by the noises of nature. Beautiful birds a-chirping, delightful ducks a-quacking, gangs of geckos a-geckoing, docile doves a-cooing, and feisty frogs a-ribbiting.

The one negative is an over enthusiastic rooster who keeps waking us up. At 11pm, 3 am, 5am, etc…this cockomaniac is cock-a-doodle doing his brains out. With the big cull of chickens going on here, you’d think the bastard would be a little more subtle!

We decide to rent bicycles for the day to check out the countryside. Riding through the villages is good fun, but you must keep a sharp eye out for the little school munchkins, mangy dogs, cows being led to graze, geese sauntering about, and chickens frantically flapping their wings to get out of the way (definitely poultry in motion).

We peddled our carcasses out to a village called Peliatan, and stopped along the way at a handicraft place where we accumula ted a variety of goods, including two lamps. Laden down with stuff strapped to my back, I assume the familiar position of pack mule and head for home.

Tonight we meet our friends Brooks & Sue, and as we are all having dinner I think what a small planet this really is. Here we are, a Canadian couple in Indonesia , who have just par ted with a friend from Saudi Arabia , and now we’re in an Italian restaurant with American friends we met in Vietnam who are now living in Singapore .

Out on a hike from Payogan village the four of us come across an artists shop and Miss shop-a-lot cannot resist. We end up carrying a painting back just as we had done several years before. What was kind of neat is that we got a picture of her with the old man who was the artist.

Later in the day Brooks and I have some good conversations and decide that in addition to bird flu, Bali may also have ‘Bintang flu’! So, being the helpful kinda guys we are, we’re attempting our own personal mission of a Bintang cull! I just hope that tomorrow we don’t end up making best friends with the porcelain! Rightio, can’t write no mo, got to go, and let the Bintang flow!

Well the days have slipped quickly by and it is now Valentine’s Day. Being a romantic kinda guy, I decide to take Christine out on a Hash run. Now I’m sure you’ve hear me mention these ‘runs’ before – they are all over the world, and we have enjoyed them before in Bali and also in Thailand , and Vietman. But for anyone who doesn’t know, this is a mish-mash of characters assembled under the guise of ‘runners’. Actually they are a self described ‘group of drinkers with a running problem’. Don’t worry, beer isn't habit forming. I should know - I've been drinking it for years!

The event is always at some bizarre location, and a day earlier, a person known as the hare sets out into the jungle with a bag of shredded paper and proceeds to litter the countryside, laying a trail which the other hashers will later follow, on foot or even hands and knees, becoming wet and muddy before hopefully finding their way back to the awaiting beer truck.

Our group is a ragtag herd of slothful sinners, some with more chins than a Chinese phonebook, and sporting names like ‘Pain & Pleasure’, ‘Spook’, ‘Organ Grinder’, ‘Wooden Eye’, Fancy Licker’, ‘Nightjar’, ‘Crankwanker’, ‘Running Stool’, 'Spank Me’, Muddy Bottom’, ‘Wee Wee’ etc. Most are clearly born not to run kinda guys or gals!

What I didn’t know before we got there was that in honour of Valentine’s Day this run was a cross-dressing run called “Transvestites In Paradise”. Ugly men in uglier skirts with scary makeup – yikes, I’m glad I can run quickly!

The horn blows and we are off into the Sangeh Monkey forest . Steep muddy hills, thick almost impenetrable paths, and two waist deep river crossings.  We eventually make it back to the beer truck, and the party begins in earnest. What follows is a write-up in the local paper about the run. I’ve had to do some editing but will share with you the parts I can:

A huge gathering of fags, whores, sluts, tarts, and lesbians filled the big car park. The sounds of beating hearts echoed throughout the forest. The cross dressers were in heaven.

Pretty boys in cute skirts raced through the gorgeous forest, crossed raging rivers, and climbed steep mountains and stairways in recognition of Valentine’s Day.

Mount and Groan’s pretty frock got sopping wet so her or she wrapped it around his or her head to dry it off. Other explorers of their feminine side gently raised their skirts to avoid ripping them on the razor sharp forest flora. And muddy fingers were carefully placed at arm’s length to protect cross dresser from smudging their carefully applied lippie.

Not a monkey was seen which indicates the presence of pretty boys had terrified them into fleeing the forest.

A big bad gaggle of slags hovered around the Bintang barrel. The pack of poof transvestites were truly in force and totally domina ted the surrealistic scene.

The Valentine’s Day run was an extremely bizarre event that we’ll all attempt to erase from our memories. It scored 9.5 for the run, 9.5 for the paper, 4.5 for the Susu (breasts), and 10.5 for the area.

So there you have it – Valentine’s in Bali ! After we arrived back home, we cracked the deluxe bottle of Angostura 1919 rum we had been saving, and followed up with a wonderful meal at a café called The 3 Monkeys.

The next day the four of us hired a driver. When he asked where he was to go, I told him to get lost literally. To go down some lanes where he has never been before.

Instead he takes us to Goa Gaja – the elephant cave. This is a disastrous stop. First of all, to enter the temple, Brooks and I have to don a sarong – which looks like a skirt. The girls are a-smirk, and Christine says that all I now need, is earrings and a purse to complete the ensemble! How Could Something Sarong Be So Right?

To make matters even worse, Brooks spots an old woman selling Durians and rushes to buy one. He talks the ladies and driver into sharing it, then once they’ve all eaten this evil thing, they get in the car, and I’m trapped like a rat, surrounded by a bunch of Durian breaths. Enough to make you loose your lunch on your shoes!

After some more driving, again I ask to get off the beaten track – but it’s like trying to teach a fish how to play the fiddle – he just can’t get the idea. So, somewhat flustered, I just tell him “turn here”! He pulls onto a small dirt road, and says “I drive here??” “Yes, and I’ll tell you where to turn and when to stop.”

After a little while, in what we think is the middle of nowhere, we come across a small sign indicating the hotel Bali Begawan Giri. He has heard of this place and so have I – but neither of us had a clue where it was. It’s the most expensive resort in all of Bali and the suites go for $4,000 US a night. I tell him to drive to the resort. We are stopped at the gate by an armed guard who sweeps our car for a bomb, then allows us on to the property.

We fake like we may be considering a room – just to see how the other half lives. It is a stunning piece of property and perfect for those who want to be completely isola ted . Quite a place but certainly not for me. Go figure, trying to get away from it all and we stumble into a place like this – amazing!

Our friends have now gone home and we head back to Sanur where we have found a wonderful spot with a magical pool. In the afternoon the sun is shining but an hour later the monsoon hits. We watch as huge bolts of lightening Zorro through the sky amid booming thunder lou d enough to make to change your underwear!

We had planned on going out but the resort and streets are totally flooded. Unless the resort has a rowboat, we are holed up for the night. Taking in the raging storm on the balcony we are fortunate to have enough “Vitamin R” to calm our frayed nerves.

The days go by, and ‘she-who-shops’ is on the prowl again - grrrrrr. She is one whopper of a shopper and I can’t find a way to stop her! Every day I look at our room floor strewn with shopping bags, and I swear they must be breeding!

Driving is interesting here since it would appear that is mandatory for any vehicles to straddle the center white line at all times – ready for the eminent blind corner pass. Now, when you add to this the fact that red traffic lights are only a recommendation, it definitely makes for a few religious moments. In some countries people pray in the streets – in this country they are called pedestrians!

Girls ride on the back of motorbikes side-saddle, facing completely perpendicular to the direction of travel. Their feet dangle freely, suppor ted only by fresh air, and they casually hold on to nothing more substantial than their handbags. Swerving furiously in and out of traffic whilst perched like this seems to defy all the laws of physics. Balance Supreme – like a Bali Ballet on wheels!

One afternoon we decide to make a run into Kerbokan by taxi. Almost immediately our knucklehead driver, with peddle to the metal, is putting us in harm’s way by playing his state of the art version of the old game of chicken! This is a case of deja glue for us, as we have been stuck in similar passenger situations soooooooooo many times before in Asia .

Yelling at him to ‘effing’ slow down - he pulls the old bobble head doll routine - flashing his pearly chicklets ear to ear, while bobbing his head up and down – but my plea is about as useless as trying to shoot deer with an accordion. He either doesn’t understand English or simply just can’t control himself – probably both! When it comes to matters of safety here, most of the drivers are dumber than dirt - and you can easily understand why religion plays such an important part in their lives!

The traffic gods have been kind, and miracu lou sly we make it, with all body parts intact. Releasing our death grip on the seats, we pay off the little ‘sphincter muscle’, deligh ted to see the back of his ears. As he pulls away we realize he has dropped of off at different company with the same name. Now the search begins for someone who speaks English to tell us where the hell we are.

Trying to find our way back we stumble into a little shop with some great stones from Java. We can’t resist and buy two. The fact that we can’t budge them le alone move them seems of little consequence. A while later we hit another place selling stone lanterns – what else could we do but buy eight! Finally made our way back to our intended destination where we proceeded to buy a table – are we crazy or what!

We thought for old times sake we should go back to Suji Bungalows in Kuta - where our Bali experiences star ted 20 years ago. In Kuta we are checking in when we spot that breed of vermin known as Ratus Humongi. The bloody thing was nearly the size of a dachshund!

We stroll about chaos of Kuta for a while, which is even more difficult these days, with the roads all dug up. The sidewalks are always bobby trapped with several cement panels missing making quite easy to fall into the open sewer at night if one is not careful.

Each town seems to have their own kind of treacherous sidewalks. In Sanur they are mostly covered in green moss which has you slippin’ and slidin’ trying to stay on your feet. In Ubud, the sidewalks are up high, but every few feet there is a driveway, so on any walk you end up with more up and downs than a porno movie!

On the way back to our room, we stop and have a look at the bomb site which is only a couple of blocks away. This was a tragedy that continues to devastate the Balinese, who rely so heavily on the tourists.

As we get back to our room Christine has a close encounter with a few crawlies and one cockroach about the size of a gerbil, which scares the bejesus out her. Enough already! We call a cab and head back to our ‘home’ in Sanur. What a difference!

Back in Sanur, we are finishing up with cargo and relaxing the last few days here. We are enjoying the tranquility of the place until one night walking home from dinner. We are arm in arm, when all of a sudden Christine starts to do a weird Newfie like jig – shrieking in some unknown dialect! What the hell has caused this? A small frog has hopped right into her shoe. I’m laughing so hard I can hardly stand up. Ahhhh another great Bali memory! Well my friends, my fizzled fingers finally force me to finish, and find a fix of my favorite frothy fluid!

Once again Christine has the familiar urge to pay homage (read Rupiah) to the Balinese Shopping God – “Visa-Gru”. I am now getting quite concerned that we may need to rent a fork lift to move her voluminous luggage to the airport!

As befitting in Bali, in a bold bid to beat being burnt by the blistering bright heat, this bad boy has been boozing in a bewitching bar beside the beach, building biceps and badgering my bladder by banging back a bunch of big bottles of my beloved Bintang beer. The background behind my bamboo barstool is beautiful bougainvillea bushes, banana boughs bristling in the balmy breeze, and boats bobbing in the bay with bountiful breakers bursting beyond. As a bonus, the odd bikini bound babe with a buxom brown bod bravely bounces by! Beauteous. But I’d best beware, all is becoming a blissful blur because of the bubbly brew beneath my belt. Bugger, before my behavior and balance become more befuddled, I better buck up, and put the brakes on this brutal babbling bull, and get my butt back where I belong. Buuurrrrrrrp!

And now for something completely different. Christine has talked me into getting our pictures done in Balinese wedding costumes. Figuring I owed her for Valentines, I reluctantly agree – not having any idea of what was to come.

As we enter the compound we are led off into a room and told to disrobe. First comes the makeup. I get rouge, lipstick, eye shadow etc. which is bringing back memories of the run! Then I’m trussed up in some kind of fancy ceremonial dress like costume. Damn, all I need now are a strand of pearls and provocative pumps! Meanwhile, Christine is in another chair thoroughly enjoying my dismay, while she is done up in a similar fashion.

Some time later, with four women working on us we are ready. We go outside and staff is applauding the ‘newly married’ couple! I’m feeling a little silly, but Christine seems to be thoroughly enjoying the whole procedure, and is running amok with the camera. Somehow I just know I’m never gonna hear the end of this one. 

The last couple of days are spent relaxing by the pool and enjoying some wonderful meals. When you’re in the mood for food – there are some extraordinary culinary choices that are so much a part of the Balinese experience.

Another endearing trait of Bali is the funny signs. For example one store has a sign “Antiques – made to order”. Outside a tattoo shop “tattoos while you wait” – guess that means you can’t just drop off your arm and come back later to pick it up? And the restaurants offer some classics – “Chicen Gordon Blue”, “Sweat and Sour Chiken”, and “Fried Fork” (do they also do spoons and knives?). Ahhh – you gotta love it.

For our last meal, we head back down to our favorite spot on the beach called the Bonsai Café. We order up another freshly grilled kilo of killer king prawns. It seems an appropriate ending to yet another wonderful trip to the Island of the Gods. So now it’s back to reality and time to start planning a trip for next year.

Mark Colegrave

2004