Hieronymous the Anonymous

What a place we live

It was not long into the return trip home today I felt like stopping to admire the view. I was travelling along of a hill on a dirt track. To my left the ground fell away. The sky was blue and the sun shone down upon a network of ravines between the hills mysteriously shrouded by the mist that seems such a feature of this place. It feels a remote place even though it is not that distant from the city. It is rugged and beautiful and looking out upon it I thought, not for the first time, what a wonderful place we live in.

There are many people around the world who could doubtless say something similar about their home, the difference being that this is mine. There's a sense of pride with this. I'm a strong Australian, I find much to grateful for and glad of in general. Still, there is a different sense to this. I've travelled through many different terrains in Oz, from desert to rainforest, through red dirt country where the bones of dead beasts litter the sides of dry waterholes to alpine areas where the air has a bit to it, and the trees grow close and tall.

Perhaps it's the same everywhere, but I always feel in the midst of all this great mystery. There seems in some ways a knowing indifference, as if there is a consciousness that nature will outlast us. How many times have I felt a sense of wondrous awe? Many times, and it's great to remember. It may be indifferent, but this is ours, distinct I think, and certainly unique from most of the world. It may be indifferent, but if anyone belongs it is us, and us particularly who have have to love and respect the might of the land. The tall gums, the curling ferns, the harsh sun, the wildlife like no other place, this is ours.

We had gone for a walk late the previous afternoon down the road I had just driven, and come to an area that seemed like many others I had seen around Victoria. Here the ground had been cut away by a creek we could distantly hear, but barely see. The vegetation was thick and moist: here there was a different ecosystem from up the hill, here it was degrees cooler and in the air a sense of damp. Gun-barrel straight stringy barks grew up from the ravine reaching for the sky, the trunks of some metres and metres in diameter, majestic and quintessentially Australian. On many the bark had curled into mad and untidy scrolls that somehow clung still to the tree. Others were stripped bare, the bark providing food for the vegetation below and in the pale light looked ghostly. At the foot of the trees giant tree ferns grew amid a profusion of smaller ferns and bushes.In the still and silence a bird might be heard occasionally. By the side of the road a wombat stiff with rigor mortis lay in the channel cut by rain. We stood without saying a word, taking it in, this 'nature' this place, this other world that goes on regardless of what we do or strive for in the city, timeless, eternal, forever.

That was in my mind as I made my journey home. I had decided to take a different route back, but already I had been forced to make a detour because of a road closure. I had the GPS and so ploughed on in the expectation that it would lead me out of trouble. The roads were quiet though. Mostly they were hard-packed mud with a bit of gravel on them. They wound between the hills between light and shade and had I not the GPS I would have become easily lost.

As it was I wondered at times if I was not. The GPS led me down tracks that I soon turned from, unsure if my car could continue on the slippery mud earth and seemingly headed towards more remote places yet and shrouded in mist. I found myself selectively ignoring the GPS , choosing to remain on the nearest thing to a main road - a single lane road of gravel and mud. Once committed there was no point turning back.

Still it was pretty. The hills seem to go on forever. At times we would dip before climbing, the road straight for no more than a hundred metres at a time. For the most part forest grew on either side, native mostly, but at times plantations. In between occasionally a narrow track would divert, either a 'road' the GPs wanted me to turn in to or the driveway to a home invisible to the road, a letter box at the junction.

I drove for over 30 minutes without seeing another vehicle or person. Finally I saw a man, a farmer I presume, by the side of the road who waved at me as I passed. In time I found vehicles coming the other way, and a pensioner on a cyclist climbing the winding hill in my direction. Civilisation, I thought, must be near at hand.

And so it was, if paved roads and traffic can be termed civilisation. I joined in the throng, making good time on the homeward journey until 20 kilometres from home when an accident on the Monash caused a traffic jam kilometres long.

Home now, tired, well and truly overfed, somewhat bleary in total and wondering how I'm going to adjust back into real life tomorrow. Life could be harder.

Travel fragments

I don't seem to have written much about Cambodia. I enjoyed it so much I never really got around to posting anything about it. And then I was home. Well, I'm not about to tell the whole story now, but I will put down some of the fleeting memories.

I remember the heat. There were days I thought I might dissolve into a pool of sweat. It was probably no more than mid-thirties in temperature, but extreme humidity - 2,3 shirt days. More often than not we would go out in the morning in Siem Reap and work up a good sweat. Back at the hotel we would dive into the pool. It was a lovely pool, bougainvillea overhanging it and circled by banana lounges with cushions. Upon request the friendly staff would happily bring you a dollar cocktail to sip at the side of the pool. I lost a lot of liquid over there, but it was fun re-hydrating with the beer and cocktails so cheap. We did a lot of re-hydrating.

I remember a day returning from watching the sun set standing atop one of the tumbled down ruins of Angkor Wat. We ran the gauntlet of touts flogging all manner of things, mainly kids. Ten dolla they would say, ten dolla. Already got you would reply. Eight dolla. Look, Eight dolla. And so it would go, smiling despite the infestation, like seagulls on a chip, but cheerful. (Throughout I enjoyed the banter, "bye, bye" I might say to which the 10 year old budding entrepenuer might reply" bye, bye, you buy".)

We did buy an ice cold beer for the ride back, negotiating with them as usual, their offer, then yours, one dolla. Ok, one dolla.

Like kings we sat in the back of the tuk tuk for the ride back. Our feet rested on the bench seat in front of us. Air rushed in to cool us while we sipped on the cold Angkor beer and toasted every passing cyclist. That was the way to live.

In Sihanoukville we hiked into a long stretch of beach. There were large shacks on the foreshore in various states of disrepair, grass thatch for roofs. On the sand before them were banana lounges and sun umbrellas. The water lapped calmly at the shore. We stopped at a self-styled Mexican cantina and ordered margaritas, quesadillas and fish tacos. We peered out at the ocean sipping then at cold Anchor beer (per above).

At one point the girls that prowl the beach offering massages and manicures, handrafts, scarfs, and so on, all settled on us. We were fun. We sat there two gweilo's with a contented smile on our face and bantered with them. They liked that. The Cambodian people I found to be spirited and often cheeky. They have a natural wit and innate optimism despite the tragedies that have befallen them. They are happy to talk, to laugh, to engage, and don't take a rebuff personally.

On this occasion there were up to 13 of them sitting in a circle around us, laughing amongst themselves about these strange men and daring us at different times with their wit. We re-joined and after much negotiation finally gave into there offers. I had someone give me a foot massage while another gave me a manicure I didn't really need. I bought a scarf of a pretty girl and finally agreed to buy a homemade coloured bracelet from a boy to help defary his schooling costs.

After a swim and more drinks we left just as the weather closed in. There were no tuk tuk's and so each of us got on the back of a moto as the thunder rumbled and heavy drops of rain fell upon us. The road was red dust made super slippery and slimy by the rain and eroded into deep rivulets and puddles. Soon the rain became hail as we two gweilo's, a good hundred kilo's each, balanced on the back of the scooters driven by teenage Cambodians each no more than sixty kilo's.

It was a crazy ride, but somehow crazy fun, thrilling and dangerous and exhilirating. The thunder cracked as the drivers negotiated the tricky roads and took the corners carefully. At the hotel each of us, Whisky and I, ditched our bags and ripped off our rain soaked tops and dived into the heated pool while the rain fell. It was great.

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In KL

Today it’s KL. I’m sitting in a funky café in one of the more salubrious areas of the city. I’m waiting for breakfast to be served  me while the fans whirr above me once again. I’m well rested after a hectic few days and looking towards doing the rounds of the city proper: first stop the Petronas Towers.

I should have been sitting here 24 hours ago but for sort of unexpected occurrence that somehow becomes normal on holiday. We had packed up and checked out and where driving around to the other side of the island for a look-see when a grinding noise coming from the left rear wheel made us stop. It had made troubling noises all the way to Penang, a sort of crunching sound, but it had become clearly worse since, and added to it was a squeaky, whiny sound. We stopped at a mechanic, where told it couldn’t be fixed before morning, and that was that.

Whisky and I continued up the road by taxi and checked into one of the mid-range resort hotels overlooking the beach. We had a complimentary drink by the pool and then a beer. Later we had a swim in the pool and played a round of table-tennis. Around us largely Asian couples mixed in with portly Brits enjoyed the facilities. As two clearly single men of relatively robust health we were out of place – family friendly is not really our go.

That evening we went in search of a massage further up the road in Feringhee, which in itself was a mix of luxury accommodation – including a 6 star hotel – a night market, and a bunch of restaurants and shops lit up like Vegas. Here there was a good proportion of Arabs. Most, if not all, of the women were covered up, including many wearing the full hijab. In these conditions it must be suffocatingly uncomfortable to be covered head to toe while your husband swans around in shorts and t-shirt.

I had my third massage in as many days, and the second for the day (the first deserves a post all of its own). Massage is big business like I say, and there are all sorts of variations on it, right down to cupping and ear candling (two I’m happy to avoid). On this occasion my masseuse was an acrobatic girl called Janet, who swung from poles embedded near the ceiling and walked up and down my back – not the first woman to have done that.

I left contemplating whether I was any better off for the experience. I certainly felt a kind of invigoration, but it was the kind that had me hobbling slightly. Given my experience with remedial massage in the year that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing and besides, what the fuck, all part of the experience.

The rest of it all is pretty sedate. We had a lovely dinner that night eating delectable Malaysian curries served by an equally spicy hostess who – pun intended – clearly hoped to curry favour with us. She had her hair tied back tightly in a bun, large expressive eyes and wore a long, billowing, print dress which she would lift daintily past her ankles as she took the stairs. She played up to us, flashing those expressive eyes and indulging a verbal byplay that few men can resist and few women can approve of. We're no different and so we generally fell over each other trying to flirt with her while she lapped it up.

Yesterday we finally started back with the car all mended. We circled Penang before taking the long road towards KL. Our car is a Proton, the people’s car if you like, an ordinary, under-powered lemonish sort of vehicle locally made and promoted. We managed to tool along at about 130 kmh on a freeway limit of 110 – an arbitrary number seemingly as no-one heeds it and no-one seems to police it. Every so often a European car – a BMW or Mercedes – would whiz by at about 150 kmh, as if with the car they had been given dispensation to drive as quick as you like. Mixed in with them were Hondas and Toyotas, prestige cars in relative terms to the Proton. Often they would rush by tail to nose, not so much tail-gating as drafting, sometimes three or four cars in line.

Along the way the sun shone and the rain plunged down. Then the sun would come again, and then the rain. The freeway cut through the sides of hills surrounded with lush vegetation. Often we would pass by these huge outcroppings of rock that emerged from the surrounding countryside like a pimple. They too were covered in a thick grown jungle, with sheer sides of rock that looked as if it might have been near liquid once with stalactite like croppings. Throughout all this I saw one monkey – roadkill, dead at the side of the road.

Penang today

I sit here in the dining area of my hotel in Penang. The hotel is a converted mansion, sprawling, elegant, finely detailed and just a little bit quirky. Peter Carey called it the finest hotel in the world. In the centre of the building is a courtyard open to the sky. Over breakfast this morning we watched as the rain fell. Now I look over it, the fans whirring furiously overhead and a pot of tea on the table in front of me. It is late in the day, quiet time after walking through the hot and humid streets of Penang in search of food.

Food's not hard to find, and most of it is pretty good. It's a challenge for me to remain sensible. Tempting as it may be to try everything it's not completely healthy. Still, the local cuisine is one of the great attractions of the city.

We went from one place to another this morning, walking mainly but sometimes employing the services of an undersized rickshaw driver to pedal our oversized bodies around town. With the early rain it was even stickier than normal. The heat feels clammy, and in the open sun you feel yourself steaming. I've experienced much worse than this, but it serves as a reminder of how it can be.

The highlight this morning for me was when I separated myself from the group and went off in search of the next cafe on our list. It was a place typical of the town, and in other ways typical of a thousand other places around the globe. At the round tables men drank coffee and smoked and shared their stories. A cook whipped up the odd noodle dish. People came and went, laughter rolled around the place and excited voices of men gathered together minus their other half.

It felt very familiar to me. There are not many cafes like this back home in Melbourne, but standing there it recalled to mind a multitude of other such places from all over the world. The cuisine may change, but much else remains the same.

I sat and managed to convince the uncomprehending waitress that I wanted one of the coffees the cafe was famous for. The men at the next table watched with interest. One leaned over to assist with the order. That done he asked the usual questions, where I was from (to which he responded "oi, oi, oi", and another "downunder"). They asked how I liked Penang, then how I liked the coffee. They were especially impressed when I ordered another, this time iced. They razzed me gently, glad to have someone different to rub up against.

I too enjoyed it. It's what I like best about travelling. I watched and listened, I nodded my head and joined in and I thought there is a difference in enjoying the pleasures of a place as if they are laid on for you and in going a little further and actually interacting with the place. To intereact is to engage with the people; my greatest memories are not of the Eiffel Tower or a great beach. They are of the occasions I have fallen in with the locals and experienced something otherwise invisible to me. This was on the smaller scale of things, but reminded me of the great possibilities of travelling, particularly when you're solo. People open to you when they think you are alone.

For the rest of the day we have had small bites here and there, a few beers on a thirsty day, and some refloxology - massage is a big industry over here, and who am I to sniff at that? I'm happy to support the local industry.

Now my tea is drunk. I should shower and freshen up, more food tonight, and a festival of the 9 gods my friends at the cafe told me about.

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In the air tonight

Image via Wikipedia

Yep, that's me, about to jump in a plane and toodle-oo over the seas and somewhat far away. Catch a plane some ungodly hourly early tomorrow morning (well, tonight), sit an air-bed with the hope minus expectation that I might sleep and touch down in KL 8 hours later just about. Weekend in Penang, a sidetrip to Cambodia, a day in Singapore and the rest of it. Is good, just annoying waiting.

Don't know if you'll hear much of H over the next couple of weeks.

Travel snobbery

Strange the judgements you unconsciously make. Natural though too - we all have a bias, and without it would be hard to make a choice, to winnow what we want from what we don't. Still, I am occasionally surprised at the basis upon which I find myself making a  judgement.

Look, I freely admit that I'm elitist in some ways, but I'm no snob. I believe in certain things, am passionate and maintain certain standards - or try to. There are times when I briefly find myself frustrated or confused by others, until I remind myself that everyone is different, everyone makes their own choices, and that I have no right to impose my set of standards on others.Amen.

The one area I find myself persistently sniffy about though is travel. Not long ago I virtually dismissed someone as a contender when they claimed to prefer Sydney to Melbourne. All of a sudden I found myself jumping to sweeping and unfair conclusions about the superficial nature of their personality.

The other week over a drink someone else discussing their travels raved on about Zurich while they dissed Berlin big time. It's been a while since I went to Berlin, but I loved it. I guess it might have changed, but I thought not. I just thought she didn't get the place, and to a degree I understood that. Berlin is not for everyone, but for some it is great - and I'm one of them.

As for Zurich? Well Zurich is an inoffensive, pretty city. I liked it to, but I'm not busting a gut to return. I probably will some day and will likely enjoy it, but there are a lot of other places on the list ahead of it. And so mentally I put a small cross against her name.

Is it fair? Does it matter? Well, yes to both.

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Travel and other neurosis

I have a yen to drop in on Hong Kong. The one time I was there I loved for it's vitality and diversity, for the food and the daring architecture. I imagine finding a cool hotel room overlooking Victoria harbour, crossing to Kowloon-side on the ferry and sitting down at some small restaurant to indulge some of the local delicacies. Word. Or I imagine myself finally finding myself in Cambodia like I meant three or four times before, hitching a pack on my way to Angkor Wat. Sometimes I think about skiing in Japan, a must-do on my list, or perhaps getting to Turkey again and taking a languid cruise on a slow boat bobbing around the coastline. I got the travel bug again.

It's a bit like a cold except it's not really something that comes and goes. It's more like Malaria. It sits there dormant while we busy ourselves with other things and other priorities, until one day it enters the bloodstream again and the fever to get travelling again grips you and won't let go. That's where I'm at now.

Better than most perhaps I understand the joys of independent travel, but I also know enough to understand the urge is not as simple as to explore anew. I don't know if most people ever bother to think about it too much. Probably not. I never really stop figuring out one thing or another, and this is no different. There's plenty of good and obvious reasons to hit the road and most people could reel them off like the alphabet. Less obvious is that the urge to take-off is an attempt at purpose.

For large swathes of our life we do pretty much the same things. We go to work and we come home. We share good times with our family and friends. We watch the same programs every week and every week gather to discuss the events of the weekend past. None of it is bad necessarily, but for the most part it is conventional and formulaic. Setting off for foreign shores in contrast gives the promise of something different at least, and possibly something quite exotic - even life-changing. It's an intoxicating thought.

Many travel living for that experience, going from place to place and avoiding for as long as humanly possible the conventional and quite possibly stale life waiting for them once they settle down. I understand this too well. I'm sympathetic to it and even knowing what I do look forward with excitement to the day I pack a bag again and climb aboard a plane going who knows where.

It is a form of avoidance though travel, or can be, or at least a trick to salve that deep part of yourself that craves something more. Here are the photo's of my trip to the Phillipines/Brazil/Kenya, what a great time I had! And carrying around the photos as a kind of proof they return to the conventional TV shows, to the same train to work, to the conversations that carry on from where they were left before. For the moment you've had your fix, your conscience is clear, fuck I'm an adventurer.

I might sound cynical, and maybe it's unreasonable for someone who has travelled so broadly to sound off about it. I still think that travel is one of the great experiences of life - to learn what you don't know, to feel what you've had little cause to before, to appreciate the diversity of cultures and lifestyle, and to give perspective to what you have and have come to expect. On that last count at least my comments may appear churlish.

All of that is true, but travel should not be a substitute for living deeply and in the moment all the time. Sure, that's an unlikely ideal, and less easily achieved than written, but...

The trick is to contrive a life that presents you with challenges on a regular basis. It shouldn't need these little trips somewhere else to inject that sense of context anmd contrast. That should be your life, maybe not always good, but interesting at least, and stimulating enough that you feel it as something that's actually happening rather than time passing in pleasant distraction.

That's my idea. Others will think differently. In as way it sounds a bit like my life, though fuck knows my life isn't perfect - I got the not always good part down pat, though I'm not complaining. The fun is in the mix really. Good times aren't nearly as much fun unless you know the bad. To climb anywhere means that you've had to come from somewhere below. To gain is not possible unless you don't have to begin with.

And I know they sound like a bunch of new age aphorisms spouted by some beaming, suntanned Californian, but I'm not that. Not nearly. What I'm saying basically is get it right in yourself. You do that and you don't need then to look out upon a foreign landscape to feel connected to something bigger, because you know it inside you already.

It's not for everyone, and there'll be heaps reading this scratching their head as if to say what the fuck are you on buster? It's for me though, I know that, and maybe I'm an extreme too far. I've landed a role that could set me up financially for a while to come, but I'm wary that I'll get bored regardless, and it wouldn't surprise me that for all the riches on offer that one day I'll turn my back on it.

That's my issue. I like to strive and to compete and to overcome challenges - and become disinterested when I do. What's next? I have to feed myself all the time, which is why I go through so many women, why I crave travel, why I work for myself rather than someone else. I'm the anti-conventional, but I know it.

So what it's about is balance. Balance, I figure, is the key to so many things. Neither too much nor too little of anything. It's getting the mix right between the domestic stuff in your life, the romantic mayhap, the professional strivings and personal challenges. Get it right and a holiday abroad is just another great experience, rather than a substitute for what ails you.

The mix is different in everyone. That's what makes things interesting. For me I probably need to become less competitive for the sake of it, and enjoy the domestic pleasures more fully.  It's only an adjustment though. Despite the inconveniences of it it's nice to feel the wind in your hair. It's nice to do things.

I'll travel soon enough and enjoy every moment of it. I know for now though the urge to it is as much about changing up my life as it is here as it is about actually doing or seeing something elsewhere. That's okay, I'm working on things and I know it.

Yesterday I made a hot relish. Today a bean curry. Tomorrow I'll go into work and come up with a few more clever ideas for the CIO clamouring for them. In a month or so I'll take myself off travelling. And after that perhaps I'll look at a web-venture I'm looking to partner in, or something else again. But something. I want to do those things, to be and grow. But I also look forward to whipping up some snappy dish in the near future, or watching a favourite TV show without any guilt. After all I reckon, they're all just different facets of a constantly changing mosaic.

Way to go

It’s time I went travelling again. The days are over when I’ll take off for months on end, but my life doesn’t feel normal unless I get away every couple of years at the max. I went to Bali last year, but that hardly counts. Before that was my jaunt to North Africa in late 2007. That’s too long.

I’m not going anywhere in a hurry, but I’m happy to begin planning. Realistically with work and a few other things I can’t really manage to get away anywhere serious before the end of the year. I might manage a short holiday before that, and maybe just sitting on a beach on an island resort in Oz. I could handle that, but the real business is jetting abroad.

Right now I’m tossing up options. Japan has been on the list for a long while, but I really I want to get there in the March/April period. The latter part of that is cherry blossom season, and I would be hopeful to get some skiing in at the start of it. So Japan’s out. Ireland has been on the list for a few years too, so is an option. Rightly or wrongly though I figure that’s one of those places best seen with a romantic interest. I don’t doubt you could have a lot of fun solo, but I imagine a romantic visit to the Emerald Isles would leave you with many happy memories.

The Trans Siberian Express has been on my list for many years, ever since I was a kid. I had romantic notions of sharing the journey with the rugged locals and passing the vodka bottle along. My views on it may be slightly more sophisticated these days, but I’m still keen to do it. In actual fact I very nearly booked a trip last year when it was on special. I kind of wish I had now. I think you have to go at particular times of the year. The depth of the Russian winter might be too rugged, but I don’t believe it’s the same experience unless you see some snow on the tundra. Maybe it’s an option around October, Beijing to St Petersburg.

Over a drink or two last week Whisky and I discussed hiring a yacht to sail around Croatian waters. It sounded nice, and something I’ve long been keen to do. But that’s next year at earliest, if it happens at all.

The final option is the states, and the one I’m leaning towards. I’ve never really done it properly, and given that I probably can’t allow any longer than 3 weeks away doing it ‘properly’ is unlikely this time too – but it’s better than nothing. Seems pretty tough though, and I think realistically I can only do one coast. That’d be the east coast. Do New York, Boston, maybe Montreal, check out DC, and I’d like to get somewhere down south, preferably by car – maybe Charleston. I’ve a yen to check out Chicago too. Then home, spending maybe a day in LA to do something trashily touristy.

Who knows, lot to happen between now and then, but you gotta hope. Figure something will happen. I’ll know when I set foot on some foreign shore that my life is back to normal and everything’s good.

Oh, to be...

Image via Wikipedia

The last few days have been bright, Spring-like, lovely days for enjoying the sunlight. Mixed in between have been other days, days like today. It rains intermittently, heavy and soaking while it lasts, and in the distance the rumble of thunder. Then it clears to a chilly, overcast day broken up by patches of sunlight.

I have been conscious of the weather, and enjoyed both aspects of it. Last Sunday was a particularly bleak day, a cold, whistling wind that took the roofs off houses and brought down trees combined with driving rain that kept anyone sensible indoors. How I loved that, an old fashioned winters day that I felt inclined comment on, so much better than the modern rubbish we've been getting.

Not unconnected to the climatic conditions has been a growing restlessness. The warmer days woke something up in me, as if through the darkest days of winter I had been hibernating. Yesterday sitting outdoors at a city cafe waiting for a friend I watched the activity around me and felt the desire to move, to act, to go itch at me.

Yesterday afternoon I thought of Morocco again, of the souks, the markets first, then the austere countryside and the deserts and mountains I did not properly enjoy when I was there. I longed then to go back, to hoist a pack on my back and hitch a ride into the hills and to the villages there with their steep cobbled roads, and to go into the desert like I have read of a hundred times before.

This morning I woke with Turkey in my head. Will I never again see Istanbul I asked myself? Surely that could not be. I remembered Istanbul and the vibrant lifestyle the happy Turks experience. I imagined myself once more on a ferry crossing the Bosphorous, keeping out the cold as I did on the day I did that. Then laying in my bed my mind travelled, to the coastal cities and villages. I had stopped at some, but now in my imagination I saw myself on a boat idling my way along the coast, breathing in the Mediterranean air and looking upon a land history has looked upon for thousands of years.

I suspect I am yearning to travel, though I have not owned up to it as yet. Regardless it is not something I can just up and do. Can I reconcile myself to this? And will it ever be so? Will I always feel this yearning till satisfied? And will I do those things again and follow the path of my imagination?

The sun blazes again, a bird mindlessly trills. I'm heading for the city, and for now, nothing more.

About Bali

For some reason I never wrote about my Bali trip. It was only pretty short, but it was full on.

First day spent all afternoon and most of the evening in our private pool with Whisky, a couple of girls, and a bottomless pitcher of Cuba Libre and Vodka tonics. Sometime in the night I dived into the pool and my head hit an unseen step. It swelled up bleeding and I was pretty well concussed for the next 36 hours - not that I could have told the difference.

We stayed in Seminyak, in a lovely villa complex. Our villa was luxurious. We had a private pool about 6x4 metres set amid a tropical garden. Most days it was warm and humid without being too uncomfortable. On a few occasions we had tropical downpours typical of Asia. The rain would fall in sheets and the roads would flood and the drains filled with rushing water. It is part of the Asian experience, but often I would think as it fell how useful this rain would be a few thousand kilometres to the south-east.

Every night we would go to a sunset bar for a cocktail looking over the ocean towards the setting sun. Most of these places were unbelievably plush, with waiting staff both attentive and very friendly. All the Balinese were friendly and unspoiled. We would sip on our watered down cocktails and feel in our face the breeze come in off the ocean and watch the sun dip and refract it's colours on the cumulus clouds. At times it was very beautiful and led to a great many photo's.

For the most part we ate well, checking out some of the best recommended restaurants in town, but in this regard I was a little disappointed. The best meal I had was an hour after setting down on the first day. Whisky and I wandered down the road and at random went into a little restaurant that advertised cooking classes. The menu was interesting and looking at it I thought we would be in for a good time here. Because I was not so hungry I ordered modestly thinking this will come again. In fact I never saw another menu as interesting or with the same range of Balinese dishes. I saw a lot of satay chicken on menus, and other such generically Asian food.

One day we went into Kuta for the obligatory shopping expedition, typically a Bintang singlet and a bunch of pirate DVD's. We paused by the site of the Sari club bombings years ago. It is a vacant site still and seems likely to remain so as a memorial. Opposite it is a small memorial with flowers collected at its foot. It is in a typical narrow street thought, mundane in its ordinariness - but I guess then it need not be remarkable.

Indulgence was high on the list for all of us, and so besides the booze and the food each of us took advantage of the cheap massages on offer. On our last afternoon we went to a new resort on the other side of the island from us. It was spectacular, like somewhere you would expect Brangelina to be staying. We took the funicular down to the small private beach and lay upon bana lounges there drinking our usual cocktails, and later eating a lovely meal under the fronds of the restaurant/bar there that looked as if it might have been built by the Swiss family Robinson.

For me it was an enjoyable but exhausting trip. I was not feeling 100% yet and together with our hard living find myself depleted upon returning. I would go back, but it is a funny thing. The trip solidified in my mind the desire for a more modest lifestyle. I do not want to continue to live big, and do not need it any longer. For me at this point in my life the greatest pleasures are often in the small things.