the long and winding road (and flight path) - Bristol -- Bali - nov 15/16 November 2015

Sunday November 15th 2015
It was just after 8 am when I closed the front door behind me, the alarm on my phone had been set for 7 am but my body thought that 4.30 was a far better idea. By the time I had reached Doha I was already dead on my feet, and that was around the halfway point of the entire journey.

Everything I owned has now been cleared out from the house (or more aptly room) I had been living in for the last 20 months or so, with bits and bobs now scattered about in a few different places, but the bulk of it is now in, or waiting to go to Wales to stay with my dad for the foreseeable future, although there isn't anything of any notable worth there. The closest object to have any kind of value to would be a Greek style bowl which has been with me though the rough and the smooth, the porridge and crunchy nut cornflakes, badly cooked meals from the slow cooker and awesome tuna and pasta bakes piping hot from the oven, you don't forget about items like that do you, the things that never let you down. If there was just one thing i would be able  to save, well, that wouldn't be it, but its up in the top 5, along with a pack of old Wills playing cards I have “Rescued” from a dark drawer somewhere. nothing like having your priorities straight after all. As far as the house that I leave behind goes, well, it will most likely be the last time I go back there for a very long time maybe ever (who knows), but I'll just end it by saying that for the last year, all the goings on have all been, well, truth be told, a little bit crap. But there we go.

Aaaanyway, to save me the frustration of trying to use bristol buses in any meaningful or useful fashion (an almost impossible task especially on a Sunday) to get to the central bus station in Bristol, my Aunt had kindly offered to make sure I got to the coach station her self. “You're bloody going and that's the end of it” she didn't say at any point, but got me there she did, right after I had done a last bit of faffing and last minute streamlining and drank a luke warm coffee at the office (it was hot when it was made apparently). So just before 9 am I was grabbing a bacon roll and large latte from the Greggs bakery situated behind the central bus depot before heading back to sit patiently and wait for the slightly delayed 9.30am bus to Heathrow. It was here that I got talking to a nice lady called Pam from Texas, who divulged in conversation about recent events that she was lucky enough that her faith was strong enough for her to believe that things and events happen for a purpose, unfortunately not a view I share. But her beliefs are her beliefs and far be it for me to try and undermine the fabric of her reason for being, and when she said she wanted to pray for me later on for my upcoming travels I thanked her politely and quipped something along he lines of "I guess every little helps". What can I say, it was early and i was tired. However, after an almost holey uncomfortable trip, I really wish she hadn't bothered.

It started off well enough, an incident which led to the M32 motorway out of bristol to be closed led to a stretch of the journey which should have taken 3 or 4 minutes taking nearly an hour but the rest of the ride was smooth and I got to the check in desk with 2.5 hours before take off. A raised eyebrow at the check in desk signalled that the counter staff wasn't entirely happy with the length of time between my arrival in Bali and the date of my flight back to the UK in May but luckily the night before I had booked an internal flight in Thailand for the 6th Feb 2016, which was evidence enough of onward travel from Indonesia inside a 3 month period which I had thought might have been a sticking point. It was all alright after he quickly calculated the duration before that flight on his 12* fingers, without I might add using the same finger twice, It was a role he was simply born to do. I was then free to take my newly printed boarding ticket up to departures, dutifully chucking all my stuff into the scanning trays before beeping convincingly as I went through the snitch gate. The middle Eastern looking security guards eyes lit up as it singled me out, he might as well have hit the big red alarm button and shouted “We got one”. After his P.K meter confirmed that I was real and that jean buttons do indeed beep, I was escorted to a nice comfy room for further "checks". When his colleague arrived wearing a pair of black gloves and snapping the sides to make that iconic slapping noise, I jokily remarked "FOR GOD SAKE MAN, YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO THAT", which was luckily met with smile when it eventually dawned on him what he was actually doing, “It's ok Mate, these are just for checking luggage” he tried to assure me, but still, the term “Luggage” can be a little ambiguous in the certain circumstances. You have to stay relaxed in these situations, so I'm told, and once the beeping was isolated to my Jean buttons they were promptly arrested and whipped of to a secret jail somewhere. I on the other hand escaped to boots the chemist. Relieved to be waiting for the departure gate to open as opposed to my own.

The flight to Doha took just under 6 hours, but after a delay waiting on the tarmac at Heathrow the total cooped up time was nearer 8 which in turn led to a mad rush at the other end as I tried to get to the right zone for the connecting flight to Bali. Yet again however I was able to do my 1970's young superman impression as I sped along the powered walkways at a speed not consistent with the movement of my ownlegs. I know I've said it before but someone really should just put an image of a train next to the side or one of these things, maybe with one of those “Old Ruler” effect where the image of a young girl being scalded by her mother for making up lies about someone being able to move that fast alters slightly with the angle you view it at giving impression of a moving image. It's a missed opportunity which becomes more and more niche in its appeal as the years roll by. And lets face it, its fairly niche already as I'm the only one who thinks its a great idea!

So onto Bali, a flight filled with coughing sneezing and a guy sat next to me with an apparently motor neuron disease which controlled his ability to control his elbows properly. The 9 hour flight felt like double as we shook, rattled and rolled over the countries below, I've never felt so i'll on a plane and as we finally came in towards Denpasar airport, the one positive of the flight came into view with the final approach almost skimming the ocean, flying low over a beach and straight down back onto land, is just simply stunning. After disembarking and being processed though an immigration process at odds with all of the information being displayed as you approach the desk, I had picked my bag up from the baggage wheel and went through into the meeting point area where my ride to the hotel wasn't waiting. Jumping on the mild confusion this was causing and the obvious look of FFS that must have been emblazoned across my brow, the vulture like taxi drivers started to nibble and peck, with one stubborn beast in particular trying to snag his fare, and despite my persistent (and increasingly short and rude retorts) he really wasn't getting the idea that I wasn't going to use him. It's basically a rugby scrum in there and the sad thing is that thats your initial first representation of the people of bali, and its not a good one. Probably because I was just over tired and down from travel but I would have happily just turned around at that point and flown somewhere else entirely, apart from the fact that I couldn't face the idea of getting back on another plane that quickly, i had only just about managed to stop feeling nauseous.

After 45 minutes of being hassled and in 30 plus degree heat and wearing the same gear I had left the UK in, with no response to loud speaker announcements and no answer on the telephone from the company that was supposed to be fulfilling the last part of this increasingly arduous trip, I snapped, walked back in through duty free and approached the legitimate taxi company there and negotiated a good price to the hotel, getting a receipt so I can complain to the company back in the UK if I want to. 15 pound lighter and 60 air-con cooled minutes later and I finally reached my hotel in Ubud. The taxi driver was great, gave me a few language lessons and showed me some of the things to do around the island, a sharp contrast to my further noted impressions. Traffic in bali is carnage compared to UK, but nothing in comparison to the other places I have visited such as Vietnam and Thailand. The taxi driver assured me however that there are very few accidents, and through the apperent chaos there again appears to be no sign of road rage or aggrevated cutting up, just cold calculated cutting up with no emotion attached. Much safer.

My initial impression is that its like the places in Asia I've been, Ubud comes fully tooled up with the usual arsenal of hazardous pavements with cracks or giant holed in and looks almost run down in places, thiz usually only applies to the outside of buildings though and insides are often at odds with the outside impression. 

After a quick wash, I venture out for a short trip to get cash and a little food and drink for this night ahead, I do like the feel of it here, although it only took the one trip to the local supermarket to sell me on it. With colours so bright they must be harmful in the decor and the produce, and variations on almost every food type you could possibly imagine after 20 hours worth of travel topped off with staff who are happy to mock you as you trip at the same time as offering you a basket, I clearly rememberwhy I enjoyed it so much around Asia the last time I travelled.

Now just to get over that damn trip and get these sugars back under control.