Oh, what a deceitful writer I am. You see, while I seemed to be plugging away in the word mines, gaily chipping at verbiage ore to polish and refine and bring to you, my doleful consumers, I was actually not here. I mined all these glorious gems of literary spew weeks ago! Really, I was in Indonesia and Taiwan for the past two weeks while the internet aided me with my gentle ruse. Though you thought me sweating profusely over my keyboard, furiously slamming my worn, calloused digits into the letters, I was actually drunk on a beach somewhere, which is really my natural state. Will you forgive me? I imagine you will when you cast your eyes on this here photographia.
Did you know Bali was mad pretty? Let’s talk about it.
Though we knew it likely infested with middle-aged women on spiritual journeys to find themselves and eating and praying and loving and deeper meaning in life and the universe and fgrbuwgrubajbw—, we still headed to wondrous Ubud for some time with the monkeys, and journeys deep into the jungle. Even our guesthouse was in the middle of the jungle, surrounded by howling roosters and cows and frogs and wild boars and jungle things. Also, killer wifi.
We headed to Goa Gajah (the elephant temple) and were duly impressed with its gloriousness, and soon found a curious sign nailed to a tree, pointing out into the wilderness and marked “forest temple.” We began wandering down this rugged path, and were soon confronted with a request for a donation if we wanted to walk further down to the water temple. We balked, but wanted more jungle, and paid up. We made the right choice, as suddenly it got all Hyrule and shit. The bamboo bridge you see is actually the least precarious one we used, which I actually remembered to photograph.
We arrived in Ubud to quite a lot of traffic and preparation. Some royalty had died, and thus the entire town was thrown into a frenzy of construction and fervour as they prepared for the public, and wicked amazing, cremation. I may have to update my will to include “giant royal tower and procession of adoring thousands” to my wishes.
What’s that I hear? It’s the gongs of impending mid-post statuary conga? Oh yeah!
Having never eaten Indonesian food before, I had no idea what to expect. Namely, I had no idea that it would be the love of my life. Here’s some Padang: a dollop of rice smothered in whatever curried or fried or Heaven-blessed globules of pure flavour you choose to consume. This particular plate I somehow managed to make spicy enough I could not speak for several minutes.
And finally, let’s spend some time at the beach, because on an island in South East Asia, there’s a lot of it.
Bali. You should probably go there.