And some others:

Tang Dynasty Show:

Chariot:

They are, as usual, all taken by A.

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To distract myself some more, and to satisfy some meaty cravings, I had a lovely lunch in the winter sunshine, after which I played with a soft pug with a muzzle of wet charcoal called Freddie.

I haven’t been to Paris since I was a student and never with A. It’s the bother of getting a schengen visa. Though we have been eligible for British citizenship for some time we have not applied for it. Having a British passport would make taking the train across the channel so much easier. Another reason for not going there for so long, for me at least, has been the fear of racism.

I don’t encounter racism everyday in England, it is every now and then, but when one goes on holiday, one wants to be 100% sure that such things will not happen. Paris has always welcomed me with open arms and I’ve loved my times there. But it has not been so kind to others and A, having had a bad experience in France as a boy with his family, didn’t really look forward to returning for a holiday, though he visited R1 there while she was a student. So on our holidays so far we have tended to go outside of Europe, save for a very short trip to Spain, quite a few years ago.

I’m really looking forward to this trip. When I was alone in Paris all those years ago I thought that I had to come back with A some day since it was such a romantic city-every cliche about it is true. I sent him a series of postcards from the Rodin museum, each one showing sculptures of lovers entwined…!

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In other words, the shower next to the pot that we South Asians and South East Asians have in our loos, replacing the trusty bucket and mug/lota to wash our bums.

I don’t know about you, but I refuse to be satisfied with dry toilet paper, though that is also required.

What I don’t get is, these hotels are in Asia-where people wash their bottoms regularly. Are they expecting a purely European clientele? Some of them construct loos far away from any source of water, usually separate from the bathroom area and the washbasins.

All right, it might be nice to have the pot far away from where the shower is, in a bathroom the size of a small football field, but how about at least a tap near the pot? Step out of the fancy five stars in Indonesia and Thailand and walk into a “local” loo and you’ll immediately spot the shower, or a bucket and a mug.

I thought at least the hotels in India would have the bum showers but it turns out not to be the case.

Of course, we have them here in our loos at home in London, transported all the way from India.

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The sea was glassy and excellent for swimming. A’s happy feet:

We went snorkelling after which I dried off in the intense and delicious heat on the top deck of the boat.

Lovely Green Water seen from boat:

Me baking (mmm):

At moments like these, with the sun warm on my back, I feel really grateful to be alive and to be lucky enough to visit such beautiful places with someone I love.

Bali’s most sacred mountain, the volcanic Gunung Agung, is believed to be a copy of Mount Meru. Besakih, the holiest Balinese temple, rests on the slopes of Gunung Agung. I visited Besakih, while A arose at the crack of dawn and went to Pasar Agung, another temple on Gunung Agung, in order to get the best photographs. These two temples provide the two routes up the mountain.

Mount Agung from the foothills:

Pasar Agung. A has made this photograph look slightly extra dramatic with hdr but I love the way Balinese gates seemingly arise in the middle of nowhere, with two columns on either side, but no horizontal connection. It’s as if they are magical doors between different dimensions that look the same but actually aren’t:

Besakih. It was quite dark and cloudy when I went, just before the regular evening thundershowers. The stone used is so black because it’s volcanic.The steps have the Pandavas on one side and the Kauravas on the other. The Balinese are preoccupied with balance, and the act of maintaining it:

Temple rooftops-black palm fibre and gold:

Besakih can be a bit of a hassle to visit (it’s actually a vast warren of shrines) because of the numerous touts and guides. The guides don’t really give you any information that you can’t find out for yourself quite easily, but you can only explore the outside without one. I was happy I did take a guide, because he took me to a shrine to be blessed by a female priest and showed me how to place my offering etc. Since Balinese temples are very different from Indian ones, I was grateful for this instruction.

Priestess who blessed me. Next to her can be seen the holy water with which she blessed me and behind her some Balinese winged lions that perform a protective function, like dwarapalas. I have a green winged lion who is currently regarding me with a friendly snarl:

One of the local temples curs. He’d just finished barking and growling madly at an intruder to his shrine and is seen here taking a well deserved rest:

The temple I most enjoyed visiting was Pura Kehan in Bangli. Very quiet and with some beautiful carvings, and situated in a beautiful area. Balinese temples are quite different to Indian temples. They don’t really worship idols in the way we do. There are idols, but they are often locked away and brought out only on important occasions. Offerings are placed everywhere, to spirits and the Gods, on the ground and on specially made pedestals (Balinese offerings are a complex topic in themselves) but usually not in front of an image or idol of God. Also, the temples, can be quite spartan and stark. A lot of carving indicates that the temple was constructed by a wealthy king/family/village.

Pura Kehen disappearing into the greenery:

Detail, Pura Kehan:

Updated to add: A took some of the pictures.

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So the holiday started a bit inauspiciously. We left with A feeling a bit unwell with a sore throat. What with all the swine flu scares, after a few coughs on the plane he received some suspicious stares, causing him to spray his throat assiduously with this throat spray he swears by. He started feeling better on the flight. Meanwhile he leaned lovingly close to me and was talking to me with his mouth inches away from my nose and mouth, as if just about to land me a kiss. While I moved backwards and asked him to pay attention and NOT share water with me on my flight by absent-mindedly drinking from my glass. I was paranoid because I’m really good at getting coughs and when I get a cough I start vomiting. Anyway, I got a cough.

Our second day in Ubud and I was coughing, vomitting and had a stomach upset. Couldn’t eat and a doctor had to be called from Denpasar, who recommended an expectorant! I grabbed the anti-nausea pills and said that’s all I need. Needless to say I vomited the first couple of those out as well. A, who rightly figured I had just acid in my stomach and needed to keep something down with the pills sat down with me at 2am and insisted I eat some bread dipped in water (a prisoner’s diet, but it was the only thing I could countenance). The last time this had happened in London, I was put on a drip, but he wasn’t having that in Indonesia, as we weren’t sure about the hospitals. It took an hour to get through a slice, and much glaring at A from me, but the bread did the trick with the medicine.

Me at the ornately carved Pura Taman Saraswati before the coughing became major:

This was the second time we had been in Ubud and both times I have felt slightly cheated being there. Last time I felt time was too short, it rained throughout, and A had a bad stomach. This time, the weather was good, we had some lovely hot hours (though it did rain-it always rains in Ubud, but they were brief tropical thunderstorms that clear up soon) but I had to waste time by falling ill. There was so much I wanted to do and see that I missed out on, including some temples and rice field treks. But there will be a next time.

Not that we didn’t do anything while in Ubud. We managed, among other things, to get to Batubulan and get some beautiful stone carvings of a Balinese Brahma and Vishnu (they look completely different from Indian representations) and watch some Kecak at the Pura Dalem in Ubud (a Pura Dalem is a temple of the dead. Pura=temple). About a hundred men chant “cak” in unison and a scene from the Ramayana is enacted by dancers. There is no musical accompaniment save for the human voices. Hanuman looks like a real, frightening, large, old bearded monkey. A bit more of the jungle than in our representations.

The performance was followed by a man dancing on burning coals. These performances used to be a part of trance/exorcism rituals, and I think they still are. But I wonder about things like dancing on coals. Is it still done because there is an audience?

Here’s a video from youtube of a Kecak dance:

I got much better and the holiday didn’t end here.

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