Wafts of American breakfast in rice fields

Spent 5 days with my children in Bali at Ubud and Seminyak, the first amongst the hilly rustic rice fields and the latter a trendy beach resort swarmed with white tourists, predominantly Australians.

The hotel room we stayed in at Ubud has a balcony view that overlooks a padi field. At night the frogs croaked as in a natural “a capella” choir in pitch darkness. In the morning the quacking of a duck alternating the call of either a frog or a fowl distracted my reading in the balcony. I watched with amusement a fat brown duck gave chase to either a frog or fowl along the tracks of the rice fields before disappearing amongst the rice crops. In the distance a farmer tended his field. The image of a peaceful, simple and idyllic lifestyle was punctured by wafts of pan fried bacon and toasted fragrance of croissants in readiness for sets of huge American breakfast. I was slightly irritated with this corruption of the Indonesian rustic ambience but then again why should I be disturbed when the farmer goes about his routine unperturbed. Indeed he is probably glad that the small boutique hotels in the area have offered jobs to his children and relatives raising their standard of living. Apparently the drivers and employees of the hotel live in the same Junjungian Village that the hotel is located. Budget airlines have changed lifestyle not only for travelers but also the livelihood of small town inhabitants who probably fail to comprehend what kind of magic their village offers.

In the trendy district of Seminyak there is a beach club known as Potato Head. Once in it you would have thought you are back in Singapore’s Tanjung Beach Club at Sentosa if not for the miles of endless beach. The shallow infinity pool with a pool bar and the continuous blare of hot music let people dance and frolic in mirth and drunked stupor. Well tanned bodies with sunglasses and straw hats basked in the afternoon sun on the day beds, pretending to either read or sleep amidst the noise and revelry. One young white man obviously very drunk was creating some commotion and was watched over by a few security guys wherever he sauntered. We stayed only to watch the sunset and I was very sure the rhythm and beat would have thickened and quickened when night fell and as more youngsters arrived in droves. It was a brilliant sunset as the crimson ball slowly sank into the horizon, spreading pinkish streaks across the sky. However it was the first sunset I watched without the usual awe about nature. The noise and the collective disrespect all around me have robbed the sun off its warmth and glory in its farewell bade for the day.

This was my first time in Bali and provided a good recce to plan a second visit with my husband. I now know what places to revisit and those to avoid. After all at our age there aren’t “infinite” opportunities to appreciate an authentic unadulterated sunset.