The Honeymoon. The Highlights.

•  Realising that getting there was half the fun.

•  Discovering that the entire island of Timor only has one mix tape that has been copied and distributed to all bus drivers, shops and airports for continuous and painful repetition, 24 hours a day. And each song has EXACTLY the same bass line. Since getting back, have realised that it is the same stuff that our little diva neighbour belts out most hours of most days of the week.

• Noting the fully sick detailing on the windscreens of all the local buses - a word or short phrase in a whacky font - as if giving the bus its title, while at the same time diminishing visibility by at least 30%. Here are some of my favourites:

“Xpressi”

“Simples”

“Stand by You”

“Google”

“Posh Boy”

“Don’t cry”

“Buser”

“Forever Power”

“Blessing”

“Predator”

“Gentlemen”

“Cleopatra”

“Corinthia”

“Alfa Omega”

“What’s the Greek connection?” you ask. I don’t know.


• Catching an unusually large number of men doing up their pants after urinating in public.

• Learning how to make hibiscus tea (among many other, wondrous tasty treats) at the Casa Luna cooking school (a wedding present from my naughty friends, Tara and Will).

Here’s how: You get 3 hibiscus flowers, put them in a cup. Pour over boiling water. Watch it turn dark purple. Take the flowers out. Squeeze in the juice of a lime. Watch the liquid turn to pink. Add sugar to taste. Chill if desired. Drink.

• Marvelling at young children asleep whilst riding motorbikes with their families. One little boy was standing, slumped over the handlebars, dead to the world.

• Discovering that using a banana leaf as an umbrella may not be all that effective, but it sure looks cool.

• Being oblivious to the fact that our fancy “Honeymoon Special” masseurs from our hotel in Amed were not the same people that come along from the beach and say: “You wan massaz?”. We’d booked for 3pm. The hotel masseurs were late. The beachcombers were not. We weren’t to know. We undressed. The beachcombers started with their baby oil. The fancy ones turned up at the door in their fancy uniforms and their aromatherapy oils. Then there were four masseurs in a room with two half-naked tourists looking confused and guilty, feeling like we’d been caught cheating. We wanted the good stuff. We ditched the baby oil (paid for it) and spent the next hour and a half in aromatherapy heaven.

• Getting loved up on New Year’s Eve with my two favourite men in the whole world: Wade and Michael Franti. Watched and listened to the smooth acoustic tunes with our legs dangling in the pool. Then went back to our own villa*, with our own private pool and had a night time swim as the rain started coming down. (That part was a bit luxurious).

• *Shaking my head in disbelief at the traffic congestion while walking back to our villa on New Year’s Eve. At one end of the road the cars were at a stand-still, motorbikes weaving in and around them, as well as speeding down the footpaths, until eventually, the motorbikes came to a gridlock, leaving only small spaces for us lowly pedestrians to squeeze through. Eventually even we were unable to advance any further, with all the available spaces being taken up by cars, motorbikes and other pedestrians.

THE Honeymoon Highlight

I didn’t know I was so clever. In fact, I had absolutely no idea what I’d done until it was happening. It’s the sort of thing you do for someone and keep it as a surprise, because it’s so GOOD.

Somehow I managed to surprise both of us.

I booked us into Mosaic – reputedly Bali’s best restaurant. We were to have the degustation menu (our second such indulgence for the trip – the first being at Lamak, with my friend Beverley, where my fellow diners and I shared our first sweetbread experience. For those that don’t know, sweetbread is not bread. And it it’s not so sweet either. Some say “testicle”. I have heard “pancreas”. But don’t let that deter you from this otherwise delightful dining experience. However, I digress...).

When we arrived at the restaurant, I gave my name to the maître-de, but it didn’t appear to be on the list. “That’s bloody typical,” I thought, “‘Best restaurant in Bali?’ I doubt it!” Just when I was about to start rifling through my bag for my booking confirmation, I heard the maître-de exclaim: “Oh! You’re having the Chef’s Table! Follow me!”.

We were at once ushered into a posh lounge area where a man was playing the piano and a few other guests were sitting on plush couches and sipping elaborate cocktails with a general air of self-importance. The whole scene seemed ridiculously inappropriate to me, considering the economic climate of our broader location. This notion was compounded by the man sitting opposite us who was, for all intents and purposes, Don Johnson from Miami Vice, complete with ridiculously long side-parted fringe that he seemed to enjoy flicking back dramatically with both his hand and his head at the same time, with great aplomb. He just made the whole thing feel downright tacky.

After half a caprioska on an empty stomach, I forgot about Don and started looking forward to the food. With our drinks we were served a canapé of black truffles in puff pastry - gourmet vegetarian sausage roll – and as soon as I bit into it, I immediately realised something:

I don’t like truffles.

Is that a faux pas?

Of course, I didn’t complain. I still scoffed the lot.

I just went off and vomited quietly in the corner afterwards.

Only joking.

We were then collected by a waitress and whisked off to our second location. We walked through the restaurant and down the stairs out the back. Then we were led into a smaller building with around half a dozen tables set up (Don was sitting at one of them, flicking his hair and looking generally seductive), and a fully functioning kitchen. It was then that I twigged: OH MY GOD. WE’RE GOING TO WATCH OUR FOOD BEING COOKED BY REAL CHEFS IN A REAL KITCHEN!!!!!

It was something I’d been dreaming about for a very long time.

Our six-course degustation came with matching wines and it was perhaps the most fancy, French-influenced Asian meal I’ve ever had.

Here is the menu (you will note the chef’s preoccupation with truffles. Personally, I think truffles are passé, but that is perhaps one of my only complaints):

(Click on the image to enlarge, and then drool, if you wish)

And here are a few of the dishes:

I was on a silly high for much of the evening, but it was one of those nights that will definitely be one to remember, and a lovely way to spend our last night in Ubud. Even Don Johnson couldn’t spoil it.