(5th April 2025)

Breakfast was at 8 am, and by 10 am, we were aboard the shuttle bus heading into Ubud.

Our grand plan was to delve deeper into the town than we had on our previous shopping jaunt, perhaps poke around a couple of museums and meander down some of the more obscure side streets in search of hidden treasures (or, at the very least, a cooling ice cream).

It was a Saturday, and although I struggled to imagine the roads and pavements being any busier than last time, I stand corrected. The journey into town was a stop-start affair that wouldn’t have tired out a garden snail, who, incidentally, would probably have overtaken us given half the chance. The pavements, too, were heaving. It felt as if half of Bali and a few cruise ships had decided Ubud was the place to be.

One curious feature is the sheer number of Money Exchange booths. They’re everywhere, festooned with displays boasting their rates like proud parents at sports day. If ever you needed proof that Donald Trump’s tariff tinkering has made a hash of the dollar, here it is, in all its glory. The US dollar, once the swaggering king of the currency catwalk, has slipped behind the British Pound (holding firm in first place, take a bow, Britannia), followed by the Euro. Britain Is Great Again!!!! BIGA! BIGA! BIGA!

So cheers, Trumpy, you’ve done what even Beijing couldn’t. I half-expected the Yuan to edge ahead, but no, as you once said, “It’s the art of the deal.” Though I daresay, this particular deal might’ve been drawn on the back of a napkin after one too many cheeseburgers, or, more likely, on the label of a bottle of vodka.

After being dropped off outside the indoor market, we set off in search of our first museum, pausing en route to photograph a huge, platformed pagoda lying by the roadside. It was accompanied by a dozen men in traditional dress, whose task it was to carry it. Upon enquiring with a sarong seller, we learnt that it was destined for a cremation procession later in the day. The heat was steadily intensifying, making it uncomfortable to stand in the sun for any length of time. We pressed on as swiftly as the crowds would allow, keeping to the shade wherever possible, and soon arrived at the Puri Lukisan Ratna Wartha Museum, the oldest art museum in Bali. It specialises in modern traditional Balinese painting and wood carving.

The museum’s traditional exhibition halls encircle a central garden, where a beautiful lily pond takes pride of place. The museum was founded by Tjokorda Gde Agung Sukawati (the King of Ubud) and his brother, Tjokorda Gde Raka Sukawati, in collaboration with two Western artists then living in Bali: Walter Spies and Rudolf Bonnet. Its mission was to preserve and promote traditional Balinese art. After paying the entrance fee, we took our time in each of the galleries, enjoying both the impressive artwork and the welcome artificial breeze provided by the roof fans.

Plunging once more into the heat, we walked a short distance further to Pura Dalem Ubud, a Hindu temple that also hosts Balinese dance performances in the evenings. It’s a popular site for visitors, particularly for its finely carved entrance gate and inner temple structures. Most striking are the statues of Rangda, the sinister Demon Queen. A sarong was provided with the small entrance fee, ensuring appropriate respect for the site. Once suitably wrapped, we climbed the steps and began our exploration of the complex. We lingered for around half an hour, mostly in the shade, treading carefully over thousands of small berries that had fallen from an ancient banyan tree, whose sprawling branches covered much of the temple grounds. We took a seat in the open-air theatre and imagined the dancers who would perform there later that evening before returning our sarongs and heading back into the bustling streets.

Earlier, Sue had spotted an ING credit card on the pavement belonging to some unfortunate tourist named Richard Grant. We intended to hand it in at the first bank we came across, but upon asking at the Tourist Information Office, we were informed that no banks were open on Saturdays and advised instead to simply cut it up and dispose of it. That’s precisely what we did later in the day. I fear that poor Richard Grant may have encountered quite a bit of difficulty as a result of losing access to his money.

Next, we wandered through several of the narrow lanes lined with tourist stalls clustered around the indoor market before stopping for a much-needed ice cream break. The sound of a raucous commotion caught our attention, and we realised the cremation procession was passing nearby. We made our way quickly to the route to film the proceedings. After standing in the full glare of the sun while the procession passed, we were in need of something cool and refreshing and soon found a bar where we could take shelter and quench our thirst.

As our pick-up time approached, I left Sue in the shade near the market entrance and bought another Durian fruit to take back to the hotel.

Due to heavy traffic, the return journey took nearly an hour. It left me just enough time to eat half the Durian before heading to the spa for an hour of reflexology on my feet. I returned to our villa, thoroughly relaxed and sipping a pot of ginger tea, to find Sue asleep on the bed.

Jamie, Ruth, Joey, and Ruth’s parents were en route to Bali, and we messaged each other during the late afternoon while they were transiting through Singapore Airport. With four hours to spare, they spent some time chatting with us on WhatsApp.

For our final evening, Sue and I dined at the Aryaswara Villa Hotel in our usual spot beneath the gazebo. As ever, the food was beautifully presented and tasted superb. We spent the rest of the evening watching television.

(6th April 2025)

We woke to the sound of birds twittering in the garden, their strange tunes unfamiliar to British ears, banishing sleep as the mind tried to decipher their patterns. It was hot, bright, and sunny. Breakfast arrived punctually and was laid out in readiness on the table on our balcony.

Reassuringly, the rest of the wedding party had arrived late in the night and checked into a hotel near Denpasar Airport. I exchanged a few words with Jamie via WhatsApp; he was still in bed but told us they’d be transferring to the Kayon Jungle Resort Hotel at 10 a.m.

After breakfast, we packed our things and took a stroll down the lane and along the main street, pausing to browse inside a large supermarket and enjoy the relief of its icy air-conditioning. On our way back to the hotel, we popped into a clothes shop. We commented on the cheapness of the stock but found nothing that tempted us to spend.

We checked out of the Aryaswara Villa Hotel at noon and were surprised to find our transfer driver had arrived half an hour early and was already waiting at the reception. The journey to the Kayon Jungle Resort took us along poorly maintained rural roads, mostly single track, requiring frequent stops to let oncoming vehicles pass. It was a forty-minute drive, made interesting by the scenery, particularly in the highlands, where several distant peaks and volcanoes came into view.

The wedding party had already arrived and was enjoying lunch in one of the hotel’s many restaurants when we checked in. As expected, our rooms weren’t ready yet, so we joined them for our complimentary welcome drinks and caught up on news of their journey. Having only recently had breakfast, we left them to finish their meal and set off to explore this expansive five-star hotel.

Built across seven levels that cascade down the side of a steep jungle ravine, the luxury boutique resort comprises 38 suites and villas, each with its distinctive character, bespoke furnishings, and intricate hand-carved embellishments. Perhaps most striking are the series of infinity pools that flow elegantly through the heart of the complex.

We hadn’t wandered far before we stumbled upon a pool table in one of the many bars, conveniently located next to the gym. We played three games and cooled off with a refreshing natural fruit ice lolly before Ruth messaged to let us know our room was ready. We soon met her and Jamie on the fifth floor outside room 719. Joey had taken 720, and Ruth’s parents were next door in 721. Unfortunately, the wedding villa was not yet available, so they spent a little time with us in our room, passing the time with conversation until it was ready.

After unpacking, Sue and I returned to the restaurant for an indulgent afternoon tea of savoury and sweet delicacies.

Later, we retired to our room to relax and take in the spectacular view of the jungle ravine from our balcony. Sue particularly enjoyed spotting the various species of birds that visited the foliage below. In the evening, we changed for dinner and joined the rest of the wedding party at one of the restaurants overlooking the jungle, where we enjoyed a Satay Buffet and a captivating Balinese dance performance.

Feeling rather full after three courses, Sue, Joey, and I accompanied Jamie and Ruth to their bridal suite. We were impressed to find they had their own private pool and a cinema, already set up to show a film that Jamie had chosen earlier. After making arrangements to meet the following morning, Jamie called for a buggy, and we left the couple and were whisked back to our rooms.