RWJ777
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Having been inspired by some pretty terrific reports here of late, notably fbrimfield's report on his QF J sojourn to HK, I thought that I might bash out a few observations about a recent trip to Ubud, Bali.
The purpose of the trip was very much rest and relaxation; nothing too strenuous or taxing, after what had been a fairly tough time at work over the previous six months. All I was after was sun, sleep, good food and the opportunity to laze by a pool, partaking of Armistead Maupin's newish scribblings.
The flight to Denpasar being a little more than six hours, I opted only for Y for oneself and one's 1+ on DJ4145 ex SYD to DPS 16 Sept, on a 738. Being DJ Platnium, and with the sage counsel of people here, I settled into the Air NZ lounge T1 at Sydney. It is a somewhat worn but homely enough lounge, a bit short on food and beverage choice, but comfortable enough. The real benefit was the opportunity to watch from T1 out to the East-West runway and all its Sunday morning touristy comings and goings.
Boarding was on time and we scored row 3D-F between the two of us; so a very welcome seat between us to spread out and plenty of leg room too just behind the 738's two row J cabin (cubicle?). Unfortunately, however, a Paris Hilton wannabe was located behind us, replete with pink accessories, 4 inch heels, tattoos, a deep orange tan and a much put upon partner. She was already quite tanked -- despite it yet being noon -- so I feared what the trip might be. Service started about an hour into the flight and her partner ordered 2 beers and 2 vodka mixers. I am pretty sure she drank them, or most of them. I have to say, I was a bit disappointed that the DJ crew did not foresee this likely reality as she had already been carrying on a bit before service had started, including trying to leave her seat twice with the seatbelt sign still on, so it was clear to me that she was affected by alcohol (or another substance). Thankfully, however, she then passed out, affording everyone in the main cabin a little peace and quiet from her banal blather and loud screeching.
After six or so hours, including some pretty magnificent scenery over northern Australia (below, where you can really see the inspiration for so much Aboriginal dessert art), the 738 made its way to the coast of Bali and doubled-back into DPS.
After alighting, and on being transferred to the terminal by the oldest tarmac buses I have seen, we were accorded a not so warm welcome to Bali by a series of queues, one to pay an entry tax (too bad if your credit card is not Mastercard or you're not carrying 150,000 Indonesian rupee each), and then another for Customs. After an inordinate wait in some fairly humid conditions, we finally made our way to the baggage carousel where our conspicuously matching luggage had already been removed by uniformed official "porters" who escorted our bags, without our consent, to the x-ray machines; not having been to Bali or Indonesia before, I wondered whether it was some official bag inspection regime (a la Schapelle Corby) but it turned out merely to be a rort visited upon naive tourists for which demand was then made for the equivalent of $5 (a lot in Bali) having carried the bags 10 metres. I gave 4 dollars to avoid a scene and still felt ripped off.
Our pre-arranged driver was then waiting for us to escort us to the car to whisk us away to our venue of relaxation; it was there on the concourse that I noticed Wannabe Paris drinking simultaneously, not one but two, Lemon Smirnofs, teetering along on her 4 inch heels, her poor companion pushing a heavy load of pink luggage doubtless containing any number of tiny (pink) scampy dresses. Little did I know, a sign of things to come unfortunately.
The trip to Ubud from Denpasar took an hour. By this stage, it was about 5 pm, so the traffic resembled something like peak hour; although I couldn't imagine that it's anything other than quite busy irrespective of the time of day. The cars and countless motor scooters darted in and out of the lanes, resembling nothing so much as wasps navigating an ancient and much familiar nest. This was hardly the restful break I had intended, I silently feared.
After a somewhat exacting trip, we finally reached our hotel, Alam Shanti, an under-stated and homely 'resort' of 8 or so villas set in Ubud's rice paddies, a little out of town. We were greeted by freshly squeezed juice; just what the doctor ordered for a parched throat and somewhat dehydrated body.
The resort itself was far from a Western resort but perfectly fit for purpose. Set amongst extensive gardens, huge vases of fresh flowers and palm trees overlooking ricefields, it was was gloriously secluded, peaceful and tranquil.
Our handsome and roomy suite could not be described as luxurious -- the private infinity pool aside
-- but it was highly attractive and generously furnished, with a large balcony and two day beds over-looking the ricefields and palm trees hosting tiny squirrels and scurrying monkeys. Certainly, the staff at the hotel, from the hotel managers down to the porters, were super-attentive and hospitable. The singing frogs and geckos signalled that this was indeed to be a break different from most.
The resort being located somewhat out of town, we could either avail ourselves of the hotel-provided car and driver to drop us in to town and collect us, or we could walk the 2 or so kilometres either way, through Monkey Forrest. On the first night, dodging motorbikes and all manner of wildlife, we ventured for the latter to gain our bearings. Given the humidity, somewhat of a mistake, but you learn!
Ubud itself was not what I expected. Being Bali's spiritual and cultural centre, I had in mind a sleepy little village, despite what I knew to be the 250 odd high-quality restaurants. While quite small, little larger than a small suburban village, of four of five main streets, it was a thriving little metropolis; the inadequate roads crammed to a frequent crawl given the increasing numbers of motorised traffic ferrying tourists -- like us -- around. Attempts at navigating it by foot were too often thwarted by the shocking state of the footpaths; great holes down into chasms of dirty water. If you were unlucky enough to drive your ankle down one of the many unmarked holes at night, not only would you break your ankle but a good dose of some sort of waterborne disease would almost be assured. The result was that you would have to walk down the road with one eye on the streetscape and the other on the perilous footpaths.
The ensuing days went something like this: breakfast of fresh juice, banana pancakes, fruit salad, and brioche and homemade jam delivered with coffee at 8 am, swimming (or reading by) our private pool for a few hours, car into town for lunch and a spot of shopping at about 1 pm, a massage (about 10 AUD for an hour or so was the going rate), walk back to the hotel for another swim at 3 pm, nap for an hour or so, then dropped into town for dinner at about 7 or 7.30, collected at about 10 pm and then back home to bed with lights off well before 11 pm. Deep sleep, a rarity these days, ensued.
The Balinese are a noble and gracious people, hospitable and gentle. Their interaction with tourists is largely determined by the attitude of the visitor. On more than one occasion, I have to say that I was somewhat embarrassed by the conduct of my fellow Australian tourists: big, tattooed and loud -- over-indulged and under-exerted -- who exploited their relative economic power with obnoxious behaviour. This had the effect of bringing out a mercantile and rather persistent hectoring by some of the local vendors. You get what you cause. To the contrary, treating the locals with respect and courtesy, I found that it was reciprocated and for the most part, our simple "no, thank you" did the trick entirely to eschew offers for taxis, massage or some other ware. Thankfully, it being Ubud rather than Kuta or Seminak, tourists for the most part acted appropriately and politely; I rather fear what might have been in the coastal areas, however ....
The week paradoxically crawled in some ways but flew by in others. All I knew was that at the end, I felt like I had been on holiday for a fortnight, but I wanted more. A good sign, surely. But before I knew it, it was time to pack up and head back to Denpasar, in our pre-arranged jalopy and driver, weaving in and out of Bali's arterial traffic to DPS airport under heavy development.
Again thanks to counsel here, once through check-in, payment of our 300,000 IDR departure tax (yes, they get you both ways) and Customs, we accessed the multi-carrier Premier Lounge. Handsomely furnished, it however had a very ordinary selection of food and drinks. The food, greasy and fatty, was largely cold. The drinks comprised canned soft drinks, beer and undrinkable local wines (Hatten). So I avoided eating too much lest I contract Bali Belly at the lounge in the last hours of the trip! Plus the fact, or so I thought, I didn't want to over-eat given that I would be fed on the plane.
The flight back on DJ4146 on 23 Sept was to be in J, courtesy of a points upgrade from DJ's fully flexible fares; I thought at the time the upgrade would be a wise investment given that it was to be a red-eye flight departing around 10 pm local time (midnight AEST) arriving 6 am AEST. The pretty terrific service from the FA aside, gee, I was disappointed by DJ's offering on this occasion! Having had some terrific DJ J flights before, notably between Sydney and Perth, I was expecting rather at least as good for international short-haul. Instead, the offering would have been lucky to compare itself to the poorer PE or good Y offerings around, and certainly not a patch on DJ's SYD-PER J service.
Firstly, the AV was courtesy of one of those portable iPad (Samsung actually) tablets with very limited content. Of the 12 or so TV shows, there appeared to be an episode each. One. The movies were worse; fewer. Thankfully, having watched the single episode of Modern Family available, I was able to amuse myself with an ABBA 'best of' offering, or I would have been much put upon.
The food and beverage service however was the real let down. For dinner, and remembering that we (like most others I would presume) had been transiting since about 6 pm to accommodate Bali's heavy traffic, clear Customs and check in beforehand, I was rather expecting to be fed dinner before the cabin being dimmed for sleep. Instead, we were offered 'supper' of pumpkin soup and a foul sweet bread roll. Dessert was a dried up 2 inch square torte or some description which looked like it had been sourced from a Wendy's at DPS airport. The wine was pretty limited, and ordinary, too. I consoled myself with a couple of Bailey's which were, of course, fine.
Some hours later, and after a rather broken and uncomfortable sleep in the 738's little-reclining J seats, we were greeted by what could be best described as muck for breakfast. The 'frittata' was a wet and spongy egg contraption that, no word of a lie, almost caused me to vomit on first mouthful it was so frightful. The sausages, manufactured meat-stuffs cut into slices nursing home style and covered with some translucent sludge, were inedible and I didn't even try them (I was told by 1+ that they tasted like wet newspaper). They were accompanied by a fairly ordinary small fruit salad and croissants -- compared to the hot foods, they, despite being pedestrian at best, were the choice items on offer. Oh, and the coffee was instant; I kid you not, instant in J.
After a slight delay coming into Sydney thanks to its daft curfew, we landed 10 or so minutes late and disembarked without incident. Customs was quick and efficient, scoring one of the rare polite officers. Quarantine required a short inspection, owing to some of my cane purchases, but was also polite and quick enough. And so, with a thud, our week long tropical excursion had come to a conclusion.
Would I go back to Ubud? Yes, in a flash. Equipped with more knowledge, I suspect I could extract even more enjoyment and avoid a few little inconveniences. Would I fly DJ to Ubud? Umm, yes, probably, but with much reduced expectations (but I certainly would not bother going in J); you can take the airline out of LCC, but can't seemingly take the LCC out of the airline.
The purpose of the trip was very much rest and relaxation; nothing too strenuous or taxing, after what had been a fairly tough time at work over the previous six months. All I was after was sun, sleep, good food and the opportunity to laze by a pool, partaking of Armistead Maupin's newish scribblings.
The flight to Denpasar being a little more than six hours, I opted only for Y for oneself and one's 1+ on DJ4145 ex SYD to DPS 16 Sept, on a 738. Being DJ Platnium, and with the sage counsel of people here, I settled into the Air NZ lounge T1 at Sydney. It is a somewhat worn but homely enough lounge, a bit short on food and beverage choice, but comfortable enough. The real benefit was the opportunity to watch from T1 out to the East-West runway and all its Sunday morning touristy comings and goings.
Boarding was on time and we scored row 3D-F between the two of us; so a very welcome seat between us to spread out and plenty of leg room too just behind the 738's two row J cabin (cubicle?). Unfortunately, however, a Paris Hilton wannabe was located behind us, replete with pink accessories, 4 inch heels, tattoos, a deep orange tan and a much put upon partner. She was already quite tanked -- despite it yet being noon -- so I feared what the trip might be. Service started about an hour into the flight and her partner ordered 2 beers and 2 vodka mixers. I am pretty sure she drank them, or most of them. I have to say, I was a bit disappointed that the DJ crew did not foresee this likely reality as she had already been carrying on a bit before service had started, including trying to leave her seat twice with the seatbelt sign still on, so it was clear to me that she was affected by alcohol (or another substance). Thankfully, however, she then passed out, affording everyone in the main cabin a little peace and quiet from her banal blather and loud screeching.
After six or so hours, including some pretty magnificent scenery over northern Australia (below, where you can really see the inspiration for so much Aboriginal dessert art), the 738 made its way to the coast of Bali and doubled-back into DPS.
After alighting, and on being transferred to the terminal by the oldest tarmac buses I have seen, we were accorded a not so warm welcome to Bali by a series of queues, one to pay an entry tax (too bad if your credit card is not Mastercard or you're not carrying 150,000 Indonesian rupee each), and then another for Customs. After an inordinate wait in some fairly humid conditions, we finally made our way to the baggage carousel where our conspicuously matching luggage had already been removed by uniformed official "porters" who escorted our bags, without our consent, to the x-ray machines; not having been to Bali or Indonesia before, I wondered whether it was some official bag inspection regime (a la Schapelle Corby) but it turned out merely to be a rort visited upon naive tourists for which demand was then made for the equivalent of $5 (a lot in Bali) having carried the bags 10 metres. I gave 4 dollars to avoid a scene and still felt ripped off.
Our pre-arranged driver was then waiting for us to escort us to the car to whisk us away to our venue of relaxation; it was there on the concourse that I noticed Wannabe Paris drinking simultaneously, not one but two, Lemon Smirnofs, teetering along on her 4 inch heels, her poor companion pushing a heavy load of pink luggage doubtless containing any number of tiny (pink) scampy dresses. Little did I know, a sign of things to come unfortunately.
The trip to Ubud from Denpasar took an hour. By this stage, it was about 5 pm, so the traffic resembled something like peak hour; although I couldn't imagine that it's anything other than quite busy irrespective of the time of day. The cars and countless motor scooters darted in and out of the lanes, resembling nothing so much as wasps navigating an ancient and much familiar nest. This was hardly the restful break I had intended, I silently feared.
After a somewhat exacting trip, we finally reached our hotel, Alam Shanti, an under-stated and homely 'resort' of 8 or so villas set in Ubud's rice paddies, a little out of town. We were greeted by freshly squeezed juice; just what the doctor ordered for a parched throat and somewhat dehydrated body.
The resort itself was far from a Western resort but perfectly fit for purpose. Set amongst extensive gardens, huge vases of fresh flowers and palm trees overlooking ricefields, it was was gloriously secluded, peaceful and tranquil.
Our handsome and roomy suite could not be described as luxurious -- the private infinity pool aside
-- but it was highly attractive and generously furnished, with a large balcony and two day beds over-looking the ricefields and palm trees hosting tiny squirrels and scurrying monkeys. Certainly, the staff at the hotel, from the hotel managers down to the porters, were super-attentive and hospitable. The singing frogs and geckos signalled that this was indeed to be a break different from most.The resort being located somewhat out of town, we could either avail ourselves of the hotel-provided car and driver to drop us in to town and collect us, or we could walk the 2 or so kilometres either way, through Monkey Forrest. On the first night, dodging motorbikes and all manner of wildlife, we ventured for the latter to gain our bearings. Given the humidity, somewhat of a mistake, but you learn!
Ubud itself was not what I expected. Being Bali's spiritual and cultural centre, I had in mind a sleepy little village, despite what I knew to be the 250 odd high-quality restaurants. While quite small, little larger than a small suburban village, of four of five main streets, it was a thriving little metropolis; the inadequate roads crammed to a frequent crawl given the increasing numbers of motorised traffic ferrying tourists -- like us -- around. Attempts at navigating it by foot were too often thwarted by the shocking state of the footpaths; great holes down into chasms of dirty water. If you were unlucky enough to drive your ankle down one of the many unmarked holes at night, not only would you break your ankle but a good dose of some sort of waterborne disease would almost be assured. The result was that you would have to walk down the road with one eye on the streetscape and the other on the perilous footpaths.
The ensuing days went something like this: breakfast of fresh juice, banana pancakes, fruit salad, and brioche and homemade jam delivered with coffee at 8 am, swimming (or reading by) our private pool for a few hours, car into town for lunch and a spot of shopping at about 1 pm, a massage (about 10 AUD for an hour or so was the going rate), walk back to the hotel for another swim at 3 pm, nap for an hour or so, then dropped into town for dinner at about 7 or 7.30, collected at about 10 pm and then back home to bed with lights off well before 11 pm. Deep sleep, a rarity these days, ensued.
The Balinese are a noble and gracious people, hospitable and gentle. Their interaction with tourists is largely determined by the attitude of the visitor. On more than one occasion, I have to say that I was somewhat embarrassed by the conduct of my fellow Australian tourists: big, tattooed and loud -- over-indulged and under-exerted -- who exploited their relative economic power with obnoxious behaviour. This had the effect of bringing out a mercantile and rather persistent hectoring by some of the local vendors. You get what you cause. To the contrary, treating the locals with respect and courtesy, I found that it was reciprocated and for the most part, our simple "no, thank you" did the trick entirely to eschew offers for taxis, massage or some other ware. Thankfully, it being Ubud rather than Kuta or Seminak, tourists for the most part acted appropriately and politely; I rather fear what might have been in the coastal areas, however ....
The week paradoxically crawled in some ways but flew by in others. All I knew was that at the end, I felt like I had been on holiday for a fortnight, but I wanted more. A good sign, surely. But before I knew it, it was time to pack up and head back to Denpasar, in our pre-arranged jalopy and driver, weaving in and out of Bali's arterial traffic to DPS airport under heavy development.
Again thanks to counsel here, once through check-in, payment of our 300,000 IDR departure tax (yes, they get you both ways) and Customs, we accessed the multi-carrier Premier Lounge. Handsomely furnished, it however had a very ordinary selection of food and drinks. The food, greasy and fatty, was largely cold. The drinks comprised canned soft drinks, beer and undrinkable local wines (Hatten). So I avoided eating too much lest I contract Bali Belly at the lounge in the last hours of the trip! Plus the fact, or so I thought, I didn't want to over-eat given that I would be fed on the plane.
The flight back on DJ4146 on 23 Sept was to be in J, courtesy of a points upgrade from DJ's fully flexible fares; I thought at the time the upgrade would be a wise investment given that it was to be a red-eye flight departing around 10 pm local time (midnight AEST) arriving 6 am AEST. The pretty terrific service from the FA aside, gee, I was disappointed by DJ's offering on this occasion! Having had some terrific DJ J flights before, notably between Sydney and Perth, I was expecting rather at least as good for international short-haul. Instead, the offering would have been lucky to compare itself to the poorer PE or good Y offerings around, and certainly not a patch on DJ's SYD-PER J service.
Firstly, the AV was courtesy of one of those portable iPad (Samsung actually) tablets with very limited content. Of the 12 or so TV shows, there appeared to be an episode each. One. The movies were worse; fewer. Thankfully, having watched the single episode of Modern Family available, I was able to amuse myself with an ABBA 'best of' offering, or I would have been much put upon.
The food and beverage service however was the real let down. For dinner, and remembering that we (like most others I would presume) had been transiting since about 6 pm to accommodate Bali's heavy traffic, clear Customs and check in beforehand, I was rather expecting to be fed dinner before the cabin being dimmed for sleep. Instead, we were offered 'supper' of pumpkin soup and a foul sweet bread roll. Dessert was a dried up 2 inch square torte or some description which looked like it had been sourced from a Wendy's at DPS airport. The wine was pretty limited, and ordinary, too. I consoled myself with a couple of Bailey's which were, of course, fine.
Some hours later, and after a rather broken and uncomfortable sleep in the 738's little-reclining J seats, we were greeted by what could be best described as muck for breakfast. The 'frittata' was a wet and spongy egg contraption that, no word of a lie, almost caused me to vomit on first mouthful it was so frightful. The sausages, manufactured meat-stuffs cut into slices nursing home style and covered with some translucent sludge, were inedible and I didn't even try them (I was told by 1+ that they tasted like wet newspaper). They were accompanied by a fairly ordinary small fruit salad and croissants -- compared to the hot foods, they, despite being pedestrian at best, were the choice items on offer. Oh, and the coffee was instant; I kid you not, instant in J.
After a slight delay coming into Sydney thanks to its daft curfew, we landed 10 or so minutes late and disembarked without incident. Customs was quick and efficient, scoring one of the rare polite officers. Quarantine required a short inspection, owing to some of my cane purchases, but was also polite and quick enough. And so, with a thud, our week long tropical excursion had come to a conclusion.
Would I go back to Ubud? Yes, in a flash. Equipped with more knowledge, I suspect I could extract even more enjoyment and avoid a few little inconveniences. Would I fly DJ to Ubud? Umm, yes, probably, but with much reduced expectations (but I certainly would not bother going in J); you can take the airline out of LCC, but can't seemingly take the LCC out of the airline.
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