We made it to the airport with ample time before our flight. No staff were visible, but the room was packed with various foreign white tourists, all of whom had had the same outlandish idea that we had. Finally, the plane we’d be boarding landed, and a frenzy ensued as some kind of dignitary got off the plane with an entourage of nuns. People were cheering and kissing the nuns hands. I still don’t know who it was. But part of his entourage got into the car with the guy who had been driving us, so I felt like hot shit.
When we got to Bali we took a 1.5-hour drive to our hotel in Ubud. (Are you hip to how much flying, driving, and boating is going on on this trip?) The hotel was maybe the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. And it had been an afterthought that we tacked on instead of going to Hong Kong. Each room was tucked into the side of a mountain. We had a beautiful view of the valley and our own swimming pool. On the second day I noticed monkeys jumping from tree to tree as I swam 10-feet away. It’s worth going to Ubud just to stay at that hotel.
Unfortunately for me, nobody reminded my Dad that there’s a lot of swimming to be had in Bali. He told me he packed a speedo from the 70s that he wasn’t sure would fit. Frankly, I didn’t want him to try. But, on the second day, as I swam among the verdant vegetation, out walked my father. NAKED. I stared at him shocked, petrified at the vision of my own future. “It didn’t fit,” he said. “This was not the solution to that problem,” I replied. He then argued that you “can’t see anything underwater.” I had already seen it. And, contrary to popular belief, water is fucking CLEAR. To anyone eating their lunch at the hotel restaurant above our villa, I hope they missed the show.
On our second day, we decided to visit Ubud town, a little artist colony renowned for it’s little boutiques of traditional batik art and furniture. We went shopping all day and found a store to ship our stuff back to the States.
The next day was our last of the trip.