Holiday

 Jakarta, many years back, was to me a testament to urban sprawl -- perennial traffic jams, unyielding pollution, denuded environs, an oppressively humid climate, crowded sidewalks, and a very slow bureaucracy. That might have been why I have never returned to Indonesia until now.

Coming to Bali was like a chore or more appropriately a job. No expectations but more likely evoking images of Jakarta. My mind may have been pre-occupied that I did not even wonder why throngs come to this place with its fabulous promotions as a holiday destination. Thoughts of the Bali bombings did not as well occur to me. Soon as the plane touched down on Denpasar and I looked out the window, the veiled thoughts of boredom and apathy turned to excitement and curiosity.

Sure the airport bulding is not particularly modern in the likes of Hongkong's or Heathrow's T5 but it was sufficiently clean, airy, spacious, and assuring. The roof and walls are brick tiled with comprehensible signs leading the tourists.  Because one can secure a visa on arrival, the immigration area could be teeming with humanity featuring lengthy queues from purchasing visas to gaining access to entry processing personnel. It had taken me more than an hour just to hurdle the entry application. Apart from that, there were no further creases mainly becuse the 5-star hotel where I was pleasantly put in was prepared in managing airport-hotel transfers. 

Bali is a tourist destination. The weather is not humid -- the highest temp, they say, is in the lower thirties. The streets are well paved but narrow and I suspect that this was a deliberate attempt to keep up appearances, hence mild traffic stops in certain places. There is so much greenery even along the streets juxtaposed alongside modern-looking but low buildings. One gets the feeling that the island is wirelessly linked as most shops/cafes proudly announce wi-fis.

Life on the island is relaxed despite the preponderance of business establishments throughout. Poverty if ever is not observable among the residents. The batik designs/prints on textile and clothing as well as wood-carved representations of local gods and animals are among take-home presents, if one wishes to make shopping a worthy endeavor. Bargaining however must be a skill that a determined shopper ought to employ.

The beach is something the island is proud of and I agree despite having enjoyed more fabulous beaches/sand before. I am lucky to stay in this fabulous resort-hotel which has its own beach frontage. It feels secure even at night -- one doesn't have to go to Kuta (the centre of Denpasar) to experience a holiday. A variety of international cuisine is available through restaurants along the road right outside our resort enclave and I would imagine everywhere on the island. Transport from place to place is easily available through identifiable taxis. Most importantly, the people are friendly and helpful (is that a southeast asian trait).

If you should go, my advice is GO with your loved one/s. See you there.



      

Is it officially Spring or not yet?

Could you imagine Peter Pan flying through sleet? Would he be drenched or will the water simply slip through his slithe body? These questions preoccupied me as I struggled through my third day in London and asked -- is it officially Spring?

The day began cold and gray (sounds like a song!) but sunlight peeked occasionally particularly at lunchtime. Then I noticed that the plants were alive as well. Weren't these indications of Spring. It was cold all right (hovering between 1 and 5 degrees Celsius) but folks were out some even showing signs of not bothering whether they were clad properly or not.

To show as much courage, I set out tonight to undetake dinner alone. There was this lovely Spanish restaurant on Great Portland Street. It is called Iberica - how apt! Tapas were exceptional and attention from the receptionist and servers extraordinary. Wine would have been wonderful but I decided not to take any alcohol fearing that my jet lag might set in. As if the place which has an art gallery as well had a reputation because the restaurant quickly filled up just past 7pm.

Is it Spring - who knows or cares. As long as people treat the weather as a friend and enjoy each other's company in a tapas bar/restaurant, it shouldn't matter. Peter Pan himself would not have bothered with the weather. . . . because his nemesis won't.

Dateline London March 2010

Where else to launch these Peter Pan chronicles but from the historical origins of that mythological (from what I know) character and legend known as Peter Pan. Similar to Peter's flight from his window into Never Land, I arrived in London today March 1st alighting from a long 12+ hour flight across much of Asia. It has been two years since I was last here and much of what was there before persisted. Peter Pan would have been pleased not to have been waylaid in a strange land that might be more familiar to Captain Cook.

For a while I thought that Terminal 3 was completely refurbished until I got into the labyrinth leading to the Heathrow Express -- Peter's children would have been scared going through the dungeon-like passages quite like the 17th century's. It was absolutely cold-- 2 degrees Centigrade -- but was happily sunny after a spate of rain and gray (according to locals). Lucky indeed despite! Unremarkable train and taxi rides into one of central London's old hotels, emphasis in the 'old'.

On arrival, I requested for an early check-in which the reception guys tarried over a decision. The published check-in time is 2pm. After some wrangling and an agreement to supplement my daily rate of 200 British pounds with another 35 for checking in early morning, I got my wish and went straight to bed for a quick nap. Quick indeed for an hour and a half. It dawned on me that London may be the most expensive city in Europe.

The afternoon's sun couldn't be wasted and so I hied off to Camden town which looked as old as it were. Pleased that nothing's changed, I proceeded to Oxford Circus for a bit of shopping confirming my thoughts about the expensiveness of the place. Even Zara's and Gap's prices looked prohibitive in British pounds. Boots (the pharmacist cum supermarket) stood at the same place I knew of it on Oxford street. This is where I purchased my dinner (salad, fruit, crisps, water) and an umbrella for which I got chastised by one lovely store agent who told me that the weather is fine without any rain in the horizon.

With that, I set forth with my return to the hotel. Peter Pan must have been one great fit legend to have been able to navigate the arduous stairs and paths in those tube stations. The underground trains are still the same - 'old' -- leading me to draw the conclusion that London is really an 'old' city.

It is evening and I wonder if I could get to sleep as usual. It has been at least 4 months since I suffered from jet lag. Wonder. Wonder.