2013 Tour de Bali - Rafting

Ubud district

Part two of our gravity fed non-cycling adventures

We are picked up from our hotel and deposited at the top of a massive canyon. After being introduced to our guides, we are fitted with helmets, life jackets and paddles, and then descend the near vertical canyon on slippery moss covered concrete steps. The sound of the river below increases … and increases.
I estimate we walked down stairs for about 10 minutes, I wish I had recorded it on my GPS unit.

At the bottom we huddle on a rickety, rusty steel platform as the guides inflate the raft and go through a safety drill. This seems somewhat pointless, as they use an electric air blower plugged into a socket to inflate the raft. All the while we are sprayed by mist from below, and dripped on from above. Electricity, water, and steel don't usually combine well in any WH&S manuals I have seen!

This point is as high as you can enter the raging river; 50 metres upstream the river drops 20 metres between narrow vertical rock walls.

The guides are muscly and lean, and as the raging river below could quite easily crush the unwary or ill prepared, I have a quiet confidence in their abilities. Besides, what choice do we have?
The first fifteen minutes are the best, bouncing and rocking between vertical rock walls, dropping over large rocks, half filling the raft with water. It is dark - the colour palette ranges from black to dark green. Not much direct light penetrates the steep canyon walls. Moss and small ferns cling to the slick volcanic rock, worn smooth from years of abrasion.

The guides reverse us under a waterfall to be pummelled by the white water falling over 100 metres. Eventually the rock walls widen and give way to a narrow, jungle covered valley. It is very steeply sided, and I wonder how the vegetation clings to it.

As the rapids begin to reduce in ferocity, we begin to see other rafting groups join the river, and then more, until it becomes a procession. At some rapids we wait our turn to descend.

At this point I'm done - over it. What once felt like a potentially dangerous pursuit in a remote location has become another crass over-commercialised, touristy enterprise. The other boats are mostly filled with giggling young women with inappropriate footwear.

Where once we were required to help safely convey our craft - albeit under instruction from our expert guides - we are now merely passengers in a theme park.

For those playing at home we rafted 10k in 1:31, descending 302m

http://app.strava.com/activities/72500372

2013 Tour de Bali - Stage 5.1

Ubud

Through good luck and good fortune, the team have left our bikes with us 'till the next riding stage. We aim to take full advantage as they will afford a level of freedom not provided by the 2-hourly hotel shuttle bus into town.

After resting poolside post lunch, we saddle up and sans padded shorts and helmets, venture forth to search for good food and cold beer. Within 1 kilometre I spy what I have been looking for since we arrived, sate kambing (goat). The refrigerated, pre-skewered meat is quickly marinaded and then cooked over coconut husks reduced to charcoal by a swiftly turning fan. The chef - for this is a skill not learned overnight - then deftly wraps them, with an accompanying sauce, in grease-proof paper. Stapled shut, the neat little package is ready to take away for consumption. But I'm in no mood to take this anywhere; I'm in a mood to consume this straight away. The cooking smells have my juices flowing, and I will have my way with them; right here and right now!

Next stop is a taco restaurant - my travelling companion has a hankering. He says they are the best he has ever had - anywhere.

For old time’s sake I want to find a little warung makan I frequented on my last trip to Ubud. Although just off a busy street, it is just far enough for a little peace and quiet. I'd sit here in the afternoon, slowly sipping a cold beer and reading a book. Balinese life would play itself out on the street, kids coming home from school would reappear to kick a ball, or play chasey; people would park their scooters while they waited for a take-away meal; women passing would stop and chat with each other. To really observe, you need to stop and let the world spin around you.

It is just as I remember: only a few tables, a bit grimy, but the owner / cook is as always, cheerful. And she makes the best Nasi goreng this side of Jakarta.

Good times.

For those playing at home, we rode 7k.

2013 Tour de Bali - Stage 5

Ubud

From the luxurious to the luxuriant

This stage was different to the others; no heart-in-the-mouth slippery single tracks with vertiginous drops on at least one side, no tarmac broken to the size of cats heads bounce and skittle descents, or reach for a third lung bursting climbs. This stage was all about showing off the countryside to the north of Ubud.

After leaving the trendy art galleries and day spas behind, you enter in the bosom of the bountiful rice paddies on the edge of town. The landscape slopes slightly uphill toward the three volcanos which dominate the north of the island, allowing the irrigation system to gently drop the water from one paddy to the next.

Although the volcano's fury can be devastating, the Balinese owe the magnificent fertility of their fields directly to the fiery furnaces. They periodically spew forth the inside of the planet, bringing with it fresh minerals and trace elements, enough to sustain many harvests. They both destroy quickly and violently, and then provide slowly and gently for many years to come.

Last night it rained heavily, and as we cycle between the verdant paddies we are reminded that it is not just the soil, but the abundant water which sustains this crop. It fills not only the paddies, but the irrigation ditches, drains and streams. We ride along a ridgeline. Between us and the next ridge is a steep gully filled with coconut palms, fruit trees and jungle. The other ridge is just like ours, covered in rice paddies of various sizes, shapes, and stages of rice production. We pass farm workers who look different to the other Balinese in the villages and towns. Whereas the townies wear clean clothes and don't look worried about their next meal, these workers look harried, weather beaten, wiry and filthy. They carry a small handled sickle and a confused look as we pass by.

At the 'top of the ride' we are met by Made with refreshments, we then continue on by slipping through farm yards and fields of vegetables, every now and again we transfer from one dirt section to the next with a quick foray onto tarmac.

As we nip back through Ubud, we play dodgems with the tourist buses and local traffic, breaking all the rules and using footpaths to get around the jams. When we arrive at the hotel, Made gives us our lunch which he picked up from a local warung. We juxtapose the insane luxury of the swim-up bar with a cardboard box of local food.

For those playing at home we rode 32k in 2:29, ascending 456m and descending 456m

https://www.strava.com/activities/69130565

2013 Tour de Bali - Transfer day

Candidasa - Ubud

It is time to leave the coast behind for the hinterland; we may not see it again until we finish the tour. After Made picks us up in Candidasa, we are on our way to Ubud accompanied by a light rain.

Ubud has long been a centre of arts and culture, and as such has been an attraction for westerners for as long as they have been coming to Bali. We'll be staying here for three nights and using it as a base for more adventures. Our digs are a few kilometres from the centre of Ubud, but the hotel runs a regular shuttle service; we indulge their hospitality after checking in, and grab a lift into town.

We've heard about the famous Babi guling (Suckling pig), and as it is already lunch time, decide what better time than now to check it out. The restaurant has moved since I was last here, and is now reminiscent of the food court in a shopping complex - devoid of all authenticity. It is now a "Get 'em in, serve 'em quick, and get 'em out again" deal. The meal was no better, actually, not as good as many pork roasts I've had at home - two out of five stars.

After lunch we wander along Monkey Forest Rd., and I muse on how much busier it has become since I was here 3 years ago; more traffic and more construction. I used to enjoy staying here, and maybe the outskirts of town are still as beguiling, but the inskirts have become tragically over-commercialised. Tacky souvenir shops, western sports outlets, and over-the-top restaurants serving western style 'cuisine' are squeezed between traditional Balinese temples, houses and rice paddies. I fear that development will over run what once made this a special place to visit.

Be careful Ubud; don't shit in your own nest!

2013 Tour de Bali - Rest day 2

Candidasa

Today it is raining. A grey and sullen sky reaches down to the ocean obscuring all but the closest islets and rocky outcrops. Again, the sea is relentlessly dashing itself against the breakwaters and retaining walls as if to say "damn you earth that rises above me, I will crush you to sand and drag you down in me". Or some such...


When I woke he was gone. I vaguely remember some activity in the night, so he must have bitten the bullet and gone on the trek. Breakfasting alone, I take my time over Bail kopi and Nasi goreng. It is raining constantly and heavily now. I don't envy him if the weather on the volcano is the same. I know I made the right decision, I hope he did?

It is time to explore. Taking an umbrella just in case the heavens decide to open again - but without any firm plan - I head out for a look around. I've seen a temple on my map, so head in that general direction. Asked many times by locals if I need a taxi (Taksi) or motorbike I respond with "No thank you, I just jalan-jalan" (go for a walk). I find a Warung makan which might be good for dinner, and chat to some other restaurant staff about what time their happy hour is, milking them for the times in Indonesian in a vain hope I can memorise them; not for the cheap beer, but for the words in their language. Further along I slip up a rough side street trying to capture a photo of a fighting rooster (Ayam juga).

While there I spy a sow and her piglets, no doubt destined for the famous crispy skin pork dish - Babi guling. As I leave I'm barked at by defensive dogs, and greeted by an old lady mending clothes. She seems to not mind that I am trespassing on her turf.

Where the beach is closest to the road, there is a small parking area. A dozen or so small, semi- permanent warung makans vie for mainly local trade. I'm not hungry yet, but make a note to check them out on the way back. A group of local cyclists on a variety of mainly mountain bikes are just about to head onto the road. I accost one and enquire as to their pursuit. They have ridden from Denpasar, and are about to head back. 

Heading up a side road to where I think the temple may be I am confronted by a completely flooded road. My choices are to turn back, walk through knee deep water, or hitch a ride through. Thumb out; it takes but a half minute to flag down a passing motorcyclist who happily drops me on the other side. After walking another kilometre or so, I find absolutely no sign of the temple. My belly reminds how long it is since breakfast, so I decide to return to the seaside for a snack. On the return journey through the flooded road I hitch a ride in the back of a small pickup. The driver not only ferries me through the muddy brown waters, but all the way to the intersection, saving me a short walk.

Perusing the warungs, I settle on one which is semi-clean and has a laminated menu. A small bottle of water, eight chicken sate sticks, and a small Bintang (Satu Bintang kecil) sets me back $4. I might be back.

While waiting for my food, it dawns on me that to really observe,
you must stay still and let things happen around you; take your time, watch for patterns - there will be a reason behind them.
Satisfied that this snack will carry me through to a proper lunch, I head back to our digs to see if he has returned from his epic adventure.

Upon his arrival he regales me with tales of hardship and endurance, suffering and privations. We head out for lunch at the warung I discovered earlier.

After I fix a small child's bike and he buys some sunglasses, we head back; me to rest, him for another massage. Oiled and rubbed once again, he suggests a dip in the briny deep - well, briny shallow really. The water in front of our hotel is protected at low tide by a sea wall, and behind it the water is calm and no more than chest deep. A quick dip in the pool to release the salt, two more cold beers and complementary nuts, and we are just about set for an evening stroll and dinner. Rest days are hell!

2013 Tour de Bali - Stage 4

Besakih to Manggis

From shower to shower

We breakfast on the hotel balcony to the roar of what was yesterday pancake flat, but is now a boiling and angry sea. There is no wind, so the cause of this rage fuelled vendetta against the shore is not apparent. The sky is overcast and brooding; we may have some rain today.

When picked up by our team bus, we travel in convoy with Paul and Roberto ably piloted in the other Bali Trailblazers chariot by the reliable soigner, Gede. As we travel inland and up incredibly steep roads toward todays start point, it starts to rain. We have a lot of descending today, and I make a mental note to be particularly careful on the trails.

My trusty sidekick has a forehead slapping moment when he realises his riding shoes and helmet are still in the hotel room. When we arrive at the start point there is nothing for it but for him to return to the hotel with Made, retrieve his gear, and join the ride at our lunch break.

We start the ride in the rain, descending sections of jungle single track and rough roads through black stone quarries. Using the heavily laden quarry trucks as gates, we slalom down the rough rock-strewn roads. Leaving the noise of industry behind, we disappear into cool, dark bamboo forests and onto super-smooth single track. Approaching the lunch stop, a traditional ceremony blocks our path as heavily made up young girls, dressed in garish yellow-gold costumes cross the road to perform a dance to a clanging Gamelan orchestra. The girls finish, and are replaced by young boys dressed as warriors in equally outlandish costumes. We grab a few touristy snaps and then head for lunch.

 

When we are joined by my companion - and his riding gear, we lunch on the balcony of a rundown establishment with great views of the jungle covered hills and the Bali oil terminal on the distant coast. Paul, Roberto and I take great delight in regaling him with tales of our morning's riding exploits. Great swoopy downs, and very few and only short ups. "You would have loved it!"
Not long into the afternoon riding session, we encounter a steep, greasy, narrow hike-a-bike section. It leaves my lungs stretched to bursting point, my skin leaking like a sieve, and my patience a little thinner.

After a small break to re-gather out composure, we re-start to a groan from behind me. His bike's rear suspension has failed, and his 6 inch travel dual suspension bike is reduced to a very low to the ground hard-tail. That's two, what could be next? Luckily the rest of the ride is mainly downhill. Some sections are so steep, we are reduced to an exercise in controlled braking - a good skill to have, but not great fun.

We finish the ride in Manggis, and just as we are packing the team buses, it starts to rain again.

As the rain continues into the evening he is re-thinking the following morning's activity, a trek up Gunung Agung (3124m) to watch the sun rise. This is scheduled as part of our tour, but I never had any intention of partaking. The thought of going to bed early, then getting up at 1am to trek in the dark to the top of a volcano, with the chance of not seeing the sunrise, does not fill me with enthusiasm. I'll look at the photos!

For those playing at home we (I) rode 29k in 2:14, ascending 435m and descending 1326m

https://www.strava.com/activities/68380479

2013 Tour de Bali - Stage 3

Pidpid to Perasi beach

From the verdant to the virgin

We were picked up from the remote luxury of Ocean View Tulamben by the ever smiling Ketut and Made in the team bus and transported to Pidpid. We headed south away from the dry north east coast, and into the lusher interior of Bali. Today and tomorrow we are being joined by Paul, the six-four rangy Canadian, and Roberto, the five-six stocky Ecuadorian. They are both geologists working and living in KL for an American oil company. Their families have been packed off to their respective homelands, so the boys were out to play for a few days. Paul has the slow laconic drawl of someone who has spent time around Houston oilmen, and Australian miners. Roberto sounds like Tony Montana.

Today's riding was the best so far; smooth and flowy. We dropped and contoured, then climbing through farmyards for most of the morning. We’d cruise across the hillside passing between houses and farm buildings, alternately scaring chickens (ayam), dogs (anjing), cats (cucing), pigs (babi) and school children (school children). Then we would drop down verdant gullies flanked by stands of bamboo, only to pop back out into someone else’s yard. Surprisingly no one seems at all phased by five mountain bikers swooshing through their world, using it as a playground.

The ride ended at Perasi / White sand / Virgin beach, depending on which sign you read!
Upon arrival, we stripped back to the bare essentials, and splooshed into the welcoming sea to wash away the accumulated salt and road grime of the day. Lunch and a much appreciated icy cold (dingan) Bintang awaited us in the shade of the beachside restaurant (warung makan). Quenched and sated, we headed for our digs.

For those playing at home we rode 37k in 2:34, ascending 552m and descending 1258m

https://www.strava.com/activities/68200617

2013 Tour de Bali - Rest day 1

Tulamben

Remote luxury

After being lulled to sleep by the sound of the ocean, and the soft caress of the tropical night air we find ourselves on our first rest day with nothing to do, and plenty of time to do it. After breakfast we head into town to check out the local scene… there is no local scene!

The coast road splits Tulamben down the middle into a strip about one building deep on either side, and the main and possibly only industry is SCUBA diving and its associated services. There is a market every third day a little to the west of the town, which services the locals. When we rode past it yesterday it was finished and looked dry, dusty and rudimentary.

After scoping out somewhere for tonight's dinner, we went back to the hotel complex for the day's activities. By renting snorkelling gear: mask, snorkel, booties and fins, for the princely sum of $5 each for the day, we have set us ourselves up nicely for a day of exploring the undersea world at our doorstep.

I head off to check out the wreck of the USS Liberty, while he has his second massage in a little over 12 hours.

As I swim out toward the wreck, the sea floor littered with black volcanic boulders drops away and disappears just before the hulking wreck looms up from the inky depths. The feeling is quite bizarre; one moment you are floating adrift from all that is safe and normal in your world, yet when you see the stern of the wreck only a few metres below the surface you feel re-connected, a little safer. You can't rest on it, and it would be no use to you if you were floundering, (do you see what I did there?) but you do feel strangely safer. If you lift your head above the surface you can be alone in the big sea and the shore even though only 50 metres away, seems to be no help at all. Two completely different worlds, separated by the surface of the sea.

When I head back to the hotel exhausted from the exhilaration and physical effort, I find him still being oiled and rubbed by his nuggetty masseuse. Upon completion of his daily ritual we both head out to the wreck again. This time there are dozens of SCUBA divers on the shore preparing to swap this world for the ocean depths. I know you can't survive for more than a few seconds under water without some external assistance, so I find it interesting you can capture a little of the airy world, strap it to your back, and use it to survive in the watery world.

This time as we swim out to the USS Liberty wreck we float above some divers, their air bubbles released from the high pressure purgatory of the tank desperately racing to the surface. Some bubbles are few and large, like silver jellyfish; others are small and many like mercury spilled from a broken thermometer. Either way, while floating above the void, you can intercept their mad dash to the surface in some kind of weird reverse gravity air shower. We head back for lunch and a rest.

On the third dive of the day we forego the beauty of the wreck for the famous drop-off. Because the sea is calmer closer to the drop-off, we walk most of the way around the curve of the little Tulamben bay before plunging into the briny. The walk is difficult for westerners with soft namby-pamby feet as the beach is littered with black volcanic rocks varying in size from peas to basketballs. It is a pleasure to flop into the water and take the weight off. As we approach the drop-off and the sea floor steepens, we swim through a school of fish - maybe 300 in number - unperturbed by our presence, calm with their safety in numbers defence.

Above the drop-off, coral encrusted lava harbour an almost infinite variety of spectacular fish. Every time you look there is another with more vivid colouring and bizarre markings than the previous. It is like they all took LSD before playing with their mother's makeup. When you get to the drop-off, the feeling is like approaching the USS Liberty in reverse, at first you feel safe in the knowledge that the sea floor is only 3 metres below you, then it is gone and you are floating above an indigo abyss, pierced by shafts of sunlight which never reach anything solid. There are divers down there somewhere, because again I am bathed in their bubbles.

I forego the rough beach walk to the hotel, deciding to swim the whole way back. Thankfully it is not a trudge, but full of unexpected pleasures. I see more and varied sea life, Red Lionfish, Philippine Butterfly fish, Pipefish, and Angelfish, tiny 3 phase electric blue fish, Bump-head Wrasse, fish with uranium yellow markings, most tripping out of their tiny pesce little minds in their crazy makeup. I notice a trio of Clown fish hiding in a sea anemone and make a mental note to call Pixar. I found Nemo!

For reference, there is a coral garden in front of the Mata Hari Hotel well worth a view.

When I get back to our digs he is again in the clutches of his masseuse, manipulated by her strong little hands. That's three massages inside 24 hours!

Before dinner we head to the temple on the headland at the end of the bay. We had seen it from the water when we were diving at the drop-off, and were keen to check it out. Inside there are a couple cutting grass for their cattle. Their hard, twisted, leathery-skinned bodies tell the story of a life of hard graft for little reward. They nod and grunt at us as we take a few photos of the temple, headland, and sweep of the bay. The irony is not lost on us.

2013 Tour de Bali - Stage 2

Abang to Tulamben

From the volcano to the sea

This is the biggest stage of the tour: The Queen's stage. We woke to a white out in Kintamani; it looked like our hotel windows had ben white-washed during the night. It soon burned off and we were on the road to our start point. We started on undulating bitumen before gently descending 3 kilometres on jeep track. My riding partner managed to stack while waving good morning - Selamat pagi - to a group of construction workers. Much hilarity ensued. We descended on a finger of land; either side of which has been eroded to expose the chocolate-cake soil. The farmers can't really put a foot wrong here; anything will grow in these volcanic soils. They grow a variety of vegetables and fruits, and they cut fodder for their cows. Sometimes while riding, you will be confronted by what appears to be a large green bush moving along the track, only to find it is a mountain of fodder strapped to a motorbike making its way to the cow barn.

We lost height quickly, but as any mountain biker knows there is usually a pay-off. We climbed up and over ridges before heading north towards the coast. A smooth euro-style road climb delivered us to the lunch stop, and our ever reliable soigner Made waiting for us.

After lunch we descended down the bitumen road in a brake burning frenzy before hitting the single track again. Now we were riding on the northern shoulder of Gunung Agung - the mighty volcano in the north east of Bali. Rising 3142m directly from the sea in places, it dominates the landscape. As we contoured around and then bombed down rough jeep tracks, we were treated to groves of flowering cashew, stark lava flows, and local farmyards. Belligerent dogs and skittish chickens were scattered in our wake. School children, always up for a "Halloo mista" watched and laughed as we bounced and skidded our way through their village or front yard.

When we reached the coast road we had a smooth twenty minute ride to our digs for the next two nights - Ocean View in Tulamben.

Once again we found ourselves in the lap of luxury; our own private villa with a bathroom I have named 'the vast room'. It is about a quarter of the size of my house. After checking in and supping the complimentary watermelon juice, we bade farewell to Ketut and Made 'till Friday.

Now to the priority list: ocean swim, pool swim, massage, shower, beer and sate - sorted.

For those playing at home we rode 45k in 3:07, ascending 636m and descending 1948m

https://www.strava.com/activities/67705836

2013 Tour de Bali - Kintamani

Kintamani

Kintamani is a market town perched on the narrow rim of the Mt. Batur crater. Buses still bring tourists here to marvel at the natural features of the volcanic caldera and various lava flows. In the limited time they have, the locals swarm upon them with postcards, trinkets and other useless tat for sale, trying to extract a few rupiah before they leave for the next point of interest. The tourist trade has dwindled, and now the town is a rather sad, tawdry, moth eaten version of its former self.

Occasionally tourists will stay for a night so they can trek through the lava fields, and up to the summit of the volcano. While there, they'll probably stay at the one remaining reasonable hotel - The Lake View. The hotel has installed a second set of glass doors to the rooms in an attempt to abate the incessant rumble of trucks hauling sand and gravel from the bottom of the caldera. This will be used in construction somewhere else on the island.

So instead of tourist money pouring in, raw materials are pouring out.

The town snakes beside the narrow road along the crater rim, and in the afternoon a heavy fog starts to envelope the area obscuring the views and bringing another worldly feel. It is surreal to be in a tropical paradise where most of the island is baking in over 30C heat and blasting sunshine, when you are shrouded in mist. The locals go about shivering even though they are rugged up in ski jackets.

2013 Tour de Bali - Stage 1

Sanur to Kintamani

From the lap of luxury, to the lap of the gods

The day started with breakfast, then a meeting with Isabelle - the tour operator. She went over the details of our next 2 weeks, and introduced us to Ketut - legendary mountain biking guide - and Made our driver.

It is so good to be semi-pro!

She assured us that the rest of our accommodation would not be so luxurious: no more hotel branded mineral water, no more choice of danish for breakfast, no more icy cold beers delivered to the pool deck with complimentary nuts, no library, and definitely no art gallery.

The 2 hour drive from Sanur to Kintamani saw us winding through rural Balinese lushy lushness; rice paddies, vegetable gardens, fruit orchards, and jungle filled river valleys - fifty shades of green.

When we arrived at the start point for the ride we were met by a Dutchman called Eric; he was to join us for this day's riding only. He was jolly, and kept us amused by falling off at regular intervals.

The first half of the ride up until the lunch break was fairly intense. It started with tight, slippery, overgrown single track following the rim of the Mt. Batur crater. Neither of us had been on a bike for a few weeks, and as we had just ascended from sea level to 1700m, lungs were soon gasping for more oxygen to supply legs which were burning, and screaming for more.

After dropping from the rim down into the caldera and a welcome stop for lunch, the rest of the ride was considerably easier. Rough jeep tracks were interspersed with sweet single track through vegetable fields. The last 3 kilometres was along a crushed lava track used by quarry trucks to remove rocks from the 1993 lava field. It was hot, dry, dusty and surreal. Luckily there were some ladies trying to sell us trinkets where our vehicles were parked, 'cause that’s just what you need at the end of a hard ride - souvenirs!

Eric was so enthused about the ride, he considered another day of riding. We said this first day was complimentary, but he would have to pay us or buy us beers if he came again.

For those playing at home we rode 27k in 2:15, ascending 422m and descending 1063m

http://app.strava.com/activities/72498823

2013 Tour de Bali - Pre tour

My last trip overseas ended with a side trip to Bangkok with an Englishman. Basing a decision on his previous experience of Thailand and its copious culinary delights, his desire this time around was to have no less than 6 meals a day. His basic premise; there was so much to experience and limited time, therefore the best way to achieve his aim was to eat less - more often.

Although this trip's main aim is ultra-extreme mountain biking; while driving from the airport to our first night's accommodation - with a different travelling companion this time - discussion turned to the various dining choices we were faced with. Advertisements for delicious meat based Balinese & Indonesian dishes brought forth his comment from him "I'm going to eat every creature God put on this earth". I countered with "A Noah's ark of animals, all that crawleth upon the Earth, all that swimmeth beneath the sea, and all that flyeth in the sky".

In a little over 24 hours we sampled sate chicken, pork and beef - Sate Campur - at a touristy restaurant, and deep fried calamari on the beach as we were gently caressed by the blood warm night sea breeze. For breakfast he gained sustenance from the mythical creature that provides ham, bacon and pork chops. Lunch saw us back with birds which flyeth of the sky; chicken with rice and green vegetables. Each meal so far has been washed down with a cleansing ale. 

Is it a coincidence that the amber fluid produced from the barley grain goes so well with food in Bali?

Walk to School

Check out this witty video about getting the kids to school without using a car.

Is this the start of the end for GDS?

It's the Internet stupid!

Tight Arse Travel doesn’t understand why your average traveller would use a Travel Agent when most airlines allow you to book direct through their own website. There has to be money in it for the agent, and that must eventually come from your hard earned, directly or indirectly.

Thanks to airlines like Colorado based Frontier, and Dallas based Southwest, not only can you book flights direct through their websites, there are incentives to do so, or disincentives not to!

Check out Clive Dorman's piece in The Age about airlines taking back control of their business.

AirAsia X Quiet Zone

AirAsia X have done it again - that is, get Tight Arse Travel's vote for innovative thinking.

Early in 2013, they introduced a quiet zone from row 7 through 14 on their long haul flights. Children under 12 cannot be booked in a seat in this area.

Tight Arse Travel only wish they had brought this in a year earlier, that way we would not have had a lovely little munchkin screaming, and kicking the back of our seat all the way from KL to Cochin.

World Airline Awards 2012

News just to hand..... ... . ...... .. . .. ... ..

The 2012 World Airline Awards have just been announced. And the winner is - Qatar for the second year in a row.

QANTAS dropped from 8th in 2011, to 15th in 2012.

AirAsia has been awarded 'World's Best Low Cost Airline'.

Best of Australia: 50 unforgettable adventures

I love it when The Age Travel Section does all the work for me, enjoy...

Seven surprisingly good airlines

Another little gem from Ben Groundwater on the surprises out there in International Airline world.

Unfortunately, Tight Arse Travel cannot comment on the other airlines, but we have flown AirAsia X between Australia, Malaysia, India, Thailand, and Indonesia in 2011, 2012 & 2013, and we can’t fault them.

They are cheap, leave and arrive on time, the meals are good, and the staff are friendly and attentive. You might have a short walk from your plane to the terminal, but we appreciate a good leg stretch at the end of a flight.

Unlike full-cost, full-price carriers, where you pay for all of the services available, whether you need or want them, Tight Arse Travel like the no-frills, low-cost flights, with the ability to add or customise services for a low additional fee.

Check out the AirAsia business model.

Bangkok 2012 - Part 4

I think his quest is a noble one, and a great way to sample as much variety as possible. As we delve into the tropical armpit of Asia, we are always on the lookout for the next taste sensation. Besides, the normal three modest meals a day in this climate is not ideal, and I find it best to follow local tradition when it comes to these matters. Therefore, we duly snack, nibble, munch, graze, and browse our way around town for the next three days.

On our way to a rendezvous with an old friend of his, we walk in the shade of the skyscrapers through the late afternoon hustle of downtown peak hour. As we leave behind the Chinese style wooden buildings — warehouses, shops & dwellings in the old part of town — they make way for the steel and glass monoliths of international hotel chains, multinational banking conglomerates, and impersonal mega malls.

Street side food vendors set up to catch the passing trade of office workers making their way home. In inverse proportion to the minimal inputs — a few fold up chairs and tables, and a couple of gas rings — they are able to conjure up the tastiest of snacks and light meals. We are snared; caught in their trap. The meal is only meat, but it is marinated and char grilled to perfection, washed down with an icy cold Leo. I think that was meal number four.

After hooking up with his friend, we enter the bowels of an anonymous office block and find his car in the underground car park. Joining the famously lethargic Bangkok traffic, eventually we make our way out of the larger streams and into quieter backwaters, where the rich locals and western ex-pats live cloistered in gated apartment blocks. I’m not sure what they are gated against, as there does not seem to be anything to be afraid of: the streets are safe, the locals friendly, and the biggest problem they have is the loss of their ultra-cheap Burmese maids.

These ladies have until now been sending home most of their meagre earnings to their beleaguered relatives, in the hope of somehow keeping them out of poverty’s gaping maw. To a degree, they have sacrificed themselves to relieve their family’s plight. Now, with the sudden unexplained reversal in direction from one of the most austere regimes on the planet, they are going home. At last, there is some hope that their country is beginning to climb out of the depths of poverty and despair, and they want to be part of it.

Bangkok 2012 - Part 3

The place we chose for that well-earned beer is like so many others in South-East Asia — an opportunity, grasped with both hands, and made to work hard. The opportunist is the owner of a small travel agency, restaurant, and footpath bar. His opportunity was to convert unused first floor space into ‘hotel rooms’ (this term is interchangeable with ‘rat infested fire trap’) for weary travellers. The space is divided into as many small rooms as possible to maximise his return on investment. The effect is akin to the inside of a hair dryer with a broken fan - dark, hot, & potentially dangerous.

My travelling companion — much more used to the privations of cheap travel than I — allowed me the one small comfort available from the two rooms we are proffered: a window. I thanked him then, but was later to regret the decision. I showered in one of the two available bathrooms. These modern facilities have all a weary traveller could wish for: a door, barely strong enough to keep out a rampaging mosquito, a toilet with a broken seat and no cistern, a large bucket (this of course you fill with water to ‘flush’ the toilet), and a shower. And when I say ‘shower’ what I really mean is a tap on the wall at knee height, with half a meter of grungy plastic hose attached. All of this is contained in a space barely bigger than a normal toilet cubicle, come to think of it; this is a toilet cubicle – with a bucket and a tap!

Showered, I made my way back to my box with a window (room) for a short rest. Besides the window that contributes no more to the room than a little grime tinged light, the only other comfort is a fan. Unfortunately, this is not the normal three bladed ceiling fan, but a desk fan, bolted to the ceiling. The switch on the wall allows speed changes, but no control over the oscillation. So as I laid on my bed feeling the sweat from my back slowly soak into the tissue-thin yellowed sheets, I time the fan’s rotation: twenty seconds, seven on me. The thirteen wasted seconds it is not blowing on me is enough time to become completely drenched. It is so hot my shins sweat. I’m not sure I can put up with this for three days.

‘Rested’, we hit the streets to see what Bangkok has in store. Remembering that we are on holiday, a late morning beer is in order. We plonked ourselves down at the footpath bar and ordered a couple of Singhas. Chatting to the owner and his less than coy friend, we find out that he has as many business pies across Asia as he has fingers to put in them.

My travelling companion lives in India for nine months of every year, and is therefore very accustomed to the delights of that foreign cuisine. Having visited Bangkok once previously, he is aware of, and more than a little keen to sample as many Thai culinary delights as possible in our short time in the Big Mango. His aim is six small meals a day, and with two in the bank by 11 am, he is well on his way to fulfilling that goal.

Watered; time for a feed. You would have to be blind, deaf and suffer from anosmia to go hungry in this town; there is food everywhere, and it arrives via many forms of transport. From people carrying baskets, pushing carts, from bicycles to the back of motorbikes, temporary stalls on footpaths and restaurants in buildings, there is every type of nibble, snack and meal to tempt all but the most fussy. We settle for a small footpath stall and a bowl of spicy meaty soup. It is so good, my companion has two.

To be continued...