West Coast Vibin’

We woke this morning and stumbled zombie-like from the bed needing, not brains, but coffee. We shuffled to the breakfast room to be presented with … Nescafé. Nescafe?!? Sigh. It is undeniably a thing in Bali. The locals seem to think that westerners like instant coffee, and the damned stuff appears on every menu. The local kopi bali is excellent and heart-starting. Feeling like zombies presented with a brain cake rather than the real thing, we shuffled down the street, and found the Queen’s Bar. Not yet open, the kindly owner made us coffee and then went back to working out. (He was very fit).

Caffeinated, we went back, packed the bikes, and left. As it turns out, earlier than we thought. The roads of Western Bali are astonishing. After Pemuteran, we had a few villages which then petered out to leave us with jungle, monkeys, and perfect riding roads. It was more Muslim than Hindu, more Javanese than Balinese, more mosques. They really are the most beautiful buildings. We zipped along at a breakneck 75kph, feeling incredibly lucky.

Of course, given the nature of the trip, we had to go to the western tip of Bali. This is a port town called Gilimanuk. I hadn’t been here since I came through in 1993, and I recalled none of it. Dirty, but with the interesting dirt of port towns, we stopped to have a look at Java and consider what would happen if we thought “the hell with it”, boarded a ferry, and just kept going.

We ate at a bakso stand. I’m enjoying eating locally here. However, we were there very early. We were surprised to find it was 11.30am. I guess we’d left early. We mounted the bikes and carried on.

The road we were on went from the Island capital to the main Balinese port, so it was busier. Countless slow trucks coming or going from the island. It was also less remote and more built up, and more rough. Oddly, though, with more monkeys, squatting on the side of the road, glaring at the traffic like grumpy old men.

Eventually, we found the turnoff and, again, bumped down broken roads to our hotel. This time it was a nice hotel on the beach, but it felt very corporate. Until now, we’d stayed in family-run businesses, of which Bali has a plethora. This one was run by employees. It was pleasant, and very clean, with a restaurant/bar and a pool, but it felt a little soul-less. I guess we’re a bit demanding that way.

Our day of motorcycling wasn’t yet done, though. It was only 2pm, so we decided to go to a place I’d read about. We drove up into the mountains and found the Bunut Bolong. This was a centuries-old banyan tree that improbably has a road going through it. It’s not often you get to say, “I think I’ll ride my motorcycle through that tree.” You’re not supposed to go through it with your partner, or you’re sure to break up. We judiciously bowed to this requirement, though plenty of Indonesian men will, through dint of riding through the tree together, sadly, never hook up.

On the way back, we stopped, struck by an enormous temple complex in a small village. The temple was called the Pura Kaye Sugih, but we couldn’t find out what the village was called. The heavy Bali rain had washed out the sign that gave the entry regulations, which was illegible. I was confident that it included wearing sarongs, which we didn’t have. So, we walked up the stairs, and peered through the gates, but didn’t enter.

We rode back through a series of lovely twisties down the mountain and headed back to the hotel. We chatted idly with a Dutch couple over dinner and went back to our very neat room. There were a few Balinese touches, but we could have been anywhere. Still, we’ve stayed in far more Balinese hotels

Four days left! Oh, no!