Love those Asian budget airlines: 2 1/2hr. 1300 mile flight: avoiding days of grotty bus, hellhole pollution, noise, grimy sweat, for $74! Singapore's airport is consistently rated Best in the World with big screen lounges, orchid gardens, KidZone, free this and that, swimming pool, huge food court and Valentine decor! Pat even got to watch some Olympic Curling ---- our only glimpse of the winter games in these tropical countries. But Tiger Mandala took us from the futuristic Singapore back into third-world Indonesia.
The shock started right at the arrival area of Denpasar Airport where the exchange booth tried to cheat me. Then the shock turned to dismay and whatthehell as we descended into Kuta Beach, the original surfers/backpackers paradise. No more. It is a traffic-jammed, money-driven jungle of slug-like tourists and locals out to get their dollars, yen, remnimbi, roubles, euros, and pounds. I wanted to leave immediately, Pat gave it an hour. Truly a repulsive scene, especially since we had such fond memories from 1998.
Once again the online description of the room was false. Bare walls, mildew smell, cold water, lazy fan, $20. Anti-mosquito fog is sprayed on the streets in the mornings. There is a poignant monument to the nightclub bombing in 2002 that killed over 200 people. And the millions of t-shirts and hats are still here.
The beach is still magnificent, with gentle consistent surf break. The sea is warmer than any water I've ever swam in. As long as you look out to the ocean and not behind you to the writhing masses, you're OK. Beach women now sell pineapple as well as massages. And we can now get fruit, muesli, and yogurt we've been craving. But overall Kuta is the worst introduction to Bali imaginable. We're leaving tomorrow, searching for the mystical spirituality that marked Bali as a special place. Maybe we'll add to the daily offerings to help out.
The shock started right at the arrival area of Denpasar Airport where the exchange booth tried to cheat me. Then the shock turned to dismay and whatthehell as we descended into Kuta Beach, the original surfers/backpackers paradise. No more. It is a traffic-jammed, money-driven jungle of slug-like tourists and locals out to get their dollars, yen, remnimbi, roubles, euros, and pounds. I wanted to leave immediately, Pat gave it an hour. Truly a repulsive scene, especially since we had such fond memories from 1998.
Once again the online description of the room was false. Bare walls, mildew smell, cold water, lazy fan, $20. Anti-mosquito fog is sprayed on the streets in the mornings. There is a poignant monument to the nightclub bombing in 2002 that killed over 200 people. And the millions of t-shirts and hats are still here.
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