Kiss my **** Kuta...

Well sorry folks, it's been a while since my last blog but to tell you the truth, nothing particularly exciting has happened in the last week. And those of you who are placing bets on how much longer I'll stay in Bali, you might as well just pack it in because I don't plan to stay beyond the departure date on my plane ticket! Nepal is a calling, and I need to be by those glorious mountains and in slightly cooler climes. Although Bali is beautiful, don't get me wrong, it just doesn't make my heart sing. I could never live here that's for sure. And being a child born to a Mauritian family, I am going to be a little bias and say that for me, no other island tops ours; our little gem in the south of the Indian Ocean.

This weekend, we had a failed night out in Kuta, the bustling, 'trendy' part of Bali. The place to be for 18-35 year olds. We tried to start the evening off by going to see a film, you know, just as something to do. I didn't really know much about the film Columbiana apart from the fact that it's a French-American action movie, but thought it would be nice to settle down in a cinema for a few hours as I haven't done so since Cat and Niall took me to see Top Hat at an old style movie theatre (with an actual organ player and everything). When we got to the ticket booth, they had decided to change the films they were going to show. Columbiana had been replaced by Smurfs. Great. Not watching that. And anything else that might be interesting to see? Johnny English...sod off.

So, we swiftly turned on our heels and thought we'd go for a few drinks instead. Sky Garden is the most popular nightclub in Kuta. Kuta was an absolute nightmare. It's like Leicester Square on a Saturday night; it's full of idiots who don't know their drinking limits and forget any manners that they may have had when sober. And it wasn't until I was pushing past loud, staggering tourists in the street that I remembered just how much I hate clubs. Give me a low-key rock gig anyday or a nice comfortable pub where jokes and stories can be told. Anything else but a sweatbox full of clones that try to impress each other on dancefloors to repetitive, meaningless music that hits the charts because no one can seem to manage singing along to more than two sentences per track.

I was also told a very irritating fact: in Kuta, tourists get into clubs for free but Indonesians have to pay. Hearing this pissed me right off and I was even more reluctant to enjoy the venue. We stayed for one cocktail and left the minute the last drop hit the tongue.

On the plus side, I managed to get to Tanah Lot the next day, the famous sea temple on the southwest coast.


'Twas pretty cool....