Julia Roberts, you have a LOT to answer for

Hi there friends, and greetings from Old Blighty (England, to those of you who are unaware). Yes, I've made it back alive and well, a bit browner than I was when I left in November and with a seemingly insatiable appetite for noodles- I'm seriously not sick of them yet, despite the fact that I'm pretty sure I consumed enough noodles during my trip to keep the entire population of Braunschweig gastronomically satisfied for the whole of 2014. Before I wrap this blog up, I'll let you know what I got up to on Bali. I warn you now, it involves a lot of perspiration (ladylike, eh?).
I arrived safe and sound to a very rainy Bali and was greeted at the airport by an absolutely delightful taxi driver who had the joyous task of taking me up to Ubud. My my, he was a chatty fellow. Not just that, but apparently he was also not wholly against serenading his passengers; I was treated to a medley of 80's hits, including 'Unchained Melody' and 'Time Of My Life'. I'm not entirely sure what I did to deserve it but needless to say it was a pretty amusing taxi ride. He also lamented the fact that he wasn't able to get anywhere near "The Julia Roberts" when she was in town filming that modern day classic 'Eat, Pray, Love', a film which has earned the prestigious accolade of 'Most infuriating and tedious film I have ever had the misfortune of seeing in the cinema'. If you haven't seen it, don't bother (unless you enjoy watching Julia Roberts eat spaghetti and traipsing around in floaty dresses for 2.5 hours). It turns out the ghost of EPL ('Eat, Pray, Love') would haunt me at every turn during our stay in Ubud.
The first day on Bali was spent alone, wandering around and being asked if I wanted a taxi every 2 minutes, which I did not. I was awaiting the arrival of my sister and a friend, so just sort of hung around watching the minutes slide past. Little did I know that only one member of the expected party was winging their way to Bali: upon check-in in Amsterdam, my sister was informed, in no uncertain terms, that she was not able to board the flight. Before you jump to any conclusions, she's not a criminal or on the run from the law, and she wasn't wielding a great big knife or a belt made of grenades: her passport simply wasn't valid for long enough and so she wasn't allowed to fly. Let that be a warning to you-when they write stuff about passport validity, they really mean it. Luckily though, my friend arrived with no issues, other than the fact that she was a little emotionally overwhelmed by the whole experience. We solved that problem with banana sandwiches.
The next evening saw the arrival of another friend, but during the day, Friend 1 (Nikki) and I went for a wander round the area and the town of Ubud. Lovely as it is, you cannot move in Ubud for what we later named EPL's (Eat, Pray, Love tourists): a typical EPL is a woman between the ages of 35 and 60 with long, flowing hair either piled messily on top of her head (the intention, I guess, is that it looks like the wind and some birds and, you know, spirits or something have caused her hair to just fall into the style, but actually it requires some careful grooming) or waving freely in the wind. She wears numerous layers of billowing, unstructured fabric in muted colours of the earth, probably some kind of beaded jewellery and a dreamy, wistful look on her face- presumably she's looking for a hunky, rugged man to sweep her off her feet. The town is absolutely swarming with them. Ubud also appeared to be very popular with ALL OF CHINA. When you're not batting the EPL's loose fitting fabrics out of your face, you are navigating your way around hoards of Chinese tourists who have an incredible talent for taking up all the space available on the pavement. However, despite the distractions, we managed a good long stroll around the outskirts of the town and then swooned at all the lovely things on offer to buy. Friend 2 (Rosie) arrived safe and sound in the evening, and the adventure could truly begin.
I'll spare you every detail of every day spent in Ubud and just give a sweeping summary of all the fun that was had: we took a very cool trip out to visit the world's greenest school, creatively named 'The Green School'. Yes, a visit to a school sounds completely lame and boring, but believe me when I say it was actually very amazing: all the buildings are made from bamboo and other nature-y things, and were probably built by little woodland creatures with mini tools (at least that's what was going through my mind when we were being told lots of probably very interesting facts about it). It also has a mud pit. An actual great big muddy mud pit so the kids can roll around in it and have mud fights. When I saw it, it took a LOT of willpower to fight my inner child and not run at it and do an amazing belly slide right the way through it. Our transport there and back was provided by yet another wonderful taxi driver by the name of Wayan who delighted in telling us about his five wives, his numerous children (the exact number of which he wasn't entirely certain) and the spicy food on Bali which "gives you power"- wink wink.
One day in Ubud was dedicated to exploring the surrounding rice fields which are now UNESCO protected because they are so very beautiful. Our trusty guide book had provided us with a fool proof track to follow and so we were pretty confident that we would have no problems. Wrong! Even the Lonely Planet can't dictate the weather and it turned out that the path we wanted to take had been destroyed in a landslide, but being the intrepid explorers we are, we ambled towards a slightly different path. Unfortunately this path began with a very enterprising rice farmer who wanted us to pay quite a fair whack for entry into his field. We were dithering around in a way only clueless tourists can do until we were rescued by a lovely Balinese chap who, as luck should have it, happened to be a guide. And so it was that we hired him to take us through the rice fields. Well, he said they were rice fields; judging by the ridiculous heat and humidity, I'm convinced that actually we spent 2 hours walking through some kind of magical outdoor sauna. It was really a lovely walk but the experience was slightly marred by the feeling that I had just gotten out of the shower, knowing full well that it was not water that was making my clothes very, very damp (I've just read that back and have realised what a disgusting human being I am- sorry about that). The other highlight of Ubud was a cooking course-SURPRISE! Yes, once again, my stomach dictated my actions and led me to signing us up for another day of what was essentially hastily chopping things up so we could eat them faster. We prepared and WOLFED an amazing array of dishes, which included a very pleasing amount of peanut sauce and coconut milk. If you have a nut allergy, you should probably steer clear of Bali. Or just suck it up, consume all the lovely nutty foods and accept the tongue swelling and dodgy stomach that follow. Personally, I think the second option is by far superior.
After a lovely stay in Ubud, we headed South to the unremarkable town of Ungasan, where we stayed in a remarkable villa. It was ridiculously nice, complete with a pool, outdoor kitchen, outdoor bathrooms and a pair of housekeepers who brought us fresh papaya. It goes without saying that a large majority of our time there was spent lazing around by the pool and getting burnt on parts of our body that we'd missed during the liberal application of suncream, so it looked like our stomach/ upper back/ left mid-shin were perpetually embarrassed about something. We survived an apocalyptic storm, visited a beautiful cliff top temple, took the world's slowest funicular railway to a bar built into a cliff face, got caught in a HUGE rainstorm and lamented the fact that we are not gorgeous, lithe, blonde surfer chicks. Overall, we had a cracking few days there. Nikki and Rosie flew back to Singapore, leaving me to enjoy a final few days alone in the town of Sanur. If it's a wild time you're looking for, you can rule out Sanur: it is a snoozy beach town that is jam-packed with elderly Australian and Dutch tourists. It was absolutely perfect (I'm not even being sarcastic). I spent the days wandering around town, along the beach and hanging around the little pool at my hostel. The most 'exciting' thing that happened was a French guy in my room had obviously indulged a little too much in some kind of substance and spent the night shouting in his sleep before falling spectacularly flat on his face from his top bunk bed (much to the 'delight' of some Germans in the room who were looking very disgruntled the next day).
For the last two days of my trip I returned to Singapore to stay with Rosie. 'Ah yes,' I thought, 'just sit back, relax and calm yourself before heading back to reality'. Sadly on the first night, that was not to be: Rosie and her boyfriend were out for the night, and I had opted for a night in front of the TV. All was going well until I wanted to have a shower: in the flat, the bathroom is an ensuite next to the bedroom, both of which are separated from the living room and kitchen by a door that can be locked from inside the bedroom. I was about to cook myself up some dinner when I decided to have a quick shower first before setting up camp on the sofa for the evening. But alas, the door to the bedroom, and therefore the bathroom, had somehow locked itself from the inside. At this moment, I had a slight panic but did as all normal people do when they have a problem and chose to ignore it. Unfortunately for me, prior to going to the supermarket to get stuff for tea, I had drunk 3 pints of water and a very generous cup of tea, meaning that I wasn't able to ignore the problem for too long before I started to have the feeling that, yes yes, my bladder was filling up nicely. I had a little look for the key but to no avail. I tried to contact Rosie. No answer. I asked the guys on duty down at the entrance to the complex if they had a key: they didn't (absurd). I knocked on the neighbours' doors. All out. I paced around and tried to find a sitting position that would lessen the feeling of desperation. There are none. I half ran-half hopped back down to the entrance to beg for help and was directed by two very amused guards to the bathroom next to the swimming pool. That ordeal over, I was once again able to relax and watch TV until Rosie returned. When she and her boyfriend got back, we turned the flat upside down looking for the key, called a locksmith and promptly decided against calling him out (his price was extortionate!), tried to pick the lock with a hair pin (it doesn't work like in the films), had several attempts at breaking the door down using various body parts before giving up and decamping to his parents' house for the remainder of the night. Very dramatic indeed.
Luckily the rest of my time was not so stressful and I had a lovely last couple of days reading, walking around and shopping before heading off to Changi airport, and back to the cold climes of Western Europe. And that, dear friends (or more likely by this point, one single determined friend), is where I am now- back on the sofa in my living room in Thornbury, drinking copious amounts of tea, safe in the knowledge that I am not going to get locked out of the bathroom. Thanks and well done for persevering with my blog- I hope you enjoyed it, at least a little bit. I had a great time writing it. Byeeeeeeeeeee