Finding Nemo

Steven Spielberg has a lot to answer for. Yes, he's helped to create a number of brilliant films like E.T., Jurassic Park and Schindler's List, but he also partly responsible for a whole generation who are a little bit apprehensive about going in to the sea. Don't get me wrong, I love swimming or surfing in the ocean - it's just every time the water gets beyond waist height, I'm sure that John Williams' famous score will be begin (du-duh... du-duh...) and that the only thing that could be beneath me is a fifteen foot long Great White Shark. I know it's stupid, but I don't think I'm alone - lots of thirty somethings I have spoken to have Jaws syndrome!

The fear of Speilberg's monster (rather than the actual creatures, which are majestic and awe inspiring) means that when I was asked whether I wanted to go snorkelling, last time I was in Bali, I hesitated. Thankfully, I agreed and ended up having an absolutely incredible experience. So, I decided that Steve and I should return to the laid backed little island of Nusa Lembongan and have another go. I just hoped Steve would be as impressed.

We had managed to barter with some local ferrymen in Sanur and almost halved their price for a fast boat across the Badung Strait to Nusa Lembongan. The captain blasted his way across the notoriously dangerous choppy waters and within forty-five minutes we were watching surfers attempt the ominously named Lacerations reef.

The gentlemen we had purchased our tickets from had recommended a friend who would take us snorkelling. His name, although I'm fairly sure not the name his mother gave him, was Captain Nemo. So into his character, was Nemo, that his friend had put a label on me before we left Bali, which said 'Whale' - at least I hoped it was a literary reference rather than a comment on my weight.

Captain Nemo promptly welcomed us aboard his vessel - painted orange and white, like a clown fish - and took us around the coast towards two spots that he claimed would be perfect for us.

Our first destination was nicknamed 'The Wall', as it was where a neighbouring island met a small reef and then plunged into a deep ravine. Steve and I wrestled with our mask, snorkel and flippers for a few minutes before we sat on the edge of the boat and dropped backwards into the emerald waters.

I'd been a bit nervous about it to be honest, not because of the Jaws thing, but because I had wanted it to be as good as last time. Maybe I had been overly nostalgic and it wasn't as good as my rose-tinted glasses had remembered? I needn't have worried. One glance under the surface revealed an incredible vista; fish of all shapes, colours and sizes swam beneath us. 

For the next fifteen minutes the tide took us first one way and then the other along this extraordinary aquatic shelf. We were reluctant to get out of the water, but Nemo reassured us that the mangroves would offer us just as good an experience. Five minutes later and we were both back in the warm sea and, if anything, the waters around us were teeming with even more life than before. The ocean floor was covered in a plethora of corals - all different shapes and colours - creating an almost other worldly landscape. Adding to our enjoyment of the dive was the fact that Nemo had given us some bread and so the fish swarmed around us and ate out of our hand! A dream-like encounter that we won't forget in a hurry.

Anything we did that afternoon would've been an anticlimax, but we did enjoy renting another moped and exploring the rest of the island. Nusa Lembongan is a world a way from the hectic roads of south Bali and so we weaved our way around numerous potholes in peace until we found this great bridge...

 

...and then made our way to Dream Beach where we ate a traditional Balanese meal of Nasi Goreng and then had one last swim before our boat journey home.

The swim wasn't exactly what you would call relaxing - big waves pummelled us and a we had to battle with a strong current that tried to pull us out to sea. Exhilarating is probably a more accurate description. We enjoyed it so much that we were almost late for our trip back to Bali! Steve even managed to rip open the crotch of his shorts (again) whilst long jumping a gap in the seafront wall. Luckily, our boat was sat waiting for us and we headed back to Sanur.

During our final week in Indonesia, we also battled the elements on an epic six hour round journey to the centre of the island, as well as managing another surf and a few journeys over the brand new 12km long road bridge.

We said goodbye to Bali by sitting down for a meal in a beachside restaurant with Grishka, Meredith and Scarlet. It was a great way to end two fantastic weeks on the island. We'd made some great new memories and some even better new friends.

Baggage Claims

I've watched a few of those survival programmes presented by the likes of Ray Mears and Bear Grylls and so I'm pretty sure I am now prepared to survive a week alone in the harshest environments planet earth can throw at me - Siberia, Sahara, Amazon - no problem. 

Bali isn't one of those places. The island is beautiful and it's easy to see why it entices so many to visit its shores each year; ribbons of white sand line the coast, which is inhabited by surfers seeking the perfect wave and sun worshippers supping an ice cold Bintang and enjoying the laid back lifestyle. Fairly idyllic really! However, if you were to throw Ray or Bear on to the island with only one pair of pants, I think they'd be struggling too. After all, I believe there are only four acceptable ways of wearing your underwear - traditionally, the way the tailor intended - inside out - back to front and inside out and back to front.

Before I go on, I realise that this isn't the most highbrow topic of conversation, but I wanted to convey the peril I was in. As I mentioned, there are four ways to don your underpants. As I woke on Monday, it had been five days since we last saw our luggage in Vietnam!

Thankfully we were due a quieter day - Sally was at work and Ochie at school - and so Steve and I decided, as we had heard nothing from the airline concerning our lost bags, that we would go there ourselves.

Despite nearly crashing into one another on the way there, Steve and I got to Ngurah Rai International Airport in one piece and made our way to the Lost and Found department. To our delight, as we approached the desk, we saw two bags that fitted the description of our own. We let out a rather girly scream before racing toward them, ready to embrace them like some long lost friend! Steve got the there first courtesy of his longer legs and confirmed that he had indeed been reunited with his Vango bag and all its contents. He was ecstatic and turned to high-five me. But I left Steve hanging...

The bag in front of me was nearly right; it was green, like mine, it was made by Osprey, like mine, it had the straps to attach a smaller bag to it, like mine... but something wasn't right.

At school I often watch the children identify their misplaced jumpers by smelling them. Not using visual clues (like the name tag!), but putting the garment to their faces and inhaling. At first, this practice made me feel quite queasy - it was a technique I'd last seem used by a Canadian Mountie on the TV show, Due South, to track down criminals. However, I had been left no choice - if it worked for seven-year-olds, it could work for me. I took a deep breath and sniffed. It wasn't mine.

In hindsight, I should have turned the bag over as it would've revealed a hole that wasn't on my luggage and, more importantly, and name written in permanent marker. My bag was still lost.

We left with promises that they would investigate further and make sure Tiger Air found it. I was dejected, but at least we had one bag and I wouldn't have to wear my creepy shirt and the Union Jack shorts again. I was further cheered up on the way out of the airport when I noticed these signs (below). Is it just me or are the meeting points B and C a little superfluous?

To cut a long story short, it was another three days and two more visits to the airport before my bag was flown to Bali. Six days after I arrived, I was finally able to wear a fresh t-shirt and access my wash bag!

By then, possibly motivated by the smell eminating from her visitors, Sally had flown back to England. She and Ochie were going to spend some time with family and friends in the UK. Her incredibly generous parting gift was to let us stay in her house whilst she was away. I hope she knows how much we appreciated that gesture.

We spent the next few days chilling and familiarising ourselves with the southern peninsula of the island. By the end of our time there we had managed to source many a great place to eat and a few to play pool and watch rugby at. The only disappointment being that I couldn't find a Welshman to whom I could rub in our victory.

We quickly became integrated into the beach lifestyle and even decided to take some surf lessons with our new friend from Cornwall, Grishka. Now, I've done a little bit of surfing in my time, but I usually end up swallowing a large amount of water and face planting into the white wash, whilst those around me make it look effortless. In fact the last time I had surfed in Bali, a year ago, my best friend, Paul, had had to push me back to shore as the swell was too strong for my lacklustre paddling technique! Grishka didn't have a lot to work with. But it turned out that Grishka was not a bad person to get some lessons from as he casually dropped into conversation that he had been European Champion, not once, but twice. What a great opportunity!

There was a catch though. Our new American friends, Amanda and Meredith, had made me promise to surf with the Union Jack shorts on. So out they came for one last outing!

Grishka was a great and patient teacher; soon Steve and I were standing on the board and I was sure I could give Kelly Slater a run for his money. It was one of the first times I had realised why so many of my close friends were addicted to the sport. Mind you, surfing in shorts and t-shirt in the tropical climate of Indonesia is slightly different from the artic conditions of Westward Ho in February!

Grish does surf lessons in Bali and back home in Cornwall during the summer, so if you need a teacher - he is worth looking up (he might even mention that he was European champ once or twice!). You'll find more information at his website - surflessonscornwall.co.uk - we highly recommend him!

That evening we visited a great spot to view the sunset. From the cafés and bars in Ulawatu we watched as dozens of surfers bobbed up and down in the waves. The water looked like liquid gold as the sun sunk lower in the sky.

Steve and I made a toast and saluted the endeavours of those in the sea below us. As I sat drinking a cold beverage I realised that maybe I wasn't ready for the challenge of Siberia or the Sahara after all. Ray and Bear could deal with that - this was more my cup of tea.

 

A Short Story, set in Bali

I'm a loser. Take this however you want, but I mean it in the literal sense of the word - someone who loses things. I am, in fact, a world class loser. I must lose my car keys at least once a week and I've lost count of the number of times my wallet has gone missing. This would almost be something to be proud of if it wasn't coupled with the unfortunate truth that I am also rubbish at finding lost items.

Standing beside the luggage carousel in Denpasar airport I had that not unusual sinking feeling that something was missing. I checked my pockets; passport, wallet and phone were all present. It was only when I looked up again and noticed that Steve and I were stood virtually alone in baggage claims that I realised what it was. We didn't have any bags.

A quick check with the 'Lost and Found' department confirmed our fears that our luggage hadn't actually been transferred to the new flight, as Tiger Air had promised, but was, in all likelihood, sat in Singapore airport somewhere. Wonderful.

Not to worry, we thought, this isn't the first time luggage hasn't made a connecting flight - in all probability it would turn up tomorrow and that would be fine.

We'd arrived in Bali late on a Friday evening and were soon on our way to meet an old friend of Steve's. Sally had wanted Steve to come and visit her for years and so being in the general area gave us a great excuse to pop over to Bali and for me to return to a country I had been to only twelve months ago.

My brief visit last February had somewhat prepared me for the mayhem that was to greet us in Bali's party town of Kuta, but being bleary eyed from another long flight meant that it was still a shock to the system when our taxi dropped us off. The familiar sound of mopeds was drowned out momentarily by Sally's scream as she saw Steve for the first time! Soon we were inside meeting some of her friends, who, in stark contrast to our zombie like states, were very 'awake'. The large majority of the small crowd seemed to be American, who were loud and happy enough to ignore the fact I was barely able to stay awake long enough to hold a coherent conversation. One particularly agile friend greeted Steve by putting her foot on his shoulder. Whilst being fairly impressed by this show of suppleness, I hoped that this was not a traditional local greeting, otherwise it would not be long before I ended up in the local A&E.

Despite our tiredness, Steve and I accompanied the rest of the guys as they moved on to other establishments and eventually we found ourselves in a place known as the Sky Garden. With a uncovered dance floor and seats on the fifth floor it offered a great view of the madness below. Unfortunately, it was at this point I lost something else - Steve.

After conducting a mini search of the top floor I decided that it would be more sensible to sit still and wait for him to find me, which I did. For an hour. Finally, as I was sat on a comfy sofa drifting towards dream world I noticed the tall and slightly annoyed figure of my cousin waking towards me. It turns out he isn't too good at finding things either!

A short taxi ride later and we arrived at our home for the next few weeks - Sally's house - and promptly collapsed into a deep sleep.

The next morning we were introduced to Sally's four-year-old son Ochie, who, despite being turfed out of his comfortable double bed by two strangers, seemed relatively pleased to meet us. It was great to have a shower and get out of the clothes that we had been wearing since we'd left Vietnam, three days previous. The problem was that we still had no clean clothes to change into! It was then that Sally produced some of the most ghastly garments you are ever likely to see in your life. Two short sleeved shirts, a pair of denim shorts and particularly special pair of Union Jack shorts.

We needed to be brave - beggars can't be chosers. We were either going to be trend setters, unafraid to break away from the norm and try edgy new styles that fashion designers would be setting the catwalks on fire with in Paris next year... or we would look like complete muppets. I'll let you be the judge...

Imagine wearing that. It isn't a fancy dress party, that's how Steve and, more to the point, myself, were dressed as we rode through Bali's busy streets on our way to the beach. If going out in public wasn't bad enough, Sally had arranged to meet up with a couple of friends at the beach.

The beautiful golden sands and warm waters briefly distracted me from my clashing outfit, but I was soon brought back to reality by the sound of laughter. Not my own, but that em imaging from a small group of people a hundred yards up the beach. I looked around wondering what the source of their hilarity was, before realising it was me. It was Sally who was stood amongst her friends whilst they gazed at me with a mixture awe and pity. But mainly pity.

Although I'd met Sally's friends, Meredith and Amanda, briefly the previous evening - I think I had been dressed slightly more conservatively and it was now that I was making a bigger impression. In fact my shorts were so impressive that when another of Sally's friends, Grishka, turned up and couldn't find us, he was promptly asked if he was looking for the 'guy with the shorts'!

I had a feeling I wouldn't live this down for a while!

Despite them destroying any self respect I had left by saluting the shorts every time they saw me, we decided to spend the majority of our weekend with Meredith, Amanda and Grishka. Steve and I enjoyed splashing around in the warm water with Ochie - and Meredith's daughter, Scarlet - whilst Sally enjoyed the chance to splash unsuspecting locals by belly flopping in the water next to them.

In the evenings we ate together and I discovered that Amanda was struggling with an addiction to Balsamic vinegar and that Grishka was a Cornish bay from just over the wrong side of the border near Newquay. It turns out that we had some mutual friends.

Even though our luggage had still not arrived by the Sunday - two days after we'd landed in Bali - we were definitely beginning to embrace the island lifestyle. Talking late in to the night and then lying on a beach the next day. I could certainly get used to this. Even in those shorts.

May I see your boarding pass?

"I'm sorry, sir, you can't board with out a pass." The airline employee didn't look very sorry as he delivered the bad news.

"But we weren't given one. All we've got is this," I said hopefully holding out the crumpled stub from my previous boarding pass. The man looked at it with the sort of disdain reserved for real stupidity and calmly told us that we should've got one ourselves.

"Where?!" Steve and I said in unison, trying to show that we had looked properly and not just spent two hours eating fast food and playing on computers.

"There."

The man pointed in the direction of a fairly huge desk that had the word 'tranfers' written in big capital letters above it.

"Oh. There."

***

Singapore was my favourite airport. I'd only been there for five minutes, but I'd already decided that this small island nation's transport hub was better than the dozen or so I had visited in the previous month. Signs led to relaxation zones and free entertainment, there were soft reclining chairs instead of the hearing aid beige plastic seats that we had found in other places and, above all, the transfer process had not been painful and drawn out. Usually we had to endure at least two baggage checks and acquire a boarding pass from a stern faced security guard. This time, however, we just strolled through and found our gate with two hours to spare! It all seemed too easy. It was.

We were catching a connection to Indonesia and the tropical island of Bali. So, pleased to have some time to relax between long flights, we went off to explore the delights of the departure lounge. We had some food, sent an electronic postcard and played on the free games consoles. In fact, we were so engrossed playing on the new Xbox One, that we nearly missed the final boarding call for our flight! Running through the airport we were relieved to make it in time - only to have the aforementioned conversation.

In actual fact, I think we had the same conversation with a few more bemused people as we tried to explain to the TigerAir staff that no one in Vietnam or on the plane had instructed us to find the transfers desk before boarding. All of those conversations were to no avail though, as we were informed our luggage had already been taken off the plane. It would be transferred automatically, but we would have to pay for another flight and that plane wouldn't leave for another twenty-four hours. 

And so there we were, for want of a better word, stranded.

Suddenly the glittering airport didn't seem quite as inviting as it had done previously and so we decided to make our way into town and find some cheap lodgings. Except Singapore doesn't do cheap lodgings - it doesn't do cheap anything! Feeling slightly sorry for ourselves we traipsed through China town and paid a small fortune for some food and drink before returning to the sauna that our hotel had marketed as a bedroom and tried to get some sleep.

As a new day dawned, it brought with it a renewed sense of optimism and we realised that we had a few hours to explore the city - an added bonus to our trip's itinerary. Country number seven.

Despite the heat, the walk into central Singapore was really enjoyable. For the first time in two months cars actually stopped at zebra crossings and you didn't have to cover your mouth and nose in order to filter out some of the exhaust fumes! The most impressive thing about the place was the exciting architecture that gave the city its incredible skyline. Initially we walked through the imposing colonial style buildings that made up the city hall, courts and civic centres. They were in stark contrast to the gleaming glass giants that loomed above them, simultaneously reflecting the bright sun and the country's booming economic power.

In the center of these grand buildings stood two slightly smaller structures: the city's famous cricket club and its cathedral. The latter of the two proved to be our surprising venue for lunch - relieved that we didn't have to take out a mortgage to eat we gratefully paid a few dollars for a sandwich and a few crisps from two little old ladies who seemed to be running a booming business from the church's kitchen.

The afternoon took us in search of the city's F1 track so that I, being the geek that I am, could get a photo on the street circuit. We found a stretch of hallowed Tarmac on the harbourside but almost forgot to take a photo of the track as we were so mesmerized by the buildings that hugged the waterside. Most impressive of all of these was the Marina Bay Hotel - it dwarfed everything around it - it's three ginormous A-frames supporting a huge park and swimming pool like cards on top of their fifty plus storeys.

However, the more jaw dropping feats of architecture were only revealed once we'd walked through the Hotel. Protruding out into the sea lay the city's stunning Bay Gardens - a huge collection of exotic plants built around what can only be described as a man made forest. Giant metal trees covered in flora and fauna gave the place a very surreal, Alice in wonderland type feel.

We could've spent hours there, watching the world go by from the tree top walkway, but we had a flight to get and we didn't miss it. Again.

Half-an-hour later we found ourselves back in Terminal 2, this time we had our boarding cards and although we'd actually enjoyed our twenty four hours in Singapore, we were ready to start the next part of our adventure.

"Should I check they've got our luggage on board?" Steve asked as we walked toward the boarding gate.

"No," I chuckled, "They promised that they would transfer it yesterday. Surely nothing else could go wrong with this transfer."

Famous last words and all that...