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.