Nanna's Bedtime Story

Sydney Snake – The Tale of a Reputable Reptile

Each morning when the sun was up and the ground comfortably warm but still glistening with dew Syd Snake would slither down to the pond, gaze into the water and have a chat with his old friend. Syd loved to chat, in fact he would do all the chatting, his friend was the best of listeners. His friend had heard of Syd's heroics for some years now, how he had been bailed up by a ferocious hissing tiger cat, how Syd had stood his ground and looked the cat in both eyes, flickered his tongue and.... this was Syd's favourite bit, the cat had arched its back and Syd had sprung like a flash of sun, quick as a snap of twig, sudden as a leaping trout...... Syd had lots of similes.

Then to the Epic Battle. How Syd's mouth had latched onto the nose of the cat, how his fangs had sunk into the side of its mouth, breathing its hot cat breath, how its scream had torn and tissued the air. Now, everyone knows that snakes are deaf but Syd could feel and sense the rent he said, the shaking trees he said, who watched with the birds, the insects, the reptiles and rocks, and how the sky, in fact the whole firmament was hushed in awe. And when it was over and a tattered and bloody victorious Syd had inched away from the supine feline with its mouth open to the sky and the fire leached from its eyes, the trees had cracked with approval, the birds sang with applause, the boulders rumbled and all the snakes in tree hollows, under rocks and those in the holes of the bowels of the earth all hissed as one with praise, SSSSSSSSydney,SSSSSSSSydney!

Then Syd was onto his conquests. I'm a shameless philanderer he said. I admit it. Another one last night. They come to me like sunbeams to flowers, like bees to blossom, like dew kissing the earth. I say to myself 'Sydney, you are incorrigible'. I am helpless and hopeless before them. They tantalise and entice, I am unable to resist. And why would I? They all fascinate and allure and I cherish each sweet heavenly curve. And you might ask Sydney what is your secret? And I reply that I am merely me and can only be myself. Oh and I always flatter the lady. Sincere flattery mind, for how could it be otherwise? They all know where to find a good cuddle: Sydney Snake, Pondside Rock, Cooleman Ridge.

Syd had lived at Pondside Rock as long as he could remember, and longer. He knew its inhabitants as they knew him, all the frogs, the dragonflies, the lizards, the turtles and birds, in fact years back these creatures had been wary around Pondside Rock. Now Syd, if he was lucky, might catch a dragonfly who had hovered ten ticks too long, an indiscreet young frog ''here I am so, here I am so'', a forgetful duckling who playfully poked around the pond bank and if Syd's luck was out, tree grubs.

These days Syd was not as agile, not that he realised it, and he was inclined to grumble. In fact he was grumbling to his friend right now, having finished the heroics and female conquests, that each morning he is awakened by loud footsteps of ''one of those infernal walkers with white hair and glasses'', not unlike this author, as he tromped loudly past Syd's rock. Now Syd resolved to do or die, he resolved to give the inconsiderate human a bite he wouldn't forget. And so it is that each morning Syd launches out of his hole with mouth agape and lands flat on his belly. He is just too slow. And then he slithers to the pond to cheer himself up by recounting his conquests to his old friend. And each evening he turns to his tail, blinks myopically and smiles a wide fangy Sydney charmer, saying “well hello you gorgeous creature! Sydney, you are indeed blessed... once again.”

Just A Wee Bedtime Story Aye for my Grand Children

Each morning Grandad walks up the hills and down into the valley.

There are lots of birds and animals and insects and trees and flowers and bushes.

There is a pond where the frogs like to croak to each other, and the ducks like to swim.

A fox sometimes comes to say hello to the ducks, before he tries to catch them and eat them.

Sometimes Grandad sees pretty parrots like the Blue Cheeked Rosella and the White Cheeked Rosella.

Look aren't they pretty? Why do you think they are called blue cheeked and white cheeked?

They fly in pairs like mummy and daddy. Or in a family like mummy and daddy and you.

They whistle to each other and look for seeds to eat. Can you hear them?

Sometimes Grandad sees a large black sad Raven bird calling Caw Caw. Why is the Raven sad? Perhaps it is hungry? Or perhaps it just likes to make a fuss and complain. Some people are like that aren't they? You're not like that, are you? Sometimes? I think sometimes we all are.

Sometimes he sees black and white hungry Magpies looking for meat, or insects, or worms. Do you like worms to eat?

And sometimes he sees a huge hungry eagle. The eagle is the King of Birds. It can carry away a baa lamb and eat it. It can't eat a Grandad unless he is dead. So Grandad keeps walking.

But it might fly down to look. See? The eagle says Grandad is too heavy to carry away.

Sometimes Grandad sees kangaroos eating grass or lying down. He makes a clicking noise with his tongue and says Hello Skippy. They stand and look at him. So would you.

Sometimes early in the morning he sees a fox coming home. Hello Mr Fox he says. Mr Fox has a foxy smile. He has a full tummy. Somewhere a little girl can't find a chicken called Henrietta Cluck or a wee fluffy bunny called Penelope Figgs. Never mind says her daddy, we'll buy another one. Yes.

Soon. Today.

Grandad and Nanna like to walk because exercise is good for us. It helps to keep you slim, not fat. Who do you know who is fat? Is she a little bit tubby or as wobbly as?

Would you say as wobbly as a jelly?

Grandad likes to drink beer. And wine. They make you fat.

Does your daddy drink beer and wine?

And your mummy? She likes wine does she?

At five o'clock in the afternoon Grandad opens his first beer. Yum he says.

Grandad likes a ciggie with his beer. He is a naughty boy. Ciggies are bad for you.

They can make you die.

Great Nanna has been smoking ciggies for 200 years. She is called the Human Chimney.

It's a building that smoke comes out of.

Good on you Great Nanna.

Too much wine makes you silly. Nanna likes wine. Yum she says.

When she comes home from work she has a glass of wine.

Grandad says have another one love, it's time to relax.

Grandad has a glass of wine after his beers. Naughty boy says Nanna.

Nanna makes a cup of tea before bed. Sometimes they skip the cup of tea.

Then Nanna likes to dance. Silly Nanna.

Holy Cow

The end of the day

at the barbecue

wind thrashing and heaving

like some blind animal

trapped in a slaughterhouse

shaking sensibility

order dismissed

and words

rise and billow

in bubbles bursting, blasting

and bellowing from

the belly of a bellicose cow

words like anarchy

antipathy

udder and

shudder

Close the cover

contain them all

but

a singed word slips

out

letter tips smoking

and whirls away

polyglot it's not

couldn't read it

stretched as it was

to spider silk

and now the veal says

where's my mummy?

You are ...kidding....?

and

the steak says here,

mummy's here darling

I don't believe you...

and I heard that sausage

snigger.... hey you

what is this...??

and now the rissoles

raise a grizzle

aunty aunty...

Aunty's here darlings

says the t-bone

aunty didn't know you

in your new clothes

now don’t cry you're not to blame

it had to come to this

they feed us and fatten us,

they slaughter us

grind us and flatten us

one minute we graze

golden in green

agrarian bliss

and next we're

a hundred humongous

meal deal choices

or being flamed on a barby

by a fool like this

who imagines voices...

what goes around, comes around

in the words of we Buddhist

bovines

I was him

yesterday

as he shall be me

tomorrow

Organic Peach

You rise early,
move slowly
in dream and light

gaze lazily
sleep slurred eyes
lured to loveliness



then
a soft caress
tentative
skin upon skin
lips and senses sup aroma

oh such sweet indulgence
sinking
flesh into flesh
and relish, relish
warm ripe flesh

well come sweet
lusciousness
well come sweet home

tongue through flesh
tantalising touch
hard textured tip

contrast the soft
succulence
sucking nectar
high as a honey
eater

cast away moment
each pulsating
moment
blissed

eyes skyward
beak ajar
wild wing beating morning
zest

The Angelus Bell

The Angelus Bell


The Angelus bell is silent now
the tongue torn from the root
the mouth agape in horror
at the bestial pursuit.

T'was once it sounded contemplation,
in quietude and prayer,
The Spirit sang through open fields,
the town and market square.

The temple doors now barred and bolted
congregations withered, gone
sacred sounds dissipate in
doof doof gym beat doofalong

The Burning Bush is a feature now
in rockery and shrub
with gnomes and plastic Moses,
Mary, Joseph and The Bub.

The exposition of hosts of priests
daily it seems like a dream
inversed:
Spit them out so, spit them out...,
all
Out the Judas cursed.

Of all the gifts that Heaven sent
the Kingdom of God within
gave to the poorest of the poor
love's solace from unholy law

My people are betrayed again
I rout your temples and scourge
your altars,
mud and straw, mud and straw
never needed
evermore

the Angelus bells are silent now
the call of the faithful departed
cracked and broken they bleed
in pain, my sacred broken hearted.

But blessed be the poor in spirit
and mercy be Thy name
Judge not for aye you will be judged
when the horsemen ride again

the desert eyes are opened wide
I stride through flaming sand
my feet are fired in the pot
my head is in my Father's hand

my head is in my Father's hand
to crush, Thy Will be done
oh my Father's mould be mine
I am your poor and lowly son

I see the temples time has built
such artifice of shame
a temple of my heart on fire
is all that shall remain

the god you made to your design
no sign could have foretold
my simple and my purest words
consigned so manifold

writ loud on bright and bloody sky
my name as one divine
those flags aloft and banners high
flutter in slaughter's chime

such sorrow rang out in my name
such horror hurrah drums aflame
such demon dancing sound from hell
such a rock filled wishing well

the desert eyes are opened wide
my feet are charred with words afire
grain revealed in a tree of truth
set in a blue and furnace sky

The angelus bell is silent now
as silent as the white faced moon
as silent as the blood that seeps
from history's unholy wound.

(c) Barry McGloin 2011

Eloise zooms in

Our fourth grandchild the beautiful Eloise, takes after her mum in beauty and is almost bald, just like her dad!!
An easy labour and a breeze ever since, as a daughter and grand child she gets full marks. And her big sister Safie makes sure that Eloise gets the attention she deserves, and that mummy gets all the help she can!










































Yes folks Cara says that Blatz is the go, or Blitz as she calls it!!


What else bin happening? Busy as usual. Trips to Melbourne, Nowra/ Mollymook twice, Corowa.
Denise and I had a great weekend with Vince and Christine Smith at picturesque Mollymook, then returned for our 35th wedding anniversary! Dinner at Rick Stein's restaurant, Bannisters.






A perfect location on the cliff overlooking bush and the ocean, an excellent menu and friendly helpful service. I enjoyed plump rich oysters from St Helens, and Denise's entree, a lobster 'raviolo' with spinach and basil sauce, was ''just delicious!'' We shared a huge cold seafood platter of prawns, oysters, mussels, crab and lobster, not forgetting the shy periwinkles.

In between courses we were given complimentary treats, savoury and sweet. The desert was superb and coffee and brandy pour moi was perfectment! The bottle of Spanish white wine was moreish, if not moorish. We will return.

The recent rains have filled Canberra dams, from 38% earlier in the year. The countryside and Canberra itself are festooned with new growth and flowers. Check out Denise's absolutely fab Spring flowers on our Picasa site

Cheap books can be found at the Milton antique store, near Rick Stein's, together with all sorts of interesting objects d'arts. In Canberra we have the best second hand bookshops in the country, and I rate Cantys as the best for reasonably priced, quality books, however you can find a bargain anywhere.

Books read recently include:
Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel, the 2009 Man Booker winner about Thomas Cromwell and Cardinal Wolsey coping with HenryVIII. I found it interesting in that her depiction of their characters differs from traditional readings. It is historical fiction and you can paint the colours in as you see them I guess. An enjoyable read, albeit idiosyncratic.

A Long Long Way by Irish author Sebastian Barry. A poetic book about a Dublin Fusilier in WW1, hated by the Home Rulers in his own country and mistrusted by the English, despite their huge sacrifice. A tragedy, and a terrible beauty.

The Blackwater Lightship by Colm Toibin. Again, a tale of sad beauty, perfectly written. Language to light the senses.


I finally got around to reading Robert Graves' autobiographical account of his life at boarding school and his service in WW1, Goodbye To All That, renowned as being one of the best accounts. A great read, the prose of poet Graves is so natural and fluid.

A Thousand Splendid Sons by Khaled Hosseini is an engrossing, exciting read. If you want insight to the Afghani situation with its warring tribal factions you should read this account. But much more, it is a story of friendship, love and human tragedy. Not to be missed!

Hellfire by Nick Tosches is a fascinating insight into rock 'n roller Jerry Lee Lewis. In dirt farming Ferriday the poor were succoured by the Holy Ghost and the Hidden Hooch, and enticed by the Lure of The Devil, and you were hot or cold, never lukewarm, and Jerry Lee became seduced by the Whore of Fame. I have posted a review on Amazon.

What's new musically?

The Steeldrivers

I came to the Steeldrivers through Mike Henderson's Bluebloods, a fabulous blues band which issued ''First Blood'' and ''Thicker Than Water'' in the late 1990s. Solos from Henderson's guitar and John Jarvis' piano always surprised and were never clichéd like so many others, and this from Nashville session musos! So, I checked Amazon recently to see if the Bluebloods had issued another album, and I found that Henderson had formed a rootsy bluegrass unit called The Steeldrivers. Soon after I found an excellent Rounder compilation called Sinner's Prayer and The Steeldrivers track ''If It Hadn't Been For Love'' was in the prime second spot. I was impressed. Then, while down in Melbourne I found their initial CD in a second hand store, I couldn't believe my luck. So I ordered Reckless through Amazon and I've been listening to it for a couple of weeks. In short, it resonates. It has power depth and soul. It is organic, unpretentious, light years from slick Nashville sounds and it is encouraging to note that the group is based there. I have posted a review on Amazon.

What else? I was blessed to see Leonard Cohen at a vineyard in Bowral, an incandescent night in 2008. A glass of sauvignon blanc with Leonard and friends among the eucalypts - there is nothing in life to compare, almost. I only regret that we didn't get to see him at Woodend recently. But, for consolation, you can buy his Live in London DVD or CD, or the recently released Songs From The Road, DVD and CD for a pittance - the Aussie dollar is fluffing its fandango.

Two bargains I found recently are Linda Thompson's Fashionably Late (2002) and Graham Parker's Struck By Lightening (2004). I found Linda's CD at The Salvos for $3. What?? Brand new. How did it get there? You don't hock goods at the Salvos. I assume someone died and whoever was dealing with the estate had no idea of the worth. Songs are written by Linda or Teddy Thompson and accompanied by ex hubby Richard, Martha and Rufus Wainwright, their parents the McGarrigles, plus the Waterson Carthy dynasty in fact all the cutting edge folk luminaries are there. Songs are tops. Parker's album I found for $3 at Dixon's Recycled in Brunswick St. My original went up with the house in 2003. A very good later Parker album. I was blessed again.

The Cds with each Songlines magazine continue to provide new and exciting music from around the globe. Others I liked are Electric Gypsyland remixes, Lucille Bogan's Reckless Woman, a 1920s blues artist who also recorded as Bessie Anderson/Jackson. I revisited Fleetwood Mac for my U3A group presentation, listening to the original Peter Green band - of Brit blues this surely was the finest. Also listened to Mac's last release Say You Will from 2008, minus Christine McVeigh, and it is surprisingly good, the band can still rock and Buckingham is as adventurous as he was in Tusk.

Tom Waits' chosen tracks for his Mojo Mag disc were eclectic but US music mostly - I was pleased to find Dylan's 100 miles/ I was Young when I left Home, also Big Mama Thornton's Ball and Chain, later recorded by Janis Joplin, but for me Big Mama does it. Sierra Leone's Refugee All stars release Rise and Shine is a winner. I reviewed it on Amazon. Hendrix's Valleys of Neptune is a welcome addition, all good stuff and at least 3 tracks close to being definitive, Red House, Hear My Train A Comin and Stone Free. His humour and sense of fun is apparent throughout.

Faith

The pond
struck dumb by drought.
ducks, dragonflies and frogs
oh the frogs...., all shot through.
The stricken face laid bare,
cracked and bleached like a dislodged skull.
It won't come back.
In fact it'll sound down the country
like a creeping parasitic moan.


Now..... rains beat out of a lusty sky
all flash and clamour
heaving
with such urgency
to jibe and tack
three days and nights,
the piracy of a damn fool flood
hissing and crackling and taunting
the comatose country
to... rise.
Rise up
you sleeping rivers and lesser beds,
I flush and swell your streams and creeks
rise up rise up
the sound of fortune sings in your valleys
awake and sail in my largesse
billow and bloom again
billow and bloom again
prettier than a piece of eight.

Now the frogs are back!!
The frogs are back
with their rat a tat tat
machine gun chat
Nailing positions
just to be sure,
just to be sure.

Perth, Freemantle and Bali

photos can be found on my Picasa site http://picasaweb.google.com/barry.mcgloin

PERTH AND FREEMANTLE

The middle class suburbs of Perth's north shore all appear newly minted almost artificial as you watch the many weekend joggers along the strand do their best for body and soul. We were there for Denise's Aunt Irene's 80^th, great to catch up with people you haven't seen for years and we all enjoyed a lovely celebration for a lovely lady. The trammels of time......, but everyone looked splendid, and I'm sure they thought Denise and I looked splendid too!!

Marinas have rows of white yachts for sale, some close to $0.5m, there is more than a sniff of wealth here, if not an overpowering pomade. Yet graffiti near the long sandy beach warns that stabbings occur in this tidy splendour, which sped up my walk no end. We wandered around Freemantle's old streets, once the scene of hardship, larikins, looneys and the lash, now flush with the tourist dollar from markets to harbour. Ye olde Victorian and Georgian buildings have been airbrushed and gentrified, the former Lunatic Asylum now the National History Museum and former warehouses now part of the medical University of Notre Dame. The howl of the convict is echoed now in the howl from Ipods playing Freemantle's famous son, the diminutive but loud Bon Scott of AC/DC, whose grave is a National Heritage site and visited by thousands of fans. Poor bugger can't sleep.

The harbour is now spruce with piscatorial eateries and together with Geoff and Bernice we tasted Freemantle's No 1 Best Fish and Chips from the Italian restaurant which we all enjoyed. The next day we returned and had lunch at the Greek Freemantle's No 1 Best Fish and Chips, delicious. A visit to a second hand bookshop reaped some treasures but more expensive than Canberra where we are blessed with a number of quality bookshops (especially Canty's), which sell quality books at reasonable prices.

THE FLIGHT

There we were, the plane was chokkers, all aboard and ready to take off when the Captain announced that a ''technical fault'' had been found and that the engineer was on his way. Some two hours later we boarded another plane, well thankfully they were taking no risks. In the meantime Denise had phoned Taman Harum Cottages to advise that we would be arriving at least two hours later than expected. No problem, the driver would wait. The flight was rough, the plane bumped, buffeted and burped about in a bellyache sky – Denise had a number of cushioning wines. We eventually arrived at around 2am, found our driver and were into a familiar S.E. Asian night with its earthy, pungent aroma, mixed with incense and perfume, smoke and humus. Ahhhhh!!

Bali

THE ACCOMMODATION

I posted this review of Taman Harum on Trip Advisor:

We arrived at Taman Harum after 3:00am, walked along a path on a balmy night through lush vegetation to our two storied cottage. Clean and roomy, a large four poster bed both downstairs and upstairs, table and wardrobe, scattered artwork. The balcony outside the bedroom upstairs overlooks trees (possibly star fruit) and rice paddies. The cacophony at 3am is amazing, frogs, insects and what else? You are seemingly in the jungle, yet it is quiet inside. The shower is open Balinese style – nothing between you and lush vegetation, unless you want to use the screen, but we enjoyed the sensuality, hey.... tropical and exotique.

Breakfast is either continental, Asian or the full monty. Fruit juices are several and delicious, fruits, good eggs done to your liking, the bacon is good in Bali unlike elsewhere in SE Asia (the Balinese enjoy their pork), but the sausage has little going for it, toast, jams, tea or the excellent Balinese coffee. Music is ubiquitous in Bali and the soft liquid notes blend with the sound of water in the warm, (slightly) smoky, flower perfumed Asian morning. The staff are cheerful, helpful and friendly.

Taman Harum is located in the artisan village of Mas, which is 10 to 15 minutes south of Ubud and you can book the complementary shuttle. Alternatively you can arrange through the staff to hire a car or motor bike which we found a convenient way to travel, using the shuttle to and from Ubud restaurants at night. The swimming pool is inviting with its lounges, mosaics and statuettes and you could imagine yourself in an ancient Roman indulgence, but a Balinese indulgence is fine.

UBUD and getting around

Ubud is inland, about 45mins from the nearest coast, on the rise towards volcanic slopes. Set in rice paddies, vegetation and jungle but besieged by the traffic of commerce and tourists, you need to move away from the main routes to find peace. It isn't hard, even a walk down Ubud's many long narrow back streets will find discrete, well established and resplendent gardens poised behind ancient walls. The dwellings within, and often the walls themselves are a work of art, being painstakingly constructed by artisans. Ubud has an artistic heritage and there are galleries galore, of varying quality from what we saw, but because our stay was short we hired a motor bike and headed out off the beaten track.

The rented motor scooter cost me 60,000 rupiah per day, about $8 plus petrol. Out onto the great SE Asian grid of moving humanity you become at one with Asian Purpose, enveloped by Asian aromas of warm earthy vegetation, cooking, smoke, incense, humus and traffic fumes (until you move off the main roads). A great way to travel and in my list of Top 10 pleasurable experiences....

We have hired motor scooters in Thailand, Laos, Vietnam and now Bali so we are comfortable with it. The best for me for views and skill was around SaPa, the northern region near the Chinese border in Vietnam. Riding out of a valley climbing a dirt mountain road to find a water fall has eroded the surface to pot holes and then gun the bike so close to the edge of a drop was a mite hairy but ah yes, very exhilarating.

The Balinese are fervently religious, those we encountered loved to talk about it. Most, particularly in the tourist business speak English very well. Their general aim is to perform good works in order to provide descendants with the best karma. Each morning offerings are made to the spirits, both for the good spirits and also to appease the bad guys. Such offerings are found even in the middle of the road, at a crossroad, evil spirits reside everywhere. You see trees wrapped in black and white chequered cloths which represent good and evil forces. Statues and carvings of magnificent monsters are everywhere – the Balinese recognise and visualise the forces counter to achieving a good productive life, for instance, by excessive drinking. That said, the local beer Bali Hai is reasonably priced, of excellent quality and aptly named. Bintang is the brew from Jakarta, also excellent, and the noise you hear when the bottle top strikes the bin.

We travel north on the Denpassar Road then west toward the Goa Gajah, or Elephant Cave. The man at the servo asks ''German?'', then smiles when we say “Australian''. Aussies are liked here, despite the young yahoos who come in droves to the Kuta Beach area. The ladies at the stalls outside the temple try to rent us saris (appropriate temple attire) but we decline and then find that they are included with the entrance fee.

Holy pools and shrines Batman, the elephant cave is within a black gaping mouth, which could be either the earth god Bhoma, or the widow-witch Ragda, or perhaps a combination of both. Whatever, beware all who enter..... Inside the elephant god Ganesh is at one end and phallic emblems of the god Siwa at the other. Interestingly, neither of my photos of the gods came out, just a round glow from where the gods are placed, but you can see the cave sides and offerings clearly. Weird.

From Goa Gajah we step down into a beautiful gorge. Lush green moss covered boulders, ancient trees with tendril roots and a stream with lily covered ponds, exotic plants abound. We follow the forest path above the valley finding another temple, make a donation to assist restoration, sign the book. The somewhat slippery and muddy pathway leaving the temple descends towards the river and we are lucky to meet a young girl who guides us down. The path becomes narrow and hazardous, a slip would plunge you into the swift flowing river. Denise decides to stop.

The girl is confident and holds out her hand as we step carefully along the dripping cliff face to a bamboo bridge with a single guide rail. Needless to say I'm apprehensive, the bridge is not that stable, and I'm relieved to reach the other side. Here is a wide, low roofed cave, and filled with bats, so she says.

Her name is Wyung, the name given to the first child. She is fourteen and hopes to develop her English and become a guide. She is a lovely girl, open and friendly. Do I want to go into the cave? And disturb the bats I reply....?? Maybe next time.....On the way back she takes us to another small temple. There are temples everywhere. That afternoon I have a Balinesian oil massage. Wonderful.

Apart from Goa Gajah we also visit other temples, the water purification temple at the holy springs, Tirta Empul. Here the then President Sukarno holidayed in a large house overlooking the temple grounds and he allegedly used a telescope to spy on the girl bathers, so it says in our guide book. We also visit the 11^th century shrines at Gunung Kawi. Pictures are on my picasa site.

Eating in Ubud

Our daughter Cara has visited Bali twice and was not so impressed with the local cuisine by comparison to Thailand or Vietnam, so we were not expecting much in the way of epicurean delights. But while we found little street fare by comparison to Thailand and Vietnam we were pleasantly surprised with the restaurant cuisine. Visitors to Ubud are well served by the number of restaurants but also the variety of domestic and international cuisine.

On our first day we had lunch at Miros – not Greek but local – barbecued chicken marinated in Balinese spices pour moi, Denise had a selection of sambals with duck. Excellent. A great start. Dinner the following night at Arys Warung, a stylish restaurant was very good – I had prawns as an entrée and pork because the Balinese love pork – Denise had duck. The waiters/waitresses were wonderful. We overlooked the temple complex opposite, the skies opened and no not a Balinese god but rain which pelted down and added to the atmosphere. You can check out their website

The third Balinese cuisine experience in Ubud was totally different. Masakan Padang is more a café with its down home Indonesian/Sumatran dishes on display in the window. No table service you simply find a seat, go to the window and point to your choices which are plated. We chose a number of interesting looking small portions, asked for chilli sambols and sat down with a drink – wonderful, in fact it so impressed us that we came back for a takeaway tea. Around $AUD5.00 for both of us i.e. all up. Wow!!

Opposite Ubud Palace is Warung Babi Gulung which is famous for its roast Balinese piglet. The restaurant was recently featured in Rik Stein's SE Asian series on SBS Australia. But alas the queue was daunting and we ended up at Ryoshi Japanese restaurant. Loved it. The sashimi selection was really fresh, as it should be but sadly not always, the barbecued selection was perfect, and the wasabi exploded! As Japanese food should be, clean, fresh sharp flavours, simply beautiful food and presentation!

How many Nyomen?

Nyoman is the name given to the third child, but it can also be the eighth child.

Well there we were walking in Ubud like a pair of tourists and who should we meet but Nyoman, a cheery guy who spoke English very well and offered his driving services, a day tour, wherever – cost around $AUD40. Good stuff. We said that we would keep it in mind, maybe tomorrow.

So the following day we booked the free shuttle from Taman Harum and on the way the driver asked where we were going and said that his good friend had an excellent vehicle and spoke English very well, perhaps we would like a price? So it sounded good and we didn't know whether Nyoman would be there anyway, nor the type of vehicle he had, so we agreed to the same price.

Well no sooner had we arrived in Ubud when we spotted Nyoman.... looking very cheery, he waved and we waved, but less cheery when another vehicle pulled up and whisked us away. The new driver whose name also turned out to be Nyoman said no problem, his friend.

All went well, Nyoman2 drove us to the temple, up the mountain for lunch overlooking the volcano and more temples, a coffee plantation and at the end of the day when we were all satisfied he offered his services for future drives. We said we intended to motor bike around the following day, which we did. The day after we were off to Sanur so we decided to contact Nyoman1 to compensate for having given the original drive to Nyoman2. But who should arrive to pick us up but Nyoman2.

This was odd. We thought we had used the wrong number but good old Nyoman2 seemed a bit miffed and on the way he asked why we had contacted Nyoman1. We explained that because we had promised (albeit loosely) the first Nyoman we had felt bad about given the job to him, Nyoman2. No problem he is friend, said N2, we work together. Now that explained the phone call.

So, going further N2 was happy to provide information about the religion which they live and breath and I asked why umbrellas were often seen with statues. Well here I had hit a mother-lode of information with N2 explaining the epic Ramayama story about the monkeys building the bridge and the Hindu heroes in full detail which went for most of the journey, about 45 minutes. We parted on good terms and once ensconced in Sanur we hired the motorbike again and organised a drive around the region. Who should turn up but another Nyoman. N3 was as good as you'd expect a Nyoman to be....

Support Police Superannuation

I have hired motorbikes, well motor scooters to be precise, in Hanoi, SaPA, Van Vieng in Laos, Chang Mai and numerous times in Ao Nang, Thailand. You don't need an international driver's licence (IDL), they don't ask for it. You sign the form which exculpates the renter from any legal obligation and puts your head in the noose if anything happens; you pay your money and take your chances. Some places ask for your passport which they retain until the bike is returned. I know, foolhardy you might say, but you take your chances.

(pic taken Van Vieng, Laos)

However I'd read about the police in Bali being stringent on the motorised tourist. I checked the web and one school of thought was that the cost of an on the spot fine/donation is less than the cost of the IDL. Another was you wouldn't drive without a valid licence in your own country, so why here? Well I didn't want any problems with the local police so I obtained my IDL from the NRMA.

So, we decided to ride to Kuta, the main tourist arena, a distance of approximately 20ks. A very windy day out on the highway, blow a rhino off a ride on mower..... a modest pace pour moi. Eventually we hit Kuta and seemed to drive around in circles in three lane roads chokkers with traffic, fumes and noise, round and round like a chook with its foot cut off.....a fly in Barnaby's head......, cockroach down a drain? Ok not the imagery I wanted but you get the drift. Denise being the impatient, well er...pragmatic person decided to ask for directions and so eventually we found the beach, and wandered around enjoying the sights. On leaving we were pestered by a persistent Nyoman selling share accommodation, and Denise's scratchy was revealed as a cam corder!! “Scuze me lady you won very special prize”....... We made the getaway and rode into the vast mass of motorised humanity.

Now, road rules when it comes to an intersection, according to Nyoman2, is ''who goes first gets there, unless someone crashes into you''. So, when turning I would ride on the inside of another vehicle which would effectively ''shepherd'' me from oncoming traffic. When the highway reached Sanur a truck was turning right and I stayed close but alack and alas it decided to make a u-turn, so I pulled up........on the pedestrian crossing.

Ok. I should have backed off the crossing and I failed to spot the nice policemen with the smiling faces. I could come to the station, fill out forms for a number of hours, wait around, or I could pay the 100,000 rupiah now. They had me by the Brindabellas as we say in Canberra. I paid. It wasn't painful, about $14, but a nice little earner for those guys. According to the bloke at the bike shop it is usually about 50,000 rupiah. The strange thing is that the bike's owner had placed an offering to the Traffic Spirit on the front of the bike. Well maybe it saved me from being undercharged....

SANUR

Our daughter Cara suggested the beach side Sanur as being more leisurely and elegant than Kuta. We had booked at Segara Village, a large resort which opens on to the beach. This was a bit of a splash and in contrast to the moderate country Balinese experience of Mas/Ubud. While the resort is tourist oriented it does maintain its Balinese identity with two temples within the beautiful gardens, plus the spirit and god statues and of course the cheerful and obliging staff – no Balinese Basil Faulty here. The gardens have been designed, as all Balinese gardens, in accordance with religious stipulations, and each day a priest performs a ceremony in a temple presumably to appease the evil spirits and praise the good guys. This about fifty paces from the jacuzzi pool where later in the day the cool Euro types wade towards the cocktail bar to the pulse of Asian lounge music.

Sanur is a centre for black and white magic, according to our guidebook, so the daily offerings are all important. Outside the resort along the beach pathway are markets and the ladies from the stalls take turns in trying to entice tourists to buy. They are persistent but they enjoy a bit of sport, a good laugh. We bought a couple of shirts from a lady called Coco who told me that she had been cursed by a person who was jealous of her family. She became very sick and called in an exorcist, in the end having to move house.

Their belief is fundamental to their life, much as it was in the old Scots/Irish Catholic black and white days when you were chased by the Devil – he was in colour, all black with a red hot tongue according to my sister Colleen..... - and his minions, and all his ''works and pomps'' beguiled you, and you prayed to the saints to intercede for you. You lit candles and placed them before the side altar. The priest swung the censer with the incense to signify prayers rising with a pleasing aroma to The Big Y'un, and to get up the Devils nose.

From what I've read the Balinese regard their religion as fun. The Catholic religion of my youth was anything but fun. If you chomped on a pie on a Friday and were hit by a bus you could find yourself shovelling shite for eternity. For an imaginative healthy youth the ever present spectre of sin was an onerous burden. One wonders about those pie eaters who were sent down the shute before the goalposts changed.

Again we used the bike to explore many back roads and lanes through villages. The countryside is is just minutes away from the coast, and villages following the coast south of Sanur are prosperous and attractive.

Music is pervasive in Bali, more so than other SE Asian countries. The player combos are called a gamelan, ranging from a duo to an orchestra. The instruments are plucked or struck, drums and strung instruments apart from flutes, creating a liquid, bell like hypnotic sound, which meanders pleasantly around your brain and around again. Segara Resort had a trio which played during breakfast, but they also had acoustic duos and fiery r'n b bands; there are some excellent musicians in Bali.

Music is everywhere. One night I sought a sound which seemed to be a muezzin call to prayer but turned out to be a Balinese Hindu preaching over loud speakers. Male groups were gathered in gardens for instruction and prayer. I walked through towards the beach past feeling like an intruder but they took no notice. Down on the beach path a reggae band pumped out rasta fare. At another beach restaurant was a solo artist. On the main thoroughfare an Irish pub jumped to jigs and reels. At other cafés and pubs crowds gathered to watch the soccer world cup finals. So much variety.

Eating in Sanur

Sanur earlier on was the centre for Bali's best cuisine and even now has some top restaurants, ranging from haute cuisine to the popular beach front blackboard fare. For lunch we sat out on the beach tables at the Beach Café, tasted their quick and fresh blackboard specials barbecued chilli prawns and garlic calamari, and one day I tried their steak sandwich – excellent! Mixed barbecued seafood on Jalil Danou Tarnblingan was very good and reasonably priced but one lunchtime we headed south on the bike to find the best Italian food anywhere at Massimo Restaurant. Their swordfish in garlic butter was just superb, the fish succulent, the sauce heavenly. Denise was in raptures over linguine crab, tomatoes garlic and chilli. Needless to say we returned twice, for their lauded Saltimbocca alla Romana and their Lecce speciality pizzas, both very good but the swordfish was the trip highlight for me. We also returned to Japanese cuisine, the Sanur Ryoshi, again very good but not quite up to the Ubud standard.

Overall Bali was an enjoyable experience, geared more toward the commercial tourist end of the market. The Balinese are friendly and happy and we felt welcome and safe there. There's much more to see, but perhaps after another visit to Thailand.