Why Drinking and Dentists Don't Mix

Perhaps in hindsight it was somewhat misjudged to stay up until 3am last night with the husband and a well-intentioned but somewhat 'naughty' mate who popped over with a big smile and a bottle of Gordon's Gin just as we were getting ready for bed.  I was just trying to be sociable...and after all, we are leaving Bali in twelve days.  Besides, it was a rare rain-free night and how was I to know that a cheeky gin & tonic would turn into a relative waterfall of distilled juniper?!

At any rate, it wasn't until this morning, with the husband and I staring stupidly across the table at each other at our favourite cafe, trying to jolt our brains into the 'on' position by way of two extra strong lattes, that it suddenly dawned on me that I had a date with a dental surgeon in a few short hours.

At the best of times this realisation would have been pretty dire, but barely able to stomach a single bite of muffin and dimly aware that I was operating at about the mental level of a five year old, it was enough to give me the fear.

And fear it was that consumed me as I lay cranked back in the dental chair, shortly after noon, as the dentist tried to inject me and I fought valiantly against the urge to vomit on the plastic gloved hand she had cranked into the back of my mouth.  Fighting my gagging reflex I momentarily distracted myself by trying to blindly locate the fast forward button on the ipod in my lap so I didn't have to listen to Johnny Cash's rendition of 'Hurt' at full volume (which by the way is a great track but SO not what you want to listen to while your inner cheek is getting stabbed by a bored looking dentist and the half-asleep assistant manning the suction wand.)  Nightmare.  Several times throughout the ensuing next hour I grabbed her wrist and yanked it out of my mouth, nearly drilling a hole in my bloated tongue by accident.  I didn't care.  

It also dawned on me that the language barrier was probably not a huge help in determining exactly what procedure was being done to me and why.  I found it disconcerting that she had refused to do something I had asked her to do last time (or at least that's what I thought she was saying?) but this time she happily acquiesced with a shrug.  Huh?!  

Anyway, I'm home safe and sound now and my teeth look - well pretty much the way they did before to be honest - but that's not the point.  

I survived it and now if I can just make it to bed and fall asleep without the husband cottoning on, perhaps I can get out of bedtime duties tonight (and by that I don't mean those of the conjugal variety but rather the nightly skirmish involving showers/teeth/jammies and two very dirty, slightly naughty little boys.)

I'm outta here.....

"Farewell In-Home Massages, Childcare and Lattes...the Two Week Bye-Bye Bali Countdown Begins..."

Today, climbing the steps into my favourite cafe...a place I like to visit in the afternoons for a restorative caffeine injection, I fell flat on my face...my laptop crashing onto the ground and my pride severely wounded.  I was shocked to find that no one appeared to even notice, and to hide my embarrassment I began muttering inanities to myself, about myself, as I made my way to my favourite table.  I don't know what's wrong with me.  Later, halfway home, to top it all off, I realised I'd even forgotten my book at the table.

Never mind.  We'll be back there in several more hours.  It's our Saturday morning tradition to take the monsters there for breakfast at 8:30am, shortly after it opens, so as to ensure we get back home in time for our 10am massages.  I'm writing all this down so I can smack myself in the head a few months down the line when all the childcare, leisurely lattes, dinner deliveries, twice weekly massages, and staff of three are a distant memory (sigh).

When we are once again ensconced in our primitive cement home across from the beach in Goa, our clothes strung on washing lines hung between two windows because we don't have any wardrobes - or furniture for that matter - save a couple of plastic chairs and two beds.   I just know I shall recall our luxurious treetop home in Bali with a sigh of nostalgia....or maybe not?

See, thing is, subconsciously I suppose, I'm trying to fill my head with all the negative things I can (and it's pretty hard...believe me) to make leaving this Balinese paradise bearable.  I'm thinking of the delicious food I've been eating on strict rotation (a creature of habit) for almost five months now non-stop.  Dare I say it?  I found myself actually craving a curry today.  Go figure.  I haven't even been able to stomach Indian cuisine since we left India, simply because four months of nothing but left me nearly gagging at the sight of a samosa.

So now the tides have turned, and I find myself ready to trade the now habitual rains here in Bali for the sands of Goa.  And speaking of sand, I guess the thing I'm most looking forward to is having the gorgeous Arabian Sea to swim in again.  I miss swimming.  That's the only thing this villa of ours lacked.

There was of course the one time we snuck into a local resort down the road and tried to use their pool surreptitiously, but of course got caught out when Egg,  shrieking with delight, made it fairly obvious that we were not residents by repeatedly querying why we were allowed to swim there for free when we weren't even staying there?

Another thing I won't miss is the mould.  It is so damp here in Bali, that most of our belongings have become ridden with the stuff.  My Steve Madden black leather gladiators (what on earth was I thinking?), my cosmetic case, my specs, my clothes...you name it - it's gone green.  Oh well.  A quick peek in my closet confirms that I've done a fairly thorough job of bolstering my stricken wardrobe by availing myself of pretty nearly every cool item of clothing to be found on this island.  Oops.  Two words:  luggage allowance (gulp).

I was going to say that I won't miss the numerous rabid dogs...but then I recall (not so fondly) being chased by packs of Goan dogs on the beaches during my morning runs, so perhaps that's a moot point.

No really....I guess the thing i'm going to miss the most...if I must be absolutely honest...is the coffee.  The gloriously rich, creamy lattes and cappuccinos I've been indulging in twice daily now for months.  How long will it be till another of those passes my lips I wonder?

But then I think of my beloved Chai.  I guess it kind of evens out in the end....(almost).

Oh Bali...I think I'm gonna miss you...I really do.  

(But I'll be back....you just wait and see).

In A Restaurant Rut

Sorry for the silence...I realise it's been several days since I last posted.  A few times a year I take a little break from my blog - usually when life is a touch troublesome and all my attention is getting spent on the mundane...just getting through the days.

Our staff of three is now down to a staff of one, on account of various bugs, illnesses and flu.  As we wind down to our last few weeks in Bali, it seems as though things are losing their lustre a little.

Take food for example.  When we first got here, after the simplistic groceries we made do with from our  local village shop in Goa, the supermarkets here blew our minds.  We went mental on brand names:  Ritz Crackers....Oreo Cookies...Jiff Peanut Butter...Smucker's Raspberry Jam...Pringles....you name it we indulged.

But then, something funny happened.  We started going off our favourite foods after prolonged exposure.  I even had my fill of freshly prepared gourmet salads (as is well documented in previous posts!).

Then the Restaurant Rut hit.

We have a handful of favoured restaurants here in Bali - loved for their proximity to our home, the tastiness factor, and how likely the monsters are to actually eat their dinner.  But after four months of these same restaurants, it's starting to wear thin.

Yesterday I found myself hankering for a homemade lasagna.  Then I began salivating over the memory of my favourite M&S Sarnie (Cheese and Celery if you must know) and Salt 'N Vinegar crisps.

Dare I say it...dare I admit it?

Yep, I find myself MISSING British food.

I must have a flu bug or something which has gone to my brain.  How else to explain?

Of course, next month when we're back in India and onto our usual fare of Dal and Chappati every day...I expect I'll have something to moan about then too.

Still, at this present moment, if I never see another Nasi Goreng again in my life it will be too soon.

"Rabies-n'-Flu...Rabies-n'-Flu...I've Gotta Watch Out For Rabies-n'-Flu"

Have recently become concerned.  Our gardener hasn't been here in days, and I shudder to think of what wildlife is thriving in the neglected lawn below.  The poor fellow has been off sick - with what we're not entirely sure - but enough to necessitate a hospital visit.

Then yesterday Kadek the Pembantu begged off early as she was looking rather feverish and her eyes were rolling in her head.  As she departed I asked whether she could drop off our laundry on her way home (we're in the midst of a severe 'pants crisis' at the moment and Egg and the husband are the only ones with a clean pair left, whilst poor Dumps and I have been having to go commando...)

Kadek just looked at me, shaking her head.  I know she must think me a complete cow - but hey, I had to ask.  Then, in a conciliatory gesture, I offered her our salad remains for her pet pig, but she just stared at me, no doubt cementing her opinion of me as a totally oblivious and/or heartless employer. 

If you consider that the husband and wife of our local restaurant have also recently been struck down with Denge Fever (the husband ascertained this once he realised that he was putting in our dinner order to the fellow via the local hospital) it does not really bode well.  That's ALL we need.

Oh yeah, and did I mention the recent outbreak of Rabies here in the local area?  Nice...