Before leaving Sanur we stop in town to get local pre-paid SIMs. The shopkeeper kindly installs and registers them for us but wants cash so I nip to the ATM. An ear-splitting alarm goes off then I realise it just wants me to remove my card. SIMmed up we leave the hotel and head down the by-pass looking for the Korean run dive centre we hear needs some marketing savvy - the rumours were spot-on because we couldn't find it!
Ahh the open road - well not quite open, it takes us an hour of near-death experiences before we find the quiet back roads. Before long we stumble upon our guest house for the night.Probably one of the most bizzare places we've ever stayed, It's a temple; but only used on special occasions, in the mean time the host (an artist) has two rooms he lets. There is no main house but (say) 8 bungalows, the largest 2 of which are dekked-out for visiting royalty (or rock stars as both Mick Jagger and David Bowie stayed here). A plot is set aside for dining, our bedroom (which I'll come to in a mo), another guest bedroom and the rest is used by the family. The poor chap has to maintain the houses and all the gardens on his own, time he'd rather spend painting. This is strictly a homestay experience not an hotel.
Have you ever been to Longleat? And seen the Marquis of Bath's paintings? Now imagine that is reality and you're living in his mind. Quite extraordary. Completely the opposite of the simple, clean, minimalist lines you associate with Indonesian style. Everywhere you look there is a cacophony of decoration. As the small notice by the shower basin says he'll need to light 10 candles for hot water we make do with ambient temp water for a quick freshen before our miniature spatchcocked chicken supper. 
By now we have both been dressed in traditional saris ready to head into the village as we've arrived on a special celebration day for the goddess of wisdom. 
We are ushered in to the ceremony but feel out of place and back out. Our host drives us (in our car) to witness the temple blessings and dance show. Next morning we have breakfast and after are joined by whatsisnames father who has a very british accent and proceeds to explain the importance of the kite in Balinese culture. He is after all The Pioneer of this art. This is interesting but he then probes us about the role of the monarchy in British government; extraordinary. 
Whatsisface with his daughter and small dog leads us (by car) to his plot of land which he is trying to sell us - very pretty place but too remote for us. Besides not ready to be rice farmers just yet. He guides us back to the right road and we say goodbye.
The roads are a delight, round every bend is a new vista, tiered paddy field, fruit & vegetable plot, Monkey feeding-station or car-swallowing pot-hole. At one village some sort of celebration is taking place with dozens of white-dressed people in the road - impress myself by not mowing any down. We stop at a village crossroads for lunch, find a wizened old lady making packed lunches for the locals and get ushered into a stark room with 3 tables and some chairs. Wait 2 minutes then a plate of stuff appears. Stuff is excellent and we gobble it all up (note no beer). Duly fed & watered we push on to find our next hostellery. The road is getting steeper and soon we hairpin it up to what feels like the top of the world. To the left the rice terraces fall away to the crater lakes below while above a blanket of cloud hides the peaks of the Batu Karu & Mount Lesong & Mount Sangging volcanos. A few more twists and turns and we arrive at Munduk and the Puri Lumbung Cottages for a couple of nights R&R. No phone signal or internet but the drinks menu looks promising...
Next morning we tour the grounds and set off towards town. Don't know if we found it, just a slightly more densely populated bit of the road. Every other house has something drying outside: coffee cherries, cloves and stuff we can't identify. Nip into one where an old woman and her daughter are seperating the cloves from their stalks ready for drying.
Chill in our room for rest of the afternoon (and it does get chilly in the hills at night) and make plans for exploring the north coast tomorrow - and the prospect of diving at last.
We are ushered in to the ceremony but feel out of place and back out. Our host drives us (in our car) to witness the temple blessings and dance show. Next morning we have breakfast and after are joined by whatsisnames father who has a very british accent and proceeds to explain the importance of the kite in Balinese culture. He is after all The Pioneer of this art. This is interesting but he then probes us about the role of the monarchy in British government; extraordinary. 
Whatsisface with his daughter and small dog leads us (by car) to his plot of land which he is trying to sell us - very pretty place but too remote for us. Besides not ready to be rice farmers just yet. He guides us back to the right road and we say goodbye.The roads are a delight, round every bend is a new vista, tiered paddy field, fruit & vegetable plot, Monkey feeding-station or car-swallowing pot-hole. At one village some sort of celebration is taking place with dozens of white-dressed people in the road - impress myself by not mowing any down. We stop at a village crossroads for lunch, find a wizened old lady making packed lunches for the locals and get ushered into a stark room with 3 tables and some chairs. Wait 2 minutes then a plate of stuff appears. Stuff is excellent and we gobble it all up (note no beer). Duly fed & watered we push on to find our next hostellery. The road is getting steeper and soon we hairpin it up to what feels like the top of the world. To the left the rice terraces fall away to the crater lakes below while above a blanket of cloud hides the peaks of the Batu Karu & Mount Lesong & Mount Sangging volcanos. A few more twists and turns and we arrive at Munduk and the Puri Lumbung Cottages for a couple of nights R&R. No phone signal or internet but the drinks menu looks promising...
Next morning we tour the grounds and set off towards town. Don't know if we found it, just a slightly more densely populated bit of the road. Every other house has something drying outside: coffee cherries, cloves and stuff we can't identify. Nip into one where an old woman and her daughter are seperating the cloves from their stalks ready for drying.
Chill in our room for rest of the afternoon (and it does get chilly in the hills at night) and make plans for exploring the north coast tomorrow - and the prospect of diving at last.
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