New Years has passed and we’re all back to our yawn-worthy lives. Been a fortnight since I have updated anything on the blog. Auspicious beginning to the year.
And if you think I was lounging about doing nothing over the long weekend and deliberately avoiding the blog, then YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT.
The below short travelogue (first of its kind in the blog) is long over-due. Dedicated specially to darling ‘A’ who was as the Brits would say “a dear ol thing” throughout our stay at Bali.
“Thank you for flying with Air Asia from Bali to Singapore. We hope to see you again“, the stewardess announced in that very mechanical non-sincere voice they learn to master at stewardess school.
‘A’ and I exchanged glances as we removed our seat belts and tried to stand up.
“I think I have a new piece to write about”, I told him.
“I think you do“, he answered grimly.
We must have made an interesting trio as we entered Changi Airport, back from our ‘getaway’ at Bali. I had that sticky look that people get when sweat droplets cool mid-trickle on your neck as you enter the pleasantly icy interior of Changi terminal.
‘A’ looked haggard and steadily let out a stream of cuss words that matched his mood. I anxiously glanced at the offspring hoping he didn’t pick up on this colourful vocabulary. But Ryan just looked around nonchalantly, being at his clingy best – refusing to walk, refusing to wear shoes, and refusing to sit in his stroller.
Packed Bags and Soaring Hopes
Bali was our baby-moon destination before offspring no.2 arrived soon and before airlines around the world stopped permitting me to board flights and take a chance at spoiling their laundered seat covers.
So a month ago, we packed our bags to this sunny heaven where beaches, shopping and great food awaited us. But we forgot a few things. And how I wish I could tell you it was just the IPhone charger and my iron supplements.
1.) Bali is great for those melanin-deprived masses who are looking for a tan. And we Indians usually run for the shades in such cases.
We are talking about full blast of hot, scorching- UV rays combined with humidity which makes you reach for a sip of water every one minute.
Add to this, a toddler with overactive sweat glands and a personality to match. He got cranky, fussy, and ummm…let me search the thesaurus for more words to describe the ‘Terrible Twos’.
2.) I being heavily pregnant could help very little with any significant child-rearing skills. I was confined to
washing up of milk bottles and unproductive actions that one usually terms as ‘wringing of hands’ and “I WISH I could help more” remarks. And Ryan decided this is as a good time as any to be clingy and impossible. Leaving his father in a charming situation of almost-single parenthood.
3.) Bali roads are super-duper, stroller-friendly, sheer wonders of modern construction. And YES, that sentence is oozing in sarcasm, my dear reader. In fact, they were a chessboard of potholes, broken footpaths and other such pedestrian delights. My only consolation is that I hope ‘A’ has developed greater upper body strength from all the heaving and carrying of the ‘stroller + child’ duo across potholes. Again, note the sarcasm.
But all said and done, Bali is truly a lovely getaway destination for people unlike us. I guess we were at the right place at the wrong time.
Now before you start to mentally check off Bali from any your Oriental tourist spots for 2012, lemme stop you right there.
You’ll find a lot of good things there that is hard to find anywhere else.
For example, good service in any and every restaurant/shop/street side hovel you enter. And the locals seem to genuinely love kids. Read the genuinely twice. That’s a hard word to come by these days.
I am talking about waitresses who genuinely wanted to carry Ryan, so ‘A’ and I could eat our meals in peace. I know it was genuine, because they kept insisting and kept cooing at his antics. Seriously, who does that? Well apparently everyone in Bali does. Bonus points for that.
The food is yummy and dirt-cheap. I could tell you menu items and bill totals that would send pleasant shivers all down your calculative, foodie spines.
Shopping is amazing and bargaining is the religion. Shoes, bags, clothes, and the likes. Souvenirs and lampshades that you think are adorable and that your partner will think is a big waste of time? Yeah, it’s all there in Bali and more.
Note to self: Must visit Bali again alone once I have regained some semblance of a waistline.
The Icing on the Cake
We sadly staggered and stumbled through 4 days there, packed our bags with a sigh of relief on the last day and made for the airport.
But Ryan decided to drop one more surprise for us before we boarded the flight. Something that would elevate this trip into the “Annals of Horrific Holidays” that the writer has endured.
He decided to do an untimely poop in his diaper. The sort that stinks and makes people sitting near you look up in alarm. We had about an hour before boarding and ‘A’ had to clean him up at the airport gent’s toilet. That ordeal is best left unmentioned in detail. I’ll just drop in a few words here, so you can make out the situation for yourselves.
Low supply of toilet paper – flush not working – dirty toilet – Ryan’s curious hands and feet – Forgotten baby wipes.
Home, at Last!
I never thought I’d miss Singapore but I sure did. I welcomed the country with open arms – the balmy air, the comical toy city look, the whole package. Call me a sophisticated b****, call me a stuck-up NRI, a snob if you must… but hell yeah I missed good ol’ civilisation.
So the New Year resolution for 2012 is simple. Do not venture out for a holiday till the kids are a little older (and more toilet-trained).
Barely a week had passed before we were able to discuss Ryan’s poop story with some humour. A month has passed, and I am beginning to doubt whether it was really just a figment of my nightmares.
I have resigned myself to the knowledge that I’ll never be uploading pics on Facebook titled “South Africa – 2012” and “South of France – 2013”. ‘A’ and I have decided to opt for quiet saunters in the nearby park pushing strollers and generally being the ‘Smug Marrieds’ that Bridget Jones hates 🙂
But then again, I suspect that a few months down the line, we might flick through some random TV channel and be swayed by the ‘whiteness’ that is Greece, or the ‘slickness’ that is Vegas. And then ‘A’ might gaze wistfully at the telly, then at our little brood…and then say a holiday might be good for the children.
“For the children“, I’ll echo. And then we’ll be off. And I’ll never forget the baby wipes this time round.