There, I’ve said it now! The thing that has been bugging me for weeks and led to endless dead-end conversations with Norman is out there on t’internet for all to see. And in saying it I’ve turned it into a big, fat untruth – YAY go me!
I’ve been in a bit of an odd funk of late. It’s come about thanks to a combination of things: part illness, part hormones, part laziness and part I don’t know whatness (I’m putting that last bit down to super blue full moon eclipse stuff for want of a better explanation). I’ve let Norman have far too much power as I’ve wrestled with self-doubt, fear of failure, anxiety over money and loads of other stuff (real and imagined). And I’ve done what I always do when I’m scared, I’ve retreated within to my small familiar world of binge eating and binge TV watching layered with lashings of good old self-loathing – yep I have been a right old barrel of laughs #NOT!
Prior to my full-on funk, I’d been having adventures a plenty. The afore mentioned full moon was experienced with my beautiful friend Jackie. Nestled in the rice terraces of Ubud, Bali I discovered a place called the Pyramids of Chi where they perform full moon sound healing ceremonies and so, we found ourselves a friendly taxi driver and off we trotted to try it out. It was, in equal measures, an example of the ultimate in Ubud hippy pretentiousness and an awesome, healing experience. As soon as we rocked up we both felt the amazing, palpable energy of the place and after a wander around the tranquil gardens sat down to eat whilst we waited for the start of the healing ceremony.
And it was then it started to happen.
The beautiful people began to arrive.
At first, we were vaguely aware of them, but before long they began their pre-ceremony peacock parade of the grounds in an attempt to win the “Miss, hippy, boho, millennial, zen, chick 2018’ award. Princess Tipitoes was my personal favourite – dressed head to toe in white, she paraded barefoot but on tiptoes from one end of the pavilion to the other before standing facing out to the pyramids in a ‘state of grace’ for 20 minutes. This afforded Jackie and I plenty of time to capture her ethereal magnificence by taking copious selfies with her in the background whilst desperately trying to stifle our giggles. As you can see from the pic below, we failed miserably on the latter count.
All this beautiful people action sent Norman into a tail spin and he raged on and on about how I wasn’t cool enough, was dressed wrongly, was a fraud, stupid, not doing the right things blah, blah, blah. Once I’d calmed him down, the ceremony itself was truly magical, starting with a shamanic fire ritual in one pyramid and moving to a full-on sound healing bath in the other it was all accompanied by the most amazing tropical storm raging outside.
Bali overall was a wonderful, giggly, fabulousness fest. Giggling over massage antics was a daily occurrence in Sanur. A beachside foot massage offered by two cheeky shopkeepers with an eye for a way to make a quick was entertaining in the extreme. When asked her name, my “masseuse” proudly announced that it was “two fat ladies” which, in fairness was a little on the harsh side in my opinion as whilst she could certainly have been described a Rubenesque, she by no means measured up to two of the Baroque beauties. She began the massage by slathering a bit of Nivea cream over my foot and leg before proceeding to she randomly prod and poke said leg and foot whilst chatting to all and sundry around her and blatantly ignoring me. In fairness, she did return her attention to me periodically in order to try to sell me further massage services along with general tat and crap from her shop which it appears was number 88 in the market (thus solving the name mystery).
Meanwhile, on a bench 2 feet away, Jackie was also being studiously ignored by her masseuse whilst she performed a one handed fire starter attempt on Jackie’s shin, how she got away without friction burns I’ll never know, but I do know it’s the best £2.50 I’ve spent in a long time!
A sudden switch to guilty pleasures cheesy pop music during a full body massage (this time at a proper spa on the street) saw the peaceful ambience of the place destroyed as we (led by me obviously) spontaneously burst into song (and accompanying giggling). Further cheesy pop was sung during the foot massage that followed as we sat side by side and entertained our, in this instance, excellent masseuses with our general wit and repartee.
Back in Ubud, the Pyramids weren’t the only place where pretentions abounded. If I had a pound for every lycra clad yogi (or wannabe yogi) I saw in those two days I’d be a very rich lady by now. An unfortunate choice of lunch spot saw me drowning in a loud conversation spattered with more than a few “likes” from a like pair of like white legging wearing like young women of the like North American like variety, but the pain of listening to this millennial vernacular paled into insignificance firstly when one of them declared that her friend’s son was called Ignatius and secondly when a wizened, chain smoking painfully thin old yogi joined in their to conversation uninvited using the opportunity to loudly spout vitriol about an online booking company who had dared to ask a question of her. I tell you, there was certainly not much love and light coming from her direction – I blame the lack of carbs!
All in all, Bali was a bloody blast and thanks to debunking my self-created I can’t write myth I’ve been able to relive them and giggle all over again whilst sharing them here with you.