Not all monkeys are like James

3rd July Guest Editor: Hilary Hodge.

Oh dear – a somewhat heavy night has taken its toll – the teenage syndrome is back in force – so most of the morning has gone in a flash. Never mind - Luke puts on another of his snack lunches – delicious again – a short siesta – yes I know I’ve only just got up - and we get ready for Katut to pick us up at 3pm. We set off in a different direction from the other trip out but the traffic is just as chaotic. We are going to see a performance of Kecak Ramayana & Fire Dance. The blurb describes it as follows – the combination of ancient ritual, dance and drama, accompanied by a choir of singing, chanting men against the backdrop of the sunset and cliff setting makes this fire dance one of the most spectacular dance performances imaginable. For once I agree with the description given – it turned out to be all that it was advertised as being.

Anyway on the way to the performance we stopped and clambered down to a beach where we sat and observed the scene and had Bali iced black coffee without sugar – would you like just a little sugar was the question when ordering – no thanks - came as a great surprise. When we arrived at the car park for the dance performance we again had to put on a sarong. Katut described the local monkeys as aggressive and informed us he would accompany us on our walk to the venue and promptly selected a large stick to ward off any attacks – I have now developed an aversion to monkeys. Anyway we arrived safely to find a packed audience – managed to get a seat with a good view of the sunset over the sea and waited expectantly for the performance to begin. The story was again the triumph of good over evil and as I described earlier it was a dramatic, entertaining and enjoyable experience. By the time it finished it was obviously dark and the monkeys had gone to bed so we were able to walk safely back to the car park where Katut was waiting to take us to a beach restaurant for a fish dinner which was delicious. When we got back to the villa I was in time to watch Djockavich win Wimbledon – again thanks to the time difference.