The travel companion (TC) finally tells me – on the way to the airport – that Bali has been, on hindsight, quite an enjoyable experience. It helps that we’ve both passed the different dive courses we’ve signed up for, even though we’ve been bruised, battered and badly cut in the process.
For that I’m thankful, even if we’ve spent most of our time shopping at Guardian pharmacy (TC simply bought more and more bottles of shower gel and muscle ache packs for god knows what reason) and eating at the same Italian place more times than I can count.
We’ve finally trudged along Sanur’s beachfront walk, done the obligatory shopping and rub-downs at spas and eaten more Balinese and Indonesian food than we should. But I’m astounded that TC finds it hard to admit that Bali is really quite civilised and sort of tourist-friendly, but I’m also grateful to learn that I’ve managed to spin several tentative thoughts that planning for the next dive trip isn’t too bad an idea as well.
We’re cosied up in a corner of the departure lounge and TC’s gone off to take photos of the very modern Bali airport to prove to some friends that we haven’t visited a dump in some corner in the world.
Sometimes, TC needs a little nudging in the right direction.