Explanation coming.

Explanation coming., originally uploaded by J L Sanchez.

This is what you do when you have nothing to do. That nose is made from a chunk of pure white sugar-y vomit. By that I mean white chocolate Toblerone.

 

Cindy is kicking it.

Cindy is kicking it., originally uploaded by J L Sanchez.

 

And so it begins.

The long journey home. I’m in the ‘Premium Lounge’ in, Denpasar which is actually not bad. Good food and I’m sitting looking at the runway. Which is nice. If you’re me.

I think this has been my longest time ‘away’ for a very long time. 2 whole weeks of Indonesian climate, culture and kindness. That’s the over-riding memory I’m taking with me – kindness. There’s no doubt it’s frustrating when you’re here for a technology conference and they can’t get the internet to work (we ended up using smoke signals, but they got intercepted and it now appears we’ve elected Whitney Houston as the new Pope). 

But all issues like that, of internet and infrastructure, of long traffic delays and longer waits for room service sort of (just sort of, one step at a time Sanchez) float away when greeting with a genuine smile and passion to help. It’s enchanting.

As was the Martini Bar at the Ritz Carlton last night, with new friends and old, in shifts in fact as they departed to the airport to … depart, we sat, sipped martini’s and watched the sun go down on this stunning island. As you well know we’ve been searching for martini nirvana – and I think we cracked it last night. Which must be a fucking relief to the Ritz Carlton Martini Bar, or they’ll be up against trading standards won’t they?

 

This morning, a lazy breakfast of shared nasi goreng and babi goreng (which resembles fried pigs ear and tastes precisely like you’d imagine such porcine offal to taste) a hot bath and preparation to depart, and off to the airport.

When you next hear from me I’ll be in Hong Kong.  Toodle Pip!

Found: the perfect Balinese martini.

It’s been somewhat of an adventure in taste; Cindy Gallop’s desperate attempts to locate a martini just dry enough, with just the right twist, at the right temperature and served promptly.

 

At the Damai we had martinis the same size as an Optrex eyebath with olives. Not good.

At Ku De Ta we had martinis that were initially served with lime, and then remade with lemon. Good size. Too wet.

At the lobby at the Bali Hyatt we had martinis served with olives when we asked for lemon. Too warm, not right.

And last night, at the Salsa bar – overlooking the ocean and resort – a bar SO exclusive that we had failed to find it – and clearly as had the rest of the hotel given it’s rattling emptiness.

However, even though when I said twist of lemon they said lime, I said lemon, they said lime – when they arrived they were, as oat expert Goldilocks would say ‘just right’.

I never thought a part of the upside of the iMedia Asia conference would be to become a martini afficionado – but QED.

A landmark moment.

I have been waiting for this moment for some time. Following the morning of the conference (in which Brad Jakeman presented a simply brilliant keynote) I decided to hit the gym and work out. So, 15 mins of running on incline, 6 machines, 3 sets each on arms, chest, shoulders, legs etc. and 10 lengths in the pool. Nice work.

 

Following that a shower (after working out I always shower like a victim – you know, from the Gentle Touch or Juliet Bravo – scrubbing myself and wincing with pain as my arms freeze) and over to the scales.

 

Well blow me if I haven’t dropped below 190 pounds. My goal is 180 – but I’ve been stuck at 192/5 for a couple of weeks. I’ll be checking tomorrow to make sure it’s not a dodgy set of scales – but this is a special moment for me – down from nearly 230 pounds just 6 months ago!

Enough trumpet blowing. But I wanted to note the moment.

Yes; I am here.

Yes; I am here., originally uploaded by J L Sanchez.

 

When the conference lost it a bit.

Was when the host (who’d flown over from America actually) opened the conference with a stunning 10 minute monologue that should have been entitled ‘What to say to people who’ve experienced 2 terrorist attacks in their small island in the past 5 years alone to ensure they are shocked, stunned and speechless by your lack of decency, intellect and courtesy’. 

I think using the phrase ‘there are a lot of terrorists in this region’ is a sure fire winner isn’t it?

And then discussing how your small company came together to hold a meeting about media buying at the time (actually ‘a few weeks later’ as later disclosed) to demonstrate the passion of the company.

 

Wow. The host MUST have been on something; a course in public speaking most certainly not.

Lamp. Repositioned.

Lamp. Repositioned., originally uploaded by J L Sanchez.

This is not the title of some Dreamworks SKG kack short film featuring
birds on a telegraph wire (you know who you are).

It is the delightfully stylish standard lamp that I have had to patriate to
my bedroom. Seeing as it has no artificial light source at all.

If this is a standard lamp, does that mean there is a sub-standard lamp?
Would that be a shorter desk lamp? Or just contain more Chinese melamine?

Cindy and I arrived home to our seperate quarters to discover 2 huge
triffid size plants in our bedrooms. Bath towell all over the floor and
dirty plates left here – but its ok, as we know have 2 plants that will
rape us in our sleep and we’ll only notice when all leaves fall out in
Autumn.

Today I finished my first book and truly loved and relished having my
fingers on pages. Even after I’d swam 50 lengths to see a rivulet of water
traverse my page post departing from my hot brow was captivating.

But not as much as my new diet.

We will call it the Cindy. It goes like this:

Breakfast- eggs boiled, 2 of. 1 grilled tomato. A fresh fruit plate,
coffee. 30 minutes of horizon staring.

Lunch – nada, nothing,niet. Apart from the oh so subtle bubbling of my
flesh as it bonds with the sun lounger.

Dinner – a 3 course meal, which here is verging on microscopic which we
both agree is a GOOD THING.

Starter: more of an amuse bouche (do you think ‘water-boarding’ would sound
nicer if it was in French? Or ‘bail out package’ I always thought that
was a gay man’s first action in the sauna)… Tuna, raw, rolled in
peppercorns with wasabi.

Main course: fish or lamb. No carbs. This was the My Little Pony of lambs
tonight.

Dessert: always persuaded by Cindy and never let down. Although I’m not
quite down with so much sauce art on the plate (you know those squeezies
that make great food look like an epileptic lose of bowel rodent has been
trapped under the cloche.).

Coffee. Pondering. Laughter and a bit, just a teensy eensy bit of ‘look at
this powerpoint’….

No fucking sign of Richard on the email for a gad about now; so sleep
beckons. The plan for tomorrow – same as… The storm of iMedia fast
approaching!

Tomorrow: what Sarah Palin did for me yesterday (and its a little racy)…

Schlafen sie gut in das bed (love ya Seany!)

Relight my fire.

Relight my fire., originally uploaded by J L Sanchez.

When you walk to the restaurant at The Damai you pass beautiful
terraces planted with a cornucopia of spices,, herbs and other
epicurian delights. It’s so pretty.

But the food is prettier, as was my dining partner. Cindy and I had
spent a lazy day poolside and in pool reading and enjoying long
silences that are so rare these days. The sense of relaxation was
absolute.

I Speedo’d it today as I’ve decided I want 70’s porn star tan-lines; I
know I’ve hit the mother lode as my legs appear now to be the colour
of Tabasco. Which I’m cool with as I have always had to push through
red to get to brown. I know that sounds like a perverted sex act.

Dinner conversation was engaging, motivating and at some times
inspiring. There are few people so smart, pleasant with it and who
genuinely believe in people. I was really forced to think quite deeply
about me. I’m sure that wasn’t some sub conscious therapy; more the
laid back dialectic triggering questions about the inner me.

… So that, along with the organic no-bad-carbs supper meant the
whole thing was a bloody healthy experience.

Back to the villa and the dawning realization that for the first time
in a long time I’m in control of my destiny, and with help from
Rachael, kitten the cleaner and friends and fam I think I’m changing.

It’s a new exciting liberating feeling and one which I intend to
celebrate (and control!) for a bit longer.

And here’s a picture if the firepit that was lit right infront us as
we watched the sun set.

Marvellous — what with the weather being four times hotter than the
temperature of the sun.

Luddites Unite.

Luddites Unite., originally uploaded by J L Sanchez.

Naturally, being in the middle of nowhere (the very north of Bali) we are
pretty much sans technology here.

We are in the most stunning of ‘Presidential Villas’ that I have ever
stayed in — and having travelled the world with Jerry Hall, I’ve
experienced quite a few (including the one she demanded to leave when she
saw a sound engineer leave her room exclaiming to me ‘he could have been
sniffing my underwear’)…

Its a Virgin Villa (how contrary given its occupants) and has never been
slept in before, nor the pool dipped in nor minibar tampered with: I didn’t
mean it was owned by that bearded pillock that manages 30 planes whilst
damming BA for their intended merger as only a real global airline could
do. VS is their flight code = Very Small.

I digress, there is no wifi, limited cell phone activity and it takes a
good half an hour to get a chilli martini (an oxymoron should by chilli I
meant chilly – they have turned up warm so far).

It got to a point where Cindy and I, having travelled in a minivan for what
felt like 60 days, then sank into the infinity pool, lounged in the bale in
the sun, ate a fresh fruit platter and sipped fresh cocktails whilst firmly
esconced in brand new waffle cotton robes exclaimed our absolute contempt
for the lack of connectivity.

We both instinctively took a glance at each other and a big step back;
this, we reckon, is bliss.

Apologies for the bad pic. Its blackberry all the way. I also can’t keep
the camera still as there is either a bird that sounds like a man farting
in the tree opposite, or there’s a man farting in the tree opposite.

Hotel room trading (my secret gambling addiction).

If you’re looking for a room for, say one night, and you don’t want to pay rack rate – you have 2 choices. The first, which I did during the ‘trauma’ was to turn up late in the evening (possible intoxicated) with a booking for the very cheapest room in the hotel (usually a laundry closet/loo/kennel) and then demand the best room in the hotel via the polite, firm yet true phrase ‘well it’s not like you’re going to sell the Princess Margaret Suite now is it?’. This CAN and DOES work – and you can throw in an extra few quid to show good willing. 

Like I said, this worked for me at the Gild Hall Hotel in the Finance District – and it was a quite wonderful stay (I had the Thompson Suite for less than a third of rack rate).  Whose rack is it anyway? Katie Price’s?

The other option is the play what I call the “Expedia index” this, again, is a brilliant way to while away an evening if your life is tip top exciting as mine clearly isn’t. 

All you need to do is watch the rate fall as they hotel realises they can’t sell the room. The room I’m in now (A Cliff Front Pool Villa at the Ritz Carlton Jimbaran Bay, Bali) has a rack rate (Whose rack? Linda Lusardi?) of over $1000 dollars a night. I’m paying less than half, because I watched the lowest value room sink in value all last night (from 700 to 350) and the turned up and told them I knew they had unsold villas and what was the best they could do. Bingo, Bango, Bongo — as it were.

Now, let’s talk about the Bali Ritz Carlton. It’s NOT on a ‘Bad Bali’ list – which means you can feel better staying here than some other places. It IS very big and it does have a large Japanese contingent, which makes the fashion spotting quite something.

However, the abs-fucking-lute show stopper is something I NEVER thought I’d get a kick out of (mere alcohol, doesn’t move me at all). A Thalasso pool. One of the world’s largest in fact. Here’s a picture:

It really does look like that. 

It’s $40 dollars for two hours. Reader, that’s 1/3rd of the cost of a massage. Without wanting to sound like some scroungey begger (bit like Bev Codd at school ‘if anyone sees any money lying around, would they give it to me’) but I was in for a real surprise and actually heard myself saying ‘this may be the best $40 you’ve ever spent in a hotel — apart from that ONE time.

Into my speedo (it’s medicinal) and into the pool. There are 12 stations, from geysers, to micro bubbles, to currents to walk against. And I had no idea that you are ‘coached’ around the pool. It’s like a work out but in the water, and warm, and relaxing. And wonderful. And you can pee whilst you’re doing it and no one will know. I made that last line up.

I spent an hour and a half in complete bliss, reminiscing about happy times, realising there were more happy times to come and wondering if I was going to pop out of the pool looking like a walnut, or the middle of Thora Hird’s decolletage. I looked damn hot actually. The one time I did laugh was when you had to walk against the current 2 times in a circle. It reminded me of those ‘and finally’ stories on the News at Ten when they tell you how some prize Grand National Stallion is limbering up in a pool made to exercise said equine interests and you watch this terrified horse trying to comprehend how to swim whilst wondering why George Stubbs got such a good name for his work when they all looked the same. 

Back to the villa for a splash about, some Wall Street mockery and 50 pages more of ‘The World is Curved’ and then lunch. Beef Randang. Delicious – hold the rice.

So calm I was that I just spent one hour in the gym, of which a good 15 minutes were running fast on an incline (I was on a running machine, the gym isn’t that big). And a variety of weights. And now I’m waiting for my supper. Which  I won’t be singing for, but the adorable local kids in traditional costume making a racket next to my villa (they are big on tennis here) are.

Here’s some pictures of my villa area – en generale.

This dream had better not come true.

So I’m obviously having a great time in Bali. Not doing a whole lot right now (until the conference starts) but I did get to go to a bar called Mixxwell in Kuta last night. And by night I mean morning, as apparently not one person worth any cool points ventures out before midnight. 

That worked perfectly for me because as a man entering my twilight years (that’s certainly the understanding here in Young Bali) I could nap. And I did. For 5 hours. From 7pm to midnight.

There then followed the obligatory realisation that, much like Richard’s wife, I had screwed up the packing algorithm and bought with me about 34 tops and no bottoms. So following an intense debate with myself I settled on the two oldest and most tired things in my wardrobe (it’s ok – Seigfreid and Roy came out of the closet decades ago – I meant shorts and a polo).

If you’re booking a taxi in Bali, make it Blue Bird cars. Safe, sedate with an accent that will grate; but with drivers who will get you there pretty much before you leave, it’s the Concord of charabancs.

To the bar now. Settled in, packet of Marlboro Lights in hand – but actually, wait, you don’t need to smoke in Indonesian bars – because everyone else is! I reckon I’d smoked enough to sound like E.T. before I even got to my white melamine chair.

The drag acts at this bar are a sight to behold. Perfect word for word duplication of every Whitney sound known to mankind – without actually singing one single word. They are illuminated by a crew of boys dressed like they man the pit-stops at the Singapore Formula One: white pants, black shirts with checkered collars and 2 colossal, light-house sized hand lamps pointed right at the pile of Avon and synthetic hair – that if you closed your eyes, ears, and every other sense – was just like Whitney (probably in her more ‘Bobby, can you role me  a joint’ period that the ‘I will always love you’ era.

Anyway, my ‘colleagues’ and I danced the night away, well they danced I sat and nibbled my finger nail (it seemed like the safest snack). 

To bed, and in closing, I have to tell you of the most bizarre dream I think I’ve ever had. Basically I’m instructing a legion of students in a large lecture theater. I ask them to watch the screen and learn and I play a video.

The video is of me talking to camera about how nice Kim Kardashian is, and I’m exceptionally drunk. I’m also, for some obscure reason, wearing surgical gloves and am chain-smoking. I then direct viewers to a small tv screen next to me to demonstrate how Kim has come off the rails.

The clip plays and it’s of Kim being chased by penguins in the Arctic (I know, you don’t get penguins in the Arctic, because Polar bears can’t get the wrapper off etc.).

I would have told you how this all ‘panned out’ but I was then awoken via a scam call to my villa asking me if I wanted to know what prize I’d won. I said no, and hung up – bitchy words and snipey comments excused for humour about – I actually had a brilliant night and didn’t need a 2 hour timeshare pitch to spoil it.

6 inches that make ALL the difference.

So I’ve just landed into Hong Kong. And I’m at The Wing, the Cathay Pacific First Class lounge. You are NOT going to believe where I am writing this very post… here:

 

Yes in  a BATH TUB. Can you sodding well believe it? I thought Terminal 5 rocked, but here thanks to those smart people at Cathay Pacific, you get a ‘cabana’ with bath, seperate shower, lounging area (with pebble filled lake/water features) sinks, potions and unctions and even Earl Grey served in your room.

 

I’m a little bit over fucking impressed to be honest. 

 

So how was the flight I hear you ask? It was long. 5 hours to Vancouver, one hour on the ground and then 13 hours to Hong Kong.  But I’ve discovered something about their business class seating. On the upper deck you get an extra 6 inches! It’s true – it’s like  booking a queen and getting a king (hospitality wise).

 

So now I”m going to soak, shave, prepare. Put on my new Ralph Lauren Polo shirt (in Racing Green) and then kick back before the last leg to Bali.

 

Sweet joy!