Bali

B-ahhh-li. Bali. Land of 'Eat Pray Love', of rolling beaches, palm trees and of green rice terraces. Calm, relaxing Bali.

Or not. We both look at though we went to Bali to do a bit of cage fighting. I'm exaggerating. But we are both battered and bruised.

Three days before we left the DFP came up to me looking perky and pleased.
'You realise', he said, 'you realise that you've booked us in for a surfing holiday, ha ha.'
'No I haven't. We're going to have lovely relaxing massages and visit temples'.
'We're staying in a place renown for surfing. You chose a place for us to stay in that you go to specifically to surf. We're going to get up every morning and go surfing for a couple of hours.'

Darn. He's right. I did. Not so much B-ahhh-li as crash-bash-bang Bali.

Balian Beach where we stayed for the first three nights is a surfers paradise. The sand is volcanic black and sparkling. The waves are huge. It's a very experienced surfers paradise. Not a beginners surfers paradise.

I had researched carefully and found an exquisite resort designed by a French architect with it's own private beach. But that was too expensive so we stayed at the place next door, which though not so swish it was very nice.

We arrived late on Thursday night and woke up to this view the next morning.

Not bad eh? At the bottom of the garden was a cove with the enormous waves that characterize Balian crashing hard on the black rocks.

We walked along the cove and on the neighbouring beach could see what looked like black seal heads until the seals jumped up and surfed their way to shore.

At the beach the DFP went and enquired about hiring surf boards and having a lesson. I was feeling a bit nervous about the size of the gigantic waves. The man asked if we had surfed before then told us it was too dangerous for beginners and to come back later.

We did. The waves were still enormous. We decided to have a go anyway.

For those, like me, who have never been surfing before this is what happens. They give you an enormous board which you attach to one foot with a plastic cord and ankle strap. It feels like an floating ball and chain. You paddle out and then when a wave comes you try and jump up and stand on the board. Then you are immediately knocked off the board and have a washing machine experience of being churned around in the foam, swallowing mouthfuls of salty water and with only a vague idea of which way up is. Or you grip onto your board for dear life and are rocketed forwards towards the shore and the black rocks.

I didn't like it. It felt scary. I am usually, I hope, fairly game but after three attempts I told the DFP I hated it and went off to get a cup of tea. He was very nice about it and continued being tossed around himself but didn't make it to standing. Quite soon he joined me for a beer.

The sunset was amazing over the beach. We had a drink and something to eat but the whole of Balian, which is one street on the beach front dotted with guest houses and bars, closes down at about 10pm and goes to bed ready to be up surfing early the next morning.

We hired a scooter the first day but partly due to the long distances and partly due to my poor navigation skills didn't managed to get to the temple I wanted to reach. We also managed to fall off, adding to the surfing cuts and bruises. So the next day we hired a car and driver to take us around.

In touristy Ubud (see Eat, Pray, Love and Elizabeth Gilbert wittily finding herself) we visited the monkey temple and royal palace (which is about the size of our flat but with an impressively carved gate) and had babi guling (suckling pig with ginger, galangal, lemongrass and garlic fried up as a sauce) for lunch. Delicious.

Driving into Ubud you pass lots of carvers shops selling tantalizing wooden furniture, unfortunately too large for hand luggage. We stopped and the DFP asked one to make him four wooden blocks for doing handstands on, about brick size. When we came to collect them on the way back they had made them exactly to his specifications. Except in size. Tiny dolls sized blocks, perfect for Barbie to practise her handstands on. In the half hour it took to make a new set we wandered around and I bought a couple of Balinese masks.

When we moved to Asia I thought I would take the opportunity to learn about the famous forms of theatre - particularly Balinese mask. I haven't so far but had great fun in the shop checking whether the masks would play. The fat old lady in the shop even put one on and joined in.

A really good mask will change expression as the wearer changes head position and if, like these, it's a half mask and covers half the face, expression. It's amazing to watch an inanimate object come alive- one mask change expression from happy to sad to bashful to proud. I love mask work.

What I had been told about Balinese masks is that they are traditionally used for religious ceremony rather than theatrical performance.

While I was at Lecoq (physical theatre school in Paris) Julie Taymor (director of the musical 'The Lion King) who had studied there precociously at sixteen came and spoke to us. She talked about spending a month in Bali and living with the people in a small village there and eventually watching a mask ceremony. How they chanted and went into a trance like state where the masks inhabited them as they wore them. Later that day I had a chance to see Balinese masks at play worn by normal people rather than actors at Tanah Lot.

We reached our final stop of the day the temple, or pura, Tanah Lot for sunset. With all the other tourists. The guide book is extremely sniffy about the whole experience and while it wasn't particularly spiritual with all the sellers and tourists it was breathtakingly beautiful as the sun set over the water.

For our final night I had booked us into a posher beach front hotel in Legian or Kuta. Kuta is renown for drunken Australian tourists and it's amazing surf.

The guide book says the break is long and even. I don't actually know what that means except that the waves aren't enormous and frightening but small and friendly. We got a surfing lesson. 'You don't pay if we don't get you standing by the end of the lesson', they said. 'Are you sure? Are you sure you want to make that bet? Are you sure you can get me standing?' I said. I asked my teacher his name. 'Dude', he said.

I expect Dude is an extremely good surfer. His chest is toned. His tan glows. His hair is long and curly. Dude tried hard to teach me to surf. I tried hard to learn. As the lesson went on he became increasingly frustrated with me.
'Just stand up! I don't understand why you aren't doing what I'm telling you to. Just stand up!'
How to explain? Eventually I stood up long enough to ensure payment. His relief was visible. But his temper didn't improve.

We went out surfing again the final morning. So in the end perhaps I did, inadvertently, book a surfing holiday. Perhaps not what I had envisaged, but a beautiful, memorable and enjoyable holiday all the same.