“Taxi to the airport please.”

It’s 6:30 AM and we want to be at the airport two hours before our 9 AM flight, giving us plenty of time to mess up.

“International departures, sir?” “Yes, international, please.” We’re going to Indonesia, and that’s international, right? But the country of Singapore has only one commercial airport (the other airport in the country is for charter flights). All flights from Singapore are thus international. Our taxi dropped us at Terminal 3; our flight was out of 2. Maybe the four terminals are arranged in terms of degree of internationalism. No worries: a very efficient train made the transfer and we got there with loads of time to spare.

Next problem: we’re flying Coach for this two-hour leg. Business Class, our happy place these days, was $500 extra. But will there be room for our carryons? Will we get food? Will our seat mate be a fat slob? Will we fit in those narrow seats after eating nonstop yesterday? Life in coach is stressful. But everything worked out just fine. The 787 plane had tons of space, the hot breakfast was just great (when was the last time you had breakfast in coach), and our seat mate was a pleasant young lady.

Once we penetrated Immigration and Customs, each of which seemed to have what I’d call third-world system problems, we started scanning a sea of people waiting representatives for the Viking people. Found ‘em but they too had system problems – we weren’t on their list in the expected spot. All was straightened out and a nice guide, Ayu, loaded us into a car for a traffic delayed 45-minute trip in heavy traffic to the hotel.

As we drove, Ayu gave us some idea of what Bali is about. It’s a small island, part of the Indonesian chain of islands. Java is to the west and Lombok, which we will visit, is to the east. Indonesia is made up of 17,000 islands with a population of 279 million people, fourth most populous in the world, bigger than the USA. There are thousands of distinct ethnic groups and hundreds of languages spoken. Each island group has its own language. Indonesian is the umbrella language. Hindu is the predominant religion, especially on Bali.

Bali is just to the south of the equator, so it’s warm here. Ayu says it’s also the beginning of the rainy season, but Bali has had only two rain showers so far. Temperatures in the 90s today are unusual.

Tourism accounts for about 80% of Bali’s GNP. Times were tough during Covid, Ayu told us.

Turns out our hotel is a Marriott property, swanky as all get out with enough swimming pools to float several boats. Fresh water and salt. A beautiful property with beachfront on the Indian Ocean.

Ayu had suggested a nearby restaurant called the Dirty Duck. Fried duck is a traditional Indonesian and Bali delicacy and she thought it’s something we should try. So down the beach we went, maybe a 20-minute walk. We found it and indeed the duck was good. Everything else? Hot and spicy. Bali is not a place for the “No spice, please. I’m Judy” girl I’m married to. Even the yellow rice had me reaching for my water bottle.

Parenthetically, we saw “No sex please. We’re British” in London with our friends Jean and David on our honeymoon vacation fifty-one years ago.

So here we are in the lap of luxury. They hung floral leis around our necks and handed us a tropical quaff on the way into the hotel. We’re to be in the lobby at 8:30, sharp, for our daylong tour of two temples nearby. It’s a different mindset from independent travel. But we’ll adapt to make the transition, never fear.