"Blue" - Enrique Rottemberg

I came across this article in a Canadian magazine on Cuba.  The colors and texture immediately grabbed me.  I love the notion that a bed bookends our life cycle, and the intimacy of that whole concept.  I hope to meet with these photographers on my next trip to Cuba in March.  In the meantime, I think their work – and the concept behind it – is very interesting.

Sleeping with…

By Cristina Diaz

Sleeping with…is the photo exhibition of artists Enrique Rottemberg and Carlos Otero showcased during Photography month in November at the Cuban Photo Library.  This exhibition caused intense emotions and enormous interest in both the public and critics.  In direct contrast to the incessant public spectacle with which the lives of Cubans tend to be perceived, immersed in music and unmotivated bustle and clamor, this exhibit tells a different story.

We are introduced to people’s most secret space, the one of dreams, through photos of the most private place of a home, the bedroom.  These are photos to the intention of anonymous dreamers, the “unknown soldiers,” as Enrique Rottemberg called them in his opening speech, thanking the thousand people throughout the island who opened their doors to the widest of their hospitality.

The absence of inhabitants in the photographs fills the environments with subjective content, giving soul to objects that contain bits of the story of each character as well as their diffused national and personal identity.  These portraits of absence call on our own ability to dream, summoning the spectators’ consciousness and unconsciousness; from within the bedroom to the inside of us.

Enrique Rottemberg, award-winning Israeli filmmaker with seven feature films, also a writer and photographer, has been living in Cuba for more than 16 years.

It is in Cuba where his passion for photography was born.  Constantly moved by subjective conflicts, by the dark side of the heart, always with a tone more comical-tragic than dramatic, more human than epic, he uses his camera to steal the soul, always questioning ethics and power in the exercise of art.

Carlos Otero is a Cuban photographer who arose from the deep sea as champion of several national and international underwater photography events, work that has been showcased in many places.  His present work has an acute social involvement and an incisive sensitivity to his country’s present and the people who live there.

Beds contain a cycle.  It is usually where life is conceived and where it ends.  In the interval, the bed is the permanent witness of our loves and disappointments, of nightmares and sleepless nights, of solitude and company, of our dreams.  It is not an allegory, not a symbol, it is concretely that bed, that mirror, it is that red and those dogs on the wall.

The images express an emphatic silence, a petrification of time, a disturbing perpetuity.  Faceless, as voiceless is the great Cuban movie “Suite Havana”, Sleeping with…makes us see what is not in our everyday tamed vision.

Walking home late at night all by myself, outside of town, over the river and past the last restaurant, past the overgrown properties that are now derelict, but still somehow grand in their silence and stature – albeit a little eerie in the shadows. Past the jungle creeping onto the old cobblestone streets. Up the dark hills, where the only sounds are the cicadas, my footsteps and the breaking of the waves on the sand below, just through the palm grove and the old burned out house that seems to bear the graffiti scars of years of decay and disarray. The only light is the moon on the ocean. No one around. Not a soul.  Heading quickly up the last steep hill – as quickly as my Morticia Adams-narrow long dress will allow my strides to go – until I reach our home, and the sound of the kids’ voices. Such joy and relief. But in those 25 minutes, it was a grand adventure.

Make no mistake, Beijing has an edgy, cool and contemporary vibe, hidden just under the surface of the government-run tour packages.  You just have to dig a little.  But per the divine Craig Barbour, a good friend who lived in Beijing while working on the Olympics, Beijing has a number of hip bars and restaurants, as well as a thriving art district that are worthy of exploring.

So…if you find yourself in Beijing, check out his recommendations:

The Green T. House

A unique venue in Beijing with inspiring design, art and performances alongside innovative “T” and “New China” cuisine by JinR – musician, tea connoisseur and trendsetter.

About GREEN T. HOUSE

Since 1997, through its innovative design, distinctive atmosphere and unique cuisine, GREEN T. HOUSE in Beijing has provided inspiration and beauty to its clientele.  It epitomizes the blend of tradition and innovation, brashness and refinement, energy and tranquility that defines New China.

GREEN T. HOUSE is the vision of glamorous musician, tea connoisseur and trend-setter JinR. From its beginnings as an intimate and elegant teahouse, GREEN T. HOUSE has become one of the hottest destinations in Beijing, garnering international recognition for its unique ambience and “T” cuisine.

GREEN T. HOUSE “Living” takes the brand further with a unique and spacious lifestyle destination that includes fine dining, art and a cultural events space as well as The Bath House Residence, a new bath and residence component which takes the GREEN T. HOUSE brand for the first time beyond tea houses and restaurants into the wider arena of spa and hospitality. GREEN T. HOUSE Living, internationally acclaimed for the “coolest bathhouse in China”, was voted ‘Spa design of the Year’  ‘Day Spa of the Year’ in the 2009 AsiaSpa Awards and “Best Spa Design” in Wallpaper* 2010 Design Awards.

Maison Boulud a la Peking

First triathlon under our belt.  And boy are we glad its over!

The weather for The Santa Barbara Triathlon Sunday could not have been more beautiful.  Gorgeous and sunny – perfect temperature to spend an hour (or so) at the beach.

For our first triathlon, we figured we better take it easy and do a sprint.  Santa Barbara seemed to be an idyllic destination to combine a dirty weekend with a little good clean fun.

View of the Riviera

The Sprint Course translated to:

500 meter swim
6 mile bike
2 mile run

followed later with a…
1 hour nap

Friday

We decided to make a weekend of it, and went up on Friday checking into The Canary – such a great hotel!  Hung out with Katarina, who just started back up at SBCC.  Had a fabulous dinner Friday night at Cafe Luck and told scary murder stories. Enjoyed post

Kat enjoying a cocktail

dinner champagne with Zach, bartender extraordinaire and soon-to-be-ex employee of the Canary as he embarks on his new career in New York.  I know the Canary will miss him dearly.

Saturday

Saturday, we went down to support those brave athletes doing the long course, shouting words of encouragement as they finished up the last mile of the run.  Note – if you ever happen to be near a course where people are racing, take a moment to cheer them on.  It means the world to them!

Stu at the pool

Hung out at the tri expo  – I think we are becoming expo groupies – and chatted with some very cool people, one being Kelly from Tridivas – a new favorite business – imagine – tri training and merchandise catering to women – girly women.  Kelly is gorgeous, bright, serious about training women to be triathletes – wait – tri divas – and she was doing this way before women started having any clout or numbers in the sport.  Her business includes training women and merchandise.  Think Fred Segal style – compression tights in patterns, like a cool leopard print.  Rhinestone boy briefs for women.  Seems like she’s captured a real niche, and I for one, support her vision completely.  We don’t need to look like Maria Navratilova, just because we are athletes, ladies!

Sat day spent relaxing around the Canary rooftop pool with Kat, enjoying the warm, sunny weather and eye candy at the pool.  Sat night, Stu and I tried a restaurant we’d heard about called Roy on Carrillo.  Highly recommend it.  Their shtick is that every entree is $10 – which it is – and it is fantastic.  Cool place.  Great art.  Check it out next time.

Back to the hotel early to pack and re-pack (and re-pack) our transition bags before dropping off to sleep.

Sunday AM – Race Day

Triathlon love!

Up and out by 5:30 AM.  Biked down to East Beach for the race.  First thing is to get our number marked on our arms and right hand, and our age (as of the end of Dec) on the right calf.  Then, into the transition area to get our kit laid out in those small spaces!  As much as I tried, I couldn’t get the hang of the transition area.  By definition, the transition is supposed to be when you change from one discipline to the next – where you unpeel your wetsuit and jump into your bike gear.  And then dump the bike and helmet and exchange the bike cletes for the running shoes.  It is supposed to be lightening fast.  This transition thing, for me, is a major disconnect, having been raised in a family of enthusiastic tailgaters.  Its all I can do not to bring candles, a welcome mat, a couple of folding chairs and a hibachi.  What?  No music?  Seems all very uncivilized, which is probably why my transition area looked like a bomb went off.  Just didn’t connect with the idea at all, as the snail-like time it took for me to change out of my wetsuit and into my biking gear cruelly demonstrated.

As we got on our wetsuits and filed out to the beach to wait or our group to start, I was interested to see how Stuart and I handled the nerves.  True to form, he observes, processing everything.  I, on the other hand, go inside my head, almost as though shutting down.  I maintain a calm and don’t over think the task at hand too much.  And then, of course, the conversation begins – the blathering in your head that starts taking over.  I don’t remember much of the race – at all – but I remember the swim monologue in my head.  It went something like this.

All marked up.

Stu marked up

Ready ready ready

“OK stay on the left outside the left outside.  Take your time.  Wade into the water.  Keep your position.  Should I go over this wave or dive in?  OK, I’m swimming now.  Wait, my left goggle is filled with water.  Shit, gotta stop and dump it.  Arrrrghhh!  Stuart used that new goggle clearer stuff and it didn’t work.  I cannot do this race like a cyclops – I need both eyes to be functioning!  Arrrrrghhh!  OK focus…right turn at yellow buoy and now you’re swimming in a line.  OK get to the first red buoy – thats all ya gotta do – get to the first red buoy.  Hey, who is that swimming right next to me?  Her strokes are exactly timed to mine.  Great, she’ll probably get past me and kick me.  And if she doesn’t, I’m going to have the pleasure of her on my ass the entire time.  So, cant let up cant let up.  OK, now to the second buoy – almost half way almost half way almost half way.  And not dead not dead not dead.  Quick backstroke to see how that feels, nope, not good, back to swimming.  Should be at the buoy in a couple of minutes.  Seems longer though.  Shit.  OK focus – you’ll get there.  There’s no way I could be drifting, though, right?  Am I swimming against the current?  Oh Shit!  Shit! OK I’m at the second red buoy – where is everyone else?  Did I pass anyone?  More importantly, did anyone pass me?  Now I gotta get to the yellow buoy.  OHMYGOD, the yellow buoy is sooo far away.  Shit.  I am so out of my depth here… I can’t even imagine doing the Malibu race and having to swim 3 times this distance. CANNOT  IMAGINE!   I will die.  I will not make it.  There is just no way.  Shit!  Where is that goddamned yellow buoy?”  And then, “My lonlieness is killing me.  I must confess, I do believe.  Do believe.  Yup – my mind,  clearly suffering from oxygen depravation, breaks into Britney Spears’ classic anthem, “Hit me baby one more time.”  Have no idea where that came from.  Very unsettling, really.

Have no recollection of getting out of the water.  Ran to transition and could not get wetsuit off -

My transition area - a mess!

even with glide.  Did not stop to dry feet – threw on shoes, bike jersey and tied bandana around my neck (no need to sacrifice style, after all), and off – without my number.  Shit!  Back to get number.  Random bike thoughts…

First thought - “like the bike like the bike like the bike.”  Second thought, “Ouch.  My quads are on fire.  Thank God we only have to do 6 miles, cuz there’s no way I could do 26.  No way.  NO way!”

Made time on the bike – passed Stuart coming the other direction with his hard to miss white and yellow jersey.  Note: Our Team Shut Up and TRI jerseys were quite the attention getting item of clothing.  We had several people stop us to take our pic and comment.  I admit, I felt a little dorky wearing matching jerseys, but oh well.

Stu's transition area

Transitioning from bike to run is pretty easy for me as I don’t wear bike cletes, so its just a matter of taking off my helmet and putting the bike on the rack.  Which makes me wonder why it took me nearly a minute to do that.  But, off I went to do the last two miles.  Totally on auto pilot.  “Get thru get thru get thru.” Two miles felt forever.  There was no one running with me to chat with – another bummer about this.  So, I had to talk to myself.  No shock.  When I finally made it to the finish, I was more off-put than enthusiastic.  Certainly not as emotional as when I crossed the finish line of a marathon.  Not sure what that’s all about.

Anyway – finished the race with Stu waiting for me.  And the icing on the cake?  This race does not give out medals.  What kind of a race DOES NOT give out medals?  Arrrrrrghhhh!

Overall Time

LMF – 61 mins 1 sec
STU – 57 mins 23 sec

Swim (500 meters)

LMF – 13 mins 14 sec
SCF – 11 mins 7 sec

Transition 1 (swim to bike)

LMF – 4 mins 36 secs (yikes)
SCF – 3 mins 37 secs

Bike (6 miles)

LMF – 21 mins 43 secs
SCF – 21 mins 29 secs

Transition 2 (bike to run)

LMF – 59 secs
SCF – 1 min 55 secs

Run (2.18 miles)

LMF – 20 mins 29 secs
SCF – 19 mins 15 secs

Happy, sweaty girls

SF Marathon Redoux

Stuart, Katarina and I ran the SF Marathon last weekend.  Stuart, God bless him, ran the full marathon.  Kat and I, on the other hand, did not.  We did half – the front half – undoubtedly the most beautiful 13 miles of any marathon I can think of.

The Starting Line is at the Embarcadero.  You run along the piers, past Fishermans Wharf, Fort Mason and the Marina (some nice homes!), past Crissy Field and up into the Presidio (past the abandon and notoriously haunted Officers Club), over the Golden Gate Bridge (which arcs, so you are running up hill for half of it).  Once over the bridge, you turn around at the Scenic Lookout and head back over the Bridge, down thru Baker Beach, then up thru the Richmond, finishing up in Golden Gate Park.

Magnificent!

This is also my first marathon with two glaring changes in strategy:

1.  No walking

T2 with AIDS Project LA, kindly, taught us to run distance through the run/walk method, 5 min run/1 min walk.  Which generally turned to the walk/run method about mile 14, (5 min walk/1 min run) but it got us through relatively unscathed.

This time, I ran the entire time – with the exception of two potty stops, one taking so long I thought I would burst.

2.  No drugs

I confess that a key factor to my surviving two marathons was drugs.  I hold no shame (and no memories, alas) of the experiences.  To qualify – when I ran SF in 2006, my take-it-to-the-bank, pre-race strategy was to take a half of a Vicodin as I ran my first steps out the gate.  Just in case.  Then, half way through, I popped the other half.  In the grand scheme of things, I think it did bupkis, but it gave me confidence.

In the Florence marathon, no Vicodin (though, how I wish I had – a hateful course and even worse day), but ibuprofen a-plenty.  By mile 17, I think I’d popped 8.  Probably another 8 more before the finish.  I am amazed I didn’t sustain internal bleeding.

So – this time, no drugs.  Not one.  No Vicodin.  No ibuprofen.  Just good old fashioned multi-vitamin followed with a generous helping of Glucosamine.  Like pushing a baby out without drugs, this purist strategy would never have been an option in the past.  No way.

Restroom Horrors (warning: not for the weak of stomach)

1.7 miles each way

I would like to lodge a formal complaint against the county of Marin for closing one of their two Ladies restrooms, located at the Scenic Lookout just as you’ve crossed the bridge, during the marathon.  I mean, didn’t they understand that 50,000 runners might – just might – require them to keep both Ladies rooms open? As every runner knows (graphic alert), sometimes things, um, brew with the intake of all that oxygen pumping through your, um, intestines.  I had felt this burst of activity for about 2 miles when I turned into the lookout to use the restroom, (not given to port-a-potties).  This was a grave mistake.  Apparently every other female runner had gotten the same idea, so that the wait was akin to the lines in the ladies room at a concert.  Combined with the fact that one of the restrooms was closed and this one only had about 8 working stalls. Katarina waited outside as I ran in, expecting to run out (no pun, given my colonic state of affairs) in short order.

Post restroom stop

After a 10 minute wait, which is seriously taxing my ability to remain dignified, I rushed the next open stall, closed the door, lifted up the running belt and down the trou.  But wait…the door doesn’t close.  Fabulous!  I am way too far committed at this point.  So, as I am sitting there, one hand holding the door, the other my running belt, getting my business done.  (Is this too graphic?  Sorry!)  Upon completion, I determine I have to now grow another arm in order to grab toilet paper.  Not seeing this happen anytime soon, I decide to bend as far forward as I can to replace the arm that was holding the door shut (against the angry poop-filled mob of women runners) with my head.  The angle is like a swimmer on the block, about to jump into the pool.  I then reach over with my free arm to grab the toilet paper, while trying to keep the door shut and hold my running belt.  This leads to the final insult.  While there are two brand new rolls of toilet paper in the holder, they are in so tightly that I defy anyone to be able to get any sheets off the roll.

You get the idea

So, to recap, I am hunched over like an Olympic swimmer on the blocks, trying to hold the door closed with my head, and getting more frantic as I am losing valuable time.  I start to claw at the toilet rolls out of desperation.  Shreds are coming off onto the floor – it looks like a hamster has made its bed from my roll.  I have now been in the restroom so long, I assume Kat has thought somehow that she missed me and has continued with the run.  Which causes me to claw more desperately at the paper.  And then, it happens.  My phone rings.  Loudly.  Echoing through the restroom.

Mom's CD

And the very best part – the piece de resistance?  The ringtone is my Mom belting out one of her songs (off her CD Footprints in the Sand, available at www.pattycoquillard.com).  All of a sudden, blasting through the restroom at uncomfortably high volume (yet perfect pitch), and to the delight of every woman in that room,

“Holding hands at midnight, ‘neath the Starry Sky.  Nice work if you can get it, and you can get it if you try.”

Of course, I have no more arms to reach into my running bag and grab the phone.  I can only let the lyrics cycle and cycle for what feels like an eternity. I like to think that I can laugh in these situations.  Not the case here.  It was just a horrible, horrible experience. Not such nice work, for sure.

Thankfully, after God knows how long, I finally made it out of the restroom and found Kat, who was entranced listening to the Led Zeppelin cover band’s cover band playing at the lookout.  (This is the SF Marathon, after all!) We took off back over the bridge, now amongst all the chubbies, oldies and otherwise – gasp – slower runners – we had some catching up to do.  And as we made it over and headed into the tunnel taking us into Baker Beach, I heard just the slightest, most faint toot emitting from Katarina, suggesting that it might now be time for her restroom stop.  What can we say?  We’re runners.

Gallery

Bali Eco Cycling Adventure

While in Bali a couple of months ago, I had heard about Bali Eco Cycling Tours a fun bicycle day-trip in Ubud.  The initial appeal was the fact that the route was downhill.  Sounded very do-able.  Then read a great review on them in The New York Times and coming back to Bali, thought it would be fun to check out while in Ubud. It really is an all-day adventure – as much about promoting the Balinese culture and exposing visitors to traditional aspects of Balinese life as it is about cycling.  This turned out to be a highlight of our trip to Bali, and would not hesitate to recommend it strongly – almost as a requirement – to anyone visiting.

The tour starts with early morning collection at your hotel.  Once everyone is on-board, we head up to Mt Batur for a breakfast of pancakes and fruit overlooking the caldera.  Nice way to get acquainted with other members of the group while experiencing a totally different aspect of Bali’s vast and varied topography.  It was a little chilly up there!  Then we piled back into the van and were taken to a small coffee farm where the specialty is Lwok coffee, aka cat poop coffee.  I will not go into the process of the cats and the beans and the fermenting, but know that it is a highly-sought after beverage, unique to the area.  Here, we were able to taste the infamous brew as well as try various other coffees and teas grown here.  Definitely try the lemongrass tea and the ginger coffee was TO DIE for.

Then we were off to begin the cycling.  The bikes were in good working shape with functioning gears and excellent brakes.  There was a healthy assortment of bikes as well as helmets for all size craniums, including my ultra small one (which reminds me – there are also child sized bikes & helmets).  Each of us had a bottle holder and we were provided our first bottle of water for the 20+km ride (again, downhill – no stress or strain).  A big plus right off the bat is that you are followed by the van AND the bike truck, so if you have any difficulty – physical or technological – there is immediate support.  The guide, in our case Joker Joe, leads the group and his partner picks up the rear so no one is left behind.  The pace is not difficult.  The route consists of side streets and little alleyways off the beaten track, with very little traffic.  The views are magnificent.  You meander through towns, stop for a quick sound byte from Joe and a swig of water, and continue on.  They take you inside one of the traditional Balinese communes where you see how Balinese families live, which is really interesting.  You pass through rice paddies and some of the most beautiful topography you will ever see.  You learn about how the towns are structured, with the grave yards and the three temples which mark a town.  You even get to ride IN the rice paddies!

When you arrive at the end of the journey, you hop back in the van to a beautiful (and excellent) local restaurant where a sumptuous buffet lunch awaits you.  The view – stunning – right on the rice paddies. A perfect finish for the tour.

We thoroughly enjoyed the day.   I have to stress that our guide, Joe, was professional, courteous, informative – had a great way about him and the kookiest, most infectious laugh (and sense of humor – he is called “Joker Joe”, after all).  He was fun to be around and so knowledgeable.  His English was excellent and his love of his job and showing visitors the traditions was obvious.  When he biked, he would slow down enough to high-five the kids walking by and say hi to them.  There must have been 100 kids along the journey.  His smile and enthusiasm never flagged.  Note – definitely bring little treats for the kids in the villages.  You can stop at a local food store and pick up candies.  I brought rubber lizards that stick to walls.  Big hit.  Only wish I had brought more.

After lunch, they take you to the office to settle up, and in our haste, we forgot to give Joe a tip.  A major oversight on our part.  We didn’t even realize it until today.  He was superb, and made the trip so special for us.  Hopefully people will read this review and tip Joe just a little bit extra!

The Ford’s foray to Bali, testing their physical stamina, relationship-building skills and freakish swelling effects on feet and hands.

At LAX

8:30 PM Wednesday – Los Angeles

Stu and I are heading to Bali.  The countdown clock officially started when we left the house.  First leg is a 14-hour flight from LAX to Taiwan.  Even before we board, we are slightly crispy due to the late hour of the flight and sufficient intake of pre-flight beverages.  Flight drags on and on.  Finally land in Taiwan, where we spend 5 hours in lovely Taipei airport (yes – I NEED these Swarovski crystal earrings. Yes, I NEED that cute Apple AIR computer).  First name basis with the Duty Free workers who consider my enthusiasm at 6AM as quite-possibly possessed.

Lifesize Puppet in Taipei

1:44 PM Friday.  Somewhere over Indonesia.  I think.

Sitting now on 5-hour flight to Bali – 2 ½ hrs in.  Are we there yet?  I mean, really.  Are we there yet?  Looking out the window – colorwashed blue sky with a thin layer of scattered, fluffy clouds.  Below us is KL.  Somewhere.  I think.  I am immediately struck by the restorative powers of sunlight, as it streams through the windows of my window seat.  Based on these last 24 hours, my body must be completely vitamin D deprived (depraved?).  I’ve gone from home to car to office to car to home to car to airport to plane to airport to plane.  I have had about as much proximity to the great outdoors as a shut-in or a Chernobyl resident post-blast.  In other words, not much.

With any luck, we should touch down in Denpasar soon and safely, and met at the gate by our friendly representative of Bali VIP Services, who will whisk us quickly and efficiently through immigration, leaving a plane load of anxious, cranky travelers in our wake.  That’s the plan, anyway.  I find these days that my travel expectations are slightly lessened, which I wholly attribute to a recent visit to Cuba, where nothing goes as planned – even the plan doesn’t go as planned.  At this stage in the game, all you can do is pray for supreme patience, a good mental attitude and a baggage claim that yields desirable results.

Somewhere over Indonesia

Noodles in Taipei

I am happy to report that our relationship is in tact, though in looking at this photo, we look like we have aged exponentially.  More to follow…

Typical People of Taiwan

Hello Kitty bathroom in Taipei airport

Hello Kitty pay phones in Taipei airport

Cuba blowing my mind. This is a country living in a different time and a different world. You walk down the street and lose perspective – and yet you get that its only a matter of time before these incredibly beautiful neo-classical buildings and homes are going to be de rigeur among the global nomads looking to invest in the new “ït”destination. This is one of those rare places that hasn’t been spoiled by commercialism – the essence of the place and the people is strong – and I pick up this tremendous sense of freedom and independence, which is, of course, twistedly ironic.

The critic slumming at the Bulgari Resort

One day while in Bali, I had the occasion to visit three seriously chic, high-end resorts with my friend Kristin, a young Australian architect who happens to design resorts. Kristin’s mission was to take in the details – the aesthetic cues – the trends – the blend with the environment.  The lines.  The flow.  Essentially, to discern what makes these places so fabulous from a form & functionality standpoint.

Me – well, I have a slightly different set of criteria when evaluating a place where I may hang my (sun) hat.  It’s no secret I’m into ramshackle chic, which in my vernacular, refers to an effortless, slightly haphazard balance of comfort and coolness; an eclectic yet approachable style that doesn’t take itself too seriously.  So. I’m going to look at the vibe.  The style.  The price (and value).  The other guests.  The pool.  The bar.  The view.  And the precious factor – how serious does the resort (and worse, the guests) take itself.  Ultimately for me, its about how I feel here. Would I want to stay here?  Would I want to be friends with anyone who stayed here?

And so we set out that beautiful Thursday morning with our driver, Eddie, to see some seriously-chic resort cribs.  We started with Alila Villas in Uluwatu, then hit Bulgari Hotels & Resort and finished up with the classic, Amanusa

Alila Villas – Uluwatu

The Bird's Nest - The Clifftop Bar at Alila Villas

Inside the Bird's Nest

Listed on Conde Nast’s 2010 Hot list, the 4-1-1 on Alila Villas Uluwatu reads like this,”If any further proof were needed that Bali is back on track as a destination with cool hotels, then Alila Villas Uluwatu is it.”

The Alila is all about clean lines.  It is uber modern.  A classic case of form meets function.  Cement meets wood.  Reclaimed wood, FYI.  (The Alila group takes its environmentalism extremely seriously, and in 1997, received Green Globe Certification to prove it.) Water is a dominant theme, from the reflecting pond that greets you in the sleek open lobby and walks your eyes right out to the next major body of water – that incredible infinity edge pool cut right into the cliff – and beyond that to that other major body of water – The Indian Ocean.

The bar which juts over the cliff on some sort of cantilevered system,  is an awesome structure that draws your attention immediately.  Constructed with alternating boards of reclaimed wood supported by bamboo segment frames, it looks like a post-modern bird’s nest.  The cushions and built-in sofas are sunken in and comfortable.  This is the place to be for an end of day cocktail.  The view is for days.  The drinks are to die. Yup, I can see me here – its a little more serious than I normally would like – but I could work it out.

The villas all dot the hills, built in a similar, open style.  Each villa on the hills faces the ocean, has its own salt-water pool and bird’s nest – a smaller version of the magnificent cantilevered bar, jutting over the soft sloping hill.

My take on Alila Villas, Uluwatu

Right off the bat…Alila Villas Uluwatu is slightly isolated.  The road to get there felt as if it required a compass and professional tracker.  Probably the point, but I remember thinking it would be kind of a pain to leave the resort – to actually go somewhere else – not that there was anything very close – and that didn’t appeal to me.

As you enter the lobby, you sense this is a place that takes itself very seriously.  Which intimidates me – makes me whisper and say ridiculous things like, “I love the water – its so…fluid.”   And I gush a lot.

Villa Pool and Not-so-Private Bird's Nest Balé

We were shown a villa, lowest level of the hill.  It was modern and beautiful, with its little saltwater pool, ginormous bathroom and beautifully-appointed bedroom.  Everything is hidden to maintain those sleek lines and minimal feeling.  It took me absolute ages to find the television – which I had to do.  Just to know I could.  And just beyond the saltwater pool, each villa has its own miniature version of the fabulous Bird’s Nest Bar -a little balé with cushions and pillows, and view of the sea (and of the Bird’s Nest in the villa next door – exhibitionists will love this feature!)

The main pool is pretty amazing, has to be said.  The infinity edge is so sharp, it looks like it cuts into the steep cliff.  You feel as if the swimmers are taking their lives in their hands.  But one thing that caught my attention – and this speaks to the guest factor – was the Korean woman who brought her own huge inflatable killer whale water toy.  So, here this woman – wearing some version of a modest maillot (I seem to recall a t-shirt and gym shorts), riding her Shamu across this elegant pool with its elegant guests, getting her whale-wrangling groove on.  Distinctly odd, I thought, and totally incongruous to the surroundings.  Maybe its a Korean thing. Who knows? Certainly amusing to watch.  We did notice that with the exception of one couple, the rest of the guests that we saw were indeed, Korean – interested and cashed-up.  No surprise they are an extremely important target market of the Alila and indeed, of many of the upper echelon resorts in Bali.  And they can have Alila Villas, as at a nightly minimum of $775, its out of my league and definitely not my thing.

The Main Pool - No Shamu in Sight

Kristin and I finished the tour with a long and lovely lunch and bottle of bubbly (as you do), sitting on the patio of one of the two restaurants, separated by the Bird’s Nest lounge – Asian cuisine to the right; Western cuisine to the left.  We chose the left.  Service – impeccable, beginning with the offering of an assortment of branded goodies – wipes, oils, aromatic mists (repellent, I think) presented on a lacquer tray.

Bottom line – Alila Villas is undoubtedly a beautifully-designed property.  Their involvement in supporting sustainable, responsible tourism, is important and worthy of special consideration.  But unfortunately, this did not tick all my boxes.  Too serious.  Too expensive.  Too isolated.  Too quiet.  But great if you like water toys.

Part 11 – Bulgari Hotels & Resorts coming next.

Entrance

I recently had the good fortune to travel to Bali on a surf holiday, where base camp was to be a fabulous villa in Seminyak.  Because I was only staying in a hotel for one night – the dreaded first night of arrival after 24-hours of flying, I thought best not to splurge on a place with all the expensive trimmings, given my anticipated non-functioning braincells.  What a total delight to find a chic and affordable hotel option in Puri Madawi, which I found on i-escape.com, whose taste in boutique chic lodging I trust with my life.

Puri Madawi is located between Petitenget and Batu Belig, roughly a

Pool & Restaurant

5-minute cab ride from the heart of Seminyak, or a 10-minute stroll on the beach.  The hotel is situated on a quiet street, with cows and fields on one side of it.  Feels far from the hustle and bustle of a tourist mecca.  There’s only 16 rooms, which are divided into three classifications – free-standing bungalows, suites and executive suites (both two stories).  The feel is intimate and comfortable and…effortless.  The understated entrance belies the beauty inside.  The gardens are well maintained and offer a host of hidden details – fountains and sculptures where you would least expect them, romantic arbors brimming over with tropical foliage.  The pool is good sized, nestled invitingly among the lush landscaping.  I think what made grounds so nice for me, is the manageable scale.  It felt more like being in a friend’s really great and private backyard than at a hotel.  The vibe here is definitely not impersonal.

Blooming Arbors

I took a bungalow, at the affordable price of $75 a night.  A few yards off the outdoor reception area, the bungalow was cloaked in plants and trees to give privacy.  The room is round and the bed is large and netted.  But it was all about the outdoor bathroom for me, which is impressive to say the least.  Very well done.  Plants and sculptures built into the stone walls.  Just fabulous. For $110, you can take one of the Suites – a two-story set-up featuring an open living room filled with original art work and a wooden staircase that leads up to the bath- and bedroom.

Bathroom

The reception staff were terrific.  Super friendly and helpful.  Spoke great English, though other staff not so much.  Not a big deal – someone who did was always a stone’s throw away.  The only minor disappointment was the restaurant.  Dinner was not great, but breakfast more than made up for it.

I would recommend Puri Madawi to anyone who wants chic on the cheap, and a comfortable, homey, mellow environment.  Plus – with all the fabulous things to buy in Seminyak – (a whole ‘nother conversation) – you’ll appreciate a couple extra Rupiah in your pocket.  This is a find.

Suite Patio

Side note: Going to the beach by the hotel is worth the price of admission, in itself.  Its like a chapter out of Alice in Wonderland.  You are given a key and directions to go out the front door and make a right.  You then find a little hidden grass path between two extremely high property walls, meander down that to a gate, where you open with your key, only to feel like you’ve traveled back in time as you find yourself in a small (very small) Balinese village, where chickens are running around and women are tending to the community garden.  Two minutes later, you are on the beach, where your senses are completely thrown with the appearance of the monolith that will, in a matter of days now, be the new W hotel.

Beach Path