Rain. I love tropical rain, especially when you’re at the beach and it’s 34 degrees celsius and you have a means of getting back to the hotel fairly painlessly.
This Balinese rain is something completely different. It’s like the heavens have decided to throw buckets of water at us at a rate of 20 buckets/second, with no letting up. Yes, it’s warm but we found out the hard way that the local Ubud cabbies don’t venture out in the rain past 8 pm. I tried Googling “Uber Ubud” to no avail (meh).
We were at Hubud when it started. Marine, tapping into her infinite reserves of inquisition, questioned whether it was raining. My response: “nah” (I thought that the incessant rattling of the rafters was the sound of the fans) but, yes, it was pissing down. I’ll never complain about the rain in London again (stolen from a comment made by an English tourist, on seeing the rain for the first time, yesterday).
Yours truly had to venture out into the river-that-was-once-a-street to hunt for a taxi. Nope, no hint of a taxi on JL. Hanoman. A lot of scooters sloshing and spraying water everywhere but no taxi. I traipsed back to Ubud, looking like a shaggy wet dog to find Marine, nice and dry inside casually talking to one of the Hubud workers. On seeing my dishevelled, wet, beard, Ms Hubud kindly loaned us an umbrella and we started making our way to the apartment (a 30 minute walk).
Luckily, Marine’s Balinese superpower seems to be sniffing out taxi drivers (steady) so, before we knew it, we were in a freezing cold cab on our way back “home”. The cabbie, whose name I didn’t ask, told me that it was “the wrong time of year to visit Bali”. On this evening’s evidence, I fear that he may be…right?
Oh, and Hubud is ok. Decent place to work, if you want your legs to be bitten raw by mosquitoes (they did provide repellent but it looks like the little shits are immune to all brands of the stuff).
Let’s see what tomorrow has in store for us…