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Travel Lyn Style, Pharaoh's Island, Weybridge (2026)

07/06/2026

Bali – Day 6 – The Art of Doing Very Little

After several days of temples, rice terraces, monkeys, ducks with attitude problems and long drives through the Balinese countryside, today was deliberately left free to relax and it turns out that doing very little is surprisingly easy in Tejakula.

Dawn arrived in the usual subtle Balinese fashion, which is to say a rooster somewhere nearby decided that everyone within a two-mile radius needed to be awake immediately. Several of his colleagues clearly agreed and joined in. The dogs contributed their thoughts. A cow somewhere in the distance added a supporting statement. Nature’s alarm clock here has no snooze button.

Breakfast was followed by a leisurely wander through the village. One of the things we enjoy most about northern Bali is that daily life feels very visible. Unlike many tourist destinations where life appears to happen behind the scenes, here it unfolds right in front of you.

The village population seems to consist of roughly equal numbers of people, dogs, chickens, cats and motorbikes. Chickens shepherd tiny chicks through the roadside vegetation whilst dogs lie across pathways apparently confident that everyone else will simply walk around them. Which, to be fair, they do and we did too.

As we passed a nearby temple, I stopped to photograph one of the guardian statues. To western eyes, these figures can look more like something from a horror film than a place of worship. Bulging eyes, enormous teeth and expressions suggesting they’ve just received an electricity bill.

Their purpose, however, is protective. Balinese Hinduism places great importance on maintaining balance between opposing forces. These fierce guardians stand watch over sacred spaces, keeping negative influences at bay. The larger and more terrifying they appear, the better they are at their job. Looking at this particular example, I suspect very few spirits would dare argue with him.

Reaching the main road we came across what initially looked like a collection of recycled plastic bottles filled with suspiciously coloured liquids sitting outside a small market stall. This, as it turns out, was a petrol station.

Motorbikes are the primary form of transport for many Balinese families and in not everyone lives close to a conventional filling station, or for that matter wants to queue at one. Fuel is often sold from small roadside stalls, measured into bottles ready for purchase.

Years ago these would frequently have been recycled glass bottles, often with their former contents still proudly displayed on the label. I remember seeing Absolut Vodka bottles being pressed into service during a previous Bali trips. Nowadays plastic bottles seem to be taking over, although the principle remains exactly the same.

To a European visitor it looks slightly alarming, particularly when accompanied by a funnel that appears to have seen active service since the previous century. Yet somehow it works perfectly.

Health and safety departments everywhere would probably need a lie down, but the locals simply stop, buy their fuel and carry on with their day.

A little later when we turned off back to the Tiing, we found several large piles of coconuts stacked beside the road. Coconut palms are often called the “Tree of Life” across Southeast Asia because virtually every part is useful. The water is drunk, the flesh eaten, the oil used in cooking, the leaves woven into offerings and decorations, the husks repurposed as fuel or fibre and the timber used in construction.

Once you understand that, you stop seeing coconut palms as tropical scenery and start seeing them as one of the foundations of everyday life.

Back at our hotel, the sea continued its ongoing campaign against the shoreline. The north coast may be calmer than some parts of Bali, but the waves were still energetic enough to make us happy to remain on dry land.

Four local children had reached a different conclusion. For the best part of an hour they launched themselves repeatedly into the surf, were unceremoniously thrown back towards the beach and immediately charged in again. The sea was clearly winning on points, but their enthusiasm never wavered.

As the sun began to set, the colours softened, the waves continued to crash incessantly and another day drifted to a close. Dinner was pleasant, uneventful and entirely lacking in stories worth repeating.

Tomorrow, however, we leave relaxation behind and head off in search of fresh adventures. Which almost certainly means more opportunities for me to accidentally misunderstand something and then write about it afterwards.

06/06/2026

Bali – Day 5 – Ubud to Tejakula

Our final morning in Ubud began much as the previous ones had, with roosters announcing the day, frogs singing in the rice paddies and the child next door exercising its tonsils loudly. The local mosquitos had clearly enjoyed an all-you-can-eat buffet overnight, leaving me with enough bites to resemble a relief map of Bali.

Breakfast provided unexpected entertainment. A small scorpion made a brief appearance in the restaurant, causing rather more excitement than concern. In all our previous visits to Bali, this was our first encounter with one and thankfully it was a miniature version rather than something from a nature documentary. It was swiftly escorted back to the rice fields by staff armed with a broom and a calmness that suggested this was not entirely unprecedented.

Then came the duck drama.

Regular readers may remember that I previously paid a visit to the resort's four ducks and was met with complete indifference. This morning there appeared to be movement in the duck house despite all four residents being outside. Investigation revealed two new arrivals behind a gate. We watched as they were introduced to the established flock in what can only be described as a Balinese version of a secondary school playground. There was some posturing, a little pushing and eventually an uneasy ceasefire, with the newcomers occupying one end of the pond whilst the original residents guarded the exit ramp.

Sadly, I never discovered whether the new arrivals would have been more appreciative of my duck-feeding efforts because it was time to pack.

Packing is one of those holiday activities that nobody ever talks about. Why do dirty clothes occupy twice as much space as clean ones? And why can nobody ever remember the exact sequence of world-class Tetris manoeuvres required to fit everything into a suitcase five days earlier? Unsurprisingly, we acquired an overflow bag. That overflow bag very nearly became our downfall.

As we checked out, the hotel presented us with Tri Datu bracelets, traditional Balinese bracelets symbolising protection, balance and blessings for the journey ahead. We gratefully accepted them and hoped they might also provide protection from self-inflicted travel disasters.

A few moments later, as our driver loaded the luggage into the car, I noticed a growing puddle of milk spreading across reception and on closer inspection also across the boot of the car. The overflow bag had, quite literally, overflowed. The bracelets clearly still had some work to do. A rapid bag swap and clean-up operation later, we were finally on our way.

Bye bye Ubud, it's been fun.

We headed uphill towards Kintamani, passing through an area famous for its oranges. Roadside stalls appeared every few hundred metres, each piled high with fruit. Had we stopped at all of them, we could probably have opened our own juice bar by lunchtime.

Our destination was the rim of Mount Batur's crater. Many visitors choose to climb the volcano before dawn to watch the sunrise. We instead chose the considerably less strenuous option of lunch with a view. This comes with a risk of its own. By afternoon, cloud often rolls in and obscures the scenery entirely. Fortunately, whether through good fortune or divine bracelet intervention, the skies cleared as we arrived.

At the Mount Batur checkpoint, where visitors normally pay an entrance fee of 50,000 rupiah per person, our driver explained that we were simply passing through on our way to Tejakula rather than stopping to visit the area itself. The charge was promptly waived. It wasn't a life-changing saving, but every traveller enjoys the feeling of being waved through a barrier without having to hand over any money.

We found Ritatkala Café, which I had earmarked for lunch, and any fears of battling crowds quickly disappeared. We almost had the place to ourselves and settled into comfortable seats overlooking the immense crater. The view was mesmerising. Small clouds drifted across the landscape, casting moving shadows over the villages dotted around the crater lake. The huge black lava fields stretching across the valley floor served as a reminder that although the last major eruption was more than twenty years ago, Mount Batur remains very much an active volcano.

Lunch was fresh, delicious and reasonably priced. Sometimes spending far too much time researching places before a trip does actually pay off. With full stomachs and plenty of photographs taken, we continued our journey north.

The road followed the crater rim before beginning its descent towards the coast. Gradually the landscape changed. The cafés, boutiques and yoga studios of Ubud disappeared, replaced by villages where daily life seemed to carry on largely unaffected by tourism. For me, this is often where the real character of a destination starts to reveal itself.

The roads became narrower, steeper and increasingly dramatic. At one point we found ourselves travelling along a ridge with deep jungle-covered valleys dropping away on both sides. Once again, we felt rather pleased with our decision to hire a driver rather than attempt Bali's roads ourselves.

Google Maps briefly disagreed. At one stage it attempted to send us down what appeared to be little more than a goat track.

Our driver wisely stopped to ask a local for directions and some impressively skilled reversing followed before we regained the main road. A little later, Google became confused again and required a second opinion from Apple Maps. Technology is wonderful until it isn't.

The rest of the journey unfolded through small villages, hairpin bends and increasingly frequent glimpses of the water in the distance. This prompted a discussion in the car when I announced that we could see the sea and was immediately corrected with claims that it was in fact an ocean. AI was called upon to settle the matter. It turns out that the water to the north of Bali is indeed the Bali Sea, whilst the southern coast faces the Indian Ocean. I shall refrain from dwelling on who was right.

Eventually we arrived at our next home away from home, The Tiing Tejakula. Sometimes a hotel looks good in photographs and turns out to be merely pleasant. Sometimes it exceeds expectations completely. This was the latter.

The private pool was impressive enough, but it was the enormous sitting room overlooking the sea that really made us stop and grin at each other. Add in a comfortable air-conditioned bedroom and not one, but two bathrooms, one inside the other outside and we immediately knew we were going to enjoy our stay.

As the sun began to set, we walked along the black volcanic sand beach watching local fishing boats preparing to head out for the evening. The sea, however, looked considerably less inviting. The strength of the waves was obvious without any need for personal experimentation, so between our villa pool and the hotel pool, we'll be playing it safe.

Dinner was taken beneath the palm trees beside the shore. My North Balinese prawn fritters were plentiful and delicious. The pesto chicken was rather less memorable, although perhaps it was at a disadvantage after spending the day competing with volcanoes, duck politics and exploding luggage.

The combination of travelling and several interrupted nights finally caught up with us and we were tucked up in bed surprisingly early. Tomorrow's plans are refreshingly simple: a sea view, a swimming pool and nowhere in particular that we need to be.

05/06/2026

Bali – Day 4 – Jatiluwih Rice Terraces

The day began with nature’s alarm clock in full working order. Roosters crowed, frogs sang, insects buzzed and the child in the next room delivered an impressive solo performance. Somehow, aided by a cup of tea and a stern conversation with myself, I was functioning at 7am.

The morning was largely uneventful. Some relaxed. I tackled emails and discovered that several things I thought I’d neatly tied up before leaving the UK were busily unravelling in my absence.

At 2pm our driver arrived and we set off for Jatiluwih, around 90 minutes northwest of Ubud. The journey itself was a lesson in Balinese road etiquette, namely that the largest vehicle has right of way and everyone else works around that fact. Buses appeared around blind bends, scooters emerged from nowhere and pedestrians wandered calmly through it all as though immortality had been officially confirmed.

Not far from Ubud we passed the Sangeh Monkey Forest. Several monkeys sat on walls watching the traffic stream past. They looked thoroughly unimpressed by the whole affair, which is fair enough considering they get front-row seats every day.

As we climbed higher, villages gave way to elaborate family temples. Every Balinese home has one, and some were grand enough to make a small church feel underdressed. I innocently asked whether we had reached a particularly wealthy area. Our driver explained that honouring the gods is expensive, regardless of your income.

One thing that became immediately obvious was the number of children riding scooters. We followed one young lad who couldn’t have been much older than eleven or twelve, confidently making his way along the road without a helmet. When I expressed mild surprise, our driver laughed and pointed out that there were no police around here.

In another village we passed a temple where c**k fighting takes place. While controversial to many visitors, it remains part of Balinese tradition and religious ceremonies in some communities. Judging by the sea of parked scooters outside, it was attracting considerably more interest than feeding four mildly irritated ducks had managed yesterday.

Further along we passed a wedding celebration decorated with magnificent woven bamboo displays framing a photograph of the bride and groom. When I admired it and mentioned stopping for photos on the return journey, our driver casually informed us that wedding guests are generally welcome to help themselves to the food. Apparently gatecrashing weddings is less frowned upon here than it is in the UK.

Eventually we reached Jatiluwih and paid the princely sum of 75,000 rupiah each, about £3.40, for access to one of Bali’s most famous landscapes.

Jatiluwih covers more than 600 hectares and forms part of Bali’s UNESCO-listed Subak irrigation system, a cooperative water management network developed over a thousand years ago. Meanwhile, back home, some of us still struggle to organise a neighbourhood WhatsApp group.

The rice was not the vivid green I had imagined. Much of it was red rice, a local speciality, growing taller than many other varieties and approaching harvest, turning the terraces shades of gold rather than emerald. Rice is so central to life in Indonesia that the average person consumes around 100kg each year. Looking at the number of rice-based snacks being sold along the trail, we could well believe it.

The threatening skies finally delivered on their promise just as we stopped to admire a puppy determinedly chewing a scooter tyre. We sheltered in a small warung, chatted to a French couple and attempted to make friends with two equally enthusiastic puppies.

When the rain eased, we continued. Faced with a choice between a shorter route and a longer route, we naturally selected the longer one. This led us to a steep descent into a river valley and the inevitable realisation that every step down would eventually need to be climbed back up.

The climb was manageable. The second downpour was less so.

Our refuge this time was a toilet charging 5,000 rupiah per person. There are still places in the world where spending a penny costs about 21 pence.

By the time we emerged, the light was fading and the terraces had taken on a dark, atmospheric appearance. Very photogenic. Slightly less appealing when you’re wondering where exactly the path goes next.

We eventually reunited with our driver and headed to the Bintang Market to complete yesterday’s unsuccessful shopping mission. Every missing item on the list was found. Spirits were immediately lifted. It turns out retail therapy works surprisingly well when the total bill is less than the price of a sandwich at Heathrow.

Dinner was taken at one of the restaurants we had passed on yesterday’s rice field walk. It was simple, local and perfectly pleasant. Not every meal has to be life-changing.

Tomorrow we leave Ubud and head north. Hopefully with fewer emails, less hill walking and slightly drier weather.

03/06/2026

Bali – Day 3 – Around Ubud

Despite nearly 24 hours of travelling and a Business Class bed, sleep remained a somewhat optional activity. New surroundings, unfamiliar noises and several mysterious light sources ensured I spent much of the night wondering whether I was awake or asleep.

Breakfast brought our first opportunity to study the hotel’s interpretation of “included”. This consists of one hot drink, one juice, one menu item and either fruit or bread. Not both. Let’s not get carried away.

As not much of this was suitable for my diabetic other half, we enquired about substitutions. These were indeed possible, for an additional charge. A second coffee was also available, for an additional charge. Fortunately my Eggs Benedict was excellent and the view across the paddy fields helped restore perspective.

The day then took a turn when I discovered our bathroom door was locked from the inside despite the room being completely empty.

There followed a trip to Reception, a diversion to the restaurant facilities and the arrival of what appeared to be most of the hotel’s maintenance department. The lock, it transpired, had only recently been replaced. A key was produced and the crisis resolved.

I am pleased to report that a bathroom key has now been added to the room key set, meaning future guests will hopefully not find themselves outwitted by an unoccupied toilet.

At 11am the activities programme announced “Feed the Ducks”. Visions of dozens of eager ducks immediately sprang to mind. Instead, I was handed a tiny plastic pot containing approximately twelve molecules of duck food and directed towards a duck house containing exactly four ducks. I threw a handful of pellets. One duck looked at me. I looked at the duck. The duck looked at the remaining pellets. I apologised and left.

Before heading off for a walk through the rice fields, we decided it might be wise to place our passports and valuables in the safe. The key didn’t fit. Reception was called. Again.

By now I imagine conversations in the staff room were beginning with the words “What have they done now?”

The correct key eventually arrived and the safe was tested successfully. Confident that all was now well, I locked the safe. Then discovered I couldn’t unlock it. For a brief moment I thought our passports would be spending the next month or two in Bali even if we weren’t.

Fortunately a member of staff performed some sort of magical manoeuvre and rescued both the safe and its increasingly embarrassed occupants.

Deciding that we should probably stop breaking things inside the hotel, we headed off into the rice fields. We immediately missed the turning. Once we finally found the correct path, however, the walk was lovely. The route wound between paddy fields and irrigation channels and was shared by walkers, dogs, scooters, lizards and one snake, all apparently getting along perfectly well.

After half an hour we reached the conclusion that whilst the path was undeniably beautiful, it wasn’t actually going anywhere. So we turned around and walked back.

The afternoon was spent recovering from the exertions of duck feeding and safe management before setting off in search of sweeteners, a lilo and Slimline Tonic. Two supermarkets later we had located none of these items. Bali has been very welcoming so far. Bali does not appear to believe in artificial sweeteners.

Our final outing of the day was Hikaria’s immersive light experience, a beautifully designed trail of lights, music and storytelling through the rice fields. I am particularly proud to report that despite darkness, uneven pathways and my usual level of coordination, I successfully completed the entire walk without falling headfirst into a paddy field. This achievement should not be underestimated.

We returned to the hotel for dinner and an early night, our step count considerably healthier than our energy levels.

Tomorrow we head to the Jatiluwih Rice Terraces. With a bit luck, the ducks won’t be involved.

03/06/2026

Bali – Day 2 – The Arrival

I left you yesterday somewhere over the Indian Ocean, armed with a rather excellent white and dark chocolate mousse complete with its own glowing candle. Turkish Airlines clearly felt that if I was going to sleep, I should do so feeling celebrated.

A quick glance at the route map before bed showed us approaching Baku. It was a sobering reminder that whilst I was cocooned in comfort at 35,000 feet, life on the ground below was considerably less peaceful.

Then came the serious business of sleeping. Or at least attempting to. My bed was made up, duvet deployed, eye mask secured and I drifted off… for roughly an hour.

What followed was a long-running battle between me and the in-flight entertainment system. First, the screen in the empty seat opposite lit up like a floodlight. Then my own screen decided it had aspirations of becoming a nightclub. At one point it displayed psychedelic coloured stripes and the words “Please Wait” for so long that I felt personally invested in the outcome.

There were resets. There were more resets. There was an offer to move seats. There was a moment where I seriously considered throwing a duvet over modern technology and pretending none of it existed.

Eventually I gave up, put on a film about elephants and promptly fell asleep.

Two hours before landing I was woken for breakfast somewhere near Singapore, having accumulated perhaps three hours of sleep in total and a newfound appreciation for functioning electronics.

The flight made up time and landed in Bali 55 minutes early.

As the aircraft door opened I immediately announced, “It smells like Bali.”

This caused great amusement amongst the welcoming airport staff. Apparently not everyone arrives on an island and starts sniffing the air like an enthusiastic Labrador.

Denpasar Airport was astonishingly efficient. Having completed visas, tourist levy and arrival paperwork before departure, we sailed through the new e-gates and reached baggage reclaim in minutes.

Our driver, however, was expecting us almost an hour later. When he arrived, apologising profusely, we were standing exactly where we should have been if the aircraft had landed on schedule.

The drive to Ubud was my first introduction to Balinese traffic. According to our driver, it wasn’t bad. I would hate to see bad. Scooters appeared from directions I hadn’t previously considered possible. Cars braked apparently on instinct rather than necessity. Everyone survived. Somehow.

An hour and forty-five minutes later we arrived at Mathis Retreat. And suddenly all thoughts of malfunctioning seats, airports and sleep deprivation disappeared.

Rice fields stretched away beside the hotel. Frogs provided the evening soundtrack. The pool glowed invitingly in the darkness. Our room was beautiful, complete with a bath large enough to comfortably accommodate a small sailing dinghy.

After dinner we wandered through the illuminated paddy fields, soaking up the warm evening air and trying to process the fact that we were finally here.

By this point I had been awake, asleep and awake again across three continents, two airports, several time zones and one stubborn entertainment system.

Bed was calling. Loudly.

Tomorrow: Ubud begins. And judging by the chorus of frogs outside our room, there will be no need for an alarm clock. 🐸🌾✈️🇮🇩

01/06/2026

Bali – Day 1 – The Journey Begins

There was definitely a buzz in the air this morning. One final lactose-free flat white at home (it never tastes quite the same anywhere else), a few last emails and then the realisation that after months of planning, today was finally departure day. The dogs knew before we did.

Suitcases had appeared from cupboards, doors were opening and closing more often than normal and they spent the entire morning shadowing our every move. Before long it was time to deliver them to doggy daycare and their own two-week holiday. They were delighted to see Tara and her family. We unloaded enough food and treats to survive a small apocalypse and promised we’d be back soon. Judging by their expressions, they weren’t buying it for a second.

Back home, the packing operation commenced. Every trip begins with the same question: how can one person possibly need this much stuff? As long as the snorkel, flippers, Imodium, sunscreen and a healthy supply of Lyon’s Green Label tea bags made it into my suitcase, everything else was negotiable.

Then suddenly it was time to leave.
What have we forgotten? Who knows.
The golden rule remains unchanged: passport, phone and medication. Everything else can be solved with a credit card and varying degrees of optimism.

Getting to Heathrow was easy. Dropping the car at Meet & Greet was painless. Check-in, however, was surprisingly busy. Judging by the queue, Business Class was completely full.

Our bags disappeared onto the belt and we immediately started guessing their weights.
He won comfortably with just 16kg from a 30kg allowance. I’m not entirely sure how that’s possible. Perhaps he’s travelling light in an effort to save the planet. Mine weighed 23kg. The kitchen sink is surprisingly heavy.

Fast Track security deposited us into Terminal 2 and its vast collection of shops, all eager to separate us from our money before we’d even left the country. We resisted temptation and instead began what felt like a sponsored charity walk to the B Gates. Eventually we reached the lounge.
Within minutes, he had a cup of tea, I had a glass of rather pleasant white wine and the holiday finally started to feel real.

The flight to Istanbul was smooth, comfortable and entirely civilised. Business Class has a habit of making six-hour journeys feel slightly unreasonable to complain about.

Then disaster struck. I removed my shoes.
Both of my big toes were peering through holes in my socks. Not one sock! Both socks!

There I was, sitting in Business Class looking like I’d escaped from a Dickens novel.
Thankfully Turkish Airlines came to the rescue with a pair of slippers. My dignity was only partially restored, but at least my toes were no longer on public display.

We landed in Istanbul and immediately embarked on Marathon Walk Number Two.
Istanbul Airport is enormous. It’s less an airport and more a fully functioning city that occasionally allows aeroplanes to visit.

After what felt like several postal districts, nine moving walkways and at least one change of climate, we found the Business Lounge and settled in for a couple of hours.

The food displays were spectacular.
There was only one problem. No Coke Zero. This triggered an expedition amongst the hoi polloi downstairs where I eventually located some. Imagine my delight when I discovered that two small cans cost more than half the price of a bottle of vodka. To make matters even more entertaining, purchasing alcohol requires both a passport and a boarding pass. Apparently buying vodka is considered a matter of national security.

Our next flight to Bali is just under 12 hours long. The current estimate has us arriving about 45 minutes early, which is 45 extra minutes in Bali and therefore worth celebrating.

After yet another lengthy walk we eventually located Gate B17. What is it about B Gates? Whether in Heathrow or Istanbul, they always seem to require advanced hiking skills, specialist equipment and an Ordnance Survey map.

Our aircraft is almost brand new and happens to be the 500th aircraft delivered to Turkish Airlines. It carries a special celebratory livery which would have been lovely to photograph had it not been the middle of the night.

For now, the journey continues. The slippers are on. The seat converts into a bed. The destination is Bali. And somewhere over the Indian Ocean, I shall attempt to get some sleep.

Tomorrow, our Balinese adventure begins. Admittedly we’ll arrive in the evening and probably go straight to bed, but let’s not allow facts to get in the way of a good story.

29/05/2026

Travel broadens the mind. Good travel nourishes your soul.

Yesterday, however, travel mainly nourished my appreciation of functioning queue management!

What should have been a perfectly straightforward journey from Northern France to home took almost seven hours. A broken-down LeShuttle train earlier in the day had created a backlog that seemed to involve most of South East England’s families attempting to return home simultaneously before the end of half term.

There were overflowing car parks, delayed departures, overheated dogs, children being fuelled with emergency burgers and ice cream and enough charging Teslas to briefly challenge the local electricity grid.

My train eventually left three and a half hours late, but surprisingly, that is not what stays with me today.

Today I remember a few peaceful days in France. Quiet village roads. Wild flowers growing where nobody planted them. Delicious mussels. Fresh bread. Sunshine.

Travel has a habit of doing that. The delays, queues and frustrations eventually fade into the background, while the moments that made you smile, still make you smile and tend to stay with you.

Which is probably just as well, because I'm doing it all again on Monday.

Travel Lyn Style

07/06/2026

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05/06/2026

03/06/2026

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29/05/2026

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