Beaches? We don't need no stinkin' beaches!

After a few days, central Ubud starts to wear thin – you can take only so much “Taxi, Meesta?” every five steps – so one morning I set out on a hike away from town. In no time I am past the art studios, warungs and spas, walled in by dense foliage.

Around a bend and across a creek, away from everything, I come to the stone archway for Arjana Bungalows. Up, up, up the narrow, winding steps, I arrive at … this:

A cheerful young man named Chanto shows me the different bungalows, most of them off by themselves, a few poolside, one even tucked away under the dining patio with its rice paddy view. The rooms are clean and spacious, the beds are an Asian version of the Tempur-pedic mattress.

I ask how much. “Hundred twenty thousand rupiah,” Chanto replies; about twelve bucks. “Plus 12% discount if you stay week or longer.” Closer to ten bucks, now. “Includes breakfast,” he adds. Deal!

Chanto promises to hold a bungalow for me until tomorrow. I trot right back to town and start packing, even though I am committed to one last night in my current abode, which now looks dowdy and depressing. How did I ever endure this conventionally mattressed, pool-challenged crap-hole?

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I catch a made-for-turistas performance by the Ubud Women’s gamelan and traditional Balinese dance troupe in an open-air auditorium. The footlights attract many bats, which add a surreal touch to the spectacle.

Wait, what? I am amazed to see that one of the dancers is Katie Holmes! Does Tom know?

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The reports so far from other travelers regarding the attractiveness of Bali beaches is not good: dirty and poor water quality, say two dudes just back from Amed; black sand is ugly, grouses a bald-headed old German guy. (But then, don’t bald-headed old German guys prefer their sand, and all else, to be white?)

I will reserve judgment until I see for myself … but what’s the hurry? Scroll back up and look at the pictures again. Maybe I’ll get to the beach, maybe not.