Thoughts of Bali

The news that Dad had died somewhat coloured my views of Bali ... obviously. But I would have to say it seemed less ... frantic ... than the previous times we've been there. Sure, there are still the entreaties to buy, but quite often a simple shake of the head was all it took to turn them away. I heard "G'day, mate" several times ... but also, I thought amusingly, "Hey, cuzzie bro!" ... and of course, "Hey, Grandad!"

We went up to Candidasa ... a couple of hours north on the east coast. It's fabulous, and just barely "tainted" by tourism. The people seem happier and more genuine. The food's good and the beer is cold.

We stayed at the Bayshore Villas ... and I would recommend them to anyone. The owner, Brad, is an Australian and only too happy to help guests and share his Bali knowledge with everyone. He knows the ins, the outs, the ups, the downs, where to eat and where to avoid, and who to buy from without being ripped off.

The accommodations are clean, neat and tidy. The food is good without being outstanding. The location — on the beachront, literally — is brilliant.

Here are a few photos that sum up my experience. (Well, apart from being in bed for three days, shivering and sweating at the same time, with diarrhoea, muscle cramps and blinding headache, that is.)

Goodbye, Dad

So Dearly Beloved and I were in Bali, on the first week of our fortnight's holiday, when I received the phone call from my brother: Dad died this morning. It was his 61st wedding anniversary, to the day. We knew he was ill; the diagnosis was lung cancer ... terminal, inoperable at his age. But that was just three weeks ago and they thought he had months to go. I'd seen him just a few days beforehand and he'd been lively, eating well and actually gaining weight!

I don't know for sure what happened, but I like to think that Dad knew he could cheat the indignity of a prolonged dying by just ... letting ... go. And so he did. He died in his sleep, apparently peacefully, without struggle or pain. If any of us could have actually planned his passing, it would have been that way.

Sadly, Alzheimer's has sunk its teeth into Mum and she only sometimes realises what has happened. It is a cruel bastard of an affliction.

So I flew home to help my brothers prepare a funeral. Today has been spent scanning photos of his life, creating a slideshow, and preparing music for the service. The images and sounds made me weep, a number of times. I am emotionally drained ... and I still have the eulogy to write.

I'm saying goodbye to my hero. Dad taught me to walk like a man, to have table manners, respect for my elders and authority, to ride a bike, to hunt, to shoot, to fish, to care, to realise men can cry without demeaning themselves and, above all else, to love, the way he loved Mum. I know I caused him grief over the years, but I also know he always found it within his heart to forgive me. I will miss his "Hello, Sonny Jim ... how are you?" sorely.

Bye, Dad; love you.