Ibu Oka, Bali

Just google ‘Bali babi guling’ and you can see Ibu Oka hogging the limelight.

Bali usually exudes a “chillout, take it slow, what’s the rush” aura but there isn’t an ounce of truth of that notion at Ibu Oka. By 11am, the dingy eatery takes on the frenzy of rush hour on top of year-end seasonal sale, which greats you as soon as you enter its confines.



Most recently featured on Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations TV show (can I just say this guy is in serious trouble of overexposure), Ibu Oka is so confident of its appeal, it doesn’t even provide chairs for its diners A meal at Ibu Oka could be physically challenging to non-Lilliputians, which accidentally includes Ibu-Oka -regulars as well as people above 1.20 meters. It was almost as if someone said, “You want babi guling? Hang on, please go through our obstacle course first.”


Start by locating a space to squeeze yourself into. Once you have located target, tip top over and at all cost, try not to trample over or fall on fellow patrons. After which, gently ease yourself onto the floor, acrobatically fold in your legs and tucked them in Cirque du Soleil style.



For such a busy place, there seemed to be only two people running around. No worries, someone will eventually comes over to take your order- once she’s done delivering the drinks, replenishing the cutlery and tissue box, and attending to a dozen others.

All this for babi guling.

All this for a plate of rice, topped with slices of roast pork, deep fried blood sausage, crackable skin and vegetable relish, slathered with spice-enriched gravy that coated every fibrous shred of roast pork.



It is heart-stoppingly good, in every sense of the word.

Bali Part 1

I’m guessing extreme weather conditions and personal psychological constitution had made it difficult for me to enjoy Bali and 5 Ss- Sun, sea, sand, spa and shopping.

Since I’m a heliophobe, I couldn’t call upon the holy trinity of Sun, Sea and Sand for comfort. Even with the Luxe guide as a solid companion, hopes of finding paradise were marred by torrential rains. Heavy downpour had locked us in and made it difficult for us to get travel around for spa treatments. As for shopping, there are 2 things to bear in mind: in the fashion circuit, Bali is laps behind fashion forerunners, so don’t come charging down the rice padi fields looking for next season’s gotta-have outfit; on the other hand, one should definitely visit bali for interior décor. I absolutely love the Bali Villa look and almost wished I could Fedex my villa back- sans mosquitoes.

Somebody had a feast. And no, it wasn’t me or any of my family members but the damn mosquitoes, which came out in full force once darkness descends.

On Day 1, I woke up with a Weigh A Ton eyelid. I had such difficulty opening my right eye, it felt as if my eyelashes had entangled, making it almost impossible to life up my eyelid. A glance into the mirror revealed something else: a mosquitoes bite had caused my right eyelid to swell to the size of a tiny cushion. On Night 2, the mosquitoes had helped themselves to both eyelids and upper lip. By Day 3, more than a dozen mosquitoes speckled my forehead and the rim of my face- which accidentally reveals I sleep sideways.

I was actually afraid of going to bed because save for a cotton sheet, I was defenseless against the pesky winged bugs which could strike anytime and anywhere. Throughout my trip, I resorted to smearing the bites with medicated oil, feeling comfort from the searing heat as distracted me from the itch. Even I jump a little at sight of any unidentified flying insects.

This holiday season, I must say I saw the silver lining in every dark cloud. Yup, all 600 thread counts of it. Though I was disturbed by extremely-droopy eyelid, I thought to myself, “Hey if this doesn’t subside, I might have to get it surgically removed… maybe the surgeon could accommodate an additional request and give me double eyelids!” As for my mosquito-stung upper lip, whatddayaknow thousands of people pay big moolah to get these lips that made Angeline Jolie famous.

For all my troubles and grievances, this trip made me understand myself more. I’m a Big City girl. I need my holidays jam-packed with things to do. I need to wake up every morning with a sort-of itinerary of places to hustle. I need to be up and running about, sussing out the hidden alleys and backways for new things to discover. My idea of a hellish holiday is to ‘relack one corner’ and chill out because the more I try to relax, the edgier i get.

Save for the fact that it was all about spending time together as a family, the magic of a Balinese holiday was lost on me. Hmm, it's probably just me though.

BALI

A fortnight ago, Mum dangled a pair of minimicro lycra shorts in front of me. Not one to pull of skanky Kardashian antics, I stared at her with a look that pleaded ‘explanation please!’

She then gleefully proclaimed, “I’m going to swim in this” and seemed genuinely excited by the prospects of waddling in the pool. It’s rather bewildering because I don’t recall any of us (true blue heliophobes) actively swimming in the last few years; even my dad has given if up, claming that it affected his golf swing.

Unable to grasp the concept wholly, I asked again, "You are going to swim?"

Yes, in our private pool. Aren’t you?

Hmm, no? It was as if the private pool at the villa had failed to register in my “Things to do in Bali” plans. Come to think of it I haven’t swam in years, well 5 to be exact, after I was done compulsory swimming classes in JC. I guess there are many reasons why I haven’t swim in years, chief among which:

I have issues with the sun.

Yeah but I figured it would be nice to take a dip at night.

I have bigger issues with the swimsuit.

Man, those things are so unforgiving! I just can't imagine squeezing myself into one of those dreadful stretchy things that cling onto your f-. Growing up, I never failed to remind myself of a bak zhang. If I had it my way, childhood pictures of me in a swimsuit would be incinerated.

What if someone calls up the White House, “Mr. President, I think we have found the weapon of mass destruction… right here in Bali, Seminyak.”

Argh! I don’t want to spend Christmas in handcuffs.

It’s a PRIVATE pool. Yeah well whatever. I have no wish to inflict visual horror fest on natural flora and fauna of Bali.

I don’t own a swimsuit. But say, if (for some freak reason) I were to get one, I want a nice swimsuit- no Hawaiian flowers or Speedos. I’m only going to be in Bali for four days so I’m not going to splash out of a swimsuit that would get thrown to the back of my closet and never see the light of day once I’m back. Then again if I were to just wet my feet, I probably don’t need a swimsuit, right? Ok I admit, I did pop into Butt Cheels and NewUrbanMale a couple of times over the weekend but after looking through the outlandish outfits, I ended up feeling really nauseated.

Unable to detect the wet blanket I’ve been, my mum offered, “I’ve a few old swimsuits, I’m sure you can fit into them.“

Uh-oh. My mum’s taste and mine are as different as chalk and cheese- she’s into colour and prints, while I stick to monochromes. True enough, I found a couple of swimwear fashion disasters- polka dots, red with blue hibiscus- but surprise surprise, I chanced upon a PLAIN black halter. Squeezing myself into it, I felt like an honorary member of the Johnsonville Sausage fan club.

When did you get this?

1979

Ok, so technically my swimsuit is older than me.

Where did you get it?

Scotland.

That’s akin to saying, “I got my mink jacket from the Bahamas”.

Well, at least I have a swimsuit. GASP.

And I'm off to Bali for 4 days till the 25th.
Merry Christmas to you all!