Mr & Mrs Smith

Is it possible for the Island of the Gods to transform a tired mama and papa into a hip and happening Mr and Mrs Smith? In my head, at least, it doesn’t seem an incredible stretch, especially since our ultimate destination is the Balé, a child-free retreat on the eastern side of Bali’s Bukit Peninsula at Nusa Dua.

We are ushered in from the sweltering tropical heat to our Deluxe Single Pavilion – minimal, chic and deliciously secluded – and our first mission becomes food. Even before our gado-gado arrives the smell of the alang-alang roof and the plinking chords of the gamelan have lulled me into a midday trance. Mr Smith, on the other hand, has plunged into the nearest body of cool water. Naked. Thankfully, our villa has a private pool or the resort’s other guests may have had a rude shock. Gado-gado devoured we take to skinny-dipping interspersed with competitive bouts of Scrabble. When we’ve had enough triple word score seeking, Mr Smith, who is something of a Zen master, indulges in a spot of yoga in the buff; my mind, however, turns once again to food and I peruse the menu, contemplating our next meal. This is already proving such a luxury: we have barely arrived and already we’ve had time for each other and for ourselves.

For those who want to explore the more – how can I put this? – rustic side of Bali, there is always popular Geger beach, which is across the road and down a side lane, as are most things on the island. (The Balé runs a complimentary shuttle service here, as it does to many local places of interest.) We last less than five minutes among the European tourists, mangy stray mutts and deckchairs before deciding that nice though it is a meal by the main pool at the Balé seems like a far more civilised way to pass the time.

The restaurants at the Balé are helmed by chef Brandon Huisman who has done an amazing culinary leap from preparing yak at his previous post in a Bhutanese resort to offering up delicious raw food options for his guests in Bali. We order a raw coconut pad thai made using chilled slices of young coconut as a substitute for the rice noodles traditionally found in the dish. In the mid-afternoon heat this sour, spicy, slippery version of a Thai classic is exactly the cooling diversion we need after our failed beach outing. Mr Smith is so taken with the meal and the whole concept of living raw that he is soon suggesting enthusiastically that we should convert to uncooked at home, too. I have visions of myself clasping a coconut between my knees, struggling to scoop out the succulent flesh.

As good as the food is at the Balé, the local in me begins to hanker for some tasty Indonesian fare. Not knowing the area at all, we ask the hotel staff for a neighbourhood recommendation. Initially sceptical and convinced we would be served a Westernised version of Indonesian food, the grumpy foodie in me is quickly pacified at Bumbu Bali. All the traditional Balinese dishes are on the menu and we decide on the vegetarian rijsttafel – a Dutch word translating as rice feast – and it almost knocks the two of us off our chairs. Each course is an exquisite sampling of flavours that in itself seems like an entire meal. A vegetarian spread of such a high standard is a real treat and if you’re ever in Bali we highly recommend trekking here from wherever you are staying.

The following day, we decide it is time to take relaxation to the next level and so book in for two hours of pummelling at the resort’s spa. The hot stone therapy using crystals looks promising, since I fancy myself as something of a modern-day hippie chick and have indulged before in crystal healing. Our spa room is, like the rest of the property, somewhat overly spacious. Personally, I prefer things a little more intimate – nesty and cosy – but that doesn’t stop me from falling asleep almost as soon as the therapist places her hands on my back. I wake when the aromatherapy massage ends and the crystal healing begins. By now, I’m eagerly awaiting some words of ancient wisdom passed down through the elders – what magical crystals might open which chakras, for example – but the therapist simply proceeds, without a word, to give me what feels like a hot stone massage (she’s a junior, it turns out, so the experience may be more revealing with a more experienced practitioner). While incredibly relaxing, it could be more personalised, with an analysis of what types of healing crystals are used to suit each individual.

Back at our villa, my head clear and body nourished, I start making up a little ditty: ‘This little piggy went to Bali / this little piggy ate dessert naked in the pool / this little piggy has been rubbed and loved…’ And, at that moment, it dawns on me that the only parts of my body that have been on duty since arriving at the Balé are those used for eating, sleeping or playing Scrabble. Sure, by this point, I am feeling a little like a sloth, but I’m also enjoying every sun-kissed minute. The mind is a magical device and, teamed with our private paradise at the Balé, I’ve forgotten about anything beyond the wooden gate. This is exactly what we needed. It’s only taken a couple of days but a tired and testy mama and papa are indeed transformed. Meet the young, revived and relaxed Mr and Mrs Smith.