The Royal Purnama

It was our last two days in Bali and we’d already been charmed by the warmth of its people (and its weather) when the friendliest porter I've ever encountered turns up, whisks us into an air-conditioned car, and sets off on an hour-long trip through rice fields to the black-sanded coast of east Bali. Mrs Smith (my friend I’ve recruited for the adventure) and I are smiling the entire time.

Our destination was the Royal Purnama – I'm not sure of the exact moment I fall in love with it but I know it happens quickly.

First we pull into a twisty lane lined with tropical ivy and drive up to an understated bungalow lobby for a personal welcome from the manager. Then we’re handed what I can only describe as a Balinese version of Pimm's and hop into a golf-cart and head down a sun-speckled lane where arbors are draped with orchids. We can’t see it yet, but we sense the sea nearby.

A colourful wood-carved door is our exit point; beyond it a tiny courtyard of stepping stones surrounded by water. Another carved wooden door at the other side opens into our villa where water, wood and plants blend beautifully.

Inside, we explore our modern kitchen, elegantly canopied bed and wide private-pool-spying daybed. It’s difficult to outshine a private pool, but then we find our bathroom. It’s just as large as the bedroom, with one side open to the air but shaded by leafy plants, his-and-hers sinks, a giant bathtub sunk into the centre of the room and tiny, fresh yellow flowers strategically strewn.

If hotels could talk, this would be the time it said: ‘You think that’s good? You just wait…’ Because then we wander down the cobbled drive and turn into a clearing, where a perfectly manicured green lawn, sprinkled with giant white bean bags and canopy beds leads down towards the dark black sands and lapping waves of the Indian Ocean. There’s an outdoor bar, too, where a group of guests are enjoying afternoon tea with beaming smiles on their faces. We knew we didn't want to leave.

That evening, we dine by candlelight on the patio outside Standing Stones Restaurant, sipping local white wines paired with fiery nasi goreng. The waiters recognise us from lunch and ask about our day. At the end of the evening, they tell us they'll see us in a few days... When we painfully admit we'll have moved on by then, they ask us about home and when we plan to come back. It feels like being part of a family.

Such friendliness extends to the spa, too, where we find ourselves lounging after a truly perfect massage (I’m not a massage person, but then I’d never had a traditional Balinese massage before), sipping tea and munching on cookies while we chat away with the soft-spoken staff. We float back to our room and sleep like babies.

We wake early to watch the kaleidoscopic East Coast sunrise; the locals walking along the rough surf pausing as the first rays hit the beach. In the distance, we spot the outline of Mount Agung: a massive volcano usually hidden behind the clouds. We don't talk much, but the scenery speaks a thousand words. Then we retire back to the beanbags and sun loungers for the day, armed with our books and our sunscreen, grateful that we don’t have to do much of anything at all. At least for one more day...