I got tipped off to a holiday promotion taking place over the next few days for the San Juan Marriott Resort (that’s in Puerto Rico, y’all!). They’re hosting a daily photo scavenger hunt on Twitter that could leave you with a handful of free nights for use in 2010, which isn’t too shabby, especially if you were planning to visit PR next year anyway. (Bioluminescent Bay anyone?)

Good luck (especially since you’ll be competing against me)! There are only 4 days left to enter.

That first workshop went so well that when I found out Lynda was doing a 5-day class this summer, I signed up immediately. The only hitch was that it was in New York and not even NYC, which would be easy to get to, but upstate NY at a place called The Omega Institute. This meant logistics and planning and as it turns out, vegetarian meals for a week.

Omega is basically a summer camp for adults. The week I attended was Arts Week, so besides Lynda’s class, people could select workshops in West African Dance, Mask Making, Gospel Singing, Tap Dance, Trapeze Artistry, etc. And all of them (except my class luckily) performed at the week’s conclusion ala Waiting For Guffman. And although I didn’t expect to enjoy it, I did. I really did. Especially the trapeze performance. Ballsy (in more ways than one)!

The Institute itself consists of a few basic buildings for lodging where you have your choice of camping (I don’t think so!), sharing a big fat wide-open dorm room (nope), getting your own private room in a dorm with a shared bathroom (more my speed), or getting a cottage all to yourself (reasonably priced, but not necessary). No matter which option you choose, it doesn’t matter too much because you won’t be in your room very often anyways.

That’s because in addition to whichever workshop you sign up for, there are a million other things to do and most of them are included in the lodging fee. Tai chi, yoga, meditation, kayaking, swimming, tennis, even a “movement” class where you can pretend you’re a snake writhing around on the ground to music. Yes, if you haven’t already guessed, Omega is a crunchy granola type of place. In fact, it wouldn’t be a misnomer to refer to it as Hippie Village. I know I did.

But with the lushness of the property, the serenity of the lily pad covered lake and the twinkly, blinky fireflies, you’ll find yourself willing to overlook all that. Plus, hippies really know how to relax. To that end, I partook of two spa treatments at their Wellness Center while I was there. One craniosacral massage (I’ve been meaning to try this out for a while. Eh.). And one shiatsu massage (A little rushed, but decent).

The only real blemish was the food, which is also included in your fee. As you know, I’m a meat-eater and while I saw it as an interesting challenge to eat veggie for 5 days, after the 2nd day I wanted to go find a cow in a nearby pasture and suck on its hide just to experience some flavor. I mean, c’mon veggies, is it so hard to add salt to a dish? Just shake your wrist like you’re playing the tambourine. The funny thing is, there was a “bland food” section where you could get greens or beans or whatever that weren’t cooked with any seasoning at all and I couldn’t imagine any of those options tasting much different than what I got.

Even so, I left Omega with a warm cozy feeling that’s still with me even a few days later. If you’re on the East coast and trying to get away for even a weekend, I’d recommend taking a look at their schedule. They offer a wide variety of program options and if you don’t feel like doing a damn thing, they also offer a Rest and Relaxation Retreat so you can just do as you please for however long you feel pleased to do it.

And it should go without saying, if you want to learn a fantastic and simple writing method taught by one of the funniest, most self-deprecating genius authors/cartoonists of our time, then sign up for Lynda’s class next year. Or check out her site to see if she’ll be coming to your town soon. If she’s not (and even if she is), pick up a copy of her brand new book, “What It Is,” which explains her method and incorporates her signature drawing and collage-style artwork. Totally fun to read! And inspiring for the lil’ writer inside of you who is patiently waiting for that “someday” when you take your talent seriously.

Travel Betty Basics

Omega Institute
Rhinebeck, NY 

Rhinebeck Taxi
(845)876-6600
You can rely on them to pick you up when they say they will and you’ll also have a pleasant time chatting with your driver. 

Amtrak
I caught the Omega shuttle up from NYC, but on the way back I had to take a taxi, the train, the subway, the AirTrain and then my flight. Shwew! But Amtrak was quite delightful.  

After the very intensive planning process that went into my Egypt adventure, I decided I wanted a trip that required nothing more from me than I land on the tarmac with a smile and a backpack. That I would actually land with a smile and a backpack and a wedding dress came later, but originally I just wanted a warm locale where I could write.

The South Pacific immediately came to mind. I hopped on Vacation Rental By Owner and started to snoop. There were surprisingly very few rentals available on the islands, so I expanded my search. And that’s when I saw the photos of the Villa Naga Maya property in Legian, Bali, Indonesia.

It looked Seussian, magical and high-end without being pretentious. It looked like everything I’d imagined Bali should be and so I inquired about availability. Two days later, I was at the bank wiring the first half of my deposit. (They thankfully now take credit card payment)

For the next few months, every time I got frustrated with the 9-5, I would log onto the website and click through the photo gallery and dream of my impending vacation. I did worry that the actual property would not live up to the professional photographs, but those fears were put aside as soon as I arrived.

Villa Naga Maya appears as a yummy chocolate Easter egg nestled in cellophane grass a few steps down a cobblestone alley (called a ‘gang’ in Bali). Arriving after sunset, my first thought was “Holy shit, I’m going to get mugged by a gang along a gang.” But about 5 seconds after being in the country, you realize it’s just too hot outside for such shenanigans.

I never once felt unsafe walking around my neighborhood even at night and being such a small community, people came to know me and watch out for me. Especially the Villa Naga Maya property owner, Merrick. When Travel Boyfriend came to town, he said, “Wow, it looks like you’ve got a nice group to rely on here. I don’t feel so nervous for you being alone.”

Over the course of the month, the staff of Villa Naga Maya took excellent care of me. My villa was always impeccably cleaned. My clothes were washed promptly and cheaply (although one time, Travel Boyfriend received a pair of mystery underwear by mistake). The grounds were lush and magnificent. The pool the perfect temperature. The sun chairs contoured for maximum relaxation. It didn’t take long for me to imagine this was home and I was surrounded by friends. One day, Merrick even took me on a trip around Denpasar where I ate goat satay and bought bootlegged DVDs.

In hindsight, I might have chosen to hop around the island a bit more instead of staying at one place the whole time. Although I did do a few overnight trips to Ubud and Amed, that meant paying twice in essence since I booked the villa for the entire month.

But, I looked at it as rent money and the sidetrips as the typical weekend getaways I’d partake of in the States anyway. All in all, my stay was excellent and I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend Villa Naga Maya to other Betties looking to visit Bali. It lived up to my expectations and then some and I hope that one day, in the not-too-distant future, I will return.

Travel Betty Basics

Villa Naga Maya
Jl. Werkudara Gg. Arjuna 7B
Legian, Kuta, Bali, Indonesia
Phone/Fax: +62 361 763387
Rates: $80-200 per 2-bedroom villa depending on season and length of stay 

My friend from Singapore and I arrived at the Pertiwi Resort & Spa not an hour before and decided to splurge. Since spa is in the name, I know to expect higher prices than I’ve been paying, but I also figure I can expect an expertly performed massage. Not so.

No, Travel Betty, turn back!

The spa complex is set in the back of the expansive property, near the second pool. There are a couple of private massage huts and even a Jacuzzi (which featured a plethora of dead bugs floating on the water’s surface, Mmmmm!).

The place is empty so we use the spa phone to call up for two massage therapists. After a short wait, one shows up. There are discussions and confusion about needing another therapist and I am turned down for my request for the Boreh scrub and so settle for what they are calling an aromatherapy massage.

My friend is led into her hut while I wait and wait and wait for someone else to show. On the brink of leaving, a woman finally appears.

We walk into the humid, mosquito-filled hut and she goes to work…scratching her mosquito bites. Seriously, for about 10 minutes she is so itchy, she basically just scratches herself while keeping one hand on my back. That hand doesn’t move, but I’m pretty sure the woman still defines what she is doing as “giving a massage.” Finally I can tell by the pressure that she is giving her bites the ol’ Hot Cross Buns and soon after, her attention seems to turn at least minimally more towards our shared purpose.

During this whole production, I am focused on a bowl of water placed on the ground below my face rest. In it floats a single yellow flower. The way the evening’s light is coming in through the window, it looks like a brilliant still life painting. I decide that even though the massage is crap, I can enjoy the simple beauty of this scene.

For a brief moment, I allow my eyes to close. I hear a loud thump and splash. Opening my eyes, I see that the therapist has tripped over my still life. Water covers the floor and the flower clings to the side of the bowl like a desperate Titanic victim. There goes that.

A few minutes later, when all of the light has drained from the hut, my therapist leaves me to fumble around for a light switch. She fumbles. And fumbles. And fumbles. And can’t find one. Or at least one that works. Then she comes back to me distracted. After another minute of massage, she leaves me again for more fumbling.

Finally, she hears that my friend is done with her massage and goes out to grab the other therapist to help her locate a switch. Together they folly around until a light source is discovered.

Face-up now, I am blasted by a shot of bright fluorescent light. I open my eyes and see the therapist gazing down at my watch in her hands and I think, “Yeah, me too sister.”

The time ticks by slowly, but finally she says, “Finished. Good?”

“Yes,” I say. And it’s the truth. It’s good that it’s finished.

Travel Betty Basics

Pertiwi Resort & Spa
Monkey Forest St, Ubud, Bali, Indonesia
Phone: 62 361 975236
Ambience: 2 out of 5 passion fruits
Treatment: 1 out of 5 passion fruits
Cost: US $20 with 10% discount for being hotel guest

I have a friend visiting from Singapore. I love that fact. I’m in Bali 8,000 miles away from home and I’ve got a houseguest. That’s awesome.

Once she arrives though I’m anxious to hit the road. There are a couple places I still want to see around the island and having never been to Bali before, she’s up for anything. Next thing you know, I’m getting a ½ hour massage on a lounge chair overlooking the Indian Ocean during sunset at the Dancing Dragon Feng Shui Cottages in Amed. Life is rough.

My friend is in our room getting her own massage. To give her privacy, I grabbed my magazine and a beer out of the minibar and padded down to the infinity pool overlooking the beach. A couple is busy making kissy faces in the pool, so I opt to relax on one of the chairs with a view of the many fishermen still out on the water hoping for a last minute haul.

An Indonesian woman who I think works for the hotel soon comes and sits down near me. She asks if I’d like a massage and I smile graciously and say no. I just feel like reading and gazing out at the sunset. She accepts my refusal and gazes out at the sunset too. After a few moments, we start to chat and then I think about how little money this woman probably makes and she seems very nice and the setting is gorgeous and I’m doing my 30 spa treatments in 30 days challenge and so why the heck WOULDN’T I get a massage right now?

So, down goes a towel and off comes my bikini top. And the nice lady gives me a fantastic massage as the sun goes home for the night.

Travel Betty Basics

Dancing Dragon Cottages
Amed Beach, Karangasem, East Bali, Indonesia
From within Bali, call 0363 23521
From overseas, call +62 363 23521
Ambiance: 5 out of 5 passion fruits
Treatment: 4.5 out of 5 passion fruits
Cost: 50,000 rupiah for 1/2 hour massage
What that means in U.S. dollars: $5.35

IS THAT POOP? By Travel Boyfriend

When you’re celebrating your honeymoon in a tropical paradise like Bali, there are any number of phrases that can harsh your well-groomed island buzz. Topping that list might be phrases like “The rebels have just seized the airport!” though I guess that might depend on your political affiliation. And of course, any phrase starting with “You have been found guilty of – “ is just bound to change the tenor of your stay (“I swear, I thought those $1.50 first-run DVDs were just on sale!”). But let me assure you that for severe intestinal freezing coupled with acute paranoia, there is really no substitute for returning to your luxurious Ubud villa after a pleasant afternoon stroll only to hear your new bride’s halting “…Is that poop?”

The question itself isn’t so much a question, but really a plea for denial. “No, that is clearly not poop” surely must come the response, “That would be insane, disgusting, and not at all conducive to the enjoyment of our stay.” But when that answer does not come, when you must admit that it (in fact) is poop, you are also forced to admit several other things. First, that something was in your room. Second, that something felt at home enough in your room, and stayed long enough, to take not only one, but several (as subsequent investigation discovered) small poops in various locations. And third (and perhaps worst), that there is no reason whatsoever to think that whatever came, and pooped, has left.

Despite this primal knowledge, Travel Betty and I tried (oh how we tried) to ignore the small offerings scattered about our floor, and to get some well-deserved relaxation on the sumptuously decorated bed. A few minutes later, probably just about the millisecond I was forming the thought, “Hey, maybe whatever it was left –,“ my body and soul was shattered by a piercing croak/shriek/cry whose source (to my ears) was surely no farther away than my right shoulder blade. Feeling somewhat like a cartoon car slowly retracting its claws from the ceiling, I struggled to come back down to earth and approach the matter scientifically. The sound continued, but nothing was visible in the area near the bed. What could it be: Frog? Bird? Alien? (I wisely eliminated the latter due to the lack of crop circles in the vicinity). How big could it be (based upon the poop and available places to hide)? And (perhaps the most immediate concern) where could it be?

A short phone call later, and two friendly and attentive resort staff, temporarily pressed into service as animal wranglers, were admitted to our room. As they poked and prodded and overturned all items in the area searching for the now-silent threat, TB and I stood in the far corner, preparing just the right pitch of scream and/or deadly ninja defense move for the moment the snarling, fanged creature burst loose from its hiding place and launched itself directly at our throats. Instead, the staff eventually turned back toward us, and with a shrug and apologetic smile, admitted that they had no idea what it might have been or where it was, but to call again if anything else happened.

The second call, around 15 minutes after the first and triggered by the same sound emanating this time near TB’s side of the bed, brought out yet more staff with more complex tools, including a ladder to search the uppermost reaches of our villa. This time we waited outside by the (absolutely stunning, by the way) infinity pool as we heard reassuring thumps from within that seemed to indicate that they might be “on to something.” Or were at least making a good show of it for us.

After about twenty minutes of this, the staff came outside to talk to us. Again, they were apologetic, but at least now we had a culprit: “Yes, it’s a lizard, but it’s in the walls, in the bamboo.” So again, correlating the facts: there was a loud, shrieking animal hiding in the walls, which also had an all-access pass to come inside and poop on our floor and, potentially, soil any or all of our other belongings as we slept or strolled the peaceful countryside. And I had flown how many thousand miles for this?

“You see lizard?” they asked by way of confirmation. “No,” I replied, “but I saw its…” Leavings? Droppings? Poop? All the entries in my scatological thesaurus were equally ineffective, and my attempts at mimicking the shape of the poop between my fingers didn’t seem to help the translation. I hadn’t planned on needing to know the Indonesian word for poop, and now this oversight had returned to haunt me.

Finally they left, muttering to themselves something that must surely have translated as “Yes, of course sir, you have discovered that there are small animals loose on the island of Bali. I will alert the authorities immediately.” Expressing to each other that “perhaps they’d scared it off” (among other half-hearted reassurances), TB and I decided to go off and have dinner, and hope for the best upon our return.

Later that night, we returned to no new poop, no noises, and no other signs of an intruder since the wranglers had left, and quickly readied ourselves for bed. Again, it was the millisecond I was about to relax and drop off to sleep when the piercing sound began to emanate from the walls. TB and I rolled over to look at each other, expressions of horror and panic mirrored on our faces. There was no sleep to be had here this night. The villa, to all outward signs an unblemished and luxuriously appointed oasis, had in fact transformed into one of the less pleasant circles of Hell. I forget which one. The one with shrieking lizards in it.

A quick call to the front desk, and the staff (at this point polite and accommodating beyond all understanding) informed us that there was another villa across the grounds that was vacant and available, and that we could move over there for the night and remainder of our stay. We decided to pack a few necessities into our daypacks and make a beeline for the proffered lizardless refuge, then return for the rest of our luggage in the morning. In quick order we located the new villa, scattered our meager belongings about, and plunged into bed and sleep.

Despite the vastly improved accommodations, I still slept lightly, and awoke at dawn with a headful of disturbing imagery. In my mind I pictured not one lizard, but a whole family, a tribe, a society of lizards inhabiting our recently abandoned room, each one spraying veritable geysers of fecal matter into every spare nook and cranny of our luggage, from rumpled clothing to tacky souvenirs. In this vision, my shoes overflowed, and my toothbrush encountered a particularly unhygienic form of abuse. The images were maddening. Something had to be done to stop these lizardish atrocities.

Leaving TB to her far more deep and restful sleep, I crossed between villas in the balmy morning heat, sheepishly passing ultra-courteous staff and deflecting their mildly inquisitive glances with a tight-lipped smile and quickened pace. With great trepidation, I unlocked the front door of our old villa and entered, my eyes slowly adjusting to the scene in the early morning light. The buffet of fecal matter and scattered belongings I had envisioned had not come to be, and in fact, the entire setting was precisely as we had left it. Somewhat reassured, but still feeling as if I was in enemy territory, I laid down the plush white bathrobe supplied by the villa and piled it high with assorted belongings, then wrapped the whole package up like some makeshift hobo bindle. It took me about 5 or 6 quick trips back and forth between villas before all of our belongings were safe and secure in our new refuge. TB had blissfully slept through my Herculean efforts, but was delighted to find that I had managed to gather all of our belongings as she slept, so that we were in good shape to tackle the day ahead.

So to sum up: What travel tips can I pass along about our battle with lizard-kind? I guess I can say that, if you’ve ever doubted that lizards can make a high, piercing shriek…well, doubt no more. Oh yeah, and never, ever make your villa walls out of hollow, lizard-friendly bamboo. That’s just a no-brainer. Still and all, TB and I had a great time in Ubud, an amazingly beautiful part of a wonderful tropical island paradise.

But don’t even ask us about the ants in the toilet.

It’s official, my main man is Travel Boyfriend in name only!

I’ve been lax in letting you know that we got married October 31st at the stunning Tugu Hotel in Canggu, Bali, Indonesia.

And what better place to grab a post-reception-for-2 drink than Captain Cook’s, the lively expat hangout near my villa? Main benefit: Stumbling distance.

Actually, we’re only really half-married since we’ve still got the legal ceremony with our folks the day before Thanksgiving in Chico, California. But for all intents and purposes, I’m now officially Ms. Travel Betty-Travel Boyfriend.

Ha! Don’t worry, we’re not changing our names.

The downsides of an outdoor tropical garden bathroom are few. One being when yours is located next to the also-outdoor spa facility and you are suffering the effects of poorly-cooked-coconut-chicken-induced “Bali Belly.”

We’d actually done this last time we’d come to New Orleans too, staying in the world’s most perfect apartment right behind Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop. It was full of charm with a piano and books galore as well as a wrought iron balcony overlooking the quieter section of Bourbon Street. Unfortunately, that apartment is now being rented long term. But, it gave us an opportunity to see two new places that both were dripping with their own special charms.

The first apartment:

Quite modern with hardwood floors and exposed brick throughout. The bathroom has a luxurious shower with slate tile and there is a small balcony overlooking an inner courtyard typical of New Orleans. I cringed, however, when Travel Boyfriend told me it was described to him as renovated Slave Quarters. On the wall in the bedroom you can even see some marks left by the old inhabitants back in the 1800s. This information did, however, allow me to take a moment to reflect and pay reverence to those who occupied the apartment under far less desirable circumstances.

If you stay here sometime in the near future, know that the owners are still doing a bit of restoration due to Katrina. It’s not going to put you out too much, but there was one small inconvenience for me when a painter showed up right after I’d gotten out of the shower. Luckily, she was a she and had no problem coming back later. Also, the wireless was MIA, which annoyed me since I was hoping to send you all reports throughout the week. In the end though, it made me happy to be staying here because I felt like I was doing my small part to help the owners rebuild.

The apartment is listed as Studio Unit 729 on the New Orleans Reservations website and is perfectly situated for those who want a little peace and quiet to accompany their New Orleans adventure. Everything is still comfortably walkable, but you’re far enough away from the Bourbon Street mayhem that you won’t be stepping in puke puddles to get to your door (Unless you make your own).The second apartment:

This, I would say, is the quintessential New Orleans apartment if you happen to be Oscar Wilde-ish in spirit. Listed as One Bedroom unit 171 B, it looked and felt like it had soaked up many a Big Easy evening and was happy to oblige you with stories. In fact, there was even a table generously filled with liquor bottles to help you get things started. And had we not been vomitously hung over at check-in, we would have gotten started immediately.

The owners describe this apartment as ‘tastefully decorated’ and I’m sure that’s what the decorator thinks. I say it’s ‘eclectically decorated.’ And when you’re staring at the ram’s horn candlestick holder across from the 8 volume set of Irving’s Works, you’re probably going to agree with me. Now don’t get me wrong, I am in no way mocking the decor. In fact, I love it. I’m just saying ‘tasteful’ is a subjective word.

Of the three places we stayed, this was far and away my favorite (I won’t bother to critique the Sheraton. If you’ve ever been in a nondescript business hotel before, you get the gist). It was my favorite not only for its quirky personality, but also because of the 2nd story balcony that you gain access to by hoisting up a large window in the kitchen. We sat out there for hours and just watched the comings and goings of our neighbors (who were locals, not tourists). Quite pleasant.

The shower, on the other hand, was a bit of a hassle. It had that one singular errant stream to hit you straight in the eye no matter where you stand. But then when you flop onto the uneven, cooshy, springy bed and fall straight to sleep, you forgive it.

Again, this location is close enough to every other place in the French Quarter to keep you from getting twitchy, but it’s far enough from the pumpin’ thumpin’ sounds spilling from Razzoo’s to get a few winks in.

So, if you’re looking for someplace a little special the next time you visit New Orleans, don’t bother searching through the seen-it/stayed-there stockpiles offered by the usual suspects like Expedia. Go through New Orleans Reservations and search for a place with a full kitchen so you can warm up the ample leftovers you receive from pretty much any restaurant you visit. Search for a place that is the opposite of ghastly chain hotels. Search for a place that gives you a small sense of what it’s really like to be a local.

Who knows, you might end up converting one of these two lovely places into a long-term rental for yourself. If so, mind if I stop by for a visit?

Our Second Stop:

Forest House Lodge

When TB and I pulled up to the Forest House Lodge, we almost didn’t get out of the car. It looks like a rustic motel from the outside and I wasn’t really getting the concept. Since we had 3 hours before our third and final meeting though, we decided to at least take a look. I’m glad we did because it at least gave us a very different option to consider from the other two. As the owner told us, “We are a very specific flavor and either you get us or you don’t.” I would say that is a fair and truthful assessment and there’s nothing wrong with being fair and truthful. In fact, I appreciate it.

Our impression was that basically this place would be great if you wanted to just have a big blow-out bash and oh, yeah, as an aside, get married. There are enough rooms to put up 70 of your closest frat buddies and family. And you get the run of the whole damn place for as long as you care to rent it. To be honest, I would LOVE to come to a wedding being held at this place. I just don’t want to be the person hosting it. Unfortunately, as I told the owner, I’m about 10 years too old to take advantage of all Forest House Lodge has to offer.

The great part about their property though is the wedding site. It is stunning. About a mile down the road, they have a small piece of land that overlooks a gorgeous tree-filled valley. So, the backdrop of your ceremony is nature, nature as far as the eye can see.

I would say that if you’re looking to do a more casual family-reunion type of event and you don’t mind carrying wheelchairs up and down the many staircases (as was suggested for Travel Boyfriend’s handicapped father), and most important to you is a breathtaking view for the ceremony, then Forest House Lodge should definitely be in your consideration set.

To continue reading about California Gold Country Wedding locations, see “Planning A Wedding In California’s Gold Country? Part III of IV”

Travel Betty Wedding Resources

Outdoor Weddings: Unforgettable Celebrations in Storybook Settings

Bridal Bargains, 8th Edition: Secrets to throwing a fantastic wedding on a realistic budget (Bridal Bargains)

Anti-Bride Guide: Tying the Knot Outside of the Box