Holidaying as parents: Bali, the highs and lows

Paradise on instagram, but not is all as it seems.

Oct 14, 2024

My husband and I never went on a honeymoon, or a babymoon. Instead, we did IVF and moved continents. We got to realise two of our dreams; becoming parents and living in Melbourne - so it seems like a small price to pay. As we are edging increasingly closer to becoming parents of two we decided that now was a good time to have a proper holiday that didn’t involve touring the country visiting relatives (because sorry, returning home and being THAT busy does not count as a ‘holiday’ - I don’t care if that sounds ungrateful).

As we are now Australian residents, of course we have heard about the allure of Bali. I’m not saying that only Aussies know about this island (you only have to see the queues in the airport to know that it is a pretty popular destination globally), but Australians seem to have a dedicated idealism about this spot in Indonesia. Cheap. Hot. Fun. Relaxing. Beautiful. Great service. Just a few of the descriptors Aussies throw about whenever Bali comes up. All sounds pretty good, let’s do it.

Husband took on finding appropriate flight options and I was designated doing accommodation research. We decided to go for a villa over a resort (I’m increasingly becoming a resort gal, but we thought it would give us better chances of having time in the sun if the baby could nap in a room 5 feet from the pool). I, a possible helicopter mum, would not have been comfortable needing to run down a corridor or even taking a lift to reach my child if I heard him stir. Villa it is. I made a list. I shared links. He ignored them all for weeks.

Eventually, just 13 nights before we were due to board a plane with our 12 month old son, husband reserved some time for me and his laptop. He started searching villas. “Um, I did this already babe. I sent you a list. Have you looked at them?”

“Ah, yeah, you did, but just thought I’d have a quick squiz.” I hate that expression. I also hate completing tasks that aren’t utilised.

“Okay.”

Sensing my frustration, husband intelligently jumped to my list of links and started going through them. Unsurprisingly the best ones had since been booked. Alas, we had to do further research, but we booked a nice looking villa in Canggu.

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We’ve flown a lot with this one year old baby, he’s a pretty lucky kid. We did interstate travel when he was six weeks old and multiple times since. He’s been to three countries outside Australia in his first year of life. However, he’s never been a toddler on a plane before. And we’ve never been parents with a toddler on a plane before. I went prepared with new toys he’d never played with, firm favourites, and a truck load of snacks. Of course, as is his right, he decided to hate the sandwich he’s eaten a million times before but that is so fine. I loved picking up spat out bread from the floor in “cosy” economy seats. Overall he did amazingly, he napped, he played, and we arrived in Bali safely.

I had two big apprehensions about our trip. Firstly, I was very scared of getting Bali Belly - or indeed, my son getting Bali Belly. Secondly, I was not happy about getting in taxis without car seats. This is actually why we chose to stay in the location we did; proximity to convenience. Hubby’s mate passed us on to a driver who was at the airport waiting for us with a car seat installed. All we had to do was queue, pay a steep, steep fee for our visa (entry to Bali - not so cheap), and then wait for an hour to get our pram returned to us, and then we were off!

Not so fast though, the 20km journey took us two and a half hours! After Lennox’s 40 minute nap, I was tasked with distracting an overheating baby with no snacks left and toys that were suddenly wildly offensive. Apart from that one age old fail safe. Thank fuck for that toy.

Driver missed the turn, we went back and forth, then drove down a laneway where there was major construction happening and eventually located a door hidden in a bush. Waving at the construction workers, who were packing up for the day, we climbed over the steps and entered the villa. Our sanctuary (minus the noise of said building work) for the week.

Once settled we took ourselves out for a celebratory holiday drink. Lennox sat in his trusty travel pram, the Bugaboo butterfly (which I LOVE), wearing shorts and a T-shirt, some cute but kinda dorky sandals, a bucket hat and baby sunglasses looking like the most English tourist you ever did see. Once we made it out of the lumpy, muddy laneway safely onto the pavement we took a pick and turned left. But oh! The pavement was incomplete. There were gaps between cement slabs persistently scattered along the road. As I am carrying another child, in my uterus, husband was designated pram driver and he skilfully navigated the pebbles, gaps and hundreds of mopeds storming the road at any given time. Bravely crossing the road, weaving between mopeds, I carried the baby up some steps and Lennox did the same with his wheels. We sat in an open air booth, absorbing the much appreciated heat and tried to exhale our day of travel, instead inhaling the holiday mood, while also keeping a crawling and climbing critter from hurling himself down the stairs. Suddenly a smiley waitress appeared and once she took our order, she also took our son! Ordinarily I would be a bit panicked, you know, handing over my most precious thing to a total stranger, plus acutely aware that that thing is a bit shy and takes warming up. But I felt safe. The waitress was tender. Gentle. She took Lennox up to the bar, where eight bored bartenders started ringing bells and throwing straws in the air, making my little chubby prince laugh non-stop. He would look back at me and wave, enjoying his newfound Bali-nonchalance.

By dinner time the heat and humidity had attacked my bonny boy. He is genetically half Macedonian, half British. Yet there is no evidence of my husband’s Macedonian olive skin, or luscious thick dark hair. My sweet pommey cherub is pale, blonde and blue eyed (I am also none of these things - genetics are weird). In Bali, he was red. Not from the sun, may I add, from the heat (which I’m aware is from the sun, but you get my point). The kid was HOT!

Our first full day at the house was spent in swimwear, dipping in and out of the pool, in and out of the sunshine, in and out of the aircon. A friend had passed on the number of a local nanny. I was also nervous about this. It took my son eight months to be chill with certain members of his family, yet suddenly I was going to expect him to be chill with a total stranger in one afternoon. But my goodness. I needn’t have worried. Oka, our nanny, was sent from heaven. An angel with such tact and warmth. Lennox loved her. We didn’t leave them alone, but strategically hired a playmate for the little dude so that mum and dad could crisp themselves in the heat - an activity that’s not recommended for kiddos. I ploughed through a mediocre fiction book. Possibly the first I’ve read cover to cover since having Lennox. Oh, it was wonderful.

Once Lennox went to bed, Steve walked back up the unfinished pavement (with ease, because you know, he’s an adult and he went without a pram) and picked us up some pizzas. Thanks to VPNs we curled up on our enormous outdoor sofa and watched Eastenders (if you’re not British, this is the Neighbours of the UK!). I ate half of my pizza - which is most unlike me for I am a big girl with a big appetite! When the episode ended we lay there watching what we dubbed the gecko party happening high up at the top of the walls. Two geckos. Three. “I feel so at one with nature out here,” I joked. A former city girl trying to be relaxed. Then I dozed off while Steve took a work call. When he came back over to my nook, I woke and decided to take myself off to bed. I didn’t feel totally normal, but put it down to the heat and tiredness. I brushed my teeth incredibly carefully with a bottle of water, avoiding using the tap at all. I put on my lovely white summer pjs and lay down, excited for that deep slumber that comes after a day in the sun, having not been on a screen all day.

Seconds later I RAN to the toilet and witnessed my half a pizza return back out of my body so ferociously that it came out of my nose too. Three times.

Steve slept with the baby that night. I slept with one eye on the bathroom door.

Electrolytes was pretty much all I ingested on day two. Thankfully baby seemed absolutely fine. Even the insane heat rash that was taking over his entire torso like a poison ivy didn’t seem to bother him. He learned to do the downward dog and to climb the steps, adventuring around the garden, napping solidly and living his best holibobs life.

By day three I was desperate to venture out of the house. We realised the whole of Canggu had incomplete or missing pavements and that as brilliant as the Bugaboo is, it couldn’t contend with the madness on the roads. Thankfully in my hours of research ahead of our trip I knew about a baby product hire company and booked a baby carrier to be delivered to the villa. I chose a cafe from my researched list and we set off on a gentle 20 minute walk. Except it was 30 degrees. And 70% humidity. And up hill. And incomplete or sometimes missing pavements. And Steve had a 14kg weight strapped to his front. And I had no food in me for two days and a six month gestational fetus strapped to my front. We made it though. I couldn’t eat my pancakes because the nausea was still plaguing me but I did buy some Havianas so that the construction site we were staying amidst wouldn’t keep damaging my beloved leather sandals.

Hubby was a bit of a genius and booked us each a massage (at separate times, couples massages are overrated anyway, it’s a solo endeavour to relax that deeply) in the evening. He went first, then we met for dinner, took the baby home and I went off on my own for some me time! Earphones went in. Podcast on. I traversed the wild-wild-west of Canggu streets with ease and freedom. I soaked up my fellow holiday makers energy and wondered if they could tell I’m a frumpy thirty-something year old mum, or if they thought I was one of them. While I waited to be called into my private room, I felt so content in this tranquil spa foyer. Finally the holiday mood was taking over me. The massage was great - although I’ll always prefer prenatal massages that have the special bed where you can lie on your belly! MAJOR TREAT! Nevertheless it was gorgeous. I floated out of the spa; Steve had already paid. Once on the street I began my fifteen minute walk home, podcast back in.

Less than one minute down the road, I was holding on to a tree with one hand, earphones clutched in the other, chucking my guts up into the gutter. I looked up at those free-living holiday makers I’d felt one of before, and no one helped me. Speaking to a friend who lives there later, she said ‘we’re so used to it, it doesn’t stand out to us’. Fair enough. Thankfully I was wearing a singlet under my T-shirt as I had to take off my white and beige breton stripe T to wipe my face and keep blowing remnants of dinner from my nose as I unglamorously crawled home.

It is one thing to be sick, but when you’re pregnant it is actually worrying. I had felt really guilty that my pursuit of sun and relaxation had potentially put my unborn baby at risk. Thankfully I hadn’t gotten so bad that I wasn’t keeping liquids down and knew that it was just dehydration that I needed to watch out for, and the stomach bug would pass. Not that I wasn’t panic texting a friend who is a midwife. We survived. The littlest member of our family was active and thriving throughout. But what a start to our holiday.

The rest of the week saw us visiting an abundance of gorgeous restaurants and cafes, two beach clubs, lots more time by the pool, two more afternoons with the nanny and one adult date night! We did take Lennox to the nicest restaurant we went to in the week, and to be honest he totally detracted from the experience, but then he and I slow danced to the live band and a core memory was locked in that made it all worth it.

Before we had a child Steve and I travelled a lot. We would always seek out the shabby restaurant with plastic chairs, and a herd of old men chain smoking out the front, espresso on tap. We pursued authentic local cuisine and experiences. We wanted to do things differently than we did at home. This trip showed us just how much holidaying has changed since becoming parents. Partly because we were warned to stick to the types of establishments that would only use bottled water, even for washing their produce, and partly because convenience is currently integral. I understand why we ate where we ate, and trust me, the food was magnificent, but I was sad not to eat any proper Balinese food.

As we packed up our clothes and our toys on our last day, and climbed back into the car we arrived to our villa in, I reflected on my review of Bali. Steve and I agree we don’t fully understand the hype. I was a bit disappointed not to get to experience the palm tree tranquil nature vibes that TikTok showed me (and I’d seen when I went ten years prior), but I just wasn’t willing to spend hours in the car with the little man to find those areas.

The four things that we agreed were magnificent were the Balinese people, the weather, the plethora of good restaurants and the uninterrupted time together as a family. Truly, the Balinese must be the kindest, most warm people I’ve ever met as a collective. They ADORE kids. Everyone from wait staff to labourers would stop to wave at Lennox (who LOVES to wave). People working on stalls would do the same and they weren’t trying to initiate a sales pitch. The housekeeper sat in the grass with Lennox and played with him for half an hour. And Oka the nanny became his little bestie that week. Everyone was so authentic and generous that it blew us away.

It rained once when we were asleep but the entire garden was dry again by 10am. The sun is HOT there. The humidity is real. Lennox struggled to regulate his temperature so if we were at home we kept him in AC and when out were so on top of hydration. For us grown up sun lovers, we loved the consistency of the sunshine. For reference went just before wet season started at the end of September.

Steve and I both did a fair bit of research and collated a list of recommended venues to eat at. I’ll include a list of where we went at the bottom here. The food was great. The service was even better. And all the venues are very pleasing on the eye. One cafe had a brilliant play area out the back and at least six families were enjoying watching their little ones explore while devouring their avocado and eggs.

This will always be my absolute highlight of any trip, but not having to contend with chores and to do lists and to focus on quality time with my boys is unbeatable. Steve and I always seem to thrive the more time we spend together. Those long conversations by the pool filled my cup up. The adoration of our little man who is so curious and learning at such a fast rate peppered the week with funny moments and heart expanding love.

We did ask ourselves if we could have achieved the same highlight (of spending time together) in Queensland. A shorter flight and less chaotic transfers. Sunny and tropical. Less chance of getting a water born bacteria in your system and throwing up repeatedly. There were some things in Bali that were cheaper than Australia, but we wouldn’t describe the trip as cheap overall. My massage (and facial I had later in the week) were considerably less than Australia or the UK for that matter. We ate at two ‘treat’ restaurants and they didn’t cost us the budget we’d usually save for our anniversary meal, but eating out wasn’t an absolute bargain by any means. Obviously there are other places you can go, and we were purposefully selective because of the water. Bali can be done cheaper but for this stage of life and with a little one earth side and a little one in the womb it wasn’t really on the cards for us to take that route. However when we posed our reflection of ‘couldn’t we have stayed in Aus for the same effect?’ friends have laughed at us that we don’t realise how bloody expensive north QLD is these days! We will go back to Bali, but our expectations will be different and depending on the ages of the children we’ll adjust our accommodation accordingly. If I’m totally honest, I’d go back just to have Oka in our lives again!

Our return flight was at night and the sun was setting as we weaved in and out of the chaos on the roads. I gazed at little Lennox in his seat and thought ‘I’m excited to get you home, kiddo’, then I noticed he looked a bit weird. Mother’s intuition kicked in and at the perfect moment I caught his unsuspecting vomit as he chundered multiple times. This happened at the start of the long journey back to the airport. Steve helped me mop up the sick with a nappy from the front seat. He threw up again. I caught it all. The 99% water wet wipes did not remove the smell from my hands. Lennox fell asleep and I sat there biding my time until I could wash myself with soap. An apt ending to a week of two halves. At least I wouldn’t have to contend with any holiday blues.

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