Before I report back on what turned out to be one of my favourite places on my travels (and another place I would happily live for awhile), something should be said of my chaotic journey to the relaxed and peaceful town of Ubud. After being squeezed into a minibus for a seven hour journey from Mount Bromo to the ferry port of Java from where I am due to take the ferry over to Bali and then another minibus three hours or so to Denpasar, I am told that in fact they don't have room for me on the bus waiting for us on Bali. Room for everybody else - just not me. I'm furious, not only because I've paid to get all the way to Denpasar, but because this is first I've heard of this, have no idea what to do instead and it's starting to get dark. I demand an explanation and a phone call with the guy who piled me onto the first minibus earlier today. He had given me a small part back of what I'd paid for my journey that morning, explaining that I needed to give this money direct to the guy with the bus on Bali, not once mentioning that 'the guy with the bus' would be a local bus driver and that the fee would be far more than the refund he had given me. Everyone else from the bus has meanwhile boarded the ferry whilst I'm trying to get to the bottom of what exactly I had to do in order to get to Denpasar with a Javan who spoke minimal English and probably couldn't decipher my shouting and swearing too well. Left to get the ferry alone, I board with all my stuff and head to the top deck of the ferry, which is usually what I do when I get on a boat. I'm the only foreigner on this ferry and the majority of the other passengers are guys who are whispering to each other and looking at me in a way that makes me feel incredibly uncomfortable. This moment was one of the only moments that I have been genuinely frightened on my travels so far, and I found myself desperately wishing that one of the boys I'd travelled with were with me so I'd feel safer. I actually put my trainers on so I could run quicker if I had to. It didn't help that I had tears running down my cheeks in free flow, so I picked up my stuff and went downstairs where there were more people, including a couple of young women.

Stepping off the ferry onto Bali, alive if not well, I get helped by a Balinese guy to the local bus, where he charges me what is surely double what the locals are paying for the same journey. I'm half annoyed at this, half beyond caring. And the beyond caring side of me wins out; I just want to get to Denpasar and find a bed, especially bearing in mind I've been up since 3am for the Mount Bromo trek. Five hours later we finally get to Denpasar, where the bus station is packed out with men crowded around a small tv watching the FA Cup final. And then my battle to find a room for the night begins (and it's gone midnight by now). It was akin to a preggers Mary on a donkey in bloody Bethlehem. But at least Mary had transport, someone with her and no heavy backpack to carry. Though to be fair that might have been a bit out of order seeing as she was about to pop. The good news is I didn't have to sleep rough or in a stable, eventually finding what seemed like the last room available in the city and woke up the next morning to start the confusing journey to Ubud; not without its' traumas and tears but overall far less painful than the previous day.

The next morning is far more pleasant; I open the window onto the day to see a pot of tea, cup and saucer waiting for me on my porch table. I like Ubud! I've been getting up really early recently, which I suspect is the result of the earlier nights I've had and the lack of lashing. I've always liked waking up naturally early (when it happens) and it seems to fit in well with this little town where craftwork, yoga and spirtualism are the order of the day. I resolve to explore Ubud properly today, take a yoga class for beginners and once again I hope to meet some backpackers with whom I get on well with.

My luck strikes in a major way at the yoga for beginners lesson I take that afternoon, where I meet Hannah and Adam, a couple from Bromley who I immediately hit it off with and don't mind one bit me elbowing my way in to their travels. Though I did pre-warn them it would be tough to get rid of me due to my recent backpacker drought and yearnings for British banter, they were kind enough to not run away and instead make plans for dinner that night. The rest, as they say, is history.

For a destination that I spent eight nights in, I have little to report of Ubud. Mainly because I did hardly anything, and it was FANTASTIC. The cafe culture that has thrived in Ubud means that there are countless organic, fair trade, quirky little cafes and bars to choose from, all with free wifi. I daydreamed of spending my days in my favourite cafes writing away, promising myself that was exactly what I would do the next day, and then at the close of the day realising I had written maybe a sentence and spent the rest of my time drinking Indonesian teas and coffees (until Bar Luna's excellent mojitos became available in happy hour at 4pm), planning that we would actually DO something tomorrow, browsing dailymail.co.uk and daydreaming with Hannah about the perfect cafe come homeware shop that London so badly needs and that only we could provide. It was the most wonderful waste of time I've ever spent. I didn't even care that it rained; it only made wholing myself up in a cafe more acceptable.

Whilst we were in Ubud it was the Buddah's birthday. Who'd have known? Hannah, Adam and I went for some amazing sausages for dinner and were invited to sit with two of the expat locals for a beer; one of whom was a pretty hammered cockney guy and one of whom was a Dutch guy who had to be pushing seventy and spoke the Queen's English. The latter, named Pan, was an artist (as so many expats in Bali are) and had lived in Ubud for decades. Needless to say we asked after the Eat Pray Love phenomenon. His answer? That Liz Gilbert slept with plenty of people before Mr Brazil, including Pan himself, and that he'd broken her toaster the next morning. Entertaining to say the least, and I'd imagine the most perfect Buddah birthday celebration I'll ever experience.

Following on with the Eat Pray Love theme, we thought we'd hop on the Ketut Liyer bandwagon. For anyone who hasn't read the book or seen the film, Ketut Liyer is the Balinese medicine man who guides Liz Gilbert through her time in Bali and teaches her more about spiritualism. The story starts with him predicting that she would come back to Ubud and learn from her. Extremely likely she fulfilled this prophecy by making sure she returned, but Hannah and I thought it would be interesting/good/a laugh to visit the famous medicine man anyway to see what he would predict about us. Correction: he should be called 'infamous' and his name should be changed by deed poll to Ketut Liar. This guy is old, seriously old, and that much is obvious when you look at him and take in the pace of his movements. But he (almost painfully obviously) told me the same generic stuff over and over again, got it wrong that I was married (ha!) and then his sidekick demanded the equivalent of £25 for the privalege. They don't tell you that before you take a number and wait around for ages for your turn. I was number 24 that day and this was just after lunchtime. This guy is ROLLING in it. Bitter doesn't cover it. Though he did say I would be pretty until I died, which is always a nice thing to hear, whether it's crazy old man talk or not.

On one of the days that we decided to actually be proactive and do something, the rain thankfully held off. So yay for getting up at 6am to go cycling through the rice paddies in the sunshine...with a slight Bintang hangover from the shisha bar of last night. Mind you there aren't many better sights to help you get over your Bintang head than breakfast overlooking a volcano and the rice paddies; could be a lot worse. Our bike ride was all downhill which also helped, though it was so downhill that I was constantly breaking, leaving me with severe cramp in my hands. A small price to pay to see the rice paddies being farmed, visit a typical Balinese village complex and learn about the production of Indonesian coffee (some of the finest coffee in the world). It was an idyllic day in beautiful countryside that was completed with an incredible Balinese feast for a late lunch.

Deciding to fit in another cultural nugget into our casual jaunt in Ubud, we bought tickets to one of the traditional local dance and music performances. It was a long hour and a half. The costumes are beautiful and their facial expressions are pretty funny (if a little creepy), but there's only so much of the traditional music you can take before it feels like an exotic headache. We swiftly headed out in search of a beer and some shisha afterwards to see out our last night in Ubud.

Unfortunately I was correct about the pull of the Indonesian markets. Left to my own devices for a mere hour, I come away from Ubud market roughly £100 lighter in the pocket and weighed down by Ikat throws, tablecloths, silk scarves, jewellery and lengths of batik. I have a problem when it comes to fabric and it's quite clearly an uncontrollable kind of problem. Mum and Dad are going to be so pleased when they see the amount I'm handing over to them to take home.

Reluctance to leave idyllic Ubud that now feels a lot like home is hushed by the fact our next destination is one I've been looking forward to gracing with my presence for a couple of years now - the Gili Islands of Lombok. It's just a shame I have to lug half of Ubud market on my back for the journey there. Honestly, I can barely stand up once I have my backpack on. It's officially Hoi An all over again.