If you could be anywhere in the world right now...

...where would you be?

Here: tree camping in Germany - from EyeHeartTravel

This is the ultimate question that my friend and former colleague (aka 'Little Legs') is famed for, and which she always times to perfection - like after she spots you getting one of those emails that makes you bang your forehead on the desk.

On sensing a moment of total mediocrity, she'll pipe up the immortal words, "If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?"

You would think it only served to highlight the depressing fact that we were in an air-conditioned office in King's Cross and, sadly, not on a multi-million dollar yacht in Cannes being served champagne cocktails. But somehow it always cheered me up; this simple question offered us a momentary escape and limitless possiblities - and then a grim chuckle at our comparatively mundane surroundings.

The only rule of this little game is that you have to really think about it and build a vivid picture of your scenario. No vague niceties like 'lying by a pool, somewhere hot', oh no. Little Legs demanded specifics - where exactly, what time of day, what are you eating and drinking, are you alone...? It takes serious thought; some days, you just want cosy. Other times, it's all about the sunshine, or the fresh air, or the food.

And as you'll see below, today has been one of those totally unremarkable days where this game really comes into its own...

7am, Shepherds Bush vs Greek island

I ignore my shuddersome iPhone alarm and wait until the last possible minute before forcing an eyelid open and braving the shower. I am on the ubiquitous 5:2 diet and today is a 'Fast Day', which means I can look forward to a meagre breakfast of instant coffee. On days like this, you've got to cheer yourself up anyway you know how; my housemate and I have taken to listening to Rebecca Black's Friday earlier and earlier in the week - Tuesday was a new low. :(

But if I could be anywhere in the world you say? Well, it's never too early for clichés, so I think I'd be waking up in a little blue-domed villa on a remote Greek island, with the golden sun streaming in and the turquoise sea lapping outside my window. When I can bear to leave my bed of soft white linen, what do you know, but a fully laden tray of breakfast (yoghurt, honey, fruit and freshly brewed coffee) has been delivered to my terrace by some charming Greek waiter. There's probably some ambient local music in the background (why is the only thing that springs to mind 'Zorba the Greek'?!). And maybe Ryan Gosling could be there too. Yes, he's there. In fact, it's him bringing me the breakfast.

9am, the Central line vs the Open Road

As all commuters know, it's a jungle out there. My usual razor-sharp rush hour tactics have failed to get me a seat on the way to work this morning, even after the mass exodus at Tottenham Court Road.  I've been well and truly played by some chancer who did the whole 'shuffle around with his bag' thing so it looks like he's about to vacate his seat, only to stubbornly stay put - meaning I miss out on a seat on the other side of the carriage. (Not cool, man).

It's no way to travel. Given the choice, right now I'd like to jack it all in and head out onto the open road in a vintage convertible, with a tank full of gas and a buddy who's come along for the ride - kind of like Thelma and Louise, without the crime spree. I can just picture the wind in our hair and the rocky horizon stretching out ahead of us, country music blaring out into the purple Santa Fe desert; the very definition of freedom, promise and optimism.

6pm, Liverpool Street office vs Moroccan courtyard

Everything starts to go wrong at work at about 5:15pm. I need somewhere peaceful and exotic - so where better than the oasis-like courtyard of an ornate riad in Marrakech? After a leisurely afternoon of shopping in the souk, I'd sip a fresh Moroccan peppermint tea to the faraway sound of the distant call to prayer and the trickling of the mosaic fountain.

10:30pm (now), my living room vs Goan beach bar

Actual snapshot of the view from our favourite beach bar in Goa!

Maybe I'm getting old, but I'm not sure I'm quite up for a Ibiza club or muddy festival tonight - it's been a big day what with the Greek island, the American road trip and the Moroccan courtyard. My inner old lady quite fancies curling up in front of the fire in my mum's cottage in Suffolk, and re-reading Harry Potter with the dog by my feet. But hey, I can do that for real in a couple of weeks. YOLO, as the kids say!

This is fantasy so I'm going to opt instead for a chilled out beach bar in Palolem, Goa, where I'd be sinking into the oversized cushions on the sand, getting happily drunk surrounded by lots of people without a care in the world. For this is a place where you plan your day spontaneously by the tides, the sun and your appetite, not the clock.

Can you tell I'm suffering from the 'first world problem' of holiday withdrawal symptoms? Apart from a few staycations, I have barely left London since my epic Indonesia trip a year ago. There are however worse places to have spent a year than this amazing city. In fact, somewhere on the other side of the globe right now, maybe someone is asking their friend the same question, 'If you could be anywhere in the world, where would you be?'. And maybe, just maybe, their answer is London.

www.willbartonphotography.com

Hello Autumn!

Kew Gardens, from mummyplum.blogspot.com

Until now, I would have described myself as one of life’s self-confessed sun worshippers - I live for sunny days and balmy evenings.

But this year, after an even more elusive British summer than usual, I feel strangely excited about everything that Autumn 2012 will bring. At least I know what to expect; fresh foggy mornings walking through Hyde Park on my way to work, the smell of pine cones and conkers and the sparkly, dewy grass.

Already, change is in the air - the breeze feels fresher, the colours deeper - as though we are on the cusp of a very different London. And far from being bleak, there’s actually rather a lot to look forward to...

1.  Apple Day
We've all heard of Halloween, Thanksgiving, Bonfire Night and Diwali. But there's a new kid on the block, a lesser-known festival, dedicated to the humble fruits of Autumn - yes, its Apple Day (21 October). Apple festivals in London tend to vary in terms of their dates, but the main ones seem to be at the National Trust's Red House on 14 October and the Camley Street Natural Park on 7 October, which features live acoustic music, cider tasting and, of course, London's finest apples.

2.  A new ‘back to school’ wardrobe
Is your wardrobe ready for Autumn? Mine certainly isn't - apparently summer dresses worn with tights and ballet pumps just won’t cut it once October hits. Finding my shiny new uniform of a ladylike coat, wear-forever boots and the holy grail of a cosy-but-flattering jumper requires an exciting, back-to-school shopping excursion. Autumn doesn't have to mean dowdy - the shops are currently bursting with gorgeous brocade fabrics, rich wine colours, equestrian shapes and lots of black lace and leather. Once you're kitted out for the season ahead, it will leave you with all the satisfaction of arriving at school armed with the coolest Woolworths stationary. The trick is to buy your essentials now before the cold really kicks in and all the good stuff's gone!

3.  Autumn picnics in Richmond Park or Kew Gardens
There’s something quite romantic about an off-season picnic on a crisp autumnal day in a deserted London park. Choose somewhere surrounded by majestic golden trees, such as Richmond Park or Kew Gardens, where you can snuggle up in plenty of blankets and nestle amongst the crunchy leaves. Bring some home-made pumpkin soup or pie, and a flask of hot spiced cider. And may I recommend you head to a bar afterwards to warm up.

4.  Halloween parties
What better night to venture into London's underworld than on Halloween? (And by that I mean the hedonistic, glamorous pretend underworld - I'm not suggesting you seek out London's charming hidden crack dens). Last Halloween, we indulged our inner goths, donned corsets and chokers and headed to the Belle Epoque Party. But with this being The Year of 50 Shades, I wouldn't be surprised if we see a plethora of fetish nights in the capital using Halloween to capitalise on people's sudden desire to shed their inhibitions and explore their freaky side... 

Belle Epoque Party, from visitlondon.com

5.  Bonfire night in Lewes
If you are yet to experience the bonkers, raucous, riotous Bonfire Night street party in Lewes (apparently the biggest in the country), get it in your diary now. But don't expect hot chocolate and lacklustre fireworks in family-friendly parks; this is not for the faint-hearted. There's a sense of joyous anarchy as more than 60,000 people throng into the Saxon streets of Lewes, chucking firecrackers at alarmingly close proximity and watching the processions of Romans, warriors, pagans, burning effigies and everything in between. Expect lots of fire, lots of alcohol and lots of people. What could go wrong?

Lewes Bonfire Night 2010, before it all got very messy

6.  The return of good TV
If you're exhausted after all that partying, you're in luck... After the wasteland that is summer television, all the good TV is returning this Autumn (some might argue I play it fast and loose with the term 'good TV'). New seasons of Homeland, Dexter and Made in Chelsea - nearly everything I watch - will all be back to warm those after-work nights, along with the relentless, three month, love-to-hate marathon that is The X Factor. True, this series has got off to a dreadful start but I'm hoping things improve in time for the ritual of having people over for dinner and 'live show' viewings.

7.  Seasonal cooking - not just pumpkins!
Autumn might just be the best season for foodies. Hit up your nearest farmer's market and make the most of the perfectly ripe butternut squash, blackberries, pears, sweet potatoes, figs and walnuts. I'll be making my favourite comfort food recipes, such as blackberry crisp with a fudgey flapjack style topping; Cajun spiced butternut squash and sweetcorn salad; pear, walnut and fig salad with blue cheese; and chilli con carne with baked sweet potatoes. 

Blackberry crisp, from bbcgoodfood.com

At this time of year, I will also allow myself to buy caramelised chestnuts from a street vendor on a cold night. You know you're tempted every time the breeze blows that sweet, nutty warmth in your direction - now its Autumn you have every reason to stop and buy some.

8.  Atmospheric historical London
Ye Olde London’s attractions become more atmospheric, and less crowded, at this time of the year. I hope to finally get round to a candlelit tour of the John Soane's Museum, a misty ghost walk through the old city, and a wander round the overgrown Highgate Cemetery - three things I've wanted to do since I moved here. (Sounds a bit morbid as a collection of activities, now I think about it!).

9.  Rugby matches in cosy pubs
Huzzah! The rugby season is here. I can't pretend to be an expert on the finer rules of the game, but I appreciate a rugged rugby player as much as the next red-blooded woman, and after an amazing season of sport in London, the prospect of joining patriotic fans in merry pubs on a cold afternoon is rather appealing.

Ben Foden, mailonline.co.uk

10.  A last minute Autumn getaway
Summer is but a distant memory and it's ages til the holidays, so this is the perfect time to book an impromptu long weekend away. Last year, a friend and I flew to Kaiserslautern, a somewhat unlikely holiday destination in Germany which, as it turns out, was quite the place to party, populated with students, footballers and Americans. We took our chances on the frankly terrifying autobahn, discovering that rural Germany is simply stunning in the Autumn, with golden fields and Hansel & Gretel villages dotted along the Rhine. There are also plenty of beerfests, Reisling wineries and stodgy foods to warm your cockles. 

Frolicking in the leaves near Kaiserslautern, Germany

Finally...
One thing I will not be doing is using the C-word (the other one!). The C-markets, the switching on of the C-lights and pre-C sales are all rather exciting but have somehow seeped into my consciousness over a month before we've even reached Halloween - plain wrong. It's far too soon to even menton C. So I won't.

Travel Photographer of the Year Exhibition

Image: Poras Choudhary, Travel Photographer of the Year, from telegraph.co.uk

Yesterday I travelled the world - without leaving London. I saw an orangutan emerging from the early morning mists in a Borneo rainforest. Mysterious masked figures stalking the streets of a Mexican town celebrating the Day of the Dead. A group of wrinkled husbands basking outside their houses in the Tuscan afternoon sun, as they have done since they were boys. A tent in Canada aglow underneath the Northern Lights. And a lone adventurer making a jaw-dropping descent as he abseiled a thundering 225m high waterfall.

Image: Thomas Kokta, Travel Photographer of the Year, from telegraph.co.uk

In one of those moments that reminds me why I love London, a friend and I had stumbled across the Travel Photographer of the Year exhibition on our way home from a sunny afternoon watching the big Olympic screens in Hyde Park. With no urgent plans, we wandered in.

Just hours earlier, sitting in the crowds watching the games, we had commented that it seemed like all the world was in London right now. And that could never be more true than at the perfectly timed Travel Photographer of the Year exhibition.

Based at the Royal Geographical Society and nestled against a backdrop of the Albert Hall, all corners of the world are brought together for this exhibition, through the eyes of photographers ranging from children to professionals. The displays are spread across the indoor space, the terrace and the lawn - and helpfully there are umbrellas on hand should these be required.

Image: Louis Montrose (overall winner), Travel Photographer of the Year, from metro.co.uk

Unlike the better known and doubtlessly amazing Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition, this free exhibition was surprisingly quiet and felt more undiscovered - adding to that intrepid traveller feeling.

From the moment we were welcomed by friendly Kiwis on the door, offering us fairy cakes and tea for a suggested donation, we knew we had walked into a simple and unpretentious exhibition which requires no technical or artistic expertise to appreciate its beauty. Like any great travelling experience, it simply reminds you of the joy of the incredible world around us.

Image: Jonathan Munshi, from misscittykitty.co.uk

We were then taken on a panoramic, all-encompassing journey through epic landscapes, intimate moments and unnoticed details from across the globe.

Each photo is a window into a parallel life. I was struck by how different our lives and landscapes are - and yet there are common themes that bond people wherever they live: daydreaming at work, the exhuberance of childhood, fleeting moments of loneliness in the busiest of places. In fact I think that's what has struck me most about the Olympics - all of humanity united in one place, and the tears, pride and emotions that are felt by all, regardless of where they are from.

Image: GMB Akash, from guardian.co.uk

It is impossible to choose a highlight from the Travel Photographer of the Year collection. After a lengthy short-listing process, I managed to whittle my postcard selection down to a lean seven images, so that should give you an indication of quite how many times you will say 'Wow!' during this exhibition.

But probably the most surprising was the Polish winner of the Exotic category, whose portfolio of images was taken in none other than our own night-time Soho; a faceless woman with an umbrella against a stark wall. A silhouetted man against the red glow of a sex shop.

Image: Malgorzato Piolo, Travel Photographer of the Year, from education.ezinemark.com

It's a reminder that 'exotic' is in the eye of the beholder. We too live in a city that, for millions (particularly over the last two weeks), is a fascinating, crazy, other-worldly experience. So next time I'm mocked for looking like a tourist as I take a picture on my phone of some pretty little street or window display, I won't mind at all. Anyone and everyone can be a travel photographer, even me.

(Travel Photographer of the Year is currently showing at the Royal Geographical Society on Kensington Gore. Free entry. The exhibition has now been extended until 2 September due to popular demand.)

Fifty Shades of Escapism: this year's holiday reads

Escapism, for me, could just as easily be listening to a bit of Schubert at my desk as watching back-to-back episodes of The Bachelor on Sky Plus. High culture and trash culture take me to very different places but both have a special place in my heart, and this is why I have long objected to the idea of a hierarchy of tastes.

So with that in mind, I gave myself a well-rounded reading list of novels for my holiday which consisted of the beautiful, the silly, the classic and the downright filthy - starting, of course, with Fifty Shades of Grey.

My only criteria for a holiday read, as opposed to something to read on the Tube, is that it should, above all else, be a page-turner.

Risks should be avoided. Your much-needed two week break is no time to be forcing yourself to read something that doesn't make you want to whip it out at every pause in the conversation. A holiday read should, like everything else you do on the trip, feel like pure indulgence. (This does not necessarily always correlate to a well-written book, as I discovered...).

With the right book on holiday, you can have a truly multi-sensory reading experience, with your enjoyment of the book being enhanced by the feeling of the sun on your skin, the breeze in the palm trees and the perfume of exotic flowers in the air. With the wrong book, you’ll end up reading your friend’s dog-eared magazine for the seventh time while listening to the loud Aussies on the adjacent sunloungers discussing where they’re going to have dinner.

1. Fifty Shades of Grey, EL James

Michael Fassbender: my perfect Christian Grey (albeit slightly older than Christian's 27 years)

When I left for Indonesia, Fifty Shades of Grey was a very popular book that most girls I know had either read or planned on reading. I'm not quite sure what happened in the interim, but on my return, it seemed it had actually taken over the world. (My favourite headline so far is a toss-up between ‘Peter Andre to pen male version of Fifty Shades of Grey’ and 'Boyfriend squirted partner with brown sauce after she refuses to stop reading Fifty Shades of Grey').

The culprit of the brown sauce incident needn't have worried. This is hardly sexually liberating erotica that will lead a generation of women into a kinky underworld;  sorry boys, but this is pure romance. With props.

You probably all know the story. Beautiful, tortured billionaire Christian Grey whisks idiotic unworldly student Anastasia Steele off her feet and showers her with lavish gifts. However there are obstacles; he has a Red Room of Pain and stalkerish tendencies (but that’s OK, because he’s attractive) and likes to hit women with things. After a lot of soul-searching, eye-rolling, lip-biting, earth-shattering and palm-twitching, Ana decides that, yes, he can hit her with things.

Of course, the writing is appalling. Sometimes, perhaps at the 64th mention of Ana’s 'inner goddess' (no exaggeration) or her observations such as, 'his sweatpants hang… in that way', you wonder if the whole thing is a big joke. Annoyingly, I even caught myself mirroring her inane internal monologues, exclaiming ‘Holy cow!’ and ‘Double crap!’ to myself at various points during the holiday.

But, beyond rime or reason, Fifty Shades is bizarrely addictive and I defy you not to get caught up in it. It provided us hours of fun on the beach as we read aloud some of the more ridiculous lines and debated who will play the immortal Christian Grey in the film. (I’d be keen to see Alexander Skasgard, Ryan Philippe, or ideally a young Michael Fassbender, but I appreciate the latter may be unrealistic…). Like it or loathe it, my brand new copy was literally falling apart and missing several pages after my two friends and I had each raced through the novel, and now looks embarrassingly well-thumbed.

The appeal here is the potent combination of classic Cindarella romance, a relentless stream of constant sex scenes and a ridiculous amount of hype. Who isn’t powerless to resist? If you haven’t already, stop fighting your curiosity and come join the club; read it, have fun and then bitch about it afterwards. As Ana herself says, "this is wrong... but holy hell is it erotic."

Actual rating: 2/10
Holiday read rating: 8.5/10

2. The Making of Us, Lisa Jewell

The Making of Us is a good old ‘Richard and Judy Book Club’ style novel, bought in haste from Waterstones thanks to the cover, which is plastered with praise from fairly reliable sources.

This is the uplifting tale of three lost souls who discover they all share the same sperm-donor father, who is now terminally ill. It was a relief to find real, three-dimensional characters and to discover that I could still feel real emotion, after my brain got such a spanking during Fifty Shades of Grey. I even shed real tears during this book, which I sailed through in a couple of days.

It’s an undemanding yet satisfying read, which I certainly enjoyed at the time and found myself caring about the complex characters, but now looking back I feel kind of ‘meh’ about it. It was lovely but forgettable; not the kind of book that leaves you feeling bereft when you finish, like the classic beach reads so often do (I'm really talking about One Day - I still miss Em and Dex).

Actual rating: 7/10
Holiday rating: 7/10

3. Hollywood Divorces, Jackie Collins

Hurrah, we're back to the filth!

Although a less experienced reader of trashy novels may assume they are all on a similarly low par, I can say wholeheartedly that as with any genre, there is good trash, and there is bad trash.

And with Jackie Collins - the undisputed Queen of the Bonkbuster - you are in excellent hands. She has been writing her inimitable stories of sex, scandal, fame and revenge for five decades and counting.

Ever since I picked up Hollywood Wives in a second hand book shop in India four years ago, no holiday has been complete without a Jackie Collins novel.

I’m not sure I should admit how many of her books I’ve now read, but each of them has been ridiculously entertaining and expertly paced. Invariably, there’s a superstar with a seedy past and/or a bitter vendetta against another Hollywood A-lister, plus at least three subplots that all collide in a dramatic showdown at a premiere.

Her finest work is definitely the old-school 1970s and '80s novels such as Hollywood Wives and The World is Full of Married Men, where lines such as ‘she’s a tough old broad...’ don’t seem quite so out of place.

This year’s choice, Hollywood Divorces, seems to be set around in the early noughties if the cultural references to Britney and Justin are anything to go by. The main character 'Lola Sanchez' – a ruthless Latina diva with a penchant for bad boys – is unashamedly based on Jennifer Lopez, and it’s fun to spot other thinly veiled portrayals of famous names.

Saying that, Hollywood Divorces probably wasn’t quite up to the usual gold standard of vintage Jackie Collins (usually there's at least one vaguely likeable character), but it was still my most enjoyable read of the holiday. With at least 20 more of her books still to get through, I think I’m sorted for the next few trips.

Actual rating: 4/10
Holiday read rating: 9/10 (The winner!)

4. Love in the Time of Cholera, Gabriel Garcia Marquez

As our holiday drew to a close, I thought I would finish with something noble, epic and firmly on my list of 'must reads'. I found this weather-beaten copy of Love in the Time of Cholera in a book lender's shop on Gili Trawangan in Indonesia and put down the deposit of 100,000 rupiah (about £7).

Three weeks later, on a rainy Tuesday afternoon on the Piccadilly Line, I finally finished it. This is a stunning piece of literature that completely immerses you in the sights, smells and sounds of turn of the century Columbia, and is quite unlike anything I've read before. But it's not one that hooks you from the first page or that can be raced through in between snorkelling and cocktails. Having not even reached the halfway point during our time on the Gilis, I sacrificed my deposit so I could find out whether hopeless romantic Florentino Ariza finally got his girl, Fermina Daza, after sixty years of unrequited love.

With its dense, lush, lyrical prose and very little dialogue, I realised that Love in the Time of Cholera had been somewhat missold as 'one of the greatest love stories of all time'. If that is what you are expecting, you may be disappointed; this is the slow, gradual unfolding of a lifetime of obsessive love, and as the novel approaches its climax, our romantic hero has become elderly, bald, toothless, sickly and has slept with more than 600 women.

But if you take your time and appreciate it in the way you would study a painting, for example, the language and insights on life and love can take your breath away. On several occasions, I came across a sentence so beautifully observed that I had to fold the corner down of the page so I could read it again and again: 

"Tell him yes. Even if you are dying of fear, even if you are sorry later, because whatever you do, you will be sorry all the rest of your life if you say no."

Or how about: 

"It is incredible how you can be happy for so many years, in the midst of so many squabbles, so many problems, damn it, and not really know if it was love or not." 

How this can even be judged against the book that brought us the immortal words "He's my very own Christian Grey flavoured Popsicle" is of course an outrage, but those are the rules. If we are comparing these two books based on their beach read factor and page-turnability, I'm afraid there's a clear winner...

Actual rating: 9/10
Holiday read rating: 4/10

Today I am ... dreaming of Indonesia

Forgive me, for I have sinned. It has been nearly four weeks since my last blog post. Tut tut. But it was all in the name of research. Your author has been on the ultimate escapist's adventure to the other side of the globe; the tropical paradise of Bali, Lombok and the Gili Islands.

And - although even the most remote of island beach cafes now carry hand-painted signs boasting of their WiFi access (my, how times have changed since my travelling days) - had I blogged from there, I would be inclined to say I hadn't quite grasped the true meaning of escapism.

I love London but I think sometimes we're all guilty of forgetting what a comparatively small, grey dot the city actually is in relation this huge, colourful, beautiful outside world. And on this trip, I remembered how simple it is to escape.

For my friends and I, it was simply a case of booking a flight on a whim as we passed STA Travel one Sunday afternoon a few months ago.  Three months and 17 hours later, I had completely switched off. It was that easy. It's amazing how quickly you adjust to a world where your most stressful decision is whether to order nasi goreng (fried rice) or mie goreng (fried noodles).

During our three weeks away, we saw three totally different ways of life, each of which is a world away from my life in London; here's how we embraced the Luxurious, the Backpacker, and the Cultural Indonesia...

Cultural

Bali may be the most commercialised of the three islands we visited, but venture inland to Ubud and the surrounding areas and you'll still find a culture rich with tradition and heritage. Within the artists' town of Ubud you'll be spoiled for choice with stunning temples, Indonesian cookery classes, local galleries, yoga classes and forest treks aplenty. But the real treats are buried deep in the countryside. Arrange to stay with a local family in one of the island's many friendly, cheap homestays. Most just offer bed and breakfast, but in the village where we stayed (Wayan's Bali Homestay), we must have been the only Westerners for miles, and we were whole-heartedly embraced into the community, where Wayan's grandmother, father and grown-up children all still live in neighbouring houses.

This is the real deal; the village is buzzing by 7am but by then, the cockerels and dogs outside your window will, like you, have already been up for hours. Wayan and his wonderful family gave us Balinese makeovers, home-cooked local specialities, took us on a walk to see daily life in the rice paddies and invited us to the cremation of an elderly relative, a colourful and communal affair attended by the whole village. On an island which in parts is fast becoming Australia's answer to the Costa del Sol, it was inspiring to see such a simple, old-fashioned way of life where home, family and community still come first.

Luxurious

Saying that, there's only so long three girls on holiday can share a cold shower with an entire extended family. Craving an authentic and sociable holiday experience, I had some initial reservations (no pun intended) about staying in luxurious, honeymooner-friendly hotels. However as I reclined on our futon in a silky hotel dressing gown and poured myself a free vodka from the complimentary decanter in our room, I realised I could probably make my peace with fresh, clean towels, open-air baths under the stars and complementary sunset massages...

The trick was to alternate the hotel stays in between the more basic accommodation, so we preserved that childlike excitement when we arrived at our villa and dived into the oversized beds like Macauley Culkin in Home Alone 2 (great film).

We felt like celebrities when we rocked up at eco-friendly Uma Ubud in the lush, green highlands of Ubud, Bali, a boutique collection of tranquil villas. Our backpacks and girly screams ('Oh my god, the shower!') quickly blew our cover of being seasoned five star globe-trotters.

Quinci Villas in Lombok was rather less subtle, looking straight out of the Elle travel pages with a blinging infinity pool overlooking the private beach - the perfect place to catch up on missed tanning hours from our time in the Bali homestay.

And finally, 24 hours at the Chedi Club in Bali have now ruined me for life. Our night in heaven was an early birthday gift for my friend, courtesy of her mum (thanks Mrs Cooper!). This is the kind of place I could have only dreamt of staying; an intimate, secluded retreat hidden in the middle of the rice paddies, with its own lotus pond and family of black swans.

Again, we may have disturbed the serenity of the environment with our enthusiasm. This was the last night of the holiday before our flight back to reality. Not knowing when, if ever, I would return to a hotel like this in my lifetime, we were on a mission to make the most of it. We dutifully slathered our weather-beaten skin and hair with the hotel's indulgent products, filled our bags with snacks and cans from the free mini-bar, got our laundry done and enjoyed the free afternoon tea in the aviary. They practically had to drag us from there to the airport kicking and screaming.

Backpacker 

And then there was Gili Trawangan - party island paradise. There are no cars, just horse and carts, but best of all - it was here that we found the one, elusive thing that had evaded us for much of the trip: People! Who weren't all couples!

Not that I didn't love our 'romantic' candle-lit dinners for three, but we were so ready for the Gilis by the time we arrived. The main beach on Gili Trawangan is picture perfect, and full of decent beach huts which you don't need to book in advance (watch out for the cockroaches though). The turquoise sea is full of turtles, clownfish and lots more, just waiting to be discovered.

Attracting Aussie surfers, Indonesian reggae enthusiasts, Singaporean girls-on-tour and a LOT of divers, Gili T is rather like I imagine Koh Tao in Thailand might have been a decade ago; rustic and ramshackle, but lively and exciting.

The famous party nights (Monday, Wednesday and Friday) took me back to my University days, where you knew exactly which bar to head to on each night of the week. And rather like Freshers Week, the people you meet on the first night will continue to haunt you for the rest of your trip, popping up in restaurants, the sea, maybe even your flight home.

This is a tiny island, which you can easily walk or cycle around (we opted for renting bicycles, the first time I've been on one since I was about 12. It's not true what they say about never forgetting how to ride one). And after six nights on Gili T - the longest we spent anywhere during our trip - it is also the place I found hardest to say goodbye to.

Back to reality

It was quite a culture shock emerging from the tube station at rush hour like a confused time-traveller, after our epic flight home. In my maxi-dress and backpack, I walked back to my flat against a tide of commuters and drizzle. The next day, it was back to business as usual. 

I wouldn't say I've had post-holiday blues; it's more of a post-holiday daze which I still haven't quite snapped out of. Did it really all happen? Was it just a dream? Then I notice the sand still in my wallet and smile. My battle wounds of straplines, bites and bruises may be fading, but as long as we've got the memories, we'll always have Indonesia.