Review of the Swiss-Belinn Hotel, Legion, Bali

The Swiss-Belinn hotel has earned a reputation of being a three star hotel which punches well beyond its weight. Its well renowned for its customer service  where most guests put this as the hotels most endearing asset. The rooftop pool and the food has also come in for high praise from many travellers.

I would agree in most part with the overwhelming positive comments placed on Trip Advisor about this establishment. The following issues I would raise as concerns which the hotel could improve upon, and which is why I would give a rating of 3 out of 5, an above average score.

The food is tasty, however, if you are on full board and  selecting from the limited a la carte menu for two weeks it becomes repetitive. I would suggest to travellers to go B&B or least half board and utilise the various eateries that the area has to offer. You will taste the genuine cuisine of Bali and Indonesia, which is hot and very spicy. The hotel's menu caters very much for the western palate and not particularly adventurous which is a shame. I would love the hotel to do more food which represents more of the flavour f the island. You can consume burger and fries anywhere.

I would agree that the customer service is good. However, to make it exemplary I would make sure that the English of most of the employees could be dramatically improved. There were several instances where there were miscommunication from myself and the staff which detracted from my enjoyment of my stay. But saying that I realise that the staff do their level best to provide a good service, which overall I received.

The infinity pool on the rooftop is great and distinguish it from other hotels in the area. However, I can imagine in the high season that it would be extremely busy. Thankfully, for me it was not highly used especially in the morning. You could swim in peace comfortably.

The room were small but cosy and modern with a balcony.  I was on the fifth floor with great views of Legion. It had everything I needed for my stay. The flat screen TV showed the main channels including the BBC. It even had a DVD which was a bonus. The room was cleaned daily and towels changed as frequently.

Again the gym was petite with three apparatus only and some free weights. It was perfectly adequate for me as it seemed only very few guests used the facility when I was there.

If money was not an object there are better hotels in the region. But the Swiss-Belinn is the best by far if you are on a budget. It delivers much more than you expect for a modest price. For all its minor faults I would undoubtedly recommend this establishment to all and sundry.

Jamming with the Bali Rastas

The place was rammed and it was not even midnight. I came upon the Apache Reggae Club completely by chance.

A smiling, petite teenager with a tattoo of Bob Marley on her uncovered navel beckoned me towards her, as I was walking the narrow pavements, constantly on the lookout for speeding scooters who happily use the pedestrian walkway as a way to avoid the congested traffic.

The young lady was thrilled that although coming from London I had Jamaica roots. She ushered me into the club, where the live band was playing a medley of Bob Marley songs. Apart from the massive portraits of Marley adorned across the club what I noticed that it seemed that every other person was a rastafarian of Balinese origin. The other patrons were white rastas from Australia.

I felt completely at home. Talking about the only gay in the village I was the only Jamaican in the club. As soon as I informed people of my heritage I was greeted with a loud Jah rasta far'i  and a warm brotherly handshake.

After every song the lead singer would drop some serious Jamaican patois as if he was straight from the slum Yardie streets of Kingston. It didn't matter a jot that most of the crowd did not understand him, it simply got them worked up into a frenzy. I was skanking with the best of them now, as the strong aroma of hashish circulated the dancefloor.

The band played well beyond 1am nearly 2. The club was still buzzing well after they're left the stage. I departed myself after several servings of Arak (local spirit) and diet coke. It was a minor miracle that I wasn't knocked over by moped whilst unsteadily advancing towards my hotel.

Just want to say a massive big up to all the Balinese rastas at the Apache and no doubt I will looking forward to jamming with them on several more occasions before returning to England.

Its Time To Hang Up The Disco Shoes

I am caught between a rock and a hard place. Staying in Kuta on the  coast of Bali, its  surrounded by an assortment of bars, 
eateries and nightclubs. You can the hear pumping and vibrant  sound of electro music, R&B and soul from your room.

In my advancing years I should of listened to the rational side of me. That I am a man whose best dancing years are behind him and not very much in front of him. The age of disco and the moonwalk is over. But no, my immature, irrational unconsciousness won through. I wanted to impress the Balinese with my body-popping skills. So I put on my tight jeans and dancing shoes and headed for Ecstasy & Oblivion (the main nightclub in Kuta), which also aptly summarise my night. 

The club was packed with locals and young Australians getting down to some serious techno. I had nothing in common with these clubbers. I was the oldest one in the place by a country mile and more. Doing the funky chicken and robot was not going to cut it. Everybody seem to be twerking which was beyond my capabilities.

By 2am I was exhausted. The smoke, the noise and gyrating bodies was too much for me. All I could think of was putting my feet up in front of the TV whilst watching Countdown and enjoying a mug of Horlicks.

I trundled back to my hotel, avoiding the Balinese ladies of the night offering untold pleasures for a price. As I tucked myself in bed I come to the realisation that clubbing is a young persons pursuit. Middle aged people like me simply look out of place like a black man at a Ku Klux Klan convention or Kevin Pietersen  in the England cricket team. Like Liverpool's Steven Gerrard its time to retire with grace and dignity, and hang up those disco shoes for them to gather dust. I had my moment in the sun its time now to pass the torch (or disco shoes) to the next generation.

I had one thought to console me that at least a good number Balinese and inebriated Aussies were able to see me moonwalk from one end of the dance floor to the other. Michael J would of been proud of me.

No Bali Happy Ending For Me

The flight was not as onerous as I imagined. Twelve hours to Singapore and just two from there to Bali. Felt reasonably fresh
as I landed on this wonderful island.

As I handed in my documents to the Customs Officer he gave me a stern look and asked if I was travelling with family or on my own. When I responded in the latter he gave a smirk. His grin was even more pronounced when I informed him that I was staying in Kuta ( a place infamous for its night-life and massage parlours). I tried in vein to convince him that my vacation was for all the right reasons and not for lascivious purposes. I had not won him over by the time he stamped my passport and waved me to the exit, with a passing comment that he very much hoped that I enjoy my stay over the next two weeks. His tongue was firmly in cheek  when he said it.

The taxi drive to the Swiss-Belinn  Legion hotel was less than 30 minutes. It was nearing 11pm by the time I checked in. My deluxe room was on the 5th floor with balcony. The accommodation was small but modern. I  fondly imagined over the next fortnight consuming the local beer whilst watching the sunset go down.

Although nearing midnight, I thought I would venture out to have a brief taste of what Bali had to offer. A few minutes into my stroll I was accosted by several different locals offering massages by beautiful Balinese females who were experts in giving tourists like me "happy endings". I politely declined their offers as I was not interested in these young ladies, however skilled they maybe.

One chap  with barely any teeth and a huge pot belly enquired if I was interested in men giving me a "happy ending". He would do it himself for half the going-rate. I firmly declared that I had no desire for anybody male or female in dispensing any type of ending; happy, sad or otherwise!

I was able to escape to a local bar without further incident. Whilst sipping on a bottle of Bintang (Balinese beer) I reflected on my  encounter with the burly Customs Officer. If I ever see him on my departure I will have a smirk on my face as wide as the Bali Sea knowing that I was never tempted to have a happy ending even if it was from a toothless fat bloke at half price.