We interrupt this flow of birdie navel-gazing to report from the island of the Gods, Bali.

Don’t fret — normal service will resume shortly and once again we’ll maunder on about raptors, Archie and all that jazz. 

But, to quote George, it’s been a long cold lonely winter. And a long cool wet summer before that. And a colder, longer winter before that. So we threw caution to the icy winds and hopped a flight to Denpasar — because after years of lockdowns and restrictions, we finally could. 

The name Bali conjures up images of idyllic beaches and sunny skies, and all of this is true. But the beaches down south where we (and most tourists) stay aren’t beautiful white sand — more of a volcanic grey — and the sea is plagued with plastic waste. There’s a lot of concrete, a lot of mess, unfinished buildings, litter. Town planning doesn’t seem to have been a thing, so you’ll see vivid emerald paddy fields squashed between built-up compounds.

But it’s much more than all this that brings travellers in their millions every year. And that ‘more’ is hard to sum up. I’m wrestling with words like grace, charm, elegance, serenity, all of which are apt, but not nearly sufficient.

People tend to resort to the weather when trying to explain the magnetism of this place. And yes, that’s also part of it. It’s a skin-kissing 28 degrees C right now, and a gentle wind is hoisting the local lads’ kites aloft in a well-organised but relaxed competition on the beach at Batubelig, while learner surfers are dumped into frothy white wavelets on a cerulean sea. 

But no one’s angry or impatient at the choked traffic, or resentful of the pampered tourists and their demands. On the contrary: you feel so welcome when you come here — everyone you deal with is courteous without being deferential, considerate, smiling. People are commercial-minded, no doubt, but industrious and resourceful with it.

I think this welcoming attitude is because people are content — and want you to be too. An unruffled ease underlies the island’s wonderful hospitality. Nothing is too much trouble. And the differences tourists bring with them is accepted without judgement: skimpy bikinis, funky hairstyles and colours, drunken partying and so on.

Another huge part of Bali’s seductiveness is its pervasive aesthetic: villas and their gardens, hotels, boutiques, are all designed and arranged with a natural tastefulness and creativity: water features teeming with golden carp; frangipani trees, stone lanterns and religious statues all coalesce in a way that just works — even if the concept may seem outrageous. And the thatched roofs are topped with carved royal crowns and edged with, yes — finials! It’s enough to render any student of architecture ecstatic.

And the people always look stylish, whether they’re in surfer chic or trad. The men’s distinctive headgear, the udeng, is worn with pride, often with a matching sarong; women’s kebaya, a narrow skirt, often of lace, with a sarong over it, is colourful and flattering. People will sport a frangipani blossom behind their ear or in their hair, carrying it off unselfconsciously.

And then there’s the food . . . With fertile volcanic soil and fruitful oceans, all the ingredients are here for mouth-watering eats — small surprise that the sky’s the limit when it comes to dining out. You can go high-end, with a degustation menu and matched wines from around the world, or you can opt for simple, healthy salads and veggie juice. Or both in the same day.

Some say Bali’s peaceful vibe comes from its unique religion: while most of the rest of Indonesia is Muslim, Balinese people follow its own form of Hinduism alloyed with strong elements of Buddhism and animism. There are temples and statues everywhere; anything you see wrapped in black-and-white chequered cloth is believed to contain a significant spirit.

Being an obsessive photographer of birds, I had to have a go after we arrived yesterday. As I sat by the pool, a squadron of rapidly manoeuvring swallows circulated ceaselessly with breathtaking skill — impossible to track.

But then a bunch of homely sparrows arrived, fearlessly drank at the poolside, and went off to quarrel in a nearby tree. And a pair of spotted doves arrived, bobbing their heads and tentatively approaching the water. They too drank — and then settled, cooing, on the warm flags about six feet from me. They appeared unafraid of humans — I reckon because they were denizens of a pacifist island, imbued with the principles of the Buddha.

Before we found ourselves in Australia at the outbreak of the pandemic, we planned to spend a year in Bali. The boys had left home; my work could be done online from anywhere, and we felt like an adventure. So we took ten days to stay in an elegantly shabby beachfront hotel, engaged an estate agent, and travelled the island to find a nice place to rent.

We’d been told that my Aussie visa application would take “up to fifteen months” to process, so spending the bulk of that time here seemed like a no-brainer. But having signed the lease, we were informed within a few short weeks that the visa had been granted — and to activate it, our presence was required in Aus. So we went there. And then came Covid. Braidwood has been good to us and it’s pointless to nurture regrets, yet this journey is tinged with a sense of what might have been. But then who knows? It’s never too late for an adventure.