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Dawn
Lovina Beach, north coast. It’s dolphin hour and I’m up early, stumbling into an outrigger canoe; the boatman jerks its outboard to life and, along with a score of other boats, we set off in pursuit of the pods of small grey dolphins that cruise Lovina’s coast. They surface everywhere except where we are, and by the time we're where they were, they are - quite sensibly - 50 metres further on. After an hour of this - sunrise with not quite sea monsters - the dolphins lope off to wherever they spend the day and I'm ready for breakfast. I find a losmen (local hotel) where the menu features, in eccentric spelling, a good fruit salad, rich Balinese coffee and black rice with yoghurt. But this isn't a day for sitting around - it's one for driving. The 110 km will take all day.

My Morning
First, acquire one car. This is about as difficult as saying the word "car" in a hotel foyer - the tour desk will arrange one pronto. Secondly, keep its driver (he actually comes with the car). Self-driving in Bali is an exercise in hubris and false economy - for a very modest extra cost I can forget about international licences, insurance, avaricious cops, fuel surcharges and traffic anarchy. Piloted by a savvy young man called Wayan (who doubles as a guide), I'm going to remain unruffled even during the vast traffic jam that oozes between Ubud and Kuta. (I start out by hinting to Wayan that we won't be stopping at numerous galleries and shops, even if his cousins do seem to run them all.) I kick back and soak up visions of passing Bali - the green baize of paddy fields, gingerbread brick Hindu temples and the daily ceremonies - while we run a gauntlet of aromas: clove, votive incense, jasmine and diesel.

It's a quick trip west along the coast from Lovina to Banjar hot springs for an equally quick dip. Don't linger, but get back on the road and turn south, inland to the hills and little Munduk waterfall. Its cataract vaults 15 metres off a rock lip and into a jungle pool; for the second time in an hour I get deliciously wet, this time beneath the fall's spray. (An alternative is the better known, larger but far more crowded Gitgit waterfall - I prefer the solitude of Munduk.)

The drive up to Bedugal takes us about one hour - not bad when you consider that most Balinese roads were built for carts and bicycles, and they've hardly been widened since. We weave between bemos (passenger pick-ups), motorcycles, geese, dogs, buses, trucks, pedestrians, cows and carts - sometimes all together, and frequently in triple overtaking mode.

The mountain area of Bedugal and its beautiful Lake Bratan is surrounded by forested hills, but the real gem is its Bali Botanical Gardens with 600 tree species, plus ferns, orchids and kingfishers. Take either a chlorophyll or coffee break here - depending upon how horticulturally you’re inclined - then push on to Sangeh Monkey Forest.

Amid dense nutmeg trees growing up to 40 metres high, we watch an odd simians-and-sapiens ritual. Tourists bearing peanuts wander around Sangeh's pretty Pura Bukit Sari temple - before they know it, a monkey (or several) ignores the peanuts and makes off with any camera, sunglasses or purse that isn’t nailed to its owner. Follows much angst and even a bit of bribery to the local guides who can somehow "persuade" the monkey to return the loot.

Not far away is the royal hill town of Ubud, once touted by visitors as the home of that mirage, "the real Bali." Today, its spreading midriff encompasses designer hotels, art galleries and restaurants (whose menus can seem more Ibiza than Bali). Despite this postmoddish ambience, in the temples along the main street, Jalan Raya, you'll almost always catch ceremonies where the arcane pujas and stop-start crash of gamelan gongs are a reminder of how little we blow-ins will ever understand Bali, real and unreal. Lunch
There are a number of fine hotels in Ubud, like Pita Maha, where you can graze in style on anything from satay to sushi to cheeseburger. Of the main street's contemporary restaurants, the Lotus Café is the most famous, but if you're seeking something a little more local, look for one that specialises in Indonesian food. I go for Masakan Padang (the name of both the restaurant and cuisine) and its endless assortment of spicy side-dishes. One pays by the number of side-dishes consumed; even an over-indulgence won’t cost more than a few dollars.

It's about 40 km, or 90 minutes, drive from Ubud down to Seminyak on the coast. That's the theory. We just aim to be there by sunset. And to avoid Kuta Beach's melee of hawkers, jeep jams, bungy jumpers, ravers and ragers. ("Don't worry, one day Mt Agung [Bali's sacred volcano] will just shrug the whole Kuta zoo back into the ocean," a longtime Bali observer once counselled me.)

Dusk
Seminyak, south-west coast. This is the far, dreamer's end of Kuta's circus sands. Beyond here be sanity and lava sunsets. Meantime what could be more "authentically Balinese" than Seminyak's surf-front Italian restaurant, La Lucciola, right beside an ancient Hindu temple? This is the place for drawing breath, plus a long, cool lime juice. The sun drops into one of those grand flameouts for which this shore is justly famous; on the beach, silhouetted against the sun’s orb, a traditional ceremony might be in full swing, complete with priests, gamelan players and offerings to the gods.

All I need now is a room at an inn. There is a score of choices. I'll consider them over gado-gado at the Santa Fe Cafe on Jalan Dhyana Pura but, rupiah permitting, I already know the bed I want. For me, the Bali Oberoi at Seminyak wins every time. (Even on nights when I'm not a guest, for the price of a drink at the hotel's garden ampitheatre, I’ll often catch a spine-tingling performance of the Legong ballet or the hypnotic chanting of the Kecuk monkey dancers.) Here I can sleep to the muted boom of the sea and dream of paddling my surfboard out at dawn to where a wave is easier to catch than a dolphin.

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