2 Questions Every Girl is Asking Herself

Chapter 32

The Denpasar airport in Bali is a small place built with exceptional simplicity. When I'd arrived at this airport a month ago, I got off the plane, and then I was out of the airport. No complex maze, long conveyer belts, or inter-concourse trains to navigate. With such a small airport, you'd think it probably doesn't even have a VIP lounge. Yet on my return, the Balinese lounge came as a startling surprise.

VIP lounges are waiting areas for airlines' premier customers: First Class, Business Class and Frequent Flyers. I was first inducted into the "secret society" of Frequent Flyer Elite status while on a project in Toronto. That was the first time I'd discovered the existence of these hidden lounges with their nondescript entrances at various airports. Most of the lounges I've been to since then, in Canada, or the US, or Korea, or China, or Singapore, are very business-like. Some are called exactly that – so-and-so airline's Business Lounge. They will have wine and liquor, celery and olives, sometimes warm finger food, and if you're lucky, shower rooms, but mostly an air of gray steel and cool efficiency. The furniture is arranged in a way to encourage solitude and getting more work done.

The Balinese lounge – as I was astonished to find out – looked like a sun-drenched Spa. Except, without the Spa. The reception had a splendid backdrop of ornamental carving in muted gold and russet, consisting of twenty squares, like miniature picture frames. Each square featured a scene of some mythical creature or exotic plant. The patterns are so intricate it looked like a Persian rug carved in wood.

Directly in front, on the gleaming counter of dark stone, stood a golden tree of blossoming white flowers with shapely petals like dogwood. The Balinese receptionist beamed at me with characteristic Balinese hospitality. I handed her my passport and boarding pass, and she gestured to a simple entryway to the side of the reception.

It was a corridor of cream floor and cherry wood walls, at the end of which hung a mirror in gilded frame, above a small console table, as though an entrance to someone's house. And this was just the hallway.

When I rounded the corner and came upon the dining room, my view expanded to such an extent that I let out a gasp. I stood there, at the entry, for a few solid seconds. Just staring. Sunlight flooded the white marble floors, setting the place aglow. Everything was drenched in luminescence. I lifted my head to discover an illuminated ceiling of blue sky and wispy clouds.

Beneath it stood the central island and the most spectacular feature of all – an ivory pavilion. Instead of a roof, the pillars supported a hollow square in three descending layers, like an upside down staircase. Latticework in graceful patterns of arabesques and swirls, distinctive in Islamic architecture, draped between the pillars. This magnificent indoor pavilion made me think of a bell tower, (except without the bell) that you'd find at the tippity top of buildings, or the top of a mountain, like the ruins of Acropolis in Athens. It stood atop the central island, shining beams of spotlight on the stainless steel warming trays and golden statues of winged dragons. The pavilion rose high above anything else in the lounge, barely touching the ceiling of blue sky and white clouds, like a stairway to heaven.

Next to the pavilion, was a smaller island of mahogany wood and black granite, which served salads, fresh fruits, cakes and puddings. Outside it's turquoise waters and frangipani trees. I walked from one end of the lounge to the other. Then I walked all the way back again. Then I walked all around it again, just to make sure I hadn't missed anything. I tried to restrain myself and look like a worldly, dignified, Elite traveler, and not be snapping photos at everything like a total tourist. Still, I had to circle the property a few times until I felt satisfied I'd seen every nook, every crook, every flower pot, before returning to the pavilion to eat.

I picked out an assortment of chow mien, calamari, baby pizzas, a square of tiramisu, a cream puff, a curious pastry that looked like a mini log, and a chocolately thing shaped like a tiny pyramid with a white dot on top. (It hadn't occurred to me to eat any fruits or vegetables.) I plopped down in a deep comfy sofa, and gazed at the lattice screen of dark wood and symmetrical white orchids with their elegant cascading blossoms. And while I ate, I pondered important questions about life.

Such as: Why don't all the airport lounges look like Balinese Spas?