Why hiring a private villa in Bali was a huge mistake

It isn’t the first time Instagram has lied to me, nor, I’m sure, will it be the last.

Ever since Bali opened to Australians earlier this year, I’ve been confronted with highly stylised image after image of gargantuan private villas with pools, onsite staff and hot, lycra-clad couples with perfect hair living their best (filtered) life.

Oh, how I wanted in on whatever it is they were selling.

Like many Aussies, I’ve been to Bali many times over the years, each time opting to stay at a resort. Why a resort? I have kids (now 13 and 9) and Balinese resorts offer plenty of activities across all age groups for next to nix when compared with similar resorts in other countries. For our family, it just always made sense to go with that option.

This time, however, I wanted to try something different. We booked our (eye-wateringly expensive) flights and then searched for the kind of private villa I’d been eyeballing for months.

Eventually, we stumbled on what appeared to be the perfect choice in the heart of Seminyak: a spectacular, open-plan villa with a large private pool and expansive outdoor area located right in the middle.

On the other side of the gate, a larger resort-style pool, buffet breakfast, day spa and a team of staff ready to make our week-long holiday perfect. Everything looked immaculate and happily, it was well-priced.

Have you ever seen those documentaries where humans have been wiped off the face of the Earth and nature takes over the buildings?

That’s the only way to describe what awaited us when we arrived at the property. The villas had fallen into disrepair, paint peeling and cracked, suspect stains all over the soft furnishings. Right away I rang reception: “Hi, there appears to be bloodstains on our ottoman… could you come and change that please?”

Initially we tried to persevere. Obviously with a two-year lockdown they’d been doing it tough but we soon discovered that staying in a villa with young children is nothing like what you see on social media. Days were spent listening to our children argue in the pool we had to be parked beside, or finding activities for them once they got out.

There were no other kids to play with, so my husband and I were back in 24/7 parenting roles, books and magazines we’d thrown in our bags long-discarded.

Mealtimes involved heading out into the streets and searching for something everyone could agree on and we all steadily grew grumpier and grumpier. Why hadn’t I seen anything like this on Instagram? Why hadn’t I realised what a pain private villas can be when you have young ones to entertain?

Halfway into our holiday, we simply packed our things and checked out. “We can’t give you a refund,” the gentleman at reception informed me. “That’s okay, we’re not asking for a refund. “We just want something else,” we responded.

With that, we threw our bags into a taxi and hightailed it over to Club Med Bali in Nusa Dua.

Last-minute room rates online were high, but since we were already at reception with credit card in hand,…