At Green School, the focus is on child-led learning, where children can study what they want, and scamper around barefoot discovering their environment and learning to be green citizens. Yet – as I understand their website – they offer iGCSE, the international version of the exams English kids do at age 16, and the internationally recognised 16-18 qualification, the IB, after that. Excellent!

“No,” says a travelling friend. “They don’t do that. If you want Zac to do GCSEs you have to buy special private tutoring. And I don’t think they do the IB at all.”

“Wait,” I say. “So I’m going to be paying $15,000 a year PLUS thousands of dollars extra on top of that if I want him to get any qualifications? He’s basically going to be doing them as an extra?”

“Yes,” he says. Bollocks, I think. That can’t be right. I stare balefully at the fees schedule. It includes an ominous statement about camps and excursions, which cost between $500 and $1500 and will be added to my bill. Fuck, I have to pay $1200 just to apply for admission!

“It IS a business,” says my friend, who has a business. “And…. Look out for the drivers in the car park. Tonnes of them, in enormous gas-guzzling four-by-fours. Hilarious.”

“People pontificating from giant villas full of Apple products on how the Balinese don’t care about their environment.”

“That,” Zac remarks, balefully. “Is the kind of thing that really pisses me off. People pontificating from giant villas full of Apple products on how the Balinese don’t care about their environment.”

“And running the A/C and the pool machine 24/7,” I say. “Don’t forget the pool!”

I loathe greenwash. And I wonder whether we’re buying into a peculiarly rarefied Trudie Styler version of it here.

“Shall we just laugh this off?” my spawn suggests.

“No,” I say, sternly. “I think that since we are in the area, and this is by far the most famous school on the island, we should definitely take a look at it. It might be the right place for you. And you loved Pelangi! And that was bamboo classrooms in the ricefields!”

Pelangi was, indeed, a splendid school, with lots of barefoot running around, lovely bamboo classrooms, kiddie yoga, Balinese culture lessons, Indonesian language lessons, plenty of natural eco-stuff but not so much that it got up your nose, and a healthy dose of book larnin’ too. Sadly, it doesn’t continue after primary level. Bugger.

The sign is advertising Sacred Scoops, an organic, vegan, raw ice cream, made with the latest “conscious” “technologies”. In this instance, that’s crystal essences, 528-hertz love frequencies and sacred geometry.

Our guide to Green School’s impressive, riverside campus is yoga-vegan skinny, with a mildly unnerving passionate glow to him: he’s shipped his kids out from the US on passion, and he’d clearly much rather be teaching than marketing. The group comprises me, Zac, an Aussie lady and her uninterested 15-year-old daughter.

Off we toddle, passing a bamboo canteen with a sign. I give Zac a diving signal behind my back.

“Stop it, Mum!” he hisses.

The sign is advertising Sacred Scoops, an organic, vegan, raw ice cream, made with the latest “conscious” “technologies”. In this instance, that’s crystal essences, 528-hertz love frequencies and, of course, my favourite Ubudian term, sacred geometry.

I raise an eyebrow at Zac. He ignores me.

“Yes,” says yoga guy proudly, misinterpreting our interest, or (possibly) affecting to do so. “That’s a Green School parent business.”

I briefly do the maths on how much vegan ice cream one has to sell to put a child through Green School. Even in Ubud, a global centre for fad diets and spiritual bollocks, it looks like a vanity project.

Oh boy, I think. Oh boy. I’m not at all sure we’re going to fit in here. Well, Zac might. He coped with Chinese school, so he can adapt to bloody anything. I’m going to spend every school run biting my tongue.

“This is a very popular spot for yoga in the mornings,” says our guide. “A lot of Green School parents love to bring their yoga mats to school.”

Down we go, through impressively green grounds. There’s a class of Zac’s age group in situ, in a semi-outdoor classroom, eight or nine kids in total, studying English on sheeny-shiny MacBooks. Like most of the classes we see in the upper school, it’s overwhelmingly white.

In fact, this is the whitest school we’ve seen since Zac’s stint in the school in my parents’ tiny Norfolk village. There are some Balinese-looking children in the kindergarten and early years classes, which look rather fun – quite a lot like Pelangi, in fact. But as you move up the years, it becomes more and more Anglo, and the classes become smaller and smaller. There’s not much choice in Zac’s age range when it comes to making friends.

Onwards. We tour the mudpit. We learn that kids can do motorcycle maintenance classes. Zac is unenthused.

Up we come to a platform, overlooking the river that runs through the campus, with its iconic, if problematic, bridge. “This is a very popular spot for yoga in the mornings,” says our guide. “A lot of Green School parents love to bring their yoga mats to school.”

Oh god. What is a “Green School parent”? He uses the term as though a Green School parent is a more rarefied species than lesser, common-or-garden parents. Which is odd, since I know a couple of Green School parents, and they seem pretty darn normal to me.

A solar array. A rare spark of interest from both teens! “How much power does that solar array put out?” Zac asks. Yoga Guy segues seamlessly into an explanation about the well, which, as is not at all unusual in Indonesia, provides the water that the school uses.

I wonder how on earth they’re running all those computers on solar. There are banks of servers in the cathedral-like bamboo building at the centre. Don’t they just EAT electricity?

There are quite a lot of things that Green School seems unsure about, which is a little unfortunate, given it’s now six years old and charges 1200 non-refundable greenbacks just to apply.

Onwards. There is a farm, and an organic veggie garden. The school isn’t particularly sure what’s going to happen to the animals in future, because it seems unfair to the animals just to keep them there. There are quite a lot of things that Green School seems unsure about, which is a little unfortunate, given it’s already six years old and charges 1200 non-refundable greenbacks just to apply.

“I went to a school in Australia,” says our co-tourer, “You know, one of those rich hippie schools…”

“Yes,” says yoga guy. “We’ve certainly been called that as well.”

I realise we have yet to see any science labs. Zac is 13 – high school age. He’s academically able, and interested in science. “Do you have any science labs?” I ask.

“We have the river!” exclaims yoga guy.

My face does that involuntary Polish thing it does. “Yes,” I say. “Apart from the river.”

Zac has spent the big end of four years doing experiential learning. He’s released baby turtles into the wild, explored volcanoes, above ground and undersea, studied germination from palm trees on beaches, learnt about ecosystems in the rainforest, researched glaciers in the high Himalayas, discovered Egyptian history by racing inside deserted pyramids, and more. Unschooling has worked splendidly, but he’s had it up to his eyeballs with experiential learning, and would like to learn some concrete stuff, in a classroom, with his peers.

“They’re up there,” he says. “We walked past them.”

I mention physics. It appears physics is not a typical Green School student interest. Nor, for that matter, is it a typical Green School parent interest.

We discuss the students Green School works for – almost everyone – and the few that it doesn’t. There’s a distinct impression that, where Green School doesn’t work for students, it’s not the school’s fault but the students’.

The tour comes to an end at the main bamboo cathedral. There are plenty of Balinese here, working in the kitchen, and serving up meals. Almost as many as there are working as drivers in the carpark, and sweeping the grounds, in fact.

We discuss the students Green School works for – almost everyone – and the few that it doesn’t. There’s a distinct impression that, where Green School doesn’t work for students, it’s not the school’s fault but the students’.

“So,” asks yoga guy. “Would you like to do a trial day?”

“I don’t think so,” says Zac, possibly probably at least partially influenced by my discovery of the section of the website where they charge you a couple of hundred bucks just for your kid to spend a day in the school. “I don’t think this school is going to be right for me. I think I need a more structured environment.”

And we hop on our bike, negotiate the narrow river bridge, and head back to Ubud, Zac burbling about the size of the solar array all the way.

It looks like we’re going to be living in South Bali. I don’t really know South Bali, but I’m guessing a school search is one way to find out. And… maybe the surfers, the barflies, the loafers, the fashion people… Maybe those are my kind of people?!

An eye-opening new Bali memoir, Rash by Lisa Kusel, provides an insiders’ view on Green School.You can read my review of it, get it on Kindle for $6.17 or buy a hard copy on BookDepository.com for $20.84 including free worldwide shipping.

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