Leaving Sweden left me in a momentary state of somber and reflection. It was an appreciated first stop, preparing me mentally and emotionally for what was likely to come in the rest of my travels. Saying goodbye sucked of course but the heart wenches only lasted a short time. Not only was it matter of fact that I would be seeing Linn again (irregardless of how long that would actually be), but I had this feeling painful goodbyes would become the norm whilst traveling. I did remain in reflection for some time longer, however. I ran into some airport trouble in Stockholm where they wouldn’t allow me to board my flight to Bangkok unless I had already purchased a ticket out of Bali into Australia. My booking took ages to process due to the free but time-restricted airport internet I had already run out of and I scrambled a bit. But all was well soon enough. My mind thought back to less than four hours earlier, still nestled up with Linn in the backseat of her grandparent’s truck and on our way to the airport. How quickly things change.
My flight lasted 10 hours and I sincerely took advantage of the alcohol cart that came by every thirty minutes for the first three hours. I had a quick and timely layover in Bangkok, arriving in Denpasar mid-afternoon the following day. What a whirlwind that little airport is. I was the last to receive my bag which somehow magically made it through three connecting flights without me having to do a thing. I got a cab to my first hostel in Ubud as the sun was going down and met just one another girl in my room before laying my head on the pillow for a restful sleep.
I spent the next two days with my new friend Stephanie. She had planned a few adventures prior to my arrival and extended an offer for me to join. Each was something I sought after doing my first time in Bali so I happily accepted. We visited a temple and took part in a traditional water purification ceremony, took a walk through the monkey forest, visited the rice fields and coffee plantation, took a class on making silver jewelry from scratch, and made mala necklaces with this sensational local Balinese woman in her own home. One of the kindest people I’ve ever met.
I had my full fix on tours and programmed adventures and spent the rest of my time in Ubud bouncing between hostels, following my day wherever and to whomever it led me to, and walking. A lot. The downtown portion of Ubud was relatively compact and walkable if you liked to take your time, bear traffic, and weren’t in any particular hurry. Twice I had the wrong address for my hostels and ended up walking overtime. It was quite funny even at the time and I would just turn around and wander back the way I had just come. Hot, sweaty, carrying one backpack on normally and the other in front of me. What a hoot.
I met some new friends at a mutual friends dinner a few nights before I planned to leave Ubud. We all had taken a local cab to get there but realized the walk back into town would be a pleasant one. I remember chatting about Balinese candy and finally ending up at the hostel a few friends were staying in. It was a late night filled with Bintangs, the most popular Balinese beer, and kittens. The following day me and my friend Matt went to go volunteer at a turtle sanctuary thirty minutes outside of town. Hundreds of baby turtles and some adults too. This organization was committed to collecting eggs off the beach shore and providing a safer environment for them to gestate in before releasing them back out to the ocean. My friend from home had suggested I go and volunteer there, it was lovely.
Timing was sweet and my new friends were also headed to Canggu the following day. I found myself at this place called Mojo Resort with sixteen friends, all childhood mates from New Zealand. What a situation I’ve found myself in I kept thinking and smiling to myself.
Those first 12 days in Ubud I decided I was going to stay sober; it felt pretty amazing to allow my body some rest after my time in Sweden. I soon found that I didn’t have much of a desire to drink. Ubud has much of it’s religion of Buddhism and Muslim presently intact and I leaned into that curiosity of mine some, knowing the capacity to feel not just good but great was a possibility. I was practicing yoga every day at the Yoga Barn and got to take a few classes from a teacher I’ve long aspired by, Paul Teodo. I was signing off and rising early, eating only when I felt hungry. Listening.
A quick one and half hour drive to the other side of the island possessed a whole other nature. Canggu is young, alive, and a place of foreign independents. People trying at their dreams in a space that offers unconditional inspiration, support, and rewiring guidance. I felt so good.
My New Zealand mates left to explore one of the islands off the coast of Bali for the weekend and I carried along on my own. Given that Canggu is fairly spaced out and I had not yet taken on the duty of learning to ride a motor bike, I was looking for accommodation fairly close to town’s center and the beach. I fell short but ended up at the second coolest hostel I stayed in during the duration of my travels 😉 The Hideout Hostel. And my first night there I caught word that one my favourite artists would be performing in town, Ziggy Alberts. Say no more.
Tucked away from town and a good distance from the beach, the Hideout hostel was homey. Three dorm buildings all fronted a commonplace lawn with hammocks, a pool, and a massive stone table. Whether you were coming in from a surf and on you way to the shower or you had just woken up and needed to chat with a family member over the phone, you always had to cross through the congregation area. This made making friends easy, all you had to do was say hi in passing.
I met my left-hand man tribe here. Over the course of a few days, a group of us met one another with the same wonder-some intrigue. Italy, France, Germany, USA, Belgium, we had it all. I experienced the like of it all those next 14 days. Surfs, cafes ( Life’s Crate oh my), frequent trips to the small restaurant next store to the hostel, painful mosquito bites, and a restless and hot night’s sleep (thanks to my mosquito bite reactions). One night we ventured to this bar called “Pretty Poison.” A steep and compact skate bowl filled the small backyard of this hazy place. Hundreds of people lined its’ edges; the place had to have been well over max capacity. But it was a dream. Again, I found myself in a moment of “how did I get here?” I felt so grateful.
I remember the day came that we all were soon to split and pursue our next directions. The guys that worked at the hostel mentioned it had only happened one another time they saw a group get so close to one another so quickly. My plan was to head north a few days before my flight to the most northern part of the island, Lovina. Certainly removed and not so saturated with middle island craziness and dense folk. I was keen. Only thing was I mixed up the days of my flight out of Bali to Aus. Realistically I didn’t have enough time to go north when I had to get back to the southern part of the island for my flight two days later. The morning of I decided to alter my course and head south to Uluwatu with my three closest friends, Rye, Mark, and Ben.
Uluwatu was a pleasant surprise. It was both expansive jungle and exaggerated coastline with jutting cliffs and lush plants. The walk to accommodation and surf was steep, extravagant, and treacherous at times. One morning we had breakfast along the sea line and were wholesomely drenched in water from the waves that dared to risk the insignificant wall that separated us.
I was determined to learn how to ride a motorbike at this point. I had a day and a half before my flight to Australia. I rented one for all of 24 hours and my mate Ben taught me the ropes. By the afternoon, we were riding the main roads that bordered the town and I told him I’d stay out for a bit longer while he went for a surf.
So began the next 24 hours. I stopped at a side street market to get some supplies for Australia and needed to take cash out for my hostel pay and trip to the airport. There had to have been more than ten people in line for this ATM. At one point I remember thinking, “maybe I should just go somewhere else.” An intuitive hunch. But I stayed anyway. Soon as I inserted my card, the machine malfunctioned, shut down, and took my card along with it. Oh boy, I had become a Bali ATM machine victim. I pleaded with the store owners to open the machine but it wasn’t that simple. Officials from the nearest bank would have to come open it. It was 4 pm by this point.
I returned to my place, reacquainted with my friends, and spoke with two strangers that had happen to stop into Mama Ketut’s accommodation for a drink. The women was Balinese and let me use her phone to call the bank and translated when necessary. I called my bank to put my card on hold. My efforts were exhausted for the evening.
At six the next morning I rode halfway across town to the main bank and spoke with an official about the situation. All I was thinking in that moment was how grateful I was that I had learned to ride a motorbike the day prior, I could achieve none of this otherwise. The official took my info down and told me he would get back by midday after the machine that took my card had been emptied and replenished with cash. Two pm came and went. I went to the market to check on the status, to see if anyone had come to open the ATM since yesterday. To my surprise five or six men were at the store, replenishing the machine as such. I explained my situation and they passed along two phone numbers I would need to call once I got to the main bank in Denpasar.
Oh boy, I was in a predicament now. My flight was to board in three and a half hours. I raced back to my home and asked if my friend would come to town to pull cash out for me, in case I wasn’t successful in getting my card. As life has it, his card was rejected from the ATM. I had 25 dollars left to my name and I had to make moves. I returned my motorbike, paid my accommodation, hugged my friends goodbye a bit sooner than I would have liked, and called a ride to Denpasar.
We weaved through dense Bali traffic for an hour and half, on a motorbike and with my two backpacks stuffed in any crevice that would suffice. I felt like I was in a video game. It was 7:30pm when we arrived at the bank; naturally it was closed. I called the two numbers I had been given at the corner store and to no avail. I felt so strongly I would get this card back; this was only a minor setback.
A few minutes later an official came out of the building and I explained my circumstance. He spoke perfect English and made a few calls and waited with me until I had more promise. About a half hour later a woman arrived and took me up into the office that long since closed. There she had an invoice with my name on it, stating that my card had arrived. We couldn’t find it. I was close to writing the whole thing off and booking my way to the airport. After rummaging through the same stack of cards yet again, behold. I thanked her with as much sincerity as time would allow.
I made it to the airport with little time to spare. I gave my driver the rest of my cash. Soon as I arrived at the check-in desk I had to pay a baggage fee of $75, of which I would not have been able to pay just an hour earlier. I couldn’t believe I had gotten that damn card back. I arrived at my gate to find my flight delayed 45 minutes.
I tell this story in such detail for a reason. When all hope seems lost, that is when we must have faith. For some reason, the moment I knew my card was a goner I also knew that I would get it back. It didn’t matter. I had only one card on me and knew the troubles that would come as a result of losing it. It goes without saying that it will not always go as magically as it did for me but there are important things to consider. Never underestimate the power of faith, good-hearted people, and persistence. A recipe for prosperity and if not that, then the very least a mindset of optimism and trust in the workings of the universe.
I was on my way to Australia.
Trine Evolve 