I hopped on a plane after yet another week-long night shift combo. But this time, the messed-up melatonin schedule in my head would do me a favor by matching with my new time zone at the other side of the world.
After roughly 18h of travel, I landed in Bali.
Already my drive to the hotel was filled with new sights and sensations. At nighttime, the streets of Denpasar and Kuta seemed both dodgy and full of promise, but I would have to wait until the next day to fully discover its secrets.
I woke up next to N, a pediatric ICU nurse from Colorado, as the first person I officially met in Kuta. She was friendly, chatty, energetic. With 4 careers and multiple travel experiences on her back, she never ran out of interesting stories to tell.
We headed to Kuta beach that first morning in a van with no seatbelts —us two and almost all the boys. As usual, I skipped the surfing session and sat on the beach instead, taking in the waves, the people around me and the countless dogs playing in the sand through my camera lens. It was cloudy, but humid and hot. I shared my first conversation with Aj, shamefully realizing how little I knew about Bali and Indonesia in general, how much I would have to catch up on to feel ok with myself, and how useless my tiny Bali survivor guidebook would be for that.
Back at the hotel I met the rest of the crew, with an overall positive impression. US American, British, Turkish, French, Australian… They all had diverse and interesting occupations that I was instantly looking forward to finding out more about in the upcoming days. I made the accurate guess it would be more of an outgoing, engaging social experience than Canada had been. Little did I know to what extent I was right.
After a free day of adjusting, resting and exploring, we finally started our journey to Kubutambahan. All of us except Bl, who was admitted at the hospital and would regrettably be out of the picture for 4 days. On our way, we enjoyed a traditional Balinese play including our first exposure to Legong dance as well as lunch at a community project supporting and assisting people living with disabilities. Learning that in Hindu-Bali, it’s a societal belief that being born with a disability is a product of "bad karma" was upsetting, but seeing this kind of local initiative to change such outlook did feel rewarding.
Finally, we arrived at Bulian. Our accommodation there was surreal. It felt more like an Indiana Jones movie than real life. Located in the middle of the tropical jungle, we slept in wooden cabins surrounded by the intense sound of millions of insects, geckos and all kinds of birds. The inebriating scent of exotic Frangipani flowers mixed with the omnipresent incense of balinese offerings, the sultry weather, the coconut milk, the artisanal canang saris, the spiritual cleansing ceremony, our walk to the local temple, the sunset in between ancient ruins and run-down streets. That one afternoon felt like a warm embrace to my soul. We enjoyed more mesmerizing traditional Legong in the evening… Followed by my first real conversation with B. It was strangely difficult to look directly into his blue eyes. Over time, I had the feeling I’d stumbled across a goldmine of some kind, but my tiredness got the best out of me, and I called it an early night.
We got ourselves immersed in Balinese culture further the next day, exploring more temples and secluded beaches, visiting a dragon fruit farm, a sacred well and swimming in natural hot springs. Interestingly enough, that was the first time I’ve ever truly felt like an intruder, or unconsciously disrespectful outsider. Wearing a bikini to the contrast of local women covered up completely made me feel extremely self-conscious in a way I’d never known before. Luckily, S offered me his tank top, which I took gladly. After a traditional lunch at yet another astonishing location, we made it back to base camp with enough time to take a nap just before our traditional cooking class.
And what a blast that was. The euphoria of all these previous experiences enhanced by S’s relentlessly witty innuendos made me laugh to the point of abdominal soreness. That was the evening I first felt truly close to my group in a more visceral way, also helped by the late night long session of live music and karaoke we shared lying down on colorful giant bean bags.
We visited Gitgit Waterfall on our way to Ubud. I thoroughly enjoyed the short hike through the forest, coming across the most humongous duran fruit I’ll ever see, an isolated coffee shop with a Spanish machine and refreshing mocha. Then after yet another delicious lunch, came gorgeous Ulun Danu Bratan. Exploring its gardens, the views to Bratan lake, felt otherworldly. My attention wasn’t undivided, largely drawn to the amount of banter and laughter shared with the group.
I had never witnessed traffic as frantic and reckless as Ubud’s. After the Monkey Forest, dinner at a pizza place felt strangely European, if it wasn’t for the palm trees framing the views out of every window as well as the loud bustle of the local traffic in the background.
And then, one of the absolute highlights of my time in Bali. S, M, N and I hopped in a car at 2:00 am. That was the only time I ever saw the streets of Ubud completely empty. We drove for around an hour to our destination: the base of active vulcano Mt Batur. We hiked under an awe-inducing starry sky in pitch darkness for two hours, fighting against steep cliffs of slippery gravel until, at around 5 am, we finally made it to the top. Barely minutes after settling, the first lines of orange slowly appeared in front of us. A choir of gasps and cheers exploded around us as the light progressively spread across the horizon revealing what we had been unknowingly facing all along: the majestic peak of neighbouring Mt Abang hovering above the clouds. It was magical.
Getting back at barely 9am after what already felt like a whole day worth of adventures was invigorating. After a well-deserved breakfast, B and I headed to a nearby bookstore so I could put my hands on anything that’d enrich my knowledge of everything Bali. Our quiet conversation in between bookshelves unexpectedly turned into one of my fondest memories of those days. With me still barely able to hold his gaze for longer than two seconds but without the need to do so, as the books all around us served as the perfect excuse for my eyes to focus on without added awkwardness.
“Of all these, which are your favorite genres?”
“I would say, probably fiction and non-fiction”
“Well, that narrows it down”
For someone as introverted and quiet, he knew how to extract the most heart-felt laughter out of me.
The rest of the day I spent getting a Balinese back massage (ouch), reading my new book and indulging in creative endeavors turning one of S’s hilarious comments into an actual illustration. Bl finally joined us again that evening, and I made sure he didn’t feel left out by writing him a funny welcome card we would all sign for him. But talking about his stay at the hospital, his symptoms and treatment during dinner brought more negative karma upon the already sick male collective. B, sitting on my right side, was growing increasingly pale. The way he looked while mentioning his lightheadedness reminded me of every young male patient I’ve had faint in front of me at the sight of a needle. And sure enough, shortly after partially unbuttoning his shirt, drenched in sweat, he collapsed on my shoulder. That unleashed an internal battle for me. Fueled by the knowledge of the trivial nature of a common vasovagal syncope, to my own embarrassment, a tiny part of me allowed herself to take in the feeling of his muslcly shoulders and wide neck under my arm and the such. But I forced myself to snap out of it into a more professional mindset ASAP. When I thought the evening couldn’t get any weirder, I spent part of it sitting next to my new patient in his bedroom, trying to talk him out of googling his symptoms, followed by my first ever critique at being thoughtful, spoken by his roommate upon walking in on us:
“By the way, that card you made for Bl was just weird”.
Ironically, as one of the few to not get sick at all, I went to bed that night with a spinning head and enough contradictory feelings to burst one’s cranium open like a Balinese coconut.
The boat ride to Gili Island was an absolute nightmare.
As soon as the engaging conversation with Bl was over, my brain suddenly decided to register the violence of the waves rocking us from side to side, which in turn made me seasick enough to feel nauseous. One more minute on the water and I would have fed my Balinese breakfast to the fish. Based on my refusal to miss out on a potentially awesome snorkeling session yet not wanting to relive the previous boat experience, I chugged down the equivalent of an elephant dose of first-generation antihistamines provided by N. I didn’t get seasick, alright, but the drowsiness I experienced during that whole morning was unprecedented and probably the closest I’ve ever felt to being absolutely wasted. Fighting to stay awake during lunch, I could barely make out coherent statements without giggling, to the amusement of those around me. Once the effects wore off, I could actually focus on my snorkling experience… which blew my mind. Coral reef, tropical fish and marine creatures I’d only ever seen inside of an aquarium. The absolute highlight: sea turtles. Following one of them at its own speed, barely one meter and a half above its shell for minutes on end was incredible. I would probably have had tears in my eyes if it wasn’t for the goggles pressuring against my lacrimal glands. Yet another beautiful nature related memory to cherish.
Overall, my visit at Gili islands was like nothing I’d known before. Dirt streets deprived of any motor vehicles, only populated by countless bikes and carriages pulled by horses and donkeys. Nothing but souvenir shops, cafes, cars and lounges. Adhan recited early at dusk. Chillout or deep house everywhere at sunset. Riding a bike with no lights, no helmet, under no other light source than that of the crescent moon. I couldn’t imagine anything less Swiss or German than that.
I got to spend my last day with B. We completed a whole loop around Gili Trawangan in less than two hours, enjoyed a giant cup of frozen yogurt with Oreo cookies while sharing more intellectually stimulating conversation, and chilled by the pool until sunset.
After our last dinner as a group at the beach, the two of us headed back early to watch a movie together, despite headache and broken AC.
It was sad to say goodbye. But strangely enough, even at goodbye, the positive feelings overrode the negative ones. I felt mostly thankful. For the opportunity and the means to travel the way I do. For being able to step into an oasis of summer in the middle of winter. For the culturally enriching experience that allows for my understanding of humanity as a whole to grow and shift, for some of the most revealing, grounding conversations I’ve had in a while, shared with several of my new-found friends. And ultimately, for whatever is this that I started to feel around B. I had started to wonder whether I’d ever be able to look at a man with anything other than indifference of skepticism. The excitement and butterflies, and the flirtatious goofiness he inadvertently brought out of me were elements I had almost started to think of as forever lost. Despite his hinted intentions to ditch his ongoing trip to Australia for the Polyball, despite his troubled trip to the airport to spend those last hours with me, playing cards, building memory palaces and eating noodles, I know I might never see him again. But regardless, I am grateful for this random stranger coming out of the blue to challenge my fears, melting my walls a bit more with his soft British accent, his endearingly jerky demeanors, his aura of aloofness yet deep introspection, his sharp intellect, shy and awkward ways, his unexpectedly witty under-the-breath comments, and his collapsed sweaty torso on my shoulder.
There are many things I have probably left out. But I am hoping that whenever I come back to this blog post and read all this again, I’ll be able to relieve those hundreds of nuanced beautiful emotions that I felt throughout this journey. Back in winterly Basel, I can’t believe just this week I was 12000 km away from here, sipping on my virgin mojito at Sunset Point on a teeny tiny island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, thinking of nothing but how I wouldn’t trade that moment for anything in the world.
Namaste.
