The morning clouds floated southward, taking their gray haze with them. Bali is again brilliantly lit up by a sun that shines in a particular way, just for Bali. The gentle breezes of the season make it cool and pleasant.
At the same time, a dark cloud has been descending on our hearts. We have less than two weeks left in Bali.
We recognize how absurd it is that we would mourn the place we’ve stayed the longest. Even more absurd is that we’re mourning two weeks before leaving – especially when our remaining time here is more than the average visitor to Bali spends and more than most people get in their lives.
Deny it as we may and fight it as we might, we can’t help but feel like we’re watching the sands of the hourglass fall.
This happened during our last week on Patmos where we stayed a month. With every day of that last week, our hearts became a little heavier. When the day came to say goodbye and go to the ferry, it was sad. It was like pulling off a band-aid. We just did it.
Unfortunately, I think we took out some of our angst on poor Samos. We didn’t love it as much despite its abundant beauty. It wasn’t Samos’ fault. It wasn’t you, Samos – it was us. We were just getting over our dream Greek island, making plans to return to her when we ran into you. We had a lovely four nights together that we’ll always remember….with a little bit of “eh”….
We’re going to try to be kinder to Malaysia, although I can’t guarantee what will happen. Post-Bali breakdowns have happened before.
Malaysia has an ally, however. My/Our good friend, Ryan Conlan will come here to Bali on April 13th and travel with us to Malaysia where we’ll explore someplace new for all of us until he leaves on the 23rd. Emily and I will figure out how long we’ll stay once we’re there and then eventually head back down to Singapore. Having Conlan around will undoubtedly help the Bali withdrawal symptoms.
Conlan visited me several times when I lived abroad and was always an excellent traveler. He’s coming at a great time.
Still, on an afternoon like this, as I listen to the chanting in the nearby village and watch a man with a scythe tending the nearby rice terraces, I remember how it feels to say goodbye to Bali. It was never easy.
This is about the point where Carlye Simon starts singing “Every Time We Say Goodbye” in the background.
The thing is — and I’ve mentioned this before – I know Bali’s treachery. She makes it very desirable to stay. Her siren song carried on the soft flower-scented air is hard to ignore. Bali is so nice and comfortable. I’m a sucker for comfortable. Always Bali lulled me into never wanting to leave. Every time I did, it was like awaking from a stupor.
Bali is a wonderful place to be, but it’s not the real world. There’s no thrill or ambition here. There’s no challenging yourself. There’s very little growth. Bali is great for healing, respite and licking your wounds. It’s a place to enjoy, marvel and love.
None of these are bad things. In fact, they’re great things.
But they’re just a few of the great things in life. We need balance and variety. Bali wants its devotees to mistake comfort for balance. It wants people to believe the pain and hassle of the world aren’t necessary. It wants to you to say you’ll leave it all behind in exchange for Bali’s love and protection.
Only we need those other aspects of life.
The part of the story Bali doesn’t tell anyone is that we aren’t whole without the entire spectrum of events and emotions. We aren’t whole without connection and there is no connection without pain. There is nothing gained without risk. There is no love without sacrifice. There is no achievement without challenge. And there is no life well lived without overcoming adversity.
We all – one way or another – have to earn our joy; whether it’s from a simple, but difficult change in perspective, or a massive undertaking of time, money and energy.
I don’t fault Bali for its lack of disclosure or its trickery. It’s just doing its job, living out its nature. In actuality, I love Bali for that very reason. I have learned so much from Bali and it never ceases to delight my heart.
Of course, there are the less esoteric reasons why Bali is difficult to leave – namely lifestyle. On a very modest budget – a lower budget than we had in Region 1 and most of Region 2 – Emily and I have a two bedroom, two and a half bath house, a housekeeper, a car, a motorcycle, laundry services, meals in fantastic restaurants and all the shopping and activities we want. We rarely even think about what we’re spending – it all works out.
We’re living the dream on less money per day than groceries and a tank of gas would cost us at home. And it all happens to be beautiful and easy.
This alone is like a drug – and believe me, we’re addicted.
There will be other cheap countries ahead as well as delights and opportunities we haven’t yet imagined. Our travels will only get more exciting when we leave Bali. There’s nowhere else we’ll get this much for our money. Even in Thailand, we’ll pay more to get less. Or in affordable Laos, we might pay less, but we’ll get less.
It’s hard to leave it behind.
At the same time, we’ve left no stone unturned. There’s nothing we haven’t done. There are no great Bali experiences we regret missing. We’ve already identified the places we have to visit one last time before we go – but they’re all well known to us.
The place I will miss most is the one I visit most often – our gazebo with its magnificent rice field and terrace view. It’s a view that has been part of so many moments and days of my life – and I never tire of it.
One afternoon in early October, 2004, I looked out on the rice terraces, watched the farmers carefully slicing weeds and overgrowth and I thought, “Where the hell am I?”
There is no cultural connection between Bali and anything at home. There’s also no connection between Bali and any culture or event we study in our history books. Unless someone seeks it out through a specialty major in college, we never learn a thing that touches on, or explains Bali.
Every time I look out at the view, I am not only impressed with the beauty and serenity, but I remember how much the world has to offer that I didn’t – and still don’t – know about.
That’s another good reason to leave.
There’s a time when we just have to take the blinders off, walk to the edge of our known universes, bend our knees slightly and dive.
Sent from my iPad
