Bali: Day 6

I finally made it to Bali's infamous Gunung Batur. And boy, was she a beauty in all her volcanic glory. 

However, words cannot tell you the fear that rattled my heart as I had to (once again) climb the ever-winding mountain roads with my Honda Scoopy. I have never been so emotionally/mentally wrecked before in my life. Who knew a solo crash on your motorbike could have such an effect on the mind? Normally I have the resilience of a bear, but every little bump, hole, rock, and uneven patch of road seemed to blatantly jump out at me.

I frustrated every driver behind me [and myself]. 

You see, I hate being perceived as weak. I've been raised to be a strong woman with fierce independence and a fiery determination that would make Mike Tyson look like a flower. I'm that girl. The girl who lets no one in; in fear that I will get hurt. 

You can imagine my frustration when I suddenly had to rely on the dependence of others to help nurse me back to health. 

My host parents in Kintamani were nothing but wonderful. Having grown children of their own, they understood and knew how to care for me. It nearly damn broke my heart because here I was: a stranger, thousands of miles away from home, but it didn't matter to them. To them, I was their own, not a stranger, and they didn't mind caring for me. To them, it brought joy because they missed caring for someone.  Heart swell. 

Hospitality is a lost, beautiful art. 

My days in Kintamani brought beautiful adventure [as much as my ankle would allow]. Hiked some peaks, saw a wicked sunrise, and reflected greatly in my sanctuary among the mountains and trees.

I rested....a lot. Thankfully, I had this gem: Between A Rock and A Hard Place, or as you know by film, 127 Hours by Aron Ralston. Talk about a hard read...if you ever think you're in despair or suffering, think to yourself about being stranded for 120 hours in the desert and faced with the reality of cutting your limb off. 

Yeah, it put me into check.

Next stop: Ubud! The land of spiritual awakening. 

Homestay: Hotel Miranda- off the main road through Kintamani. 

Contact: Made Sentra 

Price: 100,000Rp

Tip: Ask Made to guide you to Gunung Batur--he has a map, and can give you the best routes to climb. If you are traveling alone, he will even offer to go with you. Pack a sweater, it's cold!!

Oh, and be prepared to buy some art from his friend, Peter. The guy is an excellent salesman [and talented artist].

Bali: Day 5

All things happen for a reason. 

[Good and bad] I know, cliche. 

Yet, I have never believed things happen in my life because of universal law or principal or probability. Accidents do happen, but there is something to be learned from every experience. It's the way I cope.

It was a beautiful morning. I had just finished coffee and some oatmeal while Gunung Lesong stood in the distance from my balcony view. I packed my bag and set out for the open road. Time to leave one mountain village for another. 

However, my trip would prove to be a difficult challenge as there is no banjar (major road) that easily connects Danur Bratan to Gunung Batur. Only teeny tiny farm roads and long spiraling roads plummeting to sea level. Oh boy.

The drive started out well as I headed to my one of my dream locations: Pura Ulun Danu Bratan. This temple inspired my trip to Bali as the temple majestically towers above the water amid a mountainous backdrop. The temple is completely surrounded by water and locals visit the island to bring offering so that water remains plentiful for farmers. 

There she stands; beautiful as ever, a goddess to the waters. 

The mountains peek from behind the temple gates. 

The visit was surreal and breathtaking all at once. Even though the park was beginning to fill with tourists from afar, there was a heavy peace still lingering in the air from the morning ceremony. A few foreigners asked me to take a picture with them which I found strange at first and I hesitated, but then they reassured me it was because I was a beautiful American girl. [gush] 'Okay! Oh you have a selfie stick too? Even better.' I retorted to myself with a tinge of snark.

Companionship comes in the strangest forms...but I'll take it.

Back to the open road! After dodging a few sneaky police men hiding under the banyan tree outside the park, I was soon on my way to the 'road never travelled.' [Lonely planet: Bali & Lombok, pg. 249]

This supposed 'road' is rather a series of smaller roads that connect the two central mountain regions. The reason it's rarely traveled? Because a) you will either plummet to your death or crash if not careful on the turns or b) it's a pain in the butt to descend, turn, brake, descend, turn, brake...repeat for 6km. 

Not to mention, you leave the nice, smooth paved roads in turn for gravel. Lots of gravel. 

I made it out of the hills alive. In fact, I became a pro at turning, bobbing and weaving through the rice fields. The scenery was absolutely gorgeous and it made me forget I had a destination. Village after village, the farms outstretched for kilometers beyond the horizon. 

I was driving carefully along a small road on a straight path. Grateful that I was finally finished turning and braking, I thought I had a smooth ride ahead of myself until I saw a construction site in front of the temple directly ahead. 

Do you ever have those moments where the worst case scenario plays out before you only milliseconds before it actually does happen?

My worst case scenario: hitting a patch of loose gravel at the right spot, causing my front wheel to slip and turn, fish tailing my scooter up and over the additional speed bump while I fly overhead and crash...hard onto a gravel road. 

That is exactly what happened after it flashed in my mind. Breathe, you're gonna crash, but you will be okay. My inner voice whispered quietly. "Wait, what?!" I screamed aloud.

[Cue crash + tons of wailing]

As I lay pinned beneath my motorbike, tears began pouring immediately as the pain and adrenaline rushed through every vein and nerve in my body. My mind screamed to my legs to move but I couldn't because I was trapped in a weird place where my ankle was twisted under the wheel. 

Cars passed. To my left. To my right. People even honked. I watched cars of foreigners drive right past me. I'm not even joking. Where is the allegiance? Where is the humanity? What is wrong with you people? 

I sobbed. I wept. I screamed curse words to the sky. Finally, two beautiful Balinese women appeared overhead and, with pure hearts, they rushed to my aid. One lifted the motorbike off my legs and the other helped me to my feet. 

"Oh my word," one gasped as she brought her hand to her mouth as the other held my arm. Blood gushed from my elbow, knees, and ankle. Great. I hobbled to my pack and took out my trusty first aid kid that I happened to restock before the trip. Iodine, check. Bandages, check. Medical tape, check. IB profeun, check. Thank God. 

Graphic, I know. My apologies if you throw up. I nearly did. 

My newfound rescuers cleaned and bandaged my wounds with the utmost gentle and loving care. My mom (a nurse) would have been proud of the way they cared after me. One girl checked my bike over to make sure no fluids were leaking, that I had air in my tires, and they helped me start the engine again. They gave me a pair of gloves to keep the bandages on my hands while I drove. The kindness in their eyes, hearts, and actions turned about my faith in humanity. Grace restored.

They wished me safe travels and before I could respond, they were off in the distance. 

Everything happens for a reason. 

After gathering what little courage I had left, I roared the engine and puttered the rest of the road to Pelaga, another small village known for coffee and cinnamon. 

The town smelled incredible. I felt as though I was sitting in my grandmother's kitchen, watching her effortlessly bake her infamous Snickerdoodle cookies. My mouth watered at the scent [cinnamon being my favorite spice] and hunger rumbled in my belly. Feeling the stress from the accident, I decided it was a good idea to pull over and find lunch of some sort. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a sign that read: Bali EcoVillage. Curiosity settled in quickly and I pulled over to park my bike next to the village temple. Looking down at the path before me, I cringed as pain trickled from ankle upward. Hoping the walk would be good for me, I set out for the village [and telling the pain to shove it]. 

2km and several cows later, I came upon a beautiful looking resort with Balinese huts standing amidst a lush green forest. Worth every pain-staking step. 

I hobbled inside one of the larger open air huts to find a gorgeous interior: strong wooden tables and chairs, natural hardwood floors, comfortable cushions, and white flowy curtains hung from the windows. A perfect Bali setting for relaxation, rejuvenation, and restoration of mind, body, and soul. [Or so it read on the chalkboard]

Quickly shown to a table adjoined to a beautiful couple, the staff person asked me what I'd like for lunch. The young couple piped with a German accent, "Zhou have to go for ze ravioli...it's simply vonderful." I nodded to their suggestion and motioned to the young woman that the ravioli was indeed what I wanted. 

Conversation soon ensued with the German couple. "Vhere are zou from?" asked the gentle woman. I studied her features and relaxed composition. I could tell she was a Yogi. 

"I am from America, but I've spent the last year in Korea as an English teacher. I'm on a mini-retirement until I go home to Minnesota." I gave my usual spiel as it was the 20th time I've been asked since arriving in Bali.

The kind man spoke up, "Ahhh! Korea! Ve alvays vanted to visit there. Vhat do you think of it?" 

"It's wonderful. The people, the food, and the mountains are incredible. The children...well, you learn to love them." I laughed gently as it was true for me during my first semester of teaching. The couple laughed and smiled in return. I asked them about their life story, and this is what I got in return: they quit their high-paying corporate jobs, sold all of their possessions, packed their life into two backpacks [total], and committed to a life of zen and spiritual awareness as Yogis. They've taught Yoga in over 20 different locations, including exotic locations such as Bali, Thailand, Australia, and Malaysia. They were contracted to teach Yoga at the EcoVillage for six weeks, then they would move to southern Bali again. 

My eyes widened and glistened as their too-good-to-be-true life enlightened my heart. I've always wanted to find the courage where I could just pack up my life and set out for my dreams. Their story gave me hope and a gentle nudge toward chasing my dreams. 

Their names? Luis & Luna. Perfect Yogi names. I smiled physically and internally.

Our conversation was briefly interrupted by this wonderful artwork on a plate: Spinach ravioli with fresh organic tomatoes and soft, tasty garlic bread. Heaven on a plate. 

After wolfing down my lunch, Luis and Luna agreed to re-bandage my motorbike wounds. Their first-aid kit made mine look humble in comparison, but it didn't matter as they generously offered some larger bandages and iodine to finish my trip. Heart swell. Tears formed in my eyes and I graciously thanked them for showing such compassion. 

"Give out into the world as what you will someday want to be returned onto you." Luis gently spoke as he wrapped my ankle. My heart would forever be touched by this couple; their love for life, their positive energy, their smile, their genuine love for each other and humanity. Good things can come from bad circumstances. This was my reason. 

"Live for the little things because they will make you realize that this is what life is about; this is what it means to be alive.

Take the road less travelled; to see not with your eyes, but your heart."

-a note that resonated with me found in the guest book.

Namaste.

Bali: Day 3 & 4

After a wonderful breakfast from Ayu, I was determined to make it to my next  destination: Munduk Village--off the side of Danur (Lake) Bratan. I had another home stay arranged within the village and I was excited to see the coffee plantations. En route to the central mountains was Jatuliwah--an area home to many gorgeous rice fields. With my love for all things farm-like and agricultural, my soul was okay with stopping along the way.

However, due to heavy traffic in Tabanan and en route to Jatuliwah, I lost a considerable amount of time. Also, there was a weird funeral procession happening and traffic was backed up even more. Thankfully the police didn't catch sight of me, and I scooted by unscathed. 

I didn't arrive to the rice fields until 5pm. Well, in Bali, the sun disappears quite quickly (and majestically) and I had maybe only 1-1.5 hours of good driving light left. It didn't help that in order to get back to the main road, I had to double back on my route. Using whatever gut instinct and better judgement I had left, I decided it was a better decision for me to stay near Jatuliwah and head out early in the morning. 

Lucky for me, the hotel owners gave me a great deal on one of their villas. Normally the villas cost 500,000Rp per night, but they were willing to give me one for 200,000Rp. Score! Not to mention, I had a fantastic view overlooking the rice fields, my own personal porch, and a hot water heater to make Balinese coffee and tea to my hearts content. 

There are times in traveling where your heart, mind, and body must be flexible and open to change. If teaching English in Korea has taught me anything, it is to not fight the challenge; rather ebb and flow with whatever comes your way...you will get there eventually. Thankfully, the owner called my next homestay and explained my situation in Bahasa so that I wouldn't face any extra charges or cancellation fees. My heart swelled with happiness. Hospitality at its finest.

Terima Kasih (thank you) for bringing adventure and plentiful rest. Until next time. Selamat Jalan.

Homestay: Jatuliwah 259 (on right hand side if driving to overlook) 

Normal cost of villas: 500,000RP

Tip: Jatuliwah is a strangely oriented town. If driving motorbike, remember you will have to turn around once you are done touring the rice fields. There is no continued path past the village. If you hire a driver, then sing ken ken! (No worries)

Day 4 proved to be an excellent day of traveling. I found my way to Bedugl by sheer luck as there was a weird 4-way intersection outside of Jatuliwah and I wasn't 100% sure whether I should turn or not. Trusting my instinct, I proceeded straight and took a left at the second stop because it pointed North. Sense of direction, redeemed! 

I made a pit stop at a restaurant overlooking the mountains and my heart became giddy at all the hiking I had to look forward to in Munduk. 

These are Gunung Batakur and Sangiyang, which are actually near Jatuliwah. I had just come from these earlier, but the view was still spectacular! The farms below are actually strawberry fields! Bedugl is known for its famous Bali strawberries! I wish I were brave enough to stop and try them, but with my luck, I would get the ever dreaded "Bali Belly." 

As I continued my path into the mountains, I noticed some strange creatures lurking on the side of the road. As I squinted, I thought to myself, 'Those CAN'T be monkeys!' My heart sank.

I hate monkeys. I've hated monkeys ever since I visited Kyoto, Japan. The little buggers tried running off my with my camera and would not stop pestering me. So, you can imagine my horror when I felt something drop onto my pack while driving. 

"Son of -----! There's a monkey on my bike!" I screamed aloud to myself. I kept my bike straight to avoid an accident but quickly pulled to the side in order to shoo the creature from my pack. I suddenly remembered that Ayu (my host mom from earlier) had given me bananas and other fresh fruit as a roadtrip treat. The smart bugger could smell my fruit from the trees above as I passed. 

I reached for an orange out of my pack, which was actually a risky move as the Simian and his friends all perched and cocked their heads to the side in anticipation of their newfound treasure. Holding the orange out in front of the 'monkey on my back,' [literally] I coaxed him off of me and onto the pavement. With one fell swoop, I quickly chucked it down the road like a bowling ball. The monkey and his friends chased after it like kids running after an ice cream truck.

 

I quickly got back onto my bike and drove as fast as my little 125cc Honda could putter up the road. 

Lesson learned: don't keep fruit on your person. 

The rest of the drive was uneventful as I continued throughout the mountains and stopped for some obligatory roadside selfies. 

 

I finally made it to Munuk by 11am. After apologizing profusely to Budi, my new homestay host, for arriving a day late; I was taken aback when he upgraded my room to a private balcony with a mountain view. Score, again! He promptly showed me to my room and it was phenomenal. 

A bed that made me feel like a princess with the the canopy [err, mosquito net]. 

 Perfect place for coffee and brekkie! 

I could see every rice field, coffee plantation, and house for miles. 

I quickly settled into my room and changed for some hiking. I still had the day ahead of me and I wanted to get a head start before sunset. I hiked Gunung Lesong, and on the way I found a waterfall! 

Two hours later, I made it to the top! Had to take a selfie in relation to where I started. You can't really tell, but I'm pointing the village down below. Gunung Lesong is 1860 meters high. Fairly easy hike with great trails! 

After my hike, I stopped by an ecovillage and toured a Luwak coffee coop, where they make coffee out of cat poop! Yummy! The coffee was actually smooth and delicious! The founder, Nyoman Budi, informed me on the ecovillage initiative and how it is operated by 18 volunteers ranging from engineers to doctors to warung owners. Since the profits from their coffee go back into the initiative itself, I had to stock up on coffee! 

After my hike, I was fairly exhausted and starving. My homestay didn't really have a warung attached, so I stopped for some Kare Ayam at One Homestay en route to my own lodging. Best decision ever! Delightfully spiced and seasoned to perfection! Not as thick as other curry sauces, but I loved how fresh the veggies tasted! Definitely not soggy like Korean curry! (Sorry, lunch lady!) The rice is also local and organic! 

All in all, a successful two days in Bali! 

Lodging: Nu Homestay

Jl. Raya Pansacari

Turn left at the traditional Munduk market (two-three stalls long)

Contact: Budi

Tip: Make sure to ask your homestay for a map of the village and point out the rice fields and plantations you can tour. 

Bali: Day 2

With my motorbike roaring along the road, wind blowing in my hair, and the biggest smile across my face, I couldn't help but think in that moment: this is the life. 

With cliche notes from popular literature such as 'Eat, Pray, Love' tucked in the back of my mind, I tried in all earnest to not be swept away by the romanticization of Bali. While rich in culture and experiences, Bali in itself is still a highly poverty filled nation, struck by an imbalance in the economy: rice fields vs. tourism. Bali's traditional agriculture-driven economy only contributes 20% of local GDP while tourism contributes 50 to 80% of GDP. This demonstrates that Bali is quickly becoming too dependent on tourism. Heartbreak. Hailing from a state in the US that is dependent on agriculture and small town farmers, my heart empathizes more with the locals in independent villages.

With all nerdy facts aside, the sights of traditional rice farms and local villages brought genuine joy to my traveling heart. You see, I am not a "tourist-trap" kind of gal. While certain sights are worth exploring (take the Grand Canyon for example), I generally steer clear of the souvenir shops all adorning 'I love ____ products,' the expensive resorts/villas, and over crowded beaches [thats more than enough to give me a heart attack]. Instead, I prefer to explore the traditional side of a country I am visiting. I want to eat traditional food, meet local natives, try my hand at the language, and immerse myself into their culture. I can't find that at resort where cabana boys fan me and bring me drinks I could never afford. **Note, these are strictly my opinions, and I don't mean to offend if you are this type of traveler. In fact, I envy your traveling style at times. We all have our preferences. 

Needless to say, I found myself trapped at Purah Tanah Lot. 'Purah' means temple, and Bali is the central hub to spirituality and temples alike. So, I couldn't help but follow the signs on the road leading me to an anticipated path of enlightenment. 

Wrong. There was nothing enlightening about the hundreds of foreigners alike, all crammed atop the temple situated atop artificial rock. With Purah Tanah regarded as a highly important and spiritual center by the Balinese, I couldn't help but cringe at the commercialization of it all: vendors photographers, and warung (food stalls). I couldn't even think to myself, let alone snap a few pictures without some crazy Asians pushing me aside with their 'selfie-sticks.' Sigh. Tired, upset, and with the sun setting quickly; I knew I needed to book it out of Tanah fast. 

Little did I know the next three hours would be an adventure in itself. I was scheduled to stay with a local Balinese family off the village of Desa Cepaka, supposedly a "12 minute drive" from Purah Tanah Lot. So, you can imagine my surprise and frustration as I kept winding and circling the same roads two or three times en route to this remote village. Locals would laugh and smile as I pulled up, asking where this supposed village was, and in reply (always), "That way for many many time." Cue angry face.

What the? Ok. I'll try one more time...only to find myself driving by them once more, their heads cocked back in laughter at my misfortune. Looks like I should have made an offering after all...

After stopping at a Warung for much needed physical fuel and water, I was able to hop on wi-fi and reroute myself to said village. An easy 15 minutes later, I found my home-stay and was immediately welcomed by the most beautiful Balinese family in midst of an important Balinese temple ceremony. (Classic Jbrown moment to interrupt) 

Completely embarrassed by my loud intrusion, I hung in the distance, waiting for the ceremony to finish. Upon completion, I bowed ever so graciously to my new hosts and was greeted with the most wonderful hugs known on Earth. At last: a familial feeling.

Ayu and her husband, Made, showed me wonderful hospitality at once: a bed, hot shower, wonderful Balinese food, and a peek into their village ceremony. I was filled to the brim with food, love, and warmth. This....was Bali. The Bali that so many authors, poets, and travelers alike have raved about. The Bali that so many have struggled to put into words [and photographs]. The Bali I would soon fall quickly in love with. The Bali that felt like home. 

Home-Stay: www.booking.com

Jl. Desa Cepaka

Tip: Arrange for transport as they will pick you up at the airport! 

The family has two daughters in private school, consider leaving a tip to help fund their education. You will be blessed in return with fresh fruit and water. 

Cost: base 200,000RP dinner 50,000RP 

Total (with tip): 275,000RP =$23

 

[Excuse my less than quality iPhone pictures. Went back to the iPhone 4. What an incredible difference from the 4 to the 5s. Curse you, Apple.] 

Bali: Day 1

The excitement in my belly was an understatement the morning of my flight to Bali. Barely sleeping the nights prior, my body didn't seem to care as it was much too preoccupied with what was awaiting for me in paradise. My dreams were filled with dolphins, surfers, fresh fruit and beaming, friendly Balinese faces. I simply couldn't bear the anticipation.

My first stop would be Malaysia for a short layover in Kuala Lumpur, a common stopping point for the Bali adventurers alike. Upon arrival of my final gate in the ever so confusing airport, I began to see fellow compatriots line the seats of the waiting area. There were several honeymooners drenched with the freshly 'I just got married' aura, a few surfer dudes adorned with douche tank-tops and snap-back hats, a few families toting children that I would eventually want to toss out of the airplane, an elderly Australian couple decked out in authentic crocodile hunter esque gear with long silvery hair tucked back in ponytails and braids, and turquoise rings gracing each finger possible [hello future self], and of course, the lone rangers like myself: ready for adventure sans partner. All of patiently awaited our destiny in Bali. 

Upon boarding our very small aircraft, I noticed I was seated only two rows behind a Korean couple with two children :one being a small, sweet and quiet girl, the other being the spawn of Satan himself. Oh lord, have mercy on my soul. 

4 hours and several 'Omaaaa! Opaaaa!' later, we were finally able to escape the screams of the devil-child. 

My first encounter with Bali was quite friendly as I stopped at a Mac-endorsed store (hallelujah!) in search of Internet and a new charger. The young couple helped me find what I needed and wished me well on my travels. I beamed to myself as I couldn't wait to encounter other friendly Balinese. That smile stopped as soon as I turned the corner and was bombarded by the money-hungry taxi men.

 "Miss! Miss! Where you go? I take you to Kuta! I take you home! Where your boyfriend? I be your boyfriend!"

The list of unwanted and unsolicited comments followed me all the way into the bathroom. I felt trapped. I felt violated. I felt as though I wanted to get back on the airplane and go straight to America. The overwhelming thoughts subsided as I finally bucked up enough courage and set out to brave the sea of greedy once more. 

I finally found a man willing to take me to my hostel for only 70,000IRP. He seemed gentle and kind; he had a large family with three daughters and a wife. Harmless enough. 45 frustrating minutes later, he dropped me off in the middle of nowhere as he was too tired and unwilling to find my hostel. At least he agreed without payment. With tears beginning to form in the corners of my eyes, I set out into the unknown; hoping to find a bit of redeeming quality among the Balinese people. 10 minutes later, I stumbled upon a cafe where the staff people were kind enough to lend a waitstaff and a motorbike to help me find my way. Driving only around the bend, I came across my hostel: completely locked up and shut down for the night. 

Oh dear God. Why? Panic settled in all too familiar, and my heart began to race. I looked around and saw other hotels, perhaps I would strike a lucky deal and get the same price as my hostel. No, no, and a hell no from surrounding resorts and villas--all expecting at least $150 or more for overpriced bedsheets and unecessary pools of water. 

I marched back to my original hostel, secretly praying for favor. With my back turned against the alley and my head rested against the wall in angst and despair, I heard an "Excuse me, miss?" from behind. Completely startled, I turned to find a handsome Balinese man approach me from out of thin air. 

"Uhohh, yes! I'm so sorry! But, I'm trying to find the hostel owner, I am reserved to stay here for one night. This place looks closed and shut down." I stammered apologetically while wiping tears from my eyes. 

"Oh, no worries miss! I am Adan. I own this place, let's get you comfortable. We thought you weren't coming, we closed early. Our mistake. Follow me!" he replied while ushering me upstairs to my room. He quickly settled me into my dorm that I had all to myself and then wished me a goodnight and pleasant dreams. Lights out for the next 14 hours. 

The next morning was a weird one. Met by a strange yet curious woman who wanted nothing but my money and my interest in her motorbikes. After hearing I needed a bike for a week, she quickly brushed me off and sent me packing down the street. I secretly wished for Adan, the handsome stranger that appeared from nowhere last night, to come to my rescue... but he didn't. 

I sighed a deep sigh, waved to the elderly woman making her morning offering and set out for a motorbike along the busy streets of Balu Betig. Walking only 300 meters, I caught a DMC motorbike shop with plentiful bikes outside. My luck had turned after all, and I quickly made my way to the storefront. 

Promptly greeted by eager salesmen, I was quickly ushered to the necessary paperwork. Easy as 1,2,3... I was out the door, keys in hand to my freedom that awaited in Bali country-side. Helmet, backpack, and camera in tow, I was set for adventure. Bali, here I come! 

First hostel: My Place Hostel

Jl. Batu Belig No.33A

Seminyak (but really Kuta) 80361

Phone number non-existent 

Booked on www.booking.com

Motorbike Rental: DMC Tours

Tips: DO NOT take a chartered vehicle as they are unfamiliar with roads and streets. They are money hungry individuals looking for a quick payment. Push past them, walk outside the airport, cross the street and look for metered taxis. A standard trip to Kuta is 15,000, Seminyak is 60,000. 

Also, pack a pen. Biggest regret yet. Saves you time in the airport with visa and customs docs, and also allows you to make quick friends with dumbfounded travelers like myself :) 

Stay tuned for more Bali adventures! 

 

Busan or Bust: Part Deux

It's been nearly a month since my last journey to Busan, and I am sad to (finally) blog that the trip felt more like a bust than anything. Karma was not on my side throughout the weekend. Upset after upset continued to happen, and I struggled to come to terms that the universe would not just align with my plea: just work in my favor, for once!

She had other plans for me that weekend; I still tilt my head in bewilderment as to how I survived the weekend anyway. 

Let's just reminisce our little journey, shall we?

With my pack stuffed to the brim with my swimsuit, beach towel, books (nerdy power), sunscreen and casual wear [simple girl], you could say I was more than excited to embark on a destination birthday weekend with my closest and somewhat newer found friends. In all the excitement, someone suggested we should get "roadies," as we like to call beer here in Korea, since you can walk and drink almost anywhere. Even though I had Vodka tightly packed in my backpack as a reminder to conserve money, to drink responsibly and conservatively [joke's on me], I still chimed in for my friends to grab me an Asahi [favorite Japanese brew] anyway. After all, when in Korea.... have a good time.

Now, fast forward through all the boring travels en route to KTX [super fast rail in Korea], we had arrived and were finally united as a group in our train car. Of course some of the girls had created a truth or dare game that somehow turned into a drinking game [as do most games in Korea]. While stifling giggles and recklessly chugging our beers, we were bound to 'get turned up,' and not turn down for anything, or anyone [sorry to all the Koreans who tried to sleep en route to Busan]. Somehow in all the excitement, my fellow MN friend and I decided we were going to play 'pass the vodka,' and become even more 'turnt up.' Bad idea. Just a bad idea.

Moral of the train ride? Don't get turnt up. Eat dinner before traveling. Limit yourself and do drink responsibly while traveling. Here's further proof in case you aren't convinced:

As we arrived to our destination, our group hastily grabbed our belongings and made the trek towards the exit. While people before me gracefully stepped off the train, my body had other plans....

Instead of stepping down like a normal human being would, I decided to just step off the train, completely forgetting the car is elevated. We all know the laws of gravity; I am not weightless and so I fell hard onto the pavement. Tuck and roll style. With the bottle of Vodka in tow. Laughter ensues. A few bruise marks and pride completey shattered, I just kept trucking on.

In case the sheer embarrassment of falling off a train isn't enough, add in the slurred communication with our taxi driver, later vomiting in the restaurant bathroom and then getting lost near a fountain..... This trip felt like a bust from the very beginning....all due to my poor choices, of course.

However, as I was settling back into the hostel upon being found near said fountain, I made the semi-sober realization I was without my camera. My beloved camera, that which I had bought specifically for traveling abroad, was missing. Gone. Vanished. No more. My heart sank into my stomach. My pictures were all stored on one memory card because my trusty MacBook had decided to hit the can a month prior to our Busan departure. So, of course, the hit to my stomach was a double force. Actually, triple force since I had just bought my dream lens a week prior and dropped at least $300. Awesome! Crushed by my poor decisions, I vowed to limit my drinking the rest of the week. Major blow. 

The rest of the weekend was a blur; I couldn't bring myself to really enjoy the beach, pay attention to conversation, or let myself relax. My mind was in a constant state of panic and forced recall of what I had done wrong to allow my camera to be misplaced. To add to my misery, there was a huge under-sight of the original hostel we were scheduled to stay at, and because of poor communication on the hostel's part and the new website, I was slammed with a hefty cancellation charge. Perfect. 

Deep breath. Things happen all the time. I was lucky to at least have a job where my finances could be somewhat repaired. I had to continue to look for the silver linings throughout my weekend: I had my health, my friends, a family who loves me, and my memory is remarkably sharp as to where I can still remember my journeys and adventures in my mind without a photo to stare at. Not to mention, the reason for being in Busan was to celebrate my closest friend, Stephen. There was no reason for me to remain in a funk for my losses. I had all of these good things in my life, who cares about a silly camera, lens, and a cancellation charge? 

There is beauty in loss, as it forces us to be grateful for the things we often take for granted. Material possessions come and go, but friendships, memories, love, and adventure can and will last forever.

Luckily, my camera on my iPhone had magically started working after a sweaty hiatus while running, and it allowed me to capture some of our adventures and antics in Busan. 

**Many thanks to Allison's Samsung Galaxy IV as well! (Seriously, Apple fans need to convert)