A place of legend. Stories shared around the fire, passed down through generations. But worrisome wanderers feared these illuminations were from the glow of handheld device instead of passion within. And precariously beginning from the end of the alphabet, they approached these rumours cautiously, in search of the why. A name brand. A place synonymous with everything that was to be this trip. Yet there was a hesitancy. A sense of too good to be true? Expectation such a dangerous proposition in the context of travel. A power to sway one from joy to disappointment to maybe the worst of all, neutrality. These thoughts swirling with their own fervency, needed not was the conflict of motor and motion that brought them crashing back to reality. Aye, one must allow experience to present itself before judgement befallen, but one must also survive the journey to arrive on the shores of discovery. Through the veil of time passed it is difficult to decipher the winds of chaos. Were these harrowing moments at sea, or upon landfall? Whether it were the bow of the ship or the souls of our heroes, nothing was to stand in the way of adventure’s call. In the distance was the shriek of forest relatives and a coast of constant inclination to be controlled and capitalized. The place, a teleportation device. Experience or imaginary, the word alone enough to transport across the world in an instant. Tis nowhere else than the legend itself: Bali.

He went the world over with words in tow. For the only two things he could truly rely on were these immovable truths: the places he visited and the books he read. Cities and authors as companions for a probing wanderer. A solitary life, yet these were to be the only certainties. Sources of comfort in an endless unknown. This place will always exist, these books will live on. Not to be forsaken or forlorn these founts were ones of inspiration, of hope. Covering the past and the present, he was left with the final point of the triangle.

To use the learnings of the past, from his most trusted sources. A younger sibling to these learned nomads, he could step over the stones that caused them to stumble. And amongst a world of empty faces he has the power in his hands to transcend time and connect spiritually with another. He, traversing the globe seemingly, painstakingly, unable to speak the local language, only to hear a familiar sound through the crowd. Tis the native tongue of a tribe slowly diminished. These, a people constantly in search of something. Poets, attempting to share their study of the world, only to find their subjects with back turned to the realizations on the horizon. These are not shepherds looking to preach or to save. These are wayfarers on the path to discovery. Barefoot as to connect with the soul of existence. Happy to share their story around the warmth of a fireplace, but just as content to stare up at the stars, longingly.

It’s getting a bit cold out. But maybe just one more chapter before bed.

            

Page after page they turned, moving intentionally across the face of the map. Chapters so dense they were worth saving until the end. Luckily all the best coffee table books are meant to be picked up and appreciated no matter where one starts reading. The history lessons were important. The cultural education mandatory. But the picture of South East Asia when the mind is allowed to wander, for better or for worse, is one of palm trees, turquoise water and sunshine. There is to be much more time spent in the urban sprawl for these adventurers, but before that, it was time to get tropical.

                                                                

                                                                                     

A country with shorelines for borders. A people, their culture viewed as an amalgamation instead of a collection. How can one prepare for such a cultural composition? When standing with toes buried in the sand, eyes able to make out a land mass covered with a completely different accent; a different way of life. In anticipation the reception of advice, warnings, legends, whispers. Each anecdote a drop in the oceans that surround it. Enough was enough. They were sick of hearing about it. It was time to experience it for themselves.

Their adventure was bookended by reputational extremes. They began in maybe the most controversial destination on their entire journey and finished in likely its most popular. First, a place where even locals heed warning. Finally, a surfer’s paradise fraught with an unfortunately unavoidable yet understandable economic infestation. In between, a gently scuffed gem rich in ancient history and a speck on the map that epitomizes paradise.

It had emerged as an afterthought. A “whatabout” suggestion. Plan, already having taken shape. Consideration given to factors of time, reputation and the weight of both. Yet when applying just a touch of logic to this map, one need only take notice of the line connecting the dots. If such a line had been administered by paintbrush, a tragedy only clear through hindsight would have occurred. The disaster of missed opportunity, missed experiences. Instead, when pen stroke connecting countries, revealed was the possibility of potential. As more ink emerged, endless, during line being drawn, further doubt was cast on original plans. To cross over this much land without any more care or consideration than soreness of wrist was inexcusable. “Whatabout stopping in Kuala Lumpur?” said our curious traveller. “Whatabout Singapore?”

Unencumbered by expectations, the soil for experience was fertile. A city whose name rings familiar, but few able to paint a picture when questioned. A collection of cultures. From this, diversity of many form. A place that seems unsure of which identity to claim, but emerging from this uncertainty is a constant: the kindness of its people. As if worrying not about a cultural identity, but instead about the truth and emotion found in a human connection. Taking it upon oneself to connect. No pre or misconceived notions of humanity. No convoluted social or cultural norms. Just a smile and a hello. Raw interaction. A curiosity, maybe, but at its simplest, its purest, a smile and a hello.