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.
There are boat rides and then there are boat rides to Bali. I don’t think we have these kinds of boats in Canada. What would equate to a touristy ride up-river through tumultuous whitewater is apparently a standard ferry route between islands in Indonesia. When presented with two options, a slow ferry and a fast ferry, the metric for decision making is typically cost, not intensity. Little did we know the cost saving was not to be for less stops, but instead for what can only be described as jet fuel? This thing ripped. And it still managed to be hollowed out with expansive seating and YOU COULD BUY BEER. Why do we live in these primitive countries that have the audacity to call themselves “developed” or “first”? We have it all wrong. Shoot me from a tropical paradise in a water cannon with a Bintang in the direction of monkeys and surfing and I’m going to be so bold as to say this place is the best.
The insanity of our aquatic artillery was no match, however, for what awaited us ashore. I have described the scenes often associated with landing at airports in this part of the world, but look out aviators, because take away the “air” and these OG ports may just have you beat. Before the boat can even secure itself to land, the hyenas are on us. As if Brian Littrell himself steps off this thing in all whites in 1999 proclaiming he wanted his bags arranged “that way”, the place was a mad house. A backpacker’s equipment list is rarely equipped with a plow, so we were forced to assume a Heisman-esque stance and fight our way through the crowd. Although travel had been prearranged (noticing a pattern? Another win for the prepared partner), it had become finding a needle in the haystack. But luckily we had played the matching game as children and noticed some corresponding words and symbols. A quick exchange of broken understanding that seemed positive and what we could say for certain is that we were sitting in chairs on top of wheels. What we had with less certainty was the belief that it was headed where we wanted, but we were mere hours from our newest philosophical mindset. Pop quiz? Never try, never know!
So dramatic this guy. We made it to Ubud without any issues. After that boat ride it is hard to imagine how hardcore that bus ride would have had to be for it to be note worthy. But we made it! We were ready to experience the island. Ahead of our travels to Bali, there was a very generic piece of advice we received often: “if you want beaches, go to Kuta and if you want culture, go to Ubud.” Naturally, we figured “then let’s do both.” And boy are we glad we did. In what felt like an overlooked town in comparison to the southern coast overrun with tourists, Ubud was really, really cool. Upon arriving at our homestay, there were three Civets hanging out at the front gate (still grappling with the ethics of caging wild animals and being a coffee professional that thinks it is so interesting being able to experience this mythical creature to our industry). A walk around town and eating dinner on a funky side street affirmed all feelings of delight as to have included this stop on our trip. Even the rain of the next morning wasn’t enough to deter a walk through the rice fields that are accessible just a short distance from town. At some point, through the wet and mud, after a left, right, left and left or two, the most bizarre thing happened. Suddenly words like “lost” and “missed our turn” were being thrown around. Loyal readers know the folly in such sentiment. As if these words could be spoken with the inflection going down instead of up. Are we lucky enough to be lost in such a place? With the tools availed to us, have we been savvy enough to have unknowingly gone in the wrong direction? What an opportunity afforded. To the left, the fog cascades over endless green, circular hats dotting the landscape. To the right, straw huts and stone walls. Can one be lost with signs of civilization? No. But they can be hungry. Lunch and a lay of the land, they were headed back to the city.
To generalize a place as simply as “if you want culture, go to Ubud” felt lazy and lacking substance, but after a casual afternoon walk…they may have actually nailed it. An unplanned walk down a street leads to temples with beautiful gardens transitioning to palaces hosting traditional dance, wardrobe and percussion. City markets spilling over with local wares and restaurants showcasing the tastes of regional cuisine. This place truly is a cultural gem. And if any of you are to Google this place, you will undoubtedly find out quickly, they gots the monkeys. Lots of ‘em. In fact, a forest is named after them. And we went there. The Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary is so dense with monkeys they actually have gangs with their own turf that regularly get into territorial disputes. This is no goof, the throw downs happen multiple times each day and we got a first hand glimpse. The only thing even close to the entertainment of monkeys battling is these same cheeky buggers climbing on blonde white girls, including blonde white girls associated with this blog. Amongst the terror were glimpses of joy and a check on the tropical to-do list. Walking back through town and what is this?….More specialty coffee! This place is the best. Ubud was a revelation, but as with most visitors, we were anxious to see what all the fuss was about further South. We needed to head to the coast.
The Southeast Asian competitor to Uber is an app called GRAB. This service was fantastic and we had wonderful experiences, but in the very small print of the terms and conditions is a clause that states at any given moment you may be subject to a side quest completely up to the discretion of the driver. On this day was a very pleasant request, “do you mind if I stop at my house to grab my lunch?” No problem my friend, thanks for the extra sightseeing. We arrived at our surf themed hostel near the beaches and excitedly made our way down to the water unperturbed by the dark and stormy weather. I still remember the image when we rounded the corner, maybe half a kilometer away, and I saw the first monstrous wave. The windy conditions were creating massive swells and the vibe at the beach was intense. But that didn’t stop my brave brethren (I’m a surfer too) from attempting to harness Poseidon himself. It was crazy watching them surf in those conditions, but the chaos was balanced by a young lady performing yoga on the pier underneath a statue of Lord Baruna riding a creature with the body of a fish and the head of an elephant…so ya, this is more like the Bali we were expecting. Just off the beach was a coffee cart with tables overlooking the water, so we were to come back for breakfast and better weather.
Our plan for the next handful of days was to work our way down from beach to beach, staying at different hostels and hotels along the way. We began at Pererenan, then to Semenyak, explored Canguu and ended in Kuta. The further one goes from Kuta, the less touristy it becomes, so it was an interesting experience going from a more quiet, local beach vibe to what is an incredibly popular destination for people from all over the world. Canguu, for example, just felt too nice. There were moments where it just seemed like LA. Nice, modern shops with Instagrammable cafes and bars. Very much a Western influenced tropical town. And a very stark departure from how we had been spending our weeks prior. However that isn’t to say it led to an all-bad experience. We stumbled across a tree-house inspired bar on the beach that was an incredible place to enjoy a beer at sunset. And these areas hosted the main outdoor markets in the region, so we enjoyed the walks and restaurants all around town. The jackals descended when I made it clear I was looking for a baby Chelsea jersey for my soon-to-exist niece. With no luck, the consolation purchases were children’s Hawaiian shirts and “My Uncle is Awesome” tank tops, so it probably worked out for the best. But now I must apologize for burying the lead. I know why you’re all here. It was time to go surfing.
I have to be honest. It’s tough being a surfer in Canada. My brother gets it (shout out Bob and our WhatsApp group solely dedicated to discussing and sharing surf related content. Extra shout out to cousin Scott who is actually a surfer. Respect.). Especially when you grow up next to a lake, not an ocean. And especially when you don’t surf for the first 27 years of your life, then surf twice with your brother at your cousin’s wedding (double shout outs) and finally decide to go on a Southeast Asian adventure. “The food is amazing,” they said. “The people are so nice,” they said. “Cool cool cool,” I replied. “But you can surf there, right?” As all my salty haired bros understand, I’m a surfer, if you remember from before, so after some incredible experiences on the mainland I was ready for some aquatic coastal escapades. And there was no one on the planet more qualified to show us exactly how to extend our thumb and pinky finger just so than the future best man at my wedding, Nana.
He is everything you think he is and more. A tan more majestic than the sands of Seminyak. Surf muscles rivalling the altitude of Mount Agung itself. And a smile as pure as the spirit of the islands. After attempting solo surfs the day before to mixed results, it became clear to both of us that we needed a guide to lead us into the realm of the radical. An enthusiastic WhatsApp conversation with directions to Kuta Beach and we were glad to have arranged ahead of time as there was a dense fraternity of dudes with the best job on the planet just hanging out, seemingly indifferent to whether they will be compensated for sharing tips on performing an activity that equates to them quite closely to the act of walking on land for mere mortals. A quick lesson on solid ground and we were off! And what a revelation it was to actually have help doing this difficult thing. The price of a lesson is more than worth it just for the positioning and timing Nana was able to provide, let alone any sort of technique or coaching. Add the fact that I have the shoulders of a person that rides bikes far and it wasn’t long before I needed him to actually push my board with the cresting wave. But we did it. We surfed. And it was everything. One majestic moment still resonates with me intensely. I managed to catch the wave on my own, secure the position, and then it became…effortless. Harnessing nature and being a passenger to the forces of the planet. Sadly, as with many a good thing, it ended too quickly. I had a traveller colleague riding the symmetrical wave and we were on a collision course. We made eye contact to acknowledge the bummer of this game of chicken and we begrudgingly bailed. But that moment, that wave, was one of the purest feelings I have ever experienced. I know I know, I’m such a surfer.
We could not have been happier to find our new friend (shoutouts galore today as this one goes out to Cousin Connor, who put us in touch with The Legend). Obligatory photos and good vibes were shared as we said our goodbyes and revelled in the knowledge that we just experienced a highlight of our trip. The remainder of our time in Bali was spent enjoying the local bars and restaurants, walking the beaches and markets and enjoying the amenities of the great hotels and hostels. I am still torn about my overall feelings on Bali as much of it flies in the face of many of my attitudes towards travel, but there is certainly no doubting why it is as famous as it is. The reality is that the “Bali” we hear so much about is really just a stretch of beach a few kilometers long. When in actuality, Bali is an incredibly diverse island with an enormous amount to offer if you explore beyond a travel agents’ brochure.
It has been weeks. We have seen some incredible places, met some wonderful people, eaten some amazing food, experienced some lifelong memories, but one could make the argument it was all to prepare us for what was next. The trailers to run before the feature film. Merely a tease. Our wheels left the tarmac and our eyes were gazing ahead to what was the most anticipated destination of our entire trip. It was time. We had sharpened our skills as travellers to ready ourselves. Strategically saved for last was the land of sharply ending phonetic names for soup and what is unquestionably the most underrated sandwich on the planet. Let’s go get suits. Let’s go to Vietnam.
No Regrets.
The Travelling Gentleman