Boarding my late night flight to Bali, my internals were sending messages typically reserved for flights that originate in my home country. I’ve been away for nearly 3 months now, yet I felt as though a trip was just beginning. Australia and New Zealand had come as second nature, a lifestyle I’d grown accustomed to, if not bored with. Now was the time to shed the West as it were, with all the culture that goes along with it. It also marked a leap into the unknown, as up to this point, I had semi-planned the general activities I partook in throughout Aus and New Zealand. From here on in, whenever that may be, I’m flying by the seat of my pants, making it up as I go, the way it ought to be.
I arrived to the cliff above my bungalow at 3am, with seemingly clear directions from my driver on how I would navigate down to the beach and my much-needed bed. Head lamp secured, I made my way down the treacherous steps, following my left-right-right instructions until I came upon an extra fork that wasn’t in the game plan. I chose to go right.
I chose wrong.
Dripping with sweat, shoes now filled with sand, I found the beach, but not my bed. Dogs barking at my light, a midnight toker on a balcony nearby provided no help in locating my dwelling place. Some backtracking and more attention to detail resulted in locating the 12-point font sign that pointed left at the final fork. Forty-five minutes after I arrived, I was finally in bed.
Waking up the next morning, looking out from the deck onto the secluded stretch of sand below, famous surf breaks in the distance, I surveyed the scene of bungalows dotted along the cliffs. Wouldn’t you know it, the midnight toker’s deck was literally next door to mine. Suksama (Thanks) Bru!
My 3 days in Bingin Beach were a perfect vacation inception (vacation within a vacation), as I spent my days with some morning laps along the shore, fresh coconuts and fruits for breakfast, afternoon lounging on the deck after some delicious nasi goreng, evening temple runs, and nightly Bintangs on the beach. What intrigued me most about the whole experience was how natural it all felt. This wasn’t resort living or pre-packaged tourist catering. It was simply living. Even the young workers spent their mornings trimming vegetables on the decks, soaking up the sun, before setting up tables in the sand for the nightly fish frys, with plenty of cigarette and swim breaks scattered between. Every pilgrimage I took down to the water was greeted with a “Hey Boss” and a smile. A secret to living has been unlocked in these parts, of that I’m certain. After all the excitement of beginning a new series of adventures, I’d only just arrived in Bingin and began to wonder why I needed to leave.
Fickle is the mind of a traveler...