Ubud, Bali,  11 04 2023

I had two glasses of Arak Madu for dinner and got really tipsy.

I think I have finally really arrived in Bali, and that is by arriving in the infamous touristic and spiritual center of the island, Ubud. It is very different from what I expected, but nevertheless my highlight of the trip so far. It may be due to the fact that now I have adapted to the climate and change in lifestyle, but also because I can get more of an authentic feel for the local life here, despite Ubud being the epicenter of mass tourism in Bali. But besides a plethora of souvenir- and Bali pants stores, western cafes and third outlets of the likes of “La Baracca” and “Milk & Madu”, there is an old core of town here, with the family compounds comprised of temple like structures and the warungs along the road that offer the cheapest meals I saw so far on the island. It is very busy in the streets, congested with taxis and motorbikes, but there are more quiet alleys and oh so many temples that give a peaceful vibe. People are mostly friendly and greet you with a smile.

I spent the first day just walking around the “art market”, which is basically miles of touristic merchandise, and buying more bracelets and necklaces for myself, or as a gift? I then bumped into Alunas mom and family members, they were in a car and spotted me. We later texted and decided to do things together while in town. 

I am staying in a very warm and hearty homestay, also a family compound, with a dog mommy having adorable puppies and all generations of the local family living under a roof or a few. Right now my terrace door is open, the air cool without air conditioning, and crickets chirping romantically. It is a bliss.

Once I went for a yoga class, which was enjoyable but not as spiritually touching as I hoped for, and the rest was walking and finding more places to eat, chasing the ultimate flavor kick that is somehow never fulfilled, but almost reached.

Today was the highlight so far, when I booked a bike tour, starting at the mountains and meandering down through paddy fields and villages of lush green and thousands of temples. I had a constant grin on my face. I was joined by Sarah and Karl, and two other German tourists, which gave it a typical family appeal including lame dad jokes that the local tour guide couldn’t get and avoided with a friendly smile. I was touched when we visited a traditional family compound and a 94 year old priest, people living the humblest of lifes yet being generous and graceful. I wanted to stay up on the mountain and immerse myself in the simple life. But we had to race back, downhill to the city. I ended the day with a foot massage and my third visit at the local warung, and being drunk after two glasses of the local spirit Arak with honey and lime. 

I also talked to a russian woman in a cafe, a lawyer, stranded here for months, and refusing to go back to the war and politically unfavorable home country. She told me about a Russian community, Bali Dacha and other activities by her tribe, which I just nodded at but secretly despised as being entitled and opportunistic, while eating churros and drinking affogato on a terrace overlooking the pink sunset. 

I am reading in the book “quiet” every day, and find more and more of my personality traits described as the “high reactive” and “sensitive” type. From behavior to physical appearance and inner monologue, it perfectly ties together what I had been trying to understand and overcome my whole life. I am just destined to be myself, sensitive to emotions, positive or negative, empathetic and introverted, mapping out my world with my own boundaries and safe areas. So when I entered Aluna’s bachelorette party, feeling overwhelmed and insecure, not knowing what to say and being confused by all the faces and names, I now know that it is the normal reaction for around 20% of people. And knowing this kind of situation makes me able to navigate through, stay and keep on trying, instead of leaving after five minutes and returning back to my cave. But still, at this point I intuitively found myself a conversation partner, an ally who wants to ponder on deeper topics rather than shallow banter, and I did so with the also shy and introverted psychologist Mary, Aluna’s former classmate.

And yet, I hardly remember the scene, the atmosphere, the gorgeous view and bougie day at the fancy beach club, because focusing on social activity distracted me from the essence of the moment. 

I was happy after that first day was over, besides being a lovely activity, but I need some time to decompress before focusing on others and their stories.

And I loved the wedding day, the aesthetic of it, the emotions that I felt during the ceremony, and just being part of something that grand and important. I also enjoyed being dressed up and getting a lot of compliments for my outfit, and to have dinner with old souls like the chatty Kath and the stoic Albert.

But if I am honest, my full potential of enjoyment came after I left Uluwatu for my solo trip to Canggu and Ubud, and by being a lonesome wanderer and explorer. I had to revolve from all the social banter, telling my story so many times, and trying to find common ground with straight strangers who are not interested in the biology of Bali’s nature or the inner conflict I feel as a privileged tourist in the artificial holiday bubble on this wonderful Island.

That is my second big observation here. I am baffled by the contrast of tourists and local people, and the change they bring to such a unique place. From the fancy and artificially posh and western Uluwatu, to the party crowds, surfers and Insta bitches of Canggu to the soul seekers and tour groups of Ubud – very few are really interested in the people and heritage of this wonderful place. Including myself, going to Yoga Centers and searching for the next smoothie bowl, getting a 4 GBP massage and expecting exceptional service, we are using this social inequality to our advantage, pretending we are supporting the people with our money and spendings, but literally trampling on their heritage and culture. It is a fine line that many tourists have overstepped. I hear them talking all entitled to service staff, I see them eating burrata at Italian restaurants, and wearing sarongs as a costume. I enjoy those things too. But I feel a deep longing of connection, with the simple and real life, that I have only had a chance to scratch on the surface. I have not found the gate to truly enter their world, even though I stepped through the gate of their family home. Still their lives are a mystery, and I can only hope one day I get a chance to understand and know more.

Good night xo