Bali part 3 – Lessons learnt ala Eat, Pray, Love.

Today is the 50th day since getting robbed and I’m glad to let everyone know that things have been put back as it should be. I’ve got a new phone, I’ve replaced my IDs and driver’s licences and sorted everything out with the banks. The only irreplaceable items are my student card from university and a deep purple Rimmel eyeliner which they no longer sell (oh my first world problems).

On my first day back in KL, I ended up having dinner with another solo traveller extraordinaire. After telling him what had happened in Bali, he responded with a nonchalant “Well, none of this will matter in 3 months”. To my surprise, it took less than 50 days for the incident to stop having its effect on me. Continue reading

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Bali part 2 – On almost drowning, literally.

I think about it for a second and do it because the waves are pulling me out and I’m scared. “HELP!!”

Ooh, what a juicy start to this story. Let’s rewind a little to give you more context.

It’s day 4 or 5, it’s so easy to lose track of time here. I’m better now, I’m not scared. Plus, I’ve moved to a quieter part of Bali called Seminyak and everything is lovely. I’ve been to the beach a few times already, and have even watched the sunset while a local band serenaded me.

I wake up bright and early and make a beeline for the beach. I want to swim in the ocean today. I’ve admired it from afar for a while now, only going as far as my thighs. I’m short so when the waves hit my thighs, I’m really not that far out. Continue reading

Bali part 1 – On getting robbed on my first night out

The plan was simple. I arrive on a Friday afternoon, I party over the weekend, I move to a quieter part of town, I work by the beach, maybe sign up for yoga and attempt to eat healthy. Simple. The week ahead was supposed to be simple. Instead, this happens.

I get up on Friday at some ungodly hour to catch my flight out and arrive in unbearable heat. Trust me to wear sneakers and jeans to Bali. I arrive at the hostel, 150,000 rupiahs poorer but a lot wiser. My taxi driver teaches me that bak is used instead of encik. I tell him I might fall in love with Bali and never go home. He tells me to not fall for javanese boys because they’re not good. I tell him not to worry, I don’t think they’ll find me attractive anyway. We laugh.

The hostel is in the heart of Kuta, near Sky Garden, the busiest club in town. I check in, change, grab a map and wander the streets. I start to sweat and have not stopped till today, six days later and only because it’s been raining. I soon find an alley that all the bikes seem to turn into and follow suit. It’s quiet, a welcomed relief. I find my first warung and devour my first meal at 3pm. It was the tastiest soto I’ve ever had. Continue reading