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
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
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