Romantic Roads

Why was I so happy, peaceful, and content in Bali? Was it Ubud’s vibe of yoga studios and staying in a pedestrian-only area? Was it the Balinese tradition of gratitude? Or was it that I stopped being so busy in favor of being present? We had five months of busy and living in city life. The cacophony of cars, horns, traffic, crowds, appointments, and just stuff. This stuff is so noisy in my head. After Mauritius, we went to Florence, Atlanta, London, Switzerland, Singapore, Borneo, Brunei, Penang….that’s a lot of busy and a lot of stuff.

A long time ago, we decided to bookend “busy” trips with “being” trips. Why did we not listen to this? Perhaps it was my need for socializing and communing with family and friends. More so, I think it was our naivete in not realizing how busy these places are. The day we arrived and became enveloped by nature, I knew what had been missing. In our Ubud house, I would enjoy my routine, it was simple and delightful. I would wake up a few hours before Peter, go to the living room to work out, then write, and then I’d learn something.

Sometimes I would meander beyond our walls and wander the canals. I’d go up the hill and back, go left, and go right, taking each path to its end. I would pass the beautiful mossy green door, and I would turn so I could see the purple orchids (Bengal Clockvine/Bungan Pelung) dancing in the air. I would wonder how it got there—were the vines planted or were they carried as seeds by birds to take over the forest? Sometimes there would be this amazing yellow and white flower, it smelled like a blend of jasmine and honeysuckle….it’s called Frangipani (Jepun), and it’s Bali’s signature flower used in offerings and ceremonies. The yellow frangipani symbolizes joy and happiness. It certainly lived up to its name, as that’s all I felt every time I inhaled it.

There were times I’d wander into the fields, passing the shopkeepers who were eager for my business, whether it be sarongs, incense, or the liquid in the plastic bottle. My canal path would get narrower, not much more than a foot or two across, and covered with greens. Sometimes I’d worry about what would happen if I fell in. Is the water rain water? Is it wastewater? Could I drown in it, and how long would it be before someone noticed? Thankfully, I never tripped and fell in, even though it would play in my mind over and over. It seemed plausible, maybe inevitable, with the paths being uneven and crumbling.

Sometimes my path would cross with that of other travelers. Are they on their way to yoga? Where are they from? I would nod and smile and move on and pass some villas, some had beautiful fuchsia bougainvillaea hanging over the doorway. I would pause and take them in, they were exactly like the ones we had, which were used for Wayan’s offerings, but draped over the arched doorway, they were different here.

My feet would eventually end up taking me to the grocery store, Bintang supermarket, where I shopped for my day. This supermarket was not my favorite, but it was only a 12-minute walk back to our villa, so I would endure the lack of air conditioning to pick up my vegetables. I would return the way I came, except I’d take the direct route. I walked the canals and along the walls of compounds, sometimes I’d have to make way for a scooter trying to pass.

I’d pause at my favorite village restaurant, Yellow Flower Cafe, and I wonder if the name is from that amazing yellow frangipani flower that smells so divine. I look to my right at the people having their coffee, eating their meals, and the children left to their own devices playing on the floor, they are all travelers, maybe some expats thrown in. I look to my left and breathe in the view of the mountains. I walk on and turn to the right, passing the fruit stand and the restaurant with the pink lotus flowers down the hill, turn at my corner and up the stairs, pause midway to see if the squirrels are out.

I approach the large wooden door to our refuge, step over yesterday’s offering, and enjoy the last few moments with Peter before Wayan comes to clean. It’s only a few hours, but they are simple. How does so much and so little happen at the same time? Maybe this is what cultivating joy is, I’m present to what is here and enjoying it.  My mind is quiet, and there’s little to no anxiety. Maybe this is the value of mindfulness and a practice worth repeating.