I love Bali. I feel kind of at home here, which is probably thanks to all the tours that one of my best friends, Kristin, gave me of the East in the past few years.
I’ve spent a couple of days exploring Seminyak and Canggu on the south coast of this beautiful island. The beaches glisten with what looks like specks of silver glitter in the dark sand. The balmy air has a lingering smell of incense from the Balinese’ daily offering to the gods, which lends to the magical feel of this place.
The streets are packed with too many cars and motorbikes, yet somehow everybody seems to navigate calmly, like they’ve accepted that the journey will be a slow one. There’s as much yielding as there is hooting and I sense a quiet connection beneath the busyness and noise. Whole families are piled onto a single scooter; no helmets on their heads and young children perched behind the handlebars on their fathers’ laps and babies held in their mothers’ arms as they ride side-saddle at the back. Even barefoot tourists clutch surfboards while balancing on the back of a taxi bike. It’s chaotic and idyllic and it’s perfect.
Every second person on the street is a man offering a ride… “Taksi?” …or a woman offering a cheap but incredible massage. The people are generally very friendly and polite; I feel quite safe here. I find it amusing when the curious locals ask me if I’m travelling alone and the shocked look on their faces when I say I am, as though they anticipated the answer but still can’t quite believe it.
I’m not sure if I can believe it – that I’m actually here, fulfilling a long-held desire to travel to a place that provides so much nourishment for body, mind and spirit. 
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