A very belated goodbye to Bali

I got a new job! A dream job, in fact, with Parks Canada. I’m working on the Clam Garden Restoration Project in Gulf Islands National Park Reserve. Since I started the position three months ago my life has been an absolute whirlwind (hence this incredibly overdue post), but I feel so incredibly grateful to be doing this work.

You might remember though, loyal readers, that this blog was about my year-long assignment in Indonesia. Yes, it was cut short. Yes, I was sad to leave my friends and colleagues and motorbike behind. But when the Canadian government finally offers you a job after years of application processes, it’s a fairly straightforward decision.

There was a whopping three-week period between the day I was offered the role and the day I started my job in Sidney, British Columbia. The sudden nature of my departure from Bali made the task of getting everything organized quite stressful. For example, the government of Canada required proof that I’m not a criminal in order for me to work for them (fair enough, GC) - but this included proof from my time in Indonesia. The Indonesian police, however, could not give me the specific documents required by GC for my security clearance because I didn’t have the right kind of visa. To make a long story short, this was a nightmare, and it made for a panicky, rushed, and stressful week.

Naturally, I hadn’t put much thought into how I wanted to spend the dwindling amount of free time I had left in Bali. Dive? Surf? Hike? Lounge on the beach? Get blissed out at the spa? Rip around on my motorbike? All of the above? None of the above?!

I couldn’t quite wrap my head around making any concrete plans, so I opted to just go with the flow and see where my heart led me. Maybe Bali did each me something…

In the end, I managed to squeeze in all sorts of adventures during my final weekend. On Friday I went to yoga, got a Balinese head massage, lounged at Serangan beach, drove up to Ubud, went on a lovely ridge walk, and ate at one of my favourite restaurants in Bali. I spent the night with my friend from Vancouver, Charlotte, who had been working remotely in Ubud for a couple of months. I wish I’d had more time to spend with her (her house was incredibly beautiful!), but there was still so much to do and see, and the clock was ticking.

Our return journey from the ridge walk was briefly delayed by a cultural ceremony. 

I got up in the dark on Saturday morning and drove an hour and a half north to the heart of Bali to see a famous floating temple, Ulun Danu Beratan. It was a chilly drive but I made it in time for sunrise to snap a few shots. The temple grounds were empty but for me and a bunch of other keen photographers (whose tripods and massive cameras and shouts of “The sky is beautiful right now! Shoot!!! Shoot!!” were slightly overwhelming).

According to Wikipedia: Built in 1633, this temple is used for offerings ceremony to the Balinese water, lake and river goddess Dewi Danu, due to the importance of Lake Bratan as a main source of irrigation in central Bali. The 11-storey pelinggih meru in the complex is dedicated to Shiva and his consort Parvathi. Buddha's statue is also enshrined in this temple.

Also according to Wikipedia: Lake Bratan is known as the Lake of Holy Mountain due to the fertility of this area. Located 1200 m above sea level, it has a cold tropical climate.

As the sun rose higher and the chilly morning mist began to lift, I continued north, heading up higher into the mountains and along a ridge top road that looked down on three lakes on one side, and all the way to the ocean on the other.

By mid-morning I’d explored most of the area and was left contemplating my options. Head north to the coast, signing up for at least four hours of motorbiking? Head back south, taking a different route that is much longer, curvier, and less maintained? Or head back the way I came and visit the strawberry fields?

My stomach ended up making the decision and I zipped back down to the town near the floating temple and enjoyed a strawberry pancake and a brief chat home to my family celebrating Easter.

I decided to take a slightly different route back south and I was immediately glad I did. I LOVE riding my motorbike through new places. The roads get smaller, the villages are vibrant, the surrounding fields seem extra green and vibrant. You never know what you might see! Everything feels more peaceful, more authentic, less invaded by western culture and tourists. Locals stop to ask who you are and where you’re going (and I was able to reply – haltingly – in Bahasa).

During my blissful ride, it began to pour rain and I sought shelter in a small tin-roofed hut on the side of the road. I’ve driven in the rain quite a bit but wasn’t comfortable on these steep twisting roads and figured it’d be better to wait it out for a while.

After the rain died down, I continued driving up into the beautiful Jatiluwih Rice Terraces, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Just as I was entering the fields it started to pour again. I hid in a small farmer’s hut and was soon joined by a Balinese man who spoke no English. I tried to get by on my meagre Bahasa but we didn’t get too far in the conversation. He saw me taking pictures and gestured towards another ridge, telling me it was very beautiful. When the rain stopped, he led the way to this different area, which was indeed quite stunning. I was so grateful that he took the time to show me!

I said goodbye to my friend and looped back to where we’d been before, parked my motorbike and walked for over an hour through the rice fields. It was absolutely magical and I had a dorky smile plastered over my face the entire time. Surrounded by sparkling, bright green terraces, breathing the fresh mountain air, knowing I only had a few days left in Bali - I soaked it all in and just blissed out.

Eventually I tore myself away from the vivid green wonderland and hit the road again; I began heading southwest towards Canggu, a hipster-surf area north of Seminyak (which is where I was when I first arrived in Bali, if you recall!). I was going to meet up with a few friends there and go surfing. I arrived in Canggu around 5pm and was horrified; I’d only been there for dinner once so I’d never seen it in daylight and I was shocked by how overrun with foreigners it is. It felt like a completely different world from the areas I’d been in previously that day.

I walked down to the beach to check out the waves and it was packed [bold] with people. The waves looked decent but I wasn’t sure if they were worth jostling with hundreds other keeners. I decided to wait until early morning to try them out.

Despite an early alarm, I still paddled out to join hundreds of other people in the surf. It was so busy that it just felt bizarre and uncomfortable. I tried to paddle for a few waves but couldn’t quite muster a solid ride (it has been about five years since I’ve surfed regularly, after all…). About twenty minutes later another surfer’s board crashed into mine and cracked it, so I was pretty much done with surfing and headed in to pay for the damaged rental board.

I met up with some friends for a yummy breakfast and spent the rest of the morning poking my head into the fancy hipster shops and perusing the items in the market. I still didn’t feel enamoured by Canggu and ended up leaving before noon; I wanted to be back in my quiet, somewhat-still-Indonesian feeling Sanur!

I enjoyed a mellow afternoon (another spa, another sunset), then had dinner with my coworker Indah, who is a fantastic cook and continues to broaden my Indonesian culinary repertoire.

The next three days flew by as I wrapped up things at work, said goodbye to my coworkers, celebrated achieving my Divemaster with my BSB family, and did my final yoga class with my beloved instructor Ade.

My incredibly wonderful MDPI coworkers!

Final evening with my yoga family.

On my final evening in Bali, my good friends from work came over and I gave away everything I couldn’t fit in my overstuffed bags. All too soon, my bags were packed and I was in a cab to the airport. As we zipped past the familiar roads of Bali that had been my home for the past seven months, I reflected on the ups and downs of my time spent in Indonesia. I’d met so many wonderful people and learned so many new things about fisheries, diving, yoga, food, and life in general… but of course Indonesia had been challenging whenever I’d travelled, tried to communicate, or even just maintain a healthy digestive system. I knew I’d miss all of my friends, my colleagues, my little bungalow, my motorbike, the manta rays, the sunsets, the rolling rice fields of northern Bali… it was bittersweet to be leaving so suddenly, with so much still to explore.

My overloaded baggage and adorable friends. 

My cab driver prevented me from getting too caught up in my head by asking me all sorts of questions as we drove along... how long had I been here, would I come back, how old was I, did my family come with me?

“Maybe your mudder is heppy you go home,” he said.

“Definitely,” I replied. “She’s definitely happy I’m coming home.”

I'm a Divemaster!

YAY!!

Last weekend I completed my PADI Divemaster course. I’ve been working on it since November, so it felt like it was about time to finish!! ;)

Most people complete their divemaster during a 1- or 2-month internship. I, however, managed to squeeze mine in over twelve weekends, thanks to the amazing flexibility of the dive shop where I trained, Blue Season Bali.

Being a Divemaster qualifies you to work as a dive professional - leading dives and assisting on courses. I wanted to get the certification for a number of reasons; so that I could work at a marine research station and lead dives, maybe work as a dive guide while travelling someday, but most of all it was because I wanted to become a better diver in general.

It was an amazing way to spend my weekends - I made so many new friends, learned new skills, and had a blast. And of course I saw some incredible things underwater, like dozens of mantas rays visiting cleaning stations, octopuses mating (so cool), even a Mola Mola (which are quite rare at this time of year!).

Beautiful mantas visiting cleaning stations.

A manta just going about its daily business.

Mola mola or oceanic sunfish! So derpy! So great!

The USAT Liberty Wreck. My first big wreck dive!

More than anything though, I loved the team at BSB. The amazing staff and wonderful instructors made it a total blast! And oddly enough there were some crazy small-world moments with my instructors - one of them was just a year above me at UBC during our undergrads and we have a ton of mutual friends; the other one worked at a dive shop on Phu Quoc, the island in Vietnam where I did my seahorse research - how crazy is that?! He left just a year before I arrived otherwise we'd probably have met - one of his staff assisted me on my first survey dives there!!

I’m so glad I completed my Divemaster course and can’t wait to see where it might lead me someday!

Fire extinguisher art at the Jakarta airport. 

Nyepi, the Day of Silence

March 17 was Nyepi, celebrated by Balinese Hindus on the day before the New Year begins.  It is a day of fasting, meditation, and silence. Nyepi involves many rituals, traditions, and ceremonies, but I only had the opportunity to experience one of them (besides honouring the Day of Silence itself): the Ngrupuk parade. The evening before Nyepi, the Ngrupuk parade is held in every village across the island. Youth organizations (Seka Truna Truni) design and build giant demon dispalys, or “Ogoh-ogohs,” to parade around the village.

The Ogoh-Ogohs are inspired by Balinese Hindu mythological demonic beings, and are intricately made from coloured paper, mirrors, suede, tinsel, bamboo, and many other materials. The Ogoh-ogoh stands on a pad built of bamboo, which is lifted and carried around the village by ten or more youth (and adult men), accompanied by a loud and percussive gamelan orchestra.

I went to the Ngrupuk parade in Sanur with a few friends. This is not like the Santa Claus parade you might be imagining; there are no barriers keeping people on the sidewalk, no strict spacing between performers, and the first Ogoh-ogoh appeared over two hours after the posted start time. When it began, thousands of people immediately swarmed the entire intersection, bustling to get a glimpse of the Ogoh-ogohs. The massive mob ebbed and flowed as the cops and military whistled and gestured for people to create haphazard pathways as necessary (though sometimes people just ran away from the ginormous Ogoh-ogohs as they pummeled into the crowd).

Waiting for the show to start

The Ogoh-ogohs were a phenomenal sight to behold, though – they were worth the wait and sweat and jostling. I’d seen a few of them appear on the side of the road over the last few weeks, as the finishing touches were being added. My friend told me that they are supposed to be burned after the parade, but often the Banjars hesitate to do so. Considering how much work it is to build an Ogoh-ogoh, I can understand the hesitation with burning or destroying it! And they are HUGE. So big that the groups carrying them were accompanied by men with long poles who would push up the power lines to prevent the Ogoh-ogohs from getting clipped as they progressed along the street.

This Ogoh-ogoh was GINORMOUS. It was probably ten metres wide and thirty metres long. It took up two lanes of traffic!

Many of the ogoh ogohs have breasts, and we wondered what that was about… 

Yes, this is a lady grabbing a man by the balls. No, I don't know the story...

Here's another angle so you can see this unfortunate fellow's facial expression (and the lady's). 

Demon devouring someone...

Some of them were just genuinely terrifying. Note the skeleton demons rising from below this frightening demon...

At the end of the parade I was finally able to get a clear picture of the base of an Ogoh-ogoh, and the kids carrying it

During the procession, the Ogoh-ogoh is hoisted above the crowds and rotated counter-clockwise three times as the gamelan orchestra plays loudly. This act is done at every T-junction and crossroad of the village. Rotating the effigies represents the contact of the bodies with the spirits. It is intended to bewilder the evil spirits so that they go away and cease harming human beings. Eventually, the Ogoh-ogoh is toppled in defeat and finally it is burnt to ashes in a cemetery as a symbol of self-purification.

It was one of those nights when you wish you could be in multiple places at once – at different locations there were different displays of Ogoh-ogohs, different rituals, dancing, and other ceremonies. But I was limited to one intersection in Sanur, where I spent four hours waiting for the parade and then watching the Ogoh-ogohs. It was still worth it though!

From 6am on Saturday until 6am on Sunday, Bali essentially appears deserted. No one is allowed on the streets, beaches, or outside of their houses… there is no traffic and nothing is open, including the airport (apparently Ngurah Rai is the only international airport that shuts down operations for a day each year). The religious leaders have so much power that even the internet was blocked this year.

Devout Balinese Hindus do not eat, use electricity, or speak during Nyepi - these would distract from self-reflection. Other people, however, just stay within their property and have a relatively quiet day. I fell into that category (although I did briefly entertain the idea of attempting to fast, but this is me we’re talking about, and the idea of me not eating even for a few hours is a ridiculous notion). After a long sleep in (a rarity for me here in Bali), I cleaned up my house, knocked a few things off of my ‘to do’ list (not having internet is productive!), lounged by the pool with the other people living in my complex, stargazed (no lights on the whole island = amazing stars!) and had a nice early bedtime.

Selamat Hari Raya Nyepi!

Back in Bali

Holy moly it’s March. When did that happen?

I meant to write a few posts in January in February, but the time ran away from me, so here are a few general updates:

1. It rained. A LOT. 
2. I didn’t travel at all for work, which was a huge change from the fall when I was on a plane almost every week. I got into a routine of office monotony.
3. I spent every weekend pursuing my Divemaster certification. I’ll eventually write a proper post all about my dive adventures!
4. I went home to Canada from February 14 – March 4!

I was so excited to fly home and see family and friends that I started counting down from January 1st (six weeks before I actually left), and I started packing my bags ten days before my flight. I can’t remember the last time I packed more than a day or two in advance of a trip (even when I’ve moved across the country!). Clearly, I was really looking forward to being back in Canada!

My other stints working and studying abroad were limited to 5-6 months, so this was the first time I’d visited home briefly and then left again… and I wasn’t expecting how fascinating an experience it would be to return to a [temporary] home abroad. I was bracing myself for all of the things that can make life in Indonesia a bit overwhelming – the heat and humidity, being harassed by taxi drivers, the frustrating disorganization of travel, the unexplained extra fees, etc… but I found myself slipping back into my comfort zone much more quickly than I’d expected. After all, I’d been living here for sixth months already, hadn’t I?

It has been a curious few days since I’ve been back, and I still can’t quite place my finger on the feeling in order to describe it well. It’s not like coming home – Canada will always be home – but maybe it’s sort of like putting on familiar summer clothes that have been stored in a closet all winter.

The smells seem so vivid yet familiar – Bali really does have a very noticeable scent that seemed particularly palpable after breathing fresh mountain air for two and a half weeks. I’m not sure whether it’s the incense from the offerings, pollution from cars and motorbikes, food being fried in roadside stalls, the heavy perfume of tropical flowers, or all of these odours combined; but I was definitely more aware of it than when I’d left!

Hopping back on my motorbike was as easy as walking, and driving on the left hand side felt natural [and I had a punctured tube within days].

Soon I was using my limited bits of Bahasa Indonesia (the nation-wide language) to communicate and order my favourite treats [and of course, back to my regular bouts of Bali belly].

Digestive issues are not pretty so here's a stormy sky as a metaphor.

I was back walking along beautiful stretches of the beach, watching brilliant sunsets unfold [while miserably picking at the piles of garbage washed up onshore].

All the ups and downs of life in Indonesia, every single day.

It’s good (and a bit weird!) to be back.

Christmas in the Philippines

The holidays are always a tough time to be away from loved ones, but spending them in the tropics just feels so completely unlike Canadian Christmastime that it sort of feels like a time warp. Throw in an unreliable wifi connection and suddenly Christmas is just a distant dream... it helps a little with the homesickness.

Rather than hang out in rainy Bali over the Christmas holidays, I decided to spend a week in the Philippines. Rosalind had been travelling in the Philippines for over a month and it seemed like a great chance to explore a new country with a close friend. We planned to meet in Palawan, an archipelagic province known for its unspoiled beaches, incredible scuba-diving, and stunning limestone rock formations.

My second flight from Manila to Puerto Princessa was delayed by over twelve hours. The red circle is where I spent most of my holiday.

I set out on an early flight from Denpasar to Manila on December 23rd. My “pretend-it’s-not-Christmas” attitude was only mildly shaken by a few incidents, like participating in a “Christmas quiz” on the flight and walking past walls of Christmas decorations in the airports as carols blasted on the speakers.

Inevitably, my travels didn’t quite go according to plan (I’m starting to get used to unpredictable air travel). A severe tropic storm was working its way across the southwest Philippine islands, and my flight from Manila to Puerta Princessa was delayed by twelve hours. Luckily we were put up in a hotel, and I had a bit of time to “explore” Manila. By “explore,” I mean I took the hotel shuttle to (allegedly) the only nearby attraction: The Mall of Asia. It was a gigantic and overwhelming mecca of consumerism and I became quickly overwhelmed by it all, so I ducked into a movie theatre to watch Star Wars. Yay!

Luckily the storm moved along on its merry way and my flight took off early on the 24th. I made it to Puerta Princessa around 8am and promptly hopped into a van outside the airport that took me north to El Nido. The drive took about five hours and the landscape was absolutely jaw-droppingly beautiful. Luscious green jungles covered the dramatic hilly landscape; we passed giant, beautiful trees dripping with ferns, huge rivers, and plenty of tiny villages along the way.

Sitting in front of me in the van was an adorable father-daughter duo from China. The father, a doctor in his late thirties / early forties, was friendly and chatted with most of the passengers. I learned that they were travelling for ten days while his wife took care of their younger daughter back in China. The girl looked to be about eight or nine years old; her favourite place so far had been an area famous for its fireflies. Halfway through the drive we stopped for snacks and when I got back into the van he asked me, “So you travel alone?” And I said yes, sort of, well I’m meeting a friend in El Nido. And he turns to his little daughter and he says “That will be you someday. You can do that too someday.”

It was so precious to see him trying to instill a sense of adventure and freedom into his little girl. I am so grateful to have parents that have always been supportive of my desire to study and work abroad – even if it makes them worry, or miss me, or even sometimes when try really hard to convince me to just move home - I’ve never felt like I couldn’t do something I’d set my mind to. Thanks Mum and Dad – I love you!!

Back in the van, we continued to race our way north, the driver blasting Bryan Adams music the whole way. Sometime in the second half of the drive the skies opened up and it started to pour; sheets of rain slammed the van as we navigated a super curvy, steep road at crazy speeds (sorry Mum, you would have been horrified). We made it to El Nido safe and sound, though, and were dropped a few kilometres outside of town. I hopped into the local transport method – a motorbike adapted into a tricycle – to get to the hostel.

Local transport.

Even my first glimpses of El Nido were stunning. It’s nestled amongst limestone monoliths, bursting with greenery, fringed with white sand beaches and lapped by turquoise waters. It’s also a tourist haven, so I was quickly overwhelmed by signs and salespeople, and was a bit shocked by how English everything was. I didn’t realize that the Philippines has the third-largest English speaking population in the world. Very different from Indonesia!

I got some food (El Nido has the most amazing falafel stand, surprisingly) and an hour or so later I was united with Rosalind at the hostel. It was great to see her and catch up on all of the adventures she’d had throughout the Philippines! We celebrated Christmas eve with the other hostel guests, but I crashed pretty early - I was exhausted after two nights of less than four hours of sleep.

On Christmas morning, we exchanged small gifts and enjoyed a delicious pancake breakfast. We headed out to a nearby beach, Las Cabanas, for a day in the sun. We got there in a unique way, though – we took a zipline across the water! It was amazing!

Ziplining to Las Cabanas beach!

We had a mellow day lounging on the beach and swimming. I had a “small world” moment when I ran into one of my officemates from Vancouver – she was staying on the beach with her family for a couple of weeks over Christmas. What a coincidence!

Ros and I had a tropical Christmas photoshoot.

At sunset, the sky exploded into beautiful streaks of orange and pink. We spotted an odd bird flying over the water and as I looked closer I realized it was a huge bat! As the sun set, hundreds of these giant bats flew out from the limestone karsts and over the water. It was stunning.

We got up early the next day and packed for our next adventure. Rosalind had booked boat tour that would take us from El Nido to Coron over the course of five days, stopping at remote beaches to snorkel, camp, and explore. She’d had the trip recommended to her by a friend who described it as “the best experience they’d ever had while travelling,” and it was a pretty great deal too. Rosalind had found three other travellers to join us: two Germans, Catrina and Yannick, and Thijs, from the Netherlands.

I have no idea if this is actually what our route looked like, but it was something like this. Ish.

We’d had trouble communicating with our budget boat tour company, and the information we had about the trip was patchy at best. The first major misunderstanding was where the boat would be picking us up. We thought it was in El Nido; it turns out it was 40 km away in Sibaltan. We scrambled to book a van at the last minute to take us to another part of the island where the boat was waiting for us. When we arrived there about hour later, we were met by a woman who introduced herself as our tour guide, although she didn’t really know much about what was going on and seemed a bit confused about the entire trip. 

We finally made it to the boat!

The boat was a classic banca, a double outrigger with an inboard engine. We waded out to the boat and loaded our packs onboard and were on our way. We motored for an hour or so before we landed at a beach on Iloc Island where we’d be spending the night. We dropped off our bags and were served lunch before we got back on the boat to check out a couple of beautiful beaches in the area. We enjoyed coconuts in the afternoon sun and felt like the luckiest people on earth – it was too good to be true! The only problem was that our guide and crew seemed to have no idea what was going on or what the plan was. We asked what we might expect from the trip, or where we’d be going, or what activities we might be doing, and we mostly got confused and convoluted answers. I guess we were supposed to just go with the flow? 

Absolute paradise.

We returned to Iloc Island for sunset and dinner followed by a bonfire and drinks… and sorting out what we’d be doing for the next four days, which was still unclear. Luckily there was another group of foreigners staying on the same island who were on the last night of their boat tour, coming from the opposite direction. They told us all about their amazing experiences snorkelling and exploring the islands… then we figured out they were with a different company.

We eventually figured out that our tour “company” (if I can call it that) was a relatively new enterprise, with only one experienced tour guide. We’d booked at the same time as another group, so we’d been given a brand-new tour guide, Shao, who was actually one of the village school teachers, and had never done a tour before. She was only with us for the first two days though, and then the experienced guide took over.

I’d been looking longingly at the craggy hills of Palawan since I’d arrived in the Philippines, imagining climbing or hiking up to the tops of the lush green knolls. On our first day, I asked our boat captain if there was any hiking on the five-day excursion, and he said there was. Shao, despite her general timidity as a guide, seemed enthusiastic about taking us on a hike. She invited her students along, and our second day began with our little troop traipsing through the village to first see the local school, then heading upward into the hills.

Shao showing us around the local school.

We were barely 100m up the gentle slope behind the school before our feet and legs were covered in biting ants. Shao decided we should take a different route, so we walked back down to the village and followed a path along the beach. We plodded along the sand for about half an hour before I asked Shao when we would start heading uphill. She seemed confused and explained that we were heading to some neat rocks on a beach around the corner.

We spent the next ten minutes trying to explain that we wanted to do a hike to the top of the island, to see views of the water and other islands. I pointed desperately to the islands across from us, trying to describe the fact that we wanted to go to the top of hills like those. Eventually something seemed to click – apparently the students knew where we should go – and we marched back along the beach and into the village.

First things first, if we were going on a hike, we needed to make a flag. I’m not kidding, A FLAG. At this point we were 100% sure that no one had ever asked to go for a hike before. Despite our protests that this felt weirdly colonial, yellow fabric was produced and the flag was built. At least we managed to get everyone to sign it. We packed a few snacks (bananas and cakes), and off we went.

As we paraded through the village again, we were stopped by an old man who was quite curious about our journey. “What is your business on the top of the mountain?!” he asked, and this quickly became our favourite quote of the trip.

Despite the hours of hubbub that morning, the hike up took us all of twenty minutes, with machete-wielding twelve-year-olds leading the way. We got some pretty decent views, planted our yellow flag, and clambered back down the hill. Amazingly, the flag was visible from the water! Although I imagine it won’t be long until a typhoon comes along and rips it away.

After lunch, we packed up and left Iloc. We waved goodbye to our new friends, certain they wouldn’t forget the crazy foreigners who’d been hell-bent on sweating themselves to death to get to the top of their island.

The next four days were heavenly, despite a few hiccups. We spent our days and nights in absolutely gorgeous locations, but there always seemed to be some aspect of the trip that was a little off, whether it was the food (way too much or not enough), the tents we slept in (which collapsed), or the fact that we kept visiting coral reefs that Ramon, our second guide, touted as “pristine” but were actually dead from cyanide fishing and coral bleaching.

Yannick, Thijs, Rosalind, Catrina, and I

By and large though, the trip was fantastic. Our little group got along swimmingly, and the days passed by in a sun-soaked state of bliss. We caught amazing sunsets, went cliff jumping, checked out freshwater lakes nestled in the limestone cliffs… we even tried to convince Ramon to take us on another hike, but he openly hated hiking and told us “No, there’s no path and there are snakes.”

Can you spot the jumpers?

Eventually we made it to Coron and it was time to part ways with our boat crew. We enjoyed our first showers in five days, ate ice cream, and… how could we resist a hike?! We climbed up the 723 steps to Mt Tapyas, overlooking Coron, where we caught a stunning sunset.

Ros, Catrina and I

The next day, December 31st, was my final day with Ros. We went for a short ridge walk above Coron and ate more ice cream before all too soon it was time for me to depart.

Houses of Coron with Mt Tapyas in the background

There’s a tiny little airport that’s about 30 minutes outside of Coron, and despite the fact that my flight wasn’t until 5pm, the last van left town at 1:45pm. I thought I was going to be unbearably early for my flight, but I spent less time waiting at the airport than I’d anticipated because our flight boarded and took off almost an hour ahead of schedule. Bizarre! But it was a beautiful flight, gliding over undulating islands and golden beaches and green hills and puffy creamsicle clouds lit up by the late day sun.

We landed in Manila at 5pm (incredibly, our scheduled departure time had become our arrival time), and I had ten hours to kill until my flight to Denpasar. I considered heading into Manila to celebrate New Year’s Eve, and Rosalind was urging me to do so as she celebrated in Coron; but as you know, my dear friends and family, I am a hermit, so I read my book and napped on an uncomfortable airport bench until 11:45pm. I groggily watched fireworks explode across the skyline for nearly an hour, wished Happy New Year to the other ghosts wandering the Manila airport at midnight, and fantasized that I was on one of the flights taking off or landing amidst the amazing firework display.

I made it back to Bali safe and sound on New Year’s Day and promptly took a long nap.

Happy 2018, everyone!

My first sunrise of 2018 from the plane to Denpasar.

Happy New Year!