To the Forests of Ubud — From the Land of Noise (Bali Diary ②)

Noise, human voices, and glittering, flickering lights. I've arrived at a place that's the complete opposite of Vietnam's bustling life. Here in the forest of Ubud, on the island of Bali. Maybe it's because they're used to tourists, but the people of Indonesia are quick to accept your presence. Their smiles and greetings overflow with an incredible warmth and friendliness. When someone is kind to you for no particular reason, you can't help but feel a little touched inside. It must be my age. Probably so.

Rural scenery, waterways, tiled roofs, wooden-framed windows. Dogs walk around freely, unleashed. There are places that resemble old Japan or old Vietnam, and it feels strangely calming. However, there are little altars here and there, with offerings placed on them. Seeing the way they're decorated, I'm pulled back to reality — ah, this is abroad after all. It's Bali.

Human memory is such a vague thing—the older we get, the more conveniently it gets overwritten into "good memories." My first-ever trip abroad was also to Bali. Kuta Beach. After barely making it through my university's regular exams, I boarded the plane on half a sleepless night. Denpasar Airport, where my friend and I landed utterly worn out, had a distinctive smell. It wasn't the scent of flowers—it felt kind of fishy, I think. But it was a smell I'd never caught before. Still, I don't really remember it well anymore. Bali, which I charged into fearlessly because I was young. Kuta Beach has already become so touristy that if a group of young Japanese female students walks by together, well, of course they get called out to. That kind of flashy, flirty vibe was never really my thing to begin with, and I quickly grew tired of it. I preferred to relax at the hotel reading a book, and chatting and joking with the hotel staff in broken language was far more relaxing for me. There wasn't anything in particular I wanted to buy. Just a walk, that's all. Jalan-jalan, a stroll, a stroll. At times like that, a hotel staff member told me about rental bicycles. I just kept pedaling down unfamiliar roads, riding all over the place. I wrestled with a bicycle that had no gears and brakes so stiff they were hard to handle, making my way along bumpy roads. I bumped and rattled my way through the countryside too. Back then, Japanese people were a rarity, and I even had fingers pointed at me. In front of an ultra-luxury hotel that a poor female student could never afford to stay in, the security guard treated me rudely, and I left as if fleeing. The bicycle I had borrowed had a saddle and handlebars that didn't fit me at all, and as I struggled to adjust to them, my bottom gradually began to hurt. And then I got lost. It's hot, I'm hungry, and I feel uneasy and alone. And then, the coconut ice cream I bought at an ice cream shop I happened to come across was so delicious it was surprising. My eyes popped wide open. Maybe because it was far from the tourist spots and had local prices, but it was incredibly cheap. I have a feeling it was something like ten yen. Of course, my memory isn't reliable. A happy overwriting has crept in. But the experience on my first-ever overseas trip that truly made me excited was this rental bicycle. The skin on my butt peeled right off, and while lying face-down in the hotel, I burst out laughing with my friend, groaning "it hurts, it hurts." Silly, but a precious memory. That's the way my first trip to Bali remains within me. Back then I couldn't make it all the way to Ubud, but the charm of Bali only deepens further in Ubud. Migrant Life Ranking