It’s time to end the travelogue on my trip to Indonesia, thus this is the last entry for Bali. Yes, we are still at Bali.
Ketut sent me off to Perama Tour Bus Pick-up and that was where I met a Japanese tourist who had been in Bali for weeks. It was with a heavy heart to leave a place where friendliness and niceties had won my heart. But I had a career and people who depended on me to fix their problems back home. The bus left Lovina at 9 a.m. with only two passengers on board.
If you have time, a bus tour through the terrace rice field within the mountain region laced with a startling view of the Balinese-style lakes is recommended. Any attempt to explain the splendid view would not do justice to the real truth. We passed by Munduk terrace rice paddies as well as Pura Ulun Datu Bratan.
The bus stopped at few pick up points from where many travellers hopped on the bus heading towards Kuta. I overheard travellers discussing about the mystery of mummies being stored in one of the many lakes in Bali which can only be crossed via a boat. That calls for another trip just to resolve the mystery. As of date, I am still puzzled on the exact location being discussed.
More people boarded the bus from Ubud.
Apart from the excitement I had travelling on a bus on the mountain roads from Lovina to Kuta. I had to make an admission that I was running out of money. It was less than enough for I could not afford to pay a motorcycle ride from Kuta to the airport. I had no choice but to walk with backpacks of 20-30 kilos. It took me approximately four hours before I reached the backyard of the airport.
It was indeed one of the highlights of my trip to Bali. There are times when you are stretched beyond your limit when you face emergency. Emergency includes shortage of fund during your travel. The weather was hot and humid and my body was wet with sweat and sticky enough to reach a disgusting level. I sat down by the beach with my backpacking overseeing beach-bums’ and surfers’ activities and my eyes were attracted to the arriving and departing airports that could be seen from where I sat.
So I told myself it was a do-able thing to walk to the airport. And I forgot, totally forgot that the journey I was about to undertake was not a matter of walking a straight line to the airport. It took more time than expected as the beach stretches on a cursive line all the way to the airport backyard.
Passing through boutique hotels with exclusive swimming pools were very tempted for one who was bathing sweat. I walked leisurely with my destination point being the airport. As and when I was tired and dehydrated, I stopped and engaged with a conversation with the locals.
The first man I met was a boatman cum surfer whose work was to bring surfers to surfing area. . He explained quite thoroughly the history and basic of surfing. Later, 1 kilometre from the airport backyard, a group of teenage boys joined me and ended up teaching me Balinese language. Purr-fekht! A perfect interaction between a traveller and the locals.
I was at the airport backyard for hours waiting for the sunset and watching the planes came and went off. I called that my silent moment when I appreciated most my surrounding and reflected on the life before trip, during the trip and after the trip.
It was in deed a four and a half star trip.