After weathering the regular amount of turbulence crossing over to Bali – this time, slightly amplified by the lightning storm flaring nearby; after being elbowed by disembarking passengers jostling for space on the transport bus between plane and terminal; after noticing the 500,000 or so visitors (of the estimated 6 million or so expected this year) gathering in the arrivals hall – and, after thankfully, being allowed to bypass that never-ending queue; after emerging into the humid night, surrounded by a veritable sea of drivers holding standard-issue white cardboard signs with names of their expected clients; after miraculously spotting mine held by a man sitting cross-legged on the ground; after trying to withdraw money from an ATM (unsuccessfully, I might add, which might have something to do with the fact that I can’t recall my PIN); after picking up my phone, charger and a set of keys from a friend’s house; and after getting stuck in a sudden downpour right when I arrived at my destination… yes, after all that (and a tiny bit more), I came in for a landing.
A soft landing.
The softest landing I could have imagined, on my return to this island.
A vast vista of rice fields. Buddhas, coconut trees and sounds of the cicada greeted me at every turn. My waking moments, filled with the kind of bright light that I’ve craved and forgotten about. A huge gong by my comfortable bed – in case I need to ring… Ketut or Made or Widi or Saba or Gusti himself.
My first two days pleasingly punctuated with the sounds also of doves, distant roosters, frogs, dogs and squealing pigs. Yoga in the morning, swimming in the aft.
Tibetan bowls, books about Buddhism and photography, pillows for meditation.
What more could a girl-in-return-mode possibly ask for? J & N, both angelic guys in disguise: how do I thank thee.. let me count the ways. Satu, dua, tiga…and so mu!