Canang Sari is a traditional Balinese offering central to Hindu rituals in Bali, Indonesia. It consists of a small, colourful arrangement of flowers and other items (rice, candies, cigarettes, sometimes even coffee), typically placed on an offering tray, to honour the gods, spirits and ancestors

For PART 4

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DAY 22 (23.11.24). 1st day Komodo trip

Booking the 4-day, 3-night Komodo tour felt huge. It was the whole reason I came to Indonesia in the first place, though I’d been hesitant to overplan or rush things. After Mount Rinjani was a no-go (thanks to bad weather and my own “maybe not” decision) the Komodo trip slid into place as the obvious choice. It gave me enough buffer time to fly back from Labuan Bajo even if volcanic chaos kicked off. So, when I woke up that morning, I was buzzing.

Kuta Lombok greeted me with suffocating heat, the kind that makes every breath feel heavy. After a quick, greasy breakfast from a buffet situation (not my first choice, but hey, options), I checked out. Saying goodbye to Anna, the sweet girl running the place, was surprisingly emotional. She hugged me like she really would miss me, and honestly, I think she meant it.

At 8:45, the tour shuttle arrived, and I met my first tour mates: Carlos and Maria, a Spanish couple in their 50s.They had that seasoned, relaxed traveler vibe, good energy. Then there was Felix, a younger German guy into surfing and diving.

We drove two hours to Senggigi, the meeting point, where we signed up, paid (€200, including the shuttle), and met the rest of the group. First impressions? Everyone seemed so young: mid-20s for the most part. I was glad Carlos and Maria were there to balance things out. After breakfast (my second…), we piled into another bus to cross Lombok to Kayangan Port (on the east side of the island), and the next two hours were a blur of heat, sweat, and A/C blasting straight onto my neck. I chatted a bit with Andreas, a shy but sharp Austrian guy and also had a quick connection with Chris and Tons, two Berliners who, though I didn’t know it then, would become my closest allies on this trip.

The boat? Simple but cute: white with blue and yellow trim. No luxury here, but I wasn’t expecting it. The sleeping area was a row of mattresses on the covered top deck, lined up like sardines. I grabbed one near the ladder with a window I could open fully. Basic, sure, but it was perfect.

Our first stop: Kenawa Island. A tiny speck of land with a grassy hill that screamed “perfect sunset spot.” The climb? More of a stroll: 10 minutes, flip-flops totally acceptable. The weather was moody, the sky gray and thick with a storm rolling in. At the top, I cracked open a beer with Hugh and Caitlin, the British duo, and soaked in the view of the bay. There wasn’t much of a sunset, but the atmosphere was electric. Lightning danced across the sky, lighting up the thick clouds above.

Down below, a small fishing village flickered with fires (trash burning or something) and the whole scene felt raw, almost cinematic.

Back on the boat, dinner was simple but satisfying. As the evening slid into pitch-black by 7 p.m., I found myself vibing more and more with Chris and Tons. We killed time playing dice with two Dutch girls and shared smokes under the low deck lights. By 10, I was wiped out. I stripped down to my underwear, stretched out on my mattress, and opened the window. The cool night breeze slipped in, the boat rocked gently, and the hum of the water was the lullaby I didn’t know I needed. I slept like a baby.

DAY 23 (24.11.24), 2nd day Komodo trip

At 5:30 in the morning, when I was still deep in the sleepiest of dreams, Ajuna, our Komodo tour guide, marched onto the dock and snapped us out of it with a sharp, almost rough “Wake up, wake up!” Half-asleep but somehow knowing what was coming, I stumbled out of bed. We had reached Saleh bay, the spot where the whale sharks were lured in with fish bait: problematic, sure, but also the chance of a lifetime (well, second chance of a lifetime in my case after my Oslob experience in the Philippines).

What I didn’t expect was that 30 seconds after waking up, I’d be in the water, goggles on, staring straight into the face of a giant whale shark. Around me were at least three or four more, their massive forms gliding effortlessly, impossibly close. It felt unreal, like I was still dreaming. I’d barely had time to think before jumping in, fueled mostly by FOMO since Carlos was already splashing around in front of me.

These creatures were breathtaking. Their size is daunting at first, but their gentleness, the way they moved, slow and deliberate, was almost hypnotic. Once, a tail fin hit me, and I couldn’t help but laugh. HOW RUDE!. It was hard to take it all in: one moment, I’d be staring at the patterns on one, and the next, there’d be another right beneath me, completely unexpected. I stayed in the water for nearly an hour, long after most people had climbed back on board. I just couldn’t get enough.

Eventually, I dragged myself out of the water, exhilarated and wide awake. Breakfast was waiting: banana pancakes with chocolate cream. As we started sailing, the coastlines of islands appeared on one side, the open ocean stretching endlessly on the other. The sun rose higher, the day already promising to be long and hot.

After a couple of hours, we stopped for a swim in a calm spot. Everyone jumped off the dock: it was more about the splash and the fun than anything else. We were told not to snorkel, though no one explained why. The stop was brief, and soon we were back on our course, the boat slicing through the water, the coastline always just within sight.

Lunch was another masterpiece from the boat’s tiny, rudimentary kitchen. The food on this trip was simple, but every dish (tempeh, gado-gado, mie goreng) was authentic and delicious. Afterward, I tried napping in the cabin, but the heat was unbearable. I gave up, headed to the deck, and found everyone lounging. Some were reading, some sunbathing, others just staring out at the horizon. I ended up talking with Chris for hours, joined occasionally by Hugh and Caitlin, the British duo who always brought humor to the mix.

As we sailed on, the sea offered more surprises. We spotted dolphins, even a whale, their movements breaking the monotony of the endless blue. The hours slipped away in that peculiar way they do when you’re at sea, disconnected from time.

Dinner was a highlight: tuna soup made from a fish Ajuna had caught earlier. Afterward, we played Parudo, a dice game Hugh introduced, and shared beers and laughter until it felt like we’d known each other for a long time.

Before bed, I wandered to the front of the boat for a shower, and, well, I stripped naked. It was just me, the sound of the waves, and the cool spray of water under a night sky so deeply dark, lit only by stars. The boat streamed steadily forward, the ocean stretching into infinity, and I felt, for a moment, entirely weightless. 

DAY  24 (25.11.24) 3rd day Komodo trip

The third day of the Komodo tour kicked off even before dawn. Out of my cabin window, the world was bathed in pre-dawn light: a purple sky smeared with grey clouds, everything dimmed into a moody masterpiece. Naturally, I grabbed a coffee, stumbled out onto the deck, and just soaked it all in. The water was eerily calm, and the rugged, dramatic landscape of the Komodo archipelago unfolded around us. No other boats were in sight. It was just me, a few other early risers, and the quiet, magical peace of this place.

Soon, we arrived at Komodo National Park and docked at Loh Liang, the entrance to this wild corner of the world. A ranger greeted us, ready to lead us on what was optimistically called a “hike.” It was more like a 40-minute stroll through a dry, sun-scorched landscape. Almost immediately, we stumbled across one of the park’s stranger scenes: a deer and a boar chilling together, like unlikely roommates. 

And then, the main event: dragons. First, a female, then a bigger male with a bulging stomach that screamed post-meal nap mode. Seeing Komodo dragons up close was surreal. These aren’t just animals; they’re prehistoric, bucket-list-level creatures. Sure, they were smaller than I’d imagined, but the fact that they exist at all, slinking around this isolated corner of the world, is mind-blowing. They’re both fascinating and terrifying, like, yes, they can kill you with one bite, thanks to their bacteria-packed saliva, but they look oddly chill about it.

After soaking in the dragon magic, we returned to the harbor, where I snagged a souvenir T-shirt and hung out in the shade with the others, chatting and basking in the slow rhythm of the day. Back on the boat, we sailed through another jaw-dropping stretch of rugged islands and turquoise waters, under a sun so brutal it felt personal.

By mid-morning, we’d reached Padar Island’s pink beach: a real pink beach, not one of those Instagram scams. Turns out, the color comes from parrotfish doing their business. Yes, the red coral they munch on turns into pink sand via their digestive process. The beach was pristine, with just a few boats and tiny stalls selling coconuts. We snorkeled in the crystal-clear water, surrounded by colorful fish and coral, but the sun was so fierce it felt like my SPF 50+ was laughing at me.

Chris, Andreas, and I decided to lean into the heat and stage a beach photo shoot, playing wannabe models and snapping shots for the ‘gram.

Then, as we sipped coconuts at one of the stalls, the most bizarre thing happened: a deer sauntered down from the dry hills, strolled straight into the water, and… started pooping. A deer, on a pink beach, taking a dump in the ocean. It was surreal, hilarious, and oddly magical: like nature had decided to one-up the whole pink beach thing just for us.

By that moment, it felt like the day should be winding down, but it was barely 1 PM. We sailed a short distance to Padar Bay, where the iconic viewpoint awaited. The catch? It only opened at 4:30 PM, which meant every single tourist would ascend at the same time. A logistical nightmare, sure, but nothing was going to ruin this for me. Padar’s viewpoint had been on my bucket list for over a decade.

Lunch was another solid meal, but the real intrigue came during our post-lunch dip. The water was swarming with these weird, jelly-like spheres that resembled, well…  Someone suggested they might be baby jellyfish, which, if true, could mean future problems for swimmers. 

The third day of the Komodo adventure continued to deliver, with a leisurely two-hour wait in Padar Bay before the hike up to the iconic viewpoint. The sky was a stunning, endless blue, but by then, we were all paying the price for the blazing sun: my back, in particular, had gone full lobster red, sunscreen be damned. To avoid further roasting, the crew (Tons, Chris, Felix, Andreas, Hugh and Caitlin) and I huddled under whatever shade the deck offered, chatting and killing time. Joining us were two Australian sisters, Casey and Tess. Casey was a bundle of energy, the kind of person whose humor and positivity are so contagious you can’t help but be pulled into her orbit.

Finally, at 4:30, the long-awaited moment arrived: the hike up Padar Island. Predictably, the trail was packed, but the crowds didn’t bother me. By this point, our group vibe was solid, we were like a little boat family, and the excitement carried us up the steep path. We hiked fast, determined to be the first ones to the top, and by the time we reached the viewpoint, we were drenched in sweat but triumphant.

The view was every bit as breathtaking as I’d imagined: Padar’s Jurassic Park-esque landscape, with its dramatic peaks and three pristine bays, stretched out like a scene from another planet. Even with the sun hiding behind a thick blanket of clouds, the rugged beauty was unreal. We claimed a spot and soaked it all in, snapping a few obligatory photos before being joined by the French crew.

As we started our descent, the sky shifted dramatically. One side of the bay was draped in moody, asphalt-grey clouds, while the opposite side glowed with a surreal yellow light. It was an incredible, unexpected contrast. I took it as nature’s way of apologizing for the missing sunset. We were the first ones up and the last ones down, savoring every second before returning to the boat.

The moment we were back on board, it was time to sail again, no lingering allowed. Dinner came and went, and then, as if on cue, the skies opened. A torrential rainstorm swept in, pounding the boat as we navigated through a choppy sea. Watching the rain from the deck was oddly calming, but I decided to take it up a notch: a shower in the rain, completely in the dark, surrounded by nothing but the sound of waves and the storm. It was raw, wild, and strangely empowering, one of those moments where you feel utterly connected to nature’s untamed power.

When the rain eased, we regrouped in the main cabin to escape the lingering drizzle. Someone broke out the cards, and soon we were deep into a round of Perudo, laughing and chatting as the storm faded into the background. By now, the group dynamic had reached its peak. Conversations turned deeper, touching on life, fears, and ambitions. Being surrounded by people so fearless, so open to whatever life threw their way, brought out a bittersweet nostalgia in me. Their carefree attitudes reminded me of who I was ten years ago: ready to leap into the unknown without hesitation. Somewhere along the way, I’d grown too cautious, too rooted, and that realization hit harder than I expected.

As the rain finally stopped, we made it to our next anchoring spot: the first night without sailing. It was quiet, almost still, but not without its share of drama: Carlos and Maria’s cabin got flooded during the downpour, and they were understandably livid.

By 11 PM, exhaustion hit, and we all turned in. I lay in bed with a swirl of emotions, joy, awe, and a touch of envy, lingering from the day. Padar Island’s wild beauty and the rain-soaked evening had cemented this day as unforgettable. It felt like stepping into wonderland, and for that, every sunburn, every wait, and every bit of sweat was worth it.

DAY 25 (26.11.24), 4th day Komodo trip, Day 4 -> Labuan Bajo

Woke up to a boat that wasn’t moving. Breakfast was Nutella pancakes, which felt like a solid morale booster to start the day. Afterward, we geared up for snorkeling at Manjarite Beach. Spoiler alert: there was no actual beach. Instead, we were ferried directly to the reef in a tiny boat, which felt a little absurd and mildly unsafe. What if something happened while the boat was off shuttling people around? I’m a good swimmer, so I wasn’t too concerned, but the whole situation had a questionable vibe.

Once in the water, though, things improved quickly. The reef was pristine, and there were vibrant fish everywhere, plus a sea turtle (adorable) and a few sea snakes (less so). But as more boats arrived, the place became a bit of a zoo: everyone chasing turtles, and some genius nearly stepped on one. What’s wrong with people?. That was my cue to swim back to the main boat, though, swimming through deep blue water with nothing but infinite depth below was a little unnerving. Respect for the ocean, always.

Next up was Pulau Kelor, a tiny island with a steep hill and a view that made it worth the climb. Crystal-clear waters, lush mainland in the distance, the whole picturesque scene. Some of us hiked up for panoramic shots while the others dove in to see if they could spot baby sharks. They delivered: white-tipped sharks gliding around, all smooth and effortless. I tried to film them, but my camera skills failed spectacularly. Eventually, I gave up and chilled on the beach with the others under makeshift stalls for shade.

After a while, it was back to the boat for our final meal (with the bonus of French fries, always a nice touch) as we headed towards our end destination: Labuan Bajo, a village on the western end of Flores. And then came the goodbyes. Initially, I wasn’t sure about the young crew, but by this point, they’d won me over.

 We capped it off with a quick smoothie hangout before Andreas and Caitlin headed to the airport.

Feeling sunburned and kind of gross after four days on the water, I made my way to my hostel, Green Hill. It was a cute, clean dorm with chill common areas: not the party vibe I was hoping to avoid. Took a cold shower, washed my underwear (desperation-level laundry), and relaxed before meeting Hugh. Except, Hugh wiped out on his scooter, so I scrapped sunset plans with him and Felix and decided to meet everyone for dinner instead. At this point, my body was telling me to take it easy.

Dinner was at Warung Brothers, recommended by our guide, Ajuna. The place was nearly empty but cozy, and the food was fantastic. Tuna sashimi? Absolute chef’s kiss. I also tried a cocktail with some sketchy local liquor that could allegedly nuke your stomach. I rolled the dice and survived. Afterward, we debated grabbing drinks elsewhere, but Ajuna warned us off the spot we’d been eyeing. Honestly, we were all too wrecked to rally. Four days on a boat will do that to you.

So, we called it a night, said our goodbyes again, and retreated to our hostels.

DAY 28 (27/11/24) KOMODO, Labuan Bajo

Woke up at the hostel and stumbled half-asleep into the attached restaurant, assuming breakfast was free. It wasn’t. Too groggy to care, I ordered coconut pancakes drenched in coconut syrup and a side of fresh fruit.  Showered, semi-awake, and armed with vague plans, I set out to explore Labuan Bajo.

Labuan Bajo is this charming little harbor town on the island of Flores, Indonesia. It’s touristy, sure, but not in that “Bali circus” way. Think dive shops, cozy cafes, and local homes, like a sleepy Mediterranean village with a tropical twist. My walk took me past the main strip to a quieter fish market area (which, of course, was closed in the morning) before I ran into Ajuna. He was heading off on another Komodo tour but gave me some solid tips for the day, which I mentally filed away.

Back at the hostel, I killed time at Carpenters, a café that felt suspiciously European: good coffee, cozy wooden interiors, and a vibe that said, “Stay a little longer.” Chris and Tons eventually surfaced, and we hashed out a plan over flat whites: rent a scooter, check out Mirror Cave, and see where the day took us. Scooters secured (a bargain at 75,000 IDR, slightly more than 4 euro), we hit the road under a humid, gray sky that teased rain but didn’t deliver.

First stop: Mirror Cave. The entrance fee included a mandatory guide, which felt unnecessary at first. But as we squeezed through narrow passages, dodging bats and admiring the stalactites, it became clear the guide was a good call. The cave gets its name from how sunlight reflects off the walls in the dry season, though no such magic on that day, it was still pretty cool in a damp, humid way. After an hour of spelunking, we emerged drenched in sweat and starving.

Enter Warung Tang in Gerang, a no-frills roadside eatery that ended up being one of the best food spots of the trip. The owner was a gem, patiently serving us while we devoured what felt like half her menu: spicy spare ribs, noodles, tempeh, tofu. Full and recharged, we hopped back on the scooters for the next adventure.

The ride north to Rangko Cave was an eye-opener. The farther we went, the poorer the surroundings got, shacks instead of houses, kids begging, goats scavenging among garbage. The harbor near the cave felt abandoned, save for a few boatmen and, of course, more goats. Negotiations ensued, and we managed to haggle the steep boat fee down to something more reasonable. Off we went.

Rangko Cave was… eerie. Picture pitch-dark chambers lit only by headlamps, water so clear it glowed an electric blue, and bats fluttering overhead. It was just the three of us, which added to the surreal, slightly unsettling vibe. After some swimming, exploring, and even an impromptu naked photo shoot (don’t ask), we headed back, feeling oddly bonded by the whole experience.

The ride back to Labuan Bajo was a twilight cruise through humid air. Once freshened up, we regrouped for dinner with Felix, who’d spent the day diving. The plan was to hit the fish stalls by the harbor, but they turned out overpriced and sketchy, so we settled for a local warung serving solid, if unremarkable, Indonesian staples. My nasi goreng hit the spot, but the real highlight was the bittersweet feeling of knowing the goodbyes were coming.

Felix and I capped the night with gelato at a random French ice cream spot. It was oddly touching how everyone made an effort to say goodbye to me, sharing heartfelt compliments. It’s not something you notice in the grind of everyday life, but on this trip, I realized how much of an impact I’d had on these people, and they on me. Back at the hostel, I lay awake, restless with the weight of goodbyes and the looming end of the adventure.

DAY 29 (28.11.24) KOMODO, Labuan Bajo -> BALI, Uluwatu

The day began early with a pancake-coffee-fresh-fruit combo at the hostel’s restaurant. Peaceful, quiet, and unassuming, just what I needed before the quick, uneventful 10-minute scooter ride to the adorable little airport. Everything went smoothly, and soon I was back in Bali, landing in Denpasar.

From the airport, I grabbed another scooter to Uluwatu, where the chaos truly began. The ride was a rollercoaster: gray skies overhead, the driver zigzagging through traffic, overtaking cars like it was a sport, and even hopping onto the pavement when the roads became impossible. Welcome to Uluwatu, I guess.

Eventually, I arrived at Home Bience Hostel, a simple and cute spot run by a lovely local family. Sweet as they were, the location was frustratingly inconvenient: Uluwatu is so spread out that no matter where you stay, you’ll feel like you’re a 30-minute scooter ride from anywhere. My check-in wasn’t until 2 p.m., so I decided to kill time with a haircut. Big mistake. The barber wielded thinning scissors like he was chopping down a forest, leaving me looking like a scarecrow.

Once checked in, I rented a scooter (a steal at 70,000 IDR) and headed south. My first stop: Semboja Coffee and Eatery, a trendy spot where I had a flat white and a European-style brunch. Delicious, but also my first hint that Uluwatu was significantly pricier and way more geared toward Western tourists than other parts of Bali.

Fueled up, I embarked on a frustrating hunt for a surf school. Google Maps promised they existed; reality said otherwise. After a lot of aimless driving, I gave up and went to Melasti Beach, one of Uluwatu’s most famous beaches. It was beautiful (long stretches of sand, dramatic cliffs) but it also screamed mass tourism. Think Russian families and fully-clothed Asian swimmers everywhere. I strolled, tanned for a bit, but quickly got bored and moved on.

Next, I aimed for the Uluwatu Temple to catch the sunset. I missed the iconic Kecak dance but could hear the performers chanting, which was hauntingly beautiful. The temple itself was packed, and the cheeky monkeys roaming everywhere added a layer of chaos. I watched them rob tourists of sunglasses, phones, and hats, all while signs explicitly warned against bringing those items. People really don’t learn.

The sunset was decent, not mind-blowing, but pretty enough to make the visit worthwhile. From there, I wanted dinner and headed toward central Uluwatu, which turned out to be painfully hipster. It’s all surfers, backpackers, and smoothie bowls. Authentic? Not really. But hey, it has its vibe.

Still annoyed about my surf school failures, I decided to try dinner at Kelly’s warung on Bingin Beach. What Google didn’t warn me about was the steep, pitch-black hike down the cliff to get there. Exhausted, I eventually arrived to find people grilling and dining by the waves. The setting was stunning, but my overpriced tofu poke bowl was underwhelming, and the place was closing as I finished.

On the hike back up, I got lost and ran into two Croatians, Nika and Domi. Domi and I hit it off instantly and exchanged Instagrams before parting ways.

Then came the dreadful scooter ride back to the hostel. Traffic was relentless, and I had to pull some daredevil moves to make it through. By the time I reached the hostel, I was over it. I looked up Domi’s accommodation back on Bingin Beach and messaged the owner. Yes, it was €40 a night, an absurd splurge compared to what I’d been paying, but with two days left of my holiday, I figured it was time to treat myself.

Before bed, I chatted with a few hostel mates: Stefano, an Italian tattoo artist living in Australia; Martina, another Italian expat; and Alexis, a Corsican surfer. Nice people, but I was too tired to socialize properly. Sleep was calling.

DAY 30 (29/11/24) BALI, Uluwatu 

I woke up to the sound of torrential rain hammering down, a comforting excuse to stay in bed a bit longer. Eventually, I dragged myself out and went for breakfast at the hostel: pancakes and fruit, yet again. Stefano joined me and we had a nice chat. I shared some tips for his Bali plans, which felt good.

I wavered for a while about switching accommodations. By now, I’d connected with a few people, and the social vibe was picking up, but ultimately, I knew I didn’t want to spend my last two days in such a plain and uninspiring spot. Decision made.

As the rain finally subsided and the sky cleared, I hopped on my scooter and headed to Garuda Wisnu Kencana Cultural Park, home to three enormous statues. The largest one, visible even from the airport, was undeniably impressive, but the park itself had a bit of a tourist-trap energy. They’ll turn just about anything into an attraction here. I ended up buying a wooden barong carving (the good spirit in Balinese culture), which was painted using burned macadamia nuts. Cool, but was it worth 500k IDR (29 euro)? Probably not, and I couldn’t help but wonder what possessed me to splurge like that.

I returned to the hostel, packed up, and said my goodbyes to Stefano and the others before grabbing a Grab to Stiky II, my new accommodation near Bingin Beach. The walk down from the car park was steep, but as soon as I saw the place, I knew it was worth every step. Perched on the cliff with open terraces and panoramic ocean views, it was exactly the retreat I’d been craving. My top-floor room was stunning, and Yulia, the host, was incredibly warm and welcoming.

I went for lunch at Warung Sally, a very simple beachside spot, and as I made my way back, I bumped into Domi. We ended up chatting on the terrace, and the conversation flowed effortlessly. He suggested going for a swim, and I invited him to join me later for a vinyasa flow yoga class at THE Space. Throughout our chat, there were subtle hints about our sexualitiesn, paired with a few lingering glances.

After lounging on the beach for too long, we rushed to yoga. The instructor, a striking but slightly aloof German woman, led a class so intense I was drenched in sweat within minutes. I stole a few glances at Domi, who hadn’t done yoga in years but was pushing himself to keep up. At the end of the session, the instructor assumed we were a couple, which threw another hint of where our connection was leading.

Domi had to leave for the Uluwatu Temple show he’d booked, so I walked back to the beach house as the golden hour bathed everything in warm light. I grabbed a fresh coconut and strolled along the beach, snapping pictures of the coastline and the silhouettes of beachgoers against the glowing horizon. Back on the terrace, I lit a clove cigarette, played some music, and watched the sky transform into a stunning canvas of colors.

I half-expected a message from Domi, but when none came, I ventured out for dinner at Drifters, a surf shop-meets-restaurant that oozed charm. The tuna steak was perfectly cooked, and the caramel-chocolate dessert a proper joy. Just as I was finishing, Domi messaged me. His phone wasn’t charging because of water damage, which explained the delay.

We met outside a supermarket, joined by Nika. The three of us hung out spätkauf-style, chatting about past relationships, their recent trip to Malaysia, and the challenges of being queer in our respective countries. The conversation was fun, and by 2 a.m., I was ready to call it a night.

As the day unfolded, the tension between Domi and I built up to something inevitable. When we finally found ourselves alone, it was clear there was a deep, unspoken connection. 

We showered then smoked cigarettes as the waves crashed on the shore below us. I felt completely at peace in that moment. For the first time in a long time, my guard was down, and I could just enjoy the moment for what it was, aware it was fleeting, but no less meaningful.

By then, exhaustion had caught up with me. I kissed him goodnight and finally retreated to my cozy, beautiful room, feeling like I’d ended the day exactly where I was meant to be.

DAY 31 (30.11.24) Uluwatu, BALI

My final full day in Uluwatu didn’t exactly kick off as planned. After collapsing into bed at 4 a.m., I had ambitiously set an alarm for 9 a.m. for a surfing class with Domi and Nika at Bingin Beach. But instead of the alarm, torrential rain pounding the terrace woke me. Cozy, sure, but also frustrating: it was my last day. Coffee in hand, I sulked on the terrace, waiting for the downpour to let up. Spoiler: It didn’t. Three coffees and too many Instagram stories later (yes, me in underwear, coffee, and clove cigarettes was a vibe), I finally accepted that surfing was not happening.

Domi eventually woke up: very sick and 100% a textbook example of a man flu victim. Feverish, nauseous, and apologetically helpless, he refused meds (“no chemicals”), so I helped him extend his checkout and later dragged him up the hill to catch a Grab. We hugged goodbye, he was clearly too ill for more plans, and promised to meet in Europe someday.

With rain still lingering, I pivoted to Plan B: pamper myself. I hit Dorsey’s Barbershop (highly rated, and thankfully, much better than the disaster haircut from a few days before). The barber did his best with what little hair I had left to work with. Feeling semi-human again, I headed to Grey Spa Bali for a second Balinese massage. This one was lighter and more relaxing than my Ubud experience, though my thighs, weirdly, couldn’t handle the pressure. Post-massage, freshly showered and zen, I realized I hadn’t eaten all day.

Cue Milk & Madu, a Western brunch spot in Uluwatu. delicious but overpriced and not exactly local. The crowd? Peak hipster surfers. I didn’t linger. Instead, I made my way to Padang Padang Beach, one of Uluwatu’s must-sees. Tiny, crowded, and more about the vibe than the sand, it was hosting a stunning Hindu ceremony. Locals in white sarongs and blouses, offerings, music. It felt communal, sacred, and so Bali.

Next stop: Nyang Nyang Beach, a more remote spot in southern Uluwatu. The hike down was steep and solo (locals zipped by on scooters), but the payoff was worth it. Fewer tourists, pristine sands, and crashing waves greeted me. The sun teased golden hour through the clouds, but the sunset was underwhelming. Still, a peaceful walk and some solo introspection made it worth it.

Getting back was an adventure. My Grab driver, a nervous and slow scooter rider, seemed lost, veering through dodgy backroads and potholes. I clung on for dear life and was beyond relieved when he finally dropped me at the Bingin Beach car park.

Back at the accommodation, I met Julia, a surfer from Hamburg who invited me to dinner. We wandered to a nearby spot and shared dumplings and my final taste of Indonesian cuisine, a duck dish called Betutu. It was tender, rich, and cinnamon-laced perfection. Over a Bintang beer, we talked languages, traveling, and life.

The day ended on the terrace, overlooking the stormy ocean, rain and wind howling as lightning lit the sky. As I packed for home, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for this month in Bali. Yes, it was a day of goodbyes and “lasts,” but it also felt like a perfect, bittersweet closing chapter.

DAY 32 (1.12.24)  Singapore

After waking up to yet another rainy, gray morning in Uluwatu, I quickly abandoned my scooter-to-the-airport dreams. Not getting drenched before three flights and an 11-hour layover seemed like the better plan, so I summoned a Grab car instead. After saying goodbyes to Yulia, my kind host, and Julia, the surfer from Hamburg, I was on my way to Bali’s airport, picking up some final essentials (read: clove cigarettes) en route. My driver navigated through traffic with surprising skill, and I arrived on time, dry and ready to shop for overpriced Luwak coffee at the airport.

The first flight to Singapore was blissfully uneventful. Once I landed, I figured out the luggage-drop situation, lathered on sunscreen and decided to make my way (with public transports this time) to Chinatown. This neighborhood hit me with a mix of traditional charm and modern chaos: the bustling Buddha Tooth Relic Temple, a hawker center full of delicious-smelling food I couldn’t buy because no one takes cards, and quirky streets lined with shophouses dwarfed by skyscrapers. After grabbing a lemonade to stave off dehydration, I wandered over to the Sri Mariamman Temple and the Taoist Tian Hock Keng Temple, where my non-vegetarian lifestyle barred me from entry.

Starving and desperate, I returned to Lau Pa Sat, the hawker haven I had first visited weeks earlier. The braised duck and fish laksa were divine, but the unexpected star of the meal? The coconut water. Ironic, given it was my last on this trip.

From there, I embarked on a brisk 40-minute walk to a rooftop bar called El Chido, following a recommendation from a fellow traveler in Ubud. After navigating the hotel’s confusing access system, I might have lied my way in. (Look, they asked if I was a guest, and I figured, sure, today I am.) A quick change into my Speedo later, I was swimming in an infinity pool overlooking Marina Bay as the sunset transformed the cityscape into a glittering spectacle.

When a $30 cocktail menu threatened my budget, I politely excused myself, claiming I’d be back post-shower. Spoiler: I wasn’t. Instead, I rushed to the Marina Bay Sands and Gardens by the Bay for a final, magical stroll among dazzling lights and futuristic architecture. The water show at Marina Bay and the glow of the “supertrees” at the Gardens were worth every drop of sweat (and trust me, there were many).

As time slipped away, I darted back to Changi Airport, only to be caught in a Scoot airline glitch that had me panicking unnecessarily. Picture me, running around the airport like a lunatic, backpack swinging, thinking I’d missed my flight. Spoiler #2: I hadn’t. The flight was delayed (of course) and I eventually boarded for the grueling 13-hour journey back to Europe.

Athens brought a 30-minute layover, and, after three hours, I was landing in Berlin. From tropical tank tops to double sweaters, jeans, and two pairs of socks, I stepped into the harsh 2-degree reality of Germany.

Despite the temperature shock, I’d returned determined to carry Bali’s sunshine in my soul and the motto:

“Berlin, you won’t dull my glow: this time, I’m shining from the inside.”

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Canon EOS 300, Kodak Gold 200 (35)

Miranda Sensomat RE, Fuji 400 (35)