Written on March 29th:

This is Putu. He is one of the employees at the guesthouse at which I stayed in Pemuteran.

After I returned from my experience with the Balinese family on the beach, I sat and talked to Putu. His response to my awe over the hospitality I had just received was kind: “It is the energy you put out, Annette.” We have similar thoughts on the power of loving energy.

I talked to Putu about his life. His twentieth birthday was the same day as the Galungan Festival. He spent his days during childhood helping local fishermen remove fish from their nets. For his assistance, he received a bucket or two of fish. His mother would wake up at four AM the next morning to sell the fish at the market. This is how Putu had enough money to go to school. He now gives most of the money he makes to his mother. “Mothers,” he said, “are the world’s greatest gift.”

Putu was genuinely inspiring to me. At the risk of sounding totally cliche, he had me in tears with his story. He is so young, but so determined, so perceptive, and so sincerely kind. We shared a beautiful hug as I left the hotel, and told each other to continue spreading the love.

I want to take a blog moment to thank all of the mothers in my life. I have an amazing mother, Paula, who continues to teach me compassion, strength, and humility. I also have a global team of mothers in my life who have helped me grow and learn, mothers in Spain, Chile, San Diego, Berkeley, Miami, even Bali. I am so thankful for the women in my life, who continue to show me wisdom and grace.

So is Putu.

Written on March 26th:

I am writing from a tiny hut in northern Bali, in a small diving town called Pemuteran. It is 10:13 PM, the sun set long ago, and I am filled with gratitude. Today was one of my most spiritually awakening days on my trip through Asia, and I feel compelled to write about the kindness that I experienced in the past few hours alone.

I said goodbye to Monica, Jessica, and Sara this morning in Ubud. Monica and Jessica headed back to California; Sara went west to a small beach town (no diving) to spend a week relaxing. I was excited to experience the northern part of Bali, a far less traversed area, and ready to spread as much positive energy as possible.

Wayan, a driver I met yesterday who agreed to drive me the four hours to Pemuteran for half of the normal fee, was early. I surprised him by sitting in the front seat, and we spent the ride talking about our lives. He loves taking pictures, has several jobs (like many people in Bali), and lives with his mother, father, sister, and grandmother, all of whom have never left Bali. He was convinced that I must be a lesbian, as I have no boyfriend, and assured me that he will not tell the government about my (assumed) relationships with women. Indonesia isn’t very gay friendly, apparently. We stopped twice. The first time, we stopped at an overlook of Lake Beratan, rolled our own cigarettes, and drank tea.

I used the restroom (the hut with the hole in the ground, rather) in the house of the person who sold us the tea; in the backyard, there was a cock fighting arena. The man of the house proudly showed me the roosters. When I asked the names of the birds, he showed me their feathers; they tell the roosters apart by dying their wings. He thinks Green is the best rooster. If I were a better (and had less empathy for the roosters), my money would have been on Yellow.

We visited a monkey forest the other day in Ubud, but I didn’t realize until today that all of Bali is just that. Our drive took us over volcanos, alongside rice terraces, through jungle, and past innumerable monkeys on the side of the road. Our next stop was at the roadside stand of Wayan’s friend’s parents. They gave us wine infused rice and smiled broadly when I ate the entire plate (which took strong will on my end). I listened to Wayan tell me about the decorations that are in front of each Balinese Hindu house. Tomorrow is a celebration day for Hindus, during which families celebrate the victory of good over evil.

When we arrived in Pemuteran, which is really just a small collection of home-stays and dive shops along a black-sand lined ocean, I said goodbye to Wayan – who was excited to be my Facebook friend – and hello to Putu, the young man who has been taking care of me at my guesthouse. Putu and I have already jammed out on the rindik, which is the Balinese xylophone that I played with Nyoman during our cooking course.

I took a walk on the beach a couple of hours ago. Balinese people said hello from their homes, grinning at me as I passed. I replied with sincere greetings and soon enough, a Balinese woman struck up a conversation with me and invited me into her home.

At first, it was hard to be trusting. Why would this woman possibly invite me into her family’s space? I was only wearing a bathing suit; she couldn’t possibly think that I had anything to give her. I forgot my hesitation, and went with the natural, loving energy I felt. I spent an hour sitting on the floor of Bitan’s stone home, drawing with her daughter Ani, laughing at language difficulties with her son, Tony, drinking Balinese coffee, and asking Bitan as many questions as possible using drawings to help us communicate. She married her husband when she was 15, after she met him at the local mosque. Ani, who is 16, wants to work in management, although drawing is her real passion. Tony works on a dive boat, and spends his free time volunteering as a reef gardener, protecting the local reef from tourists and locals alike. When I told Bitan I had to leave, she showered me with Balinese jewelry – elaborate, handmade bracelets and necklaces – and hugged me tight. There were tears in my eyes, and in hers. It was one of the most genuine and meaningful experiences I have had abroad.

I didn’t think my day could get much better, until I got back to my guesthouse after dark and Putu suggested I accompany him to the local temple for the festival celebration. I quickly donned my sarong and set out, dodging motorbikes and potholes as I walked down narrow dirt pathways, passing excited families dressed in white. The temple was filled with hundreds of Hindus, playing rindiks, eating carvinal food, dancing, all under a giant, glowing full moon.

Crowds of people swarmed the area of the temple where offerings were being given to Shiva (destroyer of ego), while smartly dressed ‘security guards’ blocked sacred doorways and attempted to ensure a stampede would not occur. I made eye contact with one of the security guards, who smiled and beckoned me to come stand with him underneath the primary temple doorway. His name was Made, and we talked about death. “I’m not afraid of death,” he said in a calm tone, “because Shiva already has a plan for each of us. And my death, and the death of all things, is necessary to maintain balance in the universe.”

After dancing with a couple of little children to the chiming sounds of the rindik, I walked home, feeling charged. I took a shower outside, underneath the full moon. I am so grateful for all that the universe showed me today, and for what it shows me every day, in Bali and beyond: love, death, kindness, and hope.

Written on March 25th:

There is so much to write, I must confine myself to a list of the occurrences thus far in Bali:

1) Monica Myrmo, my dear friend from high school, and Jess Cometa, her fabulous roommate, spent ten blissful days with Sara and me.  This is them trying a fish spa, something that Sara and I tried in Bangkok.

2) Kuta is an awful place on the west coast of Bali, filled with Australians wreaking havoc. The mushrooms, however, are fresh.

3) Beware the Snatch Thief: On the walk home from a bar in Kuta, down a relatively dark, narrow, cobblestone street, a motorbike drove by carrying two men. The man on the back grabbed my purse, which was across my body, and somehow got it off of me. By some miracle, I forcibly turned into his arm, and he dropped my bag. I yelled some profanities (gosh, is this becoming a habit?), grabbed my bag off of the ground, and made eye contact with the guy on the back as they drove off. I probably imagined a sheepish look in his eye. I love my purse, and its contents, more than ever.

4) Nusa Lembongan, an island off of the east coast of Bali, is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. So beautiful, in fact, that I am returning in three days to spend a few days getting my advanced diver certificate in paradise.

5) Plastic sucks.

6) Mantas rock.

7) I overcame my fears following my crash in Thailand, and successfully roamed the entirety of Lembongan Island with the girls, on two motorized wheels, passing under jungle trees and stopping at various pristine beaches along the way.

8) Ubud is filled with temples, organic restaurants, and rich Balinese culture. I was lucky enough to be in Bali for the Galungan festival; homes are decorated with bamboo poles called penjor, and Balinese Hindus celebrate the victory of dharma (good) over adharma (evil).

9) We enjoyed a cooking course that took us outside of Bali, to the market and rice fields of Tangkup Village. We picked vegetables (tapioca, lemongrass, chili peppers, to name a few) with Nyoman on his family’s land, and spent the day cooking Balinese food over an outdoor, wood-burning stove. I now have two recipe books from my trip, both of which I plan on using extensively in California.

10) We ate breakfast on the crater of Mount Batur, and spent a day biking seventeen miles down the volcano, stopping at little villages to try Balinese coffee, tea, and tobacco.

11) Monica, Jess, and I convinced the eight people who were part of our biking tour group to visit Pura Tirta Emple, the “water temple,” on the way back to Ubud from the volcano. It started pouring tropical rain as we arrived. I walked around the temple sans umbrella, breathing deeply and grinning from ear to ear as I became more and more drenched. Monica and I shared a moment in the temple’s cleansing pool, bathing in sacred water as the rain poured over us, that will remain one of the most spiritually cleansing and empowering moments of my life.

12) In Ubud’s Monkey Forest, I got peed on by a monkey. Cue R. Kelly joke.

13) Sara, Monica, and I went river rafting through jungle mountains. There were no release forms, and the guide encouraged us to ride down the rapids outside of the boat. After my first try, during which my helmet came off, I realized this was nuts. I cheered Monica and Sara on as they attempted (in vain) to protect their tailbones.

14) We watched an amazing band – Cooltones – on our last night in Ubud. They played all of my favorites – the Stones, Jimi, Clapton – and rocked it. Jess got up and sang Santana. She’s my hero.

15) I love my friends. They really are amazing.