Two separate, potentially untrustworthy single caucasian 30-something males told me Canggu was a "must see" during my 2 months in Bali. One is a Chief Culture Officer (appointer of aforementioned title to remain undisclosed), the other, I don't even know. Travels a lot. Needless to say - I blindly listen after after hearing catch phrases like "the vibes are very vibey" or "very Australian in terms of 23 year-olds" and take no heed in booking an incredible surf joglo a 5 minute walk from Echo Beach.
Day 1
It is pouring violently as we head to bachelor's paradise. We weave through traffic, with a 13 year-old driving (he has two children and a wife). The scene is lawless - oversized loads of shrimp chips on motorbikes coughing plumes of exhaust, children without helmets tucked in front of one or two parents on a scooter. Zero regard for lane dividers. Josée is yelping in the back with each lane change until we get to the promise land.
Waiting for our villa to be ready, we park it at the very sweet, very healthy (which it turns out is every. single.) restaurant, The Flow, and start deciding how we are going to navigate basically this entire trip in terms of risk. Water arrives at the table with ice in it. Absolutely parched and disgusting from 27 hours of travel… we look at it. We order something that comes with fruit, that could have touched a knife that probably touched water. We look at that. We have the store owner, Made, kindly offer to lock up our bags in storage so we can go enjoy ourselves at the beach - and we look at each other. At some point I authorize this plan - we can't lose precious beach hours. From there, the reigns loosen. We take a walk down the beach and pop into La Brisa as a first stop. Think … Surf Lodge, but for Bali. Tassled umbrellas, neutral and blush tones, a cream based Swiss Robinson Family ship wreck aesthetic excpt every patron looks like a cocaine dealer. We order kombucha and a fresh coconut, looking out at the ocean, and chat up some Aussies who show us the ropes (ice with holes in it - o.k.).
People watching is fabulous and those in Canggu are generally gorgeous - but in a dangerous, tanned, toned, tattooed kind of way. Long hair. You must. Josée will describe these beauties as ones who "look like they don't call their mothers," which is shorthand for me not being able to check them out anymore. We head back to check in to our CUTE PLACE, have a ceremonial beer in the pool, and then grab one of our favorite vegan farmers plate salads and fresh passion juice at Kinoa down the road. It overlooks tall waves of rice paddies and plays Diana Krall. A violent but warm monsoon storm hits unexpectedly, leaks surface, and people scatter… and get on SCOOTERS????!!!!!! We scoff in disbelief, wait out the storm, and retreat home with its break. I have another dip, and amongst a jet lagged exhaustion, have an absolute moment in the pool, where second to second, the surface of the water is changing almost instantly. I've never seen anything like this. One moment it appears to be boiling, then peppered, then rippling, then wavey. It's physically pushing me around with the wind changing directions. You can barely tell the difference from the temperature of the water to the air and the feeling is unusual and incredible. It thunders and Josée tells me I have to get out. After this strange, jet lagged epiphany, I commit mentally that it's time for me to get back into water, just generally. It's where I'm my best. I have two and a half months to make this happen.
Ambien, bed at 6pm, up at 3:30am.
Day 2
"I look like your lesbian aunt."
I've instructed my mother to put on sneakers and work out clothes (which in her case happens to be - board shorts?? why. During the edit of this she has informed me they are "bermuda's! CHANGE IT." but this is my story to tell) to head to CRATE cafe, an influencer's paradise and epicenter of cool. This out is an attempt to kindddd of get a work out in but ultimately fashion myself a loose-ended bop around town. We get to the cafe and the place is an oasis - soul funk pouring out from the open air set-up, gigantic fans and art exhibit nooks, communal tables over looking you guessed it more rice fields, and seemingly endless HEALTH FOOD OPTIONS! We steal a Russian baby named Ana (not true - the mother just gives her to us "Did you ask for this? " "Nope.") and Josee loves it, and because the beautiful Russian family does not speak English, we chat with Mick the Londoner for some incredible local intel. We wrap up and retail for open back tops and woven purses, and eventually 90 minute massages for like… $30? La Brisaaaggaaaainn for great sushi and cocktails and then we are TIRED and HOT so we lay out at home, make some mixed drinks by the pool, and enjoy the house. Take out (SALADS - via Gojek delivery) and chill.
Day 3
I commit to further health by walking myself to the glorified stretching that is free rooftop yoga. As someone with minimal flexibility but proficiency strength-wise, I consider myself somehow above yoga which is the WRONG ATTITUDE FOR BALI and with some light self reflection I realize that I I truly truly do appreciate the centering experience and also meditation part at the end. At one point I look over and someone is… filming. WHY. I leave when its done but don't say bye, which I don't feel great about, and meet mom at Kinoa for our veg plates. We make friends with a beautiful Dutch/ Brazilian couple who fell in love in the club (fr fr) and traveled together and their story is so great and my faith in humanity feels strong. I am instructed to find a husband from the Netherlands for maximum wokeness and to attend the cherry blossom festival in Japan. I agree blindly to both. I will also mention that this type of environment is where Josée shines, talking to strangers and learning their stories, and it is a dream to watch the conversation ping pong without much effort on my part. She will often ask questions that I will never thing to ask. She is good to travel with.
During our post-lunch beachfront walk, Josée sees many open lounge chairs at COMO beach club. We pop in. They have ocean-front daybeds suspended from the ceiling under thatched branch roofing where just enough sun gets through. They are a napper's paradise. Josée gets a book out, and doesn't really speak to me the rest of the day.
I watch a gorgeous Australian couple with a family of four and their special needs child. He is darling, they are so beautiful and laughing all the time with each other and with him. I study them and try to figure out their story, but can't - the husband comes in and out with a surfboard, they enjoy poolside cocktails, the wife has brilliant style. I just adore them. They are relaxed and happy. The boy comes to push my swing chair, the mother urges him back sweetly with two hands on his shoulders. I wish she hadn't.
I have a couple cocktails and decide it's time to go into the wild - to negotiate with some street vendors for a hat. Before I relay my tips and tricks for successful international street vendor negotiation - I will say that proudly work from 300,000 rupiah to 112,000 aka "all I have" which was a LIE!!!! For this master class, first, I recommend going with someone to play out a good cop bad cop scenario - It's where your story telling can really come to life. If you are alone like me you must adjust on the fly. BUT HAVE FUN.
Step 1 : Ask for the price. Whatever they tell you, you have to laugh at them. You will absolutely not pay that, not for this. Don't give your price right away. Your next few minutes should be deciding what that is. BUILD TENSION.
Step 2 : Get a name of who you are dealing with. USE IT. Tell some kind of a story, use their name a bunch - where you will use this hat, why you want it. Get some background on them - nobody wants to actually hear about you.
Step 3: While story time is goin' down - start trying on the piece. BRING IT TO LIFE. I don't think this helps with you getting a screamin' deal by any means because now they know you look bangin' and probably want it now more than ever, but it's so much more fun if you turn this into an absolute mayhem via a public fashion show. It almost always gets laughs. If its a lady, I make her dress me with it, or put it on herself. Tell her she looks amazing. But you both know…. You really want this hat. Am I bad at this, guys?
Step 4 : Name your price. They know you now. Everyone is friends, you've gotten huge laughs, they want to see you win. In terms of anchoring, I always just stick with my original price. I think you are supposed to meet in the middle but I'm not about that life, and def not on this unemployment budgie. If you don't get your price by now, you need to pull out the big guns and either a) make them feel bad that you don't have a boyfriend to buy this for you b) say it's ALL YOU HAVE or c) walk away, and hope they chase after you. You can always go back with your tail between your legs later if you can't stop thinking about it.
Step 5 : ENJOY YOUR PURCHASE!!!!!!!!!!! Wear it out of the storefront if you can. Wink and blow a kiss.
Note: haggling for stuff is exhausting so don't make a day of this like Emma and I did that one time in Kenya and thought we were gonna die.
I come back with my SICK HAT, Josée cares kind of, and a band of cute nerds who cover John Mayer in a beachy dream-pop way kick up a tune. I like them and am giving them direct feedback after almost every song, so Mom says its okay that we stay and listen to them through dinner.
Day 4
This day is tough for me because I wanted to see manta rays and be on a boat and got only one of those things. They did throw in a surprise jellyfish tour free of charge that were sooooo cute but also pretty painful. I also DID get to see a manta ray, but it snuck up behind me in the water because it was actually just a black trash back floating in the ocean. We hit a few power locations on the island, to get out of our comfort zone and see some sights - which were absolutely beautiful, but I did learn that I don't like doing too much stuff in one day, especially not in the heat. And also because I'm an Enneagram 4 "Individualist," I really hate doing anything else a lot of people are doing (unless they appear to be individualists also, or cooler than me, which is a rarity). I was also troubled by this day because the influence was off the damned charts, and I don't know how these bloggies do it. Location, shots. New location, new shots. Outfits hair make up truly almost saw someone die getting the picture. A ride home where Josee and I are counting the minutes to get in a pool, barely able to hold a conversation with our driver. We are glad we got that day out of the way, to learn our lesson, and make a pact to never say yes to tourism again.
Day 5
It's our last day here, and in effort to properly exorcise tourism and influence from every fiber of my being (a fool's errand), I settle on a good sweat and head out the door with my jumprope. I run up the beach and land at Old Man's, where I see coffee cups and beer bottles and cigarettes that have to belong to people who are still awake, out there, somewhere. It is hot, hot, hot heat.
I wrap up after 20 minutes, swing by a bar to check the score of the Super Bowl, and finish my run to CRATE. I down a passion fruit smoothie (so bomb, so excellent), look in the mirror at the tomato looking back at me, and head back to a table to wait for my order. I feel a hand on my shoulder and see beautiful baby Ana's beautiful Russian mom from two days before, who asks if I want to come sit with them. I agree to, absolutely flattered, and then quickly realize these people have SPOKEN FLUENT ENGLISH THIS WHOLE TIME ???!!!! I feel scammed but also empowered by the Russian's ability to keep powerful secrets and also their determination to not engage in conversation they truly don't want to be in, especially with a lesbian and her questionable niece, but also then in turn recruit them for pro bono childcare? It's an iconic move. I return to a pleasant memory of the one time someone thought I was Russian in an Inner Richmond Russian market, and gave me my total in Russian, which I quickly made out by looking at the cash register and gave to them exact change without speaking a word to them (which is SO Russian), and as far as I know, they may still think to this day that I am, in fact, Russian. It still delights me in ways I cannot describe.
After some truly warming conversation with them, I run back a to-go salad for Josée with an hour left before check out. It is completely wilted. I jump in the pool, with steam coming off me as I do - it's all still too hot, and Josée brings me a FULL CUP OF SAUV BLANC we need to finish before check out. It's absolutely delicious and gone in 4 minutes. I remember feeling at this time I should have been drinking water but am absolutely refreshed now and absolutely buzzed so I absolutely do not. A tale as old as time with pain and pleasure, I feel fantastic now but will certainly not later. Within 3 hours I am dry heaving into a bidet toilet because I have effectively given myself HEAT STROKE which Josée now HAS TOO.
Or also we could be pregnant, because "this is how morning sickness feels, by the way."
A true bachelor's paradise.
A 1.5 hour drive later, we land in Uluwatu.