Ubud was where we generally got a grip on things by substituting sweltering heat for jurassic mosquitos. I am kidding. Ubud is absolutely beautiful. It's the spiritual center of Bali, with a richer culture and deeper roots. As you head for the mountains, you watch temples age in double time and the forest swallow everything in sight. Ancient Bayan trees are as tall as Sequoias, leaves are as big as a car door. It feels a bit like a lost city, or legends of the hidden temple.
We walk seven minutes on individual stepping stones to get to our villa - past temple fronts with of pink and violet petaled offerings, and gigantic fanned palms. Incense burn everywhere. We are now in Penestenan, a lost village tucked amongst flooded paddy fields and valleys of untouched forest, with sheered off walk ways 20 feet above jungle floor, revealing empty foundation beneath. You can hear conversations had over tea in backyards, the sound of water fountains, and the hum of bugs. It is warm here.
Our open air villa is out of a book, with etched Balinese teak panelings in rust and teal detailing. Tropical fruit is on the table and breakfast is served every day - house made yogurt, day-pickled cucumbers, guava jam with fresh toast, feta omelettes. Dogs and cats wander in freely. You wash your clothes in the outdoor bath, and loose some pieces. Nothing dries. I will come home to California and look at a Bali book left lovingly in my room, and find a write up about this one of a kind iconic location on page 125. I had no idea…
Once we settle, we have cocktails and a bite at The Elephant, a spectacular vegetarian restaurant of deep emeralds and a tropical British colonial aesthetic. We wolf down everything. You get so focused on the heat that you forget about the hunger. We wander in to get couples massages at a local spa, wrap up with sweet ginger tea overlooking a field, and a warm welcome by every mosquito in the nation. I bank 8 hits the first night. I'll be at 35 when we leave - they get through deet, clothing, all of it. We head to Pacha Mama and make friends with the head chef and owner, Alejandro, who is magnificent and getting on a boat to a private island for the weekend with 40 people. The local lifestyle is… incredible. We will be taking tequila shots and sharing a dance to live music a few weeks from now.
One morning, before it gets hot, we take a quieter rice paddy walk and are joined by a surprise guest of a tiger-striped dog we call "Tony." He guides us for the entirety of the walk. This is something Char and I had happen to us in Costa Rica, except it was a 3 hour jaunt and then this enormous bull mastiff literally just ran off into the sunset and then we worried about him the rest of the evening. We'll find him back home in his drive way the next day, cool as a cucumber. I think Tony is kind of a dick but lovable. He never lets us pet him (I mean, we also don't know his real name) but has ears that bounce when he runs. Mom says he reminds her of Caden (she is also definitely missing Caden). We part with him at the half way mark while we refresh over soursop juice. Ten minutes into our return, he bounds out to greet us from a rice field for the proper escort home.
We get to know our local masseuse, Jampi, who is tremendous and we enlist for daily home massages for the remainder of our trip. As our sessions progress and we graduate in pressure thresholds, we will agree that Jampi might actually be trying to kill us with acute pressure and asphyxiation. The kinks in my neck do dissipate, however.
One day in particular, that we both agree was our best, was during a tropical rainstorm. It is rainy season in Bali currently (no spring, summer, winter, fall - just rainy and dry) - and a good rain means it's a pass day. You don't have to do anything - just to be in the house, listening to the rain on all the surfaces and enjoy how fabulous your warm, tanned, dewey skin looks. When I passed this piece by my mom for an edit, we both pulled out our phones and played the recordings for each other that we had separately taken that day. It really is that lovely.
I start my outdoor bath with a quick rinse, watching the drain swallow the worms and leaves that had taken my sock and $22 Hanky Pankys the day before. I hear the furnace ignite to warm the water like a car engine, something that happens out there but not here. Tiny plants are coiled and growing around the faucet, a gentle reminder that nature will always win. Once it's filled and I get in, it is not quiet, but the sounds are perfect. Fat drops are hitting the fat leaves, bird and forest bugs are chirping. I sip a chilled tumeric tonic.
After a soak and breakfast, I walk into an Intuitive Yoga class in the Ubud canopy. Here, I will accidentally touch another man’s feet and I can barely understand the instructor, but he does help me personally stretch for a moment, and comments to "not power through my poses - but breathe through them" - which is so me, and I immediately understand how yoga cults start. During savasana, surrounded by every man bun on the island, I hear rain, thunder and animals. I am instantly taken to a simulation from a discovery museum. Then, the notification at the grocery store when they are about to mist the vegetables. Except, I am actually here. I'm half joking before, but I'm actually not. It's a sobering moment. You think of the miles flown, the problems and their solves, you think of traveling with your mom and what that means and the trust that takes. It's a once in a lifetime thing. And you are very thankful and appreciative. This all hit's you especially hard amidst a pandemic. I love my mom, her sense of adventure, and I am so thankful she joins me for this.
I head to Yellow Flower Cafe to process a bit more, pop off my shoes and crawl into a nesting chair. There are hanging carnations from braided grass husks all around me. I catch a grown man smelling one. I love it.
That evening Mom and I go to dinner nearby, a place we both were craving separately. In a rather quick fashion (it always happens that way, doesn't it), someone with the restaurant gets a bit too friendly and a bit too familiar. A line is crossed when he tells me I resemble Cindy Crawford, which, we all know is a boldface lie. So, Josée steps in to do what Josée does best - defends my honor.
Jos- "Hey. You better cool it. You know her fiancé is coming here next week? " (Me, like, wait what)
Guy - "OHhHhh TAYLOR…. you are getting married? I didn't know..… !!! " (me, also surprised)
Jos - "Yeah, well she is, and he is a Navy SEAL. Do you know what that means? " (unclear if he does)
Guy - "OOOhhhh, Oh woww, does he carry a gun…? " (more clear)
Jos - "Yes, he absolutely does. " (…he doesn't)
To me - "So when are you two getting married? "
Me - " That's … well. That's what we are coming out here to decide."
Tommy will have to continue this lie with no preparation 2 weeks from now.