I really didn’t know much about Bali before my first trip to the Indonesian island earlier this year. I knew two things to be true: Julia Roberts found her peace (and herself) in Bali’s renowned spirituality, and that my friend who had moved here was having a cracking time. He oscillated, unhurried, between the gym and very affordable (very high protein) restaurants, with the occasional night out (for balance, of course).
Other than that, I had no guidance on what Bali, or more specifically, what Canggu had in store for me. I imagined I would come out of this 10-day trip feeling healed somehow. I would feel lighter, brighter, energised – much like many of the travellers I've seen singing Bali's praises post-holiday.
On the first day of my trip, I followed my friend to his gym. He had described it as a country club of sorts, with an indoor and outdoor gym, multiple saunas, ice baths for recovery, a big communal pool, and a hefty assortment of beautiful people. I figured if I could handle Soho Farmhouse in peak June, I could take on Nirvana Life.
Turns out, I couldn’t. I stepped into the beautiful, expansive gym with its winding pathways and picture-perfect corners, and froze. It was like walking into the Love Island villa – its residents clad in tiny string bikinis and low-slung swimming shorts – all sporting tanned, toned bodies and more abs than I could count – and me, in my leggings and oversized T-shirt (and oversized body). I stood out like a sore thumb. Despite the Bali heat, I felt an icy dread wash over me know that Nirvana was to be the base of our trip, as this is where my friend spent most of his time – working, working out, eating, and socialising.
I tried to silence the noise in my head saying I didn’t belong here. I tried to tell myself it was OK that my body didn’t look like every other body I saw in Canggu. I tried to shake off the feeling I was retreating into myself. But I couldn’t stop it.
I let the negativity get a hold of me, and once the claws were in it was hard to escape the self-flagellation. I quickly learnt that Canggu is the hub of the bold and the beautiful – there is no respite from it. I tried to remind myself that the same can be said of pockets of London, but the difference was that in London, I know myself, I know my place there, I know my people. But here, I was a flailing fish out of water. The most infuriating part was that this wasn’t a Canggu problem, this was a me problem – I was the one triggered by the constant confrontation.
These intrusive thoughts dominated my 10-day stint in Canggu. I had never lost my confidence in such an abrupt, and disorientating way, and I never felt so unlike myself. The trip itself wasn’t all bad, by any stretch – I met some amazing people, and made some really lovely memories with my friend. But I was angry, frustrated, and annoyed that I had let this noise dictate so much of my trip.
So, I decided on a do-over. I rebooked a second trip to Bali, for later in the year. I told myself that I would do Canggu differently, I would do it for myself. This time I wanted to reclaim Canggu at my own speed, and on my own terms, and I am. I would push myself to feel confident. I would do things that make me happy: play as much Padel as humanly possible (an activity that always silenced the noise in my brain), and take some time out from work.
I vowed I wouldn’t feel guilty about any of these decisions, and embrace the journey a second time around. I didn’t want my resounding memory of a beautiful place to be tarnished by the past. I wanted to come back stronger, and I wanted to leave with my own variant of peace.
I am writing this article from a beautiful café, Alchemy, having taken myself out for breakfast (praise be for the chilli scrambled eggs at Open House), after an early morning gym sweat. On this trip – I've dubbed it Bali 2.0 – I wake up when the sun slices through my bedroom, I throw myself in and out of the pool multiple times a day, I exercise with frequency (and with a smile).
I brought a friend with me, and we're renting a ridiculously beautiful villa (Villa Cello, you have our heart). We've centred this Bali trip around a quieter, calmer neighbourhood, and we've made this home our little sanctuary.
Bali has long been a place where travellers pass through. They stop, soak up all the beauty the island has to offer, speed through villages and spend a few days here and there. The transient nature of the place means that nothing feels that deep, including my feelings. If I’m too spooked to go to Pilates because I won’t be as good as other people in the room, I try to remember that it will pass. If I don’t get picked to play Padel because I don’t wear a tennis skirt, and it knocks my confidence – that feeling will pass. If I feel intimidated, or nervous, or lacking in self-belief – it will all pass.
There is a joke often made between travellers that if you’re in Bali, you’re running away from something. That isn’t my truth. Here, I get to have the privilege of saying I’m running (or, if we're being honest, walking at a leisurely pace) towards discovering new parts of myself. I’m eternally grateful that I gave myself another go at this finding joy here, because I might actually leave with a fragment of peace. I get to live this beautiful life for a brief moment in time, and I don’t want to waste any of it (but if I waste a few minutes just relaxing in the sun, I’m so fine with it).