Bali - Choose Your Own Island Adventure

Day 8, 1:30 am — Canggu, Bali

It’s my first night in Canggu, the busy surf village in Bali, and I’m standing outside at a tiny food joint serving simple Indian dishes and some drinks. It’s basically a fast-food counter, but I won’t call it that, as it doesn’t do justice to the fresh bread and food being prepared.

I was brought here by two Egyptians I met earlier today. The purpose of our quick stop at this time of night is simple: Arak. Apparently, the Indian owner (and head chef) has the good stuff imported from somewhere.

Next to us, two Russians just finished a chess game and are now conversing in Russian. One of them is visibly livid about his loss. Despite my ok grades in high school, some close friends from the region, and several sexual affairs across countries, I am unable to understand most of what they are saying. Every now and then, I hear the infamous sound of the word “Putin” [Pu-tsin], which tells me enough…

The chess board is now on the counter, where the Indian owner is starting a game against another regular—a half-Palestinian, half-Czech engineer. The Indian looks at me with a devilish smile and says: “I will beat him while cooking.”

We are having shots of arak and beers. Spoiler alert - the arak is excellent.

So, at some point in this environment, on my 8th day on the island, this whole concept of Bali starts to click.

Earlier today on the beach, a woman with fat lips holding a microphone (camera guy behind her) asked me in the thickest Russian accent: “Can you tell me what you think about The Bali?”

I politely declined, but the voice inside my head was a bit more direct: “You dumb and shallow creature…”

But you know what…unknowingly, she had a point. Bali is not just another tropical island where people go to sit on the beach and drink cocktails. It’s an institution and a diverse playground that caters to many interests and needs – hence, ‘The Bali’ (or ‘Bali Inc.’) is rather appropriate.

And let me tell you…I don’t know if it’s the arak or if there is something in the thick, humid air, but I can feel myself finally being seduced by The Bali. I resisted and fought for a full week, but all my walls and reservations are melting…fast. The island has successfully broken me down, and I am about to surrender.

It’s gonna be a fun second week.

The two weeks in Bali were almost the perfect Yin and Yang—from the solitude and introspection in the jungle to the many adventures on the beach(es) and in the sea.

I’d lie if I said this was the plan, but small islands usually have a way of giving you the medicine you desperately need. They know how to break you down, get you to surrender, and experience the joy of pure being.

Nowadays, when I visit Cayman, usually coming from New York, my friends always make fun of how tense and impatient I am the first few days. One of the guys in Sydney made the same observation a few weeks ago.

But then, a few days in, I start loosening up, and usually, by Friday, I’m back to ‘Island George’, wearing an aggressively unbuttoned shirt and going with the flow of the island.

The same thing happened in Bali.

• By day 3, I started biking in my flip-flops and being less bothered about my looks.

• By day 5, I stopped looking at my watch as much.

• On day 7, I got on my scooter after dinner, and in the 10 minutes from the restaurant to the co-living, yet another tropical rain started. My initial urge was to hide, but I rejected that and rode carefully back, laughing at my predicament. “Enjoy the weather,” was the message, echoing a 20+ year-old Nike commercial.

• Then, finally, on day 9 in Canggu, a local woman collecting money for the parking lot looked at me and said: “Smile more.” I immediately got the message and thanked her. My transformation was complete.

My cynical side eagerly wanted Bali to suck so I could have the moral high ground and say, “Ha! I fucking knew it was all fake.”

But I’m afraid this is not how this story ends…

Sure, Bali is a lot busier than it used to be (from what I hear). It also attracts some of the worst people – the OnlyFans models, the entitled digital nomads who will soon be replaced by AI, the wanna-be DJs, the assembly line of Russian thirst traps, the crowd overusing the words “community, tribe, or family” to refer to people they barely know, and of course, those in pursuit of “spirituality” as a virtue signalling badge.

But nowadays, that is the norm in most in-demand places. The question is whether the environment is unique enough to be worth suffering through some of that bullshit.

Burning Man is an excellent example – a place so unique and in such high demand that it attracts some of the best and worst people you can imagine. Some camps and crowds are the epitome of a vanity fair. And yet, despite all that, being ‘stuck’ in that remote desert for a week with some of my closest friends and meeting some other cool people is one of the most extraordinary experiences of my life. No question.

Bali is similar. The island has too much to offer, and with the right group of people, it quickly becomes heaven on earth despite some of its downsides. And what’s more, the locals are by far the most gracious and genuinely good people I’ve met worldwide. Scarred from my experience in Havana in 2018, I’d been super cagey with locals ever since. It took me over a week and a local woman telling me to smile more to figure out that Balinese people were genuine.

And if you seek more solitude, you can still find refuge in certain pockets of the island or fly to one of the more remote neighbouring islands.

So yeah, choose your own adventure.

Here is what mine looked like.

Week 1 — Ubud

I arrived in Bali late on a Monday night.

Despite the common narrative (and what you see on the map), Bali is not close to Australia. Certainly not to Melbourne or Sydney, where you will most likely be flying from — that’s a six-hour flight.

Even Perth is more than 3 hours away, but what on earth would you do in Perth anyway…

So, I arrived pretty exhausted and genuinely not wanting to be there. Australia, in general, and Sydney, in particular, had become so comfortable over the prior two weeks that I dreaded starting all over again in a new place.

Good. The plan was working. This was never intended to be a comfortable trip, after all.

As I exited the airport, I was hit by the thick, heavy air that I’d once been so used to in the Caribbean.

“Hello, equator. Hello, humidity. I’ve missed you.”

My first immediate thought was: “Those two pairs of jeans I brought will not see the light of day. What a rookie mistake.”

Outside the airport, I felt thrown into the middle of an old-school trading floor, with hundreds of people screaming and shouting, trying to get my attention. I needed to find my driver and get the fuck out of there immediately…

After a drive that felt like an eternity, I finally got to the safe space of my jungle co-living in Ubud. The property and my room immediately felt like home, so part of my anxiety vanished.

It was too late for any constructive planning or thoughts, so the best course of action was to sleep and regroup in the morning.

Different people have different ways of coping with a change in environment when they are on their own. For me, step one usually involves finding a decent coffee shop (no need to be fancy) and a place to work out (a single pull-up bar would do).

No matter how foreign the destination, if I can wake up in the morning knowing where I can have a peaceful cup of coffee and then work out, that adds stability to the rest of the chaos and uncertainty of the day. From there, I have the freedom to explore and find new places and people.

After sorting out my scooter, figuring out how to ride it, and finding a great coffee shop, gym, and lunch place, all in a few hours on day one, I was set and ready to go.

The “plan” for the rest of the week was simple: find my people, explore the jungle, work out, read, and get a massage (or two).

—

Suffice it to say this is not exactly how the week turned out.

The people in the co-living were primarily focused on work, so there was no mingling whatsoever. It was definitely a waste of a great outdoor pool and kitchen, but I had no time to lurk around the compound in the hope of a friendly conversation.

Also, it appeared that the jungle had other plans for me, as it made sure the afternoon tropical rain continued for days.

And so, that’s basically what happened…

I spent most of my early mornings reading and thinking at my favourite coffee shop, surrounded by the same people who were doing the same thing.

Then, it was time for breakfast, a hike and/or workout, a cold plunge, and a big lunch. At that point, I had 30-60 minutes to find my chill spot for the afternoon before the tropical rain started. Usually, that was either a coffee shop or the top of the co-living.

Along the way, I met a recurring cast of characters…

Dasha and Masha, two archetypes from mother Russia, were everywhere—usually blonde, skinny, and likely to have tiny tattoos on their wrists/fingers or bigger ones on their lower hamstrings.

It appeared Bali had become a refuge for many Russians over the last few years, and you will struggle to spend a day without hearing them.

At night, I tried chasing highs, but most people seemed discouraged by the weather, while the rest mostly congregated around a few dive bars with live music. But, for the life of me, I just couldn’t bring myself to drink by myself and listen to covers of 80s/90s pop music in the hopes of meeting fun strangers. This is where I drew the line.

I’m sure fun parties were happening somewhere, but I could not find them in time. And to be honest, that was for the better.

The jungle reiterated the message:

Overall, Bali was an incredible adventure, but what I am about to say is one of the things I will value for decades…

That week in Ubud, I read two crucial books that found me at the right time. They gave me the vocabulary and a few missing pieces that helped me visualise the internal emotional puzzle I’d been reconstructing for the past few years. (Note: I don’t recommend reading these while busy at work and in your regular day-to-day life. You need some quiet alone time.)

• Going To Pieces Without Falling Apart: A Buddhist Perspective On Wholeness 

• I Don’t Want To Talk About It: Overcoming The Secret Legacy Of Male Depression

“Exorcism of my childhood demons” is a phrase I heard somewhere on the road. I don’t say this lightly—those two books helped me start that process in Ubud, which has continued since. The seeds of my performance-based esteem, need for validation, impostor syndrome, and much more were right in front of me where I could see them…

It’s not that the demons were defeated per se, but they came out of hiding in the dark, and I could finally see them in full. In time, they will be domesticated.

Hardly the plot of ‘Eat, Pray, Love: Part 2’, this was yet another reminder of the value of alone time away from the chaos of our daily lives. The location is probably less important than the timing and approach. I just happened to be in, of all places, Ubud. Trust me, I get the joke…

—

On Saturday, tired of the jungle and the depths of my mind, and with the weather improving, I decided to go on a 100-km road trip to Uluwatu, the less busy surf area on the south part of the island.

I’ve never been into motorcycles, and my finance brain considers them a very stupid risk/reward proposition, but after two weeks and 500+ kilometres on a scooter, I have to say, I get it. The freedom, flexibility and independence they give you are powerful, and the wind in your hair is intoxicating.

I crossed small roads, highways, the airport, and a lot of traffic, and 90 minutes later, I was in Uluwatu. I got to experience firsthand the changing tapestry of the island – from the serenity of the jungle to the chaos of the industrial city to the vibrancy of the beach.

Frankly, the drive itself was a great adventure, and I’m bookmarking that feeling for my mid-life crisis.

Stepping on the beach immediately reminded me that this is my preferred environment. I got very excited about my second week on the island and my move to the beach.

Two great meals, long beach walks, little thinking, several drinks, people and wave watching, several encounters with Masha and Dasha, and all that, capped with a great sunset.

I call this a successful Saturday on your own.

Week 2 — Canggu, Lombok, Penida

On my second Monday on the island, I packed my stuff, put it all on the scooter, and drove to Canggu – the busy surf village south of Ubud and west of the capital, Denpasar.

Canggu is only 30 kilometres from Ubud, on the same island, but you wouldn’t be able to tell that if you were teleported. The crowd, vibe, and overall environment are completely different – the jungle gives way to the laidback beach, Aussies take control from the Russians, and spirituality is trumped by surf, working out and enjoying a beverage (or five).

I had to start all over again, which was less daunting than my arrival in Bali but still somewhat unpleasant. (Past and Future George are happy to hear that…)

In any case, I felt happy to step on the beach and feel the bright sun, but also somewhat disappointed and confused. My immediate impression of Canggu was that it was too busy and loud, the beach was unimpressive, and there was too much construction, etc. etc.

I was sitting on the beach, lost in negativity, doing something pointless on my phone when a guy approached me smiling: “Hey bro, wanna play some football?”

I politely declined and returned to my pity party…

Seconds later, as the guy was walking away, I stopped myself and thought:

“You stupid, arrogant boy…you’ve just arrived here; you don’t know anyone and are blindly closing a door that serendipity has opened for you. I’m sick and tired of your BS. Fuck you!”

So, in a moment straight out of Seinfeld, I do the opposite of all the bullshit patterns I’ve repeated throughout the years: “Hey mate…yeah, let’s play some football.”

We played for hours while talking and tormenting the innocent bystanders on the beach. The guy was my age, from Egypt, where he had made his money and was now enjoying the good life in Bali.

Suddenly, it was time for sunset—the sky turned pink, and the energy completely shifted. I felt this all-too-familiar feeling in me…the urge to let loose and misbehave.

“I might like this place after all,” I thought.

The week flew by after that.

I met some of his other male friends, and we formed an island boy band (with some female guest appearances).

We spent the days playing football or volleyball on the beach, working out, or just hanging out.

One morning, we took a road trip to the fish market next to the airport, where I witnessed firsthand my new Egyptian friends haggling over the price of lobster, fish, and shrimp.

Anyone who’s ever been to Egypt knows how ruthless they are in this regard. It was a sight to behold, and these poor Indonesians didn’t stand a chance.

The general strategy was:

• get the price as low as possible through haggling

• pay with stacks of cash and receive the bags of fish

• the merchant counts the cash and realises it’s 5-10% below what you agreed

• you look at them, bags in your hands, and say this is the last bit of cash you have

I wonder if the same would work with any B2B software vendors: “Sorry, this is all we got…take it or leave it. (shrug)”

The result was easily one of the best meals of my life: four lobsters, two giant red snappers, massive prawns, and a variety of small shellfish for good measure, all freshly caught and then cooked to perfection by a small neighbouring restaurant.

Total cost? Around $20 per person.

(Note: for reference, several weeks later, at one of LA’s fish markets, some friends and I had only two red snappers, a few oysters, some small shrimp, and a drink each, and we paid $80+ per person…)

The nights were completely random. We just jumped on the bikes and went aimlessly from one place to the next – drinking, talking, meeting people, dancing, and not knowing where the night would take us.

There were some serious conversations, like the one about religion, which reminded us that we can have very different views on a topic and still be friends and like each other.

At one point, I said that I believed in religious values but not in God and that the world was more random than we thought.

One of the Egyptians, a very successful and religious guy my age, grabbed my phone and said: “What do you think is more likely, that this iPhone came from a big bang, or it came from God?”

This is one of those conversations that could have easily continued for a few hours without either side conceding an inch. So, I smiled and said I appreciated his view, but we would have to agree to disagree on that one.

We laughed, shook hands and continued bonding over other topics.

Naturally, there was also a lot of nonsense.

Late one night, a lady of the night chased me around the parking lot. It seemed I was her type.

She stopped my bike at the exit, put her hand between my legs and said: “Come on, baby, let’s go home.”

She reminded me of a Jamaican/Filipino girl I was seeing last year in New York. And, while my senses were tempted, my code of conduct required me to give her the most dreaded words by the people queueing outside of Berghain, the techno mecca in Berlin: “Not today, I’m afraid.”

On another night, one of the guys got very cosy with a young Masha at one of the bars. There might have been some kissing and touching. She asked him if he was enjoying it, and he nodded. Then she told him he needed to transfer some money to her account if he wanted the night to continue. The guys later explained that it was a familiar tactic used by girls who were visiting but had run out of money.

Oh well…

—

After a few days and nights like that, I felt completely submerged in this new environment.

It’s not that my opinion of Canggu changed—I still found it chaotic, loud, and a bit of a shit show, very similar to New York. But that became a feature and not a bug once I settled and saw a few layers deeper than the immediate first impression.

Obviously, there was much more to see and experience, but I started living like a local—the best feeling on an island swarmed with visitors.

One of my favourite feelings in Cayman is to walk into the packed and smoky Backroom, my favourite speakeasy cigar bar, wave hello to Julie, the female bartender, and watch her bring me the usual—Flor de Cana 18 rum, neat.

Island life takes on a new meaning once you start experiencing it as a local rather than a tourist.

On Thursday and Friday, I went on a side quest to the two neighbouring islands, Lombok and Penida, before returning to Canggu on Saturday for a final 24 hours in the hectic bliss.

At that point, my island transformation had already been completed, so this busy agenda and the changing environments didn’t feel like anything other than a grand adventure. I felt like I’d been living on the island for months, and navigating the area was now ingrained in me.

I flew to Lombok to meet an old colleague and friend who had been surfing and living around the world since he left Cayman in 2019. He was in Kuta, a small surfing village in the south part of the island.

The 24 hours there were enlightening in many ways.

We reminisced about the past, caught up on the last several years, debated the present, and schemed about the future. I had the chance to update some stories in my head that I’d been wrongly holding on to for a while. I also learnt from him what it was to live alone on the road for years – the good, the bad, and the ugly.

I saw first-hand what a remote surf village with two streets looked like before it became trendy. We hung out at cool and modern places that could have easily been in LA, but we also drank at a wooden shack with 30 people, one small home fridge with beers, and a bucket on the side where you let the beer out of your system. (Pro tip I learned too late: you don’t actually pee in the bucket…)

Late that night, we continued drinking at the only dive bar on the beach. A local band was playing covers of famous rock songs while a young crowd was going mad, and local surf dudes were chasing foreign girls. A teenager offered me a bag of mushrooms, which grow everywhere on the island, for $5. Already pretty intoxicated, I refused, which has been one of the few regrets of this entire trip…

With the international airport in Lombok and the level of construction I saw, the area will be a very popular destination in 5-10 years and a much bigger village. People were already thinking and talking about the future remote locations on the following islands in the chain – Sumbawa and Sumba.

It’s a never-ending search for the next cool spot that few people know about.

—

Then, on Friday, I flew back to Bali. From the airport, I went straight to the harbour to get a boat and went to Penida, where I stayed the night at a Scuba Junkie dive centre and got an early morning dive boat for a fun day underwater.

I felt at peace on Friday night. It had been a hectic and very social week, so I was happy for some silence and was also uber-excited about the dives tomorrow. The prospect of finally swimming with mantas was firmly occupying my mind.

My resting heart rate that night reached 44, another record and an accurate representation of how I felt – calm, content, and present.

The half-day of diving was incredible and some of the best in my life. The Scuba Junkie crew organised everything impeccably. We got prepped and given gear the day before, so there was no wasting time that morning. We jumped on the small boat at 8 am, and off we went. The overall experience was so much better than the one in Australia.

We did three very different dives and saw a lot. Most notably:

• Dive one started with a bang, with two giant honeycomb morays poking their heads out of a rock and looking like they were about to start breathing fire.

• Dive two was to Manta Point, creating a palpable buzz on the boat – “Will we? Won’t we?”. After ten minutes in the water packed with anticipation, anxiety and constant assessment of every shadow, suddenly, there was no mistake, and it seemed like everyone stopped breathing for a second and then attempted to scream…A giant 3-4m manta appeared out of nowhere and started cruising around us. Then another one, and another one. Suddenly, we had a few mantas swimming together in circles as if performing for us. A truly incredible sight.

• Dive three was more relaxed, but on our way there, we saw a pack of dolphins jumping out of the water for several minutes, which further elevated our spirits.

What a day!

(Note: My footage is shit, so here is another one of the same mantas in the same location.)

I have nothing left to say other than:

(…and don’t take yourself too seriously.)

Islands are usually good at reminding us of that.

Tokyo is next!

G.