F*ck you!" she heard as she hurried off in anger. I was with my mom in Bali and as I ran to catch up with her, I again wondered what I had gotten myself into.
I had come to Bali with my family a few days earlier. My cousin had just gotten married and for their honeymoon they decided to travel to Southeast Asia, visiting the places of his childhood. Rejected from graduate school and "between jobs" (read: unemployed), I decided to accept their invite and serve as their translator, porter, honeymoon photographer and all around handyman -- my own indentured servitude. Adrift in my own sea of uncertainty, I joined my family on a journey to a land known for its beaches and beauty.
Most our days in Bali followed a similar pattern: touristy sites, then beaches and fabulous dinner -- a routine that forced me up early each morning for a workout lest my beach body paranoia lose its daily battle to my "I'm-on-vacation" eating mindset. The pattern was comforting, but after a few days, sitting and sipping cocktails was just losing its charm. Shouldn't I be doing something productive?
There was a Hard Rock Bali and a Planet Hollywood Bali. I don't think I traveled across an ocean to eat a Hollywood Burger or a New York Strip. After awhile a beach is a beach, a bar is a bar and hotel pools are just hotel pools. Don't get me wrong, these things are amazingly fun, but why spend your entire time just doing the same things you can do anywhere? Where is the soul of a place that makes the journey worthwhile?
