“Hey you guys, this is Marcus.” Rico said. “He’s part of the group now.”
They had already bought my boat ticket. And we were all headed to another island together...A party island.
But please believe me, this wasn’t what I originally planned. Not by a long shot.
The night before, which at this point was a big blur, had completely set the tone….
_________________________________________________
You see, 3 months prior to this, I had a bank account full of money and a heavy, yearning heart.
After years of feeling captive in a lifetime of drudgery through school and work, and after an emotionally exhausting and unnecessarily drawn-out relationship, I felt desperate to let go of something; everything; to change. And yes, possibly to run away.
Without much thought, I impulsively bought a plane ticket.
“Somewhere far, far away.” I thought to myself.
Indonesia. No return flight.
I planned to keep going west until I circled the globe. This was going to be a bucket-list year.
I packed everything I owned in boxes and gave the rest away. I didn't have a plan when I returned. Part of me didn’t want to come back.
I had a vague itinerary, but mostly I wanted to see stars I didn’t recognize - to be surrounded by something completely foreign from myself.
I planned to spend a few days practicing meditation and yoga, then make my way through the jungles of Java, climb an exploding volcano, see the orangutans, and find a quiet place of solace to sit and be still. I wanted to witness a vast Pacific Ocean sunset and pray. I planned to travel the South East Asian backpacker’s circuit and make a giant loop before flying to Western Europe.
________________________________________________
The first stop was Bali.
I had heard conflicting stories of what it might be like. There were countless travel vlogs and Instagram pictures of lush, green landscapes laden with beautiful models in flowing dresses.
I learned the island has a unique history of artistry and Hindu spiritual influence that is enchanting to the eye and soothing to the heart.
But then there was the other truth - it had become overdeveloped and overcrowded; cars everywhere; hustle at every corner; sex tourism; plastic trash; consumption. The island had sold every bit of its soul to tourism to become a packaged, commercialized, thrashing ground for drunk vacationing Westerners and spiritual dilettantes.
As I would find out, both realities were true and juxtaposed together in a surreal amalgam of beautiful and tragic, ancient and trendy, soulful and appropriated.
_________________________________________________
I arrived at Denpasar Airport at 1am, brain-dead and exhausted from 26 hours of travel.
My first impression was that the area looked chaotic. Traffic etiquette seemed completely absurd. Drivers cut each other off at every corner. They drove on the opposite side of the road. Nobody followed street signals.
My taxi dropped me off at my hostel on a secluded, dark, tiny road. From the street, I could hear thumping electronic music and see neon lights emanating from the building.
As I entered the hostel I felt out of place. This wasn’t my scene. Inside, the building was dark, the music was deafeningly loud, and the place was dirty. A group of backpacker bros were standing near the bar breathing Nitrous Oxide through a balloon. In my youth we called these "whip-its" and I hadn't done this since junior-high school.
“Christ. What the fuck did I get myself into?” I asked myself.
I shlepped myself to my 12-bed hostel room, and collapsed into my sleeping bunk. I could still hear the techno thump through the walls.
“Tomorrow morning I’m going to find a meditation resort.” I thought. “No way I can stay here”
Almost immediately a guy poked his head into my bunk. A short, buff medical student from Miami. Rico. He noticed my fedora and sparked a conversation with me. This guy was a bit sleazy, but undeniably witty and funny. His banter kept me from falling asleep.
“Bro, come have a drink with me,” Rico said with a smirk. His eyes were fixed on a beautiful French Canadian girl bunked right above me. Somehow, he convinced both of us to join him.
We walked to a nearby club - a massive outdoor complex with dozens of rooms filled with raunchy nightclub scenes not meant for children’s eyes. The place was packed with a mix of hip-looking Balinese locals and tourists. Reggaeton and salsa were popular hits on the dance floor and Rico turned out to be an awesome wingman. We seemed to be amongst the few guys who knew our way around a latin rhythm and my confidence blew slightly out of proportion.
And this is where the blur started, the unexpected turn, around the 5th or 6th drink… maybe.
My last vivid memory was losing a sandal somewhere. I later found photo booth pictures that I don’t remember taking with people I didn’t know. I was sticking my tongue out and giving the “hang loose” hand sign in almost all of them. (Gross, I know). Don't ask me, I blame Rico.
There were bruises across my arm and scratches on my back I couldn’t explain. I had added dozens of random people to my Instagram.
And the blur got even fuzzier after this. I jumped into a closed-off pool and got in a lot of trouble with the club security. I remember being drenched.
The next morning I woke up in a room I didn't recognize in a building I had never saw before.
Half dead, I limped my way back to my hostel on my one sandal.
I eventually found Rico on the rooftop of our hostel, sitting atop colored bean bags with a group of other travelers. He introduced me. And within an instant my plans were changed.
There was something special about this group of people. Made up of 4 girls and 6 guys, now including me, there was a sense we all knew each other, but in reality had all just met. The harmony of energy, humor, and good natured banter was undeniable. And Rico seemed to pull them all together. There were even nicknames for everyone already. I was hooked in seconds.
They all shared stories of the night before and helped me fill in the gaps - the bruises, the scratches, the club security. It was all a riot.
At the time, it felt exactly like what I needed to forget all my troubles and live in the present. And I leaned in. Like I said, none of this was what I originally intended. But I was happy to be around good company and I didn’t look back.
You see, 3 months prior to this, I had a bank account full of money and a heavy, yearning heart.
After years of feeling captive in a lifetime of drudgery through school and work, and after an emotionally exhausting and unnecessarily drawn-out relationship, I felt desperate to let go of something; everything; to change. And yes, possibly to run away.
Without much thought, I impulsively bought a plane ticket.
“Somewhere far, far away.” I thought to myself.
Indonesia. No return flight.
I planned to keep going west until I circled the globe. This was going to be a bucket-list year.
I packed everything I owned in boxes and gave the rest away. I didn't have a plan when I returned. Part of me didn’t want to come back.
I had a vague itinerary, but mostly I wanted to see stars I didn’t recognize - to be surrounded by something completely foreign from myself.
I planned to spend a few days practicing meditation and yoga, then make my way through the jungles of Java, climb an exploding volcano, see the orangutans, and find a quiet place of solace to sit and be still. I wanted to witness a vast Pacific Ocean sunset and pray. I planned to travel the South East Asian backpacker’s circuit and make a giant loop before flying to Western Europe.
________________________________________________
The first stop was Bali.
I had heard conflicting stories of what it might be like. There were countless travel vlogs and Instagram pictures of lush, green landscapes laden with beautiful models in flowing dresses.
I learned the island has a unique history of artistry and Hindu spiritual influence that is enchanting to the eye and soothing to the heart.
But then there was the other truth - it had become overdeveloped and overcrowded; cars everywhere; hustle at every corner; sex tourism; plastic trash; consumption. The island had sold every bit of its soul to tourism to become a packaged, commercialized, thrashing ground for drunk vacationing Westerners and spiritual dilettantes.
As I would find out, both realities were true and juxtaposed together in a surreal amalgam of beautiful and tragic, ancient and trendy, soulful and appropriated.
_________________________________________________
I arrived at Denpasar Airport at 1am, brain-dead and exhausted from 26 hours of travel.
My first impression was that the area looked chaotic. Traffic etiquette seemed completely absurd. Drivers cut each other off at every corner. They drove on the opposite side of the road. Nobody followed street signals.
My taxi dropped me off at my hostel on a secluded, dark, tiny road. From the street, I could hear thumping electronic music and see neon lights emanating from the building.
As I entered the hostel I felt out of place. This wasn’t my scene. Inside, the building was dark, the music was deafeningly loud, and the place was dirty. A group of backpacker bros were standing near the bar breathing Nitrous Oxide through a balloon. In my youth we called these "whip-its" and I hadn't done this since junior-high school.
“Christ. What the fuck did I get myself into?” I asked myself.
I shlepped myself to my 12-bed hostel room, and collapsed into my sleeping bunk. I could still hear the techno thump through the walls.
“Tomorrow morning I’m going to find a meditation resort.” I thought. “No way I can stay here”
Almost immediately a guy poked his head into my bunk. A short, buff medical student from Miami. Rico. He noticed my fedora and sparked a conversation with me. This guy was a bit sleazy, but undeniably witty and funny. His banter kept me from falling asleep.
“Bro, come have a drink with me,” Rico said with a smirk. His eyes were fixed on a beautiful French Canadian girl bunked right above me. Somehow, he convinced both of us to join him.
We walked to a nearby club - a massive outdoor complex with dozens of rooms filled with raunchy nightclub scenes not meant for children’s eyes. The place was packed with a mix of hip-looking Balinese locals and tourists. Reggaeton and salsa were popular hits on the dance floor and Rico turned out to be an awesome wingman. We seemed to be amongst the few guys who knew our way around a latin rhythm and my confidence blew slightly out of proportion.
And this is where the blur started, the unexpected turn, around the 5th or 6th drink… maybe.
My last vivid memory was losing a sandal somewhere. I later found photo booth pictures that I don’t remember taking with people I didn’t know. I was sticking my tongue out and giving the “hang loose” hand sign in almost all of them. (Gross, I know). Don't ask me, I blame Rico.
There were bruises across my arm and scratches on my back I couldn’t explain. I had added dozens of random people to my Instagram.
And the blur got even fuzzier after this. I jumped into a closed-off pool and got in a lot of trouble with the club security. I remember being drenched.
The next morning I woke up in a room I didn't recognize in a building I had never saw before.
Half dead, I limped my way back to my hostel on my one sandal.
I eventually found Rico on the rooftop of our hostel, sitting atop colored bean bags with a group of other travelers. He introduced me. And within an instant my plans were changed.
There was something special about this group of people. Made up of 4 girls and 6 guys, now including me, there was a sense we all knew each other, but in reality had all just met. The harmony of energy, humor, and good natured banter was undeniable. And Rico seemed to pull them all together. There were even nicknames for everyone already. I was hooked in seconds.
They all shared stories of the night before and helped me fill in the gaps - the bruises, the scratches, the club security. It was all a riot.
At the time, it felt exactly like what I needed to forget all my troubles and live in the present. And I leaned in. Like I said, none of this was what I originally intended. But I was happy to be around good company and I didn’t look back.
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