I awoke around 7:00a and could tell right away that my back wasn’t nearly as bad as yesterday. Whew!

It was still achy but much better.. more like deal-with-it pain than I-can’t-do-anything pain. It actually occurred to me yesterday that it might be a good thing that my back hurt so much. When the nerve pain was prominent, I knew there was a problem with a disc but I wasn’t feeling the pain in my back. I learned in physical therapy that healing moves toward the source, so less radiating outward and more pain at the source meant I was getting better.

At 8:00, I messaged my driver on WhatsApp to start a thread in case he needed to reach me before he arrived. After breakfast, I laid on the day bed with my iPad, planning to start packing up around 9:00 for my 10:00 checkout/pick-up. At 8:50, my driver came up the steps to my villa already!

I knew at the time I booked Wajan Transport that in addition to driving tourists around Bali, Wajan is a Reiki practitioner, but I’d forgotten until he offered it upon arrival. At first, I declined and then asked myself WHY. I was already on the day bed and my back could use it, so I changed that to YES, PLEASE. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get into a comfortable position while he practiced, either on my stomach or on my side, so the session only lasted between 5 and 10 minutes, which was fine. I was grateful for what I got.

I went inside to pack up and found a message from Wajan on WhatsApp at 8:15 saying he’d arrived. He was there for 35 minutes before he came to the villa. I felt silly for having offered a way to reach me and then leaving my phone inside on the charger where I couldn’t respond. Still, an hour and 45 minutes early! (He didn’t expect that I would get ready to go until the scheduled time. Letting me know he was there gave me the option to leave early.)

I said goodbye and thank you to the Villas staff and rode in Wajan’s van with cold bottled water and WiFi. No nerve pain!

My first chosen destination was about a half hour away from Amed. Just short of there, Wajan pulled off to a lookout point over an absolutely massive rice field and took photos of me. Nice touch.

We arrived at Tirta Gangga Water Palace around 10:30. I came across this site in my Bali research, and being located on the way from Amed to Ubud, I organized my nights spent in each place, as well as the transport, around a visit here. The one bus company on the island would only have been able to drop me off there, whereas Wajan is happy to pass time while his passengers enjoy a site before continuing on. I considered visiting here on my birthday, but that would have been a longer stretch in Amed, an unknown, and a shorter time in Ubud, a more standard/predictable Bali destination. I could have done a round trip from Amed, but it made more sense to me to stop there on the way to Ubud. I’d also decided it would be a good idea to be around people on my birthday.

Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow. I am so happy I made it a point to see these water gardens. In every direction I looked, from every angle, was beauty and more beauty. It was like living inside Instagram. I don’t mean to cheapen the experience by saying that.. even the most jaded observer of social media photography would have to admit this site begs to be captured in images.

The grounds are roughly rectangular, and Wajan led me to the back corner to start. He said he wanted to translate something for me. We arrived at a meditation platform with circular designs in stone and surrounding statues. He described Balinese philosophy (Hinduism) as exemplified by each feature we saw. At the core is balance. Directly ahead a male statue and directly behind a female statue. On one side three gods and on another three devils. A circle of white and black checkerboard squares, the same number of each, signifying light and dark. Yin-yang symbols. And one circle in the center representing a wheel for us to navigate our choices, to be “good” or “bad”.

From there, Wajan left me to enjoy the gardens on my own and I spent about two hours doing so. The highlights were every view of the eleven-tiered Nawa Sanga fountain in the center and especially the Mahabharata fish pond with statues and stepping stones to walk among them.

There are two restaurants on site, but I was ready to go and Wajan had offered to stop for lunch just a few storefronts down the road. (Perhaps he knows the owners and/or gets a kickback. Either or neither way, I was happy to eat at the warung less traveled.)

More ridiculously beautiful views. A fountain and fish pond below the deck upon which my table sat and more rice paddies in the distance.

After lunch, it was a two-hour drive to Ubud, but we made it in an hour and 45 minutes because Wajan hauled major ass. Even by the frightening standards of driving here, he was aggressive. So many of his reviews on TripAdvisor mention what a safe driver he is, and I wondered… relative to what?! From my American viewpoint, his driving was decidedly unsafe. Still, I took a ‘when in Rome’ attitude.. that’s just how it’s done here. And it gave me an excuse, nay a legitimate reason, to draft a blog post on my iPad rather than take in the views out the window.

At 2:00, we arrived in Ubud, a very different area in Bali than Amed. There is little to no parking on Jalan Monkey Forest (“jalan” is road or street) where I was staying and which turned out to be a main drag of shops and restaurants. So Wajan got out to help me with my bags and advised “quickly” as I looked around to make sure I had everything and then paid him. Back in Portland, he had quoted me $50 USD for the cross-island journey with water palace stop (a completely fair price), and I knew that was almost exactly IDR 700,000, which I had set aside for him. When I asked how much for the Reiki and he said it’s donation-based, my brain shorted out. Between my stuff all over the sidewalk, the traffic Wajan needed to move his van out of, the unexpected open-ended quote, and my own poverty mentality that sometimes comes up in situations like this, I gave him only another IDR 25,000, a donation of less than $2.00 USD.

This happened once before earlier on this trip and I didn’t write about it at the time out of shame. The confusion over what time the lights would come on and thus what time I should enter the Redwoods Treewalk in Rotorua could have been avoided had I simply said, “I want a ticket for the day/night experience at dusk,” but I didn’t because those tickets were $10 NZD more than either day or night. For the equivalent of about $6 USD, I sacrificed the experience I was there to have. I only realized this afterward and not in the moment. What that brings up, then, is an opportunity not to do it again.

So as I checked into my room, I couldn’t stop thinking about having cheaped out on Wajan. I tried to check his contact information on WhatsApp to see if there was an email address in addition to the phone number so I could look him up on PayPal (is that a thing outside the U.S.? I was pretty sure Venmo is not). I tapped on his name and inadvertently began dialing him via WhatsApp audio. I hung up quickly but he wrote and asked how he could help. I explained that I was flustered upon dropoff and wish I’d given him a bigger donation/tip, and asked if he uses any online money transfer services. He wrote back that $50 = IDR 680,000, so I’d given him an extra IDR 45,000. He was using a different exchange rate, and it seemed he was satisfied, so I felt relieved and thanked him. Then he wrote back and said he’d be in Ubud again soon and asked how long I would be there, which confused me. Perhaps he thought if a foreigner wants to give him more money, he should accept. I replied I’d be here until Thursday.

Rumah Jelita is set back from the main road, way back. It’s a long, narrow path behind a few buildings and along a fence to get to it, which makes it peaceful and quiet while being very centrally located. My new room for the next four nights was an upgrade from Amed. I truly enjoyed the beach villas, but I was ready to be done with “rustic”. The steps up from the garden lead to a wide, tiled veranda shared among 3 rooms on the first level, mine being in the center (a tenant lives in the large apartment above). I have both A/C and a fan, a wide bed (it’s two twins pushed together), and a stone floor indoor shower with temperature dial. Lux.

To my surprise, I spent a full two hours getting settled (how I keep surprising myself with my relationship to time, I don’t know). Some of my Internet time is productive. I emailed Mac Dewata, a local Apple sales and service retailer, about my laptop charger, and I looked up the departure time of my flight to Japan so I could hire a driver to get to the airport so I could in turn know how much cash I have left to spend. Some of my Internet time is dicking around on Facebook and Instagram like I would if I were home. I make an effort to nip that in the bud when I catch myself doing it while I actually have exploring to do.

Upon leaving Amed, it occurred to me that I hadn’t hunted any geocaches yet, and I wanted to be sure to add Indonesia to my country map. At the south end of Jl. Monkey Forest is, appropriately, Monkey Forest Ubud. At the north end is Puri Saren Agung, a historic royal palace. And at the eastern entrance to the palace is a geocache.

I set out on the 20-minute walk up Monkey Forest Road and found myself completely overwhelmed by the sights and sounds and people and traffic of Ubud. The sidewalks are very narrow, single file on some streets, and there are waaaay more people on them than there is space.

The geocache was huge and can’t-miss, which was nice because despite being on my somewhere around 550th find, I’m really not that good at caching. I miss them a lot (when I log a DNF — “did not find” — I usually go back and read subsequent logs and nearly always someone else found it after me, as opposed to it having gone missing). I signed the log and went in search of dinner.

There are hundreds of restaurant options on the main roads of Ubud. The menus are posted outside, and I passed up one after another when I found on them burgers, sandwiches, tacos, pizza, pasta… everything but any kind of Asian cuisine, let alone Indonesian. I considered Earth Cafe because I’m a sucker for crunchy hippie oneness good vibe eateries, but it just felt weird to have a seitan wrap or smoothie bowl, even though Ubud is known for this type of business (also, so much yoga).

I was starting to lose my decision-making ability when I finally found a place called Bumi Bali. They serve burgers and fries but also have Indonesian mains, and I was able to get some tofu and rice and veggies.

I checked my email while I ate and was pleasantly surprised to find a response from Mac Dewata. Everywhere was closed, this being Sunday, and there was no contact information on the Google Maps entry where I found them but there was a photo of their awning with their email address on it, so I reached out hoping to get a response Monday morning. I’d asked whether they happen to have a Macbook Air charger in stock, and they replied that if it’s just the cable that’s broken, it can be replaced. I had no idea! Best response.

On my way home, I picked up some bottled water and dental floss sticks (no spools of floss in two pharmacies I tried).

Bedtime.

I think it’s the beds.

Since the nerve pain began on the flight out of Wellington, I’ve been wondering what caused it. I walked a lot in that city, but too much walking for my back creates a different kind of ache.

My back this morning hurt really, really bad. So bad it woke me up, and I’m pretty sure it was the mattress, which was firm so there must be another quality to mattresses besides firmness that affects how we sleep on them. All of the beds in New Zealand after the first night were too soft for me.

I moved from the inside bed to the outside bed to do my press-ups, which also hurt, which was troublesome, and await breakfast. Sitting up to eat was torture. Definitely not snorkeling today. This day will be a lay-down-and-iPad day (since no more laptop).

I did just that on the daybed outside, continuing to push myself to do the press-ups, because I know they work. Sure enough, they hurt less and my back bends got higher as the day went on.

Midday, I finally took a full shower and washed my hair. I’d rinsed off under the hose shower, but I’d been avoiding using it at length. For one thing, there is really no point in getting clean here. Between the dusty main road, getting in the pool, getting in the ocean, the humidity, needing to apply sunscreen and/or bug spray right after… there was always a reason not to. Also, it’s just odd to have a garden hose stream pouring down, and there’s no temperature adjustment, just on and off, so the hottest time of day was the ideal time. Today was that day.

After the stretching and the shower, my back was improving and I decided to walk the main road west instead of east as I’d been doing since I first searched for the ATMs. Once again, I found myself in an idyllic garden setting at Cafe Garam.

Upon my return to the villas, I saw no reason there shouldn’t be a repeat performance of yesterday’s pool lounging and sunset cocktail show (a tequila sunrise instead of arak this time).

Then dinner at one of the beach warungs. A fine routine I settled into! Alas, it’s time to move on tomorrow.

I was encouraged that my back improved over the course of the day and terrified to get back in that bed. I briefly considered whether I could sleep on the daybed outside, but… skeeters.

I brought one of my two lumbar cushions (seriously) to bed with me, which I’ve never done. Each of them emphasizes the arch of the back just above the lumbar area (extension!) in different ways. My plan was to put the pillow under me when I lay supine and use a standard pillow between my knees when I rolled onto my side.

And hope for the best.

It was kind of a rough night. I had to pee a lot (could have been the beer…), which meant exiting the mosquito net and ambling in the dark behind the bed, down a step into the bathroom. Ideally, I would do this half-awake and not entirely wake up.

The third time I got up, at almost 4:00am, I entirely woke up because I was cold from the A/C and needed to do something about it. After my flights a couple days ago, I had been regretting packing an airline blanket. On flights long enough to sleep on, a blanket is provided, and I avoided sleeping anyway so as not to mess up my sleep cycle. But it was perfect for this situation! I decided to turn the A/C off and risk waking up miserably hot and sticky, but that didn’t happen. I also put on my sleep mask and got another almost 3 hours of sleep, getting up before 7:00am.

My back felt really not so good. I went out to the day bed on my porch to do some back stretches, which I would continue to do throughout the day. I messaged my PT to make sure I knew the course of action, and he confirmed. A boatload of “press-ups”: starting prone and propping myself up high into a back bend, using only my arms and not any muscles in my back or glutes. Extension is the remedy for lumbar disc pain and radiating nerve pain from flexion (forward bend). Just gotta ride it out.

Amed is a hot diving spot, the most famous site being a Japanese shipwreck. I don’t dive but I snorkel, and yesterday I messaged my host, Made, to ask if he has snorkel gear for rent. He asked when I wanted to go, and I said after breakfast. He would have his staff bring some by.

During breakfast (no noodles or Indonesian fare on the menu, so eggs and toast it was), I found myself hoping the gear wouldn’t come. I have been on the move daily for two weeks, and an agenda-less day was sounding pretty good. It’s a half hour walk east from the villas to the coral reef, and I wasn’t sure my back was up to it, plus it’s really goddamn hot here. As it turned out, I got my wish. The staff must have forgotten because the gear never showed up.

This created a new dilemma, at least in my mind (where all problems reside). Doing “nothing” meant lots of laptop time as I’d fallen behind in both blog posts and photo management. I felt like I should be doing something else in my beautiful. tropical environment. I used to aim for a tan in these locales, but it’s tricky for me now to tan without burning and I prefer to avoid super-intense sun. So really, sitting on my lanai in the shade with a view of the gardens and the sounds of the sea was taking advantage of my environment, even if I was on my laptop. I could have been reading a book, but I could also let myself do whatever the fuck I wanted without giving myself a hard time.

I wrote words until noon, when my villa neighbors said ‘hello’, and we chatted for a half hour or so, which was really nice. For the most part, I’m doing just fine being solo for most of my time, but I was feeling a bit of a social deficit (apparently, even introverts will crave some interaction after long enough alone). They’re an Aussie couple in their 50s spending two weeks in Bali now and planning for an 11-week trip starting in September to London, Iceland, NYC, San Francisco, and Mexico. Wow!

I headed out for lunch around 2:00pm, ambling slowly down the main road until I found something that pulled me in. Where I landed was a place called The Cup. If they mentioned it on a sign outside, I missed it and got lucky: they have upstairs seating with stunning views of the hills and Mt. Agung and the sea. I had been in Amed for 24 hours without realizing Mt. Agung is its backdrop!

I picked up some more bottled water at the Indomaret and went back to my room. It was 4:15 and I had a plan: there was still some direct sunlight on the pool but it wasn’t intense and there was also shade. Sunset was around 5:45, so I would first hang by the pool, then grab a drink at the villa beach bar and watch the sunset on the beach.

I brought my iPad to the pool, thinking I could either manage photos or read some more Henrietta Lacks. I didn’t realize how sublimely beautiful and tranquil floating in the pool would be. In one direction were the green mountains in the background and above me some trees with white flowers that surround the pool. In the other, the infinity pool spilled into the sea, with some beach huts and two wooden swings in between.

I reluctantly got up and out and walked the maybe 25 steps to the beach and set up a lounge chair for some sunset viewing. The villa bar serves arak, which Made said was like Indonesian wine. It was mixed with honey and lemon and sparkling water.. strong but refreshing. I looked it up later and found that it’s the Indonesian version of moonshine, so I won’t be having any more of it, but I didn’t die of my one sample, which was good because I had a sunset to marvel at.

The sun dipped behind the tail of Mt. Agung and made some glorious colors in the sky. I waded into the sea and continued to watch as clouds turned pink and then eventually as the mountain became a silhouette and the beachfront restaurant lights came on. Utterly divine.

I changed out of my wet bathing suit and hung it on the drying rack provided on the lanai (nice). Dinner tonight was at the other beach warung (one to the left of the villas, one to the right).

As I prepared for bed, I tried to charge my laptop but could not. I first noticed the frayed cable back in Auckland when an overnight charge didn’t take. I realized the cable had to be in just the right position for the current to flow through the exposed wires. Tonight, no amount of finagling would do. It finally sputtered out, sparks and everything.

Since I can type much faster on a computer keyboard than my iPad (and haven’t really gotten into talk-to-text), this adds an additional challenge to keeping up with blog posts!

I got up at some point to use the bathroom and really banged my shin good against the corner of the bed when returning. OUCH. In the morning, I saw that I had a gash (and had transferred a few spots of blood onto the white sheets). Bummer.

I was slept out at 7:30, the last hour being a futile attempt to go back to sleep after going to the bathroom again.

I had a half hour before the credit union closed, but I didn’t need to call as I received an apology, explanation, and remedy via email. I would later notice that both failed withdrawal attempts processed as successful, and when I replied to the first email, they were quick to issue credits at my request and work to get their funds back from the ATM bank on their own. Also, they confirmed at my request that the same trouble would not occur in Japan.

I stepped into my outdoor shower with a view of the moon through the open ceiling and washed off the travel. This boutique hotel is a bed-and-breakfast, a table just outside each room, with the pool in the center and a surrounding garden. I took a seat and found that I couldn’t get into a comfortable sitting position due to continuing nerve pain in my left leg

Still, I enjoyed the peaceful setting and especially the fried egg over fried noodles. Yum. My orange juice arrived with ice in it, and I had to decide how vigilant I was going to be against contracting the dreaded Bali Belly. I have a pretty strong constitution and I’d read that ice is regulated and OK for foreigners, so I went with it this time. On subsequent days, I would toss the ice so as not to risk ruining my stay or jeopardizing my travel to Japan.

Checkout wasn’t until noon, which made for a nice, leisurely morning reclining on the bed with my laptop (composing a blog post for 3 days prior; just as it’s difficult to strike a balance between living and capturing moments in photos, I’m finding it hard to carve out time in my days to describe my days, though I still very much want to do so).

I’d grabbed minimal cash from the credit card withdrawal and planned to get more when my debit card situation was cleared up, so it was nice that I was able to pay for last night’s driver with my credit card, as this allowed me enough cash to pay my driver to Amed. He arrived 35 minutes early, which was fine with me as I was just killing time and it meant more of the day to enjoy once I got settled in my new listing.

It was about 2 hours and 15 minutes to Amed, and sitting in the van activated the nerve pain something fierce. I did my best to both sit all the way back in the seat and keep my knees below my hips, two positions that provide relief but are somewhat at odds with each other.

We arrived at the Classic Beach Villas at 2:00. It was the listing that brought me to Amed rather than deciding to visit Amed and then choosing a listing. In the Fall of 2014, I assisted the host with a payout issue over the course of two months. His last name is similar to a sanctioned country, causing his funds to be held in compliance by an intermediary bank, so it was a complicated case. I ended our correspondence by saying I hoped to stay in his listing some day. Tah-dah!

I got settled in my villa. It was a rustic hut with a lanai for lounging, either on a day bed or at a table. Inside, an old boat stood on end served as shelving. There were gaps and holes in the wooden walls, but the elegant mosquito netting around the bed took care of any worries about being eaten alive as I slept (I am very attractive to the critters). I still had to watch out for them when not in bed, if not from the gaps in the wood then from another outdoor shower. This one was, again, more rustic than last night’s, the “shower” being basically a hose attached near the ceiling. I’m not the rustic type, but I grew accustomed to the space the more time I spent in it.

By 3:00, I was pretty hungry and I was nearly out of cash, so I ventured down the main road in search of lunch (warungs aplenty) and an ATM (not so plentiful). A 10-minute walk and I reached the first ATM, where my attempts again did not go through (BALLS), not because of fraud protection but because of signal connection failure (so the screen told me).

I was so very happy to see a giant satellite dish on the next ATM another 5 minutes down the road. The denominations of rupiah (IDR) are quite large: bills are dispensed by the 100,000, which is a little over $7 USD. I opted for the maximum amount offered, which was 1.2M, or about $85. I have no idea why, but what came out was 2.5M, or about $178. Full meals here cost about $5, so it was kind of an ‘aw shit’ moment until I realized that a significant amount of that would go to my hired drivers from Amed to Ubud and from Ubud to the airport, plus if I have to visit a money changer, no biggie. Carrying a wad of 25-100,000 bills felt weird, though.

I perused the warung options (a small restaurant or cafe) on my way back, choosing one at random that once I entered from the street had a lovely breezy view of the beach. I enjoyed some fresh papaya juice and grilled barracuda with rice at Warung Bobo and headed back to the villa, stopping at the Indomaret (market? mart?) for a large bottled water and granola for snacking.

I brought my laptop out to the lanai and caught up on emails and money stuff. I thought I might have had a late enough lunch that I didn’t need to eat again, but I felt peckish at 8:00 and walked through the villas past the gorgeous infinity pool out to the beach warungs (this is the life, man).

I ordered a fruit plate and salad before remembering that hot food is best, as cold veggies are likely to have been washed in tap water. The vegetable salad arrived hot, though. Well, that worked out. I ordered a Bintang beer with my meal, which I finished on a lounge chair looking up at the Big Dipper and listening to the high tide. Magical.

Whether the four-hour time change or still recovering from having been awake for 24 hours, or both, I hit a wall and actually started to sleep a little on that lounge chair. I gave in to it a little and then headed back to my room for proper restful sleepy time.

I slept lightly, as one does before a super early airport call. Up at 3:30, out the door at 3:50, on the SuperShuttle at 3:55, at Wellington airport at 4:15 for my 6:25 departure.

I had selected emergency exit row seats (at extra cost, natch) for more legroom, which meant I couldn’t check in online because they needed to evaluate my fitness to actually assist in an emergency. The line went quickly, though, as did security. You don’t have to take off your shoes, which is nice, but I was pulled aside to have a look at my liquids, I assume as a random draw. I had repurposed a contact cleaning solution bottle as a travel size saline bottle, and it gave the agent pause that it was unlabeled, but he accepted that it was for my eyes easily enough (it helped that I had my glasses on).

Unlike most airport terminals I’m accustomed to, there were very few food options at my gate. Just one, in fact. I had a foot-long veggie sandwich from Subway for my 5:00am breakfast.

I did some preventative back stretches for the long flying bouts ahead and was alarmed to find after boarding that bending forward to place my shoulder bag under the seat produced some sharp nerve pain down my left leg. Bad timing!

I always sit in the aisle for easier bathroom access and to get up and stretch, but since the first flight was under 4 hours, I opted for the window for once. My seatmates were big dudes and I was pretty bummed when the center seat paid no mind to all the space he took up, including his elbow in my side most of the flight. He was generally oblivious to everything. He wasn’t incapacitated in any way, but his buddy or brother managed everything for him, like pulling his tray down, cleaning up his breakfast rubbish, and literally pulling his arm out of my ribs at one point. I also pushed back, but he slept the entire way and it was fruitless. Win some, lose some.

Nerve pain comes from a disc out of whack, and I knew walking would be good for me. I was excited to take advantage of my daylong layover to explore what I could of Sydney, at a minimum seeing the Opera House and Harbour Bridge.

We landed around 8:15 local time, two hours difference from NZ. A shuttle took us from the tarmac to the terminal, and from there I could not figure out whether to go the international or domestic transfer route, even after I asked a Qantas agent. Um… both? Ultimately, I realized I needed to follow the signs to baggage claim, without picking up my bag which was tagged on to DPS, because that’s what people do when they’re leaving the airport.

Despite having attached the required Electronic Travel Authority to my passport in order to enter Australia, I felt anxious about leaving the airport and somehow not being able to come back in. However, the customs agent scanned my passport and confirmed I was good to go. Yay!

I asked an info desk about bag storage and the train to the harbour. They were in opposite directions in the terminal. I made sure I had what I needed for the day and stored my backpack for $11 AUD. I did not withdraw any cash and hoped I could get by with my credit card all day. Train tickets to and from the airport are expensive: $18.50 AUD each way, about $28 USD total, but it’s the most efficient way to the harbour. There is seating on three decks, a few where you enter and stairs going both up and down. Also? Super comfortable seats, which my back appreciated.

I exited at Circular Quay at 10:15, two hours of my 8.5-hour layover already passed. Just across from the train are several wharfs with ferries going in all directions. Oh! There’s the Sydney Harbour Bridge. So thrilled to be here! Ah, and there’s the gorgeous Opera House. It’s a little surreal to see iconic landmarks with my own eyes that I’ve seen in so many travel photos.

I walked to The Rocks district just a few blocks away from the wharf for a breakfast better than Subway. I found a cute little cafe adjoining a hotel and ate a salmon and cream cheese bagel at their outdoor seating, watching cars and people come and go. I would have been super stoked to add Australia to my geocache map but, alas, the one I hunted around the corner from the cafe was too tricky a hide and I came up empty, and I just didn’t have enough time to make it a priority.

I had thought maybe I would walk the bridge, but I learned from a gentleman at the train station that it’s quite the trek and he suggested I just get on a ferry that goes under the bridge. Thank you, messenger! As it happens, I love ferries. Why didn’t I think of that.

I purchased a ticket from Circular Quay to Barangaroo (nope, didn’t make that up), a very close stop still in the downtown (?) area that you could walk to as easily as take a ferry. I had given the Airbnb office in Sydney a heads-up about passing through, and I still had the idea that I wanted to stop in. It was about a 30-minute walk from Circular Quay and about a 30-minute walk from Barangaroo. The idea was to sail past the Opera House and under the bridge for some killer views and then be done with the harbour.

Well.. didn’t work out that way but I was happy for it. I went to Wharf 5 as indicated on the digital sign of ferry departures and confirmed with the gate attendant that I was in the right place for Barangaroo. He confirmed and said I had 3 minutes. He must have meant until that ferry arrived, but I thought he meant to board the ferry that had just docked. I almost asked again as I got on but I just went with it.

Wrong ferry. No stop in Barangaroo. I ended up much further west in the harbor than I’d intended. Which was great! Going away from the city, I saw some different views. Houseboats, a marina, another bridge in the distance (upon looking it up, it’s called the Anzac). I ended up on Cockatoo Island, a fine turnaround point. I told one of the ferry attendants what happened and he gave me options to either just stay on his ferry and end up back at Circular Quay or which ferry to catch from Cockatoo Island to disembark at Barangaroo as planned. As much as I enjoyed the landmark views, I wanted to keep seeing new things, so I waited a half hour for the Barangaroo ferry.

I disembarked to a busy professional lunchtime scene. So many locals eating in front of wharf cafes for their break from work. I followed directions on my phone through the financial district to the small Airbnb office. I got a brief tour and was offered my choice of anything from the fridge, so I had some sparkling water (very nice after hoofing it for a half hour), a hard-boiled egg, and some cold salmon. Perfect snack. I took some photos and then it was time to head back to the airport in order to arrive there two hours before departure at 16:45. I’d spent 4 delightful hours in the city.

I walked to Central Station (small, not Grand), rode back to the airport, retrieved my backpack and went through security to my gate (I’d gotten my boarding pass in Wellington). Easy-peasy!

It would be an almost 7-hour flight to DPS, and I had plenty of time for a full meal, so I sat at a bistro with a view of the tarmac and had prawns pasta. Expensive, of course, but not outrageously so for an airport — $26 AUD / $20 USD — and a good-sized portion (and tasty to boot).

More back stretches before boarding, and I settled in for the long flight. There was no fish or vegetarian option for dinner, so I was glad I’d eaten the pasta. I picked the chicken out of the chicken salad, leaving red onions and small potato bites, with a salad roll. I continued re-watching the first season of Westworld, as I’d done on my way to NZ, which I thoroughly enjoyed. However, despite getting up to stand and stretch many times, my back was not holding up well. The long flight felt very long.

We arrived at Denpasar at 21:30 local time, four hours behind my body’s New Zealand time. I picked up my bag, and exiting through customs was quick and easy. I emerged into humidity and chaos. A row of drivers looking for passengers crowded a gate like fans at a concert. They held signs with names, and I really hoped mine was among them, but first I needed cash.

The ATM menu was in Bahasa Indonesian, and it took a few tries to insert my card at the right moment and reach the withdrawal option. I had not only placed a travel advisory with my credit union by phone but then also visited the branch the day before I left to make sure all was in place and I’d be able to get cash. It went fine at Auckland Airport. It did not work here in Bali. I tried twice, unsuccessfully both times. I switched to my back-up method, a cash withdrawal from my Capital One (foreign transaction free) credit card, which I’m sure I’ll pay a pretty fee for. Thank you, me from the planning phase, for having the foresight to set up a PIN for this new card in case this very thing came to pass.

Cash in hand (and a long line formed behind me.. sorry, folks), I walked the line-up of aggressive and shouting drivers, and lo and behold there I was on a sign. The driver I’d booked from the boutique hotel where I’d be staying confirmed twice that I was the named person, which I learned during the ride was because he’d never heard the name “Zoe” and had assumed it was male. We had a chuckle over that.

It was good that I was beyond tired because I was too Zen to react fearfully to the haphazard “rules” of Bali roads. Lanes are merely suggestions. Hordes of scooters ride alongside and in between cars and vans.

We arrived at Sindhu Mertha Suite in Sanur at 23:00, and I was checked in quickly. My room had A/C on and an outdoor shower. I was so tired and in such unfamiliar and different surroundings from New Zealand, I hardly knew how to get ready for bed. I took it one step at a time and before lights out placed a call to my credit union. I left a voice mail as it was an hour before they opened and I certainly couldn’t wait for that. I requested an email as they would just be closing when I woke up.

And then, after exactly 24 hours awake, I passed out.

Here are some general observations about my time in New Zealand, a country I hope to return to and experience more of.

The people

First and foremost, the people are exceedingly warm and open and friendly. Beyond that, I noticed something specific about their interactions. It struck me several times how completely disinterested they are in blaming and shaming. I saw this in small ways and in higher stakes ways.

I’m not sure if these examples will translate:

* At a cafe in Auckland, I tore the receipt from the credit card charger in the wrong direction, which pulled out and partially unraveled the entire paper roll. The server said, “That’s alright.. happens all the time,” with a gleam in her eye that told me it does not, which I confirmed by asking.

* In Rotorua, I found bread and butter in the fridge and messaged my host Diane if there are any additional spreads besides butter for toast in the mornings. Just after I sent the message, I discovered jam, peanut butter, and Marmite in the cupboard. I was about to let her know I’d found them, but she was quick to respond. When I next saw her, I apologized and explained that as an Airbnb employee, I know how to be a good guest, including not asking the host questions that can be answered by reading the thorough information the host provides, or in my case looking around a bit more. She replied, with a smile and that same gleam in her eye, “Well, you’re allowed one slip-up.”

* Also in Rotorua, Diane’s boyfriend or husband Mike left a bag of feijoas at my doorstep (hmm.. I’ll have to go back to my Rotorua posts and add this). I didn’t know what they were at first or how to eat them, so I didn’t get to them right away. When I ran into Mike late the next day, I confessed I hadn’t had any yet, bracing for disappointment or an air of perception of my ingratitude. He said that was alright and told me how to eat them.

Again, these were all small gestures but significant to me.

* Here’s what I mean by higher stakes. I asked my host at the hostel in Paihia how he deals with potential bed bugs from every single guest. He told me about the one case they had last winter from a girl who didn’t know she was carrying them. He didn’t talk about how careless she was, or what a pain it was to clear the room, or the business he lost as a result. He talked about helping her wash all her clothes and belongings.

This last one moves me to tears every time I think about it. The generosity of spirit in the people of New Zealand was a revelation to behold. Such a contrast from America’s me-first ethos.

Maori culture

Unlike the genocides of America and nearby Australia, there was no mass killing of the native Maori people by the later-arriving European settlers on New Zealand. Google tells me there were land wars in the 19th century, and the Maori population is currently a 15% minority. Nonetheless, I perceived during my time on the North Island that the people and the government of New Zealand celebrate and honor Maori culture, keeping it alive in public monuments, the names of roads and landmarks, and knowing their history. It was three White men who taught me about the Treaty of Waitangi while I was in Paihia, the place of the signing, in which the British Crown and Maori iwi chiefs reached an agreement about sovereignty, land ownership, and indigenous rights. I’m sure there’s a lot more I could learn about this from the Maori perspective, but from my own observations, Maori culture is well-integrated into New Zealand life.

It’s clean

There are public bathrooms everywhere, and in large part, they’re in great condition. People respect public spaces.

It’s safe

I never once perceived any threat to my person or belongings, including in the major cities. I felt secure in relaxing my usual street-smart vigilance, and that in itself was restful.

The correct side of the road, not the right side of the road

(How one of the InterCity bus drivers described it)

Man, I just never got used to this. Crossing the street broke my brain every single time, especially if I was jaywalking or in a parking lot rather than crossing an intersection. I was constantly looking over my shoulder for cars in the wrong direction.

Also, as in the United States though we don’t consciously think about it, the side of the road we drive on extends to the side we use in the crosswalk and the side on which we enter double doors. I continuously found myself on a collision course with fellow pedestrians.

Money

The U.S. dollar is strong against the New Zealand dollar: $1.00 USD = $1.41 NZD, or roughly $10.00 NZD = $7.00 USD. So things cost the same amount as they would at home, but I was getting them for a lot less. Like a $5.00 latte being $3.50 or a $20.00 meal being $14.00.

There is no tipping, and GST (goods and services tax) is folded into the pricing (though listed separately on receipts). So when reviewing a menu, the price shown was exactly what I would pay. I LOVED THIS

Time

I mistakenly assumed New Zealand uses a 24-hour clock. Australia does, but NZ does not.

Music in restaurants

Nearly everywhere music played on speakers overhead, it was either 70s or 80s music. I heard a lot of Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, Blondie, and Hall and Oates. This is neither here nor there, really, just part of my experience.

Food

Speaking of restaurants, the food here is more or less the food back home. I didn’t try to find “authentic New Zealand food”. The one exception might be the hangi lunch I had at Whakarewarewa village, meaning it was cooked using the geothermal oven.

Phone dialing

Local numbers here start with 0, and after innumerable permutations that failed, I figured out that I had to start with a plus sign in front of the country code (+64) and then drop the leading 0 in front of the local number.

Websites

I use LastPass to fill in passwords, but they wouldn’t work if I was redirected from a .com to a .co.nz instead.

I’ll add more if I think of anything else 🙂

As in Auckland, I wanted to get out on the water to enjoy the harbor/city views. There is a small town called Days Bay about 40 minutes across the harbor with cafes and little shops. Perfect!

After commuter hours, the ferry only runs every 2 hours. I was able to do laundry this morning (yay!), but the clothes were full of water when the wash cycle supposedly finished. I had to wait for a spin cycle to run, which made me late out the door and I had to hoof it the 15-minute walk along the harbor to catch the 10:00am ferry.

I went up to the top deck to enjoy the views. So very windy!

Once out a ways from the city wharf, the opening to the harbor that goes out to the South Island comes into view. I hear the 3-hour ferry between the two islands is magically beautiful. I keep thinking that I will have to come back to New Zealand. I had the same thought about Costa Rica. So many new countries to visit and yet also so much to explore in some of them individually.

The ferry first stops at Matiu / Somes Island (it has a bilingual name to reflect both Maori and European histories). There are some wildlife walks there and it serves as an educational field trip for local schools.

Once docked in Days Bay, I walked just a little ways from the pier to a breakfast cafe called Cotti for some eggs on toast and a view of the water. I looked up some geocaches and there were two on a street around the corner. I found the first hiding in a tree overlooking a recreational field. It was visible from the street and I could have climbed a fence to retrieve it, which only occurred to me after I’d gone around through an entry in the fence and then leaped across a stream to access the tree. It was kind of a wide jump and I was again thankful I didn’t bork my back up.

From there, the residential street headed uphill. The second cache was at the end of the street and the beginning of a trail hike, or “track” as they’re called here. I just love how geocaching leads me to discover spots like this! I hadn’t planned on hiking today, but the sign said it was only a two-minute walk to the viewing area of a dam. Unfortunately, I neither found the cache as it was hidden at the base of a tree and I wasn’t really feeling the bushwhacking variety of cache hunting, nor could I find which way the track goes: once I entered the forest, both down and up seemed to lead to dead ends, or at least to a hike too difficult for me to take on.

I walked back down the residential street to the other cafe near the pier, Chocolate Dayz, as I’d realized that I was sightseeing’d out. I just wanted to sit and drink a chai latte and look at the water until the ferry came back two hours after I’d landed, so that’s what I did.

The ferry back picked up one of the aforementioned field trips. So. Many. Children. Maybe 6th or 7th graders? High schoolers look like babies to me, so I don’t know. I asked one of them how his time on the island was, and he enthusiastically talked about seeing the empty barracks and the animal quarantine. It was cute and sweet, and I was glad I’d engaged him.

Back in the city, I had one more item on the agenda, and I took it slowly. It was a short and quick walk from the wharf to the cable car (props once again to my planning skills), which goes up to the city’s botanical gardens. Like the Te Papa museum, entry is free!

The cutest little flower mosaic tiles lead visitors along a path through the gardens. There are garden collections along the path, like the fragrant garden and the herb garden, along with bigger “attractions” toward the end like the duck pond, begonia house, and rose garden. I strolled very leisurely, which meant by the time I arrived at the very large rose garden, half of it was in afternoon shadow, which limited the vantages from which to take pretty photos. Once again, I considered that social platforms might have started as a way to share the photos people would be taking anyway and are now drivers of the photos that people take, myself included.

Just on the other side of the rose garden was a nook I hadn’t seen on any signs. A waterfall filled a small duck pond featuring a lantern in the center called the Peace Flame. The story goes that it was lit from the fires started by the bombs the U.S. dropped in Hiroshima, and the lantern was a gift from the Japan Society of New Zealand to Wellington to honor the city’s commitment to being nuclear-free. No surprise, this was my favorite feature of the gardens. I’m looking forward to Japan!

From the gardens, it was a half hour walk back to the listing. I guess I could have taken an Uber but it didn’t occur to me. My legs were tired, but my back was in good shape, and it was a chance to see more of the city.

I wanted to return to the listing before Steve and Karen got home. When they showed me how to use the laundry, they said they hang their clothes rather than use the dry cycle, which is common here. One of my previous listings allowed use of both the washer and dryer, with a $3.00 NZD charge for the dryer. I presume electricity is expensive.

I had divided my dirties into two small loads, one to hang dry, which they knew about, and one to tumble dry, which they didn’t. I was embarrassed at how much laundry I had to do (I just don’t travel light!) and I was afraid they’d be upset that I’d used the dryer, which is ridiculous because they were pretty easygoing and they had showed me how to use the dryer if I needed it (their washer/dryer is a single appliance that does both).

I folded clean clothes and started packing them up, with a very early morning ahead. With my last couple hours in the evening, I walked Cuba Street, a historic and well-known shopping and eating district. Guides call it “bohemian”, but it felt rather commercial to me (not a criticism, it just had a different feel than I’d read about).

There were lots of noodle joints, but I’d be in Bali and Japan soon enough, so I opted for Mexican, which I hadn’t had in NZ yet, at The Flying Burrito Brothers. (I hoped at the time that it was not a chain.. as I’m writing this, I looked it up and it is not 🙂 )

I walked back to my listing and past it around the next corner to a natural foods store called Commonsense. I had $6 NZD in cash left to spend and I wanted airplane snacks. They didn’t have my first choice, trail mix. I could have mixed some dried fruit and nuts from the bulk bins, but I opted for a bar and some more protein balls.

Then back to the listing for some chatting with my hosts and some laptop time. Lights out at 10:30am, not nearly early enough for my 3:30am wake-up.

My bad morning continued when I chose from Google Maps a breakfast joint called Joe’s Garage that as it turned out couldn’t serve me because their order system was on the blink.. they couldn’t even open the till for cash. They’d already given away $100 in meals and stopped seating people by the time I arrived. And I’d neglected to notice that both of my two back-up options are closed Mondays and Tuesdays.

I used my phone to look up more options (international data is so key!) and walked to Cuba Street, a well-known eating and shopping thoroughfare with a stretch of pedestrian-only blocks. I very much enjoyed the smoked mackerel hash at Floriditas, but their service staff were a bit standoffish. Or maybe it was just my mood.

From there, it was a quick and easy walk to the Te Papa museum of New Zealand history and Maori culture. It was a pretty day, and honestly I’m not a museum person, but the remainder of my planned activities were outdoors and I’d read this museum is a must-do (and free!).

Each floor houses one main exhibit.

On the 2nd is a long and detailed retrospective of the New Zealand army’s stand at Gallipoli during WWI. I am generally not interested in war, but this exhibit included several larger-than-life and quite lifelike sculptures, mostly soldiers in the heat of battle but also a crying nurse, and each one was quite affecting.

On the 3rd floor is a history of the land, flora and fauna, and how it changed with the arrival of settlers, first Maori tribes and later Europeans (lots of clear-cutting). Sadly, the natural history wing of the floor was closed.

The 4th floor examines Maori culture through a deep look at one iwi, or tribe, which rotates every two years; right now, it’s Rongowhakaata. I watched a 4-minute video on the haka two or three times and took off my shoes to sit in a recreation of a wharenui, or meeting house. No photos were allowed in this exhibit but I was gladly able to capture a larger, colorful, elaborate wharenui in a separate room. I was grateful to have heard a Maori guide explain the significance of the structure and its parts back in Whakarewarewa village.

The 5th floor is art, and I completely skipped it. The 6th is a viewing terrace overlooking the harbour.

It was late afternoon and I wanted to get up to Mt. Victoria for sunset. I confirmed with an info desk that drivers can make change aboard the city bus. This was the case in Rotorua and also in Barcelona last year. Travelers to the U.S. must be surprised/annoyed that they need exact fare to ride our buses.

I’d looked up the route earlier and walked just a couple blocks from the museum to the bus stop, which also happened to be around the corner from my listing. Got downtown Welly all worked out.

The ride up steep hills afforded views of its own and made me thankful I’d decided against walking/hiking. I arrived at the lookout at 4:30, with sunset just after 5:00. The golden light made for pretty photos! I was done after 10-15 minutes. It was chilly and I was tired, but I decided to stay to see the sun dip behind the hills.

That meant I needed to hustle a little down the hill back to town as I did not want to still be there as dusk settled. I’d assumed incorrectly the walkway down was a paved path. The dirt trail was mostly flat but was a bit rocky and steep in parts.

I made it almost all the way down before I slipped and ate shit. First fell on my ass, then my side as I rolled and kept rolling until I was face down in a bush. I am so thankful I didn’t poke one of my eyes on a twig branch or something (especially the right one as my left one doesn’t work so I’d have been blinded). My immediate concern was that I’d twisted up my back.

I was so freaked out at the possibility, and a little in shock because it all happened so fast, that I went straight to denial. What had just happened did not just happen. My hands were not dirty or burning from trying to brace myself as I slid. Brushed my jeans off.. there, no trace. Carry on. My back would be fine the next day. Only my new Queen Bee messenger bag carries a bit of a scar.

I regrouped at the listing and then walked back toward the park to a tapas spot called Basque that I’d passed on the way home. Sangría and caprese and patatas bravas on a rooftop patio. Joy!

I had kind of a shitty morning. Bad days happen during regular life, but it was a bit of a surprise to be in a foul mood while on vacation, even a long one.

During my last week of work, I interviewed for a new project-based role on my team. We first learned of the position in December and couldn’t have imagined it would take until April to publish and open for applications. In fact, getting close to my leave, I’d already figured I wasn’t going to be able to apply because there wasn’t time to interview after the posting closed.

Well, the posting went up at the end of my penultimate week, and my manager’s manager let the team know that interviews would be conducted concurrently with the opening. Without anyone saying so, I knew this was so I could apply.

I had updated my resume in January for a different application, but it still needed customizing for this one and I needed to write a new cover letter from scratch. My mind and spare time were consumed with trip prep, and fitting in a job application was stressful and inconvenient, given that I’d let go of the idea that I’d have the chance. Still, I wanted the promotion and I was ready to take on the new challenge of different work.

I was scheduled for 3 interviews on my last day of work. The first one was at 8:00, and I’m not usually up until 9:30. I hadn’t slept enough; I’d stayed up too late researching or booking something or another. Surprisingly, the first interview went very well. I had two mid-afternoon, the first of which went pretty OK and the last could have gone a lot better. Silver lining: that one was with my lead, who best knows the quality of my work.

Despite the entire point of a sabbatical being a rest from work, I was told I’d need to be in touch to accept the role if offered. Rather than checking email, I asked my lead to text me on WhatsApp. I hadn’t heard anything, so I had a look at work email this morning.

To confess, I had just caught up on work email (minimal attention paid, mostly deleting things) two days ago. The notice had come in right around that time. I must have just missed it, which was good because it would have ruined my wine tasting day. Obviously, from the title and opening lines of this post, I didn’t get it.

There were actually two openings of the same role and three of us on the team applying. One of my best friends, Shelby, has been runner-up for everything she has applied for in the last two years, despite being highly qualified each time. She feared the same would happen here, and no matter how hard she brought it, I would be selected by seniority. I am ecstatic for her that she finally gets an opportunity to put her skills to work.

Myself, I feel completely unmoored. This sabbatical is a dividing line between the work I’d been doing for 3-1/2 years, without the position ever existing on paper, and whatever comes next, and I was hoping I would know what that is upon my return. I feel the rejection that always comes with not getting a role applied for, with the bonus anxiety of not having any idea where I fit on my team anymore.

This won’t ruin the rest of my trip. I know it will pass if I allow it to move through me. Sure sucks today, though.

Another beautiful listing in a charming town that I’m sad to move on from!

There was no guest arriving today, so Kim offered an extra hour in the room, which was nice. I got packed up by 11:00a and stored my bags in his foyer as he’d offered me a ride down the hill with them (yes!).

I walked down to breakfast at Mister D. I should have come here before the winery yesterday! Light-filled space, super friendly staff, eclectic menu. I had been eating a lot of eggs/toast/avocado/salmon (and will continue to do so), so I shook things up a bit and got a smoothie bowl. I almost didn’t because they call it the Bali bowl, and I’ll be in Bali soon enough, but it’s what sounded good. It arrived in a bowl made from a Bali coconut and a spoon from Balinese wood. It’s the little things.

My bus was to leave at 1:30p, and Kim would be bringing me down the hill at 12:30p, so I asked the staff at Mister D if I could possibly store my bags there once I went back up the hill and came back down. An awkward request but it was in the best location for me to have a look around the town and then walk to the depot. Other options were pay lockers at a facility further away or just sitting with my bags, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask. My server said the owners were travelers themselves, and when he called the manager over for me to ask, she had no fucks to give either. Yay!

I walked up back up, took some more photos of Kim’s beautiful house because the skies had cleared, and then rode with him back to Mister D. It has been such a joy and a relief to get rides from hosts with all my stuff.

I parked my bags in the restaurant and took a stroll through the Napier shopping district. As mentioned in a previous post, the town was rebuilt after a major earthquake in 1931 and art deco was the architectural style of the time. At first, I wasn’t seeing it anywhere, and after a while, I realized I needed to look UP and then I saw it everywhere. The storefronts are modern, but the building facades are classic. And very cool!

I bought some pesto pasta salad for the long bus ride ahead and walked back to Mister D to retrieve my bags, buying a scone there as a final thank-you.

I had purchased a Gold seat for the six-hour journey to Wellington ($25 NZD.. approx. $17.50 USD). This meant slightly wider and cushier but more importantly with a USB port! I charged all the things while on the way. Yes, I can charge things overnight, but it’s nice to be powered up at any and all times when on the move, especially of course my phone.

I glanced out the window here and there at the rolling green hills and sheep that have been the view on every bus journey in NZ, and mostly I revisited The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. I’d inadvertently abandoned it on page 65 the first time around several months ago. I started over and surpassed where I’d left off before.

Steve and Karen are my hosts in Wellington. Once again, Steve had offered a ride with my bags when I booked back in March, and I took advantage of that this evening. He picked me up at Wellington Railway Station at 7:30p, showed me around my room and private bathroom, and I got settled.

I called a Neapolitan pizza joint close by that happened to be very well-reviewed on Google, but it just sounded good so that’s what I was going to get anyway. I was looking forward to enjoying some more of the Mission Estate sauvignon blanc that was my favorite white wine of yesterday’s tasting. I ordered the “funghi bianca”, a white mushroom pie (made with garlic oil.. yassss) to go with my white wine.

After some blogging and other laptop business (emails, money…), it was midnight by the time I went lights out.