As I sit here listening to the rain gently hitting the straw roof of my beach hut, I marvel at how life, and Bali, never fails to surprise me and to exceed my expectations. It’s been an amazing week here on Nusa Lembongan, a week that I thought couldn’t get any better. But what was supposed to be a wind down and a wrap up of this week has turned out to be so much more, because it seems that Nusa Lembongan saved the best for last.
Everything has gone pretty much to plan here this week. I wasn’t seasick on the way over, the water was only up to my thighs on the way on and off the boat, and my accommodation has been exactly what it said on the tin, in the best possible way.
I’ve spent the past seven days in a cute little bungalow, set in a pretty garden, adjacent to a chilled out beachfront pool bar and restaurant area. I’ve explored this island and the neighbouring Nusa Ceningan by foot, and later by golf buggy. I’ve seen a stunning lagoon, a mangrove forest, and so many beach views that I’ve lost count. I’ve been sunburnt and bitten by mosquitoes. I’ve walked around for hours at a time without anybody asking me where I am going or trying to sell me anything. Life here has been good.
This island has given me so much beauty to feast my eyes upon, so much more than I could ever have hoped or asked for. I head out for a final dinner at a restaurant by the beach with a view over the water. I try to order a margarita and am told that there is nobody available to make it. I ask for white wine but am told that they have run out. I ask for Diet Coke and I’m in luck. I order my food and relax, answer a few messages and sip on my non alcoholic beverage. The sun is starting to set and if I’m honest, I’m not even paying particularly close attention.
The sunsets here on Lembongan this week have been pretty but not among the best I’ve ever seen, and Mushroom Beach has a slightly obstructed view, so I am not expecting the spectacle that is about to unfold in front of my eyes. But it seems like my luck is about to change in more than one way. I am told that the bartender has arrived and that I can have my margarita after all. And then, at some point, without me even realising that it is happening, the sky catches fire.
I spend the next thirty minutes or so watching Mother Nature’s epic light show, enthralled by how the colours change from one second to the next. I watch the reds and oranges, the pinks and purples, all blend together and cast their reflections on the water below me, with the sound of the waves providing the most perfectly soothing soundtrack. I take far too many photos. I know I should just live in this moment, but I want something to look back on, to remind me just how beautiful this half hour of my life was, just in case there comes a day that I don’t or can’t remember it.
I swore that I wasn’t going to write any more of these posts. I promised that I would use this blog to provide lots of helpful information, instead of the “emotional splurges” that my English teacher at school once told me I was prone to writing. But sitting here in this little thatched room, admittedly slightly fuelled by tequila, listening to the rain and still basking in the glow of that beautiful sunset, I don’t care about any of that. I need to somehow try to find words to describe this moment, to paint a verbal picture of just how visually magical it was and to capture some sense of how peaceful it made me feel.
I need to have something more than just a picture to remember it. Because life can sometimes get pretty crazy, and even ugly. Memories fade and become jumbled, and some moments are worthy of being savoured and treasured and kept safe so that we can at least try to revisit them later on.
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