A Collection of Short Memories
This blog post will grow alongside our travels—a little collection of memorable moments that don’t have homes anywhere else. Think of it as a scrapbook of odds and ends. Enjoy! Bali Stories: We landed at Ngurah Rai Airport in Bali at 1am on March 24th, bleary-eyed and sleep deprived. As we taxied on the tarmac, the flight attendant announced over the loudspeaker, “please be aware that bringing heavy narcotics into Bali is a crime punishable by death. Also, please remember to fill out your health declaration and customs forms. Welcome to Bali.” John and I looked at each other thinking, way to just slip that information in there lady. We quickly got out our phones to fill out the necessary forms to make it out of the airport smoothly. Then once it was safe to do so, we collected our bags from the overhead compartments and exited the plane. *************** John was driving Scoopy, our black-and-silver scooter rental, through the Amora Huts area with me riding on the back as his trusty passenger princess. His phone was clipped to the handlebars, guiding us to Secret Beach — a tucked-away gem on Nusa Ceningan. We passed little roadside shops selling everything from snacks to beachwear, and locals perched on stools outside either stared, nodded, or ignored us entirely. We reached a bumpy stretch of road near a makeshift wooden garage where scooters were parked. I pointed and said, “We could just park here,” as John rolled up beside it. The engine was still softly humming as we debated our next move when a man on a white scooter appeared out of nowhere. He pulled up beside us and asked, “Where are you going?” “Secret Beach,” John replied. “Come, I’ll show you.” I had already hopped off the scooter, and the man patted the back of his seat, motioning for me to get on. I shook my head and said, “I’ll ride on ours,” climbing back onto Scoopy. Without another word, he turned and started up the gravel path like it was second nature, trusting we’d follow. John and I exchanged a look, shrugged, and took off after him. Without turning around, John said, “I read there’s a guy who patrols these trails offering to guide people and then asks for money.” “Huh,” I said. “I wonder if that’s him.” “I wonder,” John said. We followed him until he pulled off into a small dirt clearing surrounded by trees, where a narrow path led down toward the beach. We parked and walked together toward the stone path leading down. He stopped and asked where we were from. “America,” we said. He looked at us both and smiled. “You are very beautiful,” he said to me, then turned to John and added, “And you are very handsome.” Then he asked, “How long have you been dating?” but John misheard and thought he asked how long we’d been in Bali. “Oh, a few days,” John replied. Realizing the mix-up, John then asked, “Should I give you a little something for helping us?” The man nodded. “Yes.” John reached into his man purse and handed him a small amount of IDR. We both thanked him, he gave a little bow, and just like that, we parted ways — us heading down the path to the beach, and him riding off into the trees. ********* Vietnam Stories: I was heading back to John after putting my sunglasses in a locker for safekeeping at Phu Quoc’s Aquatopia Water Park, when something caught my eye near the splash pad. A dad was holding his baby close to his chest, running back and forth through the fountains. Each time they passed through the sprays, he’d pause, look at her, and say something—probably the equivalent of “again?” in their language—and she would erupt into giggles, her whole body shaking with joy. Then off they’d go, dashing through the water once more. She was having the time of her life. To them, it was like they were the only people who existed in that moment. It was such a sweet and happy thing to have witnessed. ********* John and I were walking through Swan Lake Park in Hanoi—a lovely little trail that circles a central pond. The path was lined with palm trees and, to our surprise, had the first public trash cans we’d seen since arriving in Vietnam. There was a bright patch of flowers, plenty of swans, and then, unexpectedly, a small farm tucked off to the side. There were peacocks, a pig, and a donkey, each in their own pen along a side path that veered off the main trail. I thought, Oh cool! but John didn’t want to risk interacting with farm animals since we were going to Thailand next, so I wandered over alone. As I looked around for someone to ask if I could pet the donkey, a group of five middle school-aged kids appeared from behind one of the huts. They wore matching uniforms and badges around their necks and walked over to the donkey. One of the girls approached me with a curious look and said, “Hello.” “Hello,” I replied, pointing to the donkey. “Yours?” She giggled, said nothing, and handed me a small bunch of grass to feed him. I took the grass and fed the donkey, then turned back to the group—now all five kids had gathered around—and said, “Thank you, bye-bye!” They all waved and said a chorus of enthusiastic “bye-byes”. I walked back to John, who was waiting on a bench, and told him all about it. *********
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