After stacking motorbikes and removing helmets, we shuffled into a dimly lit room and sat on worn couches. We didn't mind the red wine stains or the ripped carpet. We smiled at the woman behind the bar, shook her hand, and tried to remember the Indonesian word for evening greetings.
Shisha XL was our…
We smiled and thrashed around in the pool because they told us to. We yelled out "Schoolies!" with our drinks in the air because they told us to. When asked if we were 18 -- without having to produce ID -- most of my friends lied and drunkenly signed contracts forfeiting our rights because they…
I notice the wildlife before the people. Between the hoards of holy cows and scavengers of the sky, there’s fierce competition for edible waste. I’m ankle deep in rubbish before I notice nimble fingers combing through the dump.
This is Suwung, the largest official landfill site in Bali—a 44-hectare cleared plot of land. Once a…
What’s the most quintessential injury an Aussie can get in Bali?
A scooter accident.
Okay, what’s the second most?
Animal Bite.
What’s the third—actually, forget it.
Picture this, it’s 3 o’clock in the afternoon and you’ve just down a beverage called Adios Motherfucker. Sorry, Adios Motherfu*cker. Can’t forget the oddly placed asterisk; it’s honestly charming.…
When people say drugs are a gateway, their minds often jump straight to visions of calamity and misfortune. More often than not, drugs provide a gateway to the next adventure. An escapade you would never have possibly found yourself on, had it not been for the quest to alter your reality.
In my case, on…
I have no other choice. Since the war ended, my life has been miserable. The communists have confiscated our house, our money, our belongings, everything. The 10 of us live in what used to be our kitchen, which is now our only space. Every time any of us leave the house, we’re body searched in…
It’s quiet outside, a little too quiet. There are meant to be 17 other people here but I haven’t seen any signs of life. Tired, culture-shocked, and utterly starving, I get my first ever meal in Canggu delivered to my villa’s door: a veggie burger with chips, an order akin to that of a seven-year-old…
I’m halfway through my month-long escape in Bali and my weeks have begun forming a pattern.
Monday morning, wake up early, yoga, green tea.
Tuesday morning, wake up early, journal, green tea.
By the time Wednesday rolls around, I’m dead out of wholesomeness and ready to party. This week is no different, as I prepare…
I put a drop of soap into my menstrual cup and use my hands to spread the soap around the silicon. There is something grotesque about washing a menstrual cup while listening to pig squeals echoing from the abattoir down the street of the Bali villa. Paradise met with slaughter. The scent of my blood…
“The problem with Muslims is that they don’t assimilate,” announced the Australian owner of a Balinese sports bar.
The red-nosed sexagenarian was drunk on his own stock and the admiration of his fellows, swinging off a barstool in the joint he’d made his own.
“They don’t assimilate and they don’t respect our way of…
“Finding the one” is a concept I am utterly fascinated by, but I also find it deeply puzzling. What is it that fuels peoples’ desire to continue trying after so many failed attempts?
For me, this urge doesn’t exist. At a mere 20 years old, with two failed relationships already behind me, I don’t have…
Lingering incense from daily offerings wafted over the villa; the smell of Balinese air and fresh street food filled my nostrils. A breath felt how I would imagine dirt-flavoured candy floss to taste – instantly melting, topped with a spritz of motor oil and a dash of bug spray.
A muffled chorus of squealing pigs…