Bali: A Pause, a Reset, a Soft Landing
- Reese Highbloom
- Dec 21, 2025
- 4 min read
November 18 – December 9
It’s been a long time since I last wrote...
The previous entry ended with me leaving Cambodia, exhausted and wrung out, headed for Bali. What followed wasn’t a highlight reel or a checklist of sights—it was a pause. A reset. A few weeks where the pace slowed, emotions caught up, and travel shifted from movement to presence.
I arrived in Bali on November 18th after a smooth flight with Chris, landing late in the evening after a brief layover in Kuala Lumpur. The plan was simple: pick up my replacement phone in Denpasar and then head onward. Reality had other ideas. The phone was stuck in customs, and we spent the night in a rough hotel near the airport—exposed wires heating the shower, a spicy sambal chicken that left me queasy for days, and the unmistakable feeling of being very far from home.
The next morning, we escaped north to Ubud, where Chris’s uncle spends part of the year. Bali traffic made the drive slow and chaotic, but the moment we arrived, the energy shifted. We checked into a comfortable hostel, I grabbed a SIM card for my temporary phone, and Chris and I did something very un-backpacker-like: pedicures. That small act of care felt symbolic—Bali wasn’t asking us to push, only to soften.
Over the next few days, Ubud unfolded gently. We wandered through the Monkey Forest (unbitten, thankfully), rode scooters out to waterfalls, swam beneath jungle canopies, and shared meals with Chris’s uncle—Mexican food one night, ribs the next. White-water rafting brought laughter and new faces, including a group of Australian girls who reminded me how easy connection can be when everyone’s equally soaked and smiling.
On what I thought would be my last night with Chris, we had Italian food and ended up at a bar with live music, generously fueled by staff, strangers, and a particularly enthusiastic group from Arkansas. Travel has a way of gifting those unexpected nights—the kind that feel unplanned but perfectly placed.
The following morning, Chris and I said goodbye, and I headed south to Canggu.
That evening, Caroline arrived.
If you’ve been following along, you may remember her from the Ha Giang Loop in Vietnam. We stayed in touch after that trip and planned to meet again once she finished her study abroad in Singapore. Our reunion in Bali was easy and warm—sushi, wine, long conversations about everything that had happened since we last saw each other.
Canggu gave us beach walks, homemade pasta, markets at La Brisa, yoga sessions, and one of those restaurants where you build your own plate—perfect for anyone tracking protein and macros while pretending they’re not. One hectic taxi ride north (driver in a rush, Caroline on aux blasting American music) brought us back toward Ubud, this time to a tiny jungle Airbnb perched above a valley.
The place felt suspended in time. The host brought us dinner and beers as the sun dropped behind the mountains. Jungle sounds replaced traffic. We watched a movie and let the stillness do its work.
Over the next few days, Bali revealed its soul. We visited a Hindu temple for a water cleansing ritual, stood beneath fountains as blessings were spoken, and witnessed parades and ceremonies tied to the water holiday. Children danced in elaborate costumes; offerings appeared everywhere. It felt less like observing a culture and more like being briefly folded into it.
We chased more waterfalls—some with cliff jumps, others earned only after long, sweaty treks. By then, our stomachs were struggling, and plans adjusted. Heavy rain flooded roads, turning short scooter rides into hours-long slogs. Instead of pushing forward, we rested. Warm cinnamon rolls appeared at breakfast the next morning like a small mercy.
Eventually, my phone cleared customs. We retrieved it in Denpasar, picked up a case and screen protector, and continued south to Uluwatu.
Uluwatu became a different kind of chapter. A villa overlooking the ocean. Scooters. Sunsets that demanded silence. A Thanksgiving dinner at an Asian fusion restaurant. Live music at Cashew Tree. Surf sessions where Bali’s waves humbled me completely. Spa days, shopping days, beach days, climbing sessions, paddle ball with Lee—who reappeared at just the right moment. Western food, Netflix in the living room, and a rhythm that felt closer to home than anything had in months.
It was a break I didn’t realize I needed.
But breaks end.
After a final night at Cashew Tree and a quiet goodbye early Friday morning, Caroline left—first to China, then back to New York. The return to hostel life hit harder than expected. At least Lee was still there. We spent a few low-key days scrolling, talking, letting the transition settle. Chris rejoined us briefly after his own island adventures before heading off again, this time to China.
The final days in Bali were gentle and grounding. Visa extensions. Long meals. A trip into Kuta with Lee to the fish market, where we picked out shrimp, crab, and fish, then took it to a local warung to be grilled—an incredible feast for under $20. The kind of meal that reminds you why food is one of the best ways to understand a place.
On the morning of December 9th, I said goodbye to both Lee and Chris. I don’t know when our paths will cross again, but I’m deeply grateful for the months we shared—across borders, islands, sleepless buses, and countless meals.
Bali wasn’t about adventure in the traditional sense. It was about recovery. About slowing down enough to feel everything that had been postponed by constant motion. It gave me space to reset before moving on.
And now, I’m in Lombok.
That story is coming next...
What’s up with the mentos and is that a bagel and lox?