Two weeks ago I traveled to Indonesia, to do business in Jakarta and meet my business partner face-to-face after nearly a year of online discussions and meetings. During that time I spent a week in Bali, these are my notes.

Echo Beach, Bali, Indonesia. Photo by Sam Bel.

The closest thing to paradise you’ll find in the modern world. Lost temples, mysterious locals, deep ancient culture, gorgeous risk-takers.

The place felt forbidden, because the apparent freedoms were so tangible. Massages everyday, affordable rent. Food. Necessities that have become, for the risk-taking, adventurous American, nearly impossible to obtain domestically.

It’s Hunter S. Thompson on the shores of Puerto Rico, shirtless, with a drink in hand typing away. It’s a place where the castaway meets a WiFi connection. Lawless scooter riding in the sidewalk to get past traffic. Modelesque sunburned women flaunting their skin like a mobile runway. The sexual tension is palpable. I don’t think you could go two weeks without some sort of fling or casual encounter.

The sense is that you are of a select few which would choose to live life on the edge of the map. Although only two hours away from Australia, still feels like a ship crashed and we were the survivors. Who stumbled on a bit of gold and realized we weren’t lost at sea, we simply discovered island life was better.

When I first landed, tired and fresh from the hot bustling city of Jakarta. Where two hours in traffic to go a few miles was a reality of life. Massive city builds, with streets so wide it made my entire home-city of Manhattan seem like a small Tokyo apartment. I was unsure how I would like Bali. Was this just another Disneyland for the wealthy, American flag printed shorts with pastel Polos, flaunting their generational wealth to the bootstrappers and self-made like myself? Bali was different, it took strength to live here as a foreigner, a strength you can see on the faces of the Expats. Their brows defying the influence their conforming family back home has attempted to instill in-them anytime they text them, “We miss you!” and “When are you coming home?”. Only to ignore them moments after they take that day long flight back.

The lifestyle in Bali, rejects those Polo Boys because it requires a certain humbleness. The seas are warm but dynamic and unpredictable. The landscape is a jungle, the people, although sweet might one day get tired of raising prices of everyday life and decide to stop providing the amenities which make the island so great. Or decide to eat the rich, which in this case is anyone with foreign currency. And I am OK with that. Because as oddly luxurious as it feels, Bali’s lack of sidewalks and blanket acceptance of all cultures, keeps the entitled from feeling important. A feeling which I would imagine, deprives their egos in ways that make living unsustainable for them.

The feeling of relaxation, the sun shouting at you to go out, giving real purpose to sunglasses and shorts. Makes you rethink your lifestyle. But also your work ethic. Can you, through the warm bodies and warm waters, be focused enough to build? That I am unsure of. It was difficult for me to do that, but maybe it was realizing that life, work balance, isn’t just not working or the absence of but a more active form of both. Where you do spend 50% of your non-working time outside, with people, finding shops, walking through paved once jungle roads and rice-fields to find a vegan delicacy you would have had to wait online for two hours or pay 30 times more for in New York City. Only to be emailed by your boss moments later, quickly destroying any sudden appearance of happiness destiny put in your way for a moment. Happiness, it seems in large cities are a gust of wind, you close your eyes for a moment and cherish. Only to then be hit with the same smog and pollution of over-production. As if you were standing in the back of the tail-pipe of the diesel run engine of Capitalism.

There seems to be a balance here, a need to be fit and healthy and attractive. Your island soul mate is also here, it feels, lost but now found. Focused as you, to find a new perspective on modern life in ways that bring some shred of appreciation a new day. Far enough away from society where you are seen as a pirate of sorts to friends, but close enough where you might make sense of life.

Bali, it seems is a low-priced entry point to happiness, how long until resorts enter the Island? Well that exists already. But the long flights keep out the long-sock, Hawaiian shirt travelers of the Mid-west. It’s geographically located far enough to keep out the weak. Feed the strong and fund the risk-takers. It seems the true treasure of Bali isn’t in gold, or jewels but time. With some money you have time to build, time to grow, time to take time. Time to walk on the beach without a strict itinerary. Be there for sunset, consider the day an achievement. Business takes place in the US far after bars close and streets go dark. A time where the locals party, where fire erupts, where alcohol flows and the island becomes different. Like it’s two Gods, the sun cleanses the night hides, a night-life of secrecy and lust.

Play in here if you wish, the underworld is potent, but you cannot deny the feeling of exploration. Of adventure, of where you might end up. As you look into the sky and see the two volcanoes silhouetted into the clouds, you realize this isn’t home. Those structures were made by God and he exists everywhere, even here. Especially here. His escape even, from the highways of the mundane. Of European brutality and American functionalism. Everyone belongs here, no one belongs here. A jungle hideaway, under the hot sun, she holds your hand, or she doesn’t, there is energy still.

The thunderstorms hit hard and pass fast on this small island, have I spent weeks here or maybe years? Let me look around for a moment. Realizing that I’ve become in-domesticated by flip-flops and bikinis on the white sand beaches. Until I am back there, embracing my skin and hair on my chest and arms. My complexion, roaming free, desperate for physical touch, like water, only to receive it and quench my thirst until the next sacrificial ceremony.

I am of this Island now. My inner child, with dreams of ATV riding into waterfalls, now finding his terrain. I cleanse myself in the temple, praying for the momentary means to head back. So that I may be given that treasure, of time, to evolve into my true self. Transformed under the bright moon and stars, up early, inspired by the Volcano sky.

Two weeks ago I traveled to Indonesia, to do business in Jakarta and meet my business partner face-to-face after nearly a year of online discussions and meetings. During that time I spent a week in Bali, these are my notes.

Echo Beach, Bali, Indonesia. Photo by Sam Bel.

The closest thing to paradise you’ll find in the modern world. Lost temples, mysterious locals, deep ancient culture, gorgeous risk-takers.

The place felt forbidden, because the apparent freedoms were so tangible. Massages everyday, affordable rent. Food. Necessities that have become, for the risk-taking, adventurous American, nearly impossible to obtain domestically.

It’s Hunter S. Thompson on the shores of Puerto Rico, shirtless, with a drink in hand typing away. It’s a place where the castaway meets a WiFi connection. Lawless scooter riding in the sidewalk to get past traffic. Modelesque sunburned women flaunting their skin like a mobile runway. The sexual tension is palpable. I don’t think you could go two weeks without some sort of fling or casual encounter.

The sense is that you are of a select few which would choose to live life on the edge of the map. Although only two hours away from Australia, still feels like a ship crashed and we were the survivors. Who stumbled on a bit of gold and realized we weren’t lost at sea, we simply discovered island life was better.

When I first landed, tired and fresh from the hot bustling city of Jakarta. Where two hours in traffic to go a few miles was a reality of life. Massive city builds, with streets so wide it made my entire home-city of Manhattan seem like a small Tokyo apartment. I was unsure how I would like Bali. Was this just another Disneyland for the wealthy, American flag printed shorts with pastel Polos, flaunting their generational wealth to the bootstrappers and self-made like myself? Bali was different, it took strength to live here as a foreigner, a strength you can see on the faces of the Expats. Their brows defying the influence their conforming family back home has attempted to instill in-them anytime they text them, “We miss you!” and “When are you coming home?”. Only to ignore them moments after they take that day long flight back.

The lifestyle in Bali, rejects those Polo Boys because it requires a certain humbleness. The seas are warm but dynamic and unpredictable. The landscape is a jungle, the people, although sweet might one day get tired of raising prices of everyday life and decide to stop providing the amenities which make the island so great. Or decide to eat the rich, which in this case is anyone with foreign currency. And I am OK with that. Because as oddly luxurious as it feels, Bali’s lack of sidewalks and blanket acceptance of all cultures, keeps the entitled from feeling important. A feeling which I would imagine, deprives their egos in ways that make living unsustainable for them.

The feeling of relaxation, the sun shouting at you to go out, giving real purpose to sunglasses and shorts. Makes you rethink your lifestyle. But also your work ethic. Can you, through the warm bodies and warm waters, be focused enough to build? That I am unsure of. It was difficult for me to do that, but maybe it was realizing that life, work balance, isn’t just not working or the absence of but a more active form of both. Where you do spend 50% of your non-working time outside, with people, finding shops, walking through paved once jungle roads and rice-fields to find a vegan delicacy you would have had to wait online for two hours or pay 30 times more for in New York City. Only to be emailed by your boss moments later, quickly destroying any sudden appearance of happiness destiny put in your way for a moment. Happiness, it seems in large cities are a gust of wind, you close your eyes for a moment and cherish. Only to then be hit with the same smog and pollution of over-production. As if you were standing in the back of the tail-pipe of the diesel run engine of Capitalism.

There seems to be a balance here, a need to be fit and healthy and attractive. Your island soul mate is also here, it feels, lost but now found. Focused as you, to find a new perspective on modern life in ways that bring some shred of appreciation a new day. Far enough away from society where you are seen as a pirate of sorts to friends, but close enough where you might make sense of life.

Bali, it seems is a low-priced entry point to happiness, how long until resorts enter the Island? Well that exists already. But the long flights keep out the long-sock, Hawaiian shirt travelers of the Mid-west. It’s geographically located far enough to keep out the weak. Feed the strong and fund the risk-takers. It seems the true treasure of Bali isn’t in gold, or jewels but time. With some money you have time to build, time to grow, time to take time. Time to walk on the beach without a strict itinerary. Be there for sunset, consider the day an achievement. Business takes place in the US far after bars close and streets go dark. A time where the locals party, where fire erupts, where alcohol flows and the island becomes different. Like it’s two Gods, the sun cleanses the night hides, a night-life of secrecy and lust.

Play in here if you wish, the underworld is potent, but you cannot deny the feeling of exploration. Of adventure, of where you might end up. As you look into the sky and see the two volcanoes silhouetted into the clouds, you realize this isn’t home. Those structures were made by God and he exists everywhere, even here. Especially here. His escape even, from the highways of the mundane. Of European brutality and American functionalism. Everyone belongs here, no one belongs here. A jungle hideaway, under the hot sun, she holds your hand, or she doesn’t, there is energy still.

The thunderstorms hit hard and pass fast on this small island, have I spent weeks here or maybe years? Let me look around for a moment. Realizing that I’ve become in-domesticated by flip-flops and bikinis on the white sand beaches. Until I am back there, embracing my skin and hair on my chest and arms. My complexion, roaming free, desperate for physical touch, like water, only to receive it and quench my thirst until the next sacrificial ceremony.

I am of this Island now. My inner child, with dreams of ATV riding into waterfalls, now finding his terrain. I cleanse myself in the temple, praying for the momentary means to head back. So that I may be given that treasure, of time, to evolve into my true self. Transformed under the bright moon and stars, up early, inspired by the Volcano sky.