It's easy to miss the details in Bali; there's so much colour and noise that honing in on the subtle doesn't come easily. For me, hiding behind a camera made the details clearer and it was the little things - door frames, lamps, hanging plants - that inspired.
In Bali almost everything is made by hand and it's evident in most spaces; bamboo, teak, stone and grass combine to, quite literally, create a home. I enjoyed the blend of heavy and light, of vibrant and subdued but most of all I loved the handwoven features - oh the baskets! If only I could have brought them all home. And the plants! In Ubud, green sprouted from stairs and walls and cracks in the pavement. Plants grew from coconut shells and chipped terracotta. Bali's aesthetic is very wabi-sabi.
ps. can you find Che?
A traditional 1930s Balinese compound; home to one family, three generations. It was a privilege to walk inside the stone walls and observe everyday life there, an experience I won't forget anytime soon.
I expected poverty but I was completely surprised by the beauty. This is the very essence of simple living; a wood fire oven, cast-iron pans, enamel plates, wooden spoons, a water well, stone walls, thatched roofing, bamboo details, succulents in tin pots.
The earthy aesthetic so evident here can also be seen across hundreds of pinterest pages as designers and stylists and home lovers are inspired by muted hues and natural materials. Completely ironic, don't you think? We're all running back to a simpler time...like 1930s Ubud, Bali.
We brought home a sweet-sounding wooden flute carved by this kind gentleman. His smile was so big and genuine, his parting "namaste" was from his heart space.
I found Bali completely overwhelming for the first week of our trip. We walked the precarious footpaths of Ubud most days, stopping for fresh juice every now and then. In the past five years this once quiet town has attracted thousands of tourists; many with a mala around the neck and a yoga mat under the arm. It's the Byron Bay of Bali without the beach; rice paddies and jungle in lieu of gums and ocean.
So what was so overwhelming? Well, it's easy to forget that Bali is rather third world. It is a land of contrast - you're in the luxury of a resort one minute and the next you're standing on a street with gaping holes in the footpath, burning rubbish beside you and motorbikes carrying a shop load of goods. It was this glorious contrast that I learnt to love; the energy of a busy town and the comfort of knowing the the quiet and the peace of the rice paddies was only minutes away.
For that first week, as I attempted to settle into the pace, I used my camera to document the beauty, the busy and the spirit. Imagine all these scenes shrouded by the exhaust of a hundred scooters and the fine haze of incense. The soundtrack is a loud and passionate one; laughing, beeping, "Taxi?!"
If I had of visited Bali for a week I wouldn't have returned. But a month? We're already planning another (longer!) trip.
For the past three-and-a-half weeks I have lived in the same five outfits - simple pieces with the right amount of just-pulled-from-the-suitcase crease. Light cotton has been a necessity; to keep me cool and to cover up in sacred places where modesty is appreciated. Lilya were kind enough to gift me a few pieces from their spring range and the kantor top (available in tangerine and white) has become my firm travel favourite. I wore it on the plane with comfy pants and a scarf, I've worn it tucked into high-waisted skirts, with shorts and over swimmers.
Other essentials? My St Christopher's medal, the Patron Saint of Travel (my Nan placed this delicate gold chain around my neck when I left England for Australia when I was two), my beloved raffia hat, sunglasses (from a little market stand) and my vintage leather bag found at the op shop over 10 years ago; it carries passports, suncream, papaya ointment and my camera.
