The year was 1995, and adventure was calling. I had no grand plans, no airline ticket—just a Karrimor backpack slung over my shoulder and the thrill of the unknown ahead. The idea was simple: travel from Jakarta to Bali by land, seeing Indonesia in a way I had never seen before.
The Train to Surabaya
I stepped onto the crowded platform in Jakarta, the scent of fried snacks lingering in the air, the murmur of passengers filling the station. The train, old but sturdy, stood ready for the long journey ahead.
As the wheels began to roll, the city slowly faded into the distance, replaced by the vast green fields and villages that stretched endlessly beyond the window. The rhythmic sway of the train was hypnotic, and somewhere between conversations with fellow passengers and gazing at the passing landscapes, day turned to night.
By the time the train screeched into Surabaya, I was weary but eager for the next leg of the journey.
A Ferry Ride Like No Other
From Surabaya, I boarded a bus bound for Denpasar. It was a long ride, but the real magic happened when the bus rolled onto a ferry bound for Bali.
I climbed onto the deck, stretching my legs, letting the salty sea breeze wake me up. That’s when I saw them—the boys in the water.
Small, fearless, and agile, they shouted up to the ferry passengers, grinning from ear to ear.
"Throw a coin!" one of them called.
A passenger flicked a coin over the railing, and before it could vanish beneath the waves, the boy dove effortlessly, catching it in his mouth. It was mesmerizing. Coin after coin, dive after dive—these boys made the sea their playground, their stage, their way of life.
I watched in awe, realizing that adventure wasn’t just in the journey I was taking—it was in the spirit of those who embraced life with open arms.
Bali: A Warm Welcome
The ferry docked, and soon, I found myself in Denpasar, Bali. I believe there was public transportation back then, though it’s a distant memory now. But one thing I remember clearly—I had family here.
My grandmother’s younger brother lived in Bali, so I decided to visit him. His home was warm and welcoming, and I spent the night under his roof, grateful for familiar faces in an unfamiliar place.
Kuta Beach and a Perfect Moment
The next day, one of his sons took me to Kuta Beach.
We sat at a small café right by the shore, where the waves kissed the sand in a never-ending rhythm. I had a cold bottle of beer in my hand, the sea breeze playing with my hair, the hum of the ocean filling the air.
For a moment, everything was perfect.
I was young, I was free, and I was exactly where I was meant to be.
Even today, decades later, I can close my eyes and still feel the warmth of that Bali sun, hear the laughter of the coin-diving boys, and taste that first sip of beer by the sea.
Some journeys fade with time. This one never did.
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