I scamper up the rough-hewn stairs embedded in a sharp cragged cliff, clinging to stray bamboo twigs that emerge from the jungle’s expansive foliage. Once at the summit, I find myself in the eatery of the hotel, situated in a spacious wooden bale, a native building offering a panoramic view of a forest cloaked in heavy mist. The sky seems to be on the verge of a downpour as the faint outline of Mount Batukaru’s jagged pinnacle is faintly visible in the distance.
I gasp for breath.
“A gentle reminder for our guests to decelerate,” the waiter suggests as he takes me to my table, “The climb gets less exhausting when you don’t rush.”
Pace down? It’s a life lesson that should have resonated with me at the dawn of 2024. I visited Bali earlier this year, for a much-anticipated honeymoon – postponed initially due to the global shutdown and delayed for another couple of years due to the unforeseen circumstances that followed the reopening.
My spouse and I believed 2019 was a milestone in our lives, having successfully crowdfunded, constructed and inaugurated a fresh location for our venture in Dublin 8. The very same venue was also the backdrop for our wedding that took place six weeks later amidst fatigue and joy. However, 2020 hit us hard, with the passing away of my father-in-law followed by us arriving at Dublin Airport from his funeral in the UK, faced with the unsettling news of impending nation-wide lockdown.
Ever since, the term “pandemic” has attained negative connotations. I prevent myself from initiating conversations with “During the time of Covid…” to avoid being tedious. Nevertheless, for owners of small enterprises, that period signifies more than just recurrent lockdowns, it has left a lingering impact that’s far from diminishing.
At one point, I was inundated with an envigorating sense of boundless energy. Each shocking revelation was another hurdle to be tackled head-on. Barred from hosting exhibitions? We put them on display in our windows. Unable to have patrons inside? We set up a restaurant in our parking spots. Massive cauldrons contained sizzling hot sauces and baskets loaded with all sorts awaited delivery from our dining table, and we prepared romantic evening packages to keep our culinary expert employed. The rest of life was paused as we shifted into survival mode, with every bit of writing dedicated to comforting team emails and persuasive letters to government officials.
In the midst of utter darkness, there revealed a glimmer of joy; a newfound sense of community we’d never experienced before. Tactfully, we constructed art showpieces, launched books at outdoor events, received an award for our innovative outdoor dining, ran a popular grocery shop for a while, and swiftly became a neighborhood hotspot. And so, against all odds, we survived.
The start of 2022 saw a sudden shift in our circumstances as if someone flipped on a switch, leaving us blinking in the spotlight, bemused, and alone amidst stacks of cartons and the decaying boundaries of our make-shift eatery wondering what just transpired. The long-awaited positive summer post-global reopening slipped away under uncertainties fueled by an unexpected war in Ukraine and a global living-costs crisis.
The idiom “fight or flight” found its way into common parlance. Social media began suggesting exercises that would help me mitigate the cortisol effects on my body. Anxiety manifested physically and each morning began with an inventory check of daily dread.
During encounters with other entrepreneurs, we exchange tales of trials and tribulations. Despite displaying an image of unwavering confidence and poise online, we are all shadows of our former selves. Behind closed doors, we each feel an intrinsic solitude- in the wake of the rapid-fire decisions made at a period saturated with uncertainty. We often question the reason we remained operational.
In the two years that ensued, it’s felt akin to peeling an onion, stripping away layers of creativity and resolve, only to return to the essence of who we are and the reasons for our endurance.
Bali’s air exudes a particular feel, an atmosphere that extends beyond the warm gust that strikes you as you disembark your airplane, signalling a vacation commencement. This Indonesian island, predominantly Hindu in contrast to the country’s majority Muslim islands, is distinctive for its enchanting charm, hospitality, and a pronounced sense of humour of its inhabitants. The sound of chants and ceremonial bells create a soothing ambience, floating in the wind, while incense drifts from the entryways of homes and businesses.
The city of Denpasar, the capital of the island, greets us as we start our visit. Following the western coastline from this point, one encounters Kuta’s bustling resort and the upmarket charm of Seminyak, reminiscent of the Canary Islands for the Australian visitors frequenting these spots. As one progresses northwards along this coastline, tranquillity gradually sets in, leading to the serene beach-side village of Canggu, a haven for surfers and yoga enthusiasts, sipping their preferred flat whites in cafes styled after Melbourne’s.
Our accommodation consists of a petite apartment in the vicinity of these locales. As it is the off-peak season on the island, most of the places we visit are devoid of crowds. Our days are spent idly – we feast, sleep, and revel in the sea. Wanderings through the local neighbourhood take us under twisted clusters of electric cables and fractured pavements, leading to vendors selling aromatic, hot soups packed in plastic bags. Our meals frequently consist of nasi goreng and a spicy beef rendang, accompanied by spicy sambals, delivered by young lads riding mopeds.
On occasion, I quibble with myself about not packing our days with more activities. We aren’t systematically traversing key landmarks. Somehow, forgetting how to unwind takes some effort.
A significant part of the time is spent reflecting on past occurrences.
Signs around the island promote ‘Instagram Tours’, offering picturesque backgrounds tailored for social media enthusiasts – swings extending over lush paddy fields, waterfall-inspired frames that are perfect for photographs, and underwater spectacles of gleaming coral reefs and vibrant fish. Instead of hopping on one of these tours, we chose to design our own exploration adventure.
The journey to the islands started with a delay, our impatience growing as we waited on the crowded ferry. But there was no rush. The last pair of passengers finally raced down the pier towards us – a couple carrying their petite dog, beer bottles in hand, clearly not having slept the night. The minute they find their seats, their feet are up on the deck, exuding a carefree vibe.
Situated off Bali’s southern coast, Nusa Lembongan nestles amidst a trio of less developed small islands. The idyllic village where our voyage concludes has limited vehicles and is stretched narrowly along an immaculate sandy beach. A calm sea that is crystal-clear gently engulfs anchored boats. We indulge in snorkelling, hovering atop the tranquil waters, absorbing the sight of colossal, ethereal manta rays gliding beneath us.
Ubud, known as both the spiritual and artistic core of the island, is nestled inland. As we voyage from the coast to this heart, the road is adorned with the handiwork of local craftspeople- vibrant pottery, wooden masks intricately carved and colossal stonework statues. Ubud ingrained a spot on the map through Elizabeth Gilbert’s work “Eat, Pray, Love”. The story brings to life a character, portrayed by Julia Roberts, journeying and savouring cuisines across three nations, rediscovering herself aided by a Balinese spiritual guide and a fervent love affair.
Ubud has witnessed significant development since the 2006 publication of the book. It has emerged as a refuge for digital nomads fleeing from the cacophony and high living expenses in global metropolitan areas. These individuals trade gruelling journeys to work and extortionate rents for a calmer and more feasible lifestyle. This migration has given rise to modernistic restaurants and increased vehicular movement. However, Ubud has managed to preserve its magic and character.
Our sojourn is at Tanah Gajah, a hotel situated outside of the village, on the erstwhile summer estate of Hadiprana, the pioneer behind Indonesia’s maiden art gallery. The hotel lies in proximity to the 9th-century architectural marvel, Goa Gajah or Elephant Cave, and the entrance is dotted with elaborate elephant sculptures. As I partake in a yoga class perched on a pagoda above a serene pond, the instructor implores me to breathe while guiding me into a deeper stretch. The resonating sound of a gong envelops me.
Venture further north and the hustle gives way to a lush rainforest and jagged peaks, laced with ancient, meticulously crafted terraced rice fields. This region allows one to revel in the pristine serenity of the island. In a local temple, I’m greeted by elderly women seeking respite in the pagoda’s shade. They present me with blossoms and incense to make my tribute. Although I’m not one to worship, I find myself doing it here.
Residing in Buahan, our sleeping quarters are neatly tucked into a cliff’s edge in a compact yet flawlessly designed hut. The outdoor chamber offers unobscured views over the expansive valley below. Apart from the subtle groan of the timbers and feathered creatures’ rustle, tranquillity reigns supreme. When tropical rainstorms assail, we remain motionless, encased in the deafening downpour that temporarily halts reality.
Our conversation veers towards contemplation of the future, a prospect we’ve not considered for four years, as our attention was consumed by examining our past actions and regretting missed opportunities.
In our absence, news of widespread restaurant and café closures across Ireland reaches us. These were cherished establishments that fell victim to skyrocketing operating expenses, an augmented VAT imposed on the hospitality sector, and the looming challenge of repaying the COVID tax deficit. The wave of these shut-downs, long predicted by all, finally seizes the attention of the media and shocks public sentiment, often summarised as “how could they possibly close” and “they were thriving”.
Hints surface that authorities may begin acknowledging the hardship we’ve been toiling through for the previous two years. A silver lining emerges, suggesting possible respite from the residual effects of a certain unspeakable past.
We pause, inhale deeply, and journey back to our home, rejuvenated and ready to take on life once more.
The author, Rosie Gogan-Keogh hails from Dublin and juggles her writing career with her entrepreneurial activities.