Greetings from the Island of the Gods!
This holiday hasn’t been without its tiny chapter of drama. Of course it happened even before departing Sydney, just as I was starting to feel relaxed about our first overseas family trip.
We arrived on time, the boys were sensing that we were going on an adventure. My tummy was filling up with butterflies, knowing that I was going to be that little closer to a place that made me feel at home; at complete comfort in my own skin.
Somehow, somewhere after checking in and before entering the boarding gates, there was chaos and confusion in filling out those stupid immigration forms.
The twinlets were running amok.
Losing all concentration, I also realised that I hadn’t checked in the bag with all my toiletries. All those creams and sprays were not going to make it through security as carry on luggage.
In a wild panic, I repacked my backpack and was fortunate enough to have enough time to check it in.
It was at this precise disasterous moment, I discovered that my wallet was not in it’s usual place. It was nowhere to be seen.
Frantically, I retraced my steps, heading back towards the table where I sat and found nothing. Nada.
Anxiety kicked in.
Forever my even keel, Mr Surfer tried to assure me that everything was fine. He guessed that I must’ve subconsciously slipped my wallet into the backpack and I would see it safe and in one piece when we arrived in Denpasar.
He was wrong.
In the midst of Bali heat, with the boys exploding into extreme-tiredness- berserk mode, we jumped on our ride to the hotel, minus a wallet that held all the important cards and cash you can imagine.
I started to really beat myself up by this stage.
All those cards I had to cancel; that wod of holiday cash that I had lost. My mind was hurting from the huge whirl of worry.
Driving through the mess and madness of Balinese traffic, I paused for a moment. Outside my window was extreme poverty, hardship, dirty streets and the crowds of people who didn’t seem to see themselves as struggling.
Some were even smiling. Others were hard at work, digging and shovelling in the stifling heat. Children were playing in the streets, granted dangerously among the speeding cars but nevertheless, happily.
Everyone was just getting on with it. Soldiering through the best way they knew how.
The next day, we decided to talk a walk to the shopping mall. An easy 10 minute walk, advised the hotel staff. I guess they didn’t take into account our lack of ability to acclimitize to the Balinese sauna or the fact that we each had a toddler to carry.
We finally hit the stores and I was ready to pass out from heat exhaustion and dehydration. I sat in an air-conditioned ATM booth, hunched over trying to get the oxygen back to my head while beads of sweat poured down my face.
Getting my shizz together, I realised there were countless Indonesian mums and dads out there who did this every day – carry a 13 kilo kid but for much longer than the wussy kilometer I hiked and they survive. No, in fact, they manage to thrive.
Another humbling experience.
As it happened, my wallet was found. Nothing was taken, everything in tact.
Maybe the Gods of this magical island are looking out for me. Or at least teaching me a few lessons on perspective