Last summer I took a trip.
A magnificent one to a land full of sunshine, beaches, rice, and lots of Indonesian food. Oh, and I also went to the land of Vegemite and kangaroos, although I saw no kangaroos and refused to eat any Vegemite. Did I mention I did all this for My Person?
If you’re unfamiliar with Grey’s Anatomy, then this reference will sail right by you. Commence Googling. I’ll wait.
Anyway, I flew 10,000 miles for a most epic vacation. Most of which was spent with said person, doing almost nothing, and loving every second of it. You know how they say it’s not where you are, it’s who you’re with? Truuuuuuuuuue.
For example (or 3): We made a Polar Vortex in the middle of Iowa winter fun, ordering-in calzones three days in a row and playing cookie baseball in our kitchen. We built forts and skipped class to eat great food at local restaurants when we needed personal days just because sometimes life is hard and mental health is more important than society recognizes (I’m pro-mental health. Let’s see some political candidates talk about that, shall we?). We road tripped to Chicago on a whim, leaving Iowa City at 1 pm and getting home around 1am that same day.
But in all fairness to Australia and Bali, this trip was a combo of where and who (mostly who).
Australia was a whole lot of “Not What I Thought It Would Be.” Not bad vs. good, per se; it was just different than imagined. We stayed in a small beach town in Western Australia, and let me tell you, I never actually knew where I was on a map until about a month post-trip. I was just happy to be Anywhere Not in Iowa and ecstatic to be with my best friend.
While my visit was mostly overcast, winter in Australia was better than winter in midwestern America. Hell, winter in Australia was better than humid summers in midwestern America. Woof.
The stop in Australia was mostly meant to be a pick up – get my person and head to Bali. But volcanic eruptions the month prior poo’d all over those plans.
We ended up in Australia three extra days, which meant being stuck in Perth. And guess what? Perth is the Australian Chicago, so it worked in our favor. We did some nifty sight-seeing and lots of delicious food eating. We spent a glorious night in a Four Points by Sheraton. There was also that weird thing with the American-history obsessed ginger at that one rooftop bar, but that’s just a footnote in an awesome adventure.
The plane eventually did get us to the island, all seven of us, and holy Indonesia was it worth the wait.
But wait! Where’s the rest? What happened in Bali? I read about it in Eat, Pray, Love (which, if you haven’t read, I highly recommend. I re-read it annually), but I’m dying to hear your thoughts. TELL ME!
Have a cup of chill, and wait til the next post. See you in Bali soon.