Bali, with Open Palms

Bali was never just a stop on our itinerary.

It became a remembering.

Out of every place we’ve been so far, this leg of our journey has been the absolute highlight — not because of luxury or landmarks, but because of people. Because of presence. Because of the way life is lived here with so much heart, and so little excess.

The culture is gentle but grounded.

The people work harder than most of us ever will — long days, little pay — yet somehow remain generous, helpful, accommodating, and genuinely happy with what they have. Their aspirations are quieter. Simpler. Not driven by status or accumulation, but by family, ritual, and gratitude. It’s humbling in a way that rearranges you.

In a world that teaches many of us to want more, Bali gently teaches you to notice enough.

Before this trip, I kept saying one thing over and over: I’m going with my palms open.

No expectations. No forcing. Just willing to receive whatever the universe had in store for the three of us.

And somehow — almost impossibly — everything I’d spoken about for years began to happen.

Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just gently falling into place, one coincidence after another, until you stop calling them coincidences at all.

One of those moments arrived on four wheels.

We met a Bluebird driver early on — one ride that turned into many. Conversations turned into familiarity. Familiarity turned into care. And before we knew it, he wasn’t just our driver anymore — he was family. Balinese family.

He looked out for us. Checked in on us. Made sure we were safe. Made sure Leo was comfortable. His kindness was constant, never transactional. Just human.

We learned that he and his wife had never been to a restaurant.

Never.

So my mum did what she does best — she led with heart. She took them out as a thank you. A simple gesture, really. Or so we thought.

They were too humble to order food for themselves.

Too polite. Too grateful. More focused on us than on their own experience.

Watching that moment — watching generosity meet humility — will stay with me forever. It wasn’t about the meal. It was about dignity. About sharing. About seeing people, not rescuing them. About meeting one another eye to eye.

We’ve left Bali now, but they haven’t left us.

We still speak on WhatsApp.

Merry Christmas messages.

Safe travels to your next stop.

Checking in. Remembering us.

That’s the thing about Bali — it doesn’t just host you.

It keeps you.

This place reminded me why we chose this life. Why we packed up comfort and predictability and stepped into the unknown with a toddler and a suitcase full of trust. It reminded us that the world is not something to conquer or curate — it’s something to connect with.

Bali didn’t give us content.

It gave us perspective.

And if you go — go softly.

Go with open palms.

Because this island has a way of giving you exactly what you didn’t know you were missing.

Three generations. One island. A thousand quiet lessons we’ll carry forever.