A Colner’s Life in Indonesia

Myself and Niamh Franks, another Lancashire lass with whom I spent the year in Australia, began our journey in Ubud, Bali. As we stepped into the airport, we were already immersed in the Balinese culture as we watched locals do a traditional Balinese dance upon arrival. We had a one-hour journey to Ubud, which cost us around £10. There, we stayed in a room on the property of a Balinese family, looked after by Kutut, a family acquaintance who managed the accommodation for tourists.

“You weren’t sure where to direct your gaze, and you couldn’t put sunglasses on because they would just get stolen!”

The property had a garden inhabited by colourful parrots, and throughout the day, their two small children would cycle around the accommodation, filled with laughter and giggles. Kutut made it very clear he would love his tips in the form of cigarettes and wine. Ubud is deep in the greenery of Bali, ideal for long walks such as the Campuhan Ridge Walk that left us drenched in our sweat. We headed to the Monkey Sanctuary, where the staff insist you do not make eye contact with the monkeys. This became an arduous task as hundreds of them surrounded you. You weren’t sure where to direct your gaze, and you couldn’t put sunglasses on because they would just get stolen! Niamh had a keyring on her bag, and as soon as her back turned, a small monkey ripped it from her. Before we knew it, all hell broke loose as the monkeys attacked one another for the keyring.

At the monkey sanctuary

We used mopeds to get around, and each 15-minute ride set us back just 70 pence. Talk about budget-friendly.

One evening, we were drawn to the sound of karaoke echoing down the street. We followed the music and stumbled into a bar with the locals, no tourists in sight. Despite our less-than-stellar performance of Lily Allen, the locals cheered us on like we were headlining at Glastonbury.

“Then BAM! We hit a rock, and I was thrown out of the raft, losing my grip on the boat.”

On our final day in Ubud, we set off on a quad biking expedition through muddy trails, hidden waterfalls, and the local town. As always, in classic Sophia fashion, our morning couldn’t end without a hiccup. I crashed into the back of Niamh’s bike, leaving it unwilling to start up again. We had to tandem all the way back.

In the afternoon, we craved more chaos with water rafting. Everything seemed pleasant, with picturesque scenery surrounding us, striking waterfalls and views of local huts nestled among the trees. Then BAM! We hit a rock, and I was thrown out of the raft, losing my grip on the boat. I began to panic, as we all know about my prior near-death water incident in Australia. I flailed in the water, trying to keep my head above the surface; I couldn’t help but notice that my shoes had also decided to join me for an unexpected swim downstream. Talk about being a sole survivor. The group didn’t seem phased as they were in a fit of laughs, managing to grab my hands and pull me back onto the boat. I held on for dear life for the remaining two hours.

Water rafting (pre-panic)

The following day, we embarked on a one-hour journey to Sanur Harbor, leaving our suitcases in a locker for safekeeping and carrying just small backpacks for the week ahead. Boarding a fast boat, we braved 45 minutes of turbulent waves. Upon reaching Nusa Lembongan, an island off the eastern coast, we had to reach the land by jumping into the water. With no cars or conventional transport on the island, we set out to find our hostel on foot. The island was eerily quiet, very different to the usual hustle and bustle of the mainland.

“The following day, we decided to tackle surfing. I’m about as skilled on a surfboard as a cat on roller skates.”

As we arrived at the hostel, we encountered Emma from Scarborough, who quickly became a familiar face during our stay. There was a group of lads from Manchester; northerners took up the majority of the hostel, and it seems we have a knack for finding each other no matter where in the world we are! That evening, we ventured to witness the sunset at a spot known as Devil’s Tears, where the water crashed over rocky coves, sending plumes of sea spray into our faces.

The following day, we decided to tackle surfing. I’m about as skilled on a surfboard as a cat on roller skates. But my boyfriend, Dylan, practically a fish in the water, has surfed since he was four years old. I figured it was high time I joined him in the water. So, with a mix of fear, excitement and a healthy dose of beginner’s luck, I paddled out. He often describes the exhilaration of catching a wave, a feeling I never could understand until I experienced it first-hand.

Soph surfing