Passport to Happiness

by Carrie Stone

  Trying to stifle a yawn, I step forward as a pretty young woman welcomes me at the reception desk. Her flawless skin is complimented by her pink kamen and a small, white frangipani sits amongst her thick black hair, styled neatly into a bun. I barely string my request together as my eyes fight to stay open, a deep comatose feeling washing over me.

  Thankfully the hotel has availability and it’s only ten minutes later when I’m shown to my room. The large space is mind blowing in its ‘zen’ decor and I sigh in delight as I spot an outdoor suspended egg chair, floating on the porch. However, my focus shifts to the extremely large marble bath and inviting super-sized bed. I scramble in my handbag for some rupiah, rapidly trying to decipher if one hundred thousand is enough of a tip.

  ‘Terima Kasih,’ the porter says, looking more than satisfied as he clasps his hands together in front of his chest and gives me a small nod before exiting.

  ‘Welcome to Bali, Everly,’ I whisper to myself, smiling as I skip across to the bed and allow myself to sink backwards, the sensation akin to sinking into a giant marshmallow. It may have taken almost a day to get here, but in that moment it’s irrefutably the best decision I could have made. This is my chance to be alone, without any distractions or influences in my ultimate, idyllic location. Bali is going to be the perfect place for me to figure out my next move whilst having the best time exploring nature. It’s barely seconds later when my excitement gives way to overwhelming exhaustion and I feel my eyes closing as my body drifts into a content, drowsy sleep.

  *

  The humidity seems to have peaked and my long black maxi dress is sticking to my stomach, damp lines of perspiration appearing in the material at the creases. It’s crazy to think that I’ve already been in this magical place for over a week. The first three days in the luxurious hotel had mainly been spent recovering from jet lag. Not to mention wondering if I’d been a little too radical in hopping on a last-minute flight to Bali. Obviously it had taken Amy a lot of convincing before she accepted that it wasn’t a ‘flight’ reflex to seeing Jay or being cheated on by Spencer, it was actually a well thought-out plan. I couldn’t be happier with my choice.

  Sure, there’s still a feeling of betrayal inside about Spencer and Tilly but the complete change of scenery has helped keep the sad thoughts at bay. It’s also a far cry from being in London and having to put up with the old familiar that I wanted to leave behind.

  One major plus is that my new base, the guest house I’m staying at, has been a dream financially –it’s as cheap as chips – and at this rate I’ll be able to stay for a few months without a worry. I’d discovered it on my second day here after passing a little vegetarian, earthy café. The eatery with its bamboo front façade and promise of healthy options had been too hard to resist and over a beetroot burger and Tropical Goodness shake, I’d got chatting with a fellow traveller, an Aussie woman in her late twenties who’d come to Bali for the surf. For someone that wasn’t a local, she may as well have been because she’d imparted so many tips and recommendations that I found myself immediately taking a taxi to the accommodation she’d talked up. And I wasn’t disappointed. The traditional Balinese style hotel at the end of the small lane, or ‘gang’ as they call it here, is run by a Balinese couple, Wiwik and Dewi, and they couldn’t be nicer.

  As soon as I’d met Dewi, with his kind, gentle manner, I knew this was going to be my home from home. He’d shown me around the vast property backing onto a rice paddy, where I now breakfast daily on Wiwik’s famous banana pancakes and flower-shaped fresh fruit. My particular apartment is accessed via a beautifully intricate carved wooden door, painted in gold and surrounded by captivating stone masonry. The large four-poster bed with mosquito canopy situated under a peaked bamboo roof, has a tropical and tranquil allure and saves me from being eaten alive. Most captivating is my outdoor bathroom, with its pebbled floor, stone walled shower and abundance of plantation. For the first time in years I’m beginning to feel the sort of serenity that I thought only existed in movies.

  A motorbike roars up behind me, beeping urgently as I dodge the many holes in the uneven pavement to allow it to pass. It’s not all beauty and nature; I’ve learnt that the roads here are crazy, hazardous and polluted, hence why I’m on foot. The area I’m in also isn’t quite the tranquil hub I was hoping for. It seems I’ve chosen to be right in the thick of things. Still, there’s always time to explore further afield and the thought of that makes me hopeful.

  I look at the endless road that stretches before me. It’s such a far cry from Bermuda Front Street with its high-end stores. It’s hard to believe that I was living in Bermuda until nine days ago, I’ve been transported to such a different world that my senses are on overload. The hundreds of shopfronts and restaurants that lie ahead cater to a mix of different budgets and present a jumble of wares and services, from expensive clothes to wooden handmade trinkets. From Vietnamese cuisine, organic vegan delights to traditional warungs and street food carts, at almost every entrance I pass I’m greeted with the colourful sight and delicious scent of daily offerings everywhere. I’ve noticed that the small palm leaf containers are almost always filled to overflowing with frangipani flowers, brightly coloured petals, grains of cooked rice, a salted cracker and topped with a heady incense stick. I smile as I notice one such delight accompanied by a cigarette offering and unopened bottle of probiotic.

  By the time I reach Double Six beach, weaving through the throngs of tourists and scooters, it’s already lunchtime and I’m starting to feel light-headed from dehydration and hunger. I spot a colourful beach shack, its side entrance decorated with an array of vividly coloured umbrellas suspended overhead to form a canopy.

  ‘How pretty,’ I mutter to myself, and walk towards the luminous yellow door of the fuchsia pink and orange shack. The open-aired inside area is heaving with people dining and there’s only one small space on the edge of what appears to be a sharing bench. I walk over to it, noticing the dozens of outdoor colourful beanbag chairs set up under brightly coloured beach umbrellas. I hesitate as I approach, wondering if it’s better to sit on those, directly on the beach, but my mind is made up for me.

  ‘This one’s free. You’re welcome to join me.’ The dark-skinned man points to the seat in front of him. ‘I’ve got the best view anyway.’ He nods to the beach and smiles. He has an infectious smile that creates deep dimples in his cheeks and lines at the sides of his eyes, which are a bizarre yellow-green hue instead of the common brown of the locals I’ve met so far. His accent is weird too, it’s has a European tinge to it that I haven’t come across with other locals. Intrigued, I take a seat.

  ‘Thanks.’ I sit down, noticing the girl next to me shift slightly to allow me more room.

  Scanning for a menu, I see that they’re all marginally out of my reach and begin to stand.

  As if sensing my predicament, the man swiftly reaches across with his left hand and in one swipe, passes me a menu.

  ‘There you go. First time here?’

  I take it and nod. ‘Yes, first time. Anything you recommend from the menu?’ He’s so quirky, so different and so welcoming in the way he’s making me feel that I don’t hesitate to ask.

  ‘The burger. It’s good. There’s a decent amount of fries on the side too.’ I watch as he stabs his fork into a chip on his almost bare plate and holds it up. ‘See.’

  ‘OK then. Burger it is.’ Smiling, I close the menu and decide it’s a done deal. I rarely eat burgers but today I need a hearty lunch.

  A waiter approaches and as I order, I feel slightly self-conscious, realising that the man is still watching me. I catch his eye and he smiles again.

  ‘You’re here on holiday?’ he asks, casually running a hand through his shoulder-length shaggy black hair, and it’s only then that I see it has bleached highlights streaked through.

  I consider the question for a moment, just as my drink swiftly arrives and the waiter sets the fresh coconut down in front of me. ‘I’m not sure actually. I
’m going to see how it goes. I might hang out here for a little while.’

  ‘Bali is a good place to hang. Good choice.’ He holds up his bottled beer and I follow suit, taking a tentative sip of the milky water and wondering how I’ve survived until now without a daily coconut in my life.

  ‘I’m Luuk by the way.’

  ‘Everly,’ I reply, noticing how he grins when I talk. My mind is awash with thoughts as I take in his features. It’s clear to me now that he’s not a local as I’d originally assumed, despite having a similar look – his nose is more chiselled and eyes larger, almost almond shaped. ‘And you? Are you here on holiday?’

  He shakes his head, taking a swig of beer. ‘Not quite. I came here because I was in Asia for work and thought I’d drop by and check it out.’ I watch as he pauses and swats a mosquito on his neck. ‘I wanted to find out more about the island – my father’s Dutch and my mother was Balinese.’ His expression clouds ever so slightly and then he smiles. ‘So here I am, over a year later. I got bitten by the Bali bug.’ He laughs and I smile, privately wondering what happened to his mother.

  ‘I can see how easy it must be to be stay.’ And I can. The pace of life seems so relaxed and there’s so much to do and see, so much culture and enriching nature.

  ‘It has its up and downs here but generally it’s paradise if you’re happy to adapt.’

  He turns and signals to the waiter for his bill, then looks back at me. ‘Well, I need to make tracks, but if you’re about one day and fancy a sunset drink, let me know. He takes a pen from his pocket and on his napkin scribbles his number. ‘I’d be happy to show you around the island or if you’re into surf, we can catch some waves.’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’ I reach out and accept the napkin and place it in my bag, watching as he retrieves a green bike helmet from below our table. Just then the waiter appears, a bill in one hand and my food in the other. The smell of the chargrilled burger drifts towards me and my stomach rumbles in appreciation. I feel my face flush but Luuk laughs, placing cash in the hand of the waiter before turning to me.

  ‘Well, I’m off. Enjoy that burger. Hopefully catch you soon.’

  ‘Sure thing.’ I smile as he turns and walks away, waiting for a few moments before I pick up my cutlery to dig in. The burger is well done but succulent and the chips are by far the best I’ve ever tasted. I mentally thank Luuk. He was a nice guy too, I muse, thinking about how friendly everyone seems here so far, especially the locals. But as things stand, men can take a backseat for the moment – friend or otherwise.

  By the time I finish my lunch and stroll back to my apartment it’s already late afternoon, my skin is burnt from the harsh sun and I’ve barely a couple of hours to prepare before my interview. I don’t know why I’m putting so much effort into preparing – for it may well not amount to anything. However, if it really is as lucrative as it appears on the webpage, I could be onto something good.

  It was weird how the idea almost instantaneously came to me the day after arriving, during my bout of jet lag. The show I’d been watching on the TV in the hotel had touched upon an Asian child who attended a private, international school. It got me thinking about the idea of doing some private tuition here; after all, until I’d left the UK I’d regularly supplemented my salary with online tuition. Yet I’d never even considered the idea of doing it outside of the UK. A quick Google search had brought up a few different agencies but one in particular caught my eye. After sending off my CV with little optimism of hearing back, I’d been pleasantly surprised to receive such a keen response and even more so when a follow-up offer of an interview to join their online team arrived. Fine, it’s not quite a ‘proper’ teaching job, but it allows me the flexibility to earn a little something whilst figuring out my next move. For now, it’d be perfect.

  My apartment is stuffy as I push open the wooden street door and I immediately notice an extremely large furry caterpillar just inches from my foot. Carefully picking it up with the use of a magazine, I relocate it to the shared garden metres away, waving to Wiwik who is barefoot, collecting frangipani flowers from the grass.

  The nature here is quite dynamic. There’s so much wildlife and vegetation and now that I’m settled, I can’t wait to get started on exploring the waterfalls and volcanic mountains I’ve read about. But first, I resign myself to preparing for my interview.

  I’m almost ready when my phone rings, distracting me. I glance at my watch and notice I’ve twenty minutes to spare. Without looking down, I automatically swipe to answer.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Everly, you answered.’ Spencer’s tone has an element of surprise and I hastily look at my screen in shock. Shit. I was not expecting it to be him. And obviously he was not expecting me to pick up.

  ‘Spencer. Why are you calling me?’ My voice is angry and bitter. All of the hurt and betrayal that had been so prevalent until a week ago suddenly rises back up from its buried layer and swamps me with emotion.

  ‘Don’t hang up. Please. Just hear me out.’ He sounds so desperate and for a moment I feel myself wavering. Just hearing the softness of his voice makes me emotional. I feel tears prickling behind my eyelids and fight to allow them to fall.

  ‘I wish you’d believe what I told you. I promise you it’s true. Nothing happened, Everly.’ He sounds so convincing, so honest, that the words of anger I want to say stick in my throat, silencing me into listening.

  ‘I’m in love with you and I miss you. I want you to come back. Shanice told me you went to Bali.’

  ‘Shanice told you?’ The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. ‘She had no right to tell you anything.’

  ‘It was my bad. I harassed her. I called her ten times before this call and she finally relented. I explained to her how much I missed you and I think she might have ended up feeling sorry for me.’

  ‘What do you want from me, Spence?’ I’m suddenly drained; I’m so tired of fighting to feel good, so tired of feeling angry at him and Tilly. I don’t want the bitter energy to linger. Of course, a small part of me wants everything to go back to how it was. But this isn’t the Spencer or Tilly that I thought I knew. The damage has been done. There’s no going back now that the trust has been broken.

  ‘I want you to come home, to Bermuda.’ There’s a crack in his voice as he says this, and I know that he’s upset. ‘I never realised just how much you meant to me until all of this happened. I can’t let you go without a fight. Not for something that was caused by a drunken misunderstanding. Please. Just think about it.’

  I consider his words for a moment, feeling myself soften a little. There’s so much emotion in his voice, I know he’s genuine in his remorse. But as for home? They say that home is where the heart is. If I’m honest with myself, my heart isn’t and never truly has been with Spencer. I wrestle with the idea for a moment, knowing that from the outside, the life in Bermuda that I’m about to reject is the one that appears nearest to perfection – a potentially wonderful, loving partner, a beautiful tropical paradise to call home, a fulfilling career and abundance of wealth. Surely they’re all key elements for a chance at lasting happiness … but my entire being is saying otherwise.

  ‘I’m sorry Spencer, I just don’t feel it’s right for me to come back there.’ I wipe a solitary tear from the corner of my eye and anxiously pick at the duvet cover beneath me as I consider my next words. ‘I hoped for things to work between us.’ I stop and take a breath, knowing that he won’t like hearing what I’m about to say. ‘But everything’s changed now. Whatever we had is gone.’ The words linger between us and I’m met with silence.

  ‘So you’re giving up on us?’

  Despite everything, I smile to myself, staggered that’s he’s willing to make this about me. ‘I’m not giving up on us, Spencer – you already did that. I’m choosing to put my own needs first, to put myself first. And right now, that means staying here in Bali, with no attachments holding me back.’

  ‘Fine, you obviously nee
d a little time to yourself…’ He stops and pauses for a moment as if he’s going to say something important. ‘What if I come there though? After you’ve had a chance to consider everything?’

  There’s such hope in his voice that I feel myself wincing for him. He continues, much faster this time, his enthusiasm obvious as his tone lightens, and he gets excited. ‘We can hang out, talk things through. Properly, I mean. And you know, just do couple stuff again. Explore Bali and make a real holiday of it. Really enjoy the time there. Maybe go do some surfing, some diving and some hiking.’

  He sounds so convincing that for a brief second I contemplate treading kindly and softly in turning him down. But I take a deep breath and decide to adopt my firmest of tones. He may well not like taking ‘no’ for an answer in his work world, but he needs to understand just how serious I am.

  ‘Sorry, but no. That’s not going to work for me. We can’t pretend things will ever go back to the way they were. It’s over. There’s no second chance.’

  ‘I don’t believe you really mean that. I think you’re speaking out of anger,’ he says matter-of-factly, his tone assured and unwavering. ‘Let’s renegotiate this once you’ve had a few weeks to enjoy some down time in Bali.’