The last time I went to Bali, I think I was 16. I went with my family and we stayed at Club Med. It was awesome for me – mainly due to the fact that every single meal was a buffet and there were fries at every sitting, including breakfast.
Since then though, I’ve become wary of Bali. As an Australian, we’ve kinda given the place a bad name. But I think that’s more reflective on a select group and not at all on the island itself.
We stayed in Canggu in a villa not really close to much. We grabbed a scooter and the three and a half of us explored our little pocket of Bali. Roo would hold my hands on the handlebars, sitting between my legs and Keshy sat behind us, holding me tightly at first and after a few days, not holding me at all.
To say we fell for Bali is an understatement. Our preconceived notions made certain that we fell harder and deeper than we could have imagined. If I’m being honest, I didn’t think I’d enjoy Bali. After a week, the thought of going home was one I didn’t want to consider.
We’re thinking about celebrating the birth of our second with a baby-moon back on these beautiful shores. Fingers crossed we make it happen.