The Edi Mantra

Driving on the opposite side of the road, mixed in with a sea of scooters and motorbikes, I arrived in the outside villages of Ubud feeling more upside down and unable to separate from the stress and chaos I had created in my Western life.

Edi, my Balinese driver sits on my right, calm and singing to himself he leans over and asks me my favorite song. Edi was a 30-something skater type with a Bon Jovi t-shirt, cutoffs and a Jamaican flag fanny pack warn around his shoulder. At that moment, I didn't have the energy to explain the fashion faux pas and simply answered his question with, " Anything contemporary I guess."

I could see both edges of his smile now. "I've got that!" Edi popped in a CD from his stack in the middle console.

I recognized the intro, as a child of the 80s I was instantly taken back to my youth. Wilson Philips had never sounded so clear pumping through the speakers of his minivan.

Ubud was a maze to me, zipping in and out of little dirt road allies to avoid the parade of people walking in the streets. The Balinese people celebrate most days with ceremony. Life cycle rites, new babies, puberty, weddings, funerals and full moons alike fill his schedule when he was not driving tourists around. Edi explained when they celebrate his whole community of 300 people attend and take to the streets and temples to show support. His wife and family are close and also live in community with his extended family including close friends.

The next song was Pearl jam- a better fit to my mood. Edi handed me an Indonesian Red Bull.

"Ginseng for your beautiful blonde soul," he said with a laugh.

I quickly gained comfort in my sweaty seat. Edi talked about a song he was sure I would appreciate.

The Gāyatrī Mantra I had heard before in a Phoenix yoga class. A version sung and not felt back home but here he tapped his steering wheel to a ripe drumbeat and deep chanting that opened my ears and my heart to the present moment.

I felt the inflections of the singer's voice, watching out my window seeing every person as a part of this mantra; the smiling school children walking in line, happy to be out of class, a local women carrying a fruit basket on the crown of her head. I listened to Edi sing it his way. I had no idea what the Sanskrit words meant but I felt it in my core.

In that moment, Edi transformed my retreat into a human experience. Introducing his lifestyle made me forget my own and placed me right where I needed to be in a Balinese mantra. Bali will forever be his equal love of ginseng, 90s love ballads and to my benefit, blonde haired American girls.  

Juliano and the Sea

We talked ourselves into getting in the water, watching the kids slide gracefully from rock to rock into the Mediterranean below.

"It's lemon-easyssia," my friend Juliet says pursing her lips and kissing the air in her best Italian accent. Fifteen meters of Algae-rock lie between us and the cooling water.

From Corniglia to Vernazza traces a two and a half mile/4k trek around a jungle cove through tunnels of smooth sandstone and waterfalls trundling in between, eventually leading down a maze of steps to the turquoise sea.

Juliet went first, mapping out the rock steps then easing down on her bottom, reaching her legs to the next rock and gliding to another. In the crab position, she lifted on all fours to crawl across a high standing rock dipping into the sea. I watched her stand and bend down as her head followed fingertips and shoulders to disappear feet last into a wave.

"Ok, stop worrying this should be fun," I say a silent prayer.

I proceed to her footwork trail and end standing ankle deep as the tide goes out. Just as I push off to dive in my foot hits algae and I pancake on to my stomach into a massive wave.

"That looked so graceful, " Juliet mocked. We both laugh and I exhale the water in my lungs.

We rest standing on the mossy rock. We make a sea-saw with our arms stretched out for balance, strategizing our exit plan.

A young woman strokes past us moving toward the concrete dock set up to launch small boats. This seems like our safest option. I see her swim to the dock, an older man yelling something in Italian and motioning to a hand-ring on the platform overlooking the dock. Even 30 meters away, I can see his strip of speedo folding in the gaps in his potbelly roll and  a white Sailor hat pulled over his ears.

"Oh good we have a lifeguard," I make a sarcastic call out.

The waves guide our strokes closer to the shore. I follow, swimming into Juliet's kick. I paddle and get up to the ring. Juliet pulls herself out. I grasp the metal with one hand. My bikini strings and my legs are swallowed down the trough of a wave. I keep a firm grip. I use my arms to pull my body upward out of the crest. I feel a hand on my foot and another on my wrist.

In one swift move, my body is out like a starfish from the Mediterranean. I look up into the sun to a stout strip of speedo shining above me.  I quickly check to ensure my bikini was where it should be on my body. My lifeguard laughs and reaches to help me up to my feet. 

"Vostro bikini volare via, bella farfalla. Sì ok? Sono Juliano." 

The makings of a Time Traveler

Let's start with my fears. First, traveling solo. In my past, I've always had a faithful companion. One to help me on my way, keep me entertained and entrust with my safety.  A minimal fear compared to recent current events and on the forefront of travelers' minds with the attacks in Europe. There are also travel barriers (passports errors, visa expirations) language barriers, eating new foods, getting yourself lost. And at the bottom of my list, the social faux pas in new countries (not your typical socks with sandals) who knew with Thailand pointing is a no-no? All incased by the fact that I'm a single woman, traveling alone. Not to be confused with lonely single woman traveler. Very different. I'm not doing this because I'm heart broken or looking for love or even to find a better sense of self. I have a curiosity of cultures.

I'd been flirting with the idea of a world trip for the better part of my adult life. First encounter of my idea (for the sake of a more romantic name for my curiosity let's call it Romeo) came the moment I left on my own from South Dakota almost ten years ago. The feeling I had that day is now a tattooed into my frontal lobe blocking my inhibitions.

Moving from the Mid-west to Arizona was not exactly around-the-world travel but the adventure and spirit of forging on my own is still the same concept in my mind. I've learned that once you've forced yourself past your comfort zone you truly test yourself by confronting your fears head-on.

My friends and family were quick to give their impression of my Romeo, spotting the obvious dangers and circumstances that come with this sort of flirtation- stolen luggage, third-world diseases, imprisonment and even risk being kidnapped as if I hadn't been thinking about that from the start.

"You're sure to get the Hep," says my friend who also pronounces Germany's third largest city, Munch, like she's eating a sandwich. But some were in favor of my daring plan, telling me of their trips to distant lands with friends and family but never on their own.

Romeo started with just Thailand. A country very different than my own, smiley people, colorful temples and exotic cuisine. What is not to love? I consumed my research, for two years. Everything Thailand. Signed a contract to teach English, felt like a new Romeo at first but soon discovered this was too much of a commitment in one country and without really even knowing the extent of this Romeo adventure, it turned out to be too much. Fear took over. I panicked and took the 9-5 job offered to me in my comfortable desert town.

But this is not the end of my story...

I learned to day dream. And any who has daydreamed know this is a fabulous trick. It's like reading or falling in love or working out. You can time travel- day travel, really. Time is a relative tape measure to the average person it can take a long time to map out but to the expectant person, the person who has something to dream, it can be a virtue.

I would imagine myself a modern Amelia Earhart or Nellie Bly the famous journalist, ripe for a story to tell or mystery to uncover and ultimately the aviator of my own adventure. I rummaged the local magazine racks and travel sections of book stores looking for inspiration for my new Romeo adventure.

My mother an avid enthusiast of all things South Dakota, would voice her disdain of my solo trip outside the homeland. After an hour conversation of comparing apple cider vinegar to a shot of vodka, my mother slipped in that my linage actually supported this wild idea of global discovery. I am a part the last of the Vikings and direct descendant of Roald Amundsen. He was a Norwegian explorer, first to reach the South Pole and to navigate through the northwest passage, putting its place on the map. This heritage I found through my mother and was in my back pocket the whole time. So maybe we can call my Romeo more than just a curiosity, a true genetic drive for adventure.