Before too much more time elapses, I want to finish sharing my thoughts about the third part of our January R&R — in Bali, Indonesia.
I planned our R&R while I was hospitalized in Bangkok in November and December, so I had other things on my mind. However, the January leave window I’d set aside with my team was quickly approaching. Either my boss or I, as consular managers, must always be in town and present in the office. With two R&Rs per officer each year, surrendering scheduled time off can make it difficult to reschedule later.
Autumn was especially chaotic for us: back-to-back emergency medevacs for both my husband, V, and me—including my incapacitation for over two months—the longest U.S. government shutdown in history, which caused us each to miss three paychecks, and the rapidly declining health of V’s mother, which required him to spend a month with her in the Balkans. It was no surprise we still didn’t have lodging to match the January flights we’d booked from Rangoon to Hanoi to Danang to Bali and back. So, I set about trying to remedy that during my long days in a Thai hospital bed with little else to do but try and think.
I’ve already posted about the great visits we ultimately had to Hanoi (in two parts) and Danang on the front end of the trip. But after all the activity of Vietnam, I knew we were going to need a slowdown on the back end. After all, at that time I was still using my walker and struggling with pain and immobility after being hit by a truck in November.
After much research among the vast options Bali offered, I came to two conclusions. One, we needed to choose between the ocean (coastal) and the rainforest (more inland). And two, we probably couldn’t go wrong no matter what we chose. At the end of the day, all we really wanted to do in Bali was relax at a resort, swim a lot, and take some restorative time away from Burma.
And fortunately for us, we chose Ayung Resort Ubud, where we were able to get everything we bargained for and more.
From the time we arrived in Bali, I could feel a different, new-to-us energy in the air.
I wasn’t prepared for the 28 miles between the airport and the resort to take two hours by car. But I also hadn’t had the bandwidth to do my usual logistical due diligence for this trip. So, for once, I was simply along for the ride.
It was fascinating to watch from the window as our airport pickup driver navigated the narrow highway winding north toward the resort, passing an endless jumble of roadside kiosks, temples, shops, and homes—until, at last, we were transported into a reality untouched by that cacophonous world outside.
And we soon discovered — from the lush rainforest to the scampering long-tailed macaques to the tranquil private pool villa that was all ours — Ayung offered the rest and recuperation we were hoping it would be. The resort was dotted with statues meant to guard against negative forces, maintain spiritual balance, and bring good fortune: exactly what we needed.
At Ayung, there was something for everyone. One could enjoy a completely relaxed couples’ escape, tucked away in a villa with a private plunge pool, or venture out to swim in the larger shared pools connected to the resort’s main hotel area.
The room package I’d booked included a flexible schedule of activities — a floating breakfast, a romantic rooftop dinner for two, a photo shoot, massages, a spiritual purification and healing ceremony, a day trip around Ubud, and more.
We passed up some of the bigger trek options and the suggestion to go whitewater rafting (from the guy who was aware of my injuries and had literally just observed me in my wheelchair). But it was still good to know the resort catered to a variety of travelers including the very active — a category we fell into in the not-so-distant past.
Sampling an assortment of teas and coffees—including blends with vanilla, avocado, coconut, and even civet coffee (!!)—before choosing our favorites at Segara Windhu Luwak Coffee Plantation.
As it turned out, some of the “locally produced” items were available for half the price at Bali’s airport when we departed. We enjoyed the visit, but with more information—especially about concerns we later became aware of over their caged civet—we might have skipped what felt like a polished, fast-moving experience designed to funnel tourists into an overpriced gift shop.
Probably the biggest challenge we had at Ayung (besides my stubbornness in wanting to climb the steep pathways that led from our villa to anywhere else in the resort instead of relying on the shuttle) was with the long-tailed macaque monkeys. During the nights, the males would get into territorial skirmishes all over our villa’s roof and porch. The protracted growling and shrieking was a little frightening, and the resort’s only way of dealing with it seemed to be slingshot by night and hosing down the blood and poop in the morning when we pointed it out to them. (I wish I was kidding.)
As gross as that was, the bigger issue was our sleep being disturbed multiple times per night by alpha monkey throwdowns. It was clear the macaques owned the place and we were just visiting. That became clearer one afternoon when I made the mistake of eating a package of Oreos from the minibar outside on the patio.
From the day we arrived at Ayung, resort staff had warned us about not feeding the monkeys. “Of course not,” I’d responded, surprised. Who would do that? I wondered, followed quickly by the cynical realization, Lots of dumb people.
But I had not extrapolated from that advice the admonishment to consume all food indoors. In retrospect it seems like common sense. But the norming of things like poolside room service and floating breakfast our first morning in the villa indicated the resort could have done more to head off problems with aggressive, food-seeking monkeys.
Almost two months later, I still have a mark on my ankle from how quickly—and ineptly—I fled the pool after realizing a macaque had descended a nearby tree and begun stalking along the edge. He got within about five feet of me as I sat absorbed in a book, munching Oreos straight from their electric-blue sleeve before I even noticed him.
With my legs dangling in the water, I was in a vulnerable position and struggled to scramble away. I abandoned my book and sunglasses poolside but inexplicably kept hold of the Oreos. He backed me into a corner of the patio, where I tried—and failed—to wield a heavy wooden lounge chair as a weapon. My ankle bleeding from how hard I’d banged it on the pool stairs and unsteady on my feet, I realized I couldn’t even lift the chair, let alone wield it. I shouted for V’s help.
Nothing I did — shouting at the monkey, making myself larger — made him stop advancing, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to fling the Oreos and let him win at what had obviously been a successful strategy in obtaining people food. I later read that I’d become part of a throwdown myself as the monkey perceived me as a rival! I didn’t even have the presence of mind in that moment to flee while throwing the Oreos in the opposite direction, as one might do with a wallet while fleeing a robber. I had a terrible moment where I was sure I was going to be badly bit by the monkey’s sharp teeth, which he bared at me menacingly as he came closer. I imagined trying to explain to my colleagues how, after being hit by a truck and nearly killed at post, I went on R&R in Bali—only to end up in another foreign hospital after a monkey attack.
Suddenly V burst through the door onto the patio carrying a large curved-handle umbrella in one hand and an actual dining room chair in the other. The monkey looked less surprised than me. Even still he only beat a slow, reluctant retreat after assessing that V was bigger and scarier — and more armed and mobile — than I was.
One of the most special activities we did was a spiritual purification ceremony called Penglukatan at the resort’s holy water site of Tirta Ayung. Penglukatan is a Balinese Hindu purification ritual centered on cleansing with sacred water (tirta). As I understood it, the purpose was the act or process of purification involving holy water from a sacred spring or river.
I won’t share too many pictures of the ceremony, because it felt like a deeply spiritual experience. But it was very moving and worth doing — to release negative energies and emotional burdens, to restore balance between the inner and outer self, and to create a sense of renewal and peace before important life events or religious observances. Before the second half of our tour in Burma and the upcoming spring wedding of my eldest stepdaughter, it felt important to try and make peace with (and seek some protection from) everything that happened late last year.
Water in Balinese Hinduism is not just physical; it’s believed to carry spiritual power and divine energy. When blessed by a priest, the water becomes capable of removing spiritual impurities or negative energy that can accumulate from stress, illness, bad luck, or emotional turmoil. This type of ceremony is meaningful for Balinese Hindus and is also open to respectful visitors, as long as participants follow local customs and dress codes. It’s important to approach the ritual with sincerity and reverence, as it’s first and foremost a religious practice rather than a tourist activity. This was something that felt really meaningful to us both and important to do while we were there.
We were helped to put on Balinese sarongs before the ceremony began, signifying respect and readiness. We allowed the water to wash over us, a symbolic act representing the washing away of negative energy and restoration of inner balance. A pemangku (local Balinese priest) led the ceremony with prayers and mantras. This invocation in the local language sets the intention for cleansing and spiritual purification.
At the end, we were given tridatu bracelets—red, white, and black strings tied around our wrists as a sign of protection and spiritual blessing. I felt a bit uncomfortable at times, partly because I had expected to have a more outward emotional reaction, and partly because I wasn’t sure how long each segment of the ceremony should last. I’ve noticed I usually get uncomfortable in situations where people are either waiting for me, or waiting for my reaction to something, and this situation had both elements. The water pouring over my face at times was a little discomfiting and the awareness of other people nearby also made me more inhibited than I might otherwise have been. Still, without a doubt, I felt better, stronger, and more peaceful after the ceremony—like V and I had worked together to cross a milestone bridge from one era of our lives to the next.
We had long joked that after the challenges of 2025, 2026 could only be a year of winning. And so far—with trips to Singapore, Vietnam, and Indonesia, improving health, and a dream assignment to Sarajevo in 2027—2026 has lived up to that promise. #somuchwinning
I have so much gratitude for our eight days in Bali, with no regrets. It ultimately marked the last time I ever traveled with—or even needed—my wheelchair. The day we flew home, I went to a hospital in Rangoon to get X-rays. A few days later, the Thai doctor who had overseen my hospitalization told me that my fractures had healed enough for me to start walking with a cane instead of my walker, with full weight-bearing.
Collecting Postcards 