'Welcome to Bali! My name is Wayan and I will be your driver and guide to Bali Santi Bungalows (P1,100/night, breakfast included) in Candi Dasa.' This is how I was greeted by the first of two ‘Wayans’ I would soon meet in the Island of the Gods. Wayan was delighted at my proficiency in Bahasa-Indonesia (I had lived in Jakarta for 2 years growing-up), the country’s vernacular, and he continued to test my knowledge of the language throughout the 2.5 hour ride from the airport to Bali Santi by pointing out the towns and cities we passed and the new roads being built that led to them - all in spitfire Bahasa.

We were going at lightning speed, passing moped riders frighteningly going about their business on the road without tail lights, sometimes with a child or two seated between two adults. Wayan was on a mission to have me arrive at Bali Santi at a 'reasonable hour' so that I could still catch the mayhem by the oceanview bar (read: karaoke drunkenness) to meet Rosemary, the owner of Bali Santi. But when I arrived, I was instead greeted by Wayan’s wingman and Bali Santi’s everything-man, Ngah, who flashed me a dazzling smile that was surely one of the main attractions that the bungalows had to offer.

Bali Santi is located off of Jalan Raya Candi Dasa, the township’s main road. The secluded spot and beachside view are perfect for the traveller looking for serenity and a much-needed reprieve from the noise of Kuta (South Bali’s tourist hub) and the much publicized new-age lifestyle of Ubud. Its ten clean rooms boast of nothing beyond mosquito net-draped beds, cold, running water and my most prized amenity of all: the sound of the waves crashing against the stone walls, lulling me to sleep and waking me each morning. To top it all off, a breakfast of pancakes, toast and coffee (or tea) comes with the room and the hospitality of the staff is unmatched.

Being my mother’s kikay daughter, I couldn’t help but indulge just a little in Candi. So for 150,000 Rupiahs (P850.00) I spent the day at the Amankila (of the luxe Aman Resorts) in Candi Dasa’s neighboring town of Padangbai. To get there, I hitched a ride on the back of Ngah’s moped, screaming like a banshee all the way down the mountain to Amankila. I was, after all, an urban public transport commuter up until my Bali arrival so the moped ride – sans helmet – was a bit of a departure from my usual mode of transport.

I frolicked all by my lonesome in Amankila's lap pool, beachside property and cabanas, which made the world feel incredibly big and my life in Manila a distant memory. I cannot tell you how many times the hotel staff would ask me why I was 'traveling without my (non-existent) husband.' Despite the inquisition, I felt content as I had finally found the time to think about the most pressing question on my mind: what do I do with my life? Before I got too pensive, I was rescued (thankfully) from the Robinson Crusoe isolation by the Amankila Water Sports Coordinator, Wayan Number 2. He ushered me into a kayak and off we went, circling around our part of the island to get a peek at Gunung Agung and the local fishermen that were casting their nets out in the ocean. All our rowing had built an appetite, so after 90 minutes I returned to my cabana and devoured a chicken sandwich in just under five minutes. It cost about the same as my entry to the premises, but it was worth every rupiah.

At 4 p.m. sharp, Ngah picked me up from Amankila to take me back to my humble abode at Bali Santi. I sat on the bike of his bike, awestruck by the beauty of the rice paddies that we passed and the subdued grandeur of the faces of the Candi Dasa locals.

I spent each succeeding day at Candi Dasa laid-out on a wooden deckchair where I entertained new thoughts and ideas that were coming in and out of my head. At times, Paul, the German tenant who was leasing one of the bungalows, would sit next to me, trying his best to persuade me to stay in Candi Dasa permanently as he smoked cigarette after cigarette. He talked about the mundane life in Frankfurt that he had left, the daily commute where he would rub shoulders with people on the train and find himself in such close proximity with strangers, only to have them ignore his presence completely; his story was not unlike a Manila girl’s commute to work.

“How can you be so intimate with someone without even saying hello? That’s why I left, you see. Everyone in Candi Dasa says hello. There are no strangers here." This was Paul's assurance. And after four days in Candi, I didn't need any more convincing.

The charm of this sleepy fishing village really wasn’t in the food, or in the scenery, or in the perfect lotus ponds in the luxe resorts. It lay in the smiles of the people, the cigarette smoke-filled conversations at sunset, and in the fisherman’s glance before he lit his lantern at dusk to catch shrimp at low-tide.

Here one can find the true gems of Candi Dasa: time eternal and authentic connections, two things that can bring a sense of clarity and purpose to the humdrum of daily city living.

How to Get There
Visit Garuda Airlines and Singapore Airlines for flight rates and schedules to Denpasar, Bali, from Manila via Jakarta or Singapore.