So much has happened since the last time I wrote a personal post that I’m struggling even putting words to paper (and yes, it’s been old school style for this blog post’s preparation). I’m sitting in a coffee shop across from my old DC yoga studio sipping on some tea waiting for class to begin.

But let’s rewind.

Almost four weeks ago, I arrived at Dulles airport (IAD) ready to spend three weeks of my life in southeast Asia without any expectations about what would happen or how I would react to visiting a new region of the world. Thirty hours later, mixed with a concoction of movies and book overload, we arrived perhaps worse for wear but beyond prepared for Indonesia.

Four days in Denpasar, ten in Ubud, four in Seminyak and another five in Gili Trawangan… Those are the numbers. Three weeks spent 22 books, refinding friendships and rediscovering a deep love of theoretical math and physics. Expected outcome of the trip? Not really. Discounting Bali as adventure-less would, however, be a mistake. Where else could I have scaled a 60 foot waterfall, cooked local Indonesian food and wandered around sidewalk-less streets until my feet bled?

Beyond adventures though, some of my most vivid memories are of sitting around a table with close friends laughing and just enjoying each other’s company. Bar Alzheimers, I plan on scrapbooking these seconds for the long haul. There are other moments. I promise I didn’t invest three weeks of my life just to do things I could happily do at home. I befriended monkeys, meditated (or rather: failed at remaining stoic), jumped off a 17 foot rock and opened my eyes to the potential virtues of of beaching (Limit 1 Hour Per Day).

You’ll see over the next couple months the vast amount of books I’ve read, but if I had to pick a favorite: I know what it would be without question: Uranium Wars by Amir Aczel. Just like if I had to pick something I won’t ever forget, it will be that moment of panic mid-air as I plummeted towards the water sure that I would die. Trips like these always somehow fracture, break into crystal-clear moments where the in-between parts fade into the haze of sleepy car rides and early morning coffee runs. Will I remember all of the different breakfasts, late night Tim-Tam runs and potential sun-death from lazing too long? Probably not, but that’s not to say I regret any second of it. We grow from our travels and become different people, regardless of what we happily or not-so-happily experience.

I don’t know if going to Bali for three weeks has altered the course of my life. That would be a *wee* bit dramatic… but it’s certainly changed parts of me, made it so that a part of my life will be intertwined with the life of three others in these couple seconds of stubbornly remaining memories. I’ve split my Bali photography into a series of three posts and added some Indonesian recipes to the blog in the upcoming posts – until next weekend.