Bali

Bali. Tomorrow. For a month.

In Kuta, back to the noisy sounds of the traffic horns. Natives calling out, "Hey, Lady" while we walk by the busy markets. Music pumping out of the primarily Australian filled bars and restaurants near Kuta beach.

To the quiet of Balian, where surfers reign. The roar of the water rolling up to the beach lull us to sleep. The tops of young coconuts lopped off to sip the water.

To the mountainous villages where I still dream about the colorful food markets and smell the Indonesian coffee and spices.

To a new adventure on Lomboc, a smaller, less touristy island.

And, always, the film of perspiration from pedaling in the tropical heat and the soothing coolness of the water at the end of a long day ride.

I look at this as my "me" time. A time to renew, regather and rethink. Last year, I didn't come back with any material belongings except the purchase of a necessary sarong to use at the hotels with no towels. I suspect this year will be the same.