I was in the midst of planning a trip to Japan to visit a friend in the lead-up to the COVID saga, when within the space of two weeks I discovered I was five weeks pregnant and, coincidentally, we entered our first lockdown.

My passport expired over that period and, with a baby on the way while running a hospitality business, any flame I held for adventure abroad was quickly snuffed out.

Head down. Survive. Steer the ship through rough seas.

That was to be my only adventure for a while.

It wasn’t until last year that I finally renewed my passport, along with my daughter’s very first, and we set off to Sanur, Indonesia.

I had never previously been interested in Bali, once branded in my mind as an island overrun by badly behaved Australians.

Luckily, they tend to stick to the same couple of spots, so we were relatively safeguarded in sleepier Sanur.

The second we arrived at the airport, those familiar excitement butterflies started in my stomach.

I had thought the poor darlings were long dead, so it was a delightful surprise to know there was still life in me after all.

Arrival in a foreign country; the scent of humidity, a new language to learn and use, the luscious tropical plants with their gigantic leaves and beautiful flowers.

Oh, the plants! It was like I’d been missing half of myself all this time, and we’d just been reunited.

Every time I saw a frangipani on the ground, I’d pick it up and carry it around until it lost its scent.

I embraced every sunrise and sunset as if I’d never experienced one before.

It’s truly incredible what travel can teach you, particularly about yourself.

For me, it’s like a deep exfoliation.

It strips away dead layers and blocked filters, leaving me able to properly breathe again.

The spirituality in Bali is captivating.

The morning offerings, the gentle way the locals look out for each other, the kindness that radiates through everything.

It saddened me to think of anyone ever disrespecting their land, culture or people.

The day before we were due to leave, I could barely stop crying.

As I thanked people throughout the day, my throat closed up, and I struggled to speak, quickly slapping on sunglasses and scurrying off in a blubbering mess.

It wasn’t just about having to depart heaven on earth and return to a bitter Victorian winter, it was the sheer gravity of the gratitude I felt for everything that experience had gifted me.

And now, a year later, I’ve returned to Sanur, and it feels like home.

This trip has been longer, more immersive and deeply rewarding as I’ve reconnected with locals and expats, while returning to my favourite places.

The frangipanis never lose their magic; my daughter and I gather them wherever we go, comparing scents, with the deepest yellows always our favourite.

This time I’ve prioritised yoga as a regular practice.

It’s taught me that yoga is less about movement and more about patience and stillness.

Even when I feel restless and want to leave partway through or skip shavasana, staying always leaves me grateful in the end.

My body has thanked me for this rhythm: swimming laps a couple of times a day, drinking fresh coconuts, my new favourite dish, Soto Ayam with turmeric, ginger and vegetables nourishing the soul.

Most transformative of all, I found a local healer who has finally resolved the chronic neck and shoulder pain I carried for nearly two years, something no osteo or massage back home could shift.

The relief has been life-changing.

When I return home this time, I want to carry Sanur with me: regular morning yoga, swimming as often as possible, simple nourishing food, and the reminder that stillness can be as powerful as movement.

As I always love to share great discoveries, I’ve curated a guide of my favourite ways to ‘Savour Sanur’.

It’s free to download here, scan the QR code below to download.

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Monday, 20th July 2026

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