Waiting for the result of a job interview in Bali introduced a strange pause into my days. Life at the boarding house in Nusa Dua moved slowly, almost stagnant. Not for lack of plans, but because my mind was crowded with possibilities. To push back the boredom, I opened my phone and let the internet act as an early map.
Waterblow Beach appeared first, beautiful and close. Yet my attention quickly shifted to another article. Penglipuran. A village described as immaculate, orderly, and almost untouched by chaos. Something in its narrative felt quietly magnetic. Without much thought, I pinned its location on Google Maps and began searching for a way to get there.
A Simple Morning Preparation
The next morning, I woke earlier than usual. A brief shower, a small bag packed with only what I needed, then I walked toward the Trans Sarbagita bus stop not far from the boarding house. After waiting around ten minutes, the bus arrived. The fare felt almost symbolic, IDR 3,500, a number oddly small compared to the distance and the story that lay ahead.
Traveling by public transport carried a different rhythm. Unhurried. Unexclusive. Just the city moving as it was, without performance.
A Relay Toward Penglipuran
At Batubulan Terminal, I asked around about transportation to Penglipuran Village. The answers were uniform. There was no direct route. Only a relay journey, shifting from one mode to another.
I followed the directions given. The first public vehicle took me to a three way intersection for IDR 30,000. I never caught its name, or perhaps I never asked. From there, I continued on a small bus. The conductor asked my destination, then signaled when we reached the road leading toward Penglipuran. The fare was IDR 10,000.
After that, there was nothing left to ride. I walked until I reached the village gate and paid an entrance fee of IDR 7,500. A modest price for a curiosity that had grown quite large.
The Preserved Calm of Penglipuran
Penglipuran greeted me with a disciplined silence. Its main street was spotless, almost flawless. Houses lined the road in careful symmetry, their gateways standing gracefully, as if maintained not only by hands but by a shared awareness.
The main street of Penglipuran Village.
I walked slowly, absorbing the details. When fatigue set in, I rested at a bale bengong, a simple gazebo meant for pause. I wiped the sweat from my face with a small towel. Around me, other visitors did the same. Some rested. Others took turns posing for photographs along the main street, capturing an order rarely encountered.
Refreshed, I continued toward the edge of the village, where a wide open space served as a site for religious rituals. Quiet, expansive, and faintly mysterious. I exited through a bamboo forest, bought a drink at a small stall, then returned to the main road to wait for a bus.
A Late Dusk
When I checked the time, it was already four in the afternoon, local time. Too late. I had been absorbed by the beauty, forgetting that the world runs on schedules indifferent to a traveler’s wonder.
I waited nearly an hour. An elderly woman passing by explained calmly that the buses no longer operated in the late afternoon and would resume the next morning. She even suggested I stay overnight. Sensible advice, yet it tightened my chest. I had no idea where I could stay.
Kindness from a Fried Rice Stall
After waiting longer, I asked again, this time a woman at a small fried rice stall. Her answer was the same. No buses. But she offered an alternative. An ojek.
She helped call a driver willing to take me to Batubulan Terminal. Not long after, the motorbike arrived. I said goodbye and thanked her, grateful for a kindness freely given.
A Conversation on Two Wheels
On the road, we negotiated the fare. IDR 80,000 to the terminal. Then we talked, like strangers briefly aligned by circumstance. He told me he had lived in Jakarta for thirty years, had friends in Majalengka, and knew parts of Bali absent from travel brochures.
We spoke of tajen, ngaben, Bali Aga, traditions living side by side with tourism. At Batubulan Terminal, he asked to exchange phone numbers. If one day you return to Bangli, he said, don’t hesitate to call. His name was Kadek.
Back to Nusa Dua
From Batubulan, I took the Trans Sarbagita back to Nusa Dua. Night settled slowly. I arrived at the boarding house tired, but carrying a mind full of stories.
That day, I did not only discover a village. I learned that when a journey is allowed to unfold on its own terms, it often offers encounters and meanings far richer than any plan ever could.