Lingering incense from daily offerings wafted over the villa; the smell of Balinese air and fresh street food filled my nostrils. A breath felt how I would imagine dirt-flavoured candy floss to taste – instantly melting, topped with a spritz of motor oil and a dash of bug spray.
A muffled chorus of squealing pigs…
“Terima kasih. Terima kasih,” I repeat over and over, till my throat goes dry and the Indonesian words of gratitude become a meaningless, Australian-flavoured gibberish.
I wince. And fiddle with the label of the plastic water bottle that Ketut pressed gently into my hands. Made chucks me a toothy grin and tells me to breathe…