For years I have travelled and explored the world.
I’ve lived all over, searched, and sought for that place to call home. This ideology that an Arcadia exists for everyone has surged my exploration forward—I’ve barely left a rock unturned.
It’s strange that on the back of a scooter flying through the narrow alleyways and tourist-filled lanes of Kuta, I felt I was finally closing in on that elusive place.
Motor and pedestrian traffic thinned. Lost in the maze of streets I knew I was closer to home.
The bombardment of shops and restaurants were soon replaced with young, sprawling rice fields. We took a wrong turn and flew past Deus down to Echo Beach. From the carpark, I could see a few guys out in the line-up, waiting motionlessly in the windswept surf.
We headed back, stopping to ask directions to Berawa Beach Surf Stay; they had no idea. Finally, a local pointed us in the direction of Berawa Beach, so we moved on. At least we would be heading to the right beach this time!
Another beach carpark. No guesthouse and no surf.
A traveller walked by—towel and book in hand. Finally! Someone who had an idea of where our guesthouse was! Even better, the guy pulled out a phone and called the number we had to get directions.
The mid-morning sticky heat of monsoon season prickled my skin. I waited anxiously for someone to answer. It felt like home was close but slipping away with every passing second. When I’d all but given up hope I heard Fred’s glorious voice—he was only two hundred metres up the road.
Within seconds we came to an abrupt halt outside Berawa Beach Surf Stay. I said hi to Fred, dumped my bags, grabbed my board and jumped back onto my friend’s bike. Not caring about the conditions we raced back to Echo beach. The handful of surfer’s I’d seen earlier gave me hope that there’d be a wave.
In minutes we were running down the beach, or in my pace moving at a fast trudge. I was so unfit after all my travels.
I was spurred on by a growing feeling of euphoria by being so close to the ocean. I threw my board on the black gritty sand and strapped my leash onto my ankle. I stopped only momentarily before thrusting myself over the shories and let my arms embrace the water.
A joyous reunion of water and flesh. My muscles rippled and strained as my body remembered the motions. That was it—me, my board and the ocean—home.
Have you found your true home? Or still searching…?
We’d love to hear about it, so feel free to share in the comments section below.