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Posted by Jan on 8 September 2013 | Comments

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In 1977 I bought a one-way ticket to Bali. I landed around midnight in a thunderstorm and woke the next morning as if I'd stepped into a fairytale. The jewelled toad in the bathroom, the little bananas and the thermos of tea by my door for breakfast, the quiet women sweeping the sandy courtyard under bright red and purple bougainvillea and, when I ventured out, the market – all seemed magical. I got to know a local family, went to the temple with them, learned the names of exotic fruits and gave away most of what I had in my backpack. When I set off for Java and the rest of my big OE I felt wiser and ready to meet the world. (I had yet to learn that 'the World' is not like Bali!)

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