It was 1989, and I was a teenager back then when I found myself on a journey to Kintamani, a place where the air was crisp, and the landscape seemed to stretch endlessly into the horizon. The road leading there was a winding path through lush greenery, with occasional glimpses of villages and terraced fields carved into the hills. As I ascended, the tropical heat of Bali slowly faded, replaced by a refreshing coolness that carried the scent of earth and mist
Then, suddenly, the view opened up, revealing the breathtaking sight of Mount Batur standing tall against the sky. Its rugged slopes, shaped by time and nature, told silent stories of past eruptions. Below, the deep blue waters of Lake Batur shimmered under the morning sun, cradled by the caldera like a hidden sanctuary untouched by time.
I wandered along the edge of the caldera, taking in the contrast of nature’s elements—the fiery history of the volcano, the gentle ripples of the lake, and the rolling mist that came and went as if the mountain itself was breathing. It was a place that felt both powerful and serene, a reminder of Bali’s ever-changing yet deeply rooted spirit.
Even now, after all this time, I still think about that visit. Kintamani remains one of those rare places where nature’s raw beauty and tranquility exist in perfect harmony. And sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can still see the mist rolling over the mountain, just as it did back then.
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