The year was 1989. I was just a teenager, filled with curiosity and excitement, when I had the chance to visit Bedugul, Bali. The island was different back then—quieter, untouched in many ways, yet still holding the same magic that draws people in today.
I remember the winding road that led to the highlands, the air becoming cooler with every turn. The tropical heat of Bali slowly faded, replaced by a refreshing mountain breeze. It was unlike anything I had felt before—a stark contrast to the bustling coastal areas of the island.
I remember the winding road leading up to the highlands, the air growing cooler with every turn. The tropical heat of Bali gradually faded, replaced by a refreshing mountain breeze. It was unlike anything I had felt before—a stark contrast to the warm coastal areas of the island.
Back then, Bedugul was a peaceful escape, a place where time seemed to slow down. I remember standing by the lake, feeling the cool mist on my face, listening to the distant echoes of nature. It was in that moment that I realized—Bali wasn’t just about beaches and waves. It was also about these quiet, hidden gems where the island whispered its oldest stories.
Now, even after all this time, I still think about that visit. Bedugul may have changed, but the feeling it gave me remains the same. It was a moment of pure connection—with nature, with culture, with the simple joy of discovering something beautiful.
And sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can still see the temple floating on the lake, just as it was back then.
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