Bali is green…. stunning, vibrant green. The colour I miss the most from the dusty streets of Yangon.
Not just the fresh neon-green of newly planted rice….
…and World Heritage enlisted, centuries old rice terraces painstakingly carved into the slopes of the volcanoes and the steep sides of the river gorges….
…with jungle-covered mountain backdrops….
….but also the everyday scenes of houses, temples, bridges, maybe even slower people being overgrown by moss.
The Balinese believe the evil spirits live in the sea, but I feel their presence somewhere else: when I descend into the gorges, walking or by motorcycle, anywhere, near the Monkey Forest, or just on the mountain roads, I feel greenness enveloping me completely. The humidity is stifling, I can’t even see the river or little stream under the abundance of green, I only hear it, green shadows sway and lurk, the air stands still for a second, and only the silence vibrates. Sometimes I fear if I linger too long, my spirit won’t be able to follow me any longer, it will get trapped there forever.
But it is the kind of excitement I crave, of course. Some of my favourite mountain routes have a dozen gorges to cross.
And probably I wouldn’t even care about getting trapped there forever.