Eat. Sleep. Read.

Ubud is trendy. Ubud is in a Hollywood movie. Ubud is narrow streets lined with shops and cafés. Ubud is polite harassment. Ubud is Western women searching for fulfillment. Ubud is yoga, Reiki, and Transcendental Meditation. Ubud is tasty, inexpensive Indonesian food. Ubud is art galleries and dance performances. Ubud is temples and processions. Ubud is rice fields and small villages. Ubud is the heart of Balinese culture.

This is my sixth day in Ubud. Yesterday, I said goodbye to Olivier, a 41-year-old Frenchman I met at the airport upon arriving in Bali. We had been traveling together ever since, sharing accommodation and transportation costs. We spent a couple of days in Lombok, a small Muslim island between Bali and Sumbawa. My plan was to rent a motorbike in Lombok, leave my large backpack with the rental shop, and ride through the islands of Sumbawa, Flores, and Timor, all the way to Timor-Leste.

After four days, I had found the time and the will — but not the motorbike. No one would rent me a bike without keeping my passport until my return. Unfortunately, I needed it to cross the border into Timor-Leste. I tried everything:

“Listen, you can keep my new laptop and my large backpack as a guarantee for your motorbike.” “No, no, no — no passport, no motorbike. I’m sorry.” “But with my laptop, you could buy six motorbikes.” “I do not need six motorbikes. Only one. You give passport, I give motorbike.” “But I need to cross the border to Timor-Leste.” “Why do you go to Timor-Leste? If you stay in Lombok, it is okay.”

This exchange repeated itself three or four times, and I was eventually defeated. Although I couldn’t have wished for a better place to spend my final days than the south coast of Lombok — absolutely gorgeous and peaceful, where you can easily find 700 meters of beach all to yourself — I decided to leave Lombok and return to Bali with Olivier.

We arrived in Ubud at 5:00 p.m. on May 5th. Within minutes, we found a wonderful bungalow with two beds, a fan, a cold shower, and breakfast included for $10. I loved the quiet surroundings and confided to Olivier, “I might very well spend the rest of my travels here.”

Despite our different personalities, Olivier and I got along quite well. He was a charming, good-looking Frenchman, younger than his physical appearance suggested, divorced, with two children, and traveling for the past two years. His limited English didn’t stop him from talking to everyone we met on the street. It was no coincidence that we met Maria, a 32-year-old Chilean living in a bungalow opposite ours. She had once been a successful graphic designer for Vogue and Vanity Fair. Divorced and unhappy, she chose to change her life by pursuing a spiritual path. She traded the glamorous shop windows of Milan for the natural beauty of Byron Bay, Australia, where she has lived ever since.

The three of us spent some time together, and it soon became clear there was a mutual attraction between Maria and Olivier. We went on day trips around Ubud, visiting temples, lakes, and rice fields. I was never quite able to follow their esoteric conversations. I consider myself a good conversationalist, but I must admit that our late-night discussions often turned into arguments — none of which we remembered the next morning.

Olivier left for the French island of La Réunion. Maria is attending a Reiki retreat somewhere in Bali. I am happily left with my solitude. I don’t do much now — if I ever did — other than sleep, eat, and read. After 4:00 p.m., to avoid the suffocating heat, I take long walks through Ubud’s winding, narrow streets. At dusk, I return to my bungalow for a cold shower, change my dirty clothes for slightly less dirty ones, and head out for gado-gado or tofu-tempe curry. Changing this routine is out of the question. I intend to do nothing until the end of my travels. I want to get bored — truly bored — hoping it might trigger the motivation needed to face the inevitable “return.”