From Pilgrimage to Paradise: India to Bali

January 24-26

From India to Bali: A Journey of Transition and Trust

After weeks immersed in the chaotic yet vibrant energy of India, my time at Govardhan Eco Village ended on January 24. It was bittersweet to say goodbye to a place and people that had been so special to me, but let’s be honest—I was readyyyy to leave! I packed my harmonium and belongings, soaking in the last moments of stillness before the whirlwind of travel began.

As I left the ashram, I felt gratitude and nostalgia. India had been everything—music, pain, connection, chaos, stillness, solitude, healing, and self-discovery. I’d learned so much about devotion, surrender, and resilience. While part of me wanted to stay, I knew it was time to move forward, carrying these lessons with me. But let’s be honest—I was readyyyy to leave!

I packed up my harmonium and belongings, soaking in my last moments of stillness before the whirlwind of travel began. Though India had taught me so much—devotion, surrender, resilience, and how to sit with all of life’s contradictions—I knew it was time to move forward, carrying these lessons with me.

The ride to the airport was long and bumpy. Halfway through, I really had to pee, so we stopped at a gas station. The bathrooms were squat toilets with no toilet paper, which is common in India—but that morning, I just wasn’t having it. I asked the driver to stop again until I found a proper toilet where I wouldn’t have to practically undress to use it.

Once I got to the airport, the next hurdle came: my harmonium.

Because I was carrying it as one of my items, the airline informed me that I couldn’t bring both my roller carry-on and my duffel bag onboard. One of them had to be checked. The problem? My right shoulder and neck issues make it impossible for me to carry both the duffel and harmonium at the same time.

I explained this to the woman at the counter, hoping for a little understanding, but she did not care. She told me my only option was to use wheelchair assistance.

At first, I thought, Hell no, I’m not about to be wheeled through the airport. But then reality set in—I physically could not carry all my stuff. So I swallowed my pride and humbly accepted. As it turns out, the wheelchair was a golden ticket—skipping lines, getting through security seamlessly, and even boarding the plane first. I couldn’t have planned it better myself.

My first flight from Mumbai to Delhi was delayed, which left me with only a short window to make my international connection. But the wheelchair magic worked again, and I made it to my gate with time to spare.

Once on board, I was seated next to a little girl, while her mother sat in the row in front of us. The mom asked people if they’d switch seats so she could sit with her daughter. At first, I hesitated. The seat they wanted me to move to had someone fully reclining their seat before takeoff (a nightmare on a long flight). I politely declined. But then, I saw the little girl grabbing her mom’s hand through the seat gap, and my heart softened.

I thought about my dad, who has always taught me to do the right thing, even when inconvenient. And then I thought about motherhood—something I deeply want for myself someday. How would I feel if I were her, and someone didn’t help me sit with my child? That changed everything.

Reluctantly, I switched seats, praying to Ganesha for some good Bali karma in return. I tried to remind myself that kindness often comes back in unexpected ways.

As the plane took off, it hit me: I was leaving India. All the good, the bad, the pretty, and the ugly—I was letting it go. And then I realized: I’m going to fucking Bali. This had been my dream for as long as I could remember—a true bucket list moment. I felt grounded, grateful, and present.

Arrival in Bali

The flight was long, and exhaustion set in. By the time we landed in Bali on the morning of January 25, I was relieved—but my patience was immediately tested. As I was taking down my harmonium, the mom I had moved for earlier shoved past me. I couldn’t believe it. I actually said, “I moved for you and your daughter; the least you could do is wait for me to grab my bags.”

Then, I realized I’d left my purse on the plane. Panicking, I sprinted back but wasn’t allowed to board again. Tears streamed down my face as I begged staff for help. Thankfully, they retrieved it for me. When I returned to the wheelchair, the attendant took care of customs, declarations, and my visa. I smiled to myself and thought, Ganesha is really showing up right now.

The three-hour drive to Ubud was beautiful but disorienting. Bali’s architecture struck me as a mix of Thailand, Japan, and India, with an ancient energy I couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t as lush as I had imagined, and parts of it were more impoverished than I expected—but I was only catching glimpses between naps.

Settling In: Beauty, Noise, and Unexpected Lessons

When I arrived at Wooden Ganeca Villas, I was delirious from travel and 36 hours of eating nothing but nuts, fruit, and sugar-free candies. The villa was beautiful, with an outdoor shower, a flower-filled bathtub, and a porch overlooking rice paddies. It felt like a dream.

After settling in, I spent the day grounding myself: eating tropical fruit, taking a long shower under the open sky, and reflecting on how far I’ve come.

But the peace didn’t last. Noise from neighboring villas—children yelling and construction work—disrupted the serenity I had envisioned. I was overwhelmed. I booked this place specifically because it said “maximum two guests,” which I assumed meant no families. Frustrated, I reached out to Airbnb. The villa staff offered me an hour massage and a floating breakfast to make up for the disruption—not the most generous offer, but their kindness went a long way.

That evening, I ventured into town, braving the downpour. I explored Ubud’s streets, exchanged money (feeling rich with a couple million in rupiah), and stopped at a mystical shop called Zen Aura. I had a fascinating conversation with the shopgirls about Bali’s spiritual history as the land of Shiva and Shakti, represented by its two main volcanoes. We discussed temples, grounding energy, and, of course, Kali—the shadow goddess who had been following me throughout this journey.

I bought divination cards, a book on tantra and yoga sutras, and stickers for my harmonium, then headed to a vegan restaurant. Everything on the menu sounded incredible, and I ended up ordering way too much food, trying to nourish myself after days of deprivation. The kindness of the staff struck me, as it seemed to everywhere in Bali.

By January 26, I felt calmer and more grounded. I spent the day relaxing: playing harmonium, practicing yoga on the porch, journaling in the sun, and soaking in the pool. The sounds of nature surrounded me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so at peace.

That evening, I attended a Balinese fire show—a fascinating fusion of music, dance, and storytelling. Afterward, I struggled with anxiety about my upcoming birthday on January 28. Should I book the photoshoot or the water temple purification ceremony? The latter felt like a sign since it was only available that day. What better way to turn 35 than to connect with Bali’s spiritual energy?

This transition feels like a metaphor for life—letting go of one chapter, embracing the unknown, and trusting that beauty will unfold. India taught me resilience; Bali is teaching me trust.

Here’s to the next steps—exploring Ubud, finishing my blogs, and stepping into the person I’m becoming.

Until next time, with love and gratitude,

Eve Aka Kali Grayce