The alarm went off at 3am, the only time that feels acceptable is when a holiday is involved.

And here’s the thing: I love airports. Not just the travel, but the stories. Every departure lounge is a patchwork of lives heading in different directions — reunions, adventures, work gigs, weddings, escapes. I always find myself wondering where people are going, why they’re travelling, what chapter of their life they’re in. It’s like being dropped into a living novel, with each gate a new plotline.

That’s why even at ridiculous o’clock, I was buzzing. We arrived so early that security wasn’t even open yet, which meant we were first in line. That’s how we ended up befriending a young guy heading to Europe to film a wedding. We offered to let him go ahead, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Bless.

The airport was eerily quiet, with most shops shuttered until 5am. Luckily, I’d pre‑ordered my duty‑free spirits, because the payment systems were down – small win for the organised traveller. Breakfast was a humble ham and cheese sandwich, but it did the job, and time passed quickly enough until boarding.

And then came the parade. Families wrangling overtired kids, boys’ trips already in party mode, hens parties in matching outfits, elderly couples with walking sticks, and every other version of “escape” you can imagine. We giggled at the variety, each group carrying its own story, its own reason for Bali.

Because that’s the magic of airports: they gather all these threads of human life and send them spinning off in different directions. And for today, all those threads were weaving their way to the same island, each of us chasing our own version of memory‑making.

The plane trip was beautifully uneventful. I’m not sure whether that was thanks to me dozing in and out and missing most of it, or simply because it was just a pleasant journey. Either way, it was the kind of flight you hope for – calm, steady, and without drama.

One of the highlights was little Lachie, a two‑year‑old who stole the show without even trying. He marched up and down the aisles with the confidence of a seasoned traveller, completely unbothered by the usual chaos of flying. No tears, no tantrums, just a tiny explorer stretching his legs. Toward the end of the flight, he finally noticed my Zootopia t‑shirt, and the grin he gave me could have lit up the cabin. That smile was pure joy, the kind that reminds you why you love watching people’s stories unfold in transit.

It was a small moment, but it added to the sense that this trip was starting on exactly the right note: easy, cheerful, and full of little surprises.

Toward the end of the flight, we finally struck up a conversation with the guy sitting next to Matthew. He turned out to be one of those fascinating double‑life types: a DJ and record collector by night, and a marketer for Doctors Without Borders by day. He was heading to Bali with a group of mates, but his mission wasn’t just beaches and Bintangs, he was on the hunt for records.

There was something refreshing about his mix of passions: spinning vinyl in clubs, then spending his weekdays helping one of the world’s most important humanitarian organisations tell its story. It was the kind of unexpected encounter that makes travel feel richer, a reminder that everyone on the plane has their own version of adventure, their own balance of work and play.

It left me smiling, thinking about how many stories were tucked into that cabin. All of us heading to Bali, but each wanting something slightly different.

Landing was smooth, and thanks to our pre‑planning all the online forms and visas were completed before we arrived. I breezed through the gates without a hitch… but Matthew wasn’t so lucky. He was pulled aside and sent off to a long line to “check visa.”

From the other side of the barrier, I scrambled like a one‑woman support crew — firing off screenshots, digging up emails, wishing I hadn’t been the one carrying all the cash so he could slip someone a cheeky note to bump him up the queue. Meanwhile, I marched on to baggage claim, keeping one eye on the carousel and the other on the crowd, hoping he’d appear.

And just as our last suitcase rolled onto the belt, there he was, timing it perfectly, as if he’d planned the dramatic entrance.

Stepping outside into the Bali heat after the cool of Australia was glorious. That first wave of warmth felt like a welcome hug. We met our driver and began weaving our way through the familiar traffic – scooters darting, horns honking, the organised chaos that somehow always works. It felt instantly like Bali: alive, buzzing, and ready to wrap us up in its rhythm.

Tony the Indonesian-Italian front desk guy was a hoot, letting us use a villa temporarily to get changed, as our villa wasn’t quite ready yet. We jump on bikes, now appropriately dressed for the weather, and head to ocean. A ever growing tradition of ours, where we are quickly reminded of how hard a bicycle seat is. Nonetheliess, we find a familiar spot and grab a platter of every Indonesian dish on the menu. It did not disappoint.

From there, we made the obligatory supermarket stop. A mix of essentials and indulgences found their way into the basket — snacks for the villa, drinks for the poolside, and a few “holiday extras” that always seem justified in Bali.

When we finally returned, the villa was ready. Walking through the doors felt like crossing into calm. Tony shows us around, and refuses to wish me a happy birthday just yet cause its bad luck here, and promises to save it for Saturday.

Bali for us means instant relaxation. The familiarity of so many visits – the rhythm of the streets, the warmth of the people, the sing‑song cadence of the language – makes it easy to exhale the moment we arrive. It’s one of the many reasons we keep coming back: there’s no adjustment period, no need to find our bearings. It’s like slipping into a well‑worn groove, where everything feels both welcoming and known.

From there, we made the obligatory supermarket stop. A mix of essentials and indulgences found their way into the basket – snacks for the villa, drinks for the poolside, and a few “holiday extras” that always seem justified in Bali.

When we finally returned, the villa was ready. Walking through the doors felt like crossing into calm.

We chose to chill out in our new digs and order in some local eats later for dinner. I still can’t get over the cost of 3 dishes delivered was a mere $7 AUD.

I think it’s safe to say, we’re going to be happy here, and as we look forward to another fun filled day of warmth and silliness, we can’t believe how fortunate we are to have time like this together in such a beautiful place.

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