I thought it would be different. I thought being away from my regular life would make it easy to write. I pretty much went to the ends of the earth to get away from distractions. Nusa Penida, I thought, the small Indonesian island just off Bali, that would be the perfect place to write.
And not just anywhere on Nusa Penida, I chose the most secluded place on the island, Crystal Beach.
The beach was a beautiful place, but so difficult to get there. The island roads were so bad, they made the potholed roads in Montreal look like a smooth pool table in comparison. The roads had been paved at one time, but with no maintenance, they quickly deteriorated, and now there were more potholes than road. No that isn’t fair; to be more precise I should say there were more craters than road.
For the first couple of days, I acclimatized to the guesthouse and explored the area for nearby restaurants where I could have supper and a beer. Then, of course, I had to get up early and watch the sunrise, then walk the sandy beach looking for shells.
Actually, I found a lot more garbage floating in after high tide than shells, so I bought some garbage bags and picked up the trash. That became my morning routine. Cleaning the beach is a thankless, never-ending job, but it’s something you need to do every day, like brushing your teeth.
I had first thought I would do my writing after lunch, but it quickly became too hot. Even if I had had only a small lunch, it was just too easy to nap.
Then in the evenings, the Aussies in the next room would come by, and we would chat and drink beer for hours on end. They were snorkelers, and they talked about the colourful fish and turtles they had seen out by the island in the bay. So now I had another afternoon activity to keep me busy.
Then, the three women in the room on the other side wanted to visit some nearby Hindu temples, but only one of them could drive a motorbike, so I was drafted to rent a motorbike and join them in their adventures. That was a great day, but of course I was too tired to write after that.
When I finally did sit down to write, the birds would twitter, the bugs would buzz, and I would quickly lose my concentration and begin to daydream. It was discouraging. At the end of my week there, I had only written two pages.
It took me all week to realize that if I really did want to write, I needed to find a place with fewer distractions than Nusa Penida. And then it struck me. I needed to go back to Montreal, back to winter, back to snowstorms and freezing rain, back to where there is nothing to do… but stay inside and write. Maybe then I’ll be able to finish my book.