This morning as I awoke in our luxurious tree-house-like dwelling, I savoured the sight of the dawn, and the various chirping noises all about me in a 360 degree cacaphony. Twas bliss. Then I took a stroll outside, across the grounds (yes, we really do have 'grounds' here) and gazed fondly at the fish pond, the huge stone trellis, the riverbank, the gorgeous gigantic flowers and the majestic trees. Our own private paradise. Ah, how I'm going to miss this....
Still, I know it's time to go. It feels like it's time to move on. Five months (has it really been that long?) in Bali and our expectation level has catapulted skyward to such an extent, that deep inside I am aware of the rumblings of dissatisfaction waiting to rear their ugly heads once we return to London next year.
How shall we ever adjust to the (in retrospect pathetic) 'delight' we feel when a blast of sunshine penetrates the mirky London skies - and that's in the summer months even!
And how shall we ever fit back into our three bedroom London home - which though spacious enough - may feel like servants quarters compared to the grand scale splendour we currently inhabit (sigh)...
Ah....that's how life gets you...how it bites you in the behind. If you insist on tasting the forbidden fruit (in this case, a year chasing Paradise in Goa and Bali), then you WILL have to pay for it at some point. And I suspect the payment is going to consist of a very hardcore, very humbling re-entry into 'real life'. We shall have to adjust our expectations down to a more moderate level, and learn to be happy when we get a seat on the bus, or when our cleaner finishes her weekly clean and the place feels great for like, one hour.
We will no longer have two women hovering about, picking up clothes, doing laundry, preparing meals, washing dishes, making beds, etc. If the husband and I feel like a night out we'll have to shell out a small fortune to some bored teenager who will slouch on our sofa, watching bad telly and texting her boyfriend incessantly all night while we try and get our money's worth out of the world's most expensive 'date night'.
I am so grateful that a week today doesn't see us flying back to London town but rather to the sand swept, romantic beaches of Goa. Downsizing to more moderate conditions will be a chore to be sure...but then we shall be across the road from the beach...and have the smell of jasmine in the air, hot sugary chai on tap, and the gorgeous Arabian Sea to frolic in day after day...after day....after day...
And as long as Havianas remain the footwear de jour...in my books...that's okay.
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