The Friendly Monkey and the Wary Dog. Nine Hours and Five Months.

When I returned to the hostel, I met a girl.
She said she was from Japan, and when she asked me, "How many hours did it take to get to Ubud?" I replied, "About five months," to which she looked puzzled and laughed, saying, "Oh, it only took me nine hours by plane."
Ah, I see. For her, the journey was just a quick flight, but for me, the journey is packed with an incredibly long time and countless events.

Ubud, Bali, Indonesia.
A place many travelers dream of, where lush green rice terraces spread out and a gentle atmosphere flows.

During the day, amidst the hustle and bustle of the lively market, you can hear the yapping of small dogs. And at night, when walking down an empty street, a low growl from the darkness makes my heart leap.

There are truly so many dogs in the streets of Ubud. Some are leashed, but many are strays. Thin dogs with matted fur, dogs lazing in the sun, dogs walking in packs. Their appearances vary, but what they all share is a sharp, piercing gaze that seems to lay their wariness bare.

Once, while walking down a narrow path at dusk, several dogs suddenly surrounded me, growling in low voices. My legs froze in terror at the sight of their bared fangs and rumbling throats. Unable to move, I watched as the dogs slowly closed the distance.

I managed to find help in the light of a nearby shop and escaped the situation, but my heart kept pounding for a while after. Behind the beautiful nature and the gentle smiles of the people, what are the dogs thinking and barking about?

Perhaps they, too, carry anxieties about surviving in this land or some unfulfilled longing. In this village overflowing with tourists, what kind of daily lives do they lead?

I saw a dog curled up lonely by the side of the road.
In its eyes, there seemed to be a light of resignation, or perhaps sadness. I wanted to approach it, but the terror from that time came rushing back, and I could only stop and watch.

On the other hand, the monkeys in the Monkey Forest are quite the rascals.
They wait for tourists to let their guard down and then swiftly snatch food from their bags. There is a certain endearing mischief in their dexterity and the triumphant chattering they make after stealing something. It is completely different from the sharp wariness of the dogs.

The night in Ubud is wrapped in a cool air, deepening quietly.
The palm leaves rustle in the wind, and if you listen closely, you can hear the chirping of insects from afar. That sound seemed to be telling me about another face of this paradise.

—Ah, once again, a soliloquy in a strange foreign land.