I’m 54 years old. I’ve been married 21 years, and I’m on the precipice of an empty nest. After a decade of global travel as a senior editor at a national magazine in the late 90s and early aughts, I made a conscious decision to dial my career down and spent the last, I dunno, 20 years concentrating first on being a mother and putting my work and needs second. I’m not complaining, mind you. And believe me, I’m no Handmaid. I can honestly say my husband has been a caring, thoughtful, and helpful partner; I’ve still been able to work and create, and we have raised two awesome boys who are about to be (somewhat) independent adults. But no matter what anyone tells you, it’s impossible to have it all. And one thing I desperately missed was traveling on my own.
Which is why, when a dear friend who lives in Australia called to tell me she was getting married in Bali this spring, I decided it was time to get back out there, and parlayed it into a nearly three-week adventure. My husband would stay home with our 17-year-old, and I tapped one of my closest girlfriends (also a writer) to be my date. What I didn’t realize was how an epic trip like this, at my age, would not only stretch my view of the world but also deeply connect me with so many women, in different phases of their lives, going through transcendental moments of their own.
A promise and a lasting friendship
About eight years ago, when my older son was in 3rd grade, he was tasked with buddying up to a new kid in school. Dan had just moved from Melbourne, Australia, for his mom’s job in New York City, and I was quickly introduced to his parents in our Brooklyn schoolyard. As the wife of an Englishman, I know how important it is to find your people in a foreign land, so I invited them to our home. Thankfully, with a daughter the same age as my younger son, we all got along beautifully, and this was the beginning of a fast and easy friendship which lasted until they were called back home three years later.
Kate and I stayed in touch via WhatsApp and FaceTime, through our 14-hour time difference, through her amicable split with her husband, through her dating and finding her next love. Though it would have been great to jump on a plane and go hang out with her across the world, I knew it wasn’t something I could do lightly, so I told her: Get engaged, and I’ll be there for the wedding. And so she did, and I was going to honor my promise.
First, Bangkok
When I recruited my pal to be my wingman, she suggested we meet in Thailand for a few days before heading to Bali, which is a 5-hour flight. *Samantha recently moved to Brooklyn from Los Angeles after a tough separation from her partner of over a quarter of a decade. And, like a romcom movie plot, she was enjoying her newfound freedom and had reconnected with an ex from her early 20s, who now lived in Bangkok. Considering they lived on opposite sides of the world, it wasn’t serious, but they found ways to meet when they could, and this seemed like the perfect side trip for both of us.
She left a few days earlier, and I booked myself into the cute, boutique MUU Hotel near his home. After a 19-hour business-class flight to Singapore, a shower and change of clothes in the Singapore Airlines lounge, and a short hop to Bangkok (all on miles, by the way. This is why we accrue so many on our AmEx Platinum card), I arrived in the morning feeling strangely ready to go. Samantha came and met me, and we spent the day relaxing into the busy, electrically vibrant city, punctuated by dips in the hotel pool, as we built our itinerary.
Her “friend” works days, but he turned into our tour guide come closing time. How lucky was I to be whisked to stylish rooftop bars to sip cocktails and watch the sun set over the strangely uneven architecture from our base in the trendy Thonglor section, then to the best local restaurants, only to finish my nights at broody, hidden speakeasies? The nightlife in Bangkok is spectacular, and though I wasn’t ready to hit the clubs or spend my daytime hours sleeping off a hangover, I was impressed with how diverse the choices were and how hospitable the people could be.
When it came to packing in culture, I only had two full days, so we decided to spend most of our time in the old part of the city, exploring the Buddhist temples, the Grand Palace, and the 150 ft long Reclining Buddha wrapped in gold plating. Oh, and a quick stop at the MBK Center mall to scope out the high-end fake bags hidden in back rooms. Shhhhhh…
And then it was time to pack up and head to the airport. A sweaty, fascinating, somewhat spiritual whirlwind it was, but I was also glad I got a chance to spend time with Samantha’s old flame and see how well she was navigating her newly minted single life.
The wedding and the Aussie contingent
Before the wedding in April, Kate and her fiancé, Scott, had done a quick whirlwind holiday tour in NYC, so I was excited to see them both — and immerse myself in their Aussie brethren. As Samantha and I boarded our plane, we were added to a WhatsApp group for guests and were immediately bombarded with funny, sweet, inclusive messages from the mainly Australian natives.
We were staying, with many of the other wedding guests, at the beachfront five-star hotel, The Oberoi, a literal three-minute walk down the beach from the wedding villa. I’ll be honest, Bali was not what I was expecting. The island, best known for its Eat, Pray, Love vibes, has undergone a tremendous shift from its former paradise filled with backpackers, surfers, rice fields and temples. These days, it’s more overcrowded, overdeveloped, and most unfortunately, littered with garbage. The traffic is so immense that it can take up to 20 minutes to go a mile, so though we had grand designs to go on day trips to explore the island after the wedding festivities ended, we had to greatly temper our expectations.
However, being holed up in a paradise like The Oberoi was OK with us, and we began to meet many of the guests as we lounged at the pool that first day. I was lucky enough to have met a few of Kate’s friends when she lived in Brooklyn, and it was lovely to reconnect. And, because Australians may possibly be the most social, upbeat humans in the world, once you know one you won’t have to work too hard to meet the others.
Samantha and I quickly connected with Caroline, whom I had previously met when she lived in Brooklyn for a few years. Like me, she came without her family to the festivities. When her husband was recently laid off from his advertising agency (something many people our age are finding in the current AI-forward atmosphere), they decided to become digital nomads while she built a new travel company to help people like me customize experiences and itineraries, with a heavy nod to service. Samantha and I were happy to fold another woman in flux into our little band, and from there, after a night of drinking colorful cocktails and listening to hysterical and heartfelt speeches at the rehearsal dinner, we were back at our loungers the very next day to collect Ruth, a veteran newspaper and magazine writer who now spent her time working with non-profit art organizations in Sydney. Divorced for many years, Ruth was the kind of woman you think only exists in movies: Smart, funny, self-reliant. With, might I add, absolutely no f***ks given.
The three of us sat in front of the cerulean blue sea and chatted and laughed and swapped stories. And yes, did it help that we were being fed chilled fruit kebabs and cold beers by gorgeous Balinese men with the whitest teeth I’ve ever seen? Yes, a little. But really, it was the camaraderie of women over the age of 50, all of whom have shared experiences (marriages, kids, heartbreak, menopause, career changes and career ageism) yet wildly different lived lives that made it so special. When it was time to get ready for our next wedding event, I was wistful to disband.
The wedding was tender, hedonistic, and unabashed. If you haven’t been to a mid-life second wedding, I highly recommend it. The bride and groom exchanged thoughtful vows that moved many to tears, and we all retreated to our tables to listen to more speeches before we partied. Hard. As a large group of Gen Xers, our wedding days have been behind us for decades. But give us an open bar, a dance floor, and a DJ playing 80s hits, and we will show you an excellent time. People who haven’t lit a Marlboro Light since the 1990s were smoking like it was their job. I believe there was a limbo pole involved. And maybe some skinny dipping, but don’t quote me on that.
Ubud and water purification
The next day, the wedding party reconvened at the villa to congratulate the couple, swap stories, have a last dip in the pool and say our goodbyes. Samantha and I had a few more days in Bali and Caroline, in her new role as travel concierge extraordinaire, helped us book a driver for the day so we could visit the Ubud rice paddy region. She also suggested Ubud Story Walks, a historical walking tour, and connected us with a priest who would meet us and perform a Balinese water purification ceremony called Melukat.
We had our car pick us up at 7 am to get us to our tour at 8:15. Considering we were going about 25 miles away, we thought this would be adequate. But the incessant traffic had different ideas, and we had to join our group a few minutes late. Here we learned about the Dutch colonization of the island, its Hindu spirituality and culture of temples (every home in Bali has its own) as well as its royalty, art, and culture. Three hours went by in no time, and we came away feeling extremely well educated about the Balinese people. I was especially fascinated by the idea of their “lower gods,” who, we were told, represent the temptations of human nature. Each day, the Balinese hand them daily offerings, which you will see in small, paper bowls in front of every home and business, heaving with things like candy and cigarettes to help them feel more human.
Next, we went to the Pura Mengening Temple to meet our priest, Made Dwita. Before we could go to the pools, we had to be dressed appropriately, so the priest’s wife outfitted us in sarongs, sashes, and coverings for our bikini tops. And then, the skies opened up and proceeded to pummel us with warm rain. I like to think that this was an extra, added bonus purification. I may not be the most spiritual of people (you can find me at the back of yoga class with one eye open when it’s time to chant), but when faced with rushing waterfalls coming down from cloud-shrouded mountains, along with a literal downpour, I felt more willing to open myself up.
Samantha and I followed orders and held our breath under the flowing water, visualizing our path to renewal and new beginnings. And as we went from pool to pool, repeating prayers, offering flowers and incense, and taking small sips of the water, I felt the most free I’ve been for as long as I can remember.
Of course, I had to hold on to that feeling of calm when our 1.5-hour drive there turned into a 3-hour trek home due to the complete lack of any traffic infrastructure or lights.
Last stop, Melbourne
Though I felt bad about crashing the couple’s honeymoon, Kate assured me that they weren’t doing an actual trip for a few months, so I flew back to Melbourne with her family — I was lucky enough to get to know her fabulously welcoming sister and brother before we left the island as well.
Sydney gets most of the attention when it comes to Australian travel, so I was not ready for how darling and diverse Melbourne is as a city. Compact, clean and well laid out, it feels like a movie set. Each district and precinct is specific. The sports district near their apartment is home to the Melbourne Cricket Ground; AAMI Park for soccer, rugby and Australian Rules Football (I’m not going into that, but know that there are short shorts and mullets involved); and Melbourne Park: home to the Melbourne Open tennis tournament. Others include the arts district, the business district, the market precinct and the beach precinct, like St. Kilda, where some of the couple’s friends lived overlooking the Port Philip Bay.
One caveat: On day 2, I pulled a Wile E. Coyote and basically stepped off a stair into nowhere. I was rushing, I was jetlagged, and I sprained my ankle. That day, Kate had secured us lunch reservations at Yiaga, the hottest restaurant in the city (waitlists can be up to a year long), and though my ankle was swollen past recognition, I refused to give it up. We stopped at a pharmacy, picked up crutches and an Ace bandage and I hobbled my way to this gorgeous eatery nestled in the middle of Melbourne’s Fitzroy Gardens, met halfway by staff to help me get through the gardens and into my seat with an already prepared footrest and ice bath. The tasting menu was glorious. A steady stream of intricate, playful dishes representing Australian ingredients and culture, including the wine. Even my Negroni (which was thankfully waiting for me when I sat down) was crafted from local spirits.
So, yes, my accident was a fly in the ointment, but I like to think of it as a glass half full. I was able to go to the hospital the next day (thank goodness I had the foresight to buy Allianz travel insurance before the trip) and get X-rays and a hearty boot so I could still walk around. In the end, this gave us all a reason to slow down and just enjoy each other’s company instead of turning my visit into a whirlwind tour.
A highlight of the week was the day we walked the easy grid of the City (or CBD as it’s called), checked out the eclectic 19th-century architecture (I love that Australia is one of the only countries as young as the United States), and did some shopping. Then we met Scott and Katherine, another woman I met at the wedding, for a wine-soaked Italian feast at Caterina’s Cucina e Bar, situated in an underground dining room with private club vibes. Caterina herself came and serenaded us, offering personal recommendations including a lavish, Australian lobster dish and soft corn polenta spiked with earthy mushrooms and charred mozzarella cheese. I was so happy to spend more time with Katherine as well, since we had bonded over our years of journalism and she had captivated me with her high-level knowledge of the inner workings of international mining.
Our last stop, after taking Scott along with us after our late lunch, was an actual private member’s club called the Kelvin Club. With a history spanning 161 years and a gorgeous, thoroughly eccentric manager called Miss Pearls (who also happened to be one of the alleged skinny dippers at the wedding). This is the couple’s refuge for ice-cold martinis and hours of mahjong. As I lounged at the card table, sipping my cocktail and trying to keep up using my woefully inadequate mah jong skills, I was touched by how sweet and happy these two were, doing even the most mundane things together. Especially after the chaos of the last few weeks.
Home is where the heart is
On my final night, I insisted on cooking a Mexican feast for Kate, Scott, their friends, their kids and whoever they could rally from the wedding party. After a day of shopping for ingredients, flowers and tequila at one of Melbourne’s famed markets, it was a bittersweet symphony to enjoy one last meal, several margaritas and a lot of laughs with this welcoming group. But I was also excited to get back to my family.
On the long, 14-hour plane ride back to LA, where a 6-hour layover awaited me, I got a text from my husband. “Hon – I am in good hands, please don’t worry, but you will get a call from Dr Shaefer. Love you and see you later. I am on my way to NYU Langone Brooklyn.”
And then…nothing. I landed in LA, where my giant boot and I had to be picked up in a wheelchair to get my two bags, go through customs, and transfer to a different terminal, so I spent that time calling around to the hospital, trying to locate him, until I was finally updated. “Yes, I’m sorry, he doesn’t have his phone,” said the nurse. “But, um, he did have a heart attack. He’s recovering now, and he is going to be just fine.”
At that point it all went black. Sitting at the baggage claim, I cried, both in sorrow and happiness that he was OK. I called my 17-year-old son, who skipped school and spent the day at his bedside, and he told me my older son was on a bus on his way home from college as well. They would be with him until I got back.
United couldn’t seem to figure out how to get me on an earlier flight, which I found indicative of our current US air travel philosophy, though I showed up begging at three different boardings and was summarily ignored. So I did end up waiting those 6 hours — which, as you can imagine, was torturous. It was a Friday night, and I was worried nobody would be home, but I called my girlfriend Allison back in Brooklyn, told her the story, and she did not hesitate in promising a pickup at the airport. She dropped me at the hospital at 10 pm, then took my bags to my apartment. Oh, and she even brought me a sandwich, chips, and low-sugar candy to munch on, knowing I’d been on a 5-hour flight with no meals.
Seeing my husband gaunt and exhausted, yet still cracking jokes with his nurses, my heart threatened to burst as well. And as my trip came to an end in a way I never expected, I thanked my undergods for watching out for my family and for all my amazing friends. May we live, love, and discover happiness wherever we roam. And a special thank you to the kaleidoscope of women who made this one of the most memorable trips of my life.
