The Portrait in My Cup

Since I was about eight years old I have dreamed of visiting Bali. (Strange I know but that is another story.) I often daydreamed of the white beaches bordered with palm trees, the sound and smell of ocean waves lapping against the shore, but especially of the mysterious mountain that I imagined loomed over her. Through the decades that dream never faded and when I occasionally thought of Bali my heart would stir as longing for her rose up in me.

So just imagine my delight when I learned that in 2018 I was to attend a conference in, you guessed it, Bali. With that childhood dream suddenly exploding in me I planned my trip. I was at the time suffering from extreme exhaustion and I decided that a week of vacation preceding the conference would be a very wise and delightful decision. After an online search I booked Lotus Cottage at Devi’s Place, in a village just outside Ubud of Eat, Pray, Love fame.

In August 2018 my overnight flight landed in southern Bali, and after making my way through immigration, I found the car sent from Devi’s Place to pick me up. In spite of travel weariness the 1 1/2 hour drive was delightful and my eyes feasted on the landscape and villages we drove through. I was surprised by the abundance of Hindu statutes and temples in the intersections and lining streets and neighborhoods. While Indonesia is predominantly Islamic, the vast majority of the population of the island of Bali practices Balinese Hinduism. On our journey north we passed roadside food stalls, stone carvers, shops, flowers, and lovely people everywhere.

Lotus Cottage was indeed charming. Built as a Balinese style dwelling it also had accommodations for a foreigner like myself to feel comfortable. The only enclosed room of the cottage was the air-conditioned bedroom. The kitchen, dining, living area was the front of the dwelling and was built like a large, covered front porch equipped with refrigerator and gas cooktop. Every morning a large breakfast of toast made from homemade bread with fresh butter and jam and tropical fruit was delivered to my dining table.

In the kitchen cabinets I found a package of Indonesian coffee. It was ground extremely fine, almost a powder, and I was puzzled as how to prepare it. With a little research (thank you Google for knowing everything) my suspicions were confirmed. The Balinese method of coffee making is quite simple. Put a heaping tablespoon of the the finely ground coffee into a cup. Fill the cup with hot water and stir well. Wait three to five minutes for the coffee to steep and the grounds to settle to the bottom and enjoy, remembering to sip carefully towards the end to avoid the settled grounds.

The area around the cottage was lush with colorful foliage and even a goldfish pond. Off the side of the bedroom was the huge Balinese open bathroom, surrounded by a flower covered rock wall and open to the sky. I had never taken a complete shower outdoors before. The primal bliss of the tepid water falling on me, mixed with the morning sun and tropical breeze on my skin made me think of the Garden before the Fall when shame and hiding came into the world.

The week passed quickly and I headed back to the south coast of Bali and although I had spent most of my time either in bed or lying on the sofa outside I left every bit as tired as when I had arrived. I did not know that I was just weeks away from a physical collapse nor did I have any idea that my recovery would take years, not days.

The hotel booked for my conference stay was a beachfront resort hotel and it was lovely in every way, containing restaurants and even a shopping area. On the way to my room I passed a coffee shop and restaurant. Desperately needing the comfort of a strong cup of coffee after my ride across the island I dropped my bag in my room and headed back to the restaurant.

As it was middle of the afternoon the coffee shop was virtually empty and as I was seated I asked the server for a cappuccino. The wait seemed eternal. The beach called to me from the window but I was impatient for my coffee. Finally the server returned and placed the anticipated cappuccino on the table in front of me. I was almost speechless. There was a portrait of a lovely woman in my cup. I am always blessed when I receive coffee art; my main love language is acts of service so someone doing something extra for me makes me feel loved. But this seemed beyond possible. As my eyes watered I choked out something like, “how..who?” The server simply smiled and pointed to the barista across the room. I don’t know if she gives everyone a portrait in their cup or if she noticed my wearily slumped body and eyes frustrated by the elusive rest that I seemed unable to find. But no matter, that lovingly kind act of a stranger will always warm my heart when I remember it.

Have you every done an act of kindness for a stranger? Have you ever received a loving act from someone you didn’t nor ever will know? How did that loving act impact you?

“Don’t forget to show hospitality to strangers, for some who have done this have entertained angels with realizing it!” ~ NLT

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