COOL and peaceful. It was a perfect morning in Bali. The sun was shining, a gentle breeze was blowing, and the green stretches of the golf course seemed to melt into the horizon. My friends and I were ready for a laid-back round of golf, nothing too competitive—just an excuse to enjoy Bali’s stunning scenery, fresh air, and, of course, each other’s company.
We were at one of Bali’s most scenic courses, nestled in combination of paddy fields, towering cliffs and small tropical jungles. The lovely fairways were pristine, the greens smooth, and the backdrop of rolling hills and distant beaches made it feel like we were golfing in paradise.
The first few holes were uneventful. A couple of decent shots, some embarrassing slices, and more than one near-miss with a sand trap, but we were having fun. The course felt like a dream—until the seventh hole.
That’s where my golf ball met its fate.
As I lined up for my tee shot, I could already feel the nerves. The seventh hole was a long one, and the fairway narrowed dramatically, with dense jungle creeping in on both sides. My friends jokingly called it “the jaws of the jungle.”
“Careful,” one of my buddies teased. “Hit it wrong, and your ball will never see daylight again.”
Challenge accepted, I thought. I swung with all my might, but immediately felt something was off. Instead of the clean, powerful hit I imagined, the ball veered violently to the right, straight toward the looming wall of trees.
Thunk! The ball disappeared into the jungle with a sound that was equal parts tragic and comedic.
“Uh-oh,” said my friend, trying and failing to suppress a laugh. “That one’s gone.”
But I wasn’t about to let my ball be claimed by the jungle without a fight.
“Let’s go get it,” I said, with a bravado that surprised even me. My friends exchanged looks, half amused and half curious, but soon we were all marching toward the dense undergrowth.
Into the Jungle
The minute we stepped off the neatly manicured fairway and into the wild, we realized we had entered another world. The temperature felt warmer, the air thicker. The jungle was alive—birds chirped in the distance, leaves rustled with unseen creatures, and vines hung low, as if they were waiting to trip us.
“Great. All this for one ball,” muttered my friend Greg, who had a habit of overpacking for situations exactly like this. He had somehow brought a water bottle, a towel, and sunscreen into the jungle, as if we were on a week-long expedition.
We hadn’t been searching long when we first encountered Bali’s famous long-tailed macaques. There, perched high in the trees, they watched us with open curiosity, probably wondering what on earth these humans were doing stomping through their home.
One of them, a particularly brave monkey, swung down to a low branch and cocked its head at us, almost as if it were offering its assistance. I could’ve sworn it was laughing at our hopeless attempts to find the ball.
“Well, if I were a ball, where would I land?” I muttered, scanning the jungle floor.
“That monkey knows where it is,” Greg said, pointing to the mischievous creature, who had now started mimicking our search by poking through leaves and twigs. “Maybe he took it.”
I wasn’t entirely convinced we weren’t being mocked by the jungle itself.
A Feathered Interruption
As we continued our ridiculous hunt, a flurry of wings startled us. A brilliantly colored bird, with long iridescent tail feathers, swooped down and landed on a branch directly above us. It let out a loud squawk, as if to announce our intrusion into its territory.
“I bet it saw where your ball landed,” my other friend, Dave, joked. “Maybe it’s a sign.”
The bird cocked its head and squawked again, as if agreeing with him.
“Yeah, it’s definitely laughing at you,” Greg said with a grin.
Despite the wildlife’s apparent amusement at our misfortune, we pressed on. We were just about to give up when, out of nowhere, a voice rang out.
“Looking for something?”
The Farmer with the Magic Golf Tips
We turned to see an elderly Balinese man, dressed in a simple sarong and wearing a wide-brimmed hat, leaning casually on a wooden staff. He had a warm smile and eyes that twinkled with amusement.
“I think I saw your ball,” he said in broken English, pointing further into the jungle.
We followed him a short distance, skeptical but hopeful. Sure enough, wedged between two rocks and a cluster of ferns, was my runaway golf ball. I almost couldn’t believe it.
“Thank you!” I said, feeling both grateful and sheepish.
The farmer smiled and then, to our surprise, asked, “You play golf?”
We nodded, not entirely sure where this was going.
“I have tips,” he said, tapping his staff on the ground. “You hit too hard. Slow, smooth. Like this.”
To demonstrate, he mimicked a golf swing with perfect form, his staff acting as the club. It was the most graceful swing I had ever seen. We couldn’t help but laugh, partly because he was right—I had swung like I was trying to send the ball into orbit—and partly because the entire situation had turned surreal.
A New Perspective
As we made our way back to the course, ball in hand, we couldn’t stop chuckling about our little jungle adventure. The monkeys, the bird, the mysterious farmer with the perfect swing—it was all too good to be true.
Back on the fairway, I took a deep breath, remembering the farmer’s advice. This time, I swung with calm and control. The ball soared through the air, landing right in the middle of the fairway.
“See?” Greg said. “All you needed was a jungle adventure.”
We finished the round, but the seventh hole was the one that stuck with us. It wasn’t the score that mattered—far from it. It was the laughs, the unexpected encounters, and the reminder that sometimes, in Bali, the real adventure happens when you least expect it.
In the end, even if my ball hadn’t met the jungle, I was glad we did. (*)
