It all started on a beach in Bali.
The sun was setting in the most perfect way when we stopped for dinner at a Caribbean restaurant right by the shore. The view was stunning, and we decided to take a few photos before the light disappeared. That’s when we met a group of people from nearby Lombok. They were warm, full of stories, and one of them offered us a drink called arak – a local distilled spirit made from fermented rice, coconut or palm fruit.

It sounded harmless enough, until I noticed my glass was attracting every mosquito in the area. They were everywhere, buzzing around me, especially near my drink. I spent most of the evening waving them off and trying to get a few sips in between. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I was drinking arak or mosquito soup by the end. After about three sips, something in my belly whispered, this isn’t right. So while no one was looking, I tipped the rest into the sand.

The laughter didn’t last long.

That night, we both woke up with that awful sinking feeling. And then it hit us – Bali belly. Fast and unforgiving. I even had to rush to a shop and buy period pads just to get through the night. It was that bad.

We didn’t have cooking facilities at our hotel, so for days we wandered around asking nearby restaurants and hotels, especially the Pink Hotel chain, if they could make plain rice and grilled chicken. Morning and night, the same bland meal, just trying to soothe our stomachs. Even with strong antibiotics prescribed by a local doctor, nothing changed at first. Our bellies were on their own timeline, and we were just trying to hang in there.