Eat, Pray, Love

At the end of the evening, Ian and I admitted to each other how nice it had been to meet. He
asked if I had a phone number and I told him I didn’t, but that I did have e-mail, and he said,
“Yeah, but e-mail just feels so... ech.. .” So at the end of the night we didn’t exchange any-
thing but a hug. He said, “We’ll see each other again when they”—pointing to the gods up in
the sky—“say so.”
Just before dawn, Felipe the handsome older Brazilian man offered me a ride home. As
we rode up the twisting back roads he said, “Darling, you’ve been talking to the biggest bull-
shitter in Ubud all night long.”
My heart sank.
“Is Ian really a bullshitter?” I asked. “Tell me the truth now and save me the trouble later.”
“Ian?” said Felipe. He laughed. “No, darling! Ian is a serious guy. He’s a good man. I
meant myself. I’m the biggest bullshitter in Ubud.”
We rode along in silence for a while.
“And I’m just teasing, anyway,” he added.
Then another long silence and he asked, “You like Ian, don’t you?”
“I don’t know,” I said. My head wasn’t clear. I’d been drinking too many Brazilian cocktails.
“He’s attractive, intelligent. It’s been a long time since I thought about liking anybody.”
“You’re going to have a wonderful few months here in Bali. You wait and see.”
“But I don’t know how much more socializing I can do, Felipe. I only have the one dress.
People will start to notice that I’m wearing the same thing all the time.”
“You’re young and beautiful, darling. You only need the one dress.”
Eat, Pray, Love