Somewhere in the middle of our three weeks in Ubud, things intensified, again.

Living so close in a place that was already loud, emotional, and full of impressions started to surface things we hadn’t had time, or space, to look at before. We had some difficult days. Long conversations that turned into arguments. Tears. Frustration. Hormones. Moments where everything felt too challenging, too tight and it was time there was so much resistance.

At one point I remember thinking: I can’t do this. I want to go home.
And then another question followed: But where is home, actually?

Hurdal? Oslo? Somewhere else?
If we have the whole world open in front of us. Why do we choose Hurdal?
What kind of life are we actually trying to build?

It felt overwhelming. And also highly necessary.

Many emotions, a lot of comfort and hugs needed.

We’ve noticed this before. The deeper we are in nature, like really in it, the more things seem to rise to the surface. The same happened in Jeju. It’s as if the energy in us mirrors the power of nature around us. Volcanoes, storms, dense jungle, endless ocean, monsoon rains — it isn’t just beautiful, it’s exposing. There’s nowhere to hide in it.

And so things came up. Bjarne and I had a few days where we argued more than we had in a long time. I cried. In the same periode the kids pushed back hard against anything that felt like school. Everything was heightened, close to the edge. At the same time, we worked harder than ever to meet each other in it — with sharing circles, long talks, hugs, love, and comfort. It was intense in every direction. Everyone seemed to have the same needs for respect, space, time and love.

I took this photo of myself after a long cry, just to remember that day when everything seemed to crash for me.

And then Philip arrived.

Our dear friend and neighbor from home, who knows us well, and who came in with so much warmth, presence, and openness. It shifted everything.

We talked. A lot.
We shared, laughed, cried even more, hugged.
There was something incredibly grounding about being with someone who already knows your story, from home — who doesn’t need explanations, who just meets you where you are.

We had dinners together almost every day, wandered through the beautiful Ubud rice fields, went on small excursions and shopping in the charming streets. The kids adores Philip. And he genuinely loved being with them, which made it possible for us to exhale in a way we hadn’t in a long time.

And then he gave us something we didn’t even realize how much we needed.

A full day, just the two of us.

He took the kids on a “safari day,” and we went into the jungle to a luxurious Balinese spa. One of those places that feels unreal — hidden in a lush paradise, surrounded by water, green in every direction.

We had a couple’s massage and a naked outdoor shower ending with a flower bath surrounded by frogs, cicadas, the sound of waterfall and thunder.

Time slowed down completely.

Afterwards, we sat for hours in a coffee lounge while heavy thunder storm passed us. Talking. Not trying to solve everything, just being together. We had affogato (ice cream with espresso poured over) and just stayed in that space we hadn’t had access to for a long time.

It felt like we found each other again.

Knowing the kids were with Philip, safe, seen, and having the best time, was its own kind of gift. Maybe the biggest one. There is something very special about trusting someone else with your children and knowing they are exactly where they should be.

For Bjarne and Philip, there was also a day just for them during the next days. Time to connect, talk, be together in their own way. It brought a balance we hadn’t even thought about before.

Looking back, his visit became a kind of bench mark in our journey.
Like a small floating dock in the middle of the ocean where we could pause, breathe, and steady ourselves before continuing.

Around the same time, I started noticing something else, that also helped us getting grounded and more present.

The kids had been dealing with lingering cold symptoms for a while, and their energy felt off — especially Astrid, who became unusually tired and withdrawn. At first we couldn’t quite place it. But then we started seeing it.

Black mold.

On the walls. In the ceiling in their bedroom.
The air was heavy. The bedsheets damped.
Even our books had started to mold.

It was realizations that quickly turns very clear. This wasn’t something to ignore.

We contacted the host, and it turned out it’s not uncommon during monsoon season. Humidity settles into everything.

Thankfully, things moved fast.

The same day, we packed our bags and were led up to a new place.

A small white tropical villa that looked almost like a dollhouse.

Inside, it felt warm and personal like a cabin hidden in the jungle. A soft corner sofa, a hanging chair from the ceiling, instruments scattered around, books and games. The kids got their own loft with a canopy bed wrapped in mosquito netting. They loved it!

Our bedroom was out on the terrace. At night, the only thing separating us from the jungle was a rolled-down blind and a mosquito net.

The bathroom was half outdoors. The kitchen windows had no glass.

A few times, monkeys wandered through — entering through the bathroom, casually crossing the house like curious guests. They never touched anything. Just passing through.

Frogs visited often. Large geckos clicked in the walls.
In the garden, herbs and flowers grew wild, and a small pond-like pool sat tucked partly under the house.

It was idyllic in a completely different way.

And maybe because of everything that had just happened — the tension, the conversations, the reset — we could receive it fully.

We felt taken care of again.
Relieved. Grounded. Grateful.

Looking back at those three weeks in Ubud, it’s hard to place them in just one category.

They were beautiful, yes.
But also challenging.
Expanding. Clarifying.

And about Ubud? Ubud itself felt like all the contrasts we had heard about — and more.

It is a place of creativity, beauty, and depth. There is something very real in the culture, in the rituals, in the way daily life and spirituality are woven together. At the same time, it’s also shaped by tourism in a way that raises questions. About balance. About authenticity. About who things are built for.

What stayed with us was more personal.

Vesuvius, Italy. The card about chaos and the gifts it brings with it.

We softened.
We adjusted how we learn, how we move, how we listen to each other.
We understood a little more about what we need — both as a family, and as the four individuals inside it. And also why we love living in our village back home. We got so inspired and from this days, we started truly collecting inspiration to take back home to Hurdal.

After Ubud, we continued our journey — lighter, more aligned — and headed toward the small island of Gili Air.

Ubud, part 2

Ubud, part 1