How Do You Feel About Nudity?

On the craziest retreat of my life, it became obvious to me that I should move to the lush, jungle-filled city of Ubud, despite my plans to move to Uluwatu. The decision came courtesy of my wonderfully free-spirited, eccentric French friend, Clara, who casually mentioned she’d be moving out of her villa just as my lease in Canggu ended. Perfect.

Pitching the move, Clara warned me—half-laughing—that her villa was on a gorgeous property shared by a select few naked residents, all under the watchful eye of a beautiful South African man. Turns out, this wasn’t an exaggeration. If anything, it was an undersell.

The property was something out of a dream: four villas clustered around a shared garden, a shimmering pool, an open-air kitchen, and a breezy dining area. It felt like an oasis, even moreso when I met Bennett, the South African owner who was built like a greek god and had a proclivity for flirtation and nudity. The way he strolled barefoot across the garden, wearing little more than his charm, left me questioning whether I had stumbled into some utopian fever dream. Perhaps heaven?

And so began the next four months of my life in Ubud, living in what I affectionately referred to as “the naked house.”

Living there was equal parts surreal and grounding. The stillness of the jungle, punctuated by the occasional hum of motorbikes or the chatter of geckos, had a way of simplifying things. I traded the hurried pace of Canggu for the slow, deliberate rhythm of Ubud. Mornings began with pilates and herbal tea, afternoons disappeared into books and conversations by the pool. And evenings, when the air cooled and stars flitted between the frangipani trees, became moments of quiet reflection.

But beneath the romanticized exterior—the shared meals, the barefoot days—I found something unexpected: a deeper sense of freedom (groundbreaking, I know). It wasn’t just about the relaxed boundaries or the eccentric characters I met (although they certainly helped). It was about shedding layers, of clothing and of expectation. I learned to embrace the messiness of life—the uncertainty, the absurdity, the occasional naked neighbor.

Moving to Ubud wasn’t part of the plan, but it was exactly what I needed. Life on that property taught me that the best experiences are often the ones you stumble into, the ones you can’t predict or control. And sometimes, you don’t need a rigid plan or perfect timing. Sometimes, you just need a French woman, a jungle villa, and a Greek god named Bennett to remind you that life is better when you’re a little bit unbuttoned.

After my time at Bennett's, I decided it was time for a change of scenery: I ended up renting a villa in Northern Ubud from a middle-aged woman I’d connected with through Airbnb. It seemed like a similarly peaceful escape, tucked away in lush greenery and further from the town center.

Four days in, she invited me for a chat by the pool. I wandered over, expecting casual small talk and maybe some neighborly advice. Instead, there she was—lounging completely naked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world (perhaps because it was).

At this point, I could only laugh. The naked houses wanted me. They had marked me as one of their own, a magnet for the free-spirited and unclothed.

And maybe there’s a lesson in that: Bali—wild, unpredictable, and unapologetic—has a way of wrapping you into its eccentricities, no matter where you go. You can move across towns and try new villas, but some things, like the naked way of life, just seem to follow you.