Bali.

Its got a very blue sea. Impossibly blue. There's no green in it like you see in Thailand and no grey in it like you see in Goa. And it kisses the sky. The sand isn't golden or white or soft or clean. It simply lies there, under the sun, waiting to burn your feet. In a good way. And it's very easy to breathe there. You can breathe the sea from the streets.

At night, the streets are lit. Lots of different coloured lights. I didn't think streets could look happy but these do. Like they're protectors of some sort of wonderful secret that's there for everyone to see but only they know.

There are people everywhere walking on the streets at night. Drunk and laughing and all of them look different and all of them look the same. Pubs and clubs and little restaurants spill out onto these streets as if they can't restrain themselves. And waiters stand on the pavement and grin and try to make you enter. Inside, there's always music playing- the kind of music you never listen to but invariably know. The waiters dance to the music and juggle and laugh and they look so happy, you forget that they're probably paid to do this.

The roads are shaded by very green trees, with shafts of sunlight tumbling through. The sun is hot but it's a good kind of heat. The kind of heat that makes you feel happy and sleepy and comfortable. It's sunshine heat.

The people have a very strong faith. A boatman told me that the tsunami didn't hit Bali because they were protected by their god. They have festivals all the time. They dress up and walk or cycle down the streets, clean and bright in white, carrying flowers and incense and bright coloured fruit. And they're so happy and secure in their faith, they don't ask other people to believe what they believe.

All places have a freedom of their own, I guess. But there, at least for me, there exists a kind of freedom that dances in your face.