A man wearing a traditional udan bandana around his head was drinking coffee by the roadside

Man drinking coffee — Man sipping coffee

Walking through Ubud, you quickly learn that coffee appears in the most unceremonious places—on a temple veranda, under the eaves of someone’s home, even on a dusty roadside. On my way to the post office one morning, I spotted a man perched on a curb, sipping his drink as if time itself had paused to keep him company. He wore an udeng—the traditional Balinese headcloth—and his expression carried the kind of calm that makes you wonder whether he’s solved all of life’s problems or simply stopped caring about them.

Instead of a paper cup, he held a clear plastic one, the dark liquid inside catching the light like a slow-moving shadow. Balinese coffee is typically served with the grounds left in the cup—finely milled beans mixed directly with hot water. You drink the top, and whatever you do, you don’t drink the bottom. Otherwise you learn, in one gritty mouthful, that paradise has its traps.

The man, of course, showed no sign of such hazards. He took slow, measured sips, as though performing a small ritual rather than consuming a beverage. He never glanced in my direction; the world around him seemed optional. I raised my camera, but just before I pressed the shutter, he turned his gaze away with monk-like indifference, as if to say, There’s nothing worth photographing in the realm of mortals.

On Bali, people drink coffee at any hour—morning, noon, late into the sticky evenings. If there is one thing more reliable than the island’s electricity, it’s probably this steady current of coffee passing from hand to hand, cup to cup, day after uncomplicated day.

Ubud on Google Map

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