The early bird catches the worm. Or the sweetcorn.

It’s 7am in Sanur, Bali, and the beach is buzzing. In a good way. Locals hit the sand from sunrise, eating breakfast, gossiping, swimming. There are no tourists about. Only a sprinkling of foreigners inhabit Sanur beach during the afternoon, but during the morning it’s strictly a Balinese affair. Boys fly colourful geometric kites overhead while old toothless women toast sweetcorn on makeshift grills. It’s peaceful, certain parts of the beach utterly deserted. Unlike mayhemic Kuta on the west coast, Sanur on the east is content to wallow in its own laziness. Sometimes nicknamed ‘Snore’ by those who come to Bali simply to party, its languid reputation suits me just fine. Wake up at 6am, be on the beach for 7. Eat, swim, read. Grab more food at 10am, 2pm, 5pm. Walk. Explore. Rinse. Repeat. This is what local beach life is like on Bali. I’m already wondering how I’m going to adjust to life back in Tokyo.