Leaving on a High Note

Wow.   5 & ½ weeks of floating through a life of leisure in a country I had been desperate to escape for some time.  Not so bad.  The paths I’ve been led down over the last few months have been ever changing and full of unscripted surprises.  Stomach lurching upsets and heart bursting reunions have fuelled emotional tidal waves worthy of dramatic accolades and set me on a road that I would have never found if left to my own small mind.  It’s the people, always the people.  It has been an uplifting end to my Indo road, the note I wanted to go out on.

Life is easy in Bali.  Easy to travel, easy to understand, easy to live.  Yes, yes, it’s Indonesia so there are the everyday frustrations that come from an inability to think outside said “box” but things work, more or less, here.  The service industry here truly is a functioning industry but pride in who they are is present outside of the service industry world, in even the very small things.  Efforts are evident in yes, promoting luxury tourism but also in keeping good care of their island, their home, whether the boss is watching or not.  While of course trained (or tainted) by western influences, there is still culture woven through the everyday performing pony duties.  People are kind here, peaceful here, personable.  From the big cities to the smaller, lost on my motorbike villages the interest is genuine, soft, inviting.  Oh wow, don’t get me wrong, there are turds, there are always turds, but they seem to be much less concentrated here. 

Gone are the shudder inducing shouts of slurred “BULE!” (foreigner) donkey calls as I walk down the street or drive by homes.  Gone are the gawking, finger up the nose, glazed eye stares as I pull up to a stop light or enter a shop.  Gone are the whispers and giggles and agonizing delays accompanying any small task as one or the other gathers enough courage to speak a word or two of English on a dare, not a welcome or greeting, sending all surrounding parties into collapsing hysterics.  *sigh*  Gone, gone, gone.  Yes, there are still the occasional looks of surprise, gasps of shock, and signs of distress when my white face shows up but almost always, almost always, composure is quickly regained and a genuine smile replaces any previous sign of alarm.  The Balinese people are lovely, lovely, lovely.  Instead of running frantically towards the airport exit gate, I will breathe a small, wistful sigh of thanks that my ever changing plans allowed me to experience this very unique island within this very complex country before going on my way.  Thanks Universe, I owe you. 

The weeks have passed in a spin cycle and I’m having trouble remembering all that I’ve done.  I’ve visited familiar places and relished in feeling a bit like a local while doing nothing at all.  I’ve seen new places that left me ooohing and ahhhing when I thought there couldn’t be much left to wow me.  I’ve met people who have rekindled my love of exploring by willingly doing it with me.  I’ve refilled my closed door lonely heart of the past year with new memories with dear friends from days of when I was more … me.  My camera wasn’t so much the focus this time around, even though I do have more than I need; these past few weeks have simply been about … feeling it.  Just feeling it.  My emotions have been intense, from serenity to rage to heart wide open love.  I’ve run headlong into laughing without restraint, reacting without filters, and embracing experiences without analyzing.  And it has felt very, very good.

 I am ready for the next part of my journey (she says now in the comfort of a familiar house in a familiar town).  I am welcoming the anxiety that always accompanies my first steps in heading towards a new country (she says with a tight-lipped grimace).  I am moving forward, finding a path, making decisions (she says with 3 years of lost and aimless on the road quickly approaching).  I am ready.

A few highlights, shall we?

Hidden away, barely there, well-kept secret bays and pristine beaches found by merciless motorbike maneuvering shared with some of the best company I could have ever hoped for. Surfers and divers demand the most breath-taking scenery in the world.  Easy. 

Meeting a friend from a lifetime ago and getting to snorkel with him, a pod of dolphins, and a few magical mantas.  Wow.

Laughing my guts out with my SA boys from Mozambique.  The love and peace I feel in their company centres me entirely.  So.  Much.  Love.    

A mute, mentally and physically disabled girl on a deserted beach taking my hand, leading me to the sea, and playing in the water with only the sounds of the waves and her laughter.  Heaven. 

Fully mastering motorbike riding chaos with large men on the back of my bike.  Victory.

Experiencing the lunatic fun of diving with friends rather than random divers.  Ridiculous fun.

Liberating a tied up crab.  Yes, a crab.

Meeting a very cool Bristol Boy who just happens to love mantas as much as I do.  Bliss.

Relearning the art of just going with it.  Excellent.   

I’ve covered all of south Bali several times over, been up and down Lombok and over to a few islands.  I’ve blown my budget clear out of the atmosphere but wouldn’t take any of it back.  I haven’t sat still for very long at all and I’ve made a new travel plan which will keep me on the road for the next few months, fingers crossed. 

India is still in the plans but Sri Lanka will be the first stop.  Too many conversations and flashing neon arrows have pointed in that direction over the last couple of weeks so yes, Sri Lanka is mine for the taking.  No connections, no plans, just going.  How hard can it be? Ahhhh... the trouble I have found myself in and the stories that have followed past utterances of those 5 little words … I cannot wait.  New worlds on the horizon folks, wish me luck!    

Motorbike Molestation

One day.  I’ve crossed back over to the dark side for only one day and it has revealed itself in all its distasteful and difficult nature.  One short day.  Give me strength, not to tolerate but to strike quick and firm.  Defenses are re-ignited.  This is not the way I want it to be but I will be ready.

I left Bali today for a road trip to the next island, Lombok.  Knew one friend Carol would be diving here and will be meeting up with the Moz monkeys, Darryn and Nick, here in the next couple of days as well.  Hopped on my bike and had a general idea of where I was meant to be going which means, what?  Yes, got lost.  So after a little turn around, I was on my way.  Roooooaaad triiiiiip!!!  Big backpack on (full of I don’t know how it gets so full and heavy stuff) and it felt quite cool to be ripping around, solo-style, on my little mini motorbike.  Got to the ferry, skillfully avoided the police check stops, and a very uneventful 4 hour boat trip ensued.  So I had some time to watch. 

I’ve mentioned the differences in cultures already but this is the longest I’ve been out of contact with the rest of Indo since I’ve arrived in Bali Indo so the differences were all the more striking.  To see women, young girls, children covered in an overabundance of layered clothing, headscarves, and face veils again is something that evokes a visceral reaction in me.  And the men, okay, yes, I’ve been in fairly touristy areas over the last two weeks, but the nose-picking, toe-picking, horking, spitting, belching, scratching, slack-jawed stares were just overwhelming.  I haven’t seen it in all its vulgar atrociousness in two weeks so the primitiveness of the everyday behaviours was glaring in daytime glory.

As a single, white, travelling female, I have learned to be aware of things that others may not need to consider.  I’ve learned to confront the slack-jawed staring men with an abrupt WHAT?! in Bahasa which usually shakes them enough to stare a little less openly or move away from this aggressive, vibrating foreigner.  I’ve learned who I can ask for help, where I can stop for food or bits and pieces, and where I should stay at night based on a quick glance of who is lounging about outside the front area.  A flip was switched on that ferry and I was immediately back to being on full guard and attention due to a simple observation of the way people around me were simply reacting to my presence.  Things aren’t so peaceful on this side of the water. 

I got off the ferry and began driving aimlessly in the general direction of south.  In no way at all did I think to prepare for this little road trip so I had no idea where I was going or what I was looking for.  Smart girl.  Smart.  I saw a road sign for the name of a town where I was sure Carol was staying so I drove and drove and drove and didn’t really find anything.  Then the skies started to get heavy.  Rainy season is just around the corner now.  I decided to find a place to stay before it either started to rain or got too dark.  Commence the other fabulous behavior I had not missed at all… the lying.

A quick stop at a little beach side set of bungalows where an eager young man spoke in okay English and offered a way over-priced room for the night.  I asked in terrible Bahasa about a homestay or guesthouse and he quickly replied, “no.”  I raised an eyebrow, laughed a “come on!” and again he insisted that no, there are no guesthouses or homestays or anything around anywhere else but his place (which was a one minute walk down the road from another set of bungalows that I had just passed).  I tried again, come on, you know that’s not true, there are many, I have seen many.  No, was his reply.  Really.  There is nothing.  No guesthouse.  No bungalow.  No.  Only me.   I was done.  Conversation over and I walked off to find a lovely little bungalow 5 minutes down the road.  You’d think I’d get used to it, this is the common place behaviour  I have experienced time and time again in this country but nope, it gets under my skin each and every time.  Say “I don’t know”, that’s fine, but to argue with me about what is an obvious LIE just does my head in.  *sigh*  deep breath in, deep breath out.

As I was settling my stuff into my lovely little room I turned my head to the open door to see two small children and a full grown woman staring into my room at me.  And this continued everywhere that I tried to walk.  “Hello misterrrrrrrr!” howled young boys as I walked past, yelps, barks, shouts, and grunts were bellowed across the street or over the sand as I looked at the water.  Is this really how people communicate?!  I’ve driven wild and walked free for the past two weeks in Bali and not once, not ONCE was I shouted at, gestured at, or harassed in any way.  Hours here and I am ready to run for cover from the gawking mental patient lock up ward that is all around me. 

So I kinda do.  I hop back on the bike determined to find Carol.  And I do!  Yay!  A lovely little surprise visit and will reconnect with her and her friends tomorrow as we move on to the next town.  I will be thankful for the company because you haven’t heard the worst yet.  There’s always more to these stories, isn’t there?

I had about a 20km drive back from where Carol was staying to my place.  I planned to take it slow as it was fully dark and it was a small, windy road that led me home but I had no real fear or hesitation about the trip.  Again, lesson learned.  The road is fairly deserted with a few small clumps of houses and shops every couple of kilometers or so.  Shortly into my journey, in a dark section of the road, two 18 year old punks pull up beside me and start whooping and hello misterrrr-ing and keeping pace with me.  I had NO idea how vulnerable you are on a motorbike.  I shouted a few choice obscenities, slowed right down, and they drove off laughing and high-fiving. 

 I continued on, they were waiting for me.  If I sped up, they cut me off, if I slowed down, they waited, and it was dark, dark, dark.  At one point they were following right behind me so I slammed on my brakes and pulled to the side of the road.  They zoomed up on me, veered to smash into my handlebars and mirrors and tried to run me off the road laughing their hyena-like laughs as only underdeveloped teenage boys can do, before driving off.  Did I mention it was dark and there was nothing around but jungle on one side and sea on the other?  F**k.  Think, Janice, think.  So I slowed and waited until their taillight disappeared before carrying on. 

I saw them, lights off, parked on the side of the road, waiting for me again as I tried to get to the next cluster of civilization as fast as I could.  This time, they zoomed up on me, swerved into me, and one of the putrid little snots reached over and grabbed my boob!  Yes, I was groped going 60kms on a friggin motorbike.  Okay, you little shits, it’s on. 

They thought they were in control (and maybe they actually were) but I was seeing red.  I let them drive off and when they slowed to try to get even with me again I stopped my bike and started screaming obscenities, gesturing wildly, and generally acting like a crazy woman. (keep your comments to yourselves, smart-asses!)  They weren’t too sure what to make of this.  They slowed down more and attempted to stop so I upped the hysterics and moved up on them.  I saw them flinch.  Then I saw two motorbikes approaching from the opposite way.  I sped around and ahead of the two sloth-brained, repressed, evolutionary retards and managed to flash and honk enough to get the bikes to stop.  This sent the punks racing off from whence they came.  YES!  VICTORY IS MINE! 

That being said, I still had almost 10 kms to go and I was CONVINCED that they were going to loom up out of the dark behind me and run me off the road to my death.  So yeah, I was a bit of a shaking mess when I arrived back at my place.  My uneasiness was not the least bit assuaged by the fact that upon my return, I met the Swiss guy who owns the place and when I told him of my ordeal, he wasn’t surprised, kept saying, “yes, stupid here.  stupid boys here.”, reminded me to not leave anything outside my room (shoes, drying clothing) and to lock my door as soon as I was inside.   You’ve got to be kidding me.  One day.  I’ve been here one day.

So as I fight sleep and keep re-checking the lock on my door and the function of my flashlight, ruing the loss of my little pocketknife and feeling exceptionally vulnerable, I can hear the waves outside my window.  Somehow that makes it okay.  Tomorrow will be different.  No one has to die.  Breathe in, breathe out, waves in, waves out.  Oh Indo, you truly push me to my limits. 

Life in Bali Times

Two weeks of unemployment in Bali and my bank account is far emptier than I had anticipated but my heart is much, much fuller.  What a weird and wonderful couple of weeks it has been.

 I’m settled into a little homestay which is yep, a room in someone’s home.  Decent amounts of privacy but the house is under early morning / all day construction, on a busy road, home to a dog that insists on going apeshit at least two times every night, and in the vicinity of a frequently screaming child.  Mosque wailing has been replaced full and complete.  Thanks karma.  Got it.  So I’ve now come to terms with the notion that my homestay is essentially a storage room for my stuff while I spend as much time away from it as possible.  I’ve done pretty well so far.  Some plans have changed, others fallen through, and still others come to fruition on the spur of the moment.  There’s always some kind of fun to be found.

The diving has been… ummm… a beautiful example of how spoiled I have been.  I’ve spent far too much money on a few ho-hum dives HOWEVER any day under the water makes me a happy girl so I will take it and smile graciously.  This has cut deeply into the funding (Bali is EXPENSIVE!) which has led to some disappointments but made way for other adventures.  It always comes together.  Always.

*side note:  "expensive" is a relative term.  Compared to home, I'm living like a queen for next to nothing.*

On my first day of diving I met: The Pirate Hunter.  Yes, a real live pirate hunter.  Arne (who speaks like Arnold Schwarzenegger!) is a Danish Navy Military Police Officer in charge of this and that who listed tours of Afghanistan, Iraq, Somalia, and other dreamy countries like a Sunday stroll in the park.  While there is NOTHING cool about pirates, 14 year old kids in tattered rags strung out on heavy drugs waving high powered fire arms while bobbing the seas in a toy boat, there is something very, VERY cool about pirate HUNTERS.  Diving and story-telling then road tripping and more story-telling.  I wanted more stories so I put this giant of a man on the back of my mini-moped and we zipped around southern Bali exploring this and that.  A very fun couple of days indeed.  Only regret – no pictures of the two of us on that ridiculous bike.  He could see clear over the top of my head.  He’s off to dive with sharks in Australia (he just got cooler and cooler!) and may stop in Indo on his way back home; if so, photo op essential.  I love the random people I meet.

THEN!  Love, love, love – Mozambican connections.  Two dear friends who I worked with in Mozambique, Mel & Dave, were tripping their way through Indo so we had a night then the next day together as they moved from one place to another.  Not nearly enough time to catch up and get my fill but there were enough stories and hugs to fill that Africa hole in my heart for a little while longer.  Fingers crossed to find them one more time before they leave Indo for Thailand.  I’m becoming a bit of a stalker so they may be avoiding me at this point; fair enough.

And more!  There’s more Mozambique!  Darryn, who has been working on one of the islands and who I have visited two times previously this year, just happened to be finished work and hanging out on an island just off of Bali.  Really?  REALLY?  So over I go and a couple of days of diving and catch up lead to plans to meet up again with him and yet another one of our friends, Nick and do some more exploring.  Oh wow, happy girl.  Happy happy girl!  YES MOZAMBIQUE!!!

AND THEN!  Being a military brat and all, homes changed as a child every couple of years.  Bear with me here.  Mom kept in touch with friends and through the amazing introduction of Facebook, my mom and one of these long lost friends discovered that one of my childhood friends and I are in Indo at the same time.  He and I connected and exchanged a few messages and phone calls then 32 years, yes THIRTY-TWO years AFTER we played whatever you play together when we were six years old, we met again, for the first time. *sigh*  Amazing. 

While neither of us has any recollection of the other, it was as it is, an instant comfort of hey, I know you.  We’ve had a chance to visit and catch up bits and pieces, he has lived in Saudi for the past two years (!!!) but we have MUCH more catching up to do.  We’re not sure who’s more excited about this reunion, us or our moms, but it is a great story to tell.  Stories, stories, stories… I want the stories!  There will be many more to come before this month is out.  Guaranteed. 

Told you, weird and wonderful couple of weeks.   That’s the catch up for now.  Peace.

Changing direction... again.

SURPRISE (or not). Life plans have changed yet again. That didn’t take long, did it? I love how doors close, windows open, and my journey keeps moving me along. Let’s get you caught up on what’s happening now...


Finished school (hurray!) but not without the usual anxiety of what’s next? what am I doing? is this really a good idea? WHAT AM I THINKING?! After a few sleepless nights and a common sense conversation with a save-my-life friend (thanks Nixie!) a new yellow brick road emerged. I bid a fond farewell to more than half of my meager belongings and a city I was eager and ready to leave late on a Monday evening and arrived in The Island of the Gods, Blissful Bali (deep breath out...). A Hindu island nestled in the midst of an Islam world. The difference here is palpable, tangible, welcomed. *siiiiiigghhhhhh* Bali.


I am no longer doing my dive instructor course and am instead bumming around Bali and Lombok, diving a bit, meeting up with friends old and new, road tripping around on my little rented motorbike, and doing a little of whatever mood strikes me. So far, in five days, I’ve managed to do some of all of those things. Coolio joe. AND! Best part! I have a plan for the next few months. This non-committal, flighty, head not screwed on quite right, middle-aged wanderer is heading to where all lost souls head … India.


India has never really been on my travel map. I’ve heard mixed reviews, wasn’t sure if it was a country I was ready to travel on my own, and come on folks… the stories of thousands of people taking their morning dumps on the train tracks and rivers clogged with dead bodies… not sure I would have the stomach for it. But then there are the other stories, the GOOD stories, the stories that don’t minimize the harsh, in-your-face India experience but compliment it with tales of colour and kindness and incredible atmosphere. It has now become a must see. How well I cope will be my story to be told but I’m hoping that a bare life living in Africa and mosque-wailing inner city tolerance of Indonesia will aid me in my stumbling through. The one challenge I’m not sure I’m entirely up for however is: the cold. I’m going at a time when the snow and winter winds will be directly in my path, apparently often blocking my path. Maybe not the best plan for this Canadian escapee but I am determined to not let it deter me. Yeah, sure. I say this as I sit in balmy Bali, steps from the beach, summer all year round. Foolish, foolish girl. Come on Canuck roots, I don’t fail me now.


I’ll be in Bali until November 8 then will be leaving on a jet plane directed towards the spicy country, arriving in Bangalore in the dead of night. Maybe not the smartest decisions but meh, may as well jump in head first. I have a loose travel plan which essentially means I picked a few places on the map and will figure the rest of it out once I get there. I’m excited to be properly travelling again. It has been… well… 15 months of solid employment so it’s time for this littlest hobo to hit the road. India suggestions, recommendations, must see and dos, please forward them on; I’m all ears. And anyone looking for a winter getaway, come join me. I think it’s going to be one heck of a wild ride. Chat soon.

So Long Surabaya!

14 months after I stifled the heart-stopping, breath-stealing, seeing-black anxiety of signing a contract for 12 months, I’m finally on the doorstep of bidding farewell to this city. However, 9 months after I decided I wanted out of SE Asia forever and began counting the days until I could make that a reality, I’ve chosen to brave one last challenge that will keep me here for another month or two. Opportunity presents, I can’t help but take a look. And that look leads me down paths I couldn’t have imagined had I had the rest of time to plan. So yes Indonesia, you have me hooked a little while longer but Surabaya, we are finished. I’m sorry, centre of East Java, but we are just not meant to be. Jigsaw-puzzle concrete chaos and skyscraping shopping malls, frenetic, senseless paces and maniacal daily mayhem, and let’s not forget the endless, endless, endless noise; we have very different needs. I’ve been well taken care of and will never forget you but it’s time, I must go. Selamat tinggal. Reflecting on the road I’ve recently traveled as I set out for the next journey is always a bit of a tricky way to begin but it’s what I tend to do. That reflection is meant to focus on the highlights, let go of the low points, and keep perspective when sentimental clutter threatens to get in the way of taking that next first step. So let’s reflect, shall we? What have I done and seen in Indonesia this past year? I’ve been on 7 dive holidays, climbed 2 volcanoes, gotten up close and personal with dragons, swam with whalesharks, nearly died in an ocean-fed lagoon, seen a bizarre Indo style zoo, amusement park, and rope course, experienced dangdut, the gamelan, and batik, missed a flight by an entire day, explored some very impressive temples, snorkeled my way through a lake full of jellyfish, saved a couple of cats and lost a couple too, dodged stampeding bulls, hiked, camped, played in waterfalls, learned to ride a motorbike like a demon, crossed SE Asia’s largest bridge several times, paraglided my way high over beautiful country side, held newly laid turtle eggs in my bare hands and chased off poachers, taken 24 hours to travel 350kms more than once and didn’t murder anyone, been in the company of fascinating new creature critters and comforting familiar ones, managed to not miss one single day of work, and a million more little things that elude my overwhelmed mind at the moment. A pretty successful year nonetheless, yes? Yes. Absolutely. I’ve barely scratched the surface of the adventure brimming and bubbling here in Indonesia. With an ability to turn a blind eye to obscene corruption, environmental devastation, religious turmoil, and a slowed state of progress, this country could keep me exploring for the rest of my life. A must-see country to travel, an interesting country to settle in. However, for me it’s time to move on. Sort of. Through random paths crossing, ideas suggested and finally considered, I’ve decided to hop on over to Bali where I’ll take the next big step in my love affair with diving. While I’ve never had an interest in working as a diver, I simply want to be in the water. It’s the only thing I can think of that gives me giddy butterflies in my stomach, scares me cold, lets time stand still, continuously allows me to learn, makes the debilitating sea-sickness worth it (not fair, by the way!), surprises me, feels strange yet soothing, and invokes a mind-bending sense of wonder every single time I'm in that big, deep blue. And I’m still new to this thing. Next logical step, I’m off to take my instructor’s course. The anxiety is already mounting as I realize the task I’ve taken on but I will charge head first regardless. Fear of failure is my motivator, wondering “what if” will push me on. In keeping perspective I know that this course and this challenge is miniscule, a blip, a no big deal. 20 year olds blow through it in a half sleep daze. It’s not another 4 year university degree or a shift in core beliefs. It will affect no one’s life but mine and may not even alter the course I’m on but it’s something new and big and a little bit scary for me. And I’ve chosen to make that enough. For all you people out there changing the world, I’ll meet up with you at some point. For now, I’m gonna go splash around with the fishies. And that’s the catch up and sign off. School ends Sept 28th, I fly to Bali Oct 1st, my course starts Oct 18th and will keep me wet and wild until Nov 5th. As for what happens after that … you know the answer by now. We’ll see where the wind takes me, what the universe has in store for me, what windows open, and how the road turns. As I pack up my bags, again, and look back on a full year, I know this is nowhere near the end. Reflection is good like that, isn’t it?

The REALLY good stuff.

The REALLY good stuff:

The kids. The children on this island were in imminent danger of being snatched and stolen by me at any given moment. A group of little boys entertained me daily as they hung out on, around, or under my porch always having a lovely chat even though none of us could understand each other. As I did endless laps around the island, walking in the rain or the afternoon sun after the day of rain, so many sweet faces with shy smiles and brave babes with eager grins ran up to greet me or peeked and waved from the shadows of their homes. And they played. Played, played, played. A game of marbles was happening every few meters, coconut husks were kicked around, bikes were being raced, random bits of this and that were providing endless entertainment. The kids were happy, healthy souls. Oh how I wanted to take them all home.

Turtles. Big ones. Massive. When we tied banana leaves to a rope and let them float in the water off the boardwalks, enormous beauties would arrive and munch until there was nothing left but the rope. Clambering up and over each other to get to their happy snack. Saw a pile up of 5 at one time. Gorgeous.

These aged beauty queens were the mamas who were coming up to the beaches at night and laying their precious eggs. WWF has invested here and it is paying off. Sort of. Every 12 days for 3 months, a mama turtle lays around 100 eggs. That’s A LOT of eggs. A lot of eggs in danger. The locals ON THIS SAME ISLAND, still eat turtle eggs and kill smaller turtles so that they can stuff them and sell them to other Indonesian tourists. So.Much.Rage. Thankfully, each night, 3 rangers patrol the beach, wait for the mamas to lay their eggs, snatch the eggs, count and label them, then bury them in secret locations where they will hatch two months later. The same rangers who rescue them as eggs release them as brand new babies into the sea.

I was lucky enough to be part of both the egg snatching and the baby releasing. And yes, there were tears. Steaming warm turtle eggs in my hand one night, squirming, squishy soft new hatchlings in my hands the next. Oh heaven, heaven, heaven. These rangers are doing incredible work and are scoffed and ignored by the very people they grew up with, live with, on the same island, fighting their work every single day. The thought process, or lack thereof, in this country makes me enormously sad. Only one in 100 baby turtles will survive the rough seas and here, they also have to contend with the locals eating them before they are out of their shells, or catching them in nets if they do survive and slaughtering them for sale.

Example: as four of us sat for a drink after coming back from rescuing turtle eggs, one of the girls showed the shop lady a photo of the pile of turtle eggs. The lady got so excited. She wanted us to take her to where the eggs were buried because turtle eggs taste so good! Noooooooo! The completely horrified reaction she got from all of us caused her to retreat but you can be sure her opinion is shared by many.

I am not getting any better at dealing with this.

Case in point… as I emerged from my shack one afternoon, I looked down to the sand under the next door boardwalk and saw two boys who had pinned down a turtle and were tying it up. A young turtle, maybe a half a meter long and still fairly strong. They were tying up its neck and flippers as it was trying to escape. Cue crazy woman Janice. At full screech and sadly without thinking, I jumped down off my boardwalk and launched into a ranting tirade, shouting and shaking my fist at all the people who were standing around watching, until the boys flipped the turtle on its back and moved away. With wild grey hair flying and English profanities spewing forth, I ripped the ropes from this poor turtle, heaved her upright and carried her back into the sea where she thankfully swam quickly away. As I cursed them all to the depths of hell, trudging huffing and puffing back up the sand, I saw another turtle, tied and upside down in a small boat beside a hut. Again, the rage. When I picked her up, she barely moved. Sputtering with hatred at this point I got her to the water where she needed coaxing to move, to swim, to fight. She eventually swam away but my heart was heavy … she may not have made it. I could have killed someone.

As I retold this story to the rangers, they were thankfully concerned but somewhat disappointed in me. Why hadn’t I taken any pictures of the culprits and the turtles? What could they do if they didn’t have pictures? *sigh* Defeat. Note to self…. Think! Think! Think! I’m so sorry turtles. Lesson learned.

Jellyfish. Google Kakaban Island. Seriously. Do it. It is one of only two places in the world where jellyfish have evolved in a freshwater lake to have no sting for lack of prey or predators. Bizarre. Creepy cool. Alien. Want to go back. Speedboat out and ended up at this uninhabited, white sand, paradise island. Walk a well worn boardwalk ten minutes into the jungle and stumble out to this enormous opaque green lake. I had seen some pictures of what to expect, so snorkels on, head under water, let’s go! *GASP!* Sputter! Squeal! Oh my GOSH! LOOOOOOOOK!!!!! By the pier, there are a few brownish, transparent bobbling jellyfish that you tentatively touch; do they REALLY not sting?! They really, really don’t! You keep swimming and the further you get, the more there are. Big ones, small ones, upside down ones attached to the sea grass at the bottom, their fuzzy bottoms outstretched to the sun above, and slimy transparent dinner plate ones. Not one single sting. You push through them, like swimming through a ball pit, definitely not of this world. Mangroves surround the lake and there is brightly coloured CORAL growing under, around, and on the roots of the trees! It was absolutely unlike anything I have ever experienced in my life. Unbelievable. There were a few incidents of jellyfish tossing, making them into wigs, and general childishness but there were SO MANY! True underwater highlight, for sure.

Mantas. On the way back from visiting this alien homeland, we stopped for a casual snorkel with my favourite love, those magnificent mantas. Let’s just hop off the boat here and snorkel around with a few beauties, shall we? Yes, we shall. A small, curious picture of perfection kept circling back for closer looks and a little company. Please take me with you. Please. Oh so fabulous. Yes, life is good.

I did manage to convince a different guide to take three of us out to the island that I really wanted to dive but it took an enormous amount of effort. When we did get out there, he wouldn’t take us to the site where I wanted to dive, telling an assortment of lies each time I pushed him, from not enough time, to not enough fuel, to currents too strong, etc. I was furious. We had spent $100USD on this boat and he wanted us to dive the same site twice and refused to take us to where I wanted to go once we arrived. Complete jackass. Did two dives, he knew we were really upset with him, but again, he didn’t care. He didn’t want to work anyway. Jerk. (The dives were VERY nice, by the way).

Sad side note of sea life in and around Derawan. The water is FULL of fishing huts and boats, full. What I noticed on my dives wasn’t so much what was there, but what wasn’t. We were in the middle of nowhere, channels running though far off islands. We should have been swarmed by fish. There was very, very little in the water. The site, the coral, the landscape was beautiful and wild but empty. Dynamite fishing and mass overfishing has emptied these waters and there is no turning back. Indonesia is a critical contributor to marine life destruction and it is escalating. No logical thought processes. Now is all that matters here. Mass swaths of the rainforest have fallen to logging and mining; I had no idea how gigantic the scale was until I flew over it. Life, on land and in the water, is being eliminated at an alarming rate in this part of the world. Complete devastation.

Sorry. Soapbox.

The majority of people who live on the island were lovely. I was away from the noise and the hassle of Surabaya where people stare and harass and insist on trying to take your picture when you’re not looking so the quiet, small island life was much needed. The locals who were in the business of the travelers weren’t interested in working, they dismissed you before they said hello, and lied as easily as they took a breath but the day to day interactions of those who simply lived on Derawan were just perfect. All good.

My return to the mainland was relatively hassle-free as I had become wise to the ways of the deceptive demons and simply told them how it was going to go. No questions asked.

Despite the shit show that was my week in Kalimantan, this is a place NOT to be missed. To avoid the anguish of wanting to stab your own eyes out on a trip to Derawan, simply do the exact OPPOSITE of what I did and you will be fine. Absolutely fine. I wanted a trip on my own, at the end of rainy season, to a place not many people visit, and figured I could sort it out once I got there. Should you go in the future, go in the dry season, with many friends, and book ahead. It’s worth it. I promise!

So yes friends, I survived thoughts of suicide as a way to escape the alternate universe I was temporarily trapped in and managed to wrap another bunch of unique experiences firmly around my full, full heart. Time is ticking away here in Indonesia and although there are countless things I still want to do, I think I’ll leave with a pretty good checklist of a year well spent. Don’t you?

Kalimantan you're KILLING me!

Yes, another holiday, yes, more holiday stories. As often as I hang my head when people ask me what I do for a living, my photos and these stories remind me that yeah, my life isn’t quite so bad. Middle aged and still roaming; I haven’t found a good enough reason to stop yet. March 2012 destination… Kalimantan, Indonesian Borneo.

Despite several attempts to gather information or prepare myself for this journey in some small way, I continued to come up more or less empty handed. Little info on the internet, even less in books, and word of mouth was questionable, at best. That’s fine, that’s fine, I had resigned myself to accepting that this was going to be an “adventure”. Diving was the focus, getting there was the challenge. Pffft. I’ve clawed my way through stranger places, how hard can this be?

Oh yeah, I forgot. It’s Indonesia.

Let’s start with…

Rage. So much rage.

I know, I know, it’s pointless getting frustrated and angry, I should be more in control and just roll with it, but unless you’ve been here, unless you’ve experienced it, there is just no way to control the rage. Fellow Indo inhabitants, I know you can relate. We have all been there.

I spent the first two days of my holiday walking and driving in circles. Literally. Arrived in the town where I was to stay the night before heading over to the island and was greeted in each and every hotel and guesthouse with “full.”. I’m sorry? “Full.” Full? There are hardly any people on the streets, what the hell do you mean, “full”? “Yes. Full.” Oh for shit sake. Each place gave me directions to another hotel to try because of course, even though you own 3 cell phones by the time you are 5 years old here, no one actually has any phone numbers. Oh and directions? Yeah, directions in Indonesia consist of having you walk in a circle until you end up back where you started then try to figure it out on your own. Good fun. Thumbs up.

While searching for a place to sleep, I stopped into no less than 5 travel agencies to inquire about transportation to get to Derawan, the island I was heading to the next day. Not one single person in the first four TRAVEL agencies knew of any way to get there. The only reason tourists come to this town I was in is to get to this island, but apparently yeah, no one knows how to get there. There must be cameras on me somewhere. This has to be a joke. Fifth stop was a success, sort of. 3 lovely young girls who spoke surprisingly good English helped me find a place to stay, made phone calls about how to get to the island, and let me wait out a massive rain storm. How to get to Derawan? No, nothing. *bangbangbang* (me slamming my forehead against the table).

Holed up in my room and attempted to collect my fragile composure. Went for a bit of a nighttime wander which reinforced just how small this place was so was able to convince myself that it was just a bad travel day and it would all come together tomorrow. Easy Peasy.

Yeah. I’m so dumb.

The next morning I walked for no less than TWO HOURS in circles and circles and circles as random people said yes then no then yes then no about transport to the island. Rage re-ignited instantly. Eventually found something, negotiated an outrageous price then plopped down to wait. And wait. And wait. Then we were on the move. Yes! Okay, we’re going. This is it. Oh wait, no, I’ve seen that before, oh wait, hey, that’s where I stayed last night, hold on a minute now, that’s where we were just parked… what the hell is going on here???? The driver spent the next TWO HOURS driving around, answering phone calls, and picking up random people and parcels to load the car up full before we even started our journey out of town. We visited houses, stopped on street corners, and pulled up to shops. I sat in the front seat, sunglasses on, palms of my hands bleeding from nails dug in, lips bitten shut to contain the boiling inferno. Dear Indonesia, someone is about to die.

The driver laughed as he sped through sinkholes the size of buffalo and didn’t seem the least bit concerned that he scraped off several inches of the underside of his car each and every time we were launched into the air. When I pointed out a significant dent/smash on the bottom of the body of his vehicle that he had caused, he shrugged his shoulders and laughed. Yessir get me away from this lunatic.

Onto the boat. Thankfully was aware of what the price SHOULD be and despite the attack at the harbor front from the same slime that seem to exist the planet over, I managed to secure boat transportation at the right price and no one had to die. Be careful, Indonesia, the rage is on a very thin leash.

Derawan looked lovely upon arrival. Outstretched boardwalks and brightly coloured houses. I think this is gonna be okay. Again everyone, let’s say it together…

I’m so dumb.

I proceeded to spend the next hour walking and walking and walking (it takes less than half an hour to completely circle the island). Full. Oh COME ON!!! It was an Indonesian long weekend, so everything was full. *muttermuttermutter*swearswearswear*wimperwimperwimper*. It’s fine. I can do this. I am pretty resourceful. I will sleep on the beach, no big deal. Just as I had resigned myself to a night of outdoor adventure, I was directed to a restaurant that had a room out back along the boardwalk, perched over the water. I’ll take it. Done.

It was bare and basic, buckets for toilets and shower that I shared with the family who owned the place, but there was a porch that looked out over the sea, the water was below me and out as far as I could see, so yes, I’m in. This will do just fine. Now off to sort the diving.

I can feel the burn of anguish and frustration building behind my eyeballs even as I type this. This twilight zone of a place was pushing me to my very limits. The one “dive shop” had no one around and when someone was able to be reached by phone she quoted me the highest price on planet earth with a very serious tone. $50USD for one dive PLUS renting the boat at $200USD. For one dive? Yes. One? Yes. Again, looking around for the hidden cameras. This must be a practical joke. No cameras? No? This is real? Holy hell.

I had heard that there were a few dive guides who took people out but they weren’t connected with any shops so they charged half the price. I was now on a mission. Found a cowboy after much searching and was able to convince him to take me out the next day. Showed up the next day and was happy happy joy joy to get in the water just off the island. Seemed that the dive “guide” was just some local guy who knew how to dive, no real idea of safety or concerns, but meh! I just want to be in the water and figured I was good to take care of myself. Let’s go!

Through chit chat and lots of inquiries, it seemed that if I wanted to get to the good dives, where I really wanted to go, the going rate was $100USD to rent the boat plus the more reasonable dive price. So find friends fast or forget about it. I quickly discovered that this was a wealthy island and people here didn’t need the money so they charged outrageous prices, didn’t care if they got business or not, and really couldn’t be assed to work, regardless of the demand. And oh yeah, it was still rainy season up that way. Absolute defeat.

Night number 2 brought the biggest, wickedest, loudest storm I have ever encountered. Ever. I was in a wooden shack, with a tin roof, over the water. The storm raged for over 6 hours and I was 100% convinced that the entire island was about to be wiped out. Thunder that didn’t stop and start, it started then rolled and roared and shook the ground for solid minutes. Lightning that didn’t strike but flashed from every point in the sky illuminating the wildly whipping sea for up to 5 seconds at a time. Count that folks. Think about it. Lightning usually strikes for less than a second. This was like someone had turned on the lights. The waves were crashing and tossing all the small boats around, my shack was shaking, rattling, and rolling from the wind, waterfall of sheet rain, and ginormous waves that were pounding the supporting stilts underneath me, and I was waiting for the world to end. The tin roof amplified the elements to such a volume that when I actually spoke out loud in an attempt to calm myself down, I couldn’t hear my own voice. Yes, I have lived a good life. This isn’t how I planned to go, but hey, it’s a story to tell. This is the end.

But gasp! Surprise! It wasn’t the end. The storm eased off, the sky lightened from ink black to fuzzy grey, and I poked out to see what was left of the shredded island. As locals emptied their flooded but still afloat boats with well-worn buckets and scraps of plastic, all seemed right with the world. I expected devastation, flattened houses and trees stripped bare. I saw a few puddles and closed doors. That’s it. No damage, no devastation, no doomsday. Obviously these knock-you-out storms are common place here (as I would experience first-hand over the rest of the week) and this island, this place is built to withstand. Absolutely amazing.

There’s no need to go into the remaining struggles of the week, as there were many. Trying to convince someone to take us out on a boat, making them boatloads of money, was infuriatingly effortful. No one seemed interested, or they’d say yes and then not show. Couldn’t care less if travelers came or not. I tried to change my flights to leave early but shock upon shock, couldn’t get a hold of anyone on the phone. THAT’S how done I was with this place.

So as I felt sorry for my pitiful self through several more stormy days and zero diving on the horizon, I became slightly crazed (or MORE crazed to those of you who have spent any time with me lately). The island is swarming with cats, a gazillion cats; I think I made friends with and had lengthy conversations with a good 50% of them during my week there. Maybe more. They were FAR more friendly than the locals so I figured it was fine. I felt myself slowly unraveling and knew that there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it.

Thankfully a few events occurred that saved my remaining threads of sanity and will be stored in the lifetime memory bank. Tune in to the next entry for the REALLY good stuff.