24 Hours in an Airport

24 hours in Singapore – I had a plan.  The world’s best airport (yes, the BEST!) was meant to keep me thoroughly comfortable and fairly entertained as a simple route from Bali to India turned into a drawn out day lost within the vacuum of time when the destination was switched to Sri Lanka.  I had no intentions of going into Singapore and getting a room because, well, I HAD A PLAN.  And we all know by now how perfectly my plans always work out, right?  *sigh*  Yeah, right. 

Left on a 5:45pm flight out of Denpasar with a surprising lump in my throat.  I had spent the majority of the last few weeks in very good company, hardly ever on my own, having silly great fun, excellent conversation, and generally being happy, happy, happy.  The 15 months I spent in Surabaya heralded some spectacular experiences however it’s the end of my time in Indonesia which will be asterisked as some of the highlights in the Indo memory bank.  It’s lovely how our memories do away with the struggles and replace all the heartache with warm fuzzies once you have moved on.  Well done, brain, well done.

Okay, so the plan!  Arrived in Singapore and collected my bag as I had to switch airlines.  It was about 8:30pm.  My flight to Sri Lanka wasn’t until 9pm the next day.  Whatever.  I have a plan.  Up to the airline counter I go and …  Sorry, cannot check in until 5am the day you are meant to fly.  Really?  But I have a ticket and it’s travel centre of the universe and you’re open now and really?  You can’t just take my bag?  No.  No?  No.  Of course you can’t.  Fine.  Singapore has a bag storage area so no need for tears, I lose 20kgs and am looking forward to all the comfy cool things I have mapped out for the next 24 hours in this uber fancy airport.  Right then! 

As I had to pick up my bag and check in elsewhere, I'm obviously in the arrivals / check in area, right?  That horrible part of the airport which is all excessive fluorescent lighting, endless rows of deserted and often unused check in counters, abandoned ankle crashing trolley carts, cold, hard tile floors, and a smattering of miserable, unforgiving plastic chairs.  I see a few people trying unsuccessfully to settle into some sort of restful, relaxing, repose and wonder why on earth they would be subjecting themselves to such torture when Eden was just beyond a set of doors.  Silly novice travellers.  Get it together!  I walk confidently towards the information desk to find the way to the best sleeping areas that I had been dreaming about and *pop* - defeat.  I don’t have a boarding pass.  Of course not, I can’t check in yet.  Discount airline rules.  Sorry ma’am, without a boarding pass, you can’t get into the departures terminal which allows you access to all the glorious golden treasures of our divine airport.  But I have a ticket and you can see that my bag is in storage and you know I can’t check in because of the airline and but but BUT!  Sorry ma’am.  Here’s a free blanket to help you suffer through your miserable wait.  *sniffsniff*  thank you. 

So now what?  I have 8 hours, EIGHT, in the arrivals area, purgatory of airline travel.  And I’m tired.  I waste a bit of time by wandering and using the internet and wandering and then score!  I find a little carpeted area that is some kind of gallery, information thingy and there are people scattered about chatting and SLEEPING!  So I hunker down in a little corner, gleefully more comfy than I was hoping for, and quickly nod off.  Less than an hour later, some random man is speaking loudly but kindly above me, telling me that this public space is closed and I must leave.  But it’s an open room, how can it be closed?  There are no doors, it’s just a room with a carpet and I’m really tired and look at how sad I look and seriously, come on, please?  Sorry, closed.  *grumblegrumblegrumble*  I stagger around, open mouth zombie stumble.  It’s nearing 1am, I just want to sleep. 

Top floor, restaurant level, no people around as everything is closed.  A long hallway leads towards the entrance to the car park and it’s slightly, just slightly warmer and darker than the rest of the cold-hearted arrivals area.  This will do.  I use my gifted free blanket as a pillow, wrap up in my trusty travel blanket, pull my hood over my face, curl up around my bags, and look like a proper homeless person stretched out alongside a random wall.  Do I care?  Nope.  After my body becomes numb to the unyielding tile floor, I’m out.  I got in a good 2 & ½ hrs of tossing and turning then up to reclaim my stored bag, check in for that sweet, sweet boarding pass, and hoof it to the comfy section of departure hall heaven that had been calling my name for hours.   

For those of you who haven’t had the luxury of travel, I’m sure you’ve run into large groups of Asians in your home country at some point or another.  Japanese, Korean, Chinese, Indonesian, irrelevant.  Populations from this side of the world.  Yes this is a sweeping generalization but one which Asians undoubtedly agree with me on.  They are loud.  Unbearably loud.  I find the most sublime sleep chair in a rest area called “Oasis”, am 3 seconds from over the moon, but keep getting jolted awake by the unbelievably loud groups of people in the surrounding chairs.  This area is dark, the chairs are obviously designed for sleeping in, all kinds of other people have settled into them attempting to sleep, and these folks are guffawing and shouting and carrying on their daily gossip as if they were sitting a full mile and a half apart.  Dirty glares, nothing.  Big sighs.  Nothing.  Moving to change my sleep spot in a pouty stomp.  Still nothing.  Oh wow.  Don’t mess with me now, bitches.  Just don’t do it.  I thankfully remembered to bring my earplugs so in they go, one last dirty look for good measure, and I’m out for the count.  Ugh.

A good couple of hours and I’m able to face the day.  Plan of action – the free bus tour of Singapore.  When in tourist town, be a tourist!  I hop, skip, and jump my way over to sign up for the tour and *thud*  kick in the teeth.  Because I had arrived last night, stamp in passport says Nov. 8.  I couldn’t check in, hence clear immigration, until this morning so THAT stamp says Nov. 9.  Technically, my passport stamps say I have been out then in again.  But I haven’t left, there was just no way to check in.  It doesn’t matter, your stamps won’t allow you to leave the airport again. Sorry ma’am, no tour for you. 

Of course not.

I console myself with Subway for breakfast (oh my gosh I have missed Subway), consider getting hammered on duty free alcohol samples, and decide to just carry on with the rest of my plans.  Hopping between terminals, I wandered through gardens, koi pond areas, and a butterfly enclosure, had proper Skype conversations (thanks Nix and Jase!), found those great chairs with feet and leg massagers, caught up on some internet time, watched a bit of TV and a terrible movie, took a 20 minute hot shower (the best $7 I have ever spent!) and was surprised at how fast it all passed.  While yes, my 24 hour Singapore airport plan was riddled with disappointments, overall, it was still a success.  If ever you’re crossing the seas and need to waste a few hours , have I got an airport for you!    

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?