Kitty trauma. It had to happen and when it happens, oh wow, it happens. Again, attempting to leave the soap box under the stairs and simply share my stories rather than rant and rave about the heart wrenching maltreatment of animals here. Oops, almost managed to keep it under control. Almost.
Most of the teacher houses here have a cat or two who has been rescued by a soft hearted teacher and inherited by the cleaning girls after that teacher leaves. These cats have very good lives and are very well cared for. Thankfully. The cat at my first house, tiny black & white Chico, playfully wriggled his way into my heart with his howling hellos and his super social I-want-to-love-everybody personality. Just adore him. He, however, is a “he” and as he grew, his balls grew, and I knew that soon there would be more unwanted kittens around. I had promised the cleaning girls, who take very good care of him, that once I got settled into my new house, I would be back to have him taken in for a necessary neutering, sadly, far too uncommon here. Checked with other teachers, borrowed a cat cage, and brought him in for his consultation appointment.
The vet hospital is part of a university so several keen students came to check out a shivering, shaking, clingy Chico, and me, of course. Sweet students and it was encouraging to see that in a country where there seems to be little concern for animals, the veterinary program appears to be thriving. Consultation was a Thursday morning, “castration” was scheduled for Monday morning. Sorry Chico, but it has got to be done.
Thursday night, Hannah gets me out of my bed at around 1am. She and some friends had just gotten in. She had found OUR cat, a beautiful orange and white, slightly aloof but lovely Chica (yes, an “a” instead of an “o”) stuck on the security gate – she had fallen on one of the wrought iron stakes and had impaled herself though the leg. Hannah had gotten her off the stake but she had a good sized hole through her leg, had ripped off a bunch of skin, and was in an obvious state of panic. Oh no, oh no, oh no.
Chico, cuddles up and wants to be with people when he is scared, Chica, wants to be alone. So I crawled under the bed where she was hiding and tried to see what the hell she had done to herself. She was in a lot of pain and tending to her injury as best she could; luckily not bleeding . There are no 24 hour vet hospitals and we knew the university hospital would be open in the morning. We tried to make her as comfortable as we could and hoped she would be okay through the night.
The next morning I packed a scared and injured Chica into a cardboard box, as the carrier was at Chico’s house, and got her to the hospital. Strange looks from the familiar staff as I unloaded a very frightened and weak but different cat. Oh, as they exchanged worried looks, oh poor kitty.
Side note. We’ve always had cats growing up. Our last cat, my sweet Petrie, we had for 19 years. 19! We got her my senior year in high school in Germany and she was part of our family until January 2010. I still get teary thinking about her. Anyway! Any time I had to take her to the vet, just for routine vaccinations or minor check-ups, I was a basket case. In tears, melt down, no reason at all. Just cried. My poor baby scared and in pain… I cried. A source of entertainment for the vet, no doubt. Remember my stories of trying to save little Chicken, the newborn kitten we found in Thailand? Yeah, hysterical tears. Now here in Indonesia, why should it be any different? Seriously.
I managed to NOT cry when I brought Chico in for his consultation, got a little choked up but was able to hold it together, but to see Chica in so much pain, yeah, it was over. Trying desperately to hold it together, the students spoke with a vet, who I saw for all of 3 seconds, and they whisked her away to do “surgery”, which meant stitch up her leg. I heard her screaming from down the hall and I had to leave.
The vet hospital is rough, basic, dirty, and there were goats grazing out in the construction / garbage dump area out back but still, better conditions than the people hospitals in Mozambique that I had a chance to see. I kept telling myself that it would be okay, it would be okay, she would be fine. She just needed some stitches, she would be fine.
When she was out of “surgery”, a limp and anesthetized cat was lying on the table. Okay, okay, I’ve seen this before. She’ll be groggy but soon, she’ll be fine. I can take her home and she’ll be fine.
Oh how it all went terribly wrong. As she woke, she was in complete distress. She kept flopping over but was frantic to move. The cleaning girls stayed with her all day as I had to go to school and when I came back at night, my heart leapt from concern to panic. She was still trying desperately to move, but couldn’t, and oh holy shit, she was blind. The poor cleaning girls didn’t know what I was talking about so I brought Hannah down and she agreed with me. What have they done to her?!?! I had the phone number to the vet who was scheduled to do Chico’s neutering on Monday, it was around 9pm and I had to do something. He spoke wonderful English and told me to bring her over to his house, where he has an office as well, right away.
Poor Chica, in so much distress and blind, me useless and emotional. Not a good combo. The vet was lovely but seemed to keep missing my point that I wasn’t concerned about her LEG, but that she was BLIND! He redressed her leg and looked in her eyes, saying that they looked fine. Her pupils were completely dilated, as they had been since the stitching up, but he said they seemed fine. He didn’t know what to tell me as he would have to wait until Monday to talk to the vet who treated her. He gave her another sedative (noooooo!!!) but said it would help her relax as she had been so distressed all day. He said to bring her back to him should anything else change but for now, just give her time. I’m not good at just sitting and waiting, especially when there are no answers! What am I waiting for? How much worse can it get? If she is going to get better, WHEN will it happen? Arrrrrgh!!!
A long, long night of zero sleep as she fought to come out of the second sedative and threw and flopped herself blindly around my bed and room. The sun came up, no improvement. We kept her in one room that was sparely furnished and over a few hours, she seemed to be able to figure her way around it without bumping into things but still couldn’t see. Hannah and I talked about a blind cat living where we live… impossible. I’m an emotional, over-tired wreck. A google search shared several stories of sudden and irreversible blindness due to an overdose of anesthesia… I’ve killed this cat. Tears, tears, tears.
The day passed, then another and slowly, slowly she recovered. Thank every star in the sky, she has regained her sight and her spirit. She is actually seeking out the company of people as I think she has had quite a fright. She has been spending her nights sleeping on my bed and I am A-okay with this. We still have to get those stitches removed but you can be sure, I’ll take them out with my teeth before letting her be sedated again. Oh Chica, thank you for not dying on me!
The story’s not over yet. You didn’t think it was over yet, did you? It couldn’t possibly be over yet!
Remember, I had an appointment to get Chico neutered? Oh yeah, back to the hospital we go. I am in a VERY fragile state come Monday morning. The vet whose house I had taken Chica to on Friday night assured me he would be the one to do Chico’s neutering. He had studied in France, his English was excellent and he was extremely compassionate. He had offered several apologies at his house and at the hospital again on Monday in reference to what happened to Chica. I stood there as he attempted to get information out of the students as to what actually happened to her but he got nothing. He shook his head after talking with them, offered me another apology, and said that while it was his colleague who stitched her up, no one seemed to be able to give him a clear story on dosages, what happened, or why. Scary.
Okay, so Chico. A shaking, clingy boy and yep, of course I’m in tears. In an attempt to ease my anxiety, the vet allowed me to bring Chico into the operating room and I was there as they tied him with ropes, spread eagle on his little back and gave him an injection. The vet ordered and administered everything just to be on the safe side. I watched as Chico’s pupils grew enormous and black then glass over – oh no! Oh no! Oh no! He assured me all was fine. I looked away and paced.
Why am I in this room? I can’t handle this! This shouldn’t be about me but I obviously can’t handle this! Just before he sliced into poor little Chico’s balls, the vet looked up at me, smiled, and said “Be calm.” Too late, buddy, too late.
This poor cat wriggled despite being unable to make a sound and was obviously able to feel what was happening. 30 minutes dragged on for hours. I was thoroughly nauseous at the thought of this sweet cat being needlessly tortured and I was responsible for it. While they all assured me that this was the safest way to treat him, all I could think of was grabbing him and running. I’m sorry, I kept whispering to Chico, I’m so, so sorry.
By the time I got Chico back to his house, he was already starting to wiggle about and seemed to be in a much better state than Chica was. When I came back to check on him that night after school, all was right in his world other than a sore bottom. Follow up visits and reports have all been incredibly positive. He is a very strong little cat and has recovered exceptionally well despite being awake when his balls were sliced off. Oh Chico cat, I’m so, so sorry.
And as I write this, Chica is laid out flat on her back on my bed, four paws in the air, sound asleep. She can run, jump, and see perfectly well. It has been a long week but a shaved and stitched leg are all that remain from her trauma a week ago. Amazing, amazing, amazing. Please, please, please let that be the end of our kitty traumas, my heart can’t take much more.
As for anyone who is interested in becoming a vet, please feel free to set up shop in Indonesia. Wow, are you ever needed here.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Friday, November 4, 2011
Racing bulls - who knew?
Animals are involved in so many cultural rituals the world over. Some are for good luck, others for entertainment, and others still for food and feasting. I’m not sure that I will ever find peace or a middle ground that will allow me to appreciate a cultural experience without my heart breaking for the animals involved in the process. I continue to be ridiculously fortunate in finding opportunities to be part of truly fascinating experiences so I share my stories and attempt to leave the soap box for a later time. Oh my goodness, I spent a weekend at the bull races.
How can you tell when it’s going to be a fantastic weekend? When it all starts off with a ROAD TRIP and said road trip is my first ever on my motorbike! YESSSSSS!!! Kat & Jon are two adventurer extrordinaires going on their 3rd year here in Surabaya. They had very graciously invited me to check out the (in)famous bull races on the island of Madura, just over that ginormous bridge off the edge of Surabaya where much missed Xenia took me on my very first real motorbike ride (still miss you, Xen!) a few months back. They had been to the races last year and said it is a fascinating, albeit intense, experience, one not to be missed. And yes, we would be taking our bikes. I’m IN!
A brilliant, whizzing 3 hour ride to the far side of Madura zooming over the frightening and exhilarating bridge, along the coast, through small villages, and navigating around jam-packed, traffic stopped local markets full of thoroughly distressed livestock heading towards their demise. My first long ride, my first super speedy ride (well only 80kms/hr but 80 kph on a bike feels like at least double that!), my first real let ‘er loose go on a bike and no big surprise… LOVED IT! I would have been happy enough to turn my baby around and drive all the way back again but no, no, no… we have some fancy cows and bulls to see so hotel found, quick shower had, and we ventured back out to the sweating heat of midday Indonesia to find us some culture. Here we go.
Not sure of the history of it all but essentially it looks like things progressed from a bored farmer gazing at his yoked animals plowing the field and thinking hmmm… fear makes them run, who doesn’t like really loud and varied types of noise, and dressing animals up makes me giggle, SO! let’s make an event of it all. Oh heaven help us, an event has been made of it all.
A short, sweaty walk to the festivities and we pushed and shoved our way into an overcrowded fair ground where several teams had their prized cows (I’m pretty sure they were all cows) dolled up, harnessed up, and on display while they took turns parading and prancing around the grounds (people and animals) showing off their moves and costumes. I really don’t know how to explain it. As the dressed up cows are marched through the crowds, a group of performing musicians and dancers trail behind them in their team outfit / uniforms. Two very made up girls lead the musical, dancing group gyrating, grinding, and swaggering while taking money from outstretched hands. Very sassy, provocative, interesting. Never did get the answer on if they were “dancing” for money or offering other services or where the money ends up going but… wow, Indonesia. Apparently Madura is well known for its “talented” women. Yes, ask someone in Surabaya about the women in Madura and you get a cheeky grin. The women in Madura are very proud of their “talents”.
The noise of these endless performers, the sheer number of people crammed in on top of each other, the pounding heat aggravating the smells of trampled hay and general fairground odors and the nonstop staring, touching, and attempts to photograph the strange white folk was interesting at first, entertaining and amusing, a novelty to be enjoyed, however the endearing nature of it all eventually wore thin as the hours ticked by. After several photos and litres of sweat drained, I was ready for a nap. Culture is fascinating but I needed a break from the endless intensity of it all. Thankfully, Kat was on the same page as me.
A lovely stroll and a much needed cold drink break followed by a comatose like nap and we were ready to explore bullrace Madura by night. After a lovely dinner in a beautiful, newly opened local restaurant where escaping a zombie attack was a main topic of conversation, our evening goal: the Eternal Flame. Not kidding you. So the Bangles tune of the same name was being belted out full volume as we hopped back on the bikes and made our way to where the Flame was to be found. Sadly, the road took us to a florescent lit tourist trap; our sought after amazing natural phenomenon defeated by the commercialism of it all. Gas seeps out of the ground and there are constant orange and blue flames burning and dancing directly out of the dirt. Interesting but sadly diminished by the glaring lights and vendor stands. A few inquiries made and apparently there was SECOND Eternal Flame burning bright in a less public area. 5 minutes down the road and we found ourselves stumbling through the middle of a deserted farmer’s field in the inky dark of night with stars sparkling overhead as we followed the blue glow of … yes!... a real, BLUE Eternal Flame!
Now THIS was cool! No one around as we danced, sang, and jumped around this dusty field that was ON FIRE! Not burning, just small flames flaring out of cracks in the ground. When we poked around with a stick or overturned a rock, there’d be a poof of flame or the direction of the blue would change or it would extinguish itself and escape from another crack in the ground somewhere else. SO eerie! SO amazing! A really, really interesting place. We were there forever as photos were attempted, UFOs were spotted several times overhead, and The Bangles was sung on repeat. Too much fun. Partying at the Gates of Hell… good, good times! Next stop… off to see if the bull race party was still happening…
No small surprise that the intensity of the evening was still full-on as we stopped by to take in the stage performance of dancers and singers. Simple me was happy as could be after finding a true blue cotton candy vendor. So as the three of us munched on sweet, fluffy nothingness, we soaked in hot, sweaty Madura by night. What a full, fun day. And we still have Sunday, the RACES to see yet! WOW!
So Sunday arrives and I think I’m ready for this. Yeah, as always, I was wrong.
The sheer number of people in any given space is suffocating, overwhelming, panic-inducing, utter chaos. Lining up is unheard of, pushing, shoving, stepping on & over, elbowing, grabbing, just barbaric disregard for another is the only way of getting from point A to point B, apparently. I will never, ever get used to this. Never. We didn’t hesitate to pull the white kid privilege card as it got us in a side entrance and out of the smothering crowds. Once inside, the rodeo atmosphere was exciting; dusty, dirty, cowboy town. The hats alone were fantastically entertaining. Just no words. Jon & Kat were on a mission, they knew where they were going and what they wanted to do and see as follow up from last year. I was quite happy to tag along, camera in hand. Again, being white folk, we were invited into people’s tents as they prepared their fancied up bulls for the races, singing and playing music and generally pumping them up (I guess???) The center of the grounds was a massive, football field sized enclosed grassy area where two sets of two bulls raced from one end to the other with a small teenaged boy (!!!) “controlling” them from a latched on piece of flimsy wood dangling behind the two massive creatures. Oh dear gawd… what are we doing here???
Details are irrelevant as of course the bulls are whipped and other various things are done to work them up enough to race full speed the length of the arena (something that they quite obviously don’t naturally do). We were granted special access to the INSIDE of the arena, where the bulls were raced, so we could take photos. At one point, I stopped, looked at Kat, and the full realization of what we were doing smacked me in the head. Should the bulls decide to do their own thing, we were in the middle of a wide open fenced in area surrounded by thousands of people who we would somehow have to climb up and over should there be a need for escape. The coolest place to be, but yeah, definitely the dumbest. Nothing like a little danger to make the atmosphere and photographs worth it. Excellent.
That being said however, we were hanging out at the starting gate. At the very far end of the arena, the finish line, hundreds of people crammed in to stand in the exact spots the racing bulls were rushing towards! In the distance, we could see a ripple in the crowds as they attempted to avoid being trampled by the oncoming train-speed beasts, as stopping them is obviously a bit of an effort. No media or medical care here but there MUST have been injuries if not deaths at that end. There MUST have been. I considered checking out the finish line for about half a second. Ummm… nope… I’m good here, thanks.
A couple of hours in the merciless sun watching these bulls being assaulted in the name of entertainment and my stomach started to churn. Could have been heat stroke setting in or just the sheer sadness of it all. The beasts were well cared for before and after the races; hand washed with cool water and endlessly fed and groomed but the violence and force used to get them to race, yeah, teary me. It was fascinating, I appreciated the intensity of it all, I mean there were thousands and thousands of people there to watch this incredible event, but yeah, it gets to you. Kat & Jon had arranged to speak with one of the owners and jockeys so I left them to get the inside scoop and decided to just take a little wander around the deserted streets.
Some serious elbowing (I have been blessed with superbly sharp and effective elbows) eventually got me through the solid mass of ogling slack-jaws and I was out on the streets. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Too. Many. People.
Wandering the nearly empty streets was perfect. Saw some amazing kids just being kids and enjoyed the relative silence of some domestic back alley ways. Another kind of culture equally as fascinating for me.
Regrouped back at the hotel and a mid afternoon departure back to the big city. Another exhilarating ride on the bike, crossing a beautifully lit up bridge just after the sunset, and tying up a wonderfully interesting weekend with two wonderfully interesting new friends. There is never a shortage of things to do or see here. Lucky, lucky me.
How can you tell when it’s going to be a fantastic weekend? When it all starts off with a ROAD TRIP and said road trip is my first ever on my motorbike! YESSSSSS!!! Kat & Jon are two adventurer extrordinaires going on their 3rd year here in Surabaya. They had very graciously invited me to check out the (in)famous bull races on the island of Madura, just over that ginormous bridge off the edge of Surabaya where much missed Xenia took me on my very first real motorbike ride (still miss you, Xen!) a few months back. They had been to the races last year and said it is a fascinating, albeit intense, experience, one not to be missed. And yes, we would be taking our bikes. I’m IN!
A brilliant, whizzing 3 hour ride to the far side of Madura zooming over the frightening and exhilarating bridge, along the coast, through small villages, and navigating around jam-packed, traffic stopped local markets full of thoroughly distressed livestock heading towards their demise. My first long ride, my first super speedy ride (well only 80kms/hr but 80 kph on a bike feels like at least double that!), my first real let ‘er loose go on a bike and no big surprise… LOVED IT! I would have been happy enough to turn my baby around and drive all the way back again but no, no, no… we have some fancy cows and bulls to see so hotel found, quick shower had, and we ventured back out to the sweating heat of midday Indonesia to find us some culture. Here we go.
Not sure of the history of it all but essentially it looks like things progressed from a bored farmer gazing at his yoked animals plowing the field and thinking hmmm… fear makes them run, who doesn’t like really loud and varied types of noise, and dressing animals up makes me giggle, SO! let’s make an event of it all. Oh heaven help us, an event has been made of it all.
A short, sweaty walk to the festivities and we pushed and shoved our way into an overcrowded fair ground where several teams had their prized cows (I’m pretty sure they were all cows) dolled up, harnessed up, and on display while they took turns parading and prancing around the grounds (people and animals) showing off their moves and costumes. I really don’t know how to explain it. As the dressed up cows are marched through the crowds, a group of performing musicians and dancers trail behind them in their team outfit / uniforms. Two very made up girls lead the musical, dancing group gyrating, grinding, and swaggering while taking money from outstretched hands. Very sassy, provocative, interesting. Never did get the answer on if they were “dancing” for money or offering other services or where the money ends up going but… wow, Indonesia. Apparently Madura is well known for its “talented” women. Yes, ask someone in Surabaya about the women in Madura and you get a cheeky grin. The women in Madura are very proud of their “talents”.
The noise of these endless performers, the sheer number of people crammed in on top of each other, the pounding heat aggravating the smells of trampled hay and general fairground odors and the nonstop staring, touching, and attempts to photograph the strange white folk was interesting at first, entertaining and amusing, a novelty to be enjoyed, however the endearing nature of it all eventually wore thin as the hours ticked by. After several photos and litres of sweat drained, I was ready for a nap. Culture is fascinating but I needed a break from the endless intensity of it all. Thankfully, Kat was on the same page as me.
A lovely stroll and a much needed cold drink break followed by a comatose like nap and we were ready to explore bullrace Madura by night. After a lovely dinner in a beautiful, newly opened local restaurant where escaping a zombie attack was a main topic of conversation, our evening goal: the Eternal Flame. Not kidding you. So the Bangles tune of the same name was being belted out full volume as we hopped back on the bikes and made our way to where the Flame was to be found. Sadly, the road took us to a florescent lit tourist trap; our sought after amazing natural phenomenon defeated by the commercialism of it all. Gas seeps out of the ground and there are constant orange and blue flames burning and dancing directly out of the dirt. Interesting but sadly diminished by the glaring lights and vendor stands. A few inquiries made and apparently there was SECOND Eternal Flame burning bright in a less public area. 5 minutes down the road and we found ourselves stumbling through the middle of a deserted farmer’s field in the inky dark of night with stars sparkling overhead as we followed the blue glow of … yes!... a real, BLUE Eternal Flame!
Now THIS was cool! No one around as we danced, sang, and jumped around this dusty field that was ON FIRE! Not burning, just small flames flaring out of cracks in the ground. When we poked around with a stick or overturned a rock, there’d be a poof of flame or the direction of the blue would change or it would extinguish itself and escape from another crack in the ground somewhere else. SO eerie! SO amazing! A really, really interesting place. We were there forever as photos were attempted, UFOs were spotted several times overhead, and The Bangles was sung on repeat. Too much fun. Partying at the Gates of Hell… good, good times! Next stop… off to see if the bull race party was still happening…
No small surprise that the intensity of the evening was still full-on as we stopped by to take in the stage performance of dancers and singers. Simple me was happy as could be after finding a true blue cotton candy vendor. So as the three of us munched on sweet, fluffy nothingness, we soaked in hot, sweaty Madura by night. What a full, fun day. And we still have Sunday, the RACES to see yet! WOW!
So Sunday arrives and I think I’m ready for this. Yeah, as always, I was wrong.
The sheer number of people in any given space is suffocating, overwhelming, panic-inducing, utter chaos. Lining up is unheard of, pushing, shoving, stepping on & over, elbowing, grabbing, just barbaric disregard for another is the only way of getting from point A to point B, apparently. I will never, ever get used to this. Never. We didn’t hesitate to pull the white kid privilege card as it got us in a side entrance and out of the smothering crowds. Once inside, the rodeo atmosphere was exciting; dusty, dirty, cowboy town. The hats alone were fantastically entertaining. Just no words. Jon & Kat were on a mission, they knew where they were going and what they wanted to do and see as follow up from last year. I was quite happy to tag along, camera in hand. Again, being white folk, we were invited into people’s tents as they prepared their fancied up bulls for the races, singing and playing music and generally pumping them up (I guess???) The center of the grounds was a massive, football field sized enclosed grassy area where two sets of two bulls raced from one end to the other with a small teenaged boy (!!!) “controlling” them from a latched on piece of flimsy wood dangling behind the two massive creatures. Oh dear gawd… what are we doing here???
Details are irrelevant as of course the bulls are whipped and other various things are done to work them up enough to race full speed the length of the arena (something that they quite obviously don’t naturally do). We were granted special access to the INSIDE of the arena, where the bulls were raced, so we could take photos. At one point, I stopped, looked at Kat, and the full realization of what we were doing smacked me in the head. Should the bulls decide to do their own thing, we were in the middle of a wide open fenced in area surrounded by thousands of people who we would somehow have to climb up and over should there be a need for escape. The coolest place to be, but yeah, definitely the dumbest. Nothing like a little danger to make the atmosphere and photographs worth it. Excellent.
That being said however, we were hanging out at the starting gate. At the very far end of the arena, the finish line, hundreds of people crammed in to stand in the exact spots the racing bulls were rushing towards! In the distance, we could see a ripple in the crowds as they attempted to avoid being trampled by the oncoming train-speed beasts, as stopping them is obviously a bit of an effort. No media or medical care here but there MUST have been injuries if not deaths at that end. There MUST have been. I considered checking out the finish line for about half a second. Ummm… nope… I’m good here, thanks.
A couple of hours in the merciless sun watching these bulls being assaulted in the name of entertainment and my stomach started to churn. Could have been heat stroke setting in or just the sheer sadness of it all. The beasts were well cared for before and after the races; hand washed with cool water and endlessly fed and groomed but the violence and force used to get them to race, yeah, teary me. It was fascinating, I appreciated the intensity of it all, I mean there were thousands and thousands of people there to watch this incredible event, but yeah, it gets to you. Kat & Jon had arranged to speak with one of the owners and jockeys so I left them to get the inside scoop and decided to just take a little wander around the deserted streets.
Some serious elbowing (I have been blessed with superbly sharp and effective elbows) eventually got me through the solid mass of ogling slack-jaws and I was out on the streets. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Too. Many. People.
Wandering the nearly empty streets was perfect. Saw some amazing kids just being kids and enjoyed the relative silence of some domestic back alley ways. Another kind of culture equally as fascinating for me.
Regrouped back at the hotel and a mid afternoon departure back to the big city. Another exhilarating ride on the bike, crossing a beautifully lit up bridge just after the sunset, and tying up a wonderfully interesting weekend with two wonderfully interesting new friends. There is never a shortage of things to do or see here. Lucky, lucky me.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Meno Madness
In addition to the incredibly unique and perhaps somewhat random events that light my way as I stumble through what my prankster universe continues to lob my way, there are occasional coincidences, paths crossing and re-crossing, that make me happier than I’m sure I deserve to be. My week-long holiday at the beginning of October was all about taking full advantage of one of those path re-crossings. I was off to Gili Meno.
The Gili islands are 3 small islands between Bali and Lombok. “Island” being a relative term here in a country consisting of anywhere from 17,000 – 18,000+ islands. Irrelevant. A few short weeks after I arrived in Surabaya in July, a sweetheart South African friend from Mozambique became the latest and greatest dive instructor on the island of Gili Meno, the smallest, quietest, and least developed of these 3 small islands. Too far for me to travel to on a weekend but perfect for a week long holiday. After a quickly bought plane ticket and an agonizing wait, I was off to fill a Mozambican void that had been tearing at my heart since I left that beloved country far too long ago.
My first term ended and I was facing a few significant changes. As I had mentioned previously, my instant friend Xenia was departing for cold lands far away and I was moving into a new house (more on that later). Bittersweet emotions as the Friday night came to a close. Now yes, most of you know that I tend to be excitable at sometimes small things but rarely am I ‘can’t sleep like a kid on Christmas Eve, running around the house, can’t stop moving, need to get there NOW’ excited. THIS is exactly how I was anticipating my upcoming holiday to Gili Meno. I had booked the first flight out on the Saturday morning, placing me on the beach for early afternoon. Let’s get this party started.
A small newspaper article the previous week happened to mention that October 1st, the day I was to fly into Lombok, was the opening day of the new airport. Oh shit. I’ve played this game before. This is not going to go well.
Waiting at the airport, I watched as my flight went from 30 minutes delayed to almost 2 & ½ hours. Perfect weather, no cause for concern. I’m thinking they were simply busy brushing the remaining cows and villagers who used to live on what I was convinced was a grass landing airstrip off their former homeland. Sigh. I’m on holiday. No need to freak out. I’m on my way, that’s a good thing. Forward motion, forward motion, forward motion.
Arrived in Lombok and was greeted by a newly opened airport which means that it is nowhere near ready to be open. Found out that instead of it being a 45 minute ride to the harbor, it is now an hour and a half (if all goes well) ride to the harbor. Annoying taxi touts tried their hand at getting me to shell out a week’s worth of accommodation prices to get me to the harbor while I plopped my tired, no-sleep ass on a local bus and waited for it to take me to where several people assured me it would take me, the old airport bus stop, so I could make my way from there. *sigh* I never ever learn.
The ridiculously long bus ride takes me to a random town and stops on the side of a random rundown street. Finished. Everyone out. I’m sorry, pardon me? Bus station that way. Bus to harbor, right? You said bus to harbor. Oh. No, no. No bus to harbor. Taxi. Only taxi to harbor. F**k. So it was on. Assaulted on all sides as they closed in like vultures. Backpack is a flashing red neon light – I’m screwed. It is now midday sun, in Indonesia. Smile and nod, argue and haggle, smile and laugh, work it… work it. I finally convince one of the bemo drivers (a broken down minivan that is the usual means of local public transport) to take just me directly to the harbor without picking anyone up. Let’s go. Bless his heart this man made every attempt under the sun to chat with me, in the kindest, most innocent of ways, but by this point I simply had nothing left. I stared out the window, soaked in the wonders of where I was, and pretended that I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. Sorry sir, I just can’t do it today.
A hot, sweaty ride drops me at the entrance to Hell. Bangsal harbor, the departure point to get to the Gili Islands, is well known for the aggressive, horrible, evil shitesters who have done its reputation proud. As soon as I was on the radar, the game was on.
There are scheduled public boats that run but they are very infrequent. I was told I would have to wait 2 & ½ hours for the next boat, at 5:30pm. What else could I do? Oh yeah, get swindled. There are festering nests of slithering vermin prowling around offering to take you on their private boat whenever you’re ready to go. Asking insane prices then yelling at me when I declined their oh so generous offers was starting to take its toll. At one point I was talking to the girl who books the public boats asking about any earlier options when one of the rat pack came up and started freaking out on me. I’m not even sure what he was yelling about, saying something along the lines of if I want to go earlier I have to go with him but he’s not going to take me because I wouldn’t give him money earlier and some other random crazy talk. I stared at him, open-mouthed, shaking my head in utter confusion. I quietly thanked him for his offer (?!?!?) and said that while I had no idea what he was talking about, I was quite happy to wait until 5:30pm. He continued his rant until he got tired and then stomped off. Only at this point did I notice two white guys sitting just behind where the crazy guy was standing. One of them looked up from his seat and asked me if everything was okay. Ummm, yeah, thanks dumbass, speak up now that he’s gone. Not that I can’t handle my own, because I can, but really, yeah. I got it covered.
Ended up getting repeatedly approached and hassled and endlessly impatient. I paid 5 times what I should have paid but convinced myself to be okay with it just to get me out of that place and to the blissful beaches of Gili Meno. Yep, fell eyes wide open into their trap but simply didn’t care.
Meno! Hopped off the boat, turned left, walked 50 meters along a broken and sandy cobblestone “main road” and squealed at first glimpse of that bright, white beacon… Bags thrown to the ground…. Darrrrrrrryyyyyynnnnnnn!!!
I couldn’t stop bouncing as he showed me around his new shop and I had to keep poking at him to make sure he was real. That South African accent, that feeling of “Oh my gosh! I KNOW you!” The dive shop, the sights and sounds, the sand and sea just right there. It wasn’t Tofo, but it was. My whole life fell back into place. I have needed this.
He was able to wiggle out of work early to take me on the little village tour to his local house and then we found our way to the opposite side of the island (a 15 minute walk, it’s THAT small) just in time to watch a much appreciated sunset. Am I really here? Are you really here? Another place, a different life but I’m sitting here chatting with you. I love my life.
I have missed Africa desperately, painfully, physically somedays, so to see this face, to hear this voice, to be in this company filled a hole in my heart that has been there since my bizarre departure almost 7 months ago. I was at peace. Darryn has a perfect little house in the middle of a sparsely populated village. There are no vehicles on the island, there is one small bar representing the local nightlife, and the chickens, cows, goats, and children all run free. The beaches are near deserted, the water is clear, the diving is spectacular, and I settled right in. THIS is what I needed.
Darryn had to go to Singapore for a few days in the middle of my visit but not once did I feel alone. I spent time with the other people who work at his shop, SO nice!, three of the other teachers I work with came over for a couple of days, and I was under the sea. I very quickly took over Darryn’s life while he was away and was quite happy to carry on that way. I'm not meant for the city, I'm not meant for crazy corporate chaos, I'm not meant for concrete and flashing lights… I am meant for this.
A few slight mishaps to prove that my while my heart was on Meno, my brain was left in Surabaya. Hmmm… to share or not to share? Oh gawd, why not!?
The “party island”, as the Gilis are a string of three with Meno being the middle, mellow one, is Gili Trawangan or Gili “T”. You MUST hire a boat to get between the mainland and any of the islands. Too far to swim and vicious currents. But, boats are hard to come by, as we’ve already discussed. When the urge to socialize with more than the handful of people you work with hits you, you have to convince someone with a flash of cash to take you over to the party island in their boat. The Friday night before my departure was a last minute lets go! A dozen eager beavers on a bit of a splashy ride over and we arrived in tourism central. Even though there are still no vehicles on this island, I was overwhelmed by the endless stream of bars, restaurants, shops, lights, people, chaos. There was not one bit of unoccupied or quiet space. This was party central.
We made our way to the dance scene; the typical night of drinks and dancing ensued. Too much fun. Later, much much later, Darryn and I found each other amid the crowds of new friends and figured that we should probably try to make our way back to where the boat was and wait for whenever whoever was ready to take us back to Meno. At some point, I fell asleep on the beach and apparently he did too. I remember being startled awake to two shadows standing over me (nightmares from Tanzania!) and in an instant I was up and they were running.
I looked around, my bag was gone. My money, my phone, my cards, my bag. Gone. Darryn! Wake up! Someone just stole my bag! Dazed and confused he was up and wandering towards people shouting for us to get on the boat, as it was leaving, while I was running the opposite way determined to get my bag back. The next thing I knew, Darryn was gone, the boat was gone, there was no trace of whoever I thought was standing over me, and the sun was coming up. I was stranded.
A bit on the frantic side, I was up and down, up and down, up and down the beachfront. Several incredibly kind people stopped and attempted to be helpful but with no cash and the public boats not running until 9am, I was out of options. NO! NO! NO! I need to get back. I don’t want to be here. Please, someone has to help me. Chug, chug, chug. In the early morning light, a massive overloaded boat groaning under the strain of building materials and who knows what else came puttering up to shore. I flew out to them like a madwoman and a very sweet local man who was trying to sort me out followed with translation so they didn’t think I was some lunatic pirate bent on stealing their broken down cargo ship. After MUCH pleading, they turned their boat around and agreed to bring me across the water to Meno. It’s so close, really, 20 minutes, but massive pain in the ass. I cried tears of appreciation, making them all the more uncomfortable. Nicely done, Janice. Nicely done.
As we approached Meno, they told me that the tide was too low for their big boat so I’d have to walk. Ummm… what? sorry, you walk now. So I hopped off the boat, in my jeans, water up to my boobs, and trudged through the warm morning sea to the far side of the island that I needed to get to, mainly to murder Darryn for leaving me on Gili T. Darryn lived on the OPPOSITE side of the island and I had no idea how to get to where I was going so this mad as a wet hen (quite literally) stomped her way round half the island, recognizing some of the staring and questioning faces in the fully risen sunlight as I had been there a week already and like I said, it was a small island. Grrrr!!!!
SLAMMED into his house and attempted to drown my friend in fits of fury but quickly fell into helpless laughter. DARRYN! YOU LEFT ME!!! Janice, you always figure something out, you made it back didn’t you? SHUT UP! YOU LEFT ME!!! Did you have fun? SHUT UP! YOU LEFT ME! MY BAG GOT STOLEN AND YOU LEFT ME! Did you make it back? SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!!! Doesn’t it feel a little like Tofo all over again? And I was done. Just another one of those nights. Arriving at the dive shop later that day I was shocked into silence to see my bag sitting on a chair. Apparently in my dancing frenzy, I had placed my bag on the floor in front of me. One of the boys, knowing the islands all too well, knew what would happen so he shouldered my bag for the rest of the night and brought it safely back. Those two shadows standing over me? Who knows. Oh my life, my life, my life.
Hang on, this isn’t the end. It does get better…
With a heavy heart and another swipe of swindling, I set off on a boat to make my way back to city living on Sunday afternoon. I had booked the last flight out so I could get in as much beach time as possible. I arrived at the airport around 4pm and attempted to check in. The sweet attendant slid my e-ticket back to me with a sympathetic smile as she pointed to the date she had circled. My flight was the day before. I just stood there, blinking, blank, frozen. I looked at her and she gestured over to the airline offices. Who does this? Who misses their flight by an entire day? I was SURE, I checked and double checked. WHO DOES THIS?! And SNAP! I was in problem solving mode.
I marched up and down a very small hallway with four kiosks of airlines trying to figure out how to get back to Surabaya. After a crash course in wheeling, dealing, and fast talking, I was introduced to a tour guide who had 3 no shows. I could buy someone else’s ticket. Done. He checked in my bag, I smiled my way through security under a fake name, and the plane door closed behind me. But this was only to Jakarta (and hour and a half PAST my destination). Once in Jakarta, I had to wait almost 5 hours to catch a flight back to Surabaya. I paid about $100 for my original return flight, I paid another $200 for that last minute trip back. Holy eff. WHO DOES THAT?!?!?
But all being said and finally done, I made a quick stop at my “old house”, picked up a few remaining boxes and arrived at my new home just after midnight to start my new term with the same bittersweet emotions of the week previous; missing a life by the sea, where I’m meant to be, but looking forward to the new adventures of a new term with some pretty fabulous new friends. My rollercoaster never, ever ends.
Thank you, dearest Darryn, for opening your home to me and for reconnecting my heart with what it has been so desperately missing. Trouble, terrific times, Tofo. Thank you, my boy, thank you. And my incredible universe... carry on, carry on.
The Gili islands are 3 small islands between Bali and Lombok. “Island” being a relative term here in a country consisting of anywhere from 17,000 – 18,000+ islands. Irrelevant. A few short weeks after I arrived in Surabaya in July, a sweetheart South African friend from Mozambique became the latest and greatest dive instructor on the island of Gili Meno, the smallest, quietest, and least developed of these 3 small islands. Too far for me to travel to on a weekend but perfect for a week long holiday. After a quickly bought plane ticket and an agonizing wait, I was off to fill a Mozambican void that had been tearing at my heart since I left that beloved country far too long ago.
My first term ended and I was facing a few significant changes. As I had mentioned previously, my instant friend Xenia was departing for cold lands far away and I was moving into a new house (more on that later). Bittersweet emotions as the Friday night came to a close. Now yes, most of you know that I tend to be excitable at sometimes small things but rarely am I ‘can’t sleep like a kid on Christmas Eve, running around the house, can’t stop moving, need to get there NOW’ excited. THIS is exactly how I was anticipating my upcoming holiday to Gili Meno. I had booked the first flight out on the Saturday morning, placing me on the beach for early afternoon. Let’s get this party started.
A small newspaper article the previous week happened to mention that October 1st, the day I was to fly into Lombok, was the opening day of the new airport. Oh shit. I’ve played this game before. This is not going to go well.
Waiting at the airport, I watched as my flight went from 30 minutes delayed to almost 2 & ½ hours. Perfect weather, no cause for concern. I’m thinking they were simply busy brushing the remaining cows and villagers who used to live on what I was convinced was a grass landing airstrip off their former homeland. Sigh. I’m on holiday. No need to freak out. I’m on my way, that’s a good thing. Forward motion, forward motion, forward motion.
Arrived in Lombok and was greeted by a newly opened airport which means that it is nowhere near ready to be open. Found out that instead of it being a 45 minute ride to the harbor, it is now an hour and a half (if all goes well) ride to the harbor. Annoying taxi touts tried their hand at getting me to shell out a week’s worth of accommodation prices to get me to the harbor while I plopped my tired, no-sleep ass on a local bus and waited for it to take me to where several people assured me it would take me, the old airport bus stop, so I could make my way from there. *sigh* I never ever learn.
The ridiculously long bus ride takes me to a random town and stops on the side of a random rundown street. Finished. Everyone out. I’m sorry, pardon me? Bus station that way. Bus to harbor, right? You said bus to harbor. Oh. No, no. No bus to harbor. Taxi. Only taxi to harbor. F**k. So it was on. Assaulted on all sides as they closed in like vultures. Backpack is a flashing red neon light – I’m screwed. It is now midday sun, in Indonesia. Smile and nod, argue and haggle, smile and laugh, work it… work it. I finally convince one of the bemo drivers (a broken down minivan that is the usual means of local public transport) to take just me directly to the harbor without picking anyone up. Let’s go. Bless his heart this man made every attempt under the sun to chat with me, in the kindest, most innocent of ways, but by this point I simply had nothing left. I stared out the window, soaked in the wonders of where I was, and pretended that I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. Sorry sir, I just can’t do it today.
A hot, sweaty ride drops me at the entrance to Hell. Bangsal harbor, the departure point to get to the Gili Islands, is well known for the aggressive, horrible, evil shitesters who have done its reputation proud. As soon as I was on the radar, the game was on.
There are scheduled public boats that run but they are very infrequent. I was told I would have to wait 2 & ½ hours for the next boat, at 5:30pm. What else could I do? Oh yeah, get swindled. There are festering nests of slithering vermin prowling around offering to take you on their private boat whenever you’re ready to go. Asking insane prices then yelling at me when I declined their oh so generous offers was starting to take its toll. At one point I was talking to the girl who books the public boats asking about any earlier options when one of the rat pack came up and started freaking out on me. I’m not even sure what he was yelling about, saying something along the lines of if I want to go earlier I have to go with him but he’s not going to take me because I wouldn’t give him money earlier and some other random crazy talk. I stared at him, open-mouthed, shaking my head in utter confusion. I quietly thanked him for his offer (?!?!?) and said that while I had no idea what he was talking about, I was quite happy to wait until 5:30pm. He continued his rant until he got tired and then stomped off. Only at this point did I notice two white guys sitting just behind where the crazy guy was standing. One of them looked up from his seat and asked me if everything was okay. Ummm, yeah, thanks dumbass, speak up now that he’s gone. Not that I can’t handle my own, because I can, but really, yeah. I got it covered.
Ended up getting repeatedly approached and hassled and endlessly impatient. I paid 5 times what I should have paid but convinced myself to be okay with it just to get me out of that place and to the blissful beaches of Gili Meno. Yep, fell eyes wide open into their trap but simply didn’t care.
Meno! Hopped off the boat, turned left, walked 50 meters along a broken and sandy cobblestone “main road” and squealed at first glimpse of that bright, white beacon… Bags thrown to the ground…. Darrrrrrrryyyyyynnnnnnn!!!
I couldn’t stop bouncing as he showed me around his new shop and I had to keep poking at him to make sure he was real. That South African accent, that feeling of “Oh my gosh! I KNOW you!” The dive shop, the sights and sounds, the sand and sea just right there. It wasn’t Tofo, but it was. My whole life fell back into place. I have needed this.
He was able to wiggle out of work early to take me on the little village tour to his local house and then we found our way to the opposite side of the island (a 15 minute walk, it’s THAT small) just in time to watch a much appreciated sunset. Am I really here? Are you really here? Another place, a different life but I’m sitting here chatting with you. I love my life.
I have missed Africa desperately, painfully, physically somedays, so to see this face, to hear this voice, to be in this company filled a hole in my heart that has been there since my bizarre departure almost 7 months ago. I was at peace. Darryn has a perfect little house in the middle of a sparsely populated village. There are no vehicles on the island, there is one small bar representing the local nightlife, and the chickens, cows, goats, and children all run free. The beaches are near deserted, the water is clear, the diving is spectacular, and I settled right in. THIS is what I needed.
Darryn had to go to Singapore for a few days in the middle of my visit but not once did I feel alone. I spent time with the other people who work at his shop, SO nice!, three of the other teachers I work with came over for a couple of days, and I was under the sea. I very quickly took over Darryn’s life while he was away and was quite happy to carry on that way. I'm not meant for the city, I'm not meant for crazy corporate chaos, I'm not meant for concrete and flashing lights… I am meant for this.
A few slight mishaps to prove that my while my heart was on Meno, my brain was left in Surabaya. Hmmm… to share or not to share? Oh gawd, why not!?
The “party island”, as the Gilis are a string of three with Meno being the middle, mellow one, is Gili Trawangan or Gili “T”. You MUST hire a boat to get between the mainland and any of the islands. Too far to swim and vicious currents. But, boats are hard to come by, as we’ve already discussed. When the urge to socialize with more than the handful of people you work with hits you, you have to convince someone with a flash of cash to take you over to the party island in their boat. The Friday night before my departure was a last minute lets go! A dozen eager beavers on a bit of a splashy ride over and we arrived in tourism central. Even though there are still no vehicles on this island, I was overwhelmed by the endless stream of bars, restaurants, shops, lights, people, chaos. There was not one bit of unoccupied or quiet space. This was party central.
We made our way to the dance scene; the typical night of drinks and dancing ensued. Too much fun. Later, much much later, Darryn and I found each other amid the crowds of new friends and figured that we should probably try to make our way back to where the boat was and wait for whenever whoever was ready to take us back to Meno. At some point, I fell asleep on the beach and apparently he did too. I remember being startled awake to two shadows standing over me (nightmares from Tanzania!) and in an instant I was up and they were running.
I looked around, my bag was gone. My money, my phone, my cards, my bag. Gone. Darryn! Wake up! Someone just stole my bag! Dazed and confused he was up and wandering towards people shouting for us to get on the boat, as it was leaving, while I was running the opposite way determined to get my bag back. The next thing I knew, Darryn was gone, the boat was gone, there was no trace of whoever I thought was standing over me, and the sun was coming up. I was stranded.
A bit on the frantic side, I was up and down, up and down, up and down the beachfront. Several incredibly kind people stopped and attempted to be helpful but with no cash and the public boats not running until 9am, I was out of options. NO! NO! NO! I need to get back. I don’t want to be here. Please, someone has to help me. Chug, chug, chug. In the early morning light, a massive overloaded boat groaning under the strain of building materials and who knows what else came puttering up to shore. I flew out to them like a madwoman and a very sweet local man who was trying to sort me out followed with translation so they didn’t think I was some lunatic pirate bent on stealing their broken down cargo ship. After MUCH pleading, they turned their boat around and agreed to bring me across the water to Meno. It’s so close, really, 20 minutes, but massive pain in the ass. I cried tears of appreciation, making them all the more uncomfortable. Nicely done, Janice. Nicely done.
As we approached Meno, they told me that the tide was too low for their big boat so I’d have to walk. Ummm… what? sorry, you walk now. So I hopped off the boat, in my jeans, water up to my boobs, and trudged through the warm morning sea to the far side of the island that I needed to get to, mainly to murder Darryn for leaving me on Gili T. Darryn lived on the OPPOSITE side of the island and I had no idea how to get to where I was going so this mad as a wet hen (quite literally) stomped her way round half the island, recognizing some of the staring and questioning faces in the fully risen sunlight as I had been there a week already and like I said, it was a small island. Grrrr!!!!
SLAMMED into his house and attempted to drown my friend in fits of fury but quickly fell into helpless laughter. DARRYN! YOU LEFT ME!!! Janice, you always figure something out, you made it back didn’t you? SHUT UP! YOU LEFT ME!!! Did you have fun? SHUT UP! YOU LEFT ME! MY BAG GOT STOLEN AND YOU LEFT ME! Did you make it back? SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!!! Doesn’t it feel a little like Tofo all over again? And I was done. Just another one of those nights. Arriving at the dive shop later that day I was shocked into silence to see my bag sitting on a chair. Apparently in my dancing frenzy, I had placed my bag on the floor in front of me. One of the boys, knowing the islands all too well, knew what would happen so he shouldered my bag for the rest of the night and brought it safely back. Those two shadows standing over me? Who knows. Oh my life, my life, my life.
Hang on, this isn’t the end. It does get better…
With a heavy heart and another swipe of swindling, I set off on a boat to make my way back to city living on Sunday afternoon. I had booked the last flight out so I could get in as much beach time as possible. I arrived at the airport around 4pm and attempted to check in. The sweet attendant slid my e-ticket back to me with a sympathetic smile as she pointed to the date she had circled. My flight was the day before. I just stood there, blinking, blank, frozen. I looked at her and she gestured over to the airline offices. Who does this? Who misses their flight by an entire day? I was SURE, I checked and double checked. WHO DOES THIS?! And SNAP! I was in problem solving mode.
I marched up and down a very small hallway with four kiosks of airlines trying to figure out how to get back to Surabaya. After a crash course in wheeling, dealing, and fast talking, I was introduced to a tour guide who had 3 no shows. I could buy someone else’s ticket. Done. He checked in my bag, I smiled my way through security under a fake name, and the plane door closed behind me. But this was only to Jakarta (and hour and a half PAST my destination). Once in Jakarta, I had to wait almost 5 hours to catch a flight back to Surabaya. I paid about $100 for my original return flight, I paid another $200 for that last minute trip back. Holy eff. WHO DOES THAT?!?!?
But all being said and finally done, I made a quick stop at my “old house”, picked up a few remaining boxes and arrived at my new home just after midnight to start my new term with the same bittersweet emotions of the week previous; missing a life by the sea, where I’m meant to be, but looking forward to the new adventures of a new term with some pretty fabulous new friends. My rollercoaster never, ever ends.
Thank you, dearest Darryn, for opening your home to me and for reconnecting my heart with what it has been so desperately missing. Trouble, terrific times, Tofo. Thank you, my boy, thank you. And my incredible universe... carry on, carry on.
So much to do in Indo
Ridiculous, bizarre, amazing… these are the days of my life. I wake up to different faces, places, and countries so often that it has become so fabulously commonplace (that could sound very slutty of me, but come on now, my life’s not THAT exciting!) Things that terrified me are now daily normality, things that were on dreamy wish lists have happened without a second thought. And I keep moving and moving and moving. My “nine-to-five” is never predictable, my “boring” is strange and surreal, my answer to “what’s next?” remains a question mark. How do I stop after all this spinning? Will I ever really want to?
Despite the entertaining circus act and in constant motion nature of my questionable existence there is still the occasional cause to hesitate when I hear hints that I’m too old for this. Some days that hint shouts very, very loudly. I do know that some see me as ridiculous, a burnout, a silly old woman trying desperately to hang on to a prime that has passed me by many moons ago but then I meet people who take my breath away, I hear stories that I want to make mine, and I am part of places and spaces that leave their mark on my soul. I try to dismiss the snickering (whether real or imagined) and continue to barrel straight on. I am not travelling. I am living and learning and loving. Is it really possible to be too old for this?
Okay, enough with the melancholic mauling of what is meant to be a story-telling fiesta of my romps through this great big world. Let’s recap the last couple of months, shall we? We shall…
First and most importantly… I’m in love. A hot little redhead who isn’t afraid to move quickly and makes my heart beat a little faster every time we’re together. Our relationship is scary and exciting and something I have wanted for a very, very long time. Yes, my dear friends, I am in love with my motorbike. Don’t laugh. It’s true. It all started almost exactly 6 years ago, October 2005, when I first touched down on Thai soil and had my protected and perfect little world shaken and shattered wide open. The back of a motorbike as my TAXI ride to school?!? Are you kidding me? It didn’t take long. I was side-saddled in a skirt, bag in my lap, texting like I was born on the back of one of those babies. Seeing bits and pieces of SE Asia rocking and rolling via the back of the seat with a local hired show-you-around; always hitching rides on one whenever the need was there. Oh how I love those bikes.
Faced with having to drive one, through the nerve-shattering chaos at aggressive and impatient race-track speeds, I wasn’t sure the love affair would last, I wasn’t sure that we were meant to be after all. Why oh why I doubted you, sweet scooter motorbike, I will be forever sorry. I have only come to love you more and more and more. Despite all the near misses, my mirrors and handlebars being side-swiped on a regular basis (while in motion), having my toes stomped on by someone needing to get into those extra two inches of space I left between me and the bike in front of me, the frequent, heart-lurching sudden stops and the width of a hair cut-offs, and the regular questioning of whether is it safer for me to stop at that red light or actually continue on through it… oh wow, I do still love you. The city streets have tried to tear us apart; we do get on much better when there are wide open spaces for us to explore and oh how I look forward to many more speedy adventures with you. Good times and bad, as is the case in any relationship, but I think this is a forever thing. Lucky, lucky me.
So yes folks, I have learned to hold my own in these mean, mean, motorbike scenes. I’ll check back in with you once Red & I have had our first go with the rainy season. That will be the true test, but I think we’ll be fine, absolutely fine.
I have lucked out in the employment world, this is for sure. While I was challenged, humbled, and overwhelmed most days over the first term, I work with some incredibly talented and supremely supportive people. Kelt, the company I work for, is top-notch, truly, and if it wasn’t based smack in the middle of a very big city, I would consider settling in for a while. Alas, this isn’t the case so I will appreciate the utter ease of my current life and know I will look back on it very fondly one day. A week into second term and I am now comfortably back in my role of English teacher. While many of the older students know more about the grammatical ins and outs of why this is said that way and that is put there, I can still smile, make up some little line of bullshit and give them homework to make sure that they really understand what they’re talking about. Ah, life is good when you’re pretending to be in charge. My first term at yet another new job in yet another new country has been yet another insanity filled success in the grand scheme of things. Life is good, good, good.
That being said, second term will be a bit more challenging as we have 11 solid weeks without a holiday! Pssshaw! What the hell?! Got lucky first term as Idul Fitri was celebrated a few weeks after I arrived in but this time, nope, nothing but regular weekends until Christmas, when we get another two weeks off. Anyone feeling sorry for me yet? Yeah, don’t. If you’ve seen the photos on Facebook, even though I haven’t kept up the blog, I’ve obviously been having far too much fun here. Quick rundown of some of my local escapades…
Oh, before I move on, I must make mention of a significant loss in my Surabayan life, even though I have only been here three months. Fellow Canadian and English teacher in Indo for six years Ms. Xenia Wiens has returned to Winnipeg (ugh!) to explore her options. She was my motorbike instructor, Indonesian interpreter, school guidance counselor, tour guide, local support system, and fellow kindred spirit goofball. We spend many days and nights laughing at life and those in it. Oh how I miss my very funny, call-it-as-it-is friend. Xenia, we are all waiting for your return. Winter in Winnipeg… yeah, good luck with that.
Tracing back the tales of my Facebook photos, I’m not sure where to start. There are days that seem “normal”, as normal as things can be living here in another world, and then there are days that stop me in my tracks and that feeling of looking in on someone else’s life takes over. A couple of months back, Xenia took me on a motorbike training ride to Medura, a big island just over SE Asia’s biggest bridge, and that was one of those days. Surabaya is big and loud, dirty and crowded, all those things that sadly turn people off of Asian cities but the city does eventually end and the countryside begins and life seems to take on a whole new vibe. Across this massive and frighteningly exciting bridge is a very developed island with towns and conveniences and all that is real world but it was a rural real world. The roads were calmer, there were farming fields and wide open spaces and there were tiny, tiny villages. As Xenia and I were weaving our way through smaller and smaller roads that turned into dirt paths that soon cut through people’s front yards, we naturally were stared at and then stopped by the local welcome party. These are the days I live for.
We were joyously brought back to someone’s house where the majority of the village hangs out and through the broken (and often comical) proclamations of the spokesperson for the group, we were proudly put on display and warmly welcomed to share their hang out space. Photos were taken, of course, and more and more people were brought by to meet us. Again, not much conversation, just kind smiles and offers to sit next to this person or that. So very lovely.
Eventually the boys of the group tired of this village social setting and offered to take us to the waterfront, which we were originally looking for. Local yahoos turned tour guides put us on the back of our own bikes (!)and they drove us through some tricky rice paddy and mangrove paths to bring us to a waterfront – ish area where more photos were taken and love matches were attempted. All innocent and exceptionally funny, but yeah, we were kind of expecting that. To be honest, I did make a “Killing Fields” reference to Xenia as the two of us girls were walking through empty paddies and muddied mangroves with about 8 boy-sized men, realizing a little too late that should they decide to make trouble, we’d have a good fight on our hands. We both know the power of swinging a bike helmet full force at someone’s head though, just in case.
A long day of driving places where white faces don’t go, being invited into homes, being giggled at and waved at and generally feeling welcomed by genuine hospitality is what makes me want to continue poking along in these far off places. Pictures show nothing, it’s the feeling of “is this really my life?” that I can’t get enough of. A really, really good day.
Another random event… team building weekend for the Kelt employees at an incredibly beautiful mountain getaway, get this… free of charge. Yeah, bussed up there in screaming pumpkin orange t-shirts, subjected to horrifically cheesy moments of team building activities followed by either a “how did that make you feel” session or a full out bollocking for not taking the activity seriously enough and disrespecting ourselves and our teammates. Ummm… Indonesians should NOT do psychotherapy, under any circumstances. Ever.
Discovered that most Indonesians will find the smallest things endlessly funny and fall apart in fits of giggles for exceptionally long periods of time leaving the rest of us to wander off task or quite literally, wander off, again, warranting a bollocking for disrespecting ourselves and our teammates. Making a mistake in counting from 1 – 40 gets you a polite smile from me the first time you start laughing hysterically however it does nothing but make me want to tie my obscenely orange t-shirt tightly around my neck until my eyes pop out when it happens the 17th time and you’re still laughing about it like it’s Comedy Central. Ah, cultural difference, how I love thee.
Despite the MINOR frustrations, we were put up in the NICEST place, fed incredible food, treated so well, had a massive bonfire and wandered through stunning scenery. The grand finale… a team-building assault course of ziplines and monkey bars and general test your limits kind of stuff. Yep! THIS is what I was waiting for! Climbing harnesses on, who wants to try it first? Oops, sorry, push, shove, excuse me, excuse me, I elbowed my way to the front of the line… me! Me! ME! SO off I go. A little climb, a little balancing act, a little swinging, it looked pretty tame from the ground. Not so much once you started going through it but… LOVED it! Scary stuff for some, I want to do it AGAIN for me. Really, really good fun! And such a nice way to spend time with people I didn’t have a chance to spend much time with before. All care of Kelt. Thank you, Kelt!
Another random day… visiting this bizarre zoo/museum/amusement park area a few hours outside of the city with a busload of super duper terrific kids from a local Surabayan orphanage. Connections from someone to someone and our donation bought entrance tickets and rented buses for about 40 kids for the day. Wasn’t really sure what to expect, but yep, fell in love. Got my two little buddies who were fairly unsure of what to make of this far too excited white girl but they soon forgave me my giddiness and accepted the endless photo ops and attempts to interact with them. They were amazing. As we explored the cool creepy crawlies pinned and posed under glass in the museum, visited with the real life creepy crawlies in the zoo, and goofed around in the activity park, I was in love. From the belly laughing, these kids were so good to each other, so polite and easy to manage, so appreciative of small things… yeah, exhausting, incredible, so exactly perfect. Future outings? Count me in! How lucky am I?!
And yes, since I’ve been here, not one but TWO diving holidays. *sigh* Rough, I know.
First one, ultimate dive destination, Bunaken, Northern Sulawesi with three other teachers. I was pretty darn excited (shocking, I know) and wanted to plan and book things for the week (even MORE shocking, yes) but no, no, let’s just wing it. After arriving on the island and spending MANY hours walking around trying to sort out a place to stay and (damn you guys!) a place to dive, they conceded to my wrath and agreed that winging it on THE busiest holiday week in Indonesia maybe wasn’t the best plan. No worries however as in the end, we found places to lay our heads and people to take us under the sea.
A VERY chilled out week spending time with some fabulous new friends. The diving, yeah, I’ve been spoiled. The weather wasn’t super cooperative but the diving, stunning. And one of my most favourite things to do is to be part of new divers experiencing the world that has taken over my life. Absolutely love it. So much fun for me. On a completely selfish note… Winner for the week… one dive: 9 black tip reef sharks. Fist pumps, yeehaws, flipping out of my mind. You could hear my screams of excitement on the surface. Well done, Bunaken, well done. I hope to be back someday. Sadly because I’m writing from memory (which is full of holes and thoroughly pathetic), I’ve lost what I’m sure are some great stories. My latest diving holiday however is still fresh in my mind so I’m going to dedicate an entire entry all on its own to my week in & around The Gilis Islands. Keep reading folks….
Despite the entertaining circus act and in constant motion nature of my questionable existence there is still the occasional cause to hesitate when I hear hints that I’m too old for this. Some days that hint shouts very, very loudly. I do know that some see me as ridiculous, a burnout, a silly old woman trying desperately to hang on to a prime that has passed me by many moons ago but then I meet people who take my breath away, I hear stories that I want to make mine, and I am part of places and spaces that leave their mark on my soul. I try to dismiss the snickering (whether real or imagined) and continue to barrel straight on. I am not travelling. I am living and learning and loving. Is it really possible to be too old for this?
Okay, enough with the melancholic mauling of what is meant to be a story-telling fiesta of my romps through this great big world. Let’s recap the last couple of months, shall we? We shall…
First and most importantly… I’m in love. A hot little redhead who isn’t afraid to move quickly and makes my heart beat a little faster every time we’re together. Our relationship is scary and exciting and something I have wanted for a very, very long time. Yes, my dear friends, I am in love with my motorbike. Don’t laugh. It’s true. It all started almost exactly 6 years ago, October 2005, when I first touched down on Thai soil and had my protected and perfect little world shaken and shattered wide open. The back of a motorbike as my TAXI ride to school?!? Are you kidding me? It didn’t take long. I was side-saddled in a skirt, bag in my lap, texting like I was born on the back of one of those babies. Seeing bits and pieces of SE Asia rocking and rolling via the back of the seat with a local hired show-you-around; always hitching rides on one whenever the need was there. Oh how I love those bikes.
Faced with having to drive one, through the nerve-shattering chaos at aggressive and impatient race-track speeds, I wasn’t sure the love affair would last, I wasn’t sure that we were meant to be after all. Why oh why I doubted you, sweet scooter motorbike, I will be forever sorry. I have only come to love you more and more and more. Despite all the near misses, my mirrors and handlebars being side-swiped on a regular basis (while in motion), having my toes stomped on by someone needing to get into those extra two inches of space I left between me and the bike in front of me, the frequent, heart-lurching sudden stops and the width of a hair cut-offs, and the regular questioning of whether is it safer for me to stop at that red light or actually continue on through it… oh wow, I do still love you. The city streets have tried to tear us apart; we do get on much better when there are wide open spaces for us to explore and oh how I look forward to many more speedy adventures with you. Good times and bad, as is the case in any relationship, but I think this is a forever thing. Lucky, lucky me.
So yes folks, I have learned to hold my own in these mean, mean, motorbike scenes. I’ll check back in with you once Red & I have had our first go with the rainy season. That will be the true test, but I think we’ll be fine, absolutely fine.
I have lucked out in the employment world, this is for sure. While I was challenged, humbled, and overwhelmed most days over the first term, I work with some incredibly talented and supremely supportive people. Kelt, the company I work for, is top-notch, truly, and if it wasn’t based smack in the middle of a very big city, I would consider settling in for a while. Alas, this isn’t the case so I will appreciate the utter ease of my current life and know I will look back on it very fondly one day. A week into second term and I am now comfortably back in my role of English teacher. While many of the older students know more about the grammatical ins and outs of why this is said that way and that is put there, I can still smile, make up some little line of bullshit and give them homework to make sure that they really understand what they’re talking about. Ah, life is good when you’re pretending to be in charge. My first term at yet another new job in yet another new country has been yet another insanity filled success in the grand scheme of things. Life is good, good, good.
That being said, second term will be a bit more challenging as we have 11 solid weeks without a holiday! Pssshaw! What the hell?! Got lucky first term as Idul Fitri was celebrated a few weeks after I arrived in but this time, nope, nothing but regular weekends until Christmas, when we get another two weeks off. Anyone feeling sorry for me yet? Yeah, don’t. If you’ve seen the photos on Facebook, even though I haven’t kept up the blog, I’ve obviously been having far too much fun here. Quick rundown of some of my local escapades…
Oh, before I move on, I must make mention of a significant loss in my Surabayan life, even though I have only been here three months. Fellow Canadian and English teacher in Indo for six years Ms. Xenia Wiens has returned to Winnipeg (ugh!) to explore her options. She was my motorbike instructor, Indonesian interpreter, school guidance counselor, tour guide, local support system, and fellow kindred spirit goofball. We spend many days and nights laughing at life and those in it. Oh how I miss my very funny, call-it-as-it-is friend. Xenia, we are all waiting for your return. Winter in Winnipeg… yeah, good luck with that.
Tracing back the tales of my Facebook photos, I’m not sure where to start. There are days that seem “normal”, as normal as things can be living here in another world, and then there are days that stop me in my tracks and that feeling of looking in on someone else’s life takes over. A couple of months back, Xenia took me on a motorbike training ride to Medura, a big island just over SE Asia’s biggest bridge, and that was one of those days. Surabaya is big and loud, dirty and crowded, all those things that sadly turn people off of Asian cities but the city does eventually end and the countryside begins and life seems to take on a whole new vibe. Across this massive and frighteningly exciting bridge is a very developed island with towns and conveniences and all that is real world but it was a rural real world. The roads were calmer, there were farming fields and wide open spaces and there were tiny, tiny villages. As Xenia and I were weaving our way through smaller and smaller roads that turned into dirt paths that soon cut through people’s front yards, we naturally were stared at and then stopped by the local welcome party. These are the days I live for.
We were joyously brought back to someone’s house where the majority of the village hangs out and through the broken (and often comical) proclamations of the spokesperson for the group, we were proudly put on display and warmly welcomed to share their hang out space. Photos were taken, of course, and more and more people were brought by to meet us. Again, not much conversation, just kind smiles and offers to sit next to this person or that. So very lovely.
Eventually the boys of the group tired of this village social setting and offered to take us to the waterfront, which we were originally looking for. Local yahoos turned tour guides put us on the back of our own bikes (!)and they drove us through some tricky rice paddy and mangrove paths to bring us to a waterfront – ish area where more photos were taken and love matches were attempted. All innocent and exceptionally funny, but yeah, we were kind of expecting that. To be honest, I did make a “Killing Fields” reference to Xenia as the two of us girls were walking through empty paddies and muddied mangroves with about 8 boy-sized men, realizing a little too late that should they decide to make trouble, we’d have a good fight on our hands. We both know the power of swinging a bike helmet full force at someone’s head though, just in case.
A long day of driving places where white faces don’t go, being invited into homes, being giggled at and waved at and generally feeling welcomed by genuine hospitality is what makes me want to continue poking along in these far off places. Pictures show nothing, it’s the feeling of “is this really my life?” that I can’t get enough of. A really, really good day.
Another random event… team building weekend for the Kelt employees at an incredibly beautiful mountain getaway, get this… free of charge. Yeah, bussed up there in screaming pumpkin orange t-shirts, subjected to horrifically cheesy moments of team building activities followed by either a “how did that make you feel” session or a full out bollocking for not taking the activity seriously enough and disrespecting ourselves and our teammates. Ummm… Indonesians should NOT do psychotherapy, under any circumstances. Ever.
Discovered that most Indonesians will find the smallest things endlessly funny and fall apart in fits of giggles for exceptionally long periods of time leaving the rest of us to wander off task or quite literally, wander off, again, warranting a bollocking for disrespecting ourselves and our teammates. Making a mistake in counting from 1 – 40 gets you a polite smile from me the first time you start laughing hysterically however it does nothing but make me want to tie my obscenely orange t-shirt tightly around my neck until my eyes pop out when it happens the 17th time and you’re still laughing about it like it’s Comedy Central. Ah, cultural difference, how I love thee.
Despite the MINOR frustrations, we were put up in the NICEST place, fed incredible food, treated so well, had a massive bonfire and wandered through stunning scenery. The grand finale… a team-building assault course of ziplines and monkey bars and general test your limits kind of stuff. Yep! THIS is what I was waiting for! Climbing harnesses on, who wants to try it first? Oops, sorry, push, shove, excuse me, excuse me, I elbowed my way to the front of the line… me! Me! ME! SO off I go. A little climb, a little balancing act, a little swinging, it looked pretty tame from the ground. Not so much once you started going through it but… LOVED it! Scary stuff for some, I want to do it AGAIN for me. Really, really good fun! And such a nice way to spend time with people I didn’t have a chance to spend much time with before. All care of Kelt. Thank you, Kelt!
Another random day… visiting this bizarre zoo/museum/amusement park area a few hours outside of the city with a busload of super duper terrific kids from a local Surabayan orphanage. Connections from someone to someone and our donation bought entrance tickets and rented buses for about 40 kids for the day. Wasn’t really sure what to expect, but yep, fell in love. Got my two little buddies who were fairly unsure of what to make of this far too excited white girl but they soon forgave me my giddiness and accepted the endless photo ops and attempts to interact with them. They were amazing. As we explored the cool creepy crawlies pinned and posed under glass in the museum, visited with the real life creepy crawlies in the zoo, and goofed around in the activity park, I was in love. From the belly laughing, these kids were so good to each other, so polite and easy to manage, so appreciative of small things… yeah, exhausting, incredible, so exactly perfect. Future outings? Count me in! How lucky am I?!
And yes, since I’ve been here, not one but TWO diving holidays. *sigh* Rough, I know.
First one, ultimate dive destination, Bunaken, Northern Sulawesi with three other teachers. I was pretty darn excited (shocking, I know) and wanted to plan and book things for the week (even MORE shocking, yes) but no, no, let’s just wing it. After arriving on the island and spending MANY hours walking around trying to sort out a place to stay and (damn you guys!) a place to dive, they conceded to my wrath and agreed that winging it on THE busiest holiday week in Indonesia maybe wasn’t the best plan. No worries however as in the end, we found places to lay our heads and people to take us under the sea.
A VERY chilled out week spending time with some fabulous new friends. The diving, yeah, I’ve been spoiled. The weather wasn’t super cooperative but the diving, stunning. And one of my most favourite things to do is to be part of new divers experiencing the world that has taken over my life. Absolutely love it. So much fun for me. On a completely selfish note… Winner for the week… one dive: 9 black tip reef sharks. Fist pumps, yeehaws, flipping out of my mind. You could hear my screams of excitement on the surface. Well done, Bunaken, well done. I hope to be back someday. Sadly because I’m writing from memory (which is full of holes and thoroughly pathetic), I’ve lost what I’m sure are some great stories. My latest diving holiday however is still fresh in my mind so I’m going to dedicate an entire entry all on its own to my week in & around The Gilis Islands. Keep reading folks….
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Living life in Indo.
Ummm… okay. So you know that feeling of seeing the date but not really registering the date? When you finally stop to think about it, actually look at a calendar, and realize that today’s date is about two weeks further along than you actually thought it was? Yeah, that’s my life at the moment. Crap. Where a month went, I’m not entirely sure. I am however, going to chalk it up to the extraordinary amount of fun I’ve been having instead of the more likely culprit… old age. Work with me here people, work with me.
So a month it has been and while I still feel thoroughly lost and confused I guess I’ve more or less settled into a kind of routine. Having a job does that to you. Grrrr. Oh to be a wandering, irresponsible, reckless soul for the rest of my days… aimlessly roaming the planet, looking for wild places and curious faces, touching the furthest corners of civilization, getting lost on purpose… sigh… okay, okay. On with it…
A full month of learning my new job, making fun new friends, trying yummy new foods, and experiencing the beauty of this new locale. Have happily wormed my way in with a lively group of ESL teachers who are always up for an adventure in Indonesia – perfect! A stellar string of weekends have left me exhausted and feeling very much the part of little old lady but it has been worth it, worth it, worth it! Settle in folks, as I attempt to sum up some of the more spectacular days so far…
I mentioned that I visited Singapore for a day, right? Picked up by taxi at 4:15am, flew, met & handed passport over to shady looking guy who was to arrange proper working visa (don’t ask me), wandered the city, collected passport from shady looking guy, reignited my LOVE AFFAIR with Singapore airport (best in the world for sure!), flew again , and arrived back home at 12:30am, legal and legit. Lucked out as another newbie Canadian teacher, Lisa, was scheduled to do the run on the same day so had a fantastic day with her. Loved Singapore before, still do. Easy, easy, super fab country/city. Trendy, organized, very cool country/city. You FEEL cool just by being there. Not a bad way to spend the day.
On to my 3 weekends of adventure… (I’ll introduce you to PEOPLE later, just getting the tales sorted for now)
Xenia and I headed off to a beautiful lodge area a couple of hours away where my housemate Adam was planning to spend his birthday weekend alone. Who wants to spend their birthday ALONE?! Sheesh! A surprise visit for the day and a sightseeing journey for me. We rented a car and driver for, cheap cheap, and had a grand ole time. Stopped on the outskirts of Surabaya to see the disaster area of Sidoarjo. In 2006 an underground mud volcano was accidentally tapped by a company drilling for oil. This interesting little phenomenon has brought scientists of all kinds from all over the world in attempts to solve the problem… the mud won’t stop flowing. It has not only flooded an entire town, it has buried more than 2 square miles under more than 12 meters of mud; yet it still flows at an alarming rate. Boiling hot mud and raging, sulfuric water vapor still shoot out of the exploration site, unimpeded. Scientists are apparently fascinated watching the birth of a volcano, the spew spot is growing while the land around it continues to sink, and frantic efforts continue as the government tries desperately to build and rebuild dams to keep the mud from the highway and rail lines that are in its destined path. When you climb up the small hill/dam that has been constructed, you look out at a boring, empty, massive field of mud. Who cares? I see dry, caked mud. Big deal. It’s not until you hear it explained, that an entire town of over 12.000 lay underneath the mud, (nobody died, thankfully!) you see the massive plume of vapor in the distance and you see the efforts being made knowing that no one has any idea how to stop the mud flow or if it will ever stop on its own. Welcome to Indonesia, friends. A very “active” country indeed. Yikes!
Carried on to the lovely eco-friendly lodge area in a wonderfully humid forested area on the outskirts of small villages to surprise Adam. A nice day in a very chilled out place. And a chance to have birthday cake… never miss a chance to have cake!
Exploring weekend number 2… camping in Batu. Rented two cars, filled them up with 11 teachers and a bunch of stuff, then road tripped our way up to beautiful mountains a few hours away. Two of the boys were absolute superstars driving full sized vehicles through the simply ridiculous chaotic conditions of these city streets, hero status fully deserved. Nothing like road-tripping and camping to get to know new friends. Oh such a lovely bunch of people! An incredibly scenic drive and a mostly deserted camping area enabled much silliness throughout the afternoon and long, long night. Willingly participated in my initiation to the group by being properly introduced to the evils of local spirits resulting in slight injuries and stories reserved for only those present as well as a firm swearing off of local spirits for many, many future weekends. Ugh! Campfires, sleeping under the stars (much to the horror of the rest of the group… you MUST sleep in a tent!) and the great fresh air of the fabulous outdoors… wow. I like you guys SO much!
Weekend number 3… same group minus a couple faces, add a couple faces. 10 of us off to Sempu, a lagoon beach area on the coast a few hours away. Two car fulls again, camping gear improved, and a middle of the night departure. We all finish work around 8 – 9pm, so finally hit the road after much faffing about around midnight to drive several hours, arrive around sunrise, sleep for the blink of an hour or so then hop on a little local boat to shuttle us and our stuff the 15mins across the channel to this itty bitty island. Little sleep and increasing heat made for lots of dawdling but again, really fun, really relaxed group of people… funny, funny travels. Hiked with way too much stuff through a proper jungle and came out about 90mins later to the most amazing natural phenomenon ever. You’ll have to look at the photos to get a better idea of what this place is (yes, yes, I’m working on the pictures!) The jungle opens up to a little beach / valley / lagoon area. On the far end of the lagoon is a big hole / cave in the cliff wall and the water rushes in from the ocean just on the other side of the wall. The water that crashes through this cave fills the lagoon during high tide then it empties almost completely at low tide. It’s gorgeous and wild and fascinating. The beach was soft white sand, the cliff walls are fiercely sharp volcanic rock and a thick, heavy jungle leads you there. A breath-taking combination of natural contradictions. How did I get here?!
Spent the day swimming, sunning, and napping in our own little private piece of heaven. A significant chunk of time was also spent chasing away brazen monkeys intent on stealing all unattended belongings. Their cuteness quotient dissipated after about 5 minutes; full on war tactics were then adopted in failed attempts to scare them away and show them who’s boss. Sadly our place on the evolutionary chain was brought into serious question during these attempts. Bastards. A few groups of local hikers came and went but mostly, the place was ours. And the monkeys’, of course. *sigh*
A moonlit night of story-telling and star / satellite gazing with some truly unique and brilliant people. Happy, happy girl.
An early rise the next morning and the ebbing tides had left an almost empty lagoon. Perfect for exploring that cave, right? No waves coming in, water is low, why not? Four of us picked and ouched our way up the slicing, unforgiving volcanic rock, past the skull & crossbones danger sign, to take a good close look at the wild and powerful ocean on the other side. Big, angry, amazing. John, James, and I gave Hannah a telling-off as she climbed up over the top of the cave to get a look at the other side from above. If she fell, she was dead. The three of us perched delicately on the level of the cave, looking down at the fairly empty lagoon and back at the few sleepy heads who were just wading their way into the shallow water. A few waves had made their way through the cave but they just lazily flowed over the rocks and down around our feet. Nothing to worry about. Right? Yeah, right. Never, ever forget that the ocean is in charge.
Rogue wave intent on teaching us a lesson suddenly came crashing through the cave and despite desperately trying to cling to the rock, all three of us were swept up, tossed around, and thrown down the wall of viciously skewering rock. Somewhere in my tumble my bathing suit bottom caught on a sharp, jutting out rock, stopping me from falling all the way to the bottom. While the water crashed around me, dragging and bashing my body on the knife-edged surfaces, my suit ripped but held me tight. Thankfully. It was over before any of us had a chance to scream. A quick round of “are you okay?!” was shouted before we quickly picked our way down the rest of the wall. Out of the water we inspected and tended to gashes, scrapes, bruises, and shaken egos. HOLY S**T!!! Where did THAT come from?! All the while, Ms. Hannah was safe and sound ABOVE the danger zone. We got our asses kicked, HARD, and it was well-deserved. In a country where safety is a non-issue and death is the norm, there is an actual sign posted to not climb to the cave. Yeah. Dumb.
But that being said, we didn’t die, we aren’t permanently injured (slightly scarred, maybe), and we didn’t need medical evacuation so quite simply, it all turned out to be a great story to tell. And that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? The stories we survive to tell. Will try a little harder to avoid the potential death factor the next time I’m looking for adventure, but yep, good one. Good story.
A painful, limping hike out of the jungle later that day and a stiffening drive home but well worth it. Another fabulous weekend with a fabulous bunch. Love it!
And the latest adventure… I’ve rented a motorbike. It’s just a teeny tiny automatic for now but it’s proving to be quite the learning curve. Not only are the insane levels of traffic and lack of rules frighteningly overwhelming, the city is a dizzying system of one way streets where they drive on the wrong side of the road! Damn English influences!!! I’m not sure what side of the road I should be turning on to or coming from…. oh man, this is not as easy as they make it look. Not by a long shot! Fantastic Xenia (sounds very superhero-ish) patiently spent the day with me yesterday leading me through town and yeah, while no major incidents, it was a really rough go. Really. While I LOVE being on the bike, love, love, LOVE it, the streams of speeding psychos weaving in and out, zooming past, cutting right in front or behind, yeah, they are anxiety inducing. But practice, practice, practice. The freedom of having transportation is amazing so I WILL get comfortable driving through town damnit, I will! Wish me luck.
Do you feel caught up yet? I think I’ve covered most of it. House and daily life continues to be easy, I’m liking my students more and more as I get to know them, feeling more comfortable in the role of teacher again even though I am faking my way most of the time, and I have two dive holidays already booked. *sigh* I know, I know, life is rough. Don’t know how I do it some days.
I’m working on getting pictures sorted out and will try to blog a little more frequently, even if only to let you know that I’m still alive and kicking over here. For any of you looking for a little excitement in your life, let me know, there’s this GREAT cave by a lagoon that I know of…
So a month it has been and while I still feel thoroughly lost and confused I guess I’ve more or less settled into a kind of routine. Having a job does that to you. Grrrr. Oh to be a wandering, irresponsible, reckless soul for the rest of my days… aimlessly roaming the planet, looking for wild places and curious faces, touching the furthest corners of civilization, getting lost on purpose… sigh… okay, okay. On with it…
A full month of learning my new job, making fun new friends, trying yummy new foods, and experiencing the beauty of this new locale. Have happily wormed my way in with a lively group of ESL teachers who are always up for an adventure in Indonesia – perfect! A stellar string of weekends have left me exhausted and feeling very much the part of little old lady but it has been worth it, worth it, worth it! Settle in folks, as I attempt to sum up some of the more spectacular days so far…
I mentioned that I visited Singapore for a day, right? Picked up by taxi at 4:15am, flew, met & handed passport over to shady looking guy who was to arrange proper working visa (don’t ask me), wandered the city, collected passport from shady looking guy, reignited my LOVE AFFAIR with Singapore airport (best in the world for sure!), flew again , and arrived back home at 12:30am, legal and legit. Lucked out as another newbie Canadian teacher, Lisa, was scheduled to do the run on the same day so had a fantastic day with her. Loved Singapore before, still do. Easy, easy, super fab country/city. Trendy, organized, very cool country/city. You FEEL cool just by being there. Not a bad way to spend the day.
On to my 3 weekends of adventure… (I’ll introduce you to PEOPLE later, just getting the tales sorted for now)
Xenia and I headed off to a beautiful lodge area a couple of hours away where my housemate Adam was planning to spend his birthday weekend alone. Who wants to spend their birthday ALONE?! Sheesh! A surprise visit for the day and a sightseeing journey for me. We rented a car and driver for, cheap cheap, and had a grand ole time. Stopped on the outskirts of Surabaya to see the disaster area of Sidoarjo. In 2006 an underground mud volcano was accidentally tapped by a company drilling for oil. This interesting little phenomenon has brought scientists of all kinds from all over the world in attempts to solve the problem… the mud won’t stop flowing. It has not only flooded an entire town, it has buried more than 2 square miles under more than 12 meters of mud; yet it still flows at an alarming rate. Boiling hot mud and raging, sulfuric water vapor still shoot out of the exploration site, unimpeded. Scientists are apparently fascinated watching the birth of a volcano, the spew spot is growing while the land around it continues to sink, and frantic efforts continue as the government tries desperately to build and rebuild dams to keep the mud from the highway and rail lines that are in its destined path. When you climb up the small hill/dam that has been constructed, you look out at a boring, empty, massive field of mud. Who cares? I see dry, caked mud. Big deal. It’s not until you hear it explained, that an entire town of over 12.000 lay underneath the mud, (nobody died, thankfully!) you see the massive plume of vapor in the distance and you see the efforts being made knowing that no one has any idea how to stop the mud flow or if it will ever stop on its own. Welcome to Indonesia, friends. A very “active” country indeed. Yikes!
Carried on to the lovely eco-friendly lodge area in a wonderfully humid forested area on the outskirts of small villages to surprise Adam. A nice day in a very chilled out place. And a chance to have birthday cake… never miss a chance to have cake!
Exploring weekend number 2… camping in Batu. Rented two cars, filled them up with 11 teachers and a bunch of stuff, then road tripped our way up to beautiful mountains a few hours away. Two of the boys were absolute superstars driving full sized vehicles through the simply ridiculous chaotic conditions of these city streets, hero status fully deserved. Nothing like road-tripping and camping to get to know new friends. Oh such a lovely bunch of people! An incredibly scenic drive and a mostly deserted camping area enabled much silliness throughout the afternoon and long, long night. Willingly participated in my initiation to the group by being properly introduced to the evils of local spirits resulting in slight injuries and stories reserved for only those present as well as a firm swearing off of local spirits for many, many future weekends. Ugh! Campfires, sleeping under the stars (much to the horror of the rest of the group… you MUST sleep in a tent!) and the great fresh air of the fabulous outdoors… wow. I like you guys SO much!
Weekend number 3… same group minus a couple faces, add a couple faces. 10 of us off to Sempu, a lagoon beach area on the coast a few hours away. Two car fulls again, camping gear improved, and a middle of the night departure. We all finish work around 8 – 9pm, so finally hit the road after much faffing about around midnight to drive several hours, arrive around sunrise, sleep for the blink of an hour or so then hop on a little local boat to shuttle us and our stuff the 15mins across the channel to this itty bitty island. Little sleep and increasing heat made for lots of dawdling but again, really fun, really relaxed group of people… funny, funny travels. Hiked with way too much stuff through a proper jungle and came out about 90mins later to the most amazing natural phenomenon ever. You’ll have to look at the photos to get a better idea of what this place is (yes, yes, I’m working on the pictures!) The jungle opens up to a little beach / valley / lagoon area. On the far end of the lagoon is a big hole / cave in the cliff wall and the water rushes in from the ocean just on the other side of the wall. The water that crashes through this cave fills the lagoon during high tide then it empties almost completely at low tide. It’s gorgeous and wild and fascinating. The beach was soft white sand, the cliff walls are fiercely sharp volcanic rock and a thick, heavy jungle leads you there. A breath-taking combination of natural contradictions. How did I get here?!
Spent the day swimming, sunning, and napping in our own little private piece of heaven. A significant chunk of time was also spent chasing away brazen monkeys intent on stealing all unattended belongings. Their cuteness quotient dissipated after about 5 minutes; full on war tactics were then adopted in failed attempts to scare them away and show them who’s boss. Sadly our place on the evolutionary chain was brought into serious question during these attempts. Bastards. A few groups of local hikers came and went but mostly, the place was ours. And the monkeys’, of course. *sigh*
A moonlit night of story-telling and star / satellite gazing with some truly unique and brilliant people. Happy, happy girl.
An early rise the next morning and the ebbing tides had left an almost empty lagoon. Perfect for exploring that cave, right? No waves coming in, water is low, why not? Four of us picked and ouched our way up the slicing, unforgiving volcanic rock, past the skull & crossbones danger sign, to take a good close look at the wild and powerful ocean on the other side. Big, angry, amazing. John, James, and I gave Hannah a telling-off as she climbed up over the top of the cave to get a look at the other side from above. If she fell, she was dead. The three of us perched delicately on the level of the cave, looking down at the fairly empty lagoon and back at the few sleepy heads who were just wading their way into the shallow water. A few waves had made their way through the cave but they just lazily flowed over the rocks and down around our feet. Nothing to worry about. Right? Yeah, right. Never, ever forget that the ocean is in charge.
Rogue wave intent on teaching us a lesson suddenly came crashing through the cave and despite desperately trying to cling to the rock, all three of us were swept up, tossed around, and thrown down the wall of viciously skewering rock. Somewhere in my tumble my bathing suit bottom caught on a sharp, jutting out rock, stopping me from falling all the way to the bottom. While the water crashed around me, dragging and bashing my body on the knife-edged surfaces, my suit ripped but held me tight. Thankfully. It was over before any of us had a chance to scream. A quick round of “are you okay?!” was shouted before we quickly picked our way down the rest of the wall. Out of the water we inspected and tended to gashes, scrapes, bruises, and shaken egos. HOLY S**T!!! Where did THAT come from?! All the while, Ms. Hannah was safe and sound ABOVE the danger zone. We got our asses kicked, HARD, and it was well-deserved. In a country where safety is a non-issue and death is the norm, there is an actual sign posted to not climb to the cave. Yeah. Dumb.
But that being said, we didn’t die, we aren’t permanently injured (slightly scarred, maybe), and we didn’t need medical evacuation so quite simply, it all turned out to be a great story to tell. And that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? The stories we survive to tell. Will try a little harder to avoid the potential death factor the next time I’m looking for adventure, but yep, good one. Good story.
A painful, limping hike out of the jungle later that day and a stiffening drive home but well worth it. Another fabulous weekend with a fabulous bunch. Love it!
And the latest adventure… I’ve rented a motorbike. It’s just a teeny tiny automatic for now but it’s proving to be quite the learning curve. Not only are the insane levels of traffic and lack of rules frighteningly overwhelming, the city is a dizzying system of one way streets where they drive on the wrong side of the road! Damn English influences!!! I’m not sure what side of the road I should be turning on to or coming from…. oh man, this is not as easy as they make it look. Not by a long shot! Fantastic Xenia (sounds very superhero-ish) patiently spent the day with me yesterday leading me through town and yeah, while no major incidents, it was a really rough go. Really. While I LOVE being on the bike, love, love, LOVE it, the streams of speeding psychos weaving in and out, zooming past, cutting right in front or behind, yeah, they are anxiety inducing. But practice, practice, practice. The freedom of having transportation is amazing so I WILL get comfortable driving through town damnit, I will! Wish me luck.
Do you feel caught up yet? I think I’ve covered most of it. House and daily life continues to be easy, I’m liking my students more and more as I get to know them, feeling more comfortable in the role of teacher again even though I am faking my way most of the time, and I have two dive holidays already booked. *sigh* I know, I know, life is rough. Don’t know how I do it some days.
I’m working on getting pictures sorted out and will try to blog a little more frequently, even if only to let you know that I’m still alive and kicking over here. For any of you looking for a little excitement in your life, let me know, there’s this GREAT cave by a lagoon that I know of…
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Ahhhhh.... Asia.
A little sad and already missing Deb, my evil genius partner in world exploration, I marched stiff-lipped and head held high through the Istanbul airport. Sour-faced employees thinned out the further I got from the security check and more familiar, welcoming sights began to fill the void. My long journey ahead had a stop in Kuala Lumpur before my final touchdown in Surabaya so the departure lounge seats were crowded with a variety of smiling, chatting, curious SE Asian travelers. *sigh* This feels better already. I was a novelty again; sneaky glances from grown ups, open-mouthed gaping from kids, giggles hid demurely behind delicate hands or snapped open newspapers, what’s the white girl up to? And smiles. Even from obviously weary travelers, I got smiles. Wow. Nice. I’m definitely heading in the right direction.
When in my life did 12+ hour flights, long layovers, more flights, then long drives in random vehicles become a normal bout of travel? Ugh! A little frazzled I finally arrived at the Surabaya airport, only a short 30 minutes late, bought an on-arrival visitor visa, collected my ginormous backpack and stepped out into my new country. The heavy, humid heat wrapped around me like a welcome home hug and I couldn’t help but laugh. I knew this place. I knew this culture. I didn’t have a clue where I was, knew zero words of the local language, and was being led blindly by the sweet girl and driver from the school who had come to pick me up but I was floating. The frantically swerving motorbikes on the overcrowded roads, the endless line of street carts steaming with bizarre and tempting foods cooked up while you wait, the palm trees towering amid the concrete maze and smoggy pollution, the long, straight, black hair, the flipflops shuffling along the ground, and the tiny bodies with the big, big smiles. Oh hello SE Asia, I think I’m home.
I’ve been here a week and it has passed by faster than a frat boy’s spring break in Mexico. New house, welcome dinner, new school, teachers, classes, students… my head is still spinning. But I’m being taken in and taken care of every step of the way. I live in a HUGE one level house with four bedrooms, two bathrooms, an enormous sitting area, dining area, and kitchen. My neighborhood is a posh residential area with quiet, tree-lined streets and a big, icky, central stagnant swampy pond where you can find locals either using it as an afternoon fishing area or outdoor toilet. Apparently it’s not uncommon to see someone going number 2 six feet away from someone catching their dinner. Hmmm… remind me not to eat at the neighbour’s house. Lots of food carts stroll by on a regular evening route, outdoor eating areas come alive after the sun has gone down, and mosquitoes multiply by the millions. I’m back, baby, I’m back!
I have my very own room with AIR CONDITIONING!!!, a luxury I won’t deny myself after years of simply having to sweat it out. I have two housemates and so far, it looks like life will be pretty easy. Adam, a lovely English guy who has been teaching in various places in Asia for the last six years. Only a couple of months here and he knows the ins and outs of this place already so has been showing me what’s what all around our cozy little neck of the woods and making sure I’m sorted out. Partner in the Philippines with hopes of being reunited by year’s end. Separation is tough. John’s a funny Greek guy who’s on his last term here. Ha ha “funny”, not weirdo “funny”. Laid back and encouraging. Not sure if he’s heading back to Greece or somewhere else but I’ll only have three months to get to know him. Girlfriend in Jakarta. Again, separation is tough. Easy to talk to and laugh with guys who are looking out for me and similar in that we all like our own space so no one takes offence when someone is hanging out in their room instead of chilling on the couch. I think I’ve been placed in the quiet house, by the sounds of it, and that works out perfectly for me. Now all I need to do is buy me a little motorbike so I can start getting out and exploring on my own soon soon!
Oh. And did I mention that we have two cleaning girls? Oh yeah. Two LOVELY young local girls who clean the house, wash our dishes, and wash our laundry. Seriously! I’ll come home from school and my bed, that I DID make, has been remade the way they like it, my dirty clothes have not only been washed but ironed and PUT AWAY in my closet, and any dish that I might have used has been washed and put away as well. Oh. My. Gosh. I feel SO guilty but WOW! I’ve been told not to interfere, they’ll take this as a slight on the job that their doing, so fine by me. Have at ‘er! Help yourself! You wanna make my bed and wash my clothes? I think I love you. My life is way too easy here.
The school is incredibly organized, professional, and comfortable. A big, resource-filled teacher room with curriculum already laid out, fully stocked classrooms with desks, whiteboards, sound systems, and sweet, sweet A/C, and a support staff that will do anything for us, including running off to get our lunch for us or hailing down taxis. The rest of the teachers at my school (the company has 4 schools) are par for the course in terms of getting my head on straight (more on my teacher folk later) and are just fabulous. A private school attended by the wealthy and educated so yeah, this place is top notch. Pinch me, please. How did I not come here before?
My students… oh wow. Classes are offered from 2:30pm – 9:15pm depending on the level of the student. They go to school all day and come to us for private lessons a couple of nights a week. Apparently expensive private lessons. Privileged kids but for the most part really, really nice. Really. I’ve got 6 classes that I teach on a rotating basis, 5 year olds, 8 – 9 year olds, 10 – 11 year olds, junior high kids, and senior high / college kids. All of them… super smart. Their English blows me away. Even the little ones! And the curriculum for the oldest students, yeah I’ve had to actually study and research the topics to be taught before going to class – they’re THAT good. Yikes. Intimidating for sure. Basic teaching and simply speaking English isn’t going to cut it here. Big learning curve for this girl but by the end of the year, I’m should be talking English real good yo yo!
I think I’ll generally work from 12:30pm – 8:30pm, even on the days I only teach for 3 hours, because I’m an organization freak and need to make sure I’m uber prepared before teaching. This apparently will fade as I become more comfortable, I’m told, or until someone kicks my ass for being a keener. They’re tolerating my eager beaver antics for now but I’ve been duly warned. I have the entire weekend off and a ridiculous amount of holiday time. Too much time to actually know what to do with at this point. I’m going to have to be careful I don’t spend every penny I make on all of the diving and exploring I want to do around here. Once my head stops spinning, the map is coming out and destinations will conquered. I’m in Indonesia!
I don’t have any pictures yet but I’ll get on it right away. I’ve made the mistake far too often of living in a place and getting so used to it that I forget that it’s not an everyday sight for most people. I’ll bring the camera everywhere with me next week and see what I can do. I also want to… *gulp*… get a motorbike as it’s a necessity to get anywhere. Looking into it now and will fill you all in on the horror stories once it becomes a reality.
Have to fly to Singapore for the day (oh my, doesn’t THAT sound fancy?!) on Tuesday to get my work visa organized and then I’m a true blue Kelt teacher. Yay me! I think this year will pass really quickly and hopefully, I should feel more and more at home as the days pass. No first month of crying myself to sleep (oh Thailand how I miss you!), no overwhelming horror at the choice I made, no yearning for comforts that have long since faded from memory. I’m a big girl now. While committing to this for an entire year is still a humming haunt in the far recesses of my mind, I think the year will come and go ending with a whole new world of opportunities laid out for me. Sticking with my theme, my universe is incredible at finding me these grand adventures… it’s upward and onward from here. Terimah kasih universe… I love what you’ve done for me!
When in my life did 12+ hour flights, long layovers, more flights, then long drives in random vehicles become a normal bout of travel? Ugh! A little frazzled I finally arrived at the Surabaya airport, only a short 30 minutes late, bought an on-arrival visitor visa, collected my ginormous backpack and stepped out into my new country. The heavy, humid heat wrapped around me like a welcome home hug and I couldn’t help but laugh. I knew this place. I knew this culture. I didn’t have a clue where I was, knew zero words of the local language, and was being led blindly by the sweet girl and driver from the school who had come to pick me up but I was floating. The frantically swerving motorbikes on the overcrowded roads, the endless line of street carts steaming with bizarre and tempting foods cooked up while you wait, the palm trees towering amid the concrete maze and smoggy pollution, the long, straight, black hair, the flipflops shuffling along the ground, and the tiny bodies with the big, big smiles. Oh hello SE Asia, I think I’m home.
I’ve been here a week and it has passed by faster than a frat boy’s spring break in Mexico. New house, welcome dinner, new school, teachers, classes, students… my head is still spinning. But I’m being taken in and taken care of every step of the way. I live in a HUGE one level house with four bedrooms, two bathrooms, an enormous sitting area, dining area, and kitchen. My neighborhood is a posh residential area with quiet, tree-lined streets and a big, icky, central stagnant swampy pond where you can find locals either using it as an afternoon fishing area or outdoor toilet. Apparently it’s not uncommon to see someone going number 2 six feet away from someone catching their dinner. Hmmm… remind me not to eat at the neighbour’s house. Lots of food carts stroll by on a regular evening route, outdoor eating areas come alive after the sun has gone down, and mosquitoes multiply by the millions. I’m back, baby, I’m back!
I have my very own room with AIR CONDITIONING!!!, a luxury I won’t deny myself after years of simply having to sweat it out. I have two housemates and so far, it looks like life will be pretty easy. Adam, a lovely English guy who has been teaching in various places in Asia for the last six years. Only a couple of months here and he knows the ins and outs of this place already so has been showing me what’s what all around our cozy little neck of the woods and making sure I’m sorted out. Partner in the Philippines with hopes of being reunited by year’s end. Separation is tough. John’s a funny Greek guy who’s on his last term here. Ha ha “funny”, not weirdo “funny”. Laid back and encouraging. Not sure if he’s heading back to Greece or somewhere else but I’ll only have three months to get to know him. Girlfriend in Jakarta. Again, separation is tough. Easy to talk to and laugh with guys who are looking out for me and similar in that we all like our own space so no one takes offence when someone is hanging out in their room instead of chilling on the couch. I think I’ve been placed in the quiet house, by the sounds of it, and that works out perfectly for me. Now all I need to do is buy me a little motorbike so I can start getting out and exploring on my own soon soon!
Oh. And did I mention that we have two cleaning girls? Oh yeah. Two LOVELY young local girls who clean the house, wash our dishes, and wash our laundry. Seriously! I’ll come home from school and my bed, that I DID make, has been remade the way they like it, my dirty clothes have not only been washed but ironed and PUT AWAY in my closet, and any dish that I might have used has been washed and put away as well. Oh. My. Gosh. I feel SO guilty but WOW! I’ve been told not to interfere, they’ll take this as a slight on the job that their doing, so fine by me. Have at ‘er! Help yourself! You wanna make my bed and wash my clothes? I think I love you. My life is way too easy here.
The school is incredibly organized, professional, and comfortable. A big, resource-filled teacher room with curriculum already laid out, fully stocked classrooms with desks, whiteboards, sound systems, and sweet, sweet A/C, and a support staff that will do anything for us, including running off to get our lunch for us or hailing down taxis. The rest of the teachers at my school (the company has 4 schools) are par for the course in terms of getting my head on straight (more on my teacher folk later) and are just fabulous. A private school attended by the wealthy and educated so yeah, this place is top notch. Pinch me, please. How did I not come here before?
My students… oh wow. Classes are offered from 2:30pm – 9:15pm depending on the level of the student. They go to school all day and come to us for private lessons a couple of nights a week. Apparently expensive private lessons. Privileged kids but for the most part really, really nice. Really. I’ve got 6 classes that I teach on a rotating basis, 5 year olds, 8 – 9 year olds, 10 – 11 year olds, junior high kids, and senior high / college kids. All of them… super smart. Their English blows me away. Even the little ones! And the curriculum for the oldest students, yeah I’ve had to actually study and research the topics to be taught before going to class – they’re THAT good. Yikes. Intimidating for sure. Basic teaching and simply speaking English isn’t going to cut it here. Big learning curve for this girl but by the end of the year, I’m should be talking English real good yo yo!
I think I’ll generally work from 12:30pm – 8:30pm, even on the days I only teach for 3 hours, because I’m an organization freak and need to make sure I’m uber prepared before teaching. This apparently will fade as I become more comfortable, I’m told, or until someone kicks my ass for being a keener. They’re tolerating my eager beaver antics for now but I’ve been duly warned. I have the entire weekend off and a ridiculous amount of holiday time. Too much time to actually know what to do with at this point. I’m going to have to be careful I don’t spend every penny I make on all of the diving and exploring I want to do around here. Once my head stops spinning, the map is coming out and destinations will conquered. I’m in Indonesia!
I don’t have any pictures yet but I’ll get on it right away. I’ve made the mistake far too often of living in a place and getting so used to it that I forget that it’s not an everyday sight for most people. I’ll bring the camera everywhere with me next week and see what I can do. I also want to… *gulp*… get a motorbike as it’s a necessity to get anywhere. Looking into it now and will fill you all in on the horror stories once it becomes a reality.
Have to fly to Singapore for the day (oh my, doesn’t THAT sound fancy?!) on Tuesday to get my work visa organized and then I’m a true blue Kelt teacher. Yay me! I think this year will pass really quickly and hopefully, I should feel more and more at home as the days pass. No first month of crying myself to sleep (oh Thailand how I miss you!), no overwhelming horror at the choice I made, no yearning for comforts that have long since faded from memory. I’m a big girl now. While committing to this for an entire year is still a humming haunt in the far recesses of my mind, I think the year will come and go ending with a whole new world of opportunities laid out for me. Sticking with my theme, my universe is incredible at finding me these grand adventures… it’s upward and onward from here. Terimah kasih universe… I love what you’ve done for me!
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Time to Leave Turkey.
Deb & I were at a bit of a loss for what to see and do after Cappadocia. I had my flight booked to Indonesia so we had a deadline, it was too little time to try to visit another country and it just felt like too much time to stay in Turkey. Limited financially and geographically, we decided to stay in Turkey but to visit an area close to the Syrian border to see if things changed away from the more touristy route. We were off to Gaziantep, known to be home of the best baklava and the world’s biggest mosaics. Okay, let’s see what we find.
The bus trip got our hopes up as we passed some of the most beautiful scenery. Big mountains, green, green forests, this was all looking very promising. But the mountains flattened out, the green turned to brown and a very big city loomed ahead. Gaziantep is business central and we were there to spend four days. *sigh* Not what we were hoping for but baklava, mosaics, and local life… this could be good.
Yeah, it wasn’t. A modern city with a GREAT old market that we wandered through where you could see them hand making lots of tin and copper pots, jewelry, and other bits and bobs, cobblers cutting out really interesting leather shoes, and lots and lots of local spices, foods, and souvenir trinkets but c’est tout. For us market mamas, it was perfect, but after one round of nosing around, that was about it. MUCH searching led us to a tourist information building and the lady who we chatted with tried to turn us on to several unimpressive museums without success. She told us that the mosaic museum we came to see is under construction and closed (disappointed but not surprised), there are no live whirling dervish performances only a small museum of their culture (of course), and the castle / fortress in the centre of the city was THE major tourist attraction. *sigh* She loaded us up with books though. Gaziantep really doesn’t have much to offer but they’ve printed novel sized brochures on the little there is to see. “A” for effort, “F” for effect.
So we saw the little there was to see and tried really hard to find some happy people. Active big city, people were marginally more friendly, but yeah, not so much to report. Some really good people-watching spots that again just confirmed our suspicions of generally unhappy people. And to add to the ugh factor, Deb got sick at this point as well. All in all, the timing was actually perfect because she could stay in bed and take care of herself while not feeling that she was missing out on exploring any once-in-a-lifetime must-sees. I checked out the town a bit more, reported back to her, and yep, we were good to hang out and catch up our photos and blogging. Flights booked back to Istanbul and we’re almost done with Turkey. Count down is on.
Our second round in Istanbul, back to where it all began. The two guys running our hostel were two of the most socially inept, living in mom’s basement playing Dungeons & Dragons WEIRDOS ever. Each person that we met who checked into the hostel would eventually ask, “What’s up with the hostel guys?” Just rude. If you tried to talk to them, they kept their eyes on their computer screen and would mumble a few incomprehensible words until you gave up and walked away. They refused to acknowledge new arrivals and when people finally got frustrated by just standing around and insisted that they look up from the computer to check them in, they did so with a gigantic sigh, eyes rolling, and enormous effort. This is your JOB dude! What the hell is wrong with you people?!?
Oh we were done, done, done with this country. A few more explorations around Istanbul and as was the case our first time around, there were more happier people to be found so we soaked up the street and market hospitality like a dead man in the desert. Anyone who smiled or talked to us drew us in like moths to a flame. We were putty in their hands. You smiled! Wow! We should have stayed in Istanbul. Not Asian or African hospitality mind you, but we took what we could get after a month of miserable. It’s almost flight time.
After lots of packing and repacking, Deb analyzing and prioritizing my possessions for me, and some slight anxiety, I was packed and ready to hit the road for Indo. Deb changed her flight back to Spain to leave the same day as me as high season had arrived and travel was now insanely expensive plus, we needed to leave Turkey before someone was going to get a karate chop to the nose. It was really that bad.
Airport scene, lots more rude, dismissive people so yep, let’s get on our planes. Tears of desperation as I said goodbye to Deb who left shortly before I did and then it was my turn. Sitting at my gate surrounded by Asians, I felt the tension ease and the casual and smiley interactions between people lift any lingering doubts of my new ventures to Indonesia. My decision to teach in Asia over the Middle East was confirmed. I knew I was heading in the right direction.
Four months ago my life was turned upside down by an email. No job in Ghana, figure something else out. I visited areas I'd never considered seeing; fell in love with some and learned a lot from others. I’m thankful that I chose to visit the Middle East before accepting a teaching position there as it influenced my decisions enormously but it’s an area I’d still like to travel more. Live there, doubt it, explore, absolutely. I was able to reconnect with a friend who keeps my head on straight and shares my passions, something that I can’t place a value on. And I found my way back to an area that I had previously called home. I think Indo will be challenging and fascinating and overwhelming and adventuresome. I think it was the right decision. Whatever happens, as always, there will be good stories to tell, I’m sure.
Deb, to say thank you seems completely inadequate but I don’t know how I would have made it here without you. Our time together was ridiculously good fun, the wine was terrible, the miserable was balanced out by our mocking of it, and I remain entirely convinced that we will forever be kindred spirits. Soak up Spain, love your time in Canada, and please start planning your trip to Bali. Seriously. I love you.
That invite is open to ALL of you by the way. Indonesia… how could you NOT want to come?!? Wish me luck!
The bus trip got our hopes up as we passed some of the most beautiful scenery. Big mountains, green, green forests, this was all looking very promising. But the mountains flattened out, the green turned to brown and a very big city loomed ahead. Gaziantep is business central and we were there to spend four days. *sigh* Not what we were hoping for but baklava, mosaics, and local life… this could be good.
Yeah, it wasn’t. A modern city with a GREAT old market that we wandered through where you could see them hand making lots of tin and copper pots, jewelry, and other bits and bobs, cobblers cutting out really interesting leather shoes, and lots and lots of local spices, foods, and souvenir trinkets but c’est tout. For us market mamas, it was perfect, but after one round of nosing around, that was about it. MUCH searching led us to a tourist information building and the lady who we chatted with tried to turn us on to several unimpressive museums without success. She told us that the mosaic museum we came to see is under construction and closed (disappointed but not surprised), there are no live whirling dervish performances only a small museum of their culture (of course), and the castle / fortress in the centre of the city was THE major tourist attraction. *sigh* She loaded us up with books though. Gaziantep really doesn’t have much to offer but they’ve printed novel sized brochures on the little there is to see. “A” for effort, “F” for effect.
So we saw the little there was to see and tried really hard to find some happy people. Active big city, people were marginally more friendly, but yeah, not so much to report. Some really good people-watching spots that again just confirmed our suspicions of generally unhappy people. And to add to the ugh factor, Deb got sick at this point as well. All in all, the timing was actually perfect because she could stay in bed and take care of herself while not feeling that she was missing out on exploring any once-in-a-lifetime must-sees. I checked out the town a bit more, reported back to her, and yep, we were good to hang out and catch up our photos and blogging. Flights booked back to Istanbul and we’re almost done with Turkey. Count down is on.
Our second round in Istanbul, back to where it all began. The two guys running our hostel were two of the most socially inept, living in mom’s basement playing Dungeons & Dragons WEIRDOS ever. Each person that we met who checked into the hostel would eventually ask, “What’s up with the hostel guys?” Just rude. If you tried to talk to them, they kept their eyes on their computer screen and would mumble a few incomprehensible words until you gave up and walked away. They refused to acknowledge new arrivals and when people finally got frustrated by just standing around and insisted that they look up from the computer to check them in, they did so with a gigantic sigh, eyes rolling, and enormous effort. This is your JOB dude! What the hell is wrong with you people?!?
Oh we were done, done, done with this country. A few more explorations around Istanbul and as was the case our first time around, there were more happier people to be found so we soaked up the street and market hospitality like a dead man in the desert. Anyone who smiled or talked to us drew us in like moths to a flame. We were putty in their hands. You smiled! Wow! We should have stayed in Istanbul. Not Asian or African hospitality mind you, but we took what we could get after a month of miserable. It’s almost flight time.
After lots of packing and repacking, Deb analyzing and prioritizing my possessions for me, and some slight anxiety, I was packed and ready to hit the road for Indo. Deb changed her flight back to Spain to leave the same day as me as high season had arrived and travel was now insanely expensive plus, we needed to leave Turkey before someone was going to get a karate chop to the nose. It was really that bad.
Airport scene, lots more rude, dismissive people so yep, let’s get on our planes. Tears of desperation as I said goodbye to Deb who left shortly before I did and then it was my turn. Sitting at my gate surrounded by Asians, I felt the tension ease and the casual and smiley interactions between people lift any lingering doubts of my new ventures to Indonesia. My decision to teach in Asia over the Middle East was confirmed. I knew I was heading in the right direction.
Four months ago my life was turned upside down by an email. No job in Ghana, figure something else out. I visited areas I'd never considered seeing; fell in love with some and learned a lot from others. I’m thankful that I chose to visit the Middle East before accepting a teaching position there as it influenced my decisions enormously but it’s an area I’d still like to travel more. Live there, doubt it, explore, absolutely. I was able to reconnect with a friend who keeps my head on straight and shares my passions, something that I can’t place a value on. And I found my way back to an area that I had previously called home. I think Indo will be challenging and fascinating and overwhelming and adventuresome. I think it was the right decision. Whatever happens, as always, there will be good stories to tell, I’m sure.
Deb, to say thank you seems completely inadequate but I don’t know how I would have made it here without you. Our time together was ridiculously good fun, the wine was terrible, the miserable was balanced out by our mocking of it, and I remain entirely convinced that we will forever be kindred spirits. Soak up Spain, love your time in Canada, and please start planning your trip to Bali. Seriously. I love you.
That invite is open to ALL of you by the way. Indonesia… how could you NOT want to come?!? Wish me luck!
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