Saturday, September 22, 2012
So Long Surabaya!
14 months after I stifled the heart-stopping, breath-stealing, seeing-black anxiety of signing a contract for 12 months, I’m finally on the doorstep of bidding farewell to this city. However, 9 months after I decided I wanted out of SE Asia forever and began counting the days until I could make that a reality, I’ve chosen to brave one last challenge that will keep me here for another month or two. Opportunity presents, I can’t help but take a look. And that look leads me down paths I couldn’t have imagined had I had the rest of time to plan. So yes Indonesia, you have me hooked a little while longer but Surabaya, we are finished. I’m sorry, centre of East Java, but we are just not meant to be. Jigsaw-puzzle concrete chaos and skyscraping shopping malls, frenetic, senseless paces and maniacal daily mayhem, and let’s not forget the endless, endless, endless noise; we have very different needs. I’ve been well taken care of and will never forget you but it’s time, I must go. Selamat tinggal.
Reflecting on the road I’ve recently traveled as I set out for the next journey is always a bit of a tricky way to begin but it’s what I tend to do. That reflection is meant to focus on the highlights, let go of the low points, and keep perspective when sentimental clutter threatens to get in the way of taking that next first step. So let’s reflect, shall we? What have I done and seen in Indonesia this past year?
I’ve been on 7 dive holidays, climbed 2 volcanoes, gotten up close and personal with dragons, swam with whalesharks, nearly died in an ocean-fed lagoon, seen a bizarre Indo style zoo, amusement park, and rope course, experienced dangdut, the gamelan, and batik, missed a flight by an entire day, explored some very impressive temples, snorkeled my way through a lake full of jellyfish, saved a couple of cats and lost a couple too, dodged stampeding bulls, hiked, camped, played in waterfalls, learned to ride a motorbike like a demon, crossed SE Asia’s largest bridge several times, paraglided my way high over beautiful country side, held newly laid turtle eggs in my bare hands and chased off poachers, taken 24 hours to travel 350kms more than once and didn’t murder anyone, been in the company of fascinating new creature critters and comforting familiar ones, managed to not miss one single day of work, and a million more little things that elude my overwhelmed mind at the moment. A pretty successful year nonetheless, yes? Yes. Absolutely.
I’ve barely scratched the surface of the adventure brimming and bubbling here in Indonesia. With an ability to turn a blind eye to obscene corruption, environmental devastation, religious turmoil, and a slowed state of progress, this country could keep me exploring for the rest of my life. A must-see country to travel, an interesting country to settle in. However, for me it’s time to move on. Sort of.
Through random paths crossing, ideas suggested and finally considered, I’ve decided to hop on over to Bali where I’ll take the next big step in my love affair with diving. While I’ve never had an interest in working as a diver, I simply want to be in the water. It’s the only thing I can think of that gives me giddy butterflies in my stomach, scares me cold, lets time stand still, continuously allows me to learn, makes the debilitating sea-sickness worth it (not fair, by the way!), surprises me, feels strange yet soothing, and invokes a mind-bending sense of wonder every single time I'm in that big, deep blue. And I’m still new to this thing. Next logical step, I’m off to take my instructor’s course.
The anxiety is already mounting as I realize the task I’ve taken on but I will charge head first regardless. Fear of failure is my motivator, wondering “what if” will push me on. In keeping perspective I know that this course and this challenge is miniscule, a blip, a no big deal. 20 year olds blow through it in a half sleep daze. It’s not another 4 year university degree or a shift in core beliefs. It will affect no one’s life but mine and may not even alter the course I’m on but it’s something new and big and a little bit scary for me. And I’ve chosen to make that enough. For all you people out there changing the world, I’ll meet up with you at some point. For now, I’m gonna go splash around with the fishies.
And that’s the catch up and sign off. School ends Sept 28th, I fly to Bali Oct 1st, my course starts Oct 18th and will keep me wet and wild until Nov 5th. As for what happens after that … you know the answer by now. We’ll see where the wind takes me, what the universe has in store for me, what windows open, and how the road turns. As I pack up my bags, again, and look back on a full year, I know this is nowhere near the end. Reflection is good like that, isn’t it?
Saturday, April 14, 2012
The REALLY good stuff.
The REALLY good stuff:
The kids. The children on this island were in imminent danger of being snatched and stolen by me at any given moment. A group of little boys entertained me daily as they hung out on, around, or under my porch always having a lovely chat even though none of us could understand each other. As I did endless laps around the island, walking in the rain or the afternoon sun after the day of rain, so many sweet faces with shy smiles and brave babes with eager grins ran up to greet me or peeked and waved from the shadows of their homes. And they played. Played, played, played. A game of marbles was happening every few meters, coconut husks were kicked around, bikes were being raced, random bits of this and that were providing endless entertainment. The kids were happy, healthy souls. Oh how I wanted to take them all home.
Turtles. Big ones. Massive. When we tied banana leaves to a rope and let them float in the water off the boardwalks, enormous beauties would arrive and munch until there was nothing left but the rope. Clambering up and over each other to get to their happy snack. Saw a pile up of 5 at one time. Gorgeous.
These aged beauty queens were the mamas who were coming up to the beaches at night and laying their precious eggs. WWF has invested here and it is paying off. Sort of. Every 12 days for 3 months, a mama turtle lays around 100 eggs. That’s A LOT of eggs. A lot of eggs in danger. The locals ON THIS SAME ISLAND, still eat turtle eggs and kill smaller turtles so that they can stuff them and sell them to other Indonesian tourists. So.Much.Rage. Thankfully, each night, 3 rangers patrol the beach, wait for the mamas to lay their eggs, snatch the eggs, count and label them, then bury them in secret locations where they will hatch two months later. The same rangers who rescue them as eggs release them as brand new babies into the sea.
I was lucky enough to be part of both the egg snatching and the baby releasing. And yes, there were tears. Steaming warm turtle eggs in my hand one night, squirming, squishy soft new hatchlings in my hands the next. Oh heaven, heaven, heaven. These rangers are doing incredible work and are scoffed and ignored by the very people they grew up with, live with, on the same island, fighting their work every single day. The thought process, or lack thereof, in this country makes me enormously sad. Only one in 100 baby turtles will survive the rough seas and here, they also have to contend with the locals eating them before they are out of their shells, or catching them in nets if they do survive and slaughtering them for sale.
Example: as four of us sat for a drink after coming back from rescuing turtle eggs, one of the girls showed the shop lady a photo of the pile of turtle eggs. The lady got so excited. She wanted us to take her to where the eggs were buried because turtle eggs taste so good! Noooooooo! The completely horrified reaction she got from all of us caused her to retreat but you can be sure her opinion is shared by many.
I am not getting any better at dealing with this.
Case in point… as I emerged from my shack one afternoon, I looked down to the sand under the next door boardwalk and saw two boys who had pinned down a turtle and were tying it up. A young turtle, maybe a half a meter long and still fairly strong. They were tying up its neck and flippers as it was trying to escape. Cue crazy woman Janice. At full screech and sadly without thinking, I jumped down off my boardwalk and launched into a ranting tirade, shouting and shaking my fist at all the people who were standing around watching, until the boys flipped the turtle on its back and moved away. With wild grey hair flying and English profanities spewing forth, I ripped the ropes from this poor turtle, heaved her upright and carried her back into the sea where she thankfully swam quickly away. As I cursed them all to the depths of hell, trudging huffing and puffing back up the sand, I saw another turtle, tied and upside down in a small boat beside a hut. Again, the rage. When I picked her up, she barely moved. Sputtering with hatred at this point I got her to the water where she needed coaxing to move, to swim, to fight. She eventually swam away but my heart was heavy … she may not have made it. I could have killed someone.
As I retold this story to the rangers, they were thankfully concerned but somewhat disappointed in me. Why hadn’t I taken any pictures of the culprits and the turtles? What could they do if they didn’t have pictures? *sigh* Defeat. Note to self…. Think! Think! Think! I’m so sorry turtles. Lesson learned.
Jellyfish. Google Kakaban Island. Seriously. Do it. It is one of only two places in the world where jellyfish have evolved in a freshwater lake to have no sting for lack of prey or predators. Bizarre. Creepy cool. Alien. Want to go back. Speedboat out and ended up at this uninhabited, white sand, paradise island. Walk a well worn boardwalk ten minutes into the jungle and stumble out to this enormous opaque green lake. I had seen some pictures of what to expect, so snorkels on, head under water, let’s go! *GASP!* Sputter! Squeal! Oh my GOSH! LOOOOOOOOK!!!!! By the pier, there are a few brownish, transparent bobbling jellyfish that you tentatively touch; do they REALLY not sting?! They really, really don’t! You keep swimming and the further you get, the more there are. Big ones, small ones, upside down ones attached to the sea grass at the bottom, their fuzzy bottoms outstretched to the sun above, and slimy transparent dinner plate ones. Not one single sting. You push through them, like swimming through a ball pit, definitely not of this world. Mangroves surround the lake and there is brightly coloured CORAL growing under, around, and on the roots of the trees! It was absolutely unlike anything I have ever experienced in my life. Unbelievable. There were a few incidents of jellyfish tossing, making them into wigs, and general childishness but there were SO MANY! True underwater highlight, for sure.
Mantas. On the way back from visiting this alien homeland, we stopped for a casual snorkel with my favourite love, those magnificent mantas. Let’s just hop off the boat here and snorkel around with a few beauties, shall we? Yes, we shall. A small, curious picture of perfection kept circling back for closer looks and a little company. Please take me with you. Please. Oh so fabulous. Yes, life is good.
I did manage to convince a different guide to take three of us out to the island that I really wanted to dive but it took an enormous amount of effort. When we did get out there, he wouldn’t take us to the site where I wanted to dive, telling an assortment of lies each time I pushed him, from not enough time, to not enough fuel, to currents too strong, etc. I was furious. We had spent $100USD on this boat and he wanted us to dive the same site twice and refused to take us to where I wanted to go once we arrived. Complete jackass. Did two dives, he knew we were really upset with him, but again, he didn’t care. He didn’t want to work anyway. Jerk. (The dives were VERY nice, by the way).
Sad side note of sea life in and around Derawan. The water is FULL of fishing huts and boats, full. What I noticed on my dives wasn’t so much what was there, but what wasn’t. We were in the middle of nowhere, channels running though far off islands. We should have been swarmed by fish. There was very, very little in the water. The site, the coral, the landscape was beautiful and wild but empty. Dynamite fishing and mass overfishing has emptied these waters and there is no turning back. Indonesia is a critical contributor to marine life destruction and it is escalating. No logical thought processes. Now is all that matters here. Mass swaths of the rainforest have fallen to logging and mining; I had no idea how gigantic the scale was until I flew over it. Life, on land and in the water, is being eliminated at an alarming rate in this part of the world. Complete devastation.
Sorry. Soapbox.
The majority of people who live on the island were lovely. I was away from the noise and the hassle of Surabaya where people stare and harass and insist on trying to take your picture when you’re not looking so the quiet, small island life was much needed. The locals who were in the business of the travelers weren’t interested in working, they dismissed you before they said hello, and lied as easily as they took a breath but the day to day interactions of those who simply lived on Derawan were just perfect. All good.
My return to the mainland was relatively hassle-free as I had become wise to the ways of the deceptive demons and simply told them how it was going to go. No questions asked.
Despite the shit show that was my week in Kalimantan, this is a place NOT to be missed. To avoid the anguish of wanting to stab your own eyes out on a trip to Derawan, simply do the exact OPPOSITE of what I did and you will be fine. Absolutely fine. I wanted a trip on my own, at the end of rainy season, to a place not many people visit, and figured I could sort it out once I got there. Should you go in the future, go in the dry season, with many friends, and book ahead. It’s worth it. I promise!
So yes friends, I survived thoughts of suicide as a way to escape the alternate universe I was temporarily trapped in and managed to wrap another bunch of unique experiences firmly around my full, full heart. Time is ticking away here in Indonesia and although there are countless things I still want to do, I think I’ll leave with a pretty good checklist of a year well spent. Don’t you?
The kids. The children on this island were in imminent danger of being snatched and stolen by me at any given moment. A group of little boys entertained me daily as they hung out on, around, or under my porch always having a lovely chat even though none of us could understand each other. As I did endless laps around the island, walking in the rain or the afternoon sun after the day of rain, so many sweet faces with shy smiles and brave babes with eager grins ran up to greet me or peeked and waved from the shadows of their homes. And they played. Played, played, played. A game of marbles was happening every few meters, coconut husks were kicked around, bikes were being raced, random bits of this and that were providing endless entertainment. The kids were happy, healthy souls. Oh how I wanted to take them all home.
Turtles. Big ones. Massive. When we tied banana leaves to a rope and let them float in the water off the boardwalks, enormous beauties would arrive and munch until there was nothing left but the rope. Clambering up and over each other to get to their happy snack. Saw a pile up of 5 at one time. Gorgeous.
These aged beauty queens were the mamas who were coming up to the beaches at night and laying their precious eggs. WWF has invested here and it is paying off. Sort of. Every 12 days for 3 months, a mama turtle lays around 100 eggs. That’s A LOT of eggs. A lot of eggs in danger. The locals ON THIS SAME ISLAND, still eat turtle eggs and kill smaller turtles so that they can stuff them and sell them to other Indonesian tourists. So.Much.Rage. Thankfully, each night, 3 rangers patrol the beach, wait for the mamas to lay their eggs, snatch the eggs, count and label them, then bury them in secret locations where they will hatch two months later. The same rangers who rescue them as eggs release them as brand new babies into the sea.
I was lucky enough to be part of both the egg snatching and the baby releasing. And yes, there were tears. Steaming warm turtle eggs in my hand one night, squirming, squishy soft new hatchlings in my hands the next. Oh heaven, heaven, heaven. These rangers are doing incredible work and are scoffed and ignored by the very people they grew up with, live with, on the same island, fighting their work every single day. The thought process, or lack thereof, in this country makes me enormously sad. Only one in 100 baby turtles will survive the rough seas and here, they also have to contend with the locals eating them before they are out of their shells, or catching them in nets if they do survive and slaughtering them for sale.
Example: as four of us sat for a drink after coming back from rescuing turtle eggs, one of the girls showed the shop lady a photo of the pile of turtle eggs. The lady got so excited. She wanted us to take her to where the eggs were buried because turtle eggs taste so good! Noooooooo! The completely horrified reaction she got from all of us caused her to retreat but you can be sure her opinion is shared by many.
I am not getting any better at dealing with this.
Case in point… as I emerged from my shack one afternoon, I looked down to the sand under the next door boardwalk and saw two boys who had pinned down a turtle and were tying it up. A young turtle, maybe a half a meter long and still fairly strong. They were tying up its neck and flippers as it was trying to escape. Cue crazy woman Janice. At full screech and sadly without thinking, I jumped down off my boardwalk and launched into a ranting tirade, shouting and shaking my fist at all the people who were standing around watching, until the boys flipped the turtle on its back and moved away. With wild grey hair flying and English profanities spewing forth, I ripped the ropes from this poor turtle, heaved her upright and carried her back into the sea where she thankfully swam quickly away. As I cursed them all to the depths of hell, trudging huffing and puffing back up the sand, I saw another turtle, tied and upside down in a small boat beside a hut. Again, the rage. When I picked her up, she barely moved. Sputtering with hatred at this point I got her to the water where she needed coaxing to move, to swim, to fight. She eventually swam away but my heart was heavy … she may not have made it. I could have killed someone.
As I retold this story to the rangers, they were thankfully concerned but somewhat disappointed in me. Why hadn’t I taken any pictures of the culprits and the turtles? What could they do if they didn’t have pictures? *sigh* Defeat. Note to self…. Think! Think! Think! I’m so sorry turtles. Lesson learned.
Jellyfish. Google Kakaban Island. Seriously. Do it. It is one of only two places in the world where jellyfish have evolved in a freshwater lake to have no sting for lack of prey or predators. Bizarre. Creepy cool. Alien. Want to go back. Speedboat out and ended up at this uninhabited, white sand, paradise island. Walk a well worn boardwalk ten minutes into the jungle and stumble out to this enormous opaque green lake. I had seen some pictures of what to expect, so snorkels on, head under water, let’s go! *GASP!* Sputter! Squeal! Oh my GOSH! LOOOOOOOOK!!!!! By the pier, there are a few brownish, transparent bobbling jellyfish that you tentatively touch; do they REALLY not sting?! They really, really don’t! You keep swimming and the further you get, the more there are. Big ones, small ones, upside down ones attached to the sea grass at the bottom, their fuzzy bottoms outstretched to the sun above, and slimy transparent dinner plate ones. Not one single sting. You push through them, like swimming through a ball pit, definitely not of this world. Mangroves surround the lake and there is brightly coloured CORAL growing under, around, and on the roots of the trees! It was absolutely unlike anything I have ever experienced in my life. Unbelievable. There were a few incidents of jellyfish tossing, making them into wigs, and general childishness but there were SO MANY! True underwater highlight, for sure.
Mantas. On the way back from visiting this alien homeland, we stopped for a casual snorkel with my favourite love, those magnificent mantas. Let’s just hop off the boat here and snorkel around with a few beauties, shall we? Yes, we shall. A small, curious picture of perfection kept circling back for closer looks and a little company. Please take me with you. Please. Oh so fabulous. Yes, life is good.
I did manage to convince a different guide to take three of us out to the island that I really wanted to dive but it took an enormous amount of effort. When we did get out there, he wouldn’t take us to the site where I wanted to dive, telling an assortment of lies each time I pushed him, from not enough time, to not enough fuel, to currents too strong, etc. I was furious. We had spent $100USD on this boat and he wanted us to dive the same site twice and refused to take us to where I wanted to go once we arrived. Complete jackass. Did two dives, he knew we were really upset with him, but again, he didn’t care. He didn’t want to work anyway. Jerk. (The dives were VERY nice, by the way).
Sad side note of sea life in and around Derawan. The water is FULL of fishing huts and boats, full. What I noticed on my dives wasn’t so much what was there, but what wasn’t. We were in the middle of nowhere, channels running though far off islands. We should have been swarmed by fish. There was very, very little in the water. The site, the coral, the landscape was beautiful and wild but empty. Dynamite fishing and mass overfishing has emptied these waters and there is no turning back. Indonesia is a critical contributor to marine life destruction and it is escalating. No logical thought processes. Now is all that matters here. Mass swaths of the rainforest have fallen to logging and mining; I had no idea how gigantic the scale was until I flew over it. Life, on land and in the water, is being eliminated at an alarming rate in this part of the world. Complete devastation.
Sorry. Soapbox.
The majority of people who live on the island were lovely. I was away from the noise and the hassle of Surabaya where people stare and harass and insist on trying to take your picture when you’re not looking so the quiet, small island life was much needed. The locals who were in the business of the travelers weren’t interested in working, they dismissed you before they said hello, and lied as easily as they took a breath but the day to day interactions of those who simply lived on Derawan were just perfect. All good.
My return to the mainland was relatively hassle-free as I had become wise to the ways of the deceptive demons and simply told them how it was going to go. No questions asked.
Despite the shit show that was my week in Kalimantan, this is a place NOT to be missed. To avoid the anguish of wanting to stab your own eyes out on a trip to Derawan, simply do the exact OPPOSITE of what I did and you will be fine. Absolutely fine. I wanted a trip on my own, at the end of rainy season, to a place not many people visit, and figured I could sort it out once I got there. Should you go in the future, go in the dry season, with many friends, and book ahead. It’s worth it. I promise!
So yes friends, I survived thoughts of suicide as a way to escape the alternate universe I was temporarily trapped in and managed to wrap another bunch of unique experiences firmly around my full, full heart. Time is ticking away here in Indonesia and although there are countless things I still want to do, I think I’ll leave with a pretty good checklist of a year well spent. Don’t you?
Kalimantan you're KILLING me!
Yes, another holiday, yes, more holiday stories. As often as I hang my head when people ask me what I do for a living, my photos and these stories remind me that yeah, my life isn’t quite so bad. Middle aged and still roaming; I haven’t found a good enough reason to stop yet. March 2012 destination… Kalimantan, Indonesian Borneo.
Despite several attempts to gather information or prepare myself for this journey in some small way, I continued to come up more or less empty handed. Little info on the internet, even less in books, and word of mouth was questionable, at best. That’s fine, that’s fine, I had resigned myself to accepting that this was going to be an “adventure”. Diving was the focus, getting there was the challenge. Pffft. I’ve clawed my way through stranger places, how hard can this be?
Oh yeah, I forgot. It’s Indonesia.
Let’s start with…
Rage. So much rage.
I know, I know, it’s pointless getting frustrated and angry, I should be more in control and just roll with it, but unless you’ve been here, unless you’ve experienced it, there is just no way to control the rage. Fellow Indo inhabitants, I know you can relate. We have all been there.
I spent the first two days of my holiday walking and driving in circles. Literally. Arrived in the town where I was to stay the night before heading over to the island and was greeted in each and every hotel and guesthouse with “full.”. I’m sorry? “Full.” Full? There are hardly any people on the streets, what the hell do you mean, “full”? “Yes. Full.” Oh for shit sake. Each place gave me directions to another hotel to try because of course, even though you own 3 cell phones by the time you are 5 years old here, no one actually has any phone numbers. Oh and directions? Yeah, directions in Indonesia consist of having you walk in a circle until you end up back where you started then try to figure it out on your own. Good fun. Thumbs up.
While searching for a place to sleep, I stopped into no less than 5 travel agencies to inquire about transportation to get to Derawan, the island I was heading to the next day. Not one single person in the first four TRAVEL agencies knew of any way to get there. The only reason tourists come to this town I was in is to get to this island, but apparently yeah, no one knows how to get there. There must be cameras on me somewhere. This has to be a joke. Fifth stop was a success, sort of. 3 lovely young girls who spoke surprisingly good English helped me find a place to stay, made phone calls about how to get to the island, and let me wait out a massive rain storm. How to get to Derawan? No, nothing. *bangbangbang* (me slamming my forehead against the table).
Holed up in my room and attempted to collect my fragile composure. Went for a bit of a nighttime wander which reinforced just how small this place was so was able to convince myself that it was just a bad travel day and it would all come together tomorrow. Easy Peasy.
Yeah. I’m so dumb.
The next morning I walked for no less than TWO HOURS in circles and circles and circles as random people said yes then no then yes then no about transport to the island. Rage re-ignited instantly. Eventually found something, negotiated an outrageous price then plopped down to wait. And wait. And wait. Then we were on the move. Yes! Okay, we’re going. This is it. Oh wait, no, I’ve seen that before, oh wait, hey, that’s where I stayed last night, hold on a minute now, that’s where we were just parked… what the hell is going on here???? The driver spent the next TWO HOURS driving around, answering phone calls, and picking up random people and parcels to load the car up full before we even started our journey out of town. We visited houses, stopped on street corners, and pulled up to shops. I sat in the front seat, sunglasses on, palms of my hands bleeding from nails dug in, lips bitten shut to contain the boiling inferno. Dear Indonesia, someone is about to die.
The driver laughed as he sped through sinkholes the size of buffalo and didn’t seem the least bit concerned that he scraped off several inches of the underside of his car each and every time we were launched into the air. When I pointed out a significant dent/smash on the bottom of the body of his vehicle that he had caused, he shrugged his shoulders and laughed. Yessir get me away from this lunatic.
Onto the boat. Thankfully was aware of what the price SHOULD be and despite the attack at the harbor front from the same slime that seem to exist the planet over, I managed to secure boat transportation at the right price and no one had to die. Be careful, Indonesia, the rage is on a very thin leash.
Derawan looked lovely upon arrival. Outstretched boardwalks and brightly coloured houses. I think this is gonna be okay. Again everyone, let’s say it together…
I’m so dumb.
I proceeded to spend the next hour walking and walking and walking (it takes less than half an hour to completely circle the island). Full. Oh COME ON!!! It was an Indonesian long weekend, so everything was full. *muttermuttermutter*swearswearswear*wimperwimperwimper*. It’s fine. I can do this. I am pretty resourceful. I will sleep on the beach, no big deal. Just as I had resigned myself to a night of outdoor adventure, I was directed to a restaurant that had a room out back along the boardwalk, perched over the water. I’ll take it. Done.
It was bare and basic, buckets for toilets and shower that I shared with the family who owned the place, but there was a porch that looked out over the sea, the water was below me and out as far as I could see, so yes, I’m in. This will do just fine. Now off to sort the diving.
I can feel the burn of anguish and frustration building behind my eyeballs even as I type this. This twilight zone of a place was pushing me to my very limits. The one “dive shop” had no one around and when someone was able to be reached by phone she quoted me the highest price on planet earth with a very serious tone. $50USD for one dive PLUS renting the boat at $200USD. For one dive? Yes. One? Yes. Again, looking around for the hidden cameras. This must be a practical joke. No cameras? No? This is real? Holy hell.
I had heard that there were a few dive guides who took people out but they weren’t connected with any shops so they charged half the price. I was now on a mission. Found a cowboy after much searching and was able to convince him to take me out the next day. Showed up the next day and was happy happy joy joy to get in the water just off the island. Seemed that the dive “guide” was just some local guy who knew how to dive, no real idea of safety or concerns, but meh! I just want to be in the water and figured I was good to take care of myself. Let’s go!
Through chit chat and lots of inquiries, it seemed that if I wanted to get to the good dives, where I really wanted to go, the going rate was $100USD to rent the boat plus the more reasonable dive price. So find friends fast or forget about it. I quickly discovered that this was a wealthy island and people here didn’t need the money so they charged outrageous prices, didn’t care if they got business or not, and really couldn’t be assed to work, regardless of the demand. And oh yeah, it was still rainy season up that way. Absolute defeat.
Night number 2 brought the biggest, wickedest, loudest storm I have ever encountered. Ever. I was in a wooden shack, with a tin roof, over the water. The storm raged for over 6 hours and I was 100% convinced that the entire island was about to be wiped out. Thunder that didn’t stop and start, it started then rolled and roared and shook the ground for solid minutes. Lightning that didn’t strike but flashed from every point in the sky illuminating the wildly whipping sea for up to 5 seconds at a time. Count that folks. Think about it. Lightning usually strikes for less than a second. This was like someone had turned on the lights. The waves were crashing and tossing all the small boats around, my shack was shaking, rattling, and rolling from the wind, waterfall of sheet rain, and ginormous waves that were pounding the supporting stilts underneath me, and I was waiting for the world to end. The tin roof amplified the elements to such a volume that when I actually spoke out loud in an attempt to calm myself down, I couldn’t hear my own voice. Yes, I have lived a good life. This isn’t how I planned to go, but hey, it’s a story to tell. This is the end.
But gasp! Surprise! It wasn’t the end. The storm eased off, the sky lightened from ink black to fuzzy grey, and I poked out to see what was left of the shredded island. As locals emptied their flooded but still afloat boats with well-worn buckets and scraps of plastic, all seemed right with the world. I expected devastation, flattened houses and trees stripped bare. I saw a few puddles and closed doors. That’s it. No damage, no devastation, no doomsday. Obviously these knock-you-out storms are common place here (as I would experience first-hand over the rest of the week) and this island, this place is built to withstand. Absolutely amazing.
There’s no need to go into the remaining struggles of the week, as there were many. Trying to convince someone to take us out on a boat, making them boatloads of money, was infuriatingly effortful. No one seemed interested, or they’d say yes and then not show. Couldn’t care less if travelers came or not. I tried to change my flights to leave early but shock upon shock, couldn’t get a hold of anyone on the phone. THAT’S how done I was with this place.
So as I felt sorry for my pitiful self through several more stormy days and zero diving on the horizon, I became slightly crazed (or MORE crazed to those of you who have spent any time with me lately). The island is swarming with cats, a gazillion cats; I think I made friends with and had lengthy conversations with a good 50% of them during my week there. Maybe more. They were FAR more friendly than the locals so I figured it was fine. I felt myself slowly unraveling and knew that there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it.
Thankfully a few events occurred that saved my remaining threads of sanity and will be stored in the lifetime memory bank. Tune in to the next entry for the REALLY good stuff.
Despite several attempts to gather information or prepare myself for this journey in some small way, I continued to come up more or less empty handed. Little info on the internet, even less in books, and word of mouth was questionable, at best. That’s fine, that’s fine, I had resigned myself to accepting that this was going to be an “adventure”. Diving was the focus, getting there was the challenge. Pffft. I’ve clawed my way through stranger places, how hard can this be?
Oh yeah, I forgot. It’s Indonesia.
Let’s start with…
Rage. So much rage.
I know, I know, it’s pointless getting frustrated and angry, I should be more in control and just roll with it, but unless you’ve been here, unless you’ve experienced it, there is just no way to control the rage. Fellow Indo inhabitants, I know you can relate. We have all been there.
I spent the first two days of my holiday walking and driving in circles. Literally. Arrived in the town where I was to stay the night before heading over to the island and was greeted in each and every hotel and guesthouse with “full.”. I’m sorry? “Full.” Full? There are hardly any people on the streets, what the hell do you mean, “full”? “Yes. Full.” Oh for shit sake. Each place gave me directions to another hotel to try because of course, even though you own 3 cell phones by the time you are 5 years old here, no one actually has any phone numbers. Oh and directions? Yeah, directions in Indonesia consist of having you walk in a circle until you end up back where you started then try to figure it out on your own. Good fun. Thumbs up.
While searching for a place to sleep, I stopped into no less than 5 travel agencies to inquire about transportation to get to Derawan, the island I was heading to the next day. Not one single person in the first four TRAVEL agencies knew of any way to get there. The only reason tourists come to this town I was in is to get to this island, but apparently yeah, no one knows how to get there. There must be cameras on me somewhere. This has to be a joke. Fifth stop was a success, sort of. 3 lovely young girls who spoke surprisingly good English helped me find a place to stay, made phone calls about how to get to the island, and let me wait out a massive rain storm. How to get to Derawan? No, nothing. *bangbangbang* (me slamming my forehead against the table).
Holed up in my room and attempted to collect my fragile composure. Went for a bit of a nighttime wander which reinforced just how small this place was so was able to convince myself that it was just a bad travel day and it would all come together tomorrow. Easy Peasy.
Yeah. I’m so dumb.
The next morning I walked for no less than TWO HOURS in circles and circles and circles as random people said yes then no then yes then no about transport to the island. Rage re-ignited instantly. Eventually found something, negotiated an outrageous price then plopped down to wait. And wait. And wait. Then we were on the move. Yes! Okay, we’re going. This is it. Oh wait, no, I’ve seen that before, oh wait, hey, that’s where I stayed last night, hold on a minute now, that’s where we were just parked… what the hell is going on here???? The driver spent the next TWO HOURS driving around, answering phone calls, and picking up random people and parcels to load the car up full before we even started our journey out of town. We visited houses, stopped on street corners, and pulled up to shops. I sat in the front seat, sunglasses on, palms of my hands bleeding from nails dug in, lips bitten shut to contain the boiling inferno. Dear Indonesia, someone is about to die.
The driver laughed as he sped through sinkholes the size of buffalo and didn’t seem the least bit concerned that he scraped off several inches of the underside of his car each and every time we were launched into the air. When I pointed out a significant dent/smash on the bottom of the body of his vehicle that he had caused, he shrugged his shoulders and laughed. Yessir get me away from this lunatic.
Onto the boat. Thankfully was aware of what the price SHOULD be and despite the attack at the harbor front from the same slime that seem to exist the planet over, I managed to secure boat transportation at the right price and no one had to die. Be careful, Indonesia, the rage is on a very thin leash.
Derawan looked lovely upon arrival. Outstretched boardwalks and brightly coloured houses. I think this is gonna be okay. Again everyone, let’s say it together…
I’m so dumb.
I proceeded to spend the next hour walking and walking and walking (it takes less than half an hour to completely circle the island). Full. Oh COME ON!!! It was an Indonesian long weekend, so everything was full. *muttermuttermutter*swearswearswear*wimperwimperwimper*. It’s fine. I can do this. I am pretty resourceful. I will sleep on the beach, no big deal. Just as I had resigned myself to a night of outdoor adventure, I was directed to a restaurant that had a room out back along the boardwalk, perched over the water. I’ll take it. Done.
It was bare and basic, buckets for toilets and shower that I shared with the family who owned the place, but there was a porch that looked out over the sea, the water was below me and out as far as I could see, so yes, I’m in. This will do just fine. Now off to sort the diving.
I can feel the burn of anguish and frustration building behind my eyeballs even as I type this. This twilight zone of a place was pushing me to my very limits. The one “dive shop” had no one around and when someone was able to be reached by phone she quoted me the highest price on planet earth with a very serious tone. $50USD for one dive PLUS renting the boat at $200USD. For one dive? Yes. One? Yes. Again, looking around for the hidden cameras. This must be a practical joke. No cameras? No? This is real? Holy hell.
I had heard that there were a few dive guides who took people out but they weren’t connected with any shops so they charged half the price. I was now on a mission. Found a cowboy after much searching and was able to convince him to take me out the next day. Showed up the next day and was happy happy joy joy to get in the water just off the island. Seemed that the dive “guide” was just some local guy who knew how to dive, no real idea of safety or concerns, but meh! I just want to be in the water and figured I was good to take care of myself. Let’s go!
Through chit chat and lots of inquiries, it seemed that if I wanted to get to the good dives, where I really wanted to go, the going rate was $100USD to rent the boat plus the more reasonable dive price. So find friends fast or forget about it. I quickly discovered that this was a wealthy island and people here didn’t need the money so they charged outrageous prices, didn’t care if they got business or not, and really couldn’t be assed to work, regardless of the demand. And oh yeah, it was still rainy season up that way. Absolute defeat.
Night number 2 brought the biggest, wickedest, loudest storm I have ever encountered. Ever. I was in a wooden shack, with a tin roof, over the water. The storm raged for over 6 hours and I was 100% convinced that the entire island was about to be wiped out. Thunder that didn’t stop and start, it started then rolled and roared and shook the ground for solid minutes. Lightning that didn’t strike but flashed from every point in the sky illuminating the wildly whipping sea for up to 5 seconds at a time. Count that folks. Think about it. Lightning usually strikes for less than a second. This was like someone had turned on the lights. The waves were crashing and tossing all the small boats around, my shack was shaking, rattling, and rolling from the wind, waterfall of sheet rain, and ginormous waves that were pounding the supporting stilts underneath me, and I was waiting for the world to end. The tin roof amplified the elements to such a volume that when I actually spoke out loud in an attempt to calm myself down, I couldn’t hear my own voice. Yes, I have lived a good life. This isn’t how I planned to go, but hey, it’s a story to tell. This is the end.
But gasp! Surprise! It wasn’t the end. The storm eased off, the sky lightened from ink black to fuzzy grey, and I poked out to see what was left of the shredded island. As locals emptied their flooded but still afloat boats with well-worn buckets and scraps of plastic, all seemed right with the world. I expected devastation, flattened houses and trees stripped bare. I saw a few puddles and closed doors. That’s it. No damage, no devastation, no doomsday. Obviously these knock-you-out storms are common place here (as I would experience first-hand over the rest of the week) and this island, this place is built to withstand. Absolutely amazing.
There’s no need to go into the remaining struggles of the week, as there were many. Trying to convince someone to take us out on a boat, making them boatloads of money, was infuriatingly effortful. No one seemed interested, or they’d say yes and then not show. Couldn’t care less if travelers came or not. I tried to change my flights to leave early but shock upon shock, couldn’t get a hold of anyone on the phone. THAT’S how done I was with this place.
So as I felt sorry for my pitiful self through several more stormy days and zero diving on the horizon, I became slightly crazed (or MORE crazed to those of you who have spent any time with me lately). The island is swarming with cats, a gazillion cats; I think I made friends with and had lengthy conversations with a good 50% of them during my week there. Maybe more. They were FAR more friendly than the locals so I figured it was fine. I felt myself slowly unraveling and knew that there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it.
Thankfully a few events occurred that saved my remaining threads of sanity and will be stored in the lifetime memory bank. Tune in to the next entry for the REALLY good stuff.
Monday, January 30, 2012
500kms? How hard can it be?
And it continues…
The public bus that I had arranged to take me on the first long part of my journey out of LBJ of course never showed. Shocking , I know. So with the help of several lovely people, I was put on another crammed (but nowhere near Africa crammed) bus and the long ass journey began. At one point several hours in, we stopped in a town for lunch and the bus driver started to insist that I get out as he had arranged for a private car to take me to the town I wanted to go to. He wasn’t going to Bajawa, but this car would take me. For a price. No, no, no. You said you would take me. I’m not getting out. He tried to involve the other locals, all of whom quietly kept to themselves, so he kept driving. And the bus got emptier. Don’t worry miss, Bajawa, Bajawa. Damn straight Bajawa. You’re not dropping me off on some random side of the road.
Then the bus was empty. We were in some small, strange town, and another big surprise, this wasn’t Bajawa. Oh for f**k sake! You WILL find me transportation to where you said we were going. Sorry, holiday, no bus. I don’t care. Find someone. Something. Do it. Now. I had been on his bus for 8 hours by this point. So we drove, and we drove, and we drove. And he got crazier and crazier and crazier. He swung from … screaming, ranting angry… no bus! no bus! to … you stay with me? at my house? we can be friends. to… spitting, slurring, crazy tourist! no bus! holiday! to … please, come sit beside me, I need you to help me stay awake, I want to be friends. I (thankfully) had stayed in my seat behind him, out of arm’s reach and made no moves to join him in the front. Did I mention it was pouring rain by this point and I was in the middle of a jungle mountain road on this side of nowhere? With no phone credit? Yeah, smart.
FINALLY, after a couple of hours and several mood swings, he drops me in another random small town on the other side of nowhere where he had convinced a semi-truck driver to take me to where I was going. So up I hopped, into the big cab, smushed between the sweet driver and his two co-drivers, while his wife and son were perched up in the sleeping area behind the cab. Okay. It’ll do. We did not exceed 20 km/hr, it took us an hour and a half to go 35kms. I kid you not. Oh dear GAWD!
I roll into the town I had set out for 12 hours after I began and although it was only 7pm, I was done, out, ready to call it quits, and I think, slightly traumatized. I took a walking, orient myself cruise through this tiny town, in the dark, and saw the NYE party preparation in full swing. One shop, all invited. Chatted with a few local tour guides at my guesthouse who were all on driving trips with other travelers and said I was going to take a nap and be up to see midnight. The random fireworks had already started, it was going to be a gong show. *** side note*** fireworks are legal here, the bigger, the better. Buckets and buckets and buckets of mass amounts of fire power at the hands of every man, woman, and child. Ummm… yeah, that’s a great idea!
Needless to say, as WWIII exploded outside of my room, I let midnight pass me by, curled up in my bed, avoiding injury and probably a much better story to tell. The first time ever I was not up to ring in the New Year. Shame on me. Shame. Shame. Shame.
And my plans of moving on to the next town the next day? Yeah, it was January 1st. No chance. One of the tour guides from the night before had arranged to take me on a motorbike trip to see some of the local villages, yeah, he didn’t show either, (are you catching the recurring theme, here) and so the other two guides still hanging around the hotel bantered back and forth with me and some other travelers about plans for the day stuck in Bajawa.
I went with one to see a couple of local villages and love, love, loved it. What I imagine parts of South America might look like, these incredibly bizarre, exceptionally well thought out small areas cleared and cut out of the side of thick, jungle-filled mountains. Gorgeous, ancient, and very, very poor. On the tourist circuit so hopefully some money coming in somewhere but very, very poor.
Resigned to staying put for the rest of the day and was quite happy wandering around town. Until the rain started. And it started. As is the season, early afternoon until early evenings then again overnight, it pours and pours and pours. So I walked when I could, read when I couldn’t and hoped I would catch a break in the weather at some point. That was a silly, silly hope.
The next morning, a lovely French couple and I made arrangements with one of the tour guides, who didn’t have guests, to take us to our next destination. Another long, slow day in the car. The roads we were travelling were narrow mountain switch backs. I don’t think we ever got above 40 kms/hr. Oh so painful. But we arrived, in the rain, and settled in for the evening, in the rain. Lovely, strange town of Moni, very, very quiet.
French couple decided to stay a couple of days, I was, as always, undecided. Tour guide said he had to get to the town I was going to, regardless of tourists, so he would take me to see some volcanic lakes I wanted to see and to Maumere for a very reasonable price. Okay. Deal.
Got up the next morning, he’s nowhere to be found. Why, why, why do I bother? Wandered around a fabulous morning market until he was ready to go. We were going to see these three coloured volcanic lakes at Kalimutu then would come back to get our stuff and head to Maumere. No problem. Oh yeah, one problem. Rain. Big rain. So we drive, painfully slowly up this wrecked road in the pouring rain in a vehicle with terrifyingly bald tires. Arrive at the entrance to the path for the lakes, wall of rain. I don’t care. I want to see this. Down side, no pictures as it was chucking it down, good side, there wasn’t another person in sight.
Don’t know how to describe Kalimutu, you’re just going to have to google it. You follow a path up and along the ridge of a volcano where you can peer down into three different lakes of three different craters, all three of them different colours. One was a turquoise green, one was a milky white/blue, and the third was jet black. Strange, beautiful, amazing. As I’m hiking up above the treeline, following a dirt path that leads up a rocky trail to a peak that overlooks all three craters, it is dark, very, very dark. Thunder is crackling and lightning is flashing all around me. The rain is coming down in straight sheets and there is no one in sight. Local folklore has it that when someone dies, their souls come to rest in these lakes. I swear, this was a horror movie in the making. I could almost see the ghosts rising out of those coloured lakes as the misty rain clouds drifted around me. I was sure I was going to be lifted up by some unseen spirit and chucked into one of those murky pools, never to be seen again, left to haunt the hills of Flores for all of eternity. Yes, yes, it sounds ridiculous but you should have seen this place! You’d believe me if you could have seen it.
I was standing on the top of the world, nothing but rock and dirt and volcanic craters sloping steeply all around me as the thunder got louder and the lightning more frequent. Half in jest and half in fear I said out loud, “Okay! Okay! I’m going! I’m going!” and started hauling ass down the slippery steps. I kid you not, the rain eased off, the thunder stopped and the lightning disappeared. I AM NOT LYING!!! So I stopped, just inside the trees, to take a look back at where I had come from; standing alone at the top of that rocky peak, three craters falling to the sides, could have been on another planet, when !!!CRACK!!! the sky ripped open with an ear-splitting rip of thunder. Yep, didn’t stop moving until I got back to the car.
Dry clothes and we’re on our way to Maumere, my final destination. By this time, it has been 4 days of slow, nausea-inducing driving and heavy rain. Done, done, done. 4 days to cover 550kms. Kill me now. Get to Maumere, check in at some dingy guesthouse, driver is waiting around. I know what’s coming, I know it, I know it, I know it. I ask him if everything’s okay, and remind him of the money I gave him in the morning. He says, no, that was only for taking me to the lakes. I laugh, sit down, and shake my head. I tell him with a smile on my face and an edge to my voice, that HE had asked me to come on the last leg of the trip that he HAD to do so that he could return the car, and HE was the one who told me how much it would cost to see the lakes and get to Maumere. I would have been quite happy to take the public bus. His face falls. No, no, do you remember that conversation? Do you remember saying those things to me? Oh, yes, well, I forgot. Thank you for getting me here but I have already paid you, right? Oh, yes, right. Okay, now I have a plane ticket to book to get the HELL out of Flores!!!
I struggled with my journey through Flores, as most people told me I would. Indonesia has some very poor regions and this entire island is exceptionally so. Travelling places not set up for tourism is most often something I seek out, local life is what I want to see, but here, it’s rough. While not set up for tourism, they see foreigners coming through so I was often approached with aggressive, rude, or obscene intentions. They want money (understandable) but seem to feel that you have it so you should give it to them. Lots of swindling, outright lying, and demanding attention interactions. I haven’t had to feel “constantly on my guard” in a long time but this trip re-ignited that sense in me. Every little gesture was done with hand out and insistent glare. Very disappointing. Of course this wasn’t the whole trip and I did meet some lovely folks along the way but for the most part, it was a hectic journey. I’m glad I did it, I’m always thrilled to see something new, but I don’t think I’d do it again. EXHAUSTING!
So two hours after my eternal road trip ended, I had a plane ticket booked for the next day to go back to quiet, peaceful, sunny Meno, island home of the friend I went to see in October. Get me outta here!
Darryn had no idea I was coming as I had no idea I was going so despite a few snags (like getting stuck overnight on the mainland and sleeping over at the house of a friend of a person I met on the plane. Yes, things you would NEVER do at home are commonplace here) I showed up at the dive shop as he was heading out, SURPRISE! hugs and smiles and high fives, and I did nothing but beach and sun and chilled company for the last two days of my holiday. Much needed, much loved, much perfect. Two weeks travelling in Indo, please don’t make me go back to work. Oh, what’s that? Only two and a half more months until my next holiday? Oh, okay then. Thanks!
The public bus that I had arranged to take me on the first long part of my journey out of LBJ of course never showed. Shocking , I know. So with the help of several lovely people, I was put on another crammed (but nowhere near Africa crammed) bus and the long ass journey began. At one point several hours in, we stopped in a town for lunch and the bus driver started to insist that I get out as he had arranged for a private car to take me to the town I wanted to go to. He wasn’t going to Bajawa, but this car would take me. For a price. No, no, no. You said you would take me. I’m not getting out. He tried to involve the other locals, all of whom quietly kept to themselves, so he kept driving. And the bus got emptier. Don’t worry miss, Bajawa, Bajawa. Damn straight Bajawa. You’re not dropping me off on some random side of the road.
Then the bus was empty. We were in some small, strange town, and another big surprise, this wasn’t Bajawa. Oh for f**k sake! You WILL find me transportation to where you said we were going. Sorry, holiday, no bus. I don’t care. Find someone. Something. Do it. Now. I had been on his bus for 8 hours by this point. So we drove, and we drove, and we drove. And he got crazier and crazier and crazier. He swung from … screaming, ranting angry… no bus! no bus! to … you stay with me? at my house? we can be friends. to… spitting, slurring, crazy tourist! no bus! holiday! to … please, come sit beside me, I need you to help me stay awake, I want to be friends. I (thankfully) had stayed in my seat behind him, out of arm’s reach and made no moves to join him in the front. Did I mention it was pouring rain by this point and I was in the middle of a jungle mountain road on this side of nowhere? With no phone credit? Yeah, smart.
FINALLY, after a couple of hours and several mood swings, he drops me in another random small town on the other side of nowhere where he had convinced a semi-truck driver to take me to where I was going. So up I hopped, into the big cab, smushed between the sweet driver and his two co-drivers, while his wife and son were perched up in the sleeping area behind the cab. Okay. It’ll do. We did not exceed 20 km/hr, it took us an hour and a half to go 35kms. I kid you not. Oh dear GAWD!
I roll into the town I had set out for 12 hours after I began and although it was only 7pm, I was done, out, ready to call it quits, and I think, slightly traumatized. I took a walking, orient myself cruise through this tiny town, in the dark, and saw the NYE party preparation in full swing. One shop, all invited. Chatted with a few local tour guides at my guesthouse who were all on driving trips with other travelers and said I was going to take a nap and be up to see midnight. The random fireworks had already started, it was going to be a gong show. *** side note*** fireworks are legal here, the bigger, the better. Buckets and buckets and buckets of mass amounts of fire power at the hands of every man, woman, and child. Ummm… yeah, that’s a great idea!
Needless to say, as WWIII exploded outside of my room, I let midnight pass me by, curled up in my bed, avoiding injury and probably a much better story to tell. The first time ever I was not up to ring in the New Year. Shame on me. Shame. Shame. Shame.
And my plans of moving on to the next town the next day? Yeah, it was January 1st. No chance. One of the tour guides from the night before had arranged to take me on a motorbike trip to see some of the local villages, yeah, he didn’t show either, (are you catching the recurring theme, here) and so the other two guides still hanging around the hotel bantered back and forth with me and some other travelers about plans for the day stuck in Bajawa.
I went with one to see a couple of local villages and love, love, loved it. What I imagine parts of South America might look like, these incredibly bizarre, exceptionally well thought out small areas cleared and cut out of the side of thick, jungle-filled mountains. Gorgeous, ancient, and very, very poor. On the tourist circuit so hopefully some money coming in somewhere but very, very poor.
Resigned to staying put for the rest of the day and was quite happy wandering around town. Until the rain started. And it started. As is the season, early afternoon until early evenings then again overnight, it pours and pours and pours. So I walked when I could, read when I couldn’t and hoped I would catch a break in the weather at some point. That was a silly, silly hope.
The next morning, a lovely French couple and I made arrangements with one of the tour guides, who didn’t have guests, to take us to our next destination. Another long, slow day in the car. The roads we were travelling were narrow mountain switch backs. I don’t think we ever got above 40 kms/hr. Oh so painful. But we arrived, in the rain, and settled in for the evening, in the rain. Lovely, strange town of Moni, very, very quiet.
French couple decided to stay a couple of days, I was, as always, undecided. Tour guide said he had to get to the town I was going to, regardless of tourists, so he would take me to see some volcanic lakes I wanted to see and to Maumere for a very reasonable price. Okay. Deal.
Got up the next morning, he’s nowhere to be found. Why, why, why do I bother? Wandered around a fabulous morning market until he was ready to go. We were going to see these three coloured volcanic lakes at Kalimutu then would come back to get our stuff and head to Maumere. No problem. Oh yeah, one problem. Rain. Big rain. So we drive, painfully slowly up this wrecked road in the pouring rain in a vehicle with terrifyingly bald tires. Arrive at the entrance to the path for the lakes, wall of rain. I don’t care. I want to see this. Down side, no pictures as it was chucking it down, good side, there wasn’t another person in sight.
Don’t know how to describe Kalimutu, you’re just going to have to google it. You follow a path up and along the ridge of a volcano where you can peer down into three different lakes of three different craters, all three of them different colours. One was a turquoise green, one was a milky white/blue, and the third was jet black. Strange, beautiful, amazing. As I’m hiking up above the treeline, following a dirt path that leads up a rocky trail to a peak that overlooks all three craters, it is dark, very, very dark. Thunder is crackling and lightning is flashing all around me. The rain is coming down in straight sheets and there is no one in sight. Local folklore has it that when someone dies, their souls come to rest in these lakes. I swear, this was a horror movie in the making. I could almost see the ghosts rising out of those coloured lakes as the misty rain clouds drifted around me. I was sure I was going to be lifted up by some unseen spirit and chucked into one of those murky pools, never to be seen again, left to haunt the hills of Flores for all of eternity. Yes, yes, it sounds ridiculous but you should have seen this place! You’d believe me if you could have seen it.
I was standing on the top of the world, nothing but rock and dirt and volcanic craters sloping steeply all around me as the thunder got louder and the lightning more frequent. Half in jest and half in fear I said out loud, “Okay! Okay! I’m going! I’m going!” and started hauling ass down the slippery steps. I kid you not, the rain eased off, the thunder stopped and the lightning disappeared. I AM NOT LYING!!! So I stopped, just inside the trees, to take a look back at where I had come from; standing alone at the top of that rocky peak, three craters falling to the sides, could have been on another planet, when !!!CRACK!!! the sky ripped open with an ear-splitting rip of thunder. Yep, didn’t stop moving until I got back to the car.
Dry clothes and we’re on our way to Maumere, my final destination. By this time, it has been 4 days of slow, nausea-inducing driving and heavy rain. Done, done, done. 4 days to cover 550kms. Kill me now. Get to Maumere, check in at some dingy guesthouse, driver is waiting around. I know what’s coming, I know it, I know it, I know it. I ask him if everything’s okay, and remind him of the money I gave him in the morning. He says, no, that was only for taking me to the lakes. I laugh, sit down, and shake my head. I tell him with a smile on my face and an edge to my voice, that HE had asked me to come on the last leg of the trip that he HAD to do so that he could return the car, and HE was the one who told me how much it would cost to see the lakes and get to Maumere. I would have been quite happy to take the public bus. His face falls. No, no, do you remember that conversation? Do you remember saying those things to me? Oh, yes, well, I forgot. Thank you for getting me here but I have already paid you, right? Oh, yes, right. Okay, now I have a plane ticket to book to get the HELL out of Flores!!!
I struggled with my journey through Flores, as most people told me I would. Indonesia has some very poor regions and this entire island is exceptionally so. Travelling places not set up for tourism is most often something I seek out, local life is what I want to see, but here, it’s rough. While not set up for tourism, they see foreigners coming through so I was often approached with aggressive, rude, or obscene intentions. They want money (understandable) but seem to feel that you have it so you should give it to them. Lots of swindling, outright lying, and demanding attention interactions. I haven’t had to feel “constantly on my guard” in a long time but this trip re-ignited that sense in me. Every little gesture was done with hand out and insistent glare. Very disappointing. Of course this wasn’t the whole trip and I did meet some lovely folks along the way but for the most part, it was a hectic journey. I’m glad I did it, I’m always thrilled to see something new, but I don’t think I’d do it again. EXHAUSTING!
So two hours after my eternal road trip ended, I had a plane ticket booked for the next day to go back to quiet, peaceful, sunny Meno, island home of the friend I went to see in October. Get me outta here!
Darryn had no idea I was coming as I had no idea I was going so despite a few snags (like getting stuck overnight on the mainland and sleeping over at the house of a friend of a person I met on the plane. Yes, things you would NEVER do at home are commonplace here) I showed up at the dive shop as he was heading out, SURPRISE! hugs and smiles and high fives, and I did nothing but beach and sun and chilled company for the last two days of my holiday. Much needed, much loved, much perfect. Two weeks travelling in Indo, please don’t make me go back to work. Oh, what’s that? Only two and a half more months until my next holiday? Oh, okay then. Thanks!
Christmas diving & dragons
A two week holiday could lead to an endlessly excessive and as always, very verbose blog entry so I’m going to do what I can to hit the highlights, keep it to the bare minimum, or break it up into a few manageable bits. I like telling stories. So yes, it was an adventure, some great moments, some not so great moments, and I continue to lead a very fun life. How on earth could anyone ever expect me to stop this wandering? There’s just so much going on out here!
Main point of all of my holidays… diving. Destination… Komodo. On recommendations of a friend of a friend (thank you Deb, thank you Josh!) we had arranged for 6 days of diving in Komodo. After much head scratching and internetting (is that a word??) it all finally made sense. There are no dive companies on Komodo, it is a bare, rugged, undeveloped piece of rock and trees. There are a few places to stay and wander around, but the dive companies are based out of Labuan Bajo, in Flores, the big, main island. You fly into LBJ then either do a liveaboard trip (which we could NOT afford) or simply put in the hours on a boat to and fro the dive sites every day, like we did. Komodo is the signature island; it’s not where anyone spends any of their time, but the name draws us all in. Dragons, and for those of us in the loop, diving. I like being in the diving loop.
So blah, blah, blah, a long travel day and an unorganized arrival but Jon, Kat, and I arrive Christmas Eve, settle in to this permanently rough and under construction port town, and are keen to spend Christmas Day under the sea. The weather was looking splendidly sunny, word on the street was that diving had been off the charts, and Santa was heading our way. Let’s go diving.
A rough start to the morning as the dive shop appeared to be fantastically disorganized but it’s Christmas and we’re going diving, it’s all going to be okay. Side note of importance. Most national parks in Indonesia have park fees, all of which seem to be bizarrely expensive and obviously go straight into some corrupted official’s back pocket. Every stretch of land and water seems to be a “national park”. Komodo area was no different. There were fees for going out to the sea, fees for diving in the sea, fees for stopping at an island, fees for going ON an island… oh good grief… so much money to be made. Thankfully, thankfully, THANKFULLY our Indonesian work visas got us in for local rates, literally 10% of the foreigner fees. Saved $100 easily. Easy. Thank you, KELT!
Boat trips out to the dive sites took about 1.5 to 2 hours EACH WAY so long days on the water. What does that mean for me, folks? Come on, you remember. Yep. Blech! While I managed to not vomit AT ALL during the six days of back and forth, I was pretty useless on board. A nice enough boat, big and fairly steady, but yeah, I’m just a whiny bag of mush who was too long out of practice. Under the sea, however, under the sea, well, it all just came together.
Again, boring and pointless for me to go on and on about the one thing in the world that still makes my heart beat a little faster every single time. It can still scare me silly or feel like home, it takes my breath away and demands that I pay attention, it feels like it’s brand new and that I’ve been doing it forever. Oh how I love being under that sea. Komodo was meant to be wild and wicked, some of the most dangerous and devilish currents in the sea; I wasn’t sure if I was up for the challenge. The dive team however, was incredible; not one second of worry or concern. Currents and dive sites were navigated without problems and it was the stuff legends are made of all around. Truly heaven.
I can’t really explain why I dive, why I love it so much, why I want it to consume all of my free time, but I do know there are some people who get it, and some who don’t. There’s a look, there’s something in those who get it, who get what I feel, but I can’t explain it. I love watching new divers experience the sights and sensations for the first time and I love the look I see in experienced divers’ eyes, the ones who have been diving for far longer than I could ever imagine, who dive for the same reasons that I do. I’ve been diving with divers who have logged hundreds of dives, but I would never choose to dive with them again. I’ve been under the water with others who are brand new and in some of those eyes, I know they just get it. I miss diving with that Tofo crowd, the ones who feel what I feel, who have that same look in their eyes. But I love that I’ve seen some things I’ll never see anywhere else. I don’t dive to compete; to one up numbers or challenges, places or experiences. I don’t dive to see the underwater world through a camera lens so know that as divers, me and people with cameras (with a very few and select exceptions) are a bad combo. I don’t dive to be the best or in control of it all or responsible to anyone else. I get lost in my own world down there sometimes and that’s the reason I love it. I got so lost in love on a dive filled with mantas that when I finally turned away from a beauty I was watching, my group was gone. Minor panic, a big ocean all by myself, but crisis averted and we all found each other on the surface at the end of the dive. I could have stayed down there forever. Our guide’s comment to the rest of the group regarding my disappearance? “She’s with the manta, she knows what she’s doing, she’ll be fine.” Yes, my girl, good answer.
Our dive guide was brilliant and beautiful and absolutely got it. She was so generous with her time that on a couple of occasions when the conditions were calm enough and others had gone up because they had run out of air, she stayed under with me, showing me more things, letting me find things, and just diving. Yeah, she got it. 12 dives, more mantas than I could count, sharks, and an endless list of amazing creatures to fill my dreams. Dive Komodo. Do it. Now. I want to go back.
So that was week number one. Diving and silly fun for Christmas Day then a blissfully exhausting blur of dive after dive after spectacular dive.
Oh yeah. I almost forgot the dragons.
On Christmas day, on our way back from a day of delightful diving, we stopped to see the dragons. There are two islands, Komodo and Rinca, that have komodo dragons on them but for whatever reason, most trips dump you on Rinca to see them. It’s a shuffle along process where you have to follow a goon in a uniform (oh how they love their uniforms here) to an office where they make you pay more money (again, thank you KELT working visa!) and then a local ragmuffin with a big stick walks you along a path where “maybe you see dragon!” Yeah, unlikely.
There are ranger huts and a few places where visitors can stay as soon as you get on to the island. This is where the dragons hang out, because why? Because that’s where the food is. We kinda stumbled upon them, sleeping, dozing, and strolling all in one area under the “kitchen hut” so the “wild” aspect was kinda lost. They look like big ole monitor lizards, the ones that used to scare the poop out of me as we would cross paths in the jungle, me on my way to my dive shop in Malaysia, them out for an early morning sniff around. THOSE were wild dragons! These guys were pretty used to people and although they got a bit edgy when we got a little too curious, they were fairly mellow. Not the slobbering, attacking, vicious National Geographic dragons I was expecting.
Their big bellies, complacent nature, and a bizarre lack of wildlife on this primarily uninhabited island makes one wonder. Rangers swear that the dragons are no longer fed by them . Really? REEEALLY? Highly unlikely. So shame, the experience was a bit like a walk to the zoo but the island itself, very wild and dinosaur Land Before Time like, really special. And I did get to hang out with dragons for a while, no matter how staged it may have been. How many people can say that?!
So la de dah, New Year’s Eve came and Jon & Kat went to Bali, I went to explore Flores. I had been warned and warned and warned. Don’t travel Flores overland by public transport. It’s dodgy, it will take forever, just don’t do it. How often do I listen? Apparently never. And it shows. End of week one. Take a break. Week two, to be continued…
Main point of all of my holidays… diving. Destination… Komodo. On recommendations of a friend of a friend (thank you Deb, thank you Josh!) we had arranged for 6 days of diving in Komodo. After much head scratching and internetting (is that a word??) it all finally made sense. There are no dive companies on Komodo, it is a bare, rugged, undeveloped piece of rock and trees. There are a few places to stay and wander around, but the dive companies are based out of Labuan Bajo, in Flores, the big, main island. You fly into LBJ then either do a liveaboard trip (which we could NOT afford) or simply put in the hours on a boat to and fro the dive sites every day, like we did. Komodo is the signature island; it’s not where anyone spends any of their time, but the name draws us all in. Dragons, and for those of us in the loop, diving. I like being in the diving loop.
So blah, blah, blah, a long travel day and an unorganized arrival but Jon, Kat, and I arrive Christmas Eve, settle in to this permanently rough and under construction port town, and are keen to spend Christmas Day under the sea. The weather was looking splendidly sunny, word on the street was that diving had been off the charts, and Santa was heading our way. Let’s go diving.
A rough start to the morning as the dive shop appeared to be fantastically disorganized but it’s Christmas and we’re going diving, it’s all going to be okay. Side note of importance. Most national parks in Indonesia have park fees, all of which seem to be bizarrely expensive and obviously go straight into some corrupted official’s back pocket. Every stretch of land and water seems to be a “national park”. Komodo area was no different. There were fees for going out to the sea, fees for diving in the sea, fees for stopping at an island, fees for going ON an island… oh good grief… so much money to be made. Thankfully, thankfully, THANKFULLY our Indonesian work visas got us in for local rates, literally 10% of the foreigner fees. Saved $100 easily. Easy. Thank you, KELT!
Boat trips out to the dive sites took about 1.5 to 2 hours EACH WAY so long days on the water. What does that mean for me, folks? Come on, you remember. Yep. Blech! While I managed to not vomit AT ALL during the six days of back and forth, I was pretty useless on board. A nice enough boat, big and fairly steady, but yeah, I’m just a whiny bag of mush who was too long out of practice. Under the sea, however, under the sea, well, it all just came together.
Again, boring and pointless for me to go on and on about the one thing in the world that still makes my heart beat a little faster every single time. It can still scare me silly or feel like home, it takes my breath away and demands that I pay attention, it feels like it’s brand new and that I’ve been doing it forever. Oh how I love being under that sea. Komodo was meant to be wild and wicked, some of the most dangerous and devilish currents in the sea; I wasn’t sure if I was up for the challenge. The dive team however, was incredible; not one second of worry or concern. Currents and dive sites were navigated without problems and it was the stuff legends are made of all around. Truly heaven.
I can’t really explain why I dive, why I love it so much, why I want it to consume all of my free time, but I do know there are some people who get it, and some who don’t. There’s a look, there’s something in those who get it, who get what I feel, but I can’t explain it. I love watching new divers experience the sights and sensations for the first time and I love the look I see in experienced divers’ eyes, the ones who have been diving for far longer than I could ever imagine, who dive for the same reasons that I do. I’ve been diving with divers who have logged hundreds of dives, but I would never choose to dive with them again. I’ve been under the water with others who are brand new and in some of those eyes, I know they just get it. I miss diving with that Tofo crowd, the ones who feel what I feel, who have that same look in their eyes. But I love that I’ve seen some things I’ll never see anywhere else. I don’t dive to compete; to one up numbers or challenges, places or experiences. I don’t dive to see the underwater world through a camera lens so know that as divers, me and people with cameras (with a very few and select exceptions) are a bad combo. I don’t dive to be the best or in control of it all or responsible to anyone else. I get lost in my own world down there sometimes and that’s the reason I love it. I got so lost in love on a dive filled with mantas that when I finally turned away from a beauty I was watching, my group was gone. Minor panic, a big ocean all by myself, but crisis averted and we all found each other on the surface at the end of the dive. I could have stayed down there forever. Our guide’s comment to the rest of the group regarding my disappearance? “She’s with the manta, she knows what she’s doing, she’ll be fine.” Yes, my girl, good answer.
Our dive guide was brilliant and beautiful and absolutely got it. She was so generous with her time that on a couple of occasions when the conditions were calm enough and others had gone up because they had run out of air, she stayed under with me, showing me more things, letting me find things, and just diving. Yeah, she got it. 12 dives, more mantas than I could count, sharks, and an endless list of amazing creatures to fill my dreams. Dive Komodo. Do it. Now. I want to go back.
So that was week number one. Diving and silly fun for Christmas Day then a blissfully exhausting blur of dive after dive after spectacular dive.
Oh yeah. I almost forgot the dragons.
On Christmas day, on our way back from a day of delightful diving, we stopped to see the dragons. There are two islands, Komodo and Rinca, that have komodo dragons on them but for whatever reason, most trips dump you on Rinca to see them. It’s a shuffle along process where you have to follow a goon in a uniform (oh how they love their uniforms here) to an office where they make you pay more money (again, thank you KELT working visa!) and then a local ragmuffin with a big stick walks you along a path where “maybe you see dragon!” Yeah, unlikely.
There are ranger huts and a few places where visitors can stay as soon as you get on to the island. This is where the dragons hang out, because why? Because that’s where the food is. We kinda stumbled upon them, sleeping, dozing, and strolling all in one area under the “kitchen hut” so the “wild” aspect was kinda lost. They look like big ole monitor lizards, the ones that used to scare the poop out of me as we would cross paths in the jungle, me on my way to my dive shop in Malaysia, them out for an early morning sniff around. THOSE were wild dragons! These guys were pretty used to people and although they got a bit edgy when we got a little too curious, they were fairly mellow. Not the slobbering, attacking, vicious National Geographic dragons I was expecting.
Their big bellies, complacent nature, and a bizarre lack of wildlife on this primarily uninhabited island makes one wonder. Rangers swear that the dragons are no longer fed by them . Really? REEEALLY? Highly unlikely. So shame, the experience was a bit like a walk to the zoo but the island itself, very wild and dinosaur Land Before Time like, really special. And I did get to hang out with dragons for a while, no matter how staged it may have been. How many people can say that?!
So la de dah, New Year’s Eve came and Jon & Kat went to Bali, I went to explore Flores. I had been warned and warned and warned. Don’t travel Flores overland by public transport. It’s dodgy, it will take forever, just don’t do it. How often do I listen? Apparently never. And it shows. End of week one. Take a break. Week two, to be continued…
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Two years on...
Two years, nine random countries, and several lifetimes later I sit in wonder of my world, my universe, my silly, small journey. I have fallen in love with people, places, creatures, and cultures. I’ve been awed and amazed, saddened and scared. I’ve seen death a time or two (my own and others’) and life taken to the edge. I’ve felt time stand still and then pass by in a breath. I’ve held on to what I could and let go of things I never thought I would. I’ve found some answers but mostly more questions. I’ve had my heart touched by moments of pure connection and had it broken by that same thread as goodbyes have been ever present. I’ve had moments of thinking that there was no way in the world that I could do it but I did it anyway. I’ve had moments where I chose to walk away. I’ve had days where I wanted to fight, even when I didn’t know why, but I’ve had more days where I simply wanted to learn and understand. I’ve met people who are changing the world and others who have changed mine. I’ve laughed until I cried and cried because I needed to. I’ve been witness to unbelievable suffering and truly humbling strength; I now doubt my own capacity for both. I’ve been welcomed and shunned, included and turned away but have chosen to take it all as part of the experience. I’ve learned to be okay with having an opinion and I’ve learned to believe that yes, there really is a right and wrong. I’ve learned, I’ve learned, I’ve learned. Two years, nine countries and several lifetimes later, I continue to learn. Thank you, my brilliant universe, for all that I have been given, thank you for continuing to give me these opportunities to learn.
6 girls & 3 motorbikes
Continuing on with the fabulous streak of weekend getaways in Java, a group of six girls boarded a 6am train and made our way to Jogjakarta, cultural centre of Java. Most were going with the intentions of shopping, I just wanted to explore. Easy travel and easy living for the weekend as we checked into a proper, LOVELY hotel / guesthouse complete with… wait for it… HOT WATER!!!! Yes, yes, yes! Hot water how I love you. The bubbles you make when I shampoo my hair, the clean that I feel when you turn my skin from pink to red, oh dear, dear hot water, it is always far too long between our love affair embraces. Oh hot water, I do love you.
Ahem. Sorry about that. Carrying on…
So the girls were up for some frantic shopping but first, some fantastic eating. A small tourist oriented strip with restaurants bursting full of things we just can’t find in Surabaya… like incredibly amazing salads, unbelievable red wine, and Turkish coffee. 10 lbs gained during the two days in Yogya, easy.
Kiosk after kiosk, street stall after street stall, shop after shop of the same same and eventually we all went our separate ways in search of separate things. My wandering confirmed my dislike of batik, the uniquely patterned material used to make clothing, bags, hair accessories, wall hangings, and every other possible thing under the sun. Some pieces are interesting, some are even pretty, but yeah, it’s a take it or leave it kind of thing and on this trip, I was able to confirm that I was a leave it kind of girl. So, I wandered. Walked and people watched and absorbed. I like this place.
Girls reconvened for more incredible food and motorbike rental organization for the road trip the next day. We’re gonna go get us some culture. Well, sorta.
An early rise, six girls on three bikes, and vroom, vroom, we’re off! Can I please just add here that not only did I DRIVE, but I DOUBLED! Mind you, Hannah may be the tiniest human being on the face on the planet, but still, I am in control of this motorbike situation, fully in control. LOVE IT!
So a couple of hours and 50kms later, a whole lot of staring attracted, and we are there, Borobudur Buddhist temple. UNESCO world heritage site, built somewhere around 800AD, massive, masterpiece, google it. So much more than any of us expected. And bonus of the day… showing our Indonesian work permits got us in for $3 instead of the touristy $25. Thank you very much!
We got there early enough to avoid the throngs of local tourists and enjoyed a fairly chaotic free wander around this awesome artifact. I’m kinda a bit of a nerd about these things and could have easily spent the entire day just looking and poking and gazing but after a couple of hours and increasing heat, the group was ready to move on. Fair. It’s close enough that I can always come back when I want to. I just might do that.
A hot and sweaty ride back so a couple of the girls hit the pool at our place, some did a little more shopping, and napped. Our train back wasn’t until 1 AM! So we had loads of time to kill. Vikki and I decided to take the bikes back out and went in search of a nearby volcano, Merapi. A nice drive, despite my utter lack of navigational ability. Unfortunately by the time we arrived at the park entrance, it was closed for the day. Oh well. We wandered for a bit, crashed a kid’s birthday party, had our photos taken, and considered hijacking a piece of cake but restrained ourselves, then made our way back. Sore bums and backs after far too many hours on the bike that day. Solution? Massage!
I have never had luck with these things. Remembering the few isolated incidents in Thailand and Cambodia I was thinking yeah, probably not the best idea for me. I should just sit it out. But it sounded so lovely and it’s SO cheap here! Hmmm… I never learn, never learn, never learn. While my girl poked me with one finger repeatedly, prodded one spot over and over until it bruised, and stopped twice in the 30 minutes, once to chat with her friend and another time to leave and take a phone call, I just gave up. The other girls had success but I just don’t think I’m cut out for the “pampering” thing.
More great food, more great wine, and the wait for that late night train. Early morning return to Surabaya a couple of hours to nap, then back to work. Seriously, you can’t beat the weekends in Indonesia!
Ahem. Sorry about that. Carrying on…
So the girls were up for some frantic shopping but first, some fantastic eating. A small tourist oriented strip with restaurants bursting full of things we just can’t find in Surabaya… like incredibly amazing salads, unbelievable red wine, and Turkish coffee. 10 lbs gained during the two days in Yogya, easy.
Kiosk after kiosk, street stall after street stall, shop after shop of the same same and eventually we all went our separate ways in search of separate things. My wandering confirmed my dislike of batik, the uniquely patterned material used to make clothing, bags, hair accessories, wall hangings, and every other possible thing under the sun. Some pieces are interesting, some are even pretty, but yeah, it’s a take it or leave it kind of thing and on this trip, I was able to confirm that I was a leave it kind of girl. So, I wandered. Walked and people watched and absorbed. I like this place.
Girls reconvened for more incredible food and motorbike rental organization for the road trip the next day. We’re gonna go get us some culture. Well, sorta.
An early rise, six girls on three bikes, and vroom, vroom, we’re off! Can I please just add here that not only did I DRIVE, but I DOUBLED! Mind you, Hannah may be the tiniest human being on the face on the planet, but still, I am in control of this motorbike situation, fully in control. LOVE IT!
So a couple of hours and 50kms later, a whole lot of staring attracted, and we are there, Borobudur Buddhist temple. UNESCO world heritage site, built somewhere around 800AD, massive, masterpiece, google it. So much more than any of us expected. And bonus of the day… showing our Indonesian work permits got us in for $3 instead of the touristy $25. Thank you very much!
We got there early enough to avoid the throngs of local tourists and enjoyed a fairly chaotic free wander around this awesome artifact. I’m kinda a bit of a nerd about these things and could have easily spent the entire day just looking and poking and gazing but after a couple of hours and increasing heat, the group was ready to move on. Fair. It’s close enough that I can always come back when I want to. I just might do that.
A hot and sweaty ride back so a couple of the girls hit the pool at our place, some did a little more shopping, and napped. Our train back wasn’t until 1 AM! So we had loads of time to kill. Vikki and I decided to take the bikes back out and went in search of a nearby volcano, Merapi. A nice drive, despite my utter lack of navigational ability. Unfortunately by the time we arrived at the park entrance, it was closed for the day. Oh well. We wandered for a bit, crashed a kid’s birthday party, had our photos taken, and considered hijacking a piece of cake but restrained ourselves, then made our way back. Sore bums and backs after far too many hours on the bike that day. Solution? Massage!
I have never had luck with these things. Remembering the few isolated incidents in Thailand and Cambodia I was thinking yeah, probably not the best idea for me. I should just sit it out. But it sounded so lovely and it’s SO cheap here! Hmmm… I never learn, never learn, never learn. While my girl poked me with one finger repeatedly, prodded one spot over and over until it bruised, and stopped twice in the 30 minutes, once to chat with her friend and another time to leave and take a phone call, I just gave up. The other girls had success but I just don’t think I’m cut out for the “pampering” thing.
More great food, more great wine, and the wait for that late night train. Early morning return to Surabaya a couple of hours to nap, then back to work. Seriously, you can’t beat the weekends in Indonesia!
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