The Fellowship of Friends

After arriving again in Bali and meeting up with Olivier we both began to get itchy feet. We needed an adventure and both of us had wanted to go to Java and see the sights around Yogyakarta, or Jogja as it's called locally. Less than 48 hours later we were on a plane bound for Java and it's temples and mountains harboring volcanoes and crater lakes. What would follow over the course of the next several days was one of the best trips I've taken so far and a personal highlight.

In order to save on accommodation costs and meet some people we decided to couchsurf in Jogja. Couchsurfing.com is a website of hosts who open their doors and unfold their couches to travelers passing through the area. As it turned out, there was a gathering of couchsurfers in Jogja that weekend from neighboring towns and some came all the way from Sumatra and Jakarta. Not only did we make friends this way but Tami, a friend of ours in Bali, used to attend school in Jogja and gave us the number of some of her friends. She couldn't stand to be away from the fun though, so that weekend after some begging, pleading and convincing, we got her to fly out for the weekend. Her group of friends are all part of an adventure club at the university who regularly go rock climbing, trekking and rafting. Within the first day of meeting, we had plans to go camping and climbing at the beach and then rafting the river the next day! It was great!

We camped out under some beautiful limestone crags within earshot of the crashing surf. The following day, Tami arrived and we climbed as much as we could before going back to Jogja that evening. The next day we left early to make it to the river in time. We had a great time rafting and joking with other rafters who passed us. I loved the spontaneity of it all, we hadn't planned any of this and yet it was better than anything we could have arranged ourselves. Unfortunately, Tami had to fly back to Bali that night to be at work the next morning.

Olivier and I caught the early train to Surabaya the next morning in order to see Mt. Bromo. Everyone talks about visiting Mt. Bromo during the sunrise. It sounded great and peaceful so we decided not to miss it. I had a picture in my mind of hiking to the top and sharing a spectacular sunrise with a few other tourists. The reality was a little bit different. The sunrise was still great, but I shared it with around four hundred other tourists! Most were Indonesians taking advantage of the weekend holiday from Surabaya and Jakarta. We still were able to capture some great pictures overlooking Mt. Bromo and the volcano behind it.

We had one more stop on the way to Bali. Kawa Ijen crater is... well, it's a crater. But it's unique in that the lake in it's center is about one hundred degrees and there is a sulfur mine in it's crater where local men collect the sulfur and port it out on their backs. Again we woke up before dawn to begin our hike up the mountain. It's around 2 km up a steep trail to the crater rim, and another kilometer down to the lake. It really is a sight to see, as men chip away blocks of the acidic rock and pack it in baskets to be carried out. Sulfurous smoke rose up from pipes and burnt our eyes and lungs. It's not exactly a pleasant place to sit and gaze out at the lake but I wouldn't have missed it. The men carry around 80 kilos on their backs at a time, the going rate being 500 rupiah per kilo making their 6 km, 5 hour journey worth about 4 US dollars. The men were very nice to talk to and regularly asked if they could bum a cigarette and wanted to know where we were from. When the wind shifted and we were unable to move, see or breath they took us by the arm and ushered us to fresh air with smiles on their faces. We hiked down and began the long bus journey back to Denpasar.

I'm happy to say my final days in Indonesia were spent with friends. That's what makes this trip stand out against the others. I've made friends nearly everywhere I've gone but the closeness that I shared with those in Jogja and in Bali surpasses all the rest that I've met in Indonesia. There were several requests that I stay longer, and I entertained the notion for awhile. Repeated compliments about my Indonesian language skills really made me want to stay longer, but in the end I had a plane to catch and I decided to board it. I won't soon forget my friends in Indonesia. Olivier was very generous in allowing me to stay with him while I was in Bali and I truly enjoyed traveling with him. We have plans to meet again in France later this year and I feel like I will be back in Indonesia someday also.

It's amazing to think that my Indonesian experience has been shaped by a chance meeting with two fellow travelers after I had been feeling sorry for myself. I'll never forget when I met Olivier and Handa. And I thank God that it was raining that day.

It's s....l...o...w...

Due to the expense of internet time, and the inconsistency of internet speeds (or the consistency of getting very slow connections) I am not going to post pictures here. Instead you may view pictures here at: www.flickr.com/photos/terrylove

Hopefully this will be easier for everyone.

Thanks

Terry

Timor of the Rising Sun

I got a lot of strange looks when I told people I was going to East Timor. They told me the borders were closed and I’d be denied at the border, that all foreigners were to obey a strict curfew since the recent assassination attempt and that there was a lot of anti-Western sentiment. Fortunately, I found none of this to be true. I had only planned on going to East Timor in order to renew my Indonesian visa and then return to Bali. What started out as a four day trip turned into a nearly two week vacation walking around the capital city, Dili and meeting with people from all over the world who work for various NGOs and the United Nations.

My guidebook says the UN presence has left East Timor. If so, I can’t imagine what it was like before. UN police and peacekeeping forces are everywhere. Seemingly every other vehicle is a nice Mitsubishi SUB or Toyota Hilux bearing the giant UN letters or the symbol of any of a number of non-governmental organizations. As a tourist, I was somewhat of a novelty. Instead of being asked, “How long have you been traveling?” I was asked, “Where do you work?” I met people from China, Japan, Philippines, Cambodia, Malaysia, Norway, Britain, Jordan, Australia, Fiji, New Zealand, the United States and Portugal. Some had legitimate jobs; some were nurses, policemen or advisors. The others, when asked what they did could only state they were initiating dialogue. The topic of dialogue and the members and perceived outcome were usually quite vague.

I made a few good friends while I was there. Some Chinese policemen cooked me dinner a few times and let me use the internet in their office. I visited a local school and counted beans with some of the students (it builds focus and concentration is what they told me.) And I met the advisor to the Secretary of State who showed me around Oecussi and was an exceptional host. That night over a glass of red wine as the sun set, he told me the history of this, the youngest nation in the world, from the Dutch, Portuguese and Indonesian influences up to independence only eight years ago. I have never had much interest in history, maybe it was walking the streets in Dili or visiting the site where the Portuguese first landed on the beach or maybe it was the buildings in Oecussi still fire scorched from the plundering and tyranny of the exiting Indonesians, but I held on to every word that he said that night.

The flowers of Flores

It’s not often that the casual tourist is allowed a glimpse of authentic local culture, but recently I was actually part of it. On the bus from Labuanbajo on the island of Flores, I met Florenzo and Linda. Lorenzo was returning to his village after being away for over eight years, and he was introducing his wife to his family for the first time. There would be a big party and he invited me to come join the celebration the next day.

He showed me the houses and traditional items around and included me in the day’s activities. I met his family and we sat of the floor drinking tea, coffee and eating cookes while the men smoked clove cigarettes. I found myself quite intrigued with village life. The people make a living through agriculture, growing coffee, peanuts, corn and beans. There seemed to be a lot of young children and a lot of very old people in the village. I suppose those in the middle were out in the fields or perhaps did what Lorenzo did and found another home in the city.

We sat there in the house, on bamboo mats eating rice and pork with our hands. Smoke rose in the air and filled the room from the cigarettes and every empty glass was quicly filled with arak, palm wine, and given back to its owner. I took a little time out in the middle of the day to play with the kids. We began playing soccer, and then I challenged them to a contest to see how many times you could kick the ball in the air without it touching the ground. The highest anyone got was 27, I got 65 and 67 the times I tried. There were around thirty kids between 6 and 13 years old. We had a brief Indonesian and English lesson before they asked me to take a photo. I got a couple good ones before they started fighting for position so I ended it all and went back inside.

I would say there were around fifty people at the party. It’s hard to be a fly on the wall sometimes, especially with such bright skin. Each time I went to check on the pig I would be given something to eat. Whenever I sat down they would bring me a chair or offer me tea. I suppose it’s better to be too involved than not at all.

I think a lot of how different my life is and has been compared to others here. Seeing the old men and women in the village made me curious as to what they’ve seen and gone through in their lives. Children are delivered in homes, food is rather bland and the work must be difficult. A friend told me Indonesians earn about one million rupiah a month, about one hundred US dollars. I asked Lorenzo if he could come back here, to live in the village again. He grimaced and said he doesn’t think he could. Life sure would be different wouldn’t it?

The island of Flores was given its name by the Portuguese many years ago. It means “flowers” but you won’t find many on the island. A friend explained it to me on the way to Kupang; the people of Flores are the flowers. I’d have to agree, and on my visit they were in full bloom

Komodo

Komodo dragons are huge! I mean, I knew they would be big but we’re talking enormous! The first one I saw made my jaw drop, it was easily over nine feet long. Their feet and heads are very big and each one has characteristics that make them easy to recognize. At the end of our hike I posed in front of three that were near the gift shop. As I took my hat off and threw it on the ground out of the picture, the lizards got up and went after it and us, who by this time were running away! It was quite exciting and nice to see them moving about, flicking their tongues.

The island of Komodo is much larger than I imagined also. I pictured a barren deserted island but it’s actually very big, there’s a village there and at the moment it’s very green and lush. The following day we went to neighboring Rinca island and saw even more lizards along with water buffaloes and deer.

A couple journal entries

Journal entry for April 8, 2008
Gili Trawangan

The past 36 hours have taught me how valuable a travel companion can be. For short stints of travel going solo is okay, but for longer trips like what I’m doing, I’d really like a friend to talk to, laugh with, bounce ideas off of, share in fortune and misfortune and be an outlet to vent a little bit.

I woke up with a sore throat Monday after my birthday. I didn’t feel like doing anything, but new I needed to get out and see something. From Seminyak, I traveled to Kuta, bus to Padanbai via Ubud, ferry to Lembar on Lombok where I took a taxi to Senggigi and stayed the night, then a boat to Gili T in the morning.

I generally don’t like ferries; they’re too crowded and dirty. But this on held a wonderful secret… American power outlets! I noticed them while I was in the bathroom. This was good news since my camera battery ran out on my birthday. I had been meaning to find an adapter but never did. I was afraid of not finding on at all. I recharged my battery and now I’m hoping all the ferries will have American power outlets in them. I’ll keep my eyes peeled.

Gili seems cool. Everything is slow, people walk slower, smoke their cigarettes slower and nobody is in too big a hurry. There are a lot of dive shops and restaurants. I’d like to walk around the island tomorrow, maybe do some snorkeling and hopefully meet some new friends. I’m using my cold as an excuse not to go diving. Otherwise at $30 a dive, I think I’d be tempted.

April 11, 2008

“Are you rich?” she asked. ‘Am I rich?’ I thought, ‘I have roughly six thousand dollars in various accounts, no car, no house, no job, no specific trade or skill and I’m carrying most of my possessions on my back. But am I rich? Certainly not right?’

“I think you are rich.” She had decided for herself. At twenty years old she helps her family run a shop selling sandals to tourists, hasn’t been further from home than the neighboring island to the east and doesn’t have a boyfriend because she wants one “like this” she says pointing to me.

Yeah, I’m rich. I’m healthy, I have food in abundance, I water my houseplants with water clean enough to drink, I spend more time wondering which clothes to wear instead of if I have clothes to wear, I’ve left my home country on several occasions, by my own will and for leisure at that, and the money I earn is mine to keep. Interesting isn’t it? How rich we really are?

Bali, Again

NOTE: This is somewhat of a repeat post. I forgot I had already written a post about Bali and didn't realize it until after this was done. Enjoy the similarities and differences, or ignore it altogether. It's the same thing, written a month later.


My first impressions of Indonesia were that it's not as crowded with people as I was expecting. From the plane I could see the roads and there was barely a car or motorbike on them. Even the airport was calm and quiet-a big difference from the throngs of taxi drivers, porters, tour operators, hotel owners and scam artists that congregate in airports in other parts of the world. In contrast though, real estate is at a premium and buildings, shrines, houses and Hindu temples all run into one another. Even the sidewalks are too narrow to comfortably pass someone. On the way to Ubud it never seemed like we left town and entered another. Hoses, shrines and concrete companies making Hindu statues lined the road the entire way. There were only a handful of rice paddies that gave a glimpse of open space beyond the street.

Bali isn't as pretty as I was expecting either. Maybe I'm in another jaded backpacker's mood where I can't see the sun setting past the penis-shaped bottle openers or the T-shirts plastered with profane slogans in storefronts. I think I'm a little sad about still being injured too. That's the main reason I came to Ubud. I suppose Kuta would be okay if you were to spend your days at the beach, but I couldn't get in the water let alone lay on the sand. So if I'm not going to enjoy the beach, I may as well stay away from it. At least until I heal up.

Indonesia is cheap! That's wonderful news considering my current financial position. I've acclimated well and now have trouble justifying a $5 steak dinner. Yesterday I even turned down a $4 massage, then spent the rest of the afternoon wondering why! I believe when my arm heals up I'll get a massage. That will be my reward.

Hindu shrines are everywhere in Bali. They are in the streets, in department stores, small shops, homes, beaches, in the rice fields-as I write this, one hangs above me on the wall in the internet cafe. People place neatly arranged sacrifices throughout the day in little bowls made of woven palm leaves. They usually have rice, flowers, incense and a sweet, like a couple crackers or a piece of candy inside them. People put them on the shrines, in holes in walls, on the beach, on the sidewalk and on vehicles too. It makes me wonder how much time is spent making, preparing and giving these offerings. That's what I thought of Gunung Kawi too, how much time was spent carving it?

Gunung Kawi is a temple carved out of the sides of a small river valley north of Ubud. I rented a motorbike and went to see what I could see, the temple was my goal but anything would be better than stepping over dogs and turning down offers of "Transport?" every thirty seconds around town. Once out of town, houses don't grow so closely together and gaps between them offer views of beautiful green terraced rice fields. This is what I came to see!

After a few missed turns and wrong directions I arrived, paid for parking, bought the obligatory sarong and made the obligatory donations and made my way down the stairs into the valley. A series of statues and rooms are carved out of each side of the valley. I walked around, took a few pictures and made my way back up the stairs declining offers of cold drinks from the vendors lining the stairway until I was sweating and breathing so hard I couldn't refuse.

Soon I was off to another location where I'd heard was a pretty lake. I never got there because it started raining. I sought refuge in a little street kitchen and waited out the rain over some chicken and noodles. After nearly an hour, two more travelers came in from the rain. I was desperate for company and welcomed them in as if it were my own store. Olivier is from France and Handa is from Sumatra. They both live in Bali now, Handa teaching and Olivier "looking for a job." We talked for hours in that place about everything from blond jokes to international politics. The rain never stopped so we eventually had to go out in it. They both stayed with me that night in Ubud since it was too dark and rainy to continue to Denpasar. When they heard it was my birthday the following Saturday, they insisted to arrange everything and take me out for the weekend!

The next morning Olivier and Handa rode off to Denpasar and I went to my Indonesian language lesson. I had paid for three private lessons on consecutive days. The first day was inspiring, I felt like I could master the basics of the language within my short time in Indonesia and I thought of all the doors that would open up. The following day my sponge of a brain had absorbed all it could and I didn't have time to study before my last class the next morning. My teacher patiently went over the concepts we hadn't learned yet and told me to study them later. This led me to revive a thought I've fought with and milled over in my mind during the last few years; If making friends, learning languages and experiencing culture-host country culture-is what I want to do, then maybe I should whittle down my itinerary to the fewest locations possible and become part of a community by studying the language intensely and studying another aspect too like dance, martial arts or find a job or volunteer position. Then spend one to three months in those few locations instead of a week here and a few days there.

I can see great benefits from doing something like that and I think it would be insanely rewarding but another part of me wants to fill up that passport, wants to see everything and do everything. As bad as I am at saying goodbye, maybe I shouldn't stay too long anywhere, but what would Costa Rica, Equatorial Guinea and Rockhampton be to me if I'd only stayed there a week? Decisions, decisions, and what will become of them? I feel like my life is a "Choose Your Own Adventure" book and I'm torn between turning to the next chapter, going straight to page 253 or putting the book down altogether. Somehow though, I doubt any of my readers will feel sorry for me!