Family Visits - Tiga

Robbie the Hard Bargainer by Liza

I am thankful that Robbie has practically shopped his way around Bali and Gili Trawangan because he paved the way for the women in his family. Right away, Mom and I were practically drooling over the beautiful jewelry, silks, and sarongs for sale in our first hotel in Padangbai. Robbie quickly stopped us and assured us that we would find better selection and prices later in Ubud. He also began firing us up for haggling – a skill weren't too keen on developing.

Never to fear, though, he's a great teacher. From getting our horse cart price down to $4 to getting $55 off the price of a carved sea turtle I wanted, my brother is a man who knows what he wants. I was impressed, since he spent most of his life answering to me. 0:)

When we finally arrived in Ubud, our last stop, Robbie reviewed his haggling tips in the car all the way to the village. Here are his quick tips that I remember:
1.Never buy an item from the first store you visit. Use this stop to price check.
2.Whatever price they offer, you offer at most half of the price. (This is a really difficult point for me, but even worse for Mom, who has to practically leave the store at the first sign of conflict.)
3.Whatever second price they offer, you work up a really sour grimace that makes them think you are very dissatisfied with that number. (I'm extra good at this one.)
4.As you continue to negotiate, assure them that you found the same item in a different store for the first price you offered.
5.Whatever final price you get them to, Robbie is going to ask what you got if for and he will not hide his disappointment in you if you were to soft in your negotiations.

Overall, I learned that Robbie is super good at getting his way. I thought I had this down, being the first-born and all, but I've got some refining to do! I also learned that while negotiating is kind of fun, fixed prices are much less draining.

Family Visits - Dua

Robbie the Scuba Instructor – by his Dad, Rob

Robbie not only loves diving and spends as much time doing that as possible, but immediately stepped into his instructor's role and began our lessons on our first full day on Gili T, at a beautiful dive shop about three doors up the road from our hotel. It is immediately evident that Robbie grew up in a family with many teachers. With no formal teacher training, he easily managed to impress his dad as we began our pool work. While Mom and Dad are Open Water and Advanced Open Water certified we have not dived for about 25 years, so Robbie had to run us through the refresher course while also doing Liza's complete Open Water certification. He put us through all the paces right by the book with thorough explanations and demonstrations. We were all thrilled when we reached Liza's first open water dive and we could all don our gear and head for the ocean.

While cruising around underwater with the colorful fish, sea turtles and beautiful corals, it is easy to see why Robbie can tolerate his spartan existence in this boiling heat. It is way too much fun. With his experience, he has certainly developed an eye for spotting many beautiful things that I would have easily missed had he not been pointing them out. One memorable occasion in particular bears sharing here.

On Christmas Day there was no diving. No boats were operating on the holiday. Not being able to stay away from the water, we elected to make a snorkeling expedition. After navigating our way over the dead coral in the shallows near the shore we reached an area of underwater life at the top of the drop-off. After a while of enjoying the sites we hear Robbie yelling through his snorkel “SHARK! SHARK!” while pointing and swimming at top speed - no, not away from the direction he was pointing. He had me swimming after him, marveling at a beautiful black tip reef shark. I had always thought that people went the other direction at the sound of that word, but found myself understanding his enthusiasm.

Family Visits - Satu

Dear Readers,

If you check this blog as often as I do, you've been wondering if Robbie has disappeared under the sea. Not to worry, all is well. We have just been thoroughly enjoying our time together and also without internet for much of our visit, so no updates. I begged him to let us (Mom, Dad and sister, Liza) do an entry to give you an outsider's eye into Robbie's new life. Fortunately, he agreed, so here goes!

Robbie's Life on Gili Trawangan by his Mom, Tory

After one night at the shore of Padangbai in Bali, we took a “Fastboat” over to Gili T. We were four of about 20 passengers. Robbie jumped off the boat as we hit the dock, determined to get us two horse carts (cimodo - chi-MO-do) for a very good price (40,000 rupiah=$4) to take us and all of our luggage 20 minutes up the beach to our hotel. As we staggered off under our heavy packs, in the steamy heat, he proudly ushered us to our tiny carts, which barely fit our luggage and 2 people each. The horses are more like mini horses the size of ponies. Although they run up and down the roads day in and day out, I never saw one sweating. I don't know how they do it.

After settling in our second floor un-airconditioned room in a beautiful traditional hotel, Alam Gili, we changed and walked into town to see Robbie's apartment and get dinner. On our way, people all along the way shouted, “Robe-y!” Women, men and children all seemed to know him and were eager for him to introduce us to them. Even the people who didn't know him often called, “Hal-o.”

Robbie lives in the back streets of Gili T. There's nothing at all fancy about his location or apartment, but he is very proud of it's $100/month price. It consists of a tiny veranda with room for two chairs and the bike he bought for $30, a single window, a twin bed, and a bathroom consisting of a “squatter” toilet, shower hose and sink. He has a fan, which can help with his lack of air conditioning, if the power is working. I'm hoping he'll upload one of the pictures I took of him at his apartment. He says he spends very little time in the apartment because it is so hot. Oh, I forgot to mention it has a tin roof. In any case, he lives a very simple life, spending little money and having very few creature comforts. I've been really happy to spoil him rotten on this trip with massages and lots of good food. I must say, though, he doesn't appear to be losing weight, in spite of his $5/day budget for food.

Unemployment and Silly Complaints

Alright. Forget about what I had to say before. Guitars, language barriers, teaching guys from Jakarta, forget it. Maybe I'll throw it back in someday, but it pales in weight to what I have to say now.

Lionfish

I have been diving with a particular dive resort since I got a call to do a one-time job (teaching guys from Jakarta) at the end of November. They are the only dive shop that actually let me volunteer around the shop and keep an eye on customers in exchange for regular diving and so I naturally stuck with them. I had finally found my place on Gili Trawangan: great staff, fun to be around and hang out with on a regular basis. They have never pressured me into drinking, and thus I actually enjoyed going out with them. They are really the only ones I can call friends on the island: Donna, Sebastian, Marcus, John, and Rhiannon. I forget how much I said before, but I was not happy a few weeks ago when I was sitting around idly waiting for work. During the past two weeks I have been having an incredible time. Even without an income, I was thoroughly enjoying myself every day, diving up to 3 times per day like in the Philippines.

Clownfish in anemones

After going to Singapore and buying my camera, I have been taking pictures on every dive. Some of them are turning out very well and I am quite pleased with the purchase. I told the staff that I would donate some of my best pictures for the website as a further payment for them allowing me to dive. What's more is that I discovered I could make money selling pictures! After one dive, I sold 51 pictures for $20 to 5 Irish girls, then about 80 pictures for $30 to a really cool Dutch woman (I was essentially her personal guide for all 7 or so dives she did with us). As I was editing another 60 pictures for an English couple, Rhiannon came to me and told me the freelance videographer was a bit upset that I was selling pictures. She goes on dives with students (as opposed to certified divers coming for a few fun dives) and takes video. She then edits and sells the video to them. Because she doesn't do pictures and doesn't come on fun dives, Rhiannon and I thought it would be fine if I offered to sell pictures to certified divers. The videographer is freelance so she works elsewhere anyway. As it turns out, she is put off by me selling pictures. Apparently she can (but doesn't) go on fun dives and takes video for customers. If they don't want video, she reluctantly freezes the video and copies still images from it and adds them on the end of the dvd. Regardless of how I feel about that, that's the way it is, that's the way she feels, and there's no negotiating and thus no more selling pictures (which was turning out to be a very promising source of income - $50/week is nearly enough to live on).

I humbly accepted that nothing was going to change her mind and said goodbye to my short-lived photography position without putting up a fight. I was just getting back in the routine of diving and not taking pictures until yesterday immediately after unloading from the morning dive; Sebastian came to me and told me that he had some bad news. As it turns out, the 23-year-old Russian who owns and operates the small dive resort with his boyfriend decided that he doesn't like me diving there. Since I am not going to be there for the 2 weeks of high season (family is coming!), he doesn't want to be wasting tanks of air for me to go diving in low season. Ultimately he told Sebastian to tell me to stop diving. Realizing nothing I did could change their minds, I pretty much said “okay, no worries” straight away but felt quite distraught. It felt like I had been fired.

Blue spotted stingray

Back into unemployment I fell. No selling pictures, no guiding, no teaching, no income, and not even any diving. I have been banished from the water and can only dive if I get a call from a dive center overrun with customers. I figured it was not too much of a problem and today I made another round to all of the dive centers here hoping that one may need an instructor, a guide, or even just a volunteer. Alas, most of them seemed tired of seeing me and some answered my question even before it was asked: “sorry, we'll call you if it gets too busy.” So here I am on this beautiful paradise unable to do the ONE thing I came here to do, whether I get paid or not. Ironic, isn't it.

I have always been one to find the humor in irony no matter how unfortunate its outcomes. However, I've never been in a situation of this sort of irony. Allow me to lay everything out on the table: I have little money, no income, few friends, no one to really talk to, and I can't even do the one thing that I came to this island to do, the thing that really makes me happy.

Sea turtle.  Hawksbill or green, I'm never sure

And finally I have arrived at the heart of this update – the reason I said the other updates don't matter. Here I am living on this gorgeous tropical island with an abundant crowd of interesting tourists and locals, surrounded by palm trees and warm ocean water, I'm wearing shorts and t-shirts every day, spending an average of $1.40 on lunch and $5 on dinner, able to read, snorkel, play guitar, ride my bike, wander around, hang out, meet people, swim, etc. whenever the heck I want. Through all of this, I have the audacity to complain?! I need to seriously reconsider what is important in life if I have the nerve to say that I'm upset while living in a place like this. One of the great things about traveling alone to such distant and foreign lands is that I can learn a lot about myself. After seeing myself get down about this unemployment situation, I don't like what I've learned. It's a powerful life experience to be unemployed and not able to get work regardless of my efforts, but I'm being ridiculous. It took me an entire day and night before I was able to see how stupid my complaints were, and even then it was only because I was talking about it online and realized how dumb it all sounded. It's true, the frustration is real. However, I now have as many responsibilities as any tourist on this island and I'm only poisoning my mind if I don't allow myself to enjoy it as much as they are.

Sing a Song of Singapore

Important note: check the post after this one for a few days. I will post about what I said I would, but I'll post-date it and it will be placed between this post and the one on Dec 2nd when I apologized for my lack of writing.
And without further ado...

Flying into Phoenix

I've been to a lot of big cities in my life: New York, Milan, San Diego, Philadelphia, Cape Town, Detroit, Raleigh, Paris, Columbus, Nairobi, Denver, Honolulu, Manila, Zurich, Portland, Washington DC, Phoenix (pictured at right), the list goes on. Each city has its own character, its own vibe, its own personality. Each one has things that make it special. Venice for instance has brick alleys and no cars. What Detroit lacks in cleanliness, San Diego makes up for in beauty. Zurich is filled with enormous painted and decorated teddy bears, Milan with cows, and Cleveland has the equivalent in guitars. While Manila is a nightmare to drive in, residents of other cities like DC happily take the metro beneath the streets. Each city is special in its own way. Each one has pros and cons. Here's my take on Singapore (pictured below).

Singapore

Singaporians sometimes joke that it is a “fine” city, meaning you get a fine for just about anything. There is no spitting allowed, no jay-walking, no chewing gum, no leaving a public toilet unflushed, no littering, the list goes on with hefty fines on each violation. The result is a country where people follow the rules. Where roads make sense, where organization and simplicity are essential, where there is no trash on the sidewalks, and no graffiti on the buses. Singapore combines the clockwork organization of Germany and Switzerland, the technology of Japan and Korea, the friendliness I've seen all over Southeast Asia, the prices also typical of Southeast Asia, the food of China and India, the natural cleanliness of the back country, the safety of Granville (well, almost), filled with the most diverse group of people I've ever seen in my life. Never have I seen a city with so many parks and open grassy areas. Never have I seen a city that doesn't have traffic jams. First it was Portland, then San Diego, and until last week Venice held the title of my favorite city in the world. Singapore is the first international city I have been in where I can actually see myself living. Not that I will move there, but it gets my special “Robbie would willingly call this city home for a while” award.

Anywho, as the story goes, Indonesian visas obtained upon arrival are nonrenewable and only last a maximum of 30 days. My first option was to call a guy named Andre from immigration who gave me his phone number so he could illegally hook me up for another month (I would have to do it not once but two more times). My other option was to book a flight out of the country, apply for a 2-month visa, and return legally. I'm not much of a rule-breaker and the idea of seeing Singapore (cheapest international flight) sounded very appealing, so the latter option was the clear choice. While there, a few notable things took place.

Green Sea Turtle

First of all I bought a camera with an underwater case. There's not much of a story behind it. I bargained with several shops to get the best price. Although I ended up paying slightly more than I would have had I ordered it online in the states (my American friends, allow me to tell you all – everything is cheaper in America!), I got it nonetheless. It's funny how as much as Singapore is a developed country, you still bargain in the malls.

Modeling

As I was leaving the mall with the plastic bag of goodies in hand, I felt a tap on my shoulder and reluctantly turned. In the interest of catching up on the blog, here is the Reader's Digest version. Employed by a modeling agency, her job was to stand in a busy area and find candidates with features fit for advertisements. I would have thought it was a complete scam had I not heard of it happening to two people in the past. Flattered, I took her card and laughed all the way along the metro to the hostel where I dropped off my fancy new purchase and turned right around and headed for the woman's office. They did a photoshoot with me straight away and assured me that once my pictures are sent around, they would text me with offers and fly me back to Singapore if need be. We'll see what happens. If nothing happens, no worries. I don't expect to be called back anytime soon but I would jump at the opportunity if I got the text.

Sebastian with grouper

The following night, I had an interview scheduled with a company called Broadreach. Based in Raleigh, NC, they run adventure teen summer camps throughout the Caribbean and even parts of Central America, Fiji, Egypt, and Australia. Many of the trips are scuba-based, and the housing situation for most of them is on a sailboat with the other 10-12 campers and two leaders. Adventure activities include water skiing, hiking, zip lining, sailing small boats, wakeboarding, rafting, with a touch of community service, all packed into a 2-3 week trip. When I first read about the program, I sent an email to them immediately expressing my interest in joining the squad. After two rounds of applications, I was asked to appear for an interview, which brings me back to Singapore. I talked to the Broadreach representative for over an hour, and by the end of the conversation, I was told that unless something unexpected comes from the references, the prospect of being a leader is very good, which gave me something new to smile about. Since the interview I have mulled over the site where it outlines each trip they offer and chose the 6 trips I thought would be the most fun to be a part of: Fiji, Red Sea, and the “Arc of the Caribbean” (top to bottom) were my top 3 and then the Yucatan, Grenadines, and St. Kitts/Nevis were my next 3 picks. Honestly, wherever I go, it is going to be amazing. I will find out my placement (assuming I get the position) within two weeks and I will post to the blog immediately.

Singapore botanical garden

The next day, I decided to go to the botanical gardens and other than the rain, it was a fantastic choice. The gardens span about a mile by a half mile and the grounds are filled with beautiful trees, grassy areas, a couple large ponds, and plenty of gorgeous vibrant flowers.

Blue spotted stingray under coral

Otherwise, my other noteworthy experience is worth spending the time to be descriptive about. To keep the streets clear, Singapore has mandated that hawkers, people selling food, clothes, souvenirs, etc are restricted to certain areas throughout the city. These hawker stations are gold mines for traditional Southeast Asian products. One night, I decided to dine at one of these stations. Much like a tourist, I wandered around the small stalls rather aimlessly, closely inspecting all the pictures that were plastered around the counters advertising the culinary specials. Had I had company, I likely would have been wild enough to try the frog selection, beef organ soup, or even the pig tendons with noodles. However, without anyone to share and enjoy the novel experience with, I decided to have something that my mouth would most likely appreciate. One entire lap of the large station was entirely fruitless. Most of the writing was in Chinese and the small pictures with writing all over them were far from helpful. I decided to grab a snack at one while I waited. It was a piece of white papery-feeling bread wrapped around vegetables, sauce, and who knows what else, then cut like a roll of sushi. In Singapore, it is believed that the customers should fill all the seats, not the tables. What I mean is that it is expected that you will sit down at a table that is already occupied; there is not much choice when the tables are full. As I politely intruded on a couple sharing a meal, I ate my unusual but tasty roll of ... stuff while wondering what to do for dinner. Surrounded by a menagerie of shops eager to serve me, I was in a state of indecision. Finally, it occurred to me that one stall above all others had a line that never actually got shorter. In between stalls that were frequently idle, this stall had not a second of down time. My decision was made.

Without a single English word on the stall and no menus to speak of, I nervously tried coming up with a plan for once I reached the fast-paced counter. Like a detective, I watched every customer order, wait for the food, then walk away. Sometimes with a bowl and a plate, sometimes with two plates, sometimes with only a bowl, and sometimes with enough food for the entire family. I had no idea what was included in a regular meal or what any of the food was called. Luckily my choices were not hard: there were only 3 pictures above the counter. When I realized watching the other customers was useless, my eyes fell upon the husband and wife cooking, preparing, and serving the food. The years of experience between the two of them were shown burned into their faces and wrinkled but perfectly controlled hands. The woman hidden behind the food had a faint hint of a smile, almost imperceptible. Clearly overworked, she still seemed to find enjoyment in serving the food, proud to be the most popular stall in the station. When the husband who acted as the cook caught my eye, I couldn't look away. His back was hunched after what must have been decades of cooking. Wrinkles covered his dark skin which in places seemed to hang from his frail bones. The unbuttoned shirt he was wearing showed clearly his thin stomach. My eyes gazed down to his hands with their forceful yet deliberate movements. The finger that was cut short did not seem to slow his routine of stirring, mixing, and draining the noodles and broth. Careful not to stare, I found that his unforgiving face showed thin pursed lips and sunken but sharp eyes focused only on the food with no interest on the goings on around him. He had a routine, and there was nothing stopping him from doing what he had been doing for so long; cooking was his life, and I will testify that all the years of practice have paid off.

Hindu ceremony

When I reached the counter I pointed to the first picture, the one that appeared to have meat. When I tried to ask also for a small bowl of soup, the gentleman in front of me had to translate. About a minute and four dollars later, I was walking toward a table with a couple lone strangers going about their daily routine. Sitting down, I proceeded to have the best wonton soup I've ever tasted with noodles that cannot be found anywhere in America. A post-dinner walk was in order and after happening upon a small soy ice cream stand, I stumbled across a traditional Hindu ceremony. I didn't have my camera, but the picture here is one of the following night when I again stumbled upon another ceremony.

Update Madness

I'm so bad at updating! Aaaah! Since my replacement charger doesn't charge my battery, I can only use my computer when it's plugged in...AND when there's power. Here's a list of things to keep an eye out for whenever I do get around to updating:

Buying a guitar
Difficulties of teaching Indonesians to dive
The language barrier
Assessment of Singapore
Eating experiences
Random modeling offer

Until next time friends, take care and don't forget to smile one more time than usual today.

Unemployed and Alone

I'm tired of snorkeling, biking around the island and having to walk the bike through the thick soft sand every few hundred feet, going to bars, and coming up with excuses not to go to parties. I'm living on a gorgeous island even if it is littered to no end with trash. I like the island, but I hate being unemployed. I am going out of my mind without anything concrete to do. I've already nearly exhausted the money I made from teaching the three open water courses my first few days here about two weeks ago. The “bookstores” are stocked with only whatever books travelers come with and don't want anymore, and most of them are Swedish, German, and French anyway. Anywhere I see books, I stop to look in hopes to find Walden or any Thoreau waiting for me, always to no avail.

My first thought every morning when I wake up is “only 8 more days until Singapore,” “only 7 more days til I leave for Singapore,” “I'll be in Singapore in 6 more days,” etc. If I was here with a friend, I think I would be having the time of my life. Unfortunately, I feel like as if I'm not appreciating my time here as much as I should. It just goes to show my need for constant stimulation whether a good friend or something new and exciting. I'll have a guitar by Tuesday so that will be a serious change for the better. However, the rainy season is late so it will probably start pouring any day now and I won't be able to take the guitar up to the top of the hill and play in the empty expanse under a tree like I was initially planning to do.

Robbie's Guide to Gili Trawangan

As I did with Sabang, I feel qualified to give a brief subjective overview of the tiny island I now consider my temporary home.

General Overview:
There are many things that make the Gili Islands very unique. These three islands in a line off the western coast of Lombok are all very small. Trawangan lying farthest west is the largest having a perimeter of about 4 miles. Meno, the smallest island located in the middle of three is separated on either side by about 800 yards. Gili Air is the closest to Lombok and though marginally larger than Meno, has the smallest population. What makes these three islands particularly special is that there are no motored vehicles allowed. As a result there are no paved roads; the cement sections of some streets are falling apart and otherwise the more common dirt roads are rarely packed and require a dismount from any bicycle. All construction is done by hand, all transportation is either by bike or by horse, and thus air pollution is cut to nothing at all.
However, there is a serious trash problem here. (I am from now on only speaking specifically about Trawangan.) Despite the well-placed trash receptacles, the streets, primarily the streets in the village away from the tourists, are strewn with piles plastic wrappers and bottles of all shapes and sizes, perhaps the most depressing thing about the island. The only important tidbit to know about all three islands is that fresh water is a commodity. It can only be found bottled as drinking water in stores or on taps in only some of the fancier resorts. Otherwise, all sinks and showers provide the user with brackish salt water.

People:
Try as hard as you can; it will be nearly impossible to find friendlier more hospitable people willing to help strangers for nothing in return. It seems to be an unspoken island policy to greet any passersby on the road and chat for a moment or two. On an island where time is of no real value, it is of no consequence to stop and return the greeting and continue the conversation.

Housing:
There are plenty of options for most budgets here on the island, excluding the extreme high rollers. The most expensive suites max out around $200/night. Backpackers lodges are plentiful but should be booked upon arrival, not before. The best strategy is to walk around the island asking locals about places to stay (everyone on the island has several friends running homestays or bungalows). Compare prices and locations a bit, and after an hour or so depending on how picky you choose to be and how much bargaining is done, you will be happily housed at a good price, possibly as low as $4/night for two people.

Food:
Local food can be found all over the island in what are called Warungs. These tiny shops which all double as convenience or hardware stores have a small display of food in bowls. I haven't determined if it has a name but the person behind the display, usually hidden behind the food on the shelves, takes one scoop from every bowl and places each one carefully separated onto a pile of white rice. The dish is a smorgasbord of vegetables, sometimes fruits, tempeh, sometimes tofu, corn, chicken, occasionally fish, and often other foods that aren't discernible to me. Ranging anywhere from 1-2 dollars, these anytime and anywhere meals are perfect for the mouth and wallet.
More expensive versions of the traditional food can be found in the many restaurants scattered across the busy eastern stretch of the island, but these places are generally frequented for their popular western foods. Pizzas, burgers, pastas, omlettes, Mexican food, sandwiches, wraps, and more can be found at these restaurants, no single dish ever seeming to exceed $10 before the 20% tax and service charges are added. With a constant international population on the island, the restaurants have actually done a very good job at perfecting these dishes.

Sites/Activities:
It appears that all the activities on the island are centered around the water with a few exceptions. At least 20 shacks along the eastern beach offer rentals for snorkeling gear, boat trips, glass-bottom kayaks, regular kayaks, swimming, sailing, boat trips, multi-day boat trips, scuba diving trips, and many other water-related activities. Other activities offered here include horse rides, watching movies, and renting a bicycle to explore the island. Bicycles can be rented for less than a few dollars a day and are usually in working condition regardless of the age, but understand that the sand and dirt on many of the roads are too loose to pedal across­ and require the bike to be pushed.

Diving:
The diving around the Gili Islands is not world class. I would consider it mediocre. Even though dynamite fishing ended about 10 years ago, the effects are still obvious. Many of the dive sites have stretches of rubble, expanses of lifeless colorless coral. What was once a thriving underwater wonderworld is now laying in ruin. The few patches of coral that somehow escaped the dynamite are utterly gorgeous and bustling with life but the saving grace of the diving here is the visibility and warm water. The water is maintained at a constant 80F, plus or minus about 5, and the water, particularly the shallows, is nothing short of crystal clear.

Night Life:
Restaurants and resorts reserved nights of the week to throw parties. The Irish Bar claims Wednesday nights, Blue Marlin I believe takes Saturdays, and someone else takes another day. These are generally very well-attended events with a DJ, lights, dancing, a hip international crowd, and plenty to drink. It is this party atmosphere which has helped bring in such a consistent flow of tourists to Gili Trawangan as opposed to the quieter Gili Meno and Gili Air. Music typically plays at full volume until around 4am when the last of the crowd is forced to go to bed.

General Recommendations:
This is a party island popular among the younger crowd but perfectly accommodating to almost all age groups. Non-local children are seldom seen while the elderly either stay home or don't leave their bungalows. Due to the wide range of activities offered and the relaxed inviting atmosphere, accommodating all budgets, this island is perfect for anyone who is fit to ride the ferry either from Bali or Lombok.

Onward and Upward

A chorus of crickets echoed across the vacant brown fields on either side of the road as if to announce the absence of all other life. Occasionally a goat would cry out in search of its mother or a rooster might call out to demand his respect, but the main players were the crickets. My bald flat tires led the way across the familiar loose dirt path that cuts through farms standing between my place and the ocean.

Favorite road through the island

I was on my way to the island's center, the location of the only hill. I spent my morning lounging on my bed under the mildly refreshing breeze of the fan until the power went out and I was forced to flee the oven I was in to seek refuge in an air conditioned internet cafe. While there, I bought a plane ticket to Singapore for the 28th of this month. My visa expires on the 1st of December and the only options of renewal are to travel back to Denpasar and bribe the guy from customs who gave me his phone number upon arrival or flee the country. Seeing as how it's only slightly more expensive to flee, it was my choice for renewal. I will obtain a legal 60 day visa so I will be set for the remainder of my time here in Indonesia, plus I get to see Singapore.

After the spending spree, the decision to climb the hill again was made so I lathered up the sun-screen, threw on a lightweight (and sufficiently dirty) shirt, and grabbed my bike. The ride takes me across my favorite stretch of road on the island, due in part to the carefree farmscapes, but also because the dirt is packed enough that I am not required to dismount and walk the bike every 200 feet. Five minutes later, I dropped the kickstand and started my ascent on foot leaving my bike safely unlocked at the hill's base.

Dry ground everywhere

It is quite clear that Gili Trawangan is going through a dry season at the moment. The bare parched earth and scraggly brush are enough to give it away. On the summit, the only respite from the relentless sun could be found under the uninviting coarse naked brush and frail trees which sufficed only for the nomadic goats. After a while of looking for a shady spot, I was met with success in the form of a small tin-roof shelter next to the cell phone tower. Across the desolate hill goats gathered in the shade of small trees conserving their energy. It is a mystery to me where they possibly find any food for survival. Sitting on the hill alone, I felt as if I had ownership. I have made three trips to the top, and not a single time have I seen a soul. It was this feeling that made me suddenly want to have an instrument, perhaps a ukulele to sit under a tree and play, play for the goats, play for the brush, the birds, the dirt, the sky, to play for the sake of playing music.

In town when I began asking around I somehow picked up a guy with a personality like velcro and he has been helping me find a guitar since then. His kindness and willingness to help is admirable, but I can't help but wonder if he really is that eager to help a stranger or is he trying to get something out of me. Is this what society has done to me? Anytime someone offers an extraordinary amount of help, I automatically become wary? What sort of a world is this where kindness is met with suspicion? I will continue to keep my guard up since it is what I have been trained to do, but the experience has not passed without being noted in memory.

Ole!

I'm writing this post after having just returned from the Lombok football championships. Sorry but I left my camera at home during the game for its own safety. My day started out lazily with some snorkeling around the shallows (daily activity since no one needs me for work right now) followed by the standard Indonesian lunch of various meats and vegetables over white rice though this time I took it to go and ate it under a tree on the beach. Then I hiked up the only hill on the island with my camera just long enough to take one single photo, realize there was a storm quickly approaching, and turn right back around. After an hour (and and a lot of thunder with maybe a thousandth of an inch of rain), the clouds dissipated a bit and the sky started to look promising.

The story really starts out yesterday when I was wearing my (very) old soccer jersey while riding my bike along the main road deciding where to eat. A man renting bikes out asked me if I play and invited me to go with him to the Lombok finals. I told him that I might, and went on my way. I thought about it that night trying to gauge how much I trusted him. When the storm clouds were rolling away this afternoon, I decided to meet up with Ali after all and take him up on his offer but when I went to meet him, his friends said he had already left. I got in touch with a friend of his named Morgan and together we caught the ferry to Lombok. The 40 minute drive to the field was particularly exciting because it was my first time on Lombok, it was the first time in over a week that I had seen a motored vehicle, we saw monkeys in a few spots on the side of the road, and the scenery was at least as good as that of the Philippines. I focused more on the scenery than on the fact that my life was in the hands of this stranger as we went careening up slick sharply winding mountain roads with our hair blowing freely and vulnerably in the wind. It was against better judgment but one of those “you only live once” situations. Plus, to be fair, he was actually a very good driver.

Morgan and I had talked a lot about how it was a big game and there would be a huge crowd with tons of enthusiastic fans so when we finally arrived to the field, to simply say “my expectations weren't met” would be a gross understatement. The parking lot was a large unkempt grassy area overrun with weeds and covered with large puddles. The foreshadowing provided by the wall of thatched palm surrounding the field provided classic irony. Upon entering the stadium, my first observations were the fact that there were no bleachers and that there was a small irrigation canal filled with polluted water that we had to step over. I kicked myself for thinking that it was going to be in an actual stadium but kept my mind open and hoped for a good game, even though there were no marked sidelines, the puddles on the field were enormous, and the grass and weeds had been left uncut for at least a week.

The crowd continued to expand after the game had begun, filling in the area between the field and the thatched wall. The game was nothing spectacular and the announcer's constant flow of indiscernible Indonesian was not helpful for me in the least. It was the moment that I looked up when I started to fully appreciate the experience. To me, this was way more than just any old game. It was on Lombok, in Indonesia. I was on the other side of the world watching a legitimate local soccer match with not a single other white person in sight. I looked up past the field, the players, and the fans. Looking beyond the aged limp thatched walls held up with bamboo I found a gorgeous sight. The sun was falling low in the sky behind me while it brilliantly bathed the distant mountain in gorgeous warm light. Nearer the field, the palm trees stood as silent spectators peering above the wall as their branches swayed in the warm humid November breeze. To me, this country has many faces. This was more than just a game: this was Indonesia.

Even by the end of the game when the championship came down to a shootout, the crowd remained shockingly reserved. It was impossible to tell who anyone wanted to win because the fans had been completely silent most of the game, the kind of eery silence you get when you walk into a dark basement. Not until the Gili Trawangan player put in the final goal did the crowd erupt. Victory for the good guys. Morgan fetched the bike and fought the crowd in the parking lot. I hopped on the back and we proceeded on our way. On the return trip, we traded one danger for another: although the sun had set, the roads were now dry. We returned to the harbor safely and made it back to Trawangan without a hitch, and now it's time for bed.

Wild

The order of my updates has gone haywire. Sorry. I'm torn between keeping chronology and posting when I have something important to say. Keep checking back about 3-4 posts now and again to catch anything that might have been updated or edited since you read.

I just watched the movie Into the Wild.
In the main stretch of “town” on the island, there is an open-air restaurant (you're hard pressed to find one that's not) that instead of chair and tables has rows of bean bag chairs and simply done away with tables altogether. Their big draw is that they have the island's only “theater” consisting of a respectable sound system made up of several large amplifiers and a portable projector that could fit in my backpack. They play two movies every night advertised for free, though of course you're required to buy a drink at the very least, cutting the wallet down by a bare minimum of about a dollar (for the record my mango milkshake was more like $2.30).

The point of the story is that I watched Into the Wild. If you haven't seen it, do it. It's a great film. Read the book because that's good too. I took a few things away from it. First of all, my writing is awful. I guess for someone who majored in Physics and hasn't attended a writing class in over 4 years, it's not all that bad. However if you watch the movie, you'll know what I mean. The eloquence is beyond anything I could dream. Secondly, … wait for it, this is a huge shock for everyone who really knows me … I want to start reading. Motivation spurred by the movie has urged me to seek out Emerson and Thoreau, perhaps starting with something like Walden. I haven't read a book for pleasure since about eighth grade when I read the fourth Harry Potter book. That was 9 years ago, nearly last millennium. When I say this is a big deal, I'm not exaggerating. That being said, please don't buy me any books because I will become easily overwhelmed. Baby steps.

Third and most importantly, I walked away from the film feeling inspired. Fear not friends and family, I am not about to cut off all contact and run into the wilderness. However, after this tropical traveling, I think I'll be ready for a very rugged camping excursion with maybe just one or two like-minded people. I know at least one person at Denison right now who I might meet up with when I visit New Zealand in a few months. He would do it at the drop of a hat no doubt. The bottom line is that a lot has been put onto this Earth and before we know it, it'll either be gone or we'll be dead before we get to experience it. We shouldn't just live for the sake of taking another breath or waking up for another morning. We should live to be invigorated, to be fulfilled, to love, to experience, to have our breaths taken away.

So. There you have it. Is Chris MacCandless my new role model? No, but seeing the film lying on a mat leaned up against a bean bag with a cockroach crawling on my leg sipping a fresh mango milkshake sweating from the hot Indonesian breeze while alone among a crowd of unfamiliar faces did have an effect.

Amed

I had one of the best dives of my life in the warm waters of Amed – an hour and 22 minutes of fish, untouched corals, sharks, turtles, cuttlefish, nudibranchs, and almost everything else the sea could provide. I'm sure that because we were down for so long we drifted beyond the normal dive site to where there were no signs of any activity past or present, and that was the true gem.

I won't go into anymore detail because there is something that trumps even that dive. As I was tucking the last inch of the mosquito net in around my bed by the light of my headlamp (thanks Liza, it's been really useful!), a knock comes to my door. The rapping came paired with a female French voice urgently calling out my name. Before my mind could come up with any possible disasters that could be happening, the voice announced that there was a car of people in the parking lot waiting for me to go to a traditional full-moon ceremony. Convinced that it couldn't be a dream since I never actually fell asleep, I tell Margerie that I need to put clothes on but will be there straight away. Fully clothed and suddenly far from tired, I climbed into the back of the van filled with 4 Balinese guys, Margerie, and some French girl strangely dating one of the guys even though she met him after she arrived alone a few days ago. Weird.

About 45 minutes of talking, laughing, singing, and trying to learn Indonesian, we came to the house of the guys in order to don the appropriate attire. A sarong for everyone, with an extra waist piece for me as well as a headdress. The pictures pretty much say it all. With the seal of approval on the attire, we were back in the van and all systems were go for the ceremony.

A 5 minutes' drive took us straight to the ceremony where we walked through a sea of at least a hundred scooters and motorbikes parked tightly all in the same direction. How anyone could locate his or her own, especially in the dark, was entirely beyond my imagination. Upon reaching the ceremony, my only focus was staying with the group. I barely looked around enough to notice that there were vendors there just like on the streets of the rest of Bali. I then realized that the ceremony was more of a celebration not unlike a carnival. This realization softened the shock of what I saw next, though I am still a bit dumbfounded. There were several clumps of men, each clump standing and sitting around something that I knew must be of great importance. When I finally peered through one of the crowds packed like Times Square on New Year's Eve, I could barely make out what seemed to be a game of some sort. There was a mat on the ground like Twister in the sense that there were different colors, but this mat also had different shapes and numbers. A man would release a silver ball on a wooden board with identical marks but this one came with nearly imperceptible troughs on each shape so the ball would stop on only one. It seemed to be a game not far from roulette. The thing that struck me was the fact that there was gambling at this biannual religious ceremony. I'll be the last one to judge, but all I'm saying is that I was taken by surprise.
Wandering through the crowd, the alienation was undeniable. Children's mouths would drop in awe and even members of the older age groups could be caught doing double takes. It was not offensive; we were the only three whites that I saw in the crowd of well over a hundred. I don't imagine white people at their traditional ceremony is commonplace so I came to expect the varied quizzical reactions. I couldn't go 5 whole minutes during the entire ceremony without an audible chuckle as I replayed in my head Margerie's urgent message at my door as I was literally putting my head on my pillow. Fruit bowls were passed around in a very sharing manner. Although a bit confused, the general demeanor of the crowd was one of acceptance and not a single person was rude to us the entire time unless you count staring which I've already addressed shouldn't be considered rude under the circumstance. By the time midnight rolled around, the guys ordered a round of meals for everyone. The sauces, meats, and vegetables prepared traditionally and served over rice were all too good to pass up, hungry or not. Before I knew it, we were back at their place returning the clothes and dropped off back at our hotels very soon thereafter. Although I was exhausted, finding rest proved difficult after such an extraordinary event.

Man at Work

Posts to come. It's hard to write while traveling so much. Check out the last few posts I post-dated. Check back later for more.
I'm on Gili Trawangan. Check it out on Google.
Cheers!

First Impressions

It is actually the 12th of November but I am post-dating this entry to fit a little more with the chronology. Just so everyone knows, I left my laptop charger in Sabang. The one I picked up in Manila doesn't actually charge my battery so I can only use my laptop when I have power. In the place I'm staying, we have power 15 hours a day at best, but usually less making it impossible to update my blog. At this point, I've spent two days in Legian, two days in Amed, two days in Ubud (all 3 in Bali), and about 6 days on Gili Trawangan (an island next to Lombok), but for the sake of the blog I'm still in Legian. I consider this enough to give some general impressions about the Bali/Lombok region of Indonesia. First and foremost, unlike the Philippines, there was no American occupation and thus English is not as common. I regularly come across people including taxi drivers, waiters, and hotel staff, that know little to no English. Sometimes it makes interactions rather interesting, and other times it makes things very interesting. Take for instance a certain taxi ride I took with Margerie and her friend Howard who was traveling with her.

We hopped in the cab and asked for a seafood restaurant from the guidebook that we thought wasn't too far, but we asked him just for a definitive confirmation on the distance. Sure enough, after 4 or 5 repetitions trying to make sure we understood each other, we discovered that it was conveniently only 150 meters away. After 3-5 minutes of driving we asked again to make sure we were going the right way and he repeated himself in a very genuine assuring tone in broken English that the restaurant was only 150 meters away to which Howard insisted he said the same thing several 150 meters's ago. At this point we decided to cut our losses and have him take us back to Legian (the region of Kuta we were staying) so we could go to Warung Yogia, a small traditional spot near the hotel. We repeat very slowly several times to the driver, “Stop. No more restaurant. No more seafood. We go Legian. Three Brothers Inn. You know? No food, just Legian. We go Legian.” We were comforted by the unsurprising response indicating that he understood where the well-known region of Kuta was located. There were doubts about the direction we were headed, but we just brushed them off since he knew the area much better and it was after dark. Nevertheless, we repeated a few more times, “No seafood. Legian. No eating. We go hotel in Legian. Three Brothers Inn. No restaurant,” to which he gave some nods and reassuring “yes, Legian”s with a “shut up, you've already said so a hundred times” undertone.

5-10 minutes later when the taxi finally stopped, I looked up a bit startled at the cab driver's expectant face as he turned to negotiate the price. Looking beyond him through the windshield, I saw the neon lights with the unmistakable words “Legian Seafood,” a fresh seafood restaurant in the middle of Kuta, not near the hotel at all. Unsuccessfully holding back laughter, I started to realize that our cab driver had honestly done his best to bring us exactly where he thought we were asking and didn't seem to be driving us all over town for more money. After Margerie showed him the listing in the guidebook for Warung Yogia on the street named Padma Utara, the driver indicated that he knew exactly where Padma Utara was, and no questioning could break the language barrier enough to find out whether or not he had ever heard of the restaurant. Like a little kid saying “I told you so,” he pointed to and read the street sign as we turned onto Padma Utara. Almost certain he had no clue where the restaurant was, the three of us begin reading every sign we saw for a few minutes, passing our hotel (where we started the whole endeavor) and other familiar spots. This went on until Margerie told him to stop the car so we could ask around and find it on foot, we payed him what we thought was appropriate (I think around $5), and began backtracking, following the directions of several locals until we came to a tiny ill-marked restaurant with a traditional Indonesian menu. After happily finishing our meals, we spent about an hour in the pool under a virtually full moon that brilliantly illuminated the surrounding palm trees.

Going beyond the language, my impression of Bali is one of great beauty and enchantment. These photos are the best I can do to convey what I have seen. As always, it's never the same as being here, but at least you get the idea.

Welcome to Bali!!

Wow what an amazing first day! Aside from losing my credit card, it's been a really great adventure.

I made it through the airport without a hassle (after flying British, Emirates, and now Singapore, I must admit Qatar Airways is still my favorite). The airport taxi service did not rip me off.

Travel tip: when going to any foreign country where the price of anything is negotiated, first ask a third party local how much he/she would pay for it. I asked several airport employees how much they would pay for a taxi to my destination and was pleased when I got a taxi for less than their suggested amount.

I made it to my hotel without a problem (thank goodness I could exchange my leftover pesos into rupiah in the Singapore airport). I went to the atm, bought a sim card for my phone, picked up a few snacks and an Indonesian power adapter, checked my email, then fell asleep trying to update my blog. If reading this blog has the same effect as writing it, then all of you must be reading this whenever you can't sleep. I'm not sure what it is, but I consistently fall asleep while trying to update this thing.

The next morning, I woke up lying on my bed near my laptop, on top of my sheets while still sporting the clothes from when I left Manila the previous morning. I tried to write a few more lines and when I woke up a couple hours later I decided to get breakfast. The complementary breakfast was a wonderful array of both traditional and Western breakfast foods so I jumped on the opportunity to have the more traditional rice and vegetables in the morning. A side of fresh pineapple and toast topped off with a hot tea set in front of a televised tennis match without blocking the view of the pool made it all quite nearly perfect. One final unsuccessful blog update attempt urged me to be productive. After getting in touch with Margerie...

Timeout: Margerie is a friend from France whom I met while on my trip to Mozambique and she was one of the legends taking the Rescue Diver course with me in Cape Town. She has traveled the world but currently resides and works in Cape Town but is in Bali on holiday with her boss. I will be traveling around Bali with her this week before I head off to Gili Trawangan.

After getting in touch with Margerie, I decided to remain in Kuta one more night and travel with her to Amed to dive. When I told the hotel that I would like to extend my stay, they said all the rooms were taken so I moved down the road to the same hotel as Margerie. Every hotel seems to be authentically adorned with the beauty, magic, and mystery that is representative of Bali. Walkways are mazes lined with beautiful tropical plants and small neatly trimmed gardens. Grassy patches, gardens, rooftops, and gateways are some of the places that various statues called home. The statues were nothing like those found in North Canton. They depicted unworldly creatures, some with more than two arms, some with heads of elephants, others with dragon-like faces, and many more unusual features that exemplified the Hindu presence on the island. Away from the hotel, lunch was waiting for us.

Not knowing where to eat, I decided to ask the Balinese friends I made the night before where a good authentic place to eat would be. They told us a specific spot and gave us vague directions. We thanked them and went on our way over the uneven sidewalk while turning down the dozens of offers for taxis and motorbikes. Along the way we shared stories about the most authentic international culinary exploits we've each had as the anticipation built. We had to ask for the help of a few people along the way and were very pleased when many of them had never heard it before, confirming that it was a tiny place tucked in the corner of some alley. The anticipation continued to build. 5 stops to ask directions, 30 minutes of walking, and some two and a half kilometers later, we arrive at a massive restaurant suspiciously sporting the same name as the tiny hole in the wall eatery we thought we had asked for.  At any rate we decided to go in. It was gorgeous, the menu was completely in Indonesian (difficult but cool), but the food was expensive and although the squid was good, it wasn't the best. Apparently when we asked for an “authentic” restaurant, we meant “fancy.” I appreciated his suggestion at any rate and don't regret that we went there but I will never ask for restaurant suggestions abroad without being clear that I want a cheap place that the locals love. It simply further confirms my suspicions that in the Philippines and Indonesia (at least), all white people appear to be inherently rich. Pictured above is the restaurant. I told you it's fancy.

On the Way

If I don't move quickly enough, I'm going to fall too far behind in my updates, so unfortunately I'll need to be a little brief about some things from Boracay by talking about only a few things in detail and otherwise listing out others. I met Armand in the terminal, we shared some ideas about music, flew 45 minutes to Kalibo, hired a tricycle for 5 minutes to a bus station, took a bus for 2 hours to Caticlan, rode a ferry for 15 minutes to a pier in Boracay, then got a van to take us the last 15 minutes to the resort.

I had been told different things about Boracay: it's littered with tourists, the beaches are pristine, the people there are snobby, I'll fall in love with it right away, it doesn't have good diving, the diving is great, I'll hate it, the beach is groomed twice a day, it is very international, etc. etc. Ultimately I wasn't completely sure what to expect. After dropping our stuff in the room, it didn't take Armand much encouragement to convince me to go swimming. After all, it was piping hot and I just spent the day cooped up in transit. My first steps onto White Beach were steps that will not easily escape my memory. The soft sand was so white and so much like powder that it was as if they mix it with flour. The shallow slope of the ocean floor allowed us to walk out a good hundred feet into the clear warm water before we had to swim. An hour must have passed when one of Armand's friends named Marin came along. Marin is a gorgeous Filipina raised in Orange county and she not only has an awesome heart and great personality to go along with her, but a perfectly-matched American boyfriend named Brett sharing all the same qualities, surprisingly from Dayton. I got to know them pretty well over the course of my week there and wish I'd known them since childhood.

Bom Bom Bar was great (though somehow pronounced “boom boom,” which was a bit awkward at first since “boom boom” in Sabang means sex). It turned out to be a very hip outdoor bar/restaurant spread over the sand centered around great live music. Armand did a guest appearance on the relatively open microphone with his very engaging and refreshingly quirky friend deemed the Reggaeman.

I managed to get in touch with Dustin, a friend of both Armand and Ethei (my favorite instructor back in Sabang) working at Blue Mango and ended up having quite a memorable experience. Right after meeting him, I was lingering around the shop and before leaving, he takes me aside and shows me an engagement ring. Seeing my surprise and bewilderment, he explains that someone is going to propose to his girlfriend on the dive. I jealously comment one how cool it would be and how I've never seen it before. After a moment's hesitation, he asks me to join him on the dive to help keep track of the rest of the divers. I threw on a set of rental gear and jumped on the boat where among several others were an anxious man and his unsuspecting girlfriend. We all dropped down and the instructor handed us bread with which to feed the fish. We all held out our offerings and watched in wonder as the swarm of greedy fish came to take as much as they could find from our fingers, sometimes nibbling our fingers by accident with their small and harmless mouths. Finally, the man pulls out a laminated paper:
Meeting you was by chance, becoming your friend was by choice, and falling in love with you was destiny. Will you marry me?”
The water that immediately began filling her mask was an indication of her smile behind her regulator which broke the seal of the mask allowing water to enter. The rest of the dive was uneventful in comparison, but later dives were nice. There is a site called Yapak (meaning “barefoot” in Tagalog) that is a gorgeous wall starting around 25 meters which was so nice I dived it twice. Most notably was the second time when we took a second tank on the boat so we did “Yapak 2” for the first dive then “Yapak 1” for the second with a one hour surface interval in between. We saw great fish in the huge crevasses and trenches on the first dive followed by a great hour sitting on the boat above crystal clear shallow water by the nearby Puka Beach. Unfortunately our trusty instructor/divemaster Dustin decided to go with a standard hour surface interval without considering the dive profiles. All of us should have known better. My computer started to worry after 5 minutes when we swam through a breathtaking arch at 42 meters teeming with life. The rest of the dive, I tried to make my computer happier by staying about 3-5 meters shallower than the other 3, signaling that I was okay but my dive computer was not happy. By the time we made our ascent, my computer said that we had 21 minutes of required decompression before exiting the water. Luckily I conserve my air and was able to provide air to my buddy Ginger during the last 3 minutes of the dive. After surfacing, Dustin's “I was going to have us stop for 10 minutes, but more decompression never hurts,” was not much of a comfort.

This picture is of me, Marin, and Brett. Other highlights of the trip include watching the beautiful sunset on a traditional sailboat as we cruised along sitting on plastic mesh holding the outrigger together as the warm waves slowly soaked our clothes. To find my favorite snack, I went to a little shop called Fruitas where one could not only find fresh fruit smoothies peeled, cut, and blended upon ordering, but also coconuts filled with fresh fruit. I would regularly get a mango banana coconut for hardly more than a dollar. They took a fresh coconut, cut the top off, shaved the meat (leaving the shavings inside), filled it with crushed ice, cut fresh mangos and bananas, mixed them all together, and filled the remaining space with coconut milk. These things were to die for and if I wasn't careful I would eat them for breakfast lunch and dinner every day. Another of my favorite things about Boracay was the scenery. I hope you enjoy the pictures that I think speak for themselves.

Round and Round

From 1pm until dinner time I wandered Manila with Armand both on foot and by car in search of a viola. The very quick version of the story is that we met on facebook through a mutual friend because the three of us have an interest in music. Armand contacted me to say hi and share a link, I found some of his other songs, and before I knew it we were setting up times for me to record for my favorite song of his. Fast forward back to the present, and we eventually found a viola to borrow. We borrowed it (for free) but it is priced around $150 – very cheap. Not just inexpensive. Cheap.

Sometimes things happen and no one really has any sort of an explanation. Sometimes we just have to shrug and accept these things. How did my alarm get turned off during the night? Why do I have an odd number of socks? What causes storms when the weatherman promises sunshine? Or the question for this occasion, how the heck do we get lost when we have a map? Leneth (the mother of the family I was with) was kind and considerate enough to draw me a map so I would know how to get back. I handed it to Armand's driver (typical to have a driver in Manila...at least from the few people I've hung out with) and the next thing I knew we had stopped 3 times to ask for directions, never quite getting the same response. I tried calling the three numbers I was given but to no avail. Eventually when I finally did get an answer from Leneth and had her talk to the driver, we still had to make several U-turns before we found where we were supposed to be.

I spent a little time that night listening to the song and trying to come up with a good viola line, but the problem is that I don't have perfect pitch and I couldn't figure out the chords. I decided the best use of my time was to go to bed and try to pull together some ad lib in the studio after getting the chords. Unfortunately, the combination of no shoulder rest, a different viola (of slightly different size), not playing for 3 months, and only just getting the chords really made things much more difficult than I anticipated. The recording session ended up being more of an embarrassment than anything and I packed up while assuring Armand that if we could have another session and if I could get a hold of a viola in Boracay then I would actually be able to help. He scheduled another session during my last couple days in Manila and managed to have a viola delivered to Boracay for me.

The next morning I took a cab to the airport ($6.50 for about an hour's drive) to kick off my vacation in Boracay...

City Slickers

As I was saying, I had mentioned something about recording in Manila for an album. I have been in touch with Armand online for the past month about coming to visit and spending some time in Boracay so this was finally my first chance to meet him. I left the house in mid morning with the daughter Maita in order to catch a train in the direction of the mall. She accompanied me there because the mall is on her way to school. It was a very good thing that she did.

We caught a tricycle (more about those later perhaps) and walked through three different malls (more about that in just a minute) that were like a labyrinth. We eventually found ourselves at the end of a line of people stretching about 60 feet all sweating from the stuffy heat and waiting patiently for a turn to purchase a train ticket. On the crowded platform, I was bewildered with what was taking place. When the train stopped and the doors opened, I witnessed an upstream battle possibly more difficult than the one undertaken by the Pacific salmon every year. The passengers on the platform were so anxious that they proceeded to flood the train as if it was bound for the promised land. After the determined exiting passengers defeated the onslaught of eager travelers and all the dust cleared, it turned out there was not enough room on the train for us to get in. However, allow me to explain the meaning of “not enough room.” Everyone getting on the train knows darn well that he is going to battle his way out when his stop comes. In fear of being trapped on the train, everyone packs in like sardines near the doors leaving plenty of breathing room at the ends of every car. The only problem is that it takes nearly 3 stops before there is enough shuffling to reach the less crowded area (which was still quite clustered). I was worried at first about someone stealing my wallet or cell phone but then I reconsidered it: we were packed so tightly that the pockets on my shorts were pressed snug against other passengers and there was no way to reach my belongings.

Three stops from my destination when I thought I had almost made it, an announcement comes over the speakers in Tagalog. My concern grew when I saw all the Filipinos exiting the train without the incessant battle that is witnessed at every other stop. Something was wrong. It turned out that our train needed repairs and thus was forced to be evacuated.  We were informed to exit the train and wait for the next one.  With the crazed mentality of the train riders, they would stop as soon as they stepped foot off the train in order to be first in line to get back on, clearly causing problems. Although none of the people were in a rush fearing they would be stuck on the train and miss their stop as with typical exits, quite a bit of nonviolent shoving still took place. We watched in a sort of betrayed confusion as our empty train pulled out of the station and everyone looked around wondering how an entire trainload of people was going to fit onto another already packed train. We eventually made our way back on and when my stop came up I thanked Maita, fought my way through the oncoming crowd, and watched her ride away leaving me alone on a crowded platform. The plan was to find the mall where I was planning to meet Armand in several hours and wander around until meeting him.

The Philippines is a country where one can find friendly people, jungles, mountains, great scuba diving, terrifying food (yes, dog), beautiful beaches, and malls. Manila is a busy city with a lot to be proud of but to me it will forever be the city of shopping as it boasts 3 of the world's 10 largest malls. I'm serious. 3 of the world's largest malls in one single city. Believe it. http://www.forbes.com/2007/01/09/malls-worlds-largest-biz-cx_tvr_0109malls.html. The shopping doesn't stop there. As if that weren't enough, Manila is literally littered with other malls: opportunities for consumers to buy whatever they can imagine in other gargantuan malls that didn't quite make the cut for the top 10. I slowly made my way wandering through a series of these massive shopping centers, had some Japanese fast food, a fresh fruit smoothie, and a pretzel, and eventually met up with Armand.

So Long Sabang

Pronounced properly, the title of this post rhymes. Anyway, greetings to all my readers. A couple days ago I left Sabang indefinitely. If I ever make it back to the Philippines, I will almost certainly pay a visit there. Only time will tell. In the interest of not making a post based on speculation and trying to guess the future, here's what I do know.

Less difficulty makes for fewer stories and adventures, but I was happy to forfeit excitement in exchange for a simple hassle-free departure from Sabang; I had no trouble getting to Manila. The hour ride on the banca from the boat station in Sabang (a hundred yards from Capt'n Gregg's) to Batangas was quite enjoyable and I walked directly onto an air-conditioned bus that took me straight into Manila. Meeting back up with the Fajardo family was a wonderful feeling: they took me back to a familiar house that felt like a home even to me. Their hospitality ranks among the best I've ever known.

That night, I tried something new. The daughter is in a capoeira group that meets several times a week. There are several regular participants who are very skilled and experienced, but there are also many beginners as well. When I walked through the door and realized I was the only white person, the only one wearing shorts, the tallest, and without question the least experienced, I started having doubts. As everyone started warming up, no one was offended by my utter cluelessness which made me feel much better and strengthened my confidence. If there's one thing I've learned about the Filipino population, it's that they are very helpful. I know any generalization needs to be taken with a grain of salt, but from my experiences, they have been very welcoming and eager to offer help. Anyway, the session continued with a sort of “monkey see, monkey do” format. The instructor demonstrated a move, and then the 20+ students would emulate it as best as possible: kicks, twists, turns, swings, sweeps, strikes, steps, handstands, cartwheels, handsprings, and more. The thing that stands out in my memory is how easy the instructor made everything look. I was constantly thinking to myself “oh, that's all we have to do? That's not hard.” These thoughts would inevitably be followed by a flailing flop onto the hardwood dance floor or at least a poor enough execution that my laughter would send me to the floor. One way or another, I usually ended up on the ground. However I feel that I must mention the feedback from other students and the instructor. Many people there were convinced that I had quite a bit of previous experience. Apparently no one (they reiterated, “no one”) gets the moves that I was getting on the first day...or second, or even usually third. For years I've wanted to pursue some sort of dance, gymnastics, or martial arts (this should be a surprise to the world because I never told this to anyone) since I think it's something in which I could excel. This capoeira session makes me want to do it even more.

The next morning I woke up with soreness in my hips and right foot but made my way to the train station. My schedule included meeting up with Armand in a mall downtown. About two months ago I mentioned that I might record at some point in Manila. Those plans are finally coming to fruition but here's the thing: it's midnight and I leave the house in no more than 6 and a half hours for Boracay. I consider this my vacation – after 2 and a half months of work 7 days a week, I get 6 days off. Sounds fair to me. However it means that I will have to continue this post later. Stay tuned for a crowded train ride, a walk through a series of malls that could be a self-sufficient city, a crazy drive around Manila, and a recording session that could have gone smoother. This video is taken from the banca on my way out of Sabang. It starts at Capt'n Gregg's and pans all the way to my apartment nestled in the middle of all of those green buildings at the end of the beach.

Recovery

I haven't said so, but I've been quite ill for about 6 days. It's had ups and downs, but it hasn't been pleasant. Since then, I organized a successful day trip to Chicken Feather Island, Tomi and Renaud both left, Chris and Jay booked tickets out of the Philippines, and I decided to visit Boracay before going to Indonesia. While there, I will jam with a musician named Armand I met through a customer that came through here a while ago (I believe I talked about Bernardine before). I'm thrilled to see another part of the Philippines and to play music but I don't know which one is more exciting.

A couple days ago, feeling a bit better than the day before, I embarked on my routine journey to the dive shop. The relatively high tide resulted in a lack of beach and thus encouraged me to walk the second half of the commute through the small town. Before reaching the main road, I came upon two white tourists, perhaps in their 50s who were each trying to help the other find his way home. Each needed his companion's help because they were both staggering back and forth down the sidewalk, unmistakeably drunk from the night before. Reaching the main intersection, I found the space to safely make my way around the dynamic duo as they gave the motorbike vendors quite a laugh and then I walked the last minute or two to Capt'n Gregg's, right on time as always.

As I was feeling a bit better, I decided to put my name on the board for the morning dive, but 30 minutes before departure had to pay an unplanned visit to the bathroom. I like being descriptive about my experiences here in the Philippines, but I think everyone can imagine diarrhea perfectly well without further explanation. At any rate, my confidence and optimism was also flushed down the toilet and I wiped my name from the dive schedule. A quick talk with a few of the guys urged me to make a trip to the pharmacy for some imodium. On my way up the main road, I got stuck behind a couple of guys with wheelbarrows and squeezing past them I couldn't help but notice an arm sticking out; this guy was carrying a man in a wheelbarrow. My first thought was that the man was ill and this was the only way to take him to the clinic. I started thinking about my Emergency First Response training until I looked at the man's semi-cognizant smiling face and kicked myself for not having my camera. I'm not sure whether they asked or if the Filipinos just took charge, but the drunk men from this morning were being carried off to their resort in wheelbarrows through a crowd of very amused onlookers. Nothing I have seen in Sabang has made me smile more than seeing two plump jolly old drunk men being transported home in one-wheeled chariots made for hauling dirt, gravel, and cement.

The rest of the day is insignificant as my health steadily declined. One of our 3 customers, a 55 year old American living in Guam, suggested I take Ciprofloxacin and gave me a couple sealed tablets. I took one at dinner and yesterday felt much better. After a dive, a trip to the launderette, and a haircut I was still feeling fine so I think it did the trick. Thanks Jim! At 7 I decided that after a week of being ill, a massage was in order and I postponed dinner. My experience of professional massages is almost nonexistent so I really don't have anything to compare it to. However, for $10 I think the hour long intense full-body treatment was pretty much a steal. Feeling fully revived, I glided back home to fix up a delicious spaghetti and meat sauce dinner using my one trusty gas burner. My reliable dinner guest named HBO was there for me as always, this time with some sort of a war film set in the Middle East. It made me think of Conor and how I hope he will be home swiftly and safely. Thanks Conor and the rest of your Marine squadron.