I made it to Belize. The people here are very genuinely friendly here but lack the vigor that the Egyptians possessed. They do not need your whole life story but if you strike up a conversation, they are very willing and eager to talk. The people here are very down to earth and even during the hour spent in Belize City, I never once felt threatened. Sure the cityscape is much different than what we know in America but that’s to be expected. Analyzing snapshots of the city, you might think it to be a dangerous and sketchy place, but start talking to a few Belizeans and your impression will immediately change.
I underestimated my co-lead: during the past two weeks here, she has made great friends with locals and travelers, been offered trips through the jungle (if our day off was 3 days off, that’s where we would be), and really gotten to know a few areas around the region very well. She is full of great ideas and any doubts that I had are dwindling away. Oh, and she also had the credit card I was missing the night before so no need to worry about that anymore. This summer is going to be awesome.
The island I’m currently on brings sudden and frequent flashbacks to specific moments in both the Philippines and especially Indonesia. I’m on a small island with loads of backpackers, tours are advertized at little huts, there is no pavement, people primarily walk or bike, there is only one ATM on the entire island, etc. However, though there are similarities, Belize is not the same as its Southeast Asian cousins. I can only speak for a little bit of Belize City and a little bit more for Caye Caulker. I’ll have much more about the country later but as for now know that life is awesome and I’m finally about to get some sleep. Goodnight everyone!
Showing posts with label Indonesia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Indonesia. Show all posts
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Goodbye Indonesia
My time in Indonesia has expired. Unlike milk, it didn't begin to gradually smell putrid. Nope, not like that at all. Instead, it turned from happy to rotten in a matter of minutes. Before going into that, I'd like to write a little preface about how nice my final days were on Gili Trawangan.
First of all, the dive resort I was working for, named Lutwala Dive, is amazing. It is beautiful, has a great pool, it's clean, has an incredible view, is situated away from all the noise and tourists, and has very friendly staff. I truly enjoyed showing up to work every morning because I felt incredibly welcome and there was always someone to talk to.
Before finishing, I certified my two divemaster candidates named Francois and Audrey. Audrey finished up first and went out to Bali to begin the instructor course right away. Francois, who started later, was on a much more serious time crunch. I worked with him every day for just over 2 weeks and on my last full day on the island, we finished. That night was spent at the Irish bar celebrating the completion of the course. Needless to say, Francois probably forgot what he was celebrating by the time he went to sleep (I exaggerate).
By 10:30 the next morning, I had been to Lutwala Dive twice, signed all the divemaster paperwork, sent a couple emails, printed off tickets, paid my ferry ticket, finished packing, said goodbye to friends, sold my bike, and bought a few pieces of bread before getting onto the boat. The last boat leaving Gili Trawangan departed at 11:00 and I was on it. 3 hours later when I arrived at the airport, security informed me that I was too early to check in for my 9:45pm flight. I knew I would have to wait that long, but I was hoping that waiting would not involve schlepping luggage everywhere. This is when I realized how great an idea it was not to sell the guitar. My guitar skills are quite far from being able to play in a public space for money and my vocal ability is even worse (I'm my hardest critic, but anyone hearing me would agree I can't do it for money). However, when it comes to playing for myself just for passing the time, I'm a musical wizard. No, it's not that it sounds any better when I'm playing for myself. It is just a matter of how I connect with the sounds that come out.
6 hours pass with the sun already setting. By now, it's time to check in. The first problem to throw off my systematic and fluid journey through the airport was a woman corralling passengers through to the check-in counter. “Sorry sir, the guitar has to be checked.” Arguing quickly proved hopeless and I easily caved, being forced to pay $6 to have my $16 guitar wrapped in bubble wrap. Having this issue sorted out, I proceeded once again to check-in.
The friendly face behind the counter greeted me with a convincing smile as if to say “hello sir, I really like my job and I want to make your journey pleasant.” She was clothed in a standard green uniform with a matching hat and shiny lapel pin that glinted in the dim fluorescent lights above. My actions and answers preceded her predictable commands and questions. Everything was textbook form. Then we got to the luggage. (Marcus, perhaps this is the island's way of trying to get back at me for leaving.)
As it turns out, Jet Star, a proud partner of Qantas, has this policy. You are able to take sports luggage on the plane without a problem. Scuba gear listed under sports luggage includes bcd, fins, mask, snorkel, regulator, knife, weights, and even tanks. However, if you take these things in a bag to check in on a Jet Star flight, you will quickly find out that you cannot take anything else with you at all. The max limit is 20kg no matter what kind of luggage you have. You see, I have 20kg of sports luggage. I also have about 20kg of everything else (books, clothes, shoes, toiletries, chargers, etc). Jet Star's policy is that for every additional kilo, you pay 20 Australian dollars. After some arguing and talking to a supervisor, it turned out that it's actually 23 US dollars on an international flight. Isn't that convenient.
The poor girl in the uniform was clearly feeling helpless as her smile turned to genuine concern while she watched this bubbly lone American traveler turn into a rather upset, insistent, and panicked customer. Several times I made sure to tell her that my anger and shock was not being taken out on her at all and was certain to make it clear that she was doing nothing wrong while at the same time trying to get her to solve the problem. She was a puppet, almost completely helpless in my dilemma that was taking control of my temper. $570 was the total: more than I paid for the ticket. When I asked about canceling the flight and booking another one (listen, desperation was setting in and I needed to take serious action), she fetched me a phone number of the Jet Star office.
I kindly took my bags to abandon my stake at the counter in front of the dazed employee and retreat to an empty post. With shaky hands I dropped my bags and pulled out my phone. The first number I dialed was not the one she gave me: it was my father's cell phone. At 7:30am EST on a Thursday, my parents are probably already at work but Dad usually has his cell with him. I tried every combination of +001, +01, +1, 001, 01, and 1 preceding the phone number, but nothing worked. I frantically tried the same for my mother's cell and my dad's office (3 of the only 5 numbers I have memorized). I tried calling the number she gave me and no one picked up. One more round of every possible number to reach home and one last effort to call the office proved in vain. I was on my own. My life lines have been used up. I had to pull myself together and face the bureaucratic corporation alone.
Ripping my bags open, I pulled out another backpack and began stuffing it with anything heavy I could find. I was taking one of the employee's good ideas: take 10kg out of my bags and take it as carry-on. Most of the passengers on the flight had already checked in so I didn't have to wait to speak to her again. Heaving my bags onto the scale one last time showed that I was about 12kg over the limit and the face between the recently pressed jacket and matching green hat showed no signs of reassurance. Her disapproving and worried face brought panic back into mine. At this point, the only thing I could do short of making a scene was make it look like I planned to make a scene. The area that I was pacing widened, the tension in my hands went up, the amount of times I rubbed my face and pulled my hair increased, and the feeling of worry and panic was radiating from my body. The next thing I know is that there was a different supervisor than before standing next to my friend in green asking me questions about my luggage and before I knew it, my bags were on the conveyor toward the plane with no fee. I got a stern threat not to tell anyone [until after leaving the Auckland airport] that I had more than 20kg or else she would be in huge trouble. I thanked her a few dozen times and went on my way. If there's anything I learned from that experience, it would be that pretending to get ready to cause a scene is very effective.
During the Bali-Sydney leg of the trip, an infection broke out on my foot and while I was practically skipping onto the plane, I was forced to limp off of it. A quick purchase of band-aids and ointment were made but it would be 2 more days until seeing a proper doctor. By now, my foot is feeling much better.
Auckland is great, the people I'm staying with are wonderful, and I'm looking forward to my adventures ahead. I haven't decided whether or not to take my laptop with me (remember I can't use the battery). If I don't, I'll make sure to update every once in a while. I'll certainly take lots of photos! As always, thanks for reading and I hope you are excited about what's to come not only in this blog but also in your own lives. Take care!
First of all, the dive resort I was working for, named Lutwala Dive, is amazing. It is beautiful, has a great pool, it's clean, has an incredible view, is situated away from all the noise and tourists, and has very friendly staff. I truly enjoyed showing up to work every morning because I felt incredibly welcome and there was always someone to talk to.
Before finishing, I certified my two divemaster candidates named Francois and Audrey. Audrey finished up first and went out to Bali to begin the instructor course right away. Francois, who started later, was on a much more serious time crunch. I worked with him every day for just over 2 weeks and on my last full day on the island, we finished. That night was spent at the Irish bar celebrating the completion of the course. Needless to say, Francois probably forgot what he was celebrating by the time he went to sleep (I exaggerate).
By 10:30 the next morning, I had been to Lutwala Dive twice, signed all the divemaster paperwork, sent a couple emails, printed off tickets, paid my ferry ticket, finished packing, said goodbye to friends, sold my bike, and bought a few pieces of bread before getting onto the boat. The last boat leaving Gili Trawangan departed at 11:00 and I was on it. 3 hours later when I arrived at the airport, security informed me that I was too early to check in for my 9:45pm flight. I knew I would have to wait that long, but I was hoping that waiting would not involve schlepping luggage everywhere. This is when I realized how great an idea it was not to sell the guitar. My guitar skills are quite far from being able to play in a public space for money and my vocal ability is even worse (I'm my hardest critic, but anyone hearing me would agree I can't do it for money). However, when it comes to playing for myself just for passing the time, I'm a musical wizard. No, it's not that it sounds any better when I'm playing for myself. It is just a matter of how I connect with the sounds that come out.
6 hours pass with the sun already setting. By now, it's time to check in. The first problem to throw off my systematic and fluid journey through the airport was a woman corralling passengers through to the check-in counter. “Sorry sir, the guitar has to be checked.” Arguing quickly proved hopeless and I easily caved, being forced to pay $6 to have my $16 guitar wrapped in bubble wrap. Having this issue sorted out, I proceeded once again to check-in.
The friendly face behind the counter greeted me with a convincing smile as if to say “hello sir, I really like my job and I want to make your journey pleasant.” She was clothed in a standard green uniform with a matching hat and shiny lapel pin that glinted in the dim fluorescent lights above. My actions and answers preceded her predictable commands and questions. Everything was textbook form. Then we got to the luggage. (Marcus, perhaps this is the island's way of trying to get back at me for leaving.)
As it turns out, Jet Star, a proud partner of Qantas, has this policy. You are able to take sports luggage on the plane without a problem. Scuba gear listed under sports luggage includes bcd, fins, mask, snorkel, regulator, knife, weights, and even tanks. However, if you take these things in a bag to check in on a Jet Star flight, you will quickly find out that you cannot take anything else with you at all. The max limit is 20kg no matter what kind of luggage you have. You see, I have 20kg of sports luggage. I also have about 20kg of everything else (books, clothes, shoes, toiletries, chargers, etc). Jet Star's policy is that for every additional kilo, you pay 20 Australian dollars. After some arguing and talking to a supervisor, it turned out that it's actually 23 US dollars on an international flight. Isn't that convenient.
The poor girl in the uniform was clearly feeling helpless as her smile turned to genuine concern while she watched this bubbly lone American traveler turn into a rather upset, insistent, and panicked customer. Several times I made sure to tell her that my anger and shock was not being taken out on her at all and was certain to make it clear that she was doing nothing wrong while at the same time trying to get her to solve the problem. She was a puppet, almost completely helpless in my dilemma that was taking control of my temper. $570 was the total: more than I paid for the ticket. When I asked about canceling the flight and booking another one (listen, desperation was setting in and I needed to take serious action), she fetched me a phone number of the Jet Star office.
I kindly took my bags to abandon my stake at the counter in front of the dazed employee and retreat to an empty post. With shaky hands I dropped my bags and pulled out my phone. The first number I dialed was not the one she gave me: it was my father's cell phone. At 7:30am EST on a Thursday, my parents are probably already at work but Dad usually has his cell with him. I tried every combination of +001, +01, +1, 001, 01, and 1 preceding the phone number, but nothing worked. I frantically tried the same for my mother's cell and my dad's office (3 of the only 5 numbers I have memorized). I tried calling the number she gave me and no one picked up. One more round of every possible number to reach home and one last effort to call the office proved in vain. I was on my own. My life lines have been used up. I had to pull myself together and face the bureaucratic corporation alone.
Ripping my bags open, I pulled out another backpack and began stuffing it with anything heavy I could find. I was taking one of the employee's good ideas: take 10kg out of my bags and take it as carry-on. Most of the passengers on the flight had already checked in so I didn't have to wait to speak to her again. Heaving my bags onto the scale one last time showed that I was about 12kg over the limit and the face between the recently pressed jacket and matching green hat showed no signs of reassurance. Her disapproving and worried face brought panic back into mine. At this point, the only thing I could do short of making a scene was make it look like I planned to make a scene. The area that I was pacing widened, the tension in my hands went up, the amount of times I rubbed my face and pulled my hair increased, and the feeling of worry and panic was radiating from my body. The next thing I know is that there was a different supervisor than before standing next to my friend in green asking me questions about my luggage and before I knew it, my bags were on the conveyor toward the plane with no fee. I got a stern threat not to tell anyone [until after leaving the Auckland airport] that I had more than 20kg or else she would be in huge trouble. I thanked her a few dozen times and went on my way. If there's anything I learned from that experience, it would be that pretending to get ready to cause a scene is very effective.
During the Bali-Sydney leg of the trip, an infection broke out on my foot and while I was practically skipping onto the plane, I was forced to limp off of it. A quick purchase of band-aids and ointment were made but it would be 2 more days until seeing a proper doctor. By now, my foot is feeling much better.
Auckland is great, the people I'm staying with are wonderful, and I'm looking forward to my adventures ahead. I haven't decided whether or not to take my laptop with me (remember I can't use the battery). If I don't, I'll make sure to update every once in a while. I'll certainly take lots of photos! As always, thanks for reading and I hope you are excited about what's to come not only in this blog but also in your own lives. Take care!
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Every Little Thing Is Gonna Be Alright
I was 100% convinced a few years ago that I was to study abroad in Kenya. I started learning Swahili, researching the culture and history, and thinking of nothing but Kenya from the day I made the decision to go. A week before my flight I experienced one of the worst days of my life: Denison prohibited me from going based on a lack of political stability (the Dec 27 2007 elections turned violent). I reluctantly ended up in South Africa.
While there, a friend of mine invited me to attend an informational meeting nearby about a spring break trip to Mozambique. After a lot of thought, I decided to go on the trip. Since scuba diving was part of the trip, I decided to become certified.
While in Mozambique, I was presented with two options: either remain an open water diver and rarely dive the rest of my life or invest a ton more time and money to become an instructor, and make it back over the course of a year off after undergrad.
It's hard to believe that it was all without reason. Look what has stemmed from one of my worst days I can remember. I would not have visited Meg in Hawai'i or met all of her friends, would never have made it to the Philippines or met the Fajardos, Armand, Marin, Brett, Mark, Chris, Jay, Tomi, Maria, or the rest of the crew at Capt'n Gregg's, and never would have been to Indonesia or Singapore meeting the Weckerlings, or the dive crews at Buddha and Lutwala Dive. I would not have a one-way ticket to Australia and certainly wouldn't be lined up to work for Broadreach this summer.
It's hard to say one way or another, but if these things hadn't played out as they did, I might not have this yearning for a massive upheaval of societal restraints. Speaking of, I've received more feedback on that blog post than on any other; responses have run the gamut of encouraging, apprehensive, inquisitive, discouraging, curious, and fearful.
The feeling to temporarily sever ties from civilization is not new, but it has been occurring much more frequently and clearly over the past few months which is why I finally said something about it. I've pandered the idea in a hypothetical light until recently when I at last posed the question: what's holding me back? When this question could not be answered, my mind began to roll with the idea of actually doing it and it's been snowballing ever since, gaining momentum every day although I am still incredibly uncertain whether or not I will act upon the urge. Here are a few obstacles I have thus far recognized: not having enough camera batteries (you'll have to fight me and pry my camera from my hands if you think I should do an adventure of this degree without taking photos – it's the one piece of technology I insist upon), lack of support, lack of emergency contact, location (where is it legal to just plop down and live on the land anymore?), and lack of training.
Here's the thing: I have this spark right now and I recognize that it is but a spark; if I don't let it ignite, it will be extinguished and I will live the rest of my life wondering what could have happened. Like I've said, I don't know why I feel this way, I don't know where to go, I don't know for how long, I don't know how to do it, and I don't know what I expect to get out of it. All I know is that for some reason or other I have a serious urge to live for a while with no connection to the world as I know it.
While there, a friend of mine invited me to attend an informational meeting nearby about a spring break trip to Mozambique. After a lot of thought, I decided to go on the trip. Since scuba diving was part of the trip, I decided to become certified.
While in Mozambique, I was presented with two options: either remain an open water diver and rarely dive the rest of my life or invest a ton more time and money to become an instructor, and make it back over the course of a year off after undergrad.
It's hard to believe that it was all without reason. Look what has stemmed from one of my worst days I can remember. I would not have visited Meg in Hawai'i or met all of her friends, would never have made it to the Philippines or met the Fajardos, Armand, Marin, Brett, Mark, Chris, Jay, Tomi, Maria, or the rest of the crew at Capt'n Gregg's, and never would have been to Indonesia or Singapore meeting the Weckerlings, or the dive crews at Buddha and Lutwala Dive. I would not have a one-way ticket to Australia and certainly wouldn't be lined up to work for Broadreach this summer.
It's hard to say one way or another, but if these things hadn't played out as they did, I might not have this yearning for a massive upheaval of societal restraints. Speaking of, I've received more feedback on that blog post than on any other; responses have run the gamut of encouraging, apprehensive, inquisitive, discouraging, curious, and fearful.
The feeling to temporarily sever ties from civilization is not new, but it has been occurring much more frequently and clearly over the past few months which is why I finally said something about it. I've pandered the idea in a hypothetical light until recently when I at last posed the question: what's holding me back? When this question could not be answered, my mind began to roll with the idea of actually doing it and it's been snowballing ever since, gaining momentum every day although I am still incredibly uncertain whether or not I will act upon the urge. Here are a few obstacles I have thus far recognized: not having enough camera batteries (you'll have to fight me and pry my camera from my hands if you think I should do an adventure of this degree without taking photos – it's the one piece of technology I insist upon), lack of support, lack of emergency contact, location (where is it legal to just plop down and live on the land anymore?), and lack of training.
Here's the thing: I have this spark right now and I recognize that it is but a spark; if I don't let it ignite, it will be extinguished and I will live the rest of my life wondering what could have happened. Like I've said, I don't know why I feel this way, I don't know where to go, I don't know for how long, I don't know how to do it, and I don't know what I expect to get out of it. All I know is that for some reason or other I have a serious urge to live for a while with no connection to the world as I know it.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Playing a Lion Being Led to a Cage
I've been having strong feelings lately, like messages from within that can't be silenced. Believe it or not my friends, I feel like I'm selling myself short. Sure I'm on the other side of the world taking 18 months to teach scuba diving, but honestly I'm not completely satisfied. Too many things about my way of life simply don't seem, well... right.
I've assessed my life here in my humble accommodation on this meager island out in the middle of Indonesia. As much as I don't want to admit it, I'm a slave to civilization, a pawn in man's deliberate quest to detach himself from natural being. Here's a list of a few brilliant inventions surrounding me that man has created to better his life over the course of thousands of years: brick, mortar, chair, bed, fan, toilet, sink, running water, pavement, light bulb, motorboat, restaurant, computer, the list goes on. All of these and other great inventions which I have been successfully trained to love and rely upon my entire life are for what purpose? Are these inventions a means to a “better” life or simply hindrances to a truer life? Let me put it straight. What are you living for? What are the most important things to you in life? Have you found true happiness or simply discovered things that make you smile?
As for these instinctual feelings I've had, here are some details. I want to get away. I want to leave the grips of civilization for a while. I am yearning to get away from it all and live where nothing can hinder natural life. For how long, I don't know. In what way, I don't know. Where, I don't know. Why it is so strong now and never before, I don't know. All I know is that these feelings are real. Are they any stronger in my soul than in my neighbor's? I propose that it is not a matter of having these feelings but rather recognizing and listening to them. Listen to yourself. Where is all of this suddenly coming from though? Is this what it feels like to get a message from God? Perhaps could it be a human instinct no different from the desire to obtain food? Maybe there is simply something wrong with me and I need to snap back into reality and sort my life out as it should be. Nay, I implore you: those who have resigned yourselves to the goals put forth by society, open your eyes! Open your minds! Listen! We are only sculpted by society as much as we allow ourselves to be. Go to school, get a job, make money, wear fancy clothes, get married, buy a house, own an expensive car, have children, teach them to do the same thing, retire, and die. Anything we do outside of that framework seems to be simply a brief break from that unalterable plan. How are we supposed to find meaning in life let alone find ourselves if we're always busy trying to stick to that program? Even I could come up with excuses all day long why someone might not want to break the mold. However not a single one is more important than following your dreams.
Did I forget to mention that a tourist died right off the north end of the island while snorkeling a couple days ago? The fragility of life makes the question ever more pressing. What are you living for?
So here I stand on the uncharted frontier of my life, a stranger to closed roads. The shackles of society around my ankles can still be heard with every step I take and the scratches on them are clear evidence of many attempts of removal. Alas, they hold strong for now. As the morning dew lifts, I stretch my arms and gaze in awe upon the multitude of options. One deep breath fills my lungs with new fresh air and clears my head. Without wasting another moment, I step into the unknown. There is no destination, but only direction: forward.
I've assessed my life here in my humble accommodation on this meager island out in the middle of Indonesia. As much as I don't want to admit it, I'm a slave to civilization, a pawn in man's deliberate quest to detach himself from natural being. Here's a list of a few brilliant inventions surrounding me that man has created to better his life over the course of thousands of years: brick, mortar, chair, bed, fan, toilet, sink, running water, pavement, light bulb, motorboat, restaurant, computer, the list goes on. All of these and other great inventions which I have been successfully trained to love and rely upon my entire life are for what purpose? Are these inventions a means to a “better” life or simply hindrances to a truer life? Let me put it straight. What are you living for? What are the most important things to you in life? Have you found true happiness or simply discovered things that make you smile?
As for these instinctual feelings I've had, here are some details. I want to get away. I want to leave the grips of civilization for a while. I am yearning to get away from it all and live where nothing can hinder natural life. For how long, I don't know. In what way, I don't know. Where, I don't know. Why it is so strong now and never before, I don't know. All I know is that these feelings are real. Are they any stronger in my soul than in my neighbor's? I propose that it is not a matter of having these feelings but rather recognizing and listening to them. Listen to yourself. Where is all of this suddenly coming from though? Is this what it feels like to get a message from God? Perhaps could it be a human instinct no different from the desire to obtain food? Maybe there is simply something wrong with me and I need to snap back into reality and sort my life out as it should be. Nay, I implore you: those who have resigned yourselves to the goals put forth by society, open your eyes! Open your minds! Listen! We are only sculpted by society as much as we allow ourselves to be. Go to school, get a job, make money, wear fancy clothes, get married, buy a house, own an expensive car, have children, teach them to do the same thing, retire, and die. Anything we do outside of that framework seems to be simply a brief break from that unalterable plan. How are we supposed to find meaning in life let alone find ourselves if we're always busy trying to stick to that program? Even I could come up with excuses all day long why someone might not want to break the mold. However not a single one is more important than following your dreams.
Did I forget to mention that a tourist died right off the north end of the island while snorkeling a couple days ago? The fragility of life makes the question ever more pressing. What are you living for?
So here I stand on the uncharted frontier of my life, a stranger to closed roads. The shackles of society around my ankles can still be heard with every step I take and the scratches on them are clear evidence of many attempts of removal. Alas, they hold strong for now. As the morning dew lifts, I stretch my arms and gaze in awe upon the multitude of options. One deep breath fills my lungs with new fresh air and clears my head. Without wasting another moment, I step into the unknown. There is no destination, but only direction: forward.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Thinking Ahead
I figured I would just give a brief “what's on the agenda” so you can all be completely up to date with what's to come.
Gili Trawangan:
I leave on the 21st for Auckland. Between now and then, I need to pack, pay my last 2 weeks of rent, buy a ticket out of New Zealand, say my goodbyes, sell my junky bike and dear guitar, and most of all, finish certifying the two divemaster candidates that I'm currently teaching. Quite a lot to do in just over a week, but I like being busy better than being idle. I am getting tired of the much needed rain though.
New Zealand:
The reason I am going there is to talk to the Marine Science programs at the University of Auckland and University of Otago. In case anyone was still left out on my plan, I am hoping to spend two years in New Zealand getting a masters in some sort of Marine Science such as Physical Oceanography. That makes two required errands that need to be completed within my planned 3 week stay. When not visiting schools, I will be rafting through caves, hiking, camping, taking trains and buses across the countryside, having at least one proper meal with lamb, and taking LOADS of pictures.
Next Step:
My New Zealand trip is going to end around the 15th of February at which point I need a place to go. It's looking very likely that it will be northern Australia since it's the option with the least amount of risk. If there is no work there, I only lose about $150 on the ticket there instead of the $1k+ I'd have spent going to the Seychelles or Mauritius. If Australia doesn't work out, who knows, maybe I'll end up in the Caribbean. Anything's possible.
Summer Camp:
I haven't officially announced that I will be working as a Broadreach leader this summer but let it be known that I will. Hooray! For more information refer to www.GoBroadreach.com. The reason I haven't said anything about it is that they haven't decided where to send me. As soon as I find out, it will be posted here.
Post-Summer:
Are you kidding? You expect me to plan this far in advance?! If anyone knows what dive destination is in high season from September until December, please let me know toute suite.
Gili Trawangan:
I leave on the 21st for Auckland. Between now and then, I need to pack, pay my last 2 weeks of rent, buy a ticket out of New Zealand, say my goodbyes, sell my junky bike and dear guitar, and most of all, finish certifying the two divemaster candidates that I'm currently teaching. Quite a lot to do in just over a week, but I like being busy better than being idle. I am getting tired of the much needed rain though.
New Zealand:
The reason I am going there is to talk to the Marine Science programs at the University of Auckland and University of Otago. In case anyone was still left out on my plan, I am hoping to spend two years in New Zealand getting a masters in some sort of Marine Science such as Physical Oceanography. That makes two required errands that need to be completed within my planned 3 week stay. When not visiting schools, I will be rafting through caves, hiking, camping, taking trains and buses across the countryside, having at least one proper meal with lamb, and taking LOADS of pictures.
Next Step:
My New Zealand trip is going to end around the 15th of February at which point I need a place to go. It's looking very likely that it will be northern Australia since it's the option with the least amount of risk. If there is no work there, I only lose about $150 on the ticket there instead of the $1k+ I'd have spent going to the Seychelles or Mauritius. If Australia doesn't work out, who knows, maybe I'll end up in the Caribbean. Anything's possible.
Summer Camp:
I haven't officially announced that I will be working as a Broadreach leader this summer but let it be known that I will. Hooray! For more information refer to www.GoBroadreach.com. The reason I haven't said anything about it is that they haven't decided where to send me. As soon as I find out, it will be posted here.
Post-Summer:
Are you kidding? You expect me to plan this far in advance?! If anyone knows what dive destination is in high season from September until December, please let me know toute suite.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Funny Transnations
I'm sad to say that funny translations hardly have any effect on me anymore. I have been living for two months in Indonesia where shops advertise services like "we sell haircuts, watch, etc" and "Lightning Internet Faster," and restaurants offer such mouth-watering culinary selections as "Facos [tacos] with spicey saus" and "Sandwith"s. The list goes on, on, on, and on. Oh and that's not mentioning the Indonesians' use of +/- to mean "approximately." When you find "+/- 5% alcohol" on bottles of beer, according to Marcus, by the end of the night you can drink yourself sober. Mistranslations like these are rarely funny on their own anymore because not only have I seen so many of them day in and day out, but it often makes conversation more difficult and confusing. Explaining things 5 times and getting a smile and nod in response is common. Asking for chips and guacamole and suddenly finding yourself sitting in front of french fries, tortilla slices, and a bit of mashed avocado is normal. This has been my motivation for learning Indonesian and the little that I do know has paid off immensely.
As I was saying, I am largely unaffected by translation mistakes anymore but when I went to Ubud (on Bali) with my family to see a traditional play, I was handed a playbill marked as English. This is what it said word for word, plus pictures that I took throughout to go along with each act.
THE BARONG AND KRIS DANCE
The Barong Play represents an eternal fight between good and evil spirits. A Barong (a mythological animal) represent good spirit and Rangda (a mythological monster) represent evil one.
THE DANCE START WITH MUSIC OVERTONE
Followed by his friend the monkey, the tiger comes up.
Three masked dancers appear, representing man making palwine in the forest whose child is killed by the tiger. The three men get angry and attack the tiger which is helped by the monkey. During the fight, the nose of one the three men is bitten off.
FIRSTACT
Two Girl dancers appears, representing the servants of the Rangda. They are looking for the servants of Dewi Kunti who are on the way to meet Patih (Prime Minister).
SECONDACT
The servants of Dewi Kunti come. One of the servants of the Rangda changes into a witch and enters both servants to make them angry.
They meet their Patih and go together to Dewi Kunti.
THIRDACT
Dewi Kunti and her son, Sahadewa [I SWEAR Sahadewa is a woman] come up. Dewi Kunti has promised the Rangda to sacrifice Sahadewa.
A witch appears and enters Dewi Kunti. She becomes angry and orders the Patih to bring Sahadewa into the forest. The Patih is also entered by a witch so he does not have pity on Sahadewa. Sahadewa is then taken into a forest and tied up on tree.
FOURTHACT
Unknown by Rangda, God Siwa appears and gives Sahadewa immortality. The Rangda appears, ready to kill Sahadewa and eats him up, but Sahadewa is still alive. She than surrender and asks him to redeem her, Sahadewa agrees and kills the Rangda. The Rangda goes to Heaven.
FIFTHACT
One of servants of the Rangda called Kalika comes up before Sahadewa and asks him to redeem her too, Sahadewa refuses. Kalika gets angry and changes into a boar and fights Sahadewa. The bird can be defeated. She than changes into a bird but defeated again. At last she
changes into Rangda.
Sahadewa can not kill her. In such circumstances. Sahadewa meditates and than he changes himself in a Barong. Still the Rangda seems to be too powerfull and the fight is unending. Followers of the Barong appear and help him to fight the Rangda.
Thank you very much
By the end of the final act, it turned out that the summary of the play was actually more comprehensible than the play itself. Welcome to Indonesia. I can't go without commenting however on how fantastic it was to see a legitimate gamelan ensemble in Bali. For those who don't know, I was part of the gamelan ensemble at Denison for a semester as we were piloting what turned into a credited music performance class.
As I was saying, I am largely unaffected by translation mistakes anymore but when I went to Ubud (on Bali) with my family to see a traditional play, I was handed a playbill marked as English. This is what it said word for word, plus pictures that I took throughout to go along with each act.
THE BARONG AND KRIS DANCE
The Barong Play represents an eternal fight between good and evil spirits. A Barong (a mythological animal) represent good spirit and Rangda (a mythological monster) represent evil one.
THE DANCE START WITH MUSIC OVERTONE
Followed by his friend the monkey, the tiger comes up.
Three masked dancers appear, representing man making palwine in the forest whose child is killed by the tiger. The three men get angry and attack the tiger which is helped by the monkey. During the fight, the nose of one the three men is bitten off.FIRSTACT
Two Girl dancers appears, representing the servants of the Rangda. They are looking for the servants of Dewi Kunti who are on the way to meet Patih (Prime Minister).SECONDACT
The servants of Dewi Kunti come. One of the servants of the Rangda changes into a witch and enters both servants to make them angry.They meet their Patih and go together to Dewi Kunti.
THIRDACT
Dewi Kunti and her son, Sahadewa [I SWEAR Sahadewa is a woman] come up. Dewi Kunti has promised the Rangda to sacrifice Sahadewa.
A witch appears and enters Dewi Kunti. She becomes angry and orders the Patih to bring Sahadewa into the forest. The Patih is also entered by a witch so he does not have pity on Sahadewa. Sahadewa is then taken into a forest and tied up on tree.FOURTHACT
Unknown by Rangda, God Siwa appears and gives Sahadewa immortality. The Rangda appears, ready to kill Sahadewa and eats him up, but Sahadewa is still alive. She than surrender and asks him to redeem her, Sahadewa agrees and kills the Rangda. The Rangda goes to Heaven.FIFTHACT
One of servants of the Rangda called Kalika comes up before Sahadewa and asks him to redeem her too, Sahadewa refuses. Kalika gets angry and changes into a boar and fights Sahadewa. The bird can be defeated. She than changes into a bird but defeated again. At last she
changes into Rangda.
Sahadewa can not kill her. In such circumstances. Sahadewa meditates and than he changes himself in a Barong. Still the Rangda seems to be too powerfull and the fight is unending. Followers of the Barong appear and help him to fight the Rangda.Thank you very much
By the end of the final act, it turned out that the summary of the play was actually more comprehensible than the play itself. Welcome to Indonesia. I can't go without commenting however on how fantastic it was to see a legitimate gamelan ensemble in Bali. For those who don't know, I was part of the gamelan ensemble at Denison for a semester as we were piloting what turned into a credited music performance class.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Blessings in Disguise (very big disguise)
Last night started awfully enough with signs of a sore throat and going to bed before 10 with no power to run my fan. I woke up with the sunrise on sweat-soaked sheets sneezing and blowing my nose like it was my job. The sneezes were agonizing as they sent crippling waves of pain from my nose all the way down to the back of my throat. At 8:10 the power came on and my fan that had been poised all night finally started but it was too little too late: I left for the dive shop 10 minutes later. The early start was due to a French speaking fellow who came in the night before. He knew less English than I knew French and so I was utterly thrilled that I had the opportunity to speak with him and felt that I did so quite successfully. Not only that, but he didn't believe that I was American, a certain compliment to my accent.
I arrived at the dive shop with one thing in mind however: hot tea. After losing about a cup of snot from the crippling sneezes, all I could think about was getting something soothing to sip. As soon as it arrived, the dive manager said to me in a serious tone, and I paraphrase, “The Russians [the owners of the dive resort] have been talking and they're not sure why you're here. They don't like you using their power all the time (I very often have my laptop plugged in, hooked up to the free wireless hotspot) and have asked me to tell you to not hang around here anymore. That being said, let me separate that from how the rest of the dive staff feel: we don't want to kick you out and would be pleased if you simply cut back the amount of time you spend here. For instance if you're here in the morning, leave after lunch or vise versa.”
Ten minutes later after my tea was finished and said goodbye indefinitely. If the owners don't want me there carrying tanks, organizing gear, washing new masks, and making the dive shop look busy, I frankly don't want to be there.
I headed up the road and talked to three dive resorts getting the same response as the day before: “we're set right now, we have your number, and we will call you when we need an instructor, etc.” However, my last effort proved successful. As it turns out, at one of the dive resorts up north, the instructor isn't getting along well with his divemaster candidate, another is ready to begin, and the instructor is going to Bali for several days. Within 2 minutes of walking into the shop I was assigned both candidates going from completely unemployed to training two divemasters. Today started out as one of my worst days in months and turned into the best day since my family was here (now I just have to knock this sore throat). I have 16 days left here on Gili Trawangan and within that time I will certify two divemasters; it looks like we have to get down to business!
I arrived at the dive shop with one thing in mind however: hot tea. After losing about a cup of snot from the crippling sneezes, all I could think about was getting something soothing to sip. As soon as it arrived, the dive manager said to me in a serious tone, and I paraphrase, “The Russians [the owners of the dive resort] have been talking and they're not sure why you're here. They don't like you using their power all the time (I very often have my laptop plugged in, hooked up to the free wireless hotspot) and have asked me to tell you to not hang around here anymore. That being said, let me separate that from how the rest of the dive staff feel: we don't want to kick you out and would be pleased if you simply cut back the amount of time you spend here. For instance if you're here in the morning, leave after lunch or vise versa.”
Ten minutes later after my tea was finished and said goodbye indefinitely. If the owners don't want me there carrying tanks, organizing gear, washing new masks, and making the dive shop look busy, I frankly don't want to be there.
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| Candid shot of Buddha Dive staff |
Thursday, December 31, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, December 25, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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| Lionfish |
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| Clownfish in anemones |
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.
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| Blue spotted stingray |
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.
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| Sea turtle. Hawksbill or green, I'm never sure |
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
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.
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.
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.
 |
| Favorite road through the island |
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 |
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.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, November 13, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
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!
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.
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.
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