From here to there. (12 December)

Forgotten Posts... December 2008


From here to there. (12 December)


From here to there by…
Airplane
Bicycle
Bus
Bemo
Coach
Donkey cart
Ferry
Motorcycle
Small boat
Taxi
Van
… and foot.

I knew it was going to be a long trip. And we weren’t taking the easy route. Nevertheless, each leg was defined with unexpected turns and adventures. Luckily what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger... next feat, conquer the world.

Perhaps this was an omen of the events to come. Our bus trip to the village for an introduction to the world of cashews.


Now keep track, here commences the journey from Bajawa to Ohio. It all begins with a benevolent lift to the bus station (very inconveniently locate out of town) with Sanne on her motorcycle.

Bus #1 – 10 hours cross Flores… Bajawa to Labuanbajo
Norah Jones got the soundtrack started right with, The Long Way Home

Charlye (my travel companion in this tale and fellow VSO volunteer from the States assigned in neighboring Papua New Guinea) had gone a day ahead to Labuanbajo after several days exploring with wonders of Bajawa complete with cashew processing lessons.

Ferry #1 – 10 hours Labuanbajo, Flores to Sape, Sumbawa (island)

Motivated by the sense of adventure. The want to be environmental conscience, keeping our potential ecological footprint to a minimum. The budget of volunteer life. We go by bus. We go by boat.


Our seafaring seats… crowded with chickens, goats, and smoking men.


Bemo #1 – 2 hours Sape port to Bima, Sumbawa
Met at the port by a guy with picture of the bus on our tickets… “SAMA!” (same) He shouted grabbing my hand. We pile in with the chickens.

Coach Bus – 13 hours to Lombok
Coach buses in Indonesia… who knew!?

1:00 AM stop for… Dinner? Breakfast?

Ferry #2 – (not sure how long… slept through it) Poto Tano, Sumbawa to Labuhan, Lombok
Snooze.

Continue on bus Labuhan to Mataram, Lombok

Bemo #2 – 30 minutes Bus station Mataram to Bangsal, Lombok
Our first steps on Lombok, and in agreement, we were ready to get back on the bus to avoid the hawkers. Swarmed by drivers and their helpers trying to get us to our destination (our their destination) with tremendous inflation. Finally. We figure out a Bemo, bursting at the seams with locals. Seems to be a pretty big deal that I refuse to pay until we get to our stop… but after much negotiation, we’re off. I in the front with 4 chain-smoking men. Charlye on a stool clinging to the open door. Goats on the roof.

Donkey cart – 10 minutes Bangsal, Lombok to harbor for Gili Islands
A donkey cart conveniently awaits to take us from the main road to the harbor. Wanting to get there. It’s hot. The backpacks heavy, causing the cart to tip and drag and the donkey look near death. A driver and his… I think ‘pimp’ best describes it. The cost of 3,000 rupiah per head as listed in our LonelyPlanet seems to have jumped to 40,000! Inflation they say. I don’t think so, buddy. We offer 5,000 taking into account ‘inflation’. They refuse it.

Banter, banter.

Still refused. The pimp says to get back in the cart and he’s taking us back. Whatever. We’re leaving. The driver looks fearful and takes the money.

Small Boat #1 – 30 minutes Bangsal harbor to Gili Meno
We wait. For the boats to fill. Two hours, later and still not full. Nevertheless, we’re headed to the sandy islands.

Not our boat.

5 minute walk on foot (with backpacks)

Bicycle
Tandem? Perhaps, we’ve over estimated our abilities.

Small Boat #2 – 30 minutes Gili Meno bacl to Bangsal harbor

Donkey cart – 10 minutes Bangsal harbor to Bus stop
This donkey cart duo, has no problem with accepting our 5,000 rupiah.

Bus #2 – 2 hours Bangsal to Senggigi, Lombok
A tourist shuttle. Have we sold out? It’s quicker, and the awaiting luxury of Bali calls.
Walk – 5 minutes Bus stop Senggigi to Beach

Small boat transfer to Boat – destination Padangbai, Bali
First boat and second boat in distance

Bus #3… almost – Padangbai harbor, Bali
It’s a package deal from Gili Meno to our destination in Bali. We confirmed when we bought the tickets that they’d drop us. Handing our backpacks to the bus driver, I tell him “Denpasar”.

“Ok, airport”

“No, Denpasar” (the airport is technically in Denpasar but a long ways from the city… and our destination, VSO offfice)

“Ya, ya. Airport.”

“No, kota (city)”

“We don’t go to Denpasar.”

“What?” We’d definitely checked on this and the ticket office even called… somewhere. Frustrated and wet from rain, we try to work it out with a guy (not the driver)… then the bus is leaving. Leaving us. Leaving us.

No taxis. No public transport.

Van – 1 hour Padangbai to Sanur, Bali
We managed to persuade the guy to give us partial refund (a small partial) but still not really enough to get to the city. A lot of unsuccessful haggling takes place. Finally, we find a taker. To the VSO office in Denpasar and on to our hotel in Sanur… it’s even a better deal than with the tour company.

Walk – 5 minutes to hotel
The driver decides to go for more money once he heard the name of our hotel… so we walked the last several meters.

Taxi – 45 minutes Sanur to airport
Thank God for metered taxis at our beckon call.

Airplane – 2 days… destination ‘home’
Bali, Singapore, Hong Kong, Chicago, Cleveland

Can’t wait to do it all over again… Mother Earth, you’re welcome.

Obama in the news (1 December)

Obama: Mr. Presiden, apa khabar?

SBY (Indonesian President): Alhamdullilah, baik (selanjutnya terjadi perbincangan resmi dalam bahasa Ingrris selama sekitar lima menit. Menjelang berakhir, keduanya kembali berbicara dalam bahasa Indonesia).

SBY: Dalam kesempatan hadir di APEC tahun depan di Singapura, kami mengundang mr. presiden terpilih ke Indonesia.

Obama: Datang ke Indonesia itu penting. Saya sudah lama dan ingin sekali lagi merasakan bakso, rambutan, dan nasi goreng.


This conversation between leaders of two of the largest countries in the world, boils down to this:

Obama says it’s very important for him to come to Indonesia because it’s been a long time since he’s eaten bakso (Indonesia’s answer to the American hotdog in the form of boiled meatballs), rambutan (fruit like lycee), and nasi goreng (fried rice).

Hey World!! We mean business!

An unhealthy invasion. (6 January 2009)

How is it that my home is dirtier when I am not here, than when I am? After nearly a month excursion that included a bit of island hoping and trip home to Ohio for the holiday, I returned not to an inanimate house but rather a living breathing creature. Swallowed into its belly as I unlocked the front door.

The walls and ceiling moist. Dripping. Drooling. Bodies of cockroaches, moth wings, and gecko poop littered the white floor like the aftermath of a war zone. Spiders sewn into the wall-meets-ceiling crevasses. A colony of ants invaded and set up shop. Considerate enough to bring in their own dirt to build the tidy hills. Nevertheless, this all pales in comparison to the true beast. Sly and calculative. Truly devious. My home had turned into a host. A feeding ground for a fuzzy, swirled blue-green-white mold. Nobody warns of this beast. This monster that overtakes everything during damp rainy season.
My desk and chairs.
My bedding.
My jackets and sarongs.
The laundry bag.
My plastic swiss-ball.
The binding of books and cd cases.
The inside of purses and bags.
My suitcase… both inside and out.
The cardboard boxes that keep my cleaning supplies.
Doors and walls.

The distinctive mildew smell breathtaking as I opened the cupboard where I keep my clothes. It was selective, some clothes untouched others inconceivably covered in mold. Belts and shoes attacked.
Everything.

It’s the unhealthy environment that you’d rather shut the door on and forget. To abandon all possessions and put-up a for sale sign. Nevertheless, these are non-options. Thus, set to cleaning armed with a bottle of bleach. The clothing strewn about to breath, awaiting a time when the sun conquers the rainy days and will rise high to dry the laundry. In the meantime, I burn a lot of incense. Undeniably the war is still on. The mold, lurking and waiting for the next opportunity to overtake. A surprise attack.

Superstar. (4 January 2009)

The hot heavy air immediately slams into the body as we disembarked the airplane via Bali. It’s ‘Hollywood Style’. Think Beetles arrive stateside… minus the screaming, fainting masses. Ducking through the door, I fight the urge to wave… although I do have a bit of celebrity status. They know me. Even here, in Labuanbajo. 10 hours from Bajawa. I’m kind of a big deal. The white girl, who lives in Bajawa. Creepily, most seem to know my exact residence and what I’m doing here. Is that on the ‘Tour of the Stars’ ride? Admittedly, walking around Ohio without renown had been bliss. No autographs required.

The tourguides press their small brown bodies against the ‘airport doors’ of the one room structure. Waiting to pounce on the tourist. A handful on the plane… they’ve come for the renowned scuba dives and legendary komodo dragons. Then they’ll leave. Never exploring the interior of the lush island. Flying in was admittedly breathtaking. Peering through the port widows to the still, turquoise water suddenly rippled with the green hues of jungle mountains. Flores. The descent induced a Jurassic Park vibe.

The rainy season seems to have ignited the jungle. The ordinary. The innocent. Transformed into thick, dense walls of varying green vegetation. On the bus ride, I wait for T-Rex to attack. With the sticky palm of my hand I slide the small rectangular window open. The young woman sitting next to me, vomits into a transparent yellow plastic bag, tosses it out the open window as she nonchalantly drops her child onto my lap. Putting her head on my shoulder, my new friend firmly grasps another plastic bag in preparation for the next round of vomit and closes her eyes.

Feeding the garden. (7 January 2009)

Today proved to be a very exciting day. It was the day that my compost was ready to apply to the garden. Wahoo!!!! Oh, the simplest of things.

Good stuff. Dark and heavy rich. Like giving a multi-vitamin, a little extra oomph, to my seedlings. To my extremely prolific parsley and cilantro. Mixed into the wet soil of the tiny (although perfect for one) garden. Indeed it may be a mere 4x4 space, which I converted from a cement wash area with the help of my neighbors left-over bamboo and plastic bags to keep the dirt from escaping, nevertheless, it has proven a fabulous after work activity. These plants are spoiled with plenty of TLC. Moreover, it’s just impossible to find beets, spinach, and fresh herbs in markets… staples! If only brusslespouts didn’t demand such space…

Try to explain the concept of compost to friends and neighbors was complex. A bucket of scrapes? Why not feed it to the pigs? I don’t have a pig, but I do indeed have a hungry garden. Nevertheless, I most likely won’t be able to reap, to eat, the benefits of a veggie bounty, as I’m anticipating a re-location as soon as accommodation is secured to the sweaty, goat inhabited, almost town of Mbay. But the next tenet will be very lucky!