I want to see mountains, Gandalf, mountains!

Ok, I don’t want to make this into a rant or anything that resembles one.  Hopefully more of a reflection of some things that I see in my surroundings and somethings that I see in myself.  So far in my traveling Asia I have had way too many good experiences that thinking about the small moments of the bad seems insignificant and quite a waste of time.  I’ve had a lot of time to reflect over the last week or two.

I’ve only talked about this to a couple people that are close to me but I’ve been struggling with a complete lack of energy for the last couple weeks.  Going for food a block away from my hostel has sucked all the energy that I have for the morning or afternoon, depending on which meal it is.  I try to be pretty tough when ailments come my way so I’ve done my best to power through it.  I climbed a small mountain the other day.  When I say small, I mean it.  It took less than an hour to get up to it but around here it’s one of their prized peaks.  That was all I could do that day.  I strolled down to a waterfall in the “wilderness” close to town.  I felt like I barely made it back.  Getting to it maybe took 45 minutes but coming out I was so tired that I hitched a ride back to town once on the main road.

My brother counseled me a bit on it, giving me all sorts of crazy ideas on what could be wrong with me.  Erik, I know you’re a concerned brother and I love you but the parasite conversation could have gone unsaid, at least in the detail we went into.  So it got me thinking.  Normally I’m a very active person.  At home I climb mountains, cliffs, run, swim, ski, workout, do some stretching that I sometimes tell people is yoga,  whatever I can fit into my day to keep my sanity.

Luckily, the heaviest part of this fatigue hit me when I arrived in the Cameron Highlands.  This is the place I could call home, or most like home.  It’s cool.  It’s clean.  There are pine trees.  The people are super friendly.  There is terrain, meaning it’s not flat.  My hostel is awesome.  I sleep in a little room the size of a broom cupboard but there’s wifi that works sometimes and I have a good book with me so I’ve managed quite well.

Just to clear the waters, I went and got checked out at the local hospital to be safe since it hadn’t gone away in 10 days.  Since I wasn’t physically ill they brushed it off and said I have travelers’ tiredness.  The doc didn’t give anything but a quick, broken english explanation and handed me a paper for a vitamin B complex injection.  I went upstairs, as ordered, and handed my paper to three guys hanging out.  They weren’t even in hospital clothes.  They took turns looking at the paper and then handed it to the third guy who was one the phone.  He looked at it and pointed his hand to a hospital bed.  The guy in the bed next to me had a fresh cast on.  I knew it was fresh cuz there was plaster on the bed, floors, the guy’s other leg and even his clothes.  I didn’t get a chance to look at the ceiling.

So I sat down on the bed and waited.  He got done with his conversation and pulled the paper wall around me for privacy.  He told me to drop my pants and picked up the syringe that I saw was sitting there, unattended before I walked into the room… One sore butt cheek later I walked out of the hospital at least knowing I made an effort to figure this out.  I’ll know in a couple days.

I listened to an interview with one of my all time favorite alpinists today (while wearing a shell, one of the few times it’s been cool enough to warrant protection from the rain) and it got me longing.  Damn, I miss those days in the Sawtooths when the warmest part of the day is on a grueling uphill slog and once you get to the mountain pass the winds howl for you to zip that puffy back up.  I wore the light puffy I’ve had stuffed in the bottom of my pack the other night.  It felt amazing.   I could have had a fever but I’m pretty sure my boxers were still wet from the rainstorm I got stuck in (happily) on a short hike to the top of Mount Jasar, a whopping 5,565 foot peak (hill).  I fully own that I’ve been slightly brainwashed by working in an outdoor apparel company for the last four years.  But damn, does it feel good to wear a jacket again.

On road trips there is, inevitably, a difference in AC preference; I’m always the one who wants it colder and and there is always someone who wants it warmer.  I’m a big fan of one argument that usually gets me my way.  “You have the luxury of putting on a jacket.  I can’t take my skin off.”  Well, SE Asia, you listening?

I know I can handle it.  Sweating never hurt anyone.  I drink tons of fluids.  It’s completely manageable.  But holy shit is it uncomfortable.  I think sleep is the worst.  I’ve traveled with friends that will only sleep in air conditioned rooms in hotels.  That’s cool.  I’m stoked for them that they can afford that.  I actually went against my instincts and joined them for a few nights here and there.  It did feel like paradise to be able to actually have a blanket or even a light sheet on top of me for that matter but I know that’s not sustainable for me.

I’ve got X amount of dollars for this trip before I dip into money that is not intended for my traveling.  That money is set aside for my future.  I’ve got to have something to come home to and if I luxuriate myself in 65 degree sleeping quarters and continental breakfasts I’ll either be home well before St. Patrick’s Day or be the guy who has no choice but to live at Mommy and Daddy’s as he makes up for his plunders.  I’d rather be neither.

Wearing tank tops, shorts and sandals is fantastic.  Beaches are unreal.  Surfing is something I can’t quite describe at this point, mainly cuz I suck at it but I know it’s something I will pursue for the rest of my life.  Having sand between your toes while having a beer with some new friends feels so absolutely surreal that I always think I’m going to wake from a dream.  I have had too many moments in the last couple of months where’ve I stopped in my tracks and thought aloud, “I’m in Indonesia...” or “I’m in Malaysia…”

Everyone always talks about their perfect vacation is sitting somewhere on a beach, sipping some tropical drink and watching the waves.  I’ve done that, a bunch.  I love it too.  I’m extremely grateful for what I’m doing right here, right now.  I have full intentions of traveling the rest of this region of the world.  If I don’t take advantage of this opportunity now I may never get a chance to come back.  Who knows?

The way I have been traveling is what I’m questioning, I guess.  I’ve made it a point to stay in certain areas and really get to know the area.  They have all been hot, humid areas.  Yes, I did buy the ticket to Jakarta to explore Indonesia.  Yes, it is extremely close to the equator.  It is busy, really busy.  I find it really hard to escape the noise, the smell of exhaust fumes.  There seem to be few opportunities to explore the wild places, which I’m most interested in.  Most of it I explore without the help of guides or paying for services but I’m finding that for me to really get out of the cities and explore like I do back in Idaho usually costs some bucks.  Normally it’s more than my daily budget.  I get it.  This region knows it is a major tourist destination.  I don’t blame them for capitalizing on it.  They don’t have much money to begin with and it is a very lucrative way to charge the vacationers with money to blow.

***Tangent***

I purposefully came with a backpack the size of a carryon bag.  Bus rides are easier that way.  Planes are way easier that way.  But hell, what I wouldn’t give for my tent, sleeping bag, pad and my stove.  There are a lot of people I meet that are traveling with true backpacking packs.  What I come to find out though is that they are usually full of things like large containers of shampoo, hair dryers and enough clothes to let them wear something clean for a week or two at a time.  I’ve got three pair of underwear.  Two pair of shorts and a handful of shirts.  I’m not afraid of doing my laundry in a sink (usually once a week).  Most people think I’m roughing it but to me it’s just logical.  The way I’ve packed has limited me to staying in hostel rooms and eating out a lot.  I can’t really complain too much about that.

But mountains, oh my god I miss mountains.  There is a national park in Malaysia that has trekking in it.  I’ve been looking into it but it seems like you have to hire a guide, pay for all the equipment and have them do everything for you.  I think it’s my stubborn outdoorsy side that is quietly thinking, “Damnit, give me that map and tell me which route and I’ll figure it out for myself!”

I remember when I was in a small village on the island of Lombok, Indonesia at the foot of the erupting Mount Rinjani.  No Mom, I was 100% safe from any volcanic activity.  The village has many rice fields and a “monkey forest” that were popular tourist activities.  The lodge I was staying at was pressuring me to have them guide me through the rice fields and into the forest.  That was absolutely not an option for me.  They insisted.  And insisted.  They were wanting to charge more than the cost of my room (which didn’t have electricity for most of the night).  No way.  I politely asked them if I was going to offend any farmers if I walked them alone.  They reluctantly told me no but were positive that I would get lost and need rescue.  I said thank you and I would make sure that I was very careful to remember the way I came.  Scowls from everyone in the conversation.

Lo’ and behold, no getting lost, no rescue and I wandered onto a great waterfall and navigated the “monkey forest” no problem.  Upon my return though it was clear that I wore out my welcome.  Listen, I know that guiding tourists is a good way for them to make money.  I tip when I can, I don’t haggle for the absolute best price each and every time for a room.  But I don’t need to have someone hold my hand so walk on some dirt.

I don’t think I’m some expert outdoorsman.  I don’t think that I can always be an independent traveler.  And I know that I have a lot the learn about different cultures and the natural world.  But man I really want to get into some pristine wilderness.  I know it’s here.  Not the jungle treks that cost $100 for two nights and trash thrown left and right or the hike up a volcano that can be $200+.  Some areas you “can’t” even enter without a guide.  My stubbornness wants to ask “do you lease/own the rights to this land or are you just lying to me for what’s in my wallet?”  I’m pretty f**king elated that I come from a state that has the most wilderness in the lower 48.

***End tangent***

So, I want to continue my exploration of SE Asia.  I think as I move north the temperatures will reduce and I will be more comfortable.  Many things are on my mind though.  Plans change.  I can’t fathom a year spent in a region that hovers just above the equator.  My body is not made for that.  My pace might quicken slightly.  I might find places that are more temperate and savor them for longer.  Throw in a beach here and there and I think I’ll be happy.  And who knows, after I’ve traveled to the places I’m most interested in here I will have some money left for, oh, I don’t know, New Zealand or even dirt bagging it around the states and climb my brains out.  But for now, I will wait and see if my lethargy and numb left butt cheek will finally go away.

I guess what I’m getting at is that I’ve been dreaming of wilderness, of mountains.  Like I said, the beaches have been great.  I’m from Idaho so I’m not naturally a water person but I know that there are lots of things to do on the beaches and in the water that I haven’t tried yet.  But damn.  Some mountain scenery would go a long way for me.  Since this is kind of what my life is right now, if someone were to ask me where I’d like to go for vacation I would say, without any hesitation, the mountains.

That’s a big lesson I’ve learned so far.  I have soaked in the waves, the sun and the sunscreen and it has been good.  I wouldn’t change that for anything.  But the real lesson for me is perspective.  I don’t think until now have I realized how damn lucky I have been to live in an area with true mountains.  Ya, you gotta have the gear if you want to go on a multiday anything trip.  Backpacking.  Climbing.  Fly fishing.  Rafting.  Or friends if you’re lucky enough to be apart of a group of people that are willing to take you.  I think a lot of the locals that I’ve talked to would have to change their underpants if they could see first hand the sheer grandeur of Alice Lake after a 10 hour push to your campsite and how good some shitty dehydrated backpacker meal tastes after working so hard all day.  Or how good a warm BPR tastes after making what should have been a 12 hour day of climbing the Elephant’s Perch into a 20 hour day push cuz you missed the ferry and had to hike the perimeter of Redfish Lake in the dark.  Or sharing that laugh of amazement  with your ski buddy after the two of you just found the one run on the mountain with stash after stash of untouched powder that everyone else seemed to have overlooked.

There’s some old saying that goes something like “you don’t know love until you’ve lost it.”  Well, I haven’t lost the mountains.  But when I reunite with that love of mine, the fire will be intense and I will never again be short on firewood.

Gratitudinal Turkey Day

       Good morning from Turkey Day in SE Asia (though I’ll probably get this out to you guys by your turkey day)!  I’m writing this from a dorm room in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia right now.  I have Dutch, Japanese, Finnish and German people sleeping around me so I’m trying to type very quietly as I write this.  This will be my third day in Malaysia.

       So far, the country has been a bust.  Day one was chasing a mythical “free” 2 month tourist visa for Thailand.  It ended up not being free by any means, it took half a day of waiting and halfway through I opted out of the application process.  You get 60 days from when you enter Thailand, you can’t leave the country and it was $35 USD for the application.  Seeing as how I haven’t been running with a plan, that seemed like a pretty limited rabbit hole to dive down so I bailed.  Unfortunately I was with two friends that were also applying so I sat quietly, hungry and under caffeinated.  I can enter Thailand and get 30 days free just by being from the U.S.  They ended up getting rejected themselves due to some regulation they didn’t know about going into it.  Least to say, that day was a wash.  Day two was a falling out for my friends and I.  One flew out to Thailand to resolve his visa issue and I had a gut instinct that going lone wolf was in my best interest.  That, coupled with my first taste of travelers’ sickness made for a pretty hostel bound day.  That didn’t stop me from eating the best Indian food of my life…twice.

       Starting a new page hopefully this Asian Thanksgiving.  My dorm mates are cool, my hostel is hosting a BBQ tonight for dinner and my stomach has yet to decide if yesterday is going to carry over into today (I have a goodish feeling).  So, feeling pretty good of my situation.  I’m very happy that I’m not traveling isolated parts of Indonesia on a scooter like I have been for a lot of the last month.  I think that would be a little too lonely for me.  So today I might see some sights and do a little KL exploration before dinner.

       So I thought this would be a fantastic opportunity to get a little corny and writing down the things that I’m grateful for.  Back home around the stuffing and (burnt) candied yams there are little bowls with corn kernels scattered on the table.  Every time you have a thought of something your grateful for you silently put a kernel into the bowl.  At the end of the meal you have a bowl filled with all the things your thankful for in your life.  It’s a beautiful ritual.  Your plates may be empty but your gratitude is brimming.  So, I don’t have the bowl or the kernels this year but I can continue the tradition here.  And don’t fret, I’ll refrain from getting too sappy.  I’m directing this at all the things that I’ve learned to live without in these past two months.  I don’t need to mention anything about the people I’m grateful for, I trust they know.

       I don’t know exactly where to begin.  I’m just going to start rolling with the small things that I’ve been exposed to and hopefully it will go from there.  I’m grateful for hand towels, always next to the sink in the states, promising dry hands.  I’m grateful for no humidity, letting me sleep without feeling clammy.  For grass to walk on (didn’t think I’d be grateful for grass).  For level sidewalks.  For the shower and the toilet being separated so the seat is dry and your pants don’t come back up soaked from the last person’s shower.  On that note, for toilets that can handle TP.  They have these cute albeit disgusting little trash cans for used TP here due to lack of good plumbing.

       I’m grateful for familiarity.  I think two months has provided me a little exposure to this culture (while still quite limited) but there is nothing here that provides the comforts of the familiar sounds, smells, sights and faces of home.  I’m comfortable with most of the obvious nuances.  I think being in a foreign land always provides a little if not sometimes a lot of alienation.  So far, so good in embracing it.

       I’m grateful for being able to drive.  I’ve spent 10 days on a scooter so far.  I love that feeling.  The wind, the squirreliness and the cheap gas.  But there’s nothing like the traditional western road trip.  A car full of friends or just a loved one.  A destination.  Highway sunsets.  Pandora (not available over here).  Cruise control and a windshield.  I’ve covered a couple hundred miles on two wheels on windy, cracked and broken pavement.  The States have it pretty nice.

       Strangely enough, I’m grateful for fast food restaurants around every corner.  Hold on, let me explain this one cuz it’s complicated.  I rarely eat it and have my opinions about the entire business.  Having so many of them, for me, is discouragement to be a customer.  When I round a corner and see those Golden Arches now, it’s more tempting.  I’ve been throwing myself into the crockpot of foreign food pretty hard these last two months.  Some weeks are full of new eateries and dishes.  Some are stuck on nasi goreng.  But when I see a Burger King or even a Starbucks it has turned into an opportunity.  I could choose to have a double burger and fries.  I could order a $3 cup of black coffee (there’s still something off with the couple that I’ve tried).  I have done it a couple times, I admit.  And it’s good.  Best to save that for the rainy days though.

       I’m grateful for football…and ya I mean American football.  You gotta be really clear about that with all these Europeans.  There’s nothing like sitting down at a barstool with some friends and watch some other people be awesome.

       The one I want to end on though, as I’ve heard about the flakes starting to fly already back home, I’m grateful for cold weather.  Wearing jackets…pants for that matter.  It was raining when I was changing hostels yesterday.  I threw on my shell for about two blocks and decided that I’d rather be wet from rain than my own sweat.  An umbrella would work.  No jackets though.  I would love to go for a walk in the snow or make a fire and have some wine or ski.  Actually, I can make it much more clear.  I would love to be cold.  I’ve had goosebumps once in the last two months.  I was walking by the ocean with my friend Anna and it started to rain.  The wind picked up a little.  I got that shiver… you know the one.  We just stood there and straight savored it.

       I’m sure that this will fall on deaf ears as my friends and family are wishing they could swap my beach with their snow.  Believe me, in the end I’m grateful for this journey.  I feel that everyday. I’m psyched that life is a lot more challenging everyday.  The perspective is incredible.  I’ve got too many things that I am grateful for about this part of the world.  But I’m going to keep them to myself for now.  For now, on this hot and humid Turkey Day, I’m grateful for home and everyone and everything that I’m missing today.  Because if there wasn’t anyone or anything that I am missing, would I really be grateful for them?

       Cheers everybody! Over eat and enjoy the stuffing!

Same same... but different

       So far away from home.  Different landscapes.  Different smells.  Different people.  Even though I’m a long way from home, it doesn’t make me homesick to think about how different this new world of mine is.  I feel intrigued, curious and inspired.  There are countless differences, from subtle intricacies like their doors pushing inside instead of pulling outside to larger ones that I’ll describe later.  To me it’s alien and strange but I am the foreigner in this land and things that I might see as peculiar are standards that have always been here in Indonesia.

       The United States is a land of rules.  Just because the rules are in place does not necessarily mean that people follow them.  The Europeans like to remind me a lot that we have the largest population of incarcerated people out of any country in the world.  But the rules remain.  Here in Indo, there is one aspect of their lives that seems to have gone overlooked… The Rules of the Road, as they say, never showed up to this island archipelago.

       It’s the least to say that I would never willingly drive a car here.  I think in most of the places I’ve been to I would be terrified to drive a scooter.  This doesn’t stop anyone from getting behind the wheel and swarming through the congested, polluted streets in a chaotic calamity.  Stop lights are suggestions unless absolutely necessary.  They drive on the left hand side of the road but only 60% of the time.  The rest of the time they are weaving in an almost elegant pattern of opportunism.  Up close there is constant beeping of little horns.  Motorcycles and scooters are continually erupting short bursts of exhaust fumes through their loud aftermarket mufflers as they inch into tight packs when at a stop.  There isn’t angry honking here.  They honk (rapid fire) to tell the other guy that he’s about to ride up his tailpipe and don’t freak out and change course or the entire peloton will go down in a ball of flames.

Naturally some vehicles are faster than others and some drivers are in more of a rush.  Easy solution here.  Just enter into the oncoming traffic lane and pass the S.O.B.  Traffic is actually oncoming you say?  No problem, force them to retreat to the far side of their lane as you make a two way road a one way.  Wait, it’s not just a scooter coming at you but a large truck?  Trudge on, my friend.  He has plenty of shoulder and a little bit of sidewalk before he starts taking out the local warungs selling bakso and nasi goreng (meatball soup and fried rice).  I’m not exactly sure why Indonesians take so many risks and have so many close calls when on the road.  I’m pretty sure they never actually go anywhere, anyway.  They just drive and drive and drive with some beeping in between.  That would explain why the road noise never ceases.  No matter where I go.  Never.  It’s a good thing that most people here drive scooters and not the large SUV and truck I’m used to seeing back home.  First off, their roads aren’t big enough to support a bunch of Tahoes and F-150s.  And secondly, it would be a traffic nightmare.  I’d estimate that 80% of the people zig and zag their way through tight spots on their scooters to arrive at their destination in a reasonable time.  The rest of the shmucks that made the decision to buy a car get to sit in line and patiently wait their turn as they contemplate trading in their four wheels for a late model Vespa.

       One last thing that I have to say about the road use here is that I never appreciated how easy it is to cross the damn street in Boise.  There are clearly marked sections of pavement painted with nice, uniform white stripes that are repainted when they fade.  There are nice little lights that tell you when to walk with a countdown timer to let you know how much time you have left.  Some corners even talk to you and let you know when it’s time to go if you have your head glued into your phone… or if you’re blind or something.  Same same, as they say here.

       I remember the first time I had to cross a street in Java.  It was my first morning in Jakarta and to get to the city square that was just a block from my hostel I had to cross just one street.  Shit.  There are no gaps.  No lulls.  No breaks.  I talked to a local the previous night so luckily I had some beta on this procedure.  If there is a break in 4-wheel traffic then you just have to trust it and take your first step.  I was so nervous that I was walking a couple steps forward, stopping, readjusting, walking and reversing my way to the other side, completely screwing up the flow, getting beeped at as I went.  In time I learned that you just go.  These guys spend much of their time on the road ducking and weaving so they can handle some tall white guy with a long gate, as long as he keeps it steady.  I’ve become better at this but it still gets the adrenaline pumping each time.  There are idiotic drivers in the States.  I’m sure there are some here too.  The last thing I want my tombstone to read is “Here lies Scott Luvaas, taken out by a scooter taxi.”

       Next on the list is the trash.  Boise is a really clean place.  The city provides a weekly trash pick up, curb side.  We have recycling.  There are public garbage cans on every downtown block.  Convenience stores have trash cans outside, for your convenience.  Plainly stated, Indonesia has a trash problem.  As someone considering making environmental conservation a career path, this is very interesting though despairingly concerning for me.  I acknowledge that it may be an unfair comparison to my home city and this developing island nation.  There are cities in the States that also have lots of trash.  But not like this.  There is garbage everywhere you look.  Cigarette packets and all the butts that came out of it lay in the gutters.  Plastic bags full of someone’s street food leftovers sit at the base of trees and in foyer corners.  Discarded plastic water bottles perched on many of the flat surfaces of buildings’ exteriors.  Burning piles of rubbish on the sidewalks because there’s not another way of getting rid of it.

       The silver lining that I’ve found is that the average person takes it upon themselves to clean the area around their shop or warung.  They might be the person littering a block away but they usually take pride in where they work so they will sweep up the plastic around them and put it in a pile somewhere else.  For me, this says that they do care.  Maybe only slightly but I can tell there is a sense of awareness, although it seems bleak at times.

       My thoughts on the matter is that Indonesia is going through a type of growing pain as they merge into the modern world.  While talking with Inu back in Bandung at the Pinisi Backpacker Hostel I learned that 70-80 years ago, before the advent of commercialized plastics, Indonesia primarily had waste that was organic and therefor biodegradable.  In other words, if they threw their trash on the ground nature would play it’s role and break it down.   It might take a while depending on what it is but eventually it would breakdown.  Plastic doesn’t do that.  And it doesn’t seem like anything but a large scale move by their government to create change will do the trick.

       There are a lot of things that I had thought I knew were going to be new and exciting for me that haven’t quite lived up to the hype that I built up in my head.  Many are new and exciting, just not to the degree I imagined.  Almost everything in this country is to some degree different.  Some have been played up by guidebooks and forums I read maybe.  Bathrooms were definitely on the list.  So far, I’ve only used a non-western toilet a couple times.  When I say non-western, I mean there is a hole in the ground.  Aim required.  That was definitely new.  But other than that I’ve seen mostly western toilets.  I can’t tell if it’s the hostels that I’m staying at trying to accommodate the travelers (thank you) or if it’s a shifting trend for natives and travelers alike.  Either way, I’m happy..  I read about horror stories of holes in the ground for toilets and wash basins that are used over and over with no soap.  I have seen these… but I avoid them like the plague.

       I thought the Muslim influence would make a big impact on me as well.  They do broadcast a prayer many times a day, as early as four in the morning (depending on your bed’s proximity to these loud speakers, this can suck).  But I haven’t seen anyone halting what they are doing and dropping to the ground.  Most men don’t wear anything that I can see to show their religion.  The women are wearing the traditional hijab (head dress) and some the burqa (headwear + face mask) but so many do that it didn’t take me long to look past it.  Other than the obvious, they’re just people… really nice people.  So my first interaction with a largely Muslim culture has been really positive (‘Merica).

I’m excited to learn, eat, drink, explore and wonder my way through the rest of this beautiful country.

Onwards to Bali (aka Aussieland).  The Rugby World Cup is Saturday, Australia vs. New Zealand.  I heard the Aussies hate it if they get confused with Kiwis.  I’m rooting for the All Blacks, should be fun.  I’ll root for you Erik!

**Obviously this was written two weeks ago.  I’m behind in posting but have gained a new zest for writing a capturing these exotic scenes with my camera.  More to come my friends

Bandung

       I had my first rough day of traveling yesterday.  I rode a bus from Bogor to Bandung to then venture out to a kopi luwak farm that was supposed to be close to the city.  My hostel host in Bogor gave me directions and wrote down what I needed to say to the farmer to ask if I could sleep, eat and work with this family for the day (and have a  cup of his coffee in the morning).  Kopi luwak is Indonesian coffee beans that are digested by wild civet cats that somehow enhance the flavor of the coffee.  I’m not sure of the chemistry behind it but I was told that it is the most expensive coffee in the world.  One cup in the states goes for upwards of $100.  I’m in, where do I sign up?
I made the error of thinking I had enough time to try and find a battery for my dying watch which turned out to be the only white person walking around this enormous designer mall, full backpack and looking like the tourist that I oh so don’t want to be.  Oh well, I probably will play that roll many, many times over.  Get used to it.  The bright side is that when I’m getting stared at through every walkway, all I have to do is flash a grin and I’m rewarded with giggles from little girls and old men trying to find out where the hell I have come from.  I’ve seen only three white people other than myself walking around Indonesia (outside of the hostels) so far.
As soon as I knew I had failed to find the battery I checked to see how far it was to the farm.  Eeka, from my last hostel gave me the impression that it was close… Nope.  At least two hours away to the north.  It was already 4 o’ clock and trying to kick the tourist costume and rudely show up in the evening when the farmer may be winding down for the evening, I bagged it.  Luckily they had a Starbucks so I could buy an over priced cup of coffee and struggle with the internet for an hour or so trying to find a bed for the night.  Finally coming across a hostel that wasn’t all the way on the other side of town I called and booked the night.  Pinisi Backpacker Hostel.  Sounds about right.  I hailed a cab and off I went.  In the wrong direction.  In circles.  Lost.  Both me and the cabbie.  Ok, stay positive.  Ping. Ping. Ping.  And the meter continued to rise.  Google is telling me that my hostel resides in a very dingy, busy part of town.  The driver and I continue to look around but he keeps wanting to take right turns.  So I took over.  Kiri. Lurus, Lurus. Kenan.  Kiri!
       I finally got us back in the general area and got out, both of us chuckling at that ridiculous and slightly stressful ordeal.  Walking down a busy road  I started asking the locals where I might find my hostel and everyone was very willing to point me in a direction though none of the directions seemed to be the right direction.  I’ve never done this before but I stopped into the police station.  I have to say, this was the best decision of my day.  They offered me tea, water, coffee, cigarettes.  Politely declining in my very limited and broken Indonesian, they sat me down and asked all sorts of things about America.  It turned out to be a great experience and in the end they gave me a free motorbike ride by a tiny little man half my size..  Finally…
        Saying hello to the owners, staff and all their friends sitting around chatting, I dropped my things into a locker and headed straight out the door to walk and unwind.  What is that?  A a neon Bintang sign?  You bet.  It turned out to be a very high end restaurant lounge where the non muslim business men gather.  Also a very eccentric lady named Kiki.  Cruella de Ville hair, braces and thick framed glasses sat beside me… staring.
       “Hello”
       “You American?”
       “Yep, from Idaho.”
       “What’s Idaho?”  It turned out to be a very rewarding conversation where each of us learned everything we could think to ask about the other culture.
       This is a proud culture.  The Indonesians are very loving on the island chain they inhabit.  Many are very poor.  Very, very poor.  But no matter who I ask each and every person, young or old, poor or rich will tell me that there is only one country they want.  Indonesia.  Many have told me their government is corrupt and their leaders make decisions to better themselves, regardless of the welfare of the people.  I’ve been told that the wages are very small and they can afford very little.  The poor from the U.S. can hardly touch the lack of money, clean water and opportunities that many face here.  The one thing that no one has been without in my travels however is at least a smile.  I’ll admit that my attention seems to makes them excited and curious and some can’t help but laugh and jabber on to me about who knows what, always with a smile.  There may be a deeper discontent that I’m not picking up on.  For now, it seems that their good nature is engrained into their big cities and small villages alike.
       I had the chance to talk to my hostel host the next day to find out a little more of everyday life.  He spoke a little more english than most that I had met so it was easier to take down the language barrier.  Inu is the same age as me and owns and operates five different businesses.  He has an MBA from the university in Bandung and with that he started a massage parlor and with the profits he built his own factory to make clothing for adults and children, which he distributes to Jakarta, Bogor, Bandung and Yogyakarta.  He then started a delivery system for fresh produce and meats on scooters.  After that he opened the Pinisi Backpacker Hostel.  And the night before when I arrived to him and his friends playing cards, that was actually a casual meeting for the consulting firm that his college friends and him created that operates on all the islands of Indo.  They meet five nights a week to discuss business and clients.

       I figure that if you have the right business mindset in this country it is like the wild west of entrepreneurialism.  Inu has been able to pay off his $10,000 of college debt, purchase all of his buildings in cash and built his home from scratch in a nice residential community, pool and all.  I began to notice that so many have entrepreneurial attitude to make their living.  Every food cart, market booth, warung and hostel are people that haven’t had the opportunities that I’ve seen in the states so they take matters in their own hands.  I’m still not quite sure how they do it… Every warung on the streets are selling basically the same product and there can be more than a dozen on one block.
It’s made me pretty grateful for the privileges  that I’ve been given in the U.S.  If I had been born in Indonesia rather that Idaho and had middle class parents that were still willing to give me everything they could to see me be successful, I would probably not be even as close to a successful career path as I am today.  I’m feeling pretty lucky to be from the states and have the things that I do.  But for today I’m feeling even more lucky to be able to spend even a small amount of time with these amazing people.

       First day in Jakarta.  Action packed.  I didn’t start out with the day thinking it was going to be so full of activity.  I kind of thought it was going to be partially filled with moseying around the area where my hostel is and hanging out at an café and getting my wits.  I was wrong.  Flat out.  I came down to breakfast to meet Terry, from New Zealand.  Super nice guy, has been a traveler for most of his life.  Was super encouraging to me.  Made me think that because of this trip I would continue traveling for the rest of my life.  He is 68, in retirement and traveling for up to six months each year.  F*@k ya Terry. F*@k ya.
       I visited two museums first thing.  They were close to my hostel and I wasn’t feeling very adventurous at this point.  Crossing the street was scary enough.  Seriously, it’s terrifying.  I should take a video of it.  At Museum Bank Mandiri I was bombarded by this school group of children, mostly girls that thought I was some kind of celebrity.  The white guy! The white guy!  It was fun for quite a lot of it but then it started to lose it’s appeal.  Same thing happened at Museum Bank Indonesia.  It was much more mellow but still had gawking Indonesians, even adults that wanted my photo.

       “Mr.! Mr.!  Photo?  Photo?”
       Walking around an enormous square bustling with people I ran into a Belgian named Joachim.  We decided to team up and explore a little.  We ended up meeting another Belgian couple, JC and Lo, that lived in Jakarta as ex-pats.  They helped show us an old boat yard that housed some very old, wooden boats that would never be allowed for commercial use back in the states.  There were many men sitting around hoping to lure us into a boat tour.  It seems like every way the locals can think to tour us around on something, they’ll do it.  Alas, we resisted and made it to the end of the boatyard to enjoy some cool sea breezes, a much needed relief from the constant stickiness in town.

       The docks led to Chinatown.  I’ve never walked around a Chinatown.  Considering that I’m closer to China than I’ve ever been I’m hoping that was as authentic as it gets.  It really seemed like authenticity was being fried, chopped and sold all around me.  Considering that I’m at least a foot taller than absolutely every local I’ve seen so far, it’s not an exaggeration that I had to duck down to see what the hell they were doing under all those awnings.  If it hadn’t been for the open sewer that was running a few feet away from all the stalls, this would have been an exotic food paradise.  Fried little bits of meat that I didn’t recognize, rice and noodle dishes that had crazy complex smells wafting over the glass of the stalls, and bugs!  I’ve been waiting for this.  I’m not afraid.  I will try, crunch and munch my way through any insects that are put in front of me.  It would have happened too if it wasn’t for the poop slide sludging away behind me.

       Through the maze of fire cracker shops, various food carts and corny chinese toy booths, we arrived at the oldest buddhist monastery in Jakarta… which burned to the ground last January.  That’s strike 1, Lonely Planet.  We made the most of it, just down the way was the second oldest in Jakarta.  Who knew?  The monks and workers let us wander about as they continued to pray and light inscense.  A while later I found myself sitting down outside the temple next to a 50-something Indonesian named Andy (many of these people have very American names… Aliases for tourists? I may never know).  Andy and his friends continually talked to us in English, Deutsch, Indonesian, Balinesian, and Mandarin.  We were actually able to have decent conversations, mostly small talk but God they were entertaining.  They brought us water, coffee, offered cigarettes and many laughs.  If it wasn’t about to get dark we would have hung out with Andy and crew all day.

       To wrap the day up, Joachim and I had a couple Bintang’s, at his hostel before we parted ways and I walked back to my hostel.  Exhausted, showered, full and happy… to bed with a grin.


*** I know that I am probably switching from past to present to future tense and not catching grammer/typos  but bare with me as I try to polish this rock into a gem.

  I never appreciated how easy and stress free the Boise Airport is.  Arriving with an hour and a half to kill before my flight was plenty of time… dare I say too much time, at least in Boise.  Nerves hadn’t set it yet, no butterflies, no nothing.  People keep asking “are you nervous?”  It’s weird to just have to look at them, blank faced and say “not really.”  I don’t know why I’m not anxious.  I can be an anxious guy at times.  Not this time however… Thank god.
  So, as usual, the flight to Seattle is short, uneventful and on time.  I had the pleasure of sitting next to a delightful woman named Karen who lives in Seattle where her and her husband still live with their two adult boys not too far from home.  We had the chance to swap stories and let each other in on where our lives are taking us.  She was super supportive of my path that I’ve taken.  It’s really encouraging to me when adults with twice as much life experience can sit in front of me with reassuring faces and eyes that are dazzling with excitement as they tell me how much fun I’m going to have.  Karen was a fantastic way to begin this new way of life.  Karen, I hope you get played a great hand and can get that new path for you as well.  And I hope your young one get’s laid an even better hand ;)
  Seattle.  Plane lands.  50 minutes until take off.  Shit, only  45 minutes.  Ok, where’s my gate?  Alaska conveniently decided to not include my gate number for my connecting flight when I checked in from Boise.  First task is find the big screen with all the tiny letters and numbers.  Alright, gate A12.  I found the signs for the gate and booked it.  I was so wired with adrenaline I cruised right through the entire airport, dodging gawking travelers and people young and old with cell phones in front of their noses.  I decided to make it a point to stop doing that.  You look kinda dumb anyway.
Feeling like I just accomplished something a little more significant that what I actually had, I see the little A12 hovering above a bunch of people moseying around.  Before I know it I’m boarding the biggest plane I have ever been on, probably ever seen.  There’s music playing in the background.  Not the old monotone elevator music that I’m so used to.  These were songs that I’m pretty sure are still on the radio.  There’s good lighting, happy lighting.  I didn’t even know this was a thing.  Total modern day conveniences culture shock.
       “Ya, I need to get out more.”
Taxi. Taxi. Taxi. Taxi. Taxi.  Round and round in circles it seemed like we went.  Why don’t the planes just sit still and save some fuel? On the runway the engines amp up.  It kinda sounded like an asthmatic trying to inhale a really long breath.  And then the slow rumble of takeoff.  Right before the rubber left ground all the passengers heard and felt this thump thump.  Me, being the ignorant flyer that I am, didn’t think a thing of it.  Everything seemed normal to me. After about 30(?) minutes the captain came on and explained that there’s no reason to be alarmed but the engine seemed to have been kamikazied by a rather large red tailed hawk.  In and out.  Poor guy.  Captain Alan went on to say that they are monitoring the engine very closely from the cockpit and remotely from the ground crew and everything seems to be operating 100% perfectly.  No problems.  Again, no reason to be alarmed.  Everything’s normal.
“This is your captain speaking.  Even though everything is totally fine, we are going to turn around and head back to Seattle and have the ground crew inspect the engine before we fly across the ocean.”
  Ya ok, I thought.  That sounds like some pretty solid reasoning.  I’d rather be safe than sorry when I’m hurdling through the sky across a vast expanse of cold water in a metal tube that lights flammable liquid on fire to propel itself.  A little caution here and there goes a long way.  Interesting little side note: I learned that the plane’s weight due to having a full tank or empty tank plays a factor in the ease of landing.  The captain took us on a little tour of the Olympics with the landing gear down to burn up some fuel before we went back to Seattle.  I need to ask my uncle Fred about this the next time I see him.  Remind me will ya, Fred?
So back in Seattle they kept us on the plane for about a half hour before they deplaned.  We all waited around in the terminal for an hour or two, delaying the inevitable we all knew was certain.  Lo’ and behold… no plane today.  Luckily for me, and I mean I really lucked out, they upgraded me somehow to Platinum in their flyers club.  Not really sure of what that entails in entirety but I do know that I got a nice hotel room and a free dinner and breakfast.  They had to pull me to the side to not tip off the other flyers that they were kind of getting the shaft.
  Ok so my trip isn’t going to happen until tomorrow.  That’s ok.  I’ll just enjoy the free accommodation and relax.  I talked to the people I care about.  Sipped on a couple drinks and mingled in the lobby restaurant for a bit.  All and all, it’s been a good day.  So what if I don’t leave until tomorrow? I’m not in a rush.
4:45 wakeup  call and I’m at the airport by six.  Flights been delayed.  And changed gates.  Come on.  No, it’s all good.  Just sit back and have a cup of coffee.  After all, your in Seatac and there’s nothing like going anywhere that’s not Boise, ID and experiencing the culture shock that is almost certain.  I’m starting to become a little too aware of my height...  What seems to be hours and many, many laps around the S terminal we finally board.  Taxi, taxi, taxi. Taxi, taxi. Taxi.  Take off.  No birds.  Smooth and easy.  So here I sit.  Two and a half hours in to my 14 hour flight.  The stewardess gave me two minis of Woodford… For free…  What the hell?! Delta, my friend, you have impressed.  Seriously.  I don’t even care about the bird.  That’s not true, I do.  But I don’t mind the layover.  Let’s call it even.  But seriously, feel free to keep the drinks coming.  I think I’m ready for this adventure.

*Off to Indonesia.