Heartache in Indonesia
April 12th, 2015It happened. The very thing I feared most.
My beloved camera went overboard. While strapped around my neck.
And though I surfaced quickly holding my most prized possession above my head, my heart palpably sank to the depths of the sea floor as I heard the click-click-click that I was powerless to stop whilst awaiting our rescue.
But first let me back up.
I said goodbye to Eric at the airport in Phuket. He bound for Colorado, I for Indonesia. First stop Bali. I needed a place to relax for a few days while awaiting the arrival of a friend. Ubud seemed an obvious choice. It’s an easy place to spend some time on the road in that it caters to Westerners with its abundance of fine cuisine, yoga studios, healing spas, art galleries, retail shops and markets galore. Not necessarily budget friendly, but comfy.
With sweltering heat (90+ degrees with 85% humidity) and afternoon thunderstorms that could last for hours, I spent much of my time staying cool and dry in an air conditioned inernet cafe. But not all of it. Less than ten minutes by foot from my guesthouse was the “Sacred Monkey Forest of Padangtegal”, a sacred Balinese Hindu site and sanctuary for long-tailed macaques. I spent my first morning hanging out with these playful creatures who could be seen jumping atop the head of tourists naive enough to enter with bananas in hand (sold to them by slightly sadistic locals at the entrance to the park).
I inadvertently interrupted these two and couldn’t help but capture the moment. And the ones that followed.
These far less animated, yet photogenic statues of Balinese Hindu Gods, Goddesses and Demons were also scattered throughout the park.
Later that evening a young local man I met on my walk back to my guesthouse invited me to join him for a community Balinese dance performance beginning well after my bedtime. Though tired from my late arrival the night before I couldn’t miss this biannual event so jumped on the back of his motorbike and joined him for a couple hours of life sized puppets and ornately decorated characters “dancing” their dramatic and expressive story to hypnotic drumming and instrumental music. What I saw included the mythic creature of Barong, a lion-like character who is king of the spirits and leader of the hosts of good. If I had stayed longer I likely would have seen Rangda as well, his enemy, and the choreographed contest between opposing forces of chaos and destruction.
The following day after an early morning yoga session I set off across town in search of a ridge trail leading to rice terraces. I stubbornly refused to pay the few dollars it would require for a motorbike ride to the trailhead (depsite endless offerings) and left not realizing just how far it was without any water at hand. Not so bright given the aftorementioned heat index. This is me upon reaching the start of the trail before the sun and temperature had peaked for the day. As you can well imagine I could literally ring out my tank top by the time I finished. Sadly (or perhaps thankfully) the post-hike selfie didn’t turn out.
My one tourist excursion from Ubud was to to climb the active volcano of Gunung (Mount) Batur to watch the sunrise over Batur Lake and neighboring Gunung Abang. I joined a carful of sleepy travelers at 2:30am and at 4am we fell in stride behind a long string of shining headlamps floating single file up the very steep volcanic trail. The weather gods were kind to us as we not only made the round trip without a drop of rain but we were also granted clear skies and views. A rare treat this time of year. Just minutes after these photos were taken the mist rolled in like a curtain obliterating all surroundings and half way back to Ubud the rain began to fall.
These mothers with their babies joined us for the sunrise.
After failing to catch up on lost sleep that afternoon I made my way to Bali Botanical Spa for a most indulgent Happy Valentine’s Day gift to myself. A Balinese massage – followed by a green tea full body scrub – followed by yogurt applied as a moisturizer head to toe – followed by a flower pedal bath – all in a room with an open window overlooking the jungle – topped off with a facial. 3 hours of pure decadence for under US$30. Quite possibly worth the trip to Bali alone.
I left Ubud for Sanur anxious to meet my dear friend, Susana, who was flying from Spain to join me for some Indonesian adventure. Last I saw her was 10 years prior when I visited her in Namibia where she has been living and guiding for more than 20 years. We first met while I was cycling around New Zealand 14 years ago and needless to say we became fast friends as we shared many hours trekking through the fantastical landscape of the south island together.
With no delay we left the more tourist laden Bali for the island of Flores. And it was here that I was most excited to explore my creative passion with my treasured camera as I just knew it was going to be a special place photogenically. We flew into the west port of Labuanbajo and planned to make our way east across the island by land. But first we chartered a boat for an overnight trip to snorkel and visit Komodo National Park, home of the ancient dragon by the same name, the largest living species of lizard left on earth.
These beautiful young ones in Labuanbajo pleaded to have their photo taken so I cheerfully obliged!
We stepped aboard our boat captained by Pepe and crewed by Ben. We made a slight change in the usual itinerary to save paying a national park fee twice and by doing so we also avoided the crowds which made for a spectacular first day of snorkeling. At every stop but the last we were the only two in the water and the only boat in sight. We had just finished our first snorkel of the day – which had pretty much blown our minds – and were en route to snorkel #2. The water and topography were so vivid with color it was as if we were dreaming a kaleidoscope of blues and greens. I was beside myself with joy trying to capture the extraordinary beauty surrounding me through the lens of my camera. I inched away from the 
cabin to sit at the front of the boat (left blue square in photo) to warm in the sun and sincerely recall thinking to myself that I am one of the luckiest people alive. I was completely splendidly content. The almost always smooth water started to roll a bit and I decided I should move back so that my camera wouldn’t get splashed. Normally if I wasn’t actively engaged in taking photos it went immediately back in the camera bag, and if I was on a boat, in a dry bag for extra precaution. But this was the first boat ride in all of Thailand and Indonesia that I wasn’t worried about the boat capsizing or my camera getting pounded by waves. In fact I had not a care in the world, camera or otherwise. And then somehow, by a terrible twist of fate, I rose from my seated position just enough to crouchingly take the one step needed to lean back against the frame of the cabin, when the boat pitched in just the perfect way at thee precise moment for me to lose my balance… and in an instant I realized I was going overboard… and there was absolutely no stopping it no matter how desperately I attempted to grab anything I could get my hands on which wasn’t much aside from a lousy ladder and I couldn’t hang on and as my hand lost contact I could NOT BELIEVE that I was really going in the water just like I had feared a dozen times prior but hadn’t even considered in this moment and this coudn’t possibly BE happening because my camera is strapped around my neck and I spent forever saving for and then researching for this very camera for this very trip and I was just now getting STARTED taking photos on these long overdue travels and if I go in now which is ACTUALLY happening there will be no saving the camera because even though I’ve played this scenario in my head over and over imagining how I would grab the camera from around my neck to hold it high above my head as I plunged into the water I have absolutely no control in this moment and I’m actually going in head first and will be 100% submerged in salt water which is guaranteed death for a camera…my camera…NOOOOOOOOOOOO my camera!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And there I was. Treading water in the Flores Sea. Holding my camera with one arm above my head. In shock knowing that my camera had just short-circuited. Ben was the only one who even knew I went overboard and the first thing I saw when I surfaced was him frantically waving to me from the back of the boat as the distance between me and him grew rapidly. Pepe, the captain, is deaf, and it took a minute for him to realize what had just occurred. As the boat began its circle back to me the only thought I had not involving my camera was the realization that I likely just scared the pants off Pepe and Ben. I’m pretty 
certain they’ve never lost a passenger before. And there was no way for them to know that I was perfectly fine, unafraid, unbothered by the whole event minus the loss of my camera (which was NO small thing, as I think I’ve made abundantly clear). The whole thing was just so senseless. And unnecessary. To the extent that I’m convinced The Powers That Be wanted my camera to go in that water. For real. There are just too many seemingly insignificant yet irregular events that had to align perfectly for that very moment to occur. Which is why I kept replaying it in my mind for weeks afterwards attempting to reconcile the whole thing. But there just is no making sense of it. And as far as the message goes… it’s no secret I can be dense when it comes to reading signs. I drove a closed (and for very good reason) canyon road after the Boulder flood to get to one of Eric’s gigs despite not one, or two, but three barricades with signs reading, “Road Closed,” (and despite no other vehicles being on the road apart from the large machines parked off to the side which were clearly being used to fix and reconstruct the road by day) because it was the route that Google Maps had given me and not having heard from Eric who was already at the venue I assumed he had taken the same road with no problems (and I was fuming because I couldn’t believe the venue didn’t cancel the gig given the atrocious condition of the road which was in no way suitable for travel). Turns out it wasn’t the road he took. Or anyone else. Apart from me of course. So, yeah, you can imagine if I’m that blind to literal signs, the metaphorical ones are usually completely lost on me.
The day my camera died was both my most favorite and my most heartbreaking day in all of Indonesia. Komodo National Park, a terrestrial and marine national park encompassing nearly 2,000 square kilometers, has some of the most stunning scenery I’ve ever seen both below and above water. The land is impossibly green, the water insanely clear, and the sea life outrageous in quanitity, variety and color. It is a wonderworld of beauty. And we had it all to ourselves. Including our swim with manta rays measuring at least 10ft in wing span. It was a storybook fantasy come true. With a little splash of nightmare.
The Last Two Photos Taken With My Camera
All Images To Follow Taken With Crap Phone Camera
The second day of our trip we visited both Komodo and Rinca islands to behold the aforementioned Komodo dragon. Pictures don’t quite do it justice so a video is included for your viewing pleasure. You’ll see our guide’s stick in the corner of the frame. This lizard was fat and happy, but when hungry they primarily feast on deer. Humans aren’t much bigger than some deer, and not nearly as fast as those doey animals, so sticks are carried for our protection. Like Eric asked me, “Sticks?! How about a gun?”
Click here for Komodo Dragon video
Back on land we found a driver and started our journey east across Flores. I had read that you only want to travel the trans-Flores highway once, but I didn’t understand why until we began our drive out of Labuanbajo. Flores is 470 miles end to end and there is not a single mile (or even stretch) of straight highway anywhere to be found. The island is so mountainous that the road continually winds up and down, in and around the rising and falling topography dotted with volacanoes surrounded by rice terraced valleys. It makes for an absolutely gorgeous drive, but can be a bit rough on the belly for those prone to motion sickeness (i.e., me). The most anyone will drive in one day is typically 80-85 miles which takes 3+ hours! Here are just a few roadside shots taken out the window of our moving vehicle.
Given the driving conditions, most tourists have more or less the same itinerary. It was low season so crowds weren’t an issue, but we did keep bumping into the same couple of cars full of fellow travelers each night. The common first stop is Ruteng. And just before Ruteng these spiderweb fields can be found, a tradition begun by the local people when they ceased their nomadic life. The center of the circle is of key importance as it is where the sacred souls live and the circles that spread from the center outward essential to their belief system.
The next day it was on to Bajawa. Here we were invited to join two German sisters, Rebekah and Judith, and their driver, Max, for the remainder of our trip east. We accepted. The advantage being that then we could stop at additional sights along the way versus having to rent a motorbike or pay a driver once reaching the next town for sightseeing purposes. One of the first bonuses to linking up with them was a late afternoon hike to take in Gunung Inerie and its surrounds at sunset.
The following morning we enjoyed another hike with Gunung Inerie in the distance.
The major draw to Bajawa are the traditional villages one can visit nearby. The most popular, and our first stop, was Bena, a classic Ngada village. The 4 of us women, minus Max who had to pick us up at the other end, then spent the next hour and a half hiking to the neighboring village of Tollolua. Most folks hire a guide for this walk but we were confident we could navigate the way on our own. Mostly this was true. We did, however, upon continuing straight when we should have veered off on a less obvious trail, get help from a local man who after losing sight of us whistled until he got our attention calling us back and pointing us in the right direction. Not the last guardian angel we would encounter.
In addition to the traditional houses each village includes ngadhu totems (pointy like umbrellas) symbolizing the male clan ancestor and bhaga shrines (little houses) symbolizing the female side of the clan.
One of my favorite inland stops came the next afternoon en route to Moni. Blue Stone Beach. I could have spent the entire day collecting stones in varying shades of turquoise, pastel blue and green, sinking my feet into the hot black sand, and listening to the soothing rattling sound of the stones as the tide washed over them.
Another early morning wake up call and short hike found us at Gunung Kelimutu for sunrise. The lakes here are famous for changing color. They weren’t black or yellow or brown like they’ve been known to be before, but they were pretty just the same.
Susana and I blazed our own trail so to speak and chose to make the 2.5-3 hour hike back to Moni wihtout a guide. Actually we were willing to pay a local guide what we considered a fair sum, but then he got a better offer from someone headed up instead of down and simply took off without a word, so we went ahead without him. As long as you’re not shy and you know the name of your destination, you can always ask a local along the way if you are headed in the right direction. Pointing works despite language barriers. And once again we had a guardian angel appear the moment we needed – and failed – to make a turn. She yelled after us, “Mrs, Mrs!” and then kindly redirected us.
Kelimutu marked the end of our adventures in Flores. From Moni we took a ‘public bus’ to Maumere to catch a flight to Sulawesi, another Indonesian island. Maumere was the first but not the last place where my white skin and blue eyes earned me celebrity status. It was here that a young Muslim girl wrapped in a head scarf excitedly waved at me from the back of a motorbike heading down a busy road in the opposite direction. She gestured to ask if she could take a photo with me and with a nod of my head the bike turned on a dime. She was literally jumping up and down with excitement to meet an American and taking photos of us together with her phone was seriously joy inducing for this sweet young woman in love with Justin Beiber (sad, but true). Her dream is to marry an American man, though her parents aren’t thrilled with the idea.
We were told to be at the airport at 6am for our 7:20am flight. So we were. But the airport wasn’t open yet. Flying in Indonesia can be interesting. And flying Lion Air (/Wings) in Indonesia is not for the faint of heart. Susi was actually warned by a local friend to avoid Lion Air at all costs. This local friend was warned by a Lion Air pilot. But it is by far the cheapest and often the most convenient airline in the country. So we gambled. Six times. On our first flight Susi recognized the pilot to be Spanish when she heard him say “Buenos Dias” in his welcome greeting. The stewardess confirmed it to be true. Once the plane reached its flying altitude 
this co-pilot came back and introduced himself to us. Susi told him how she had a friend that told her to never fly Lion Air and he proceeded – in Spanish – to express his concern about the casual attitude (I think he actually said child-like) Indonesian pilots have regarding things like weather and operating a plane in general. Not exactly confidence boosting. But we knew we were in good hands as long as he was in the cockpit. Which wasn’t often enough. Landings were always exciting. There IS a reason you wear seatbelts on a plane and are advised to be careful when opening the overhead bins. Boarding calls are made by airport staff walking through the terminal. And planes never leave on time (at least not Lion’s). The most frustrating incident was standing in a mosh pit of people attempting to check in for our flight with NOTHING happening. There are no lines. People just fight their way to the front. And in this case there were hundreds of folks mobbing the counter unaware of the issue at hand because updates aren’t necessarily considered necessary. In this case their computer system was down so they were handwriting each individual ticket as passengers checked in. This I found out when we finally reached the counter long after our flight’s scheduled departure
time. By far the most entertaining, and yet disconcerting, experience was hearing the following announcement each time we anticipated take-off, “Remember drug trafficking is a serious crime and punishable by the maximum penalty of death.” The first time we heard it we both sat stunned. And then laughed until we cried. So much for friendly skies.
Our destination in Sulawesi was Bunaken island. It’s a world famous diving destination and Susana wanted to get certified. All of the “resorts” on the island are all-inclusive (meals are served family style) and almost all have a dive center. While Bunaken itself wasn’t the prettiest island I visited during my travels (hence no photos), it was certainly one of the most sublime below water. Particularly the reef. Bunaken National Marine Park hosts some of the highest levels of biodiversity in the world, hence its popularity. The number of species of coral and fish are astonighingly high and many divers find their way here to see underwater life found nowhere else in the world. Last time I dove was 14 years ago in Fiji so I was both nervous and excited. I joined Susana and her instructor on their boat and was blessed with my own dive guide who was incredibly patient and knowledgeable. I love diving. I did the first time I descended below the waters of the Great Barrier Reef. It is an extraordinary thing to float soundlessly through another world foreign to most of us. To be immersed in this world is so unique, vastly different from floating above it looking down. Highlights for me included hanging out with sea turtles and reef sharks. And sharing the experiene with Susana, PADI certified diver.
I had such big plans for us. We were going to travel overland from Manado in the north of the island to Makassar in the south via the Togean islands. Then we were going to go spot orangutans while trekking in Indonesian Borneo. But Indonesia is immense. And getting from A to B takes time. And we were out of it. So from Bunaken we flew back to Bali and took a boat ride to Nusa Lembongan for our final few nights together in Indonesia. There we mostly rested, but did manage to enjoy some intense body surfing before taking what was to be my most terrifying boat ride of all. I boarded a boat full of locals including two women with toddlers. When the first child began screaming and crying I empathized. But as the waves continued to swell taller than the boat and one local woman grabbed a life jacket while another yelled out in fright, it took everything I had not to scream and cry as well. And when the men in the boat stood up I started praying and planning my escape should we capsize. This time I was pretty sure I wouldn’t survive should I find myself at sea as the waves were too large and the land too far in the distance. Thank God my prayers were answered.
My last week in Thailand before returning to the States was spent in Khao Lak just north of Phuket. I wish I could say I went out with a bang, but all Khao Lak 
did for me was make me anxious to get home. The tourist haven was not my cup of tea. I went there with plans to visit Ko Surin off the coast for more diving, but the cost to do so was ridiculous, especially in comparison to Bunaken. Unfortunately it was also too expensive to relocate with the time I had left so I stayed put and enjoyed my final oceanside days with long walks on the beach and floats in the bath warm water.
I’ve been back in Colorado three weeks to the day. As always I miss much about the places I traveled. I painfully miss the sea. And the life beneath it. The moisture. The warmth of the sun on my swimsuit clad body. Geckos and frogs in my bathroom. Mango & pineapple “shakes”. Lush vegetation. The people. The seduction of all things foreign. I do not miss the sewer smell walking down the street. Wet bathroom floors. Cigarette smoke (I met only one local man in both Thailand and Indonesia who does not smoke). Rubbish in the water, on the beach, lining the streets. The Muslim call to prayer over loudspeakers. Flying (in the 10 weeks I was gone I was wheels up and wheels down 17 times). Yet I am already daydreaming about the next big flight. Where will it take me? And how soon can I go?!
motorbike to cruise around the island we didn’t make it more than a few miles before having to be rescued twice — first due to a dead battery (after stopping to book accommodation at aforementioned Bamboo Bay) and then minutes later due to a missing lock key the fixer man failed to give us when he left his motorbike with us the first time. It is, however, where we most brilliantly met Swedish sky diving duo, Johann and Jolene, along with Danish (at the moment anyway) music producing Joel and his saucy Spanish Marilyn-esque partner, Rosa. Thank God for silver linings.
Eric caught a glimpse in the dark of the night of a Thai man walking past with a guitar in hand. Naturally this piqued his interest and he snuck after to assess.
We boarded our overnight “ferry” from the mainland to Ko Tao excited for our first island experience since arriving in Thailand. After 2 too many days in Bangkok we were desperately seeking serenity. We were led to a compartment above deck lined with bunk beds sardine style. We settled in as best we could expecting the lights to dim at departure and to find at least a few hours sleep. Moments later as our vessel found the open sea we instead found ourselves sliding atop and then pounding upon our rock hard mattresses as our boat crested and then CRASHED over each passing wave. Eric and I looked at each other in horror and disbelief and as the realization settled in that this was to be our fate for the next 6 hours he incredulously asked aloud, “Who does this shit?” 
I started to think something fundamental had shifted in those 10 years leaving me no longer equipped for the rigors of globe trotting. Granted the 30 hours travel door to door coupled with jet lag and a 3:00am arrival at our hostel didn’t exactly prepare us well for the madness that is Bangkok, but the fondness I had for the city 9 years prior was absent at every corner. Instead I found myself saddened by the inordinate abundance of trash and pollution and exhausted by the sheer number of people. We managed outings each day but any plans for experiencing the colorful nightlife were unrealized as we could barely manage dinner come evening. That city plain wore us out. 
Ko Tao is thee hot spot for diving in Thailand, but we were merely planning to snorkel and catch our breath. After a “taxi” ride (Thai taxi = lift in the back of a pickup truck) and somewhat grueling hike to Freedom Beach we dropped our bags in our bungalow and suited up for the beach. Ko Tao, like much of southern Thailand, experienced flooding the week prior to our arrival and the higher than normal tide left the beaches scant and littered with trash. Maybe not our dream spot, but approaching it, and some of the best snorkeling on the island was right out front our bungalow almost making the ferry ride worth it.
In that moment I was. We were perched here – above Hat Yuan beach – compliments of Bamboo Bay Resort & Restaurant at last letting the stress of our travels thus far melt away. Apart from its seaside location this was home away from home – a magnet for cleansing yogis and burning man hippies all seeking enlightenment while retreating at the well known meditation resort next door.
On the other hand terrifying. But one adapts quickly. Soon enough the sight of your tour guide sitting hands free atop the running motor while throttled full speed ahead is notable, but not heart stopping.
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