Road Trip: Indonesia (Part 2)

(Continued from Road Trip: Indonesia (Part 1))...

See no evil, Hear no evil, Speak no evil

Christian is the easy going, fearless, adventurer in the group. Fishing and surfing on the North Sea is in his blood and he reminds me of Beowulf for some odd reason.  He is the type of guy who can blend into any environment and will strike up a conversation with ANYONE. Of all his traits, his "anything is possible" attitude is what I'm most envious of . He actually caught a local bus to the slums of Jakarta to just “walk around” because he had read so much about the poverty there and he wanted to see it for himself. “Are you nuts?!” I asked. “It’s no problem,” is his typical reply in German accented English. I want to be him one day.

Sailboats? Really? lol

In the meantime, I’m so American to him and it keeps him in stitches. He hasn’t been to the U.S yet and his friends tell him stories of people riding on electrical motor carts in the grocery stores and he can’t believe it! I try to explain that they are for elderly, handicapped or obese people, but obese Americans using electrical carts in grocery stores is beyond ridiculous to him. So, when I’m listening to beach waves on my computer while relaxing in bed under the fan, he can’t help to laugh because I’m a block from the actual beach and I could sleep there in the sand. “It’s WAY too hot today for that and there are mosquitoes everywhere,” I reply. So American… He promises to take me deep sea fishing when I get to Germany and I think I may take him to the grocery store so that he can ride an electrical cart, when he comes to NY.

Deep in thought...

Richard is the Yin to Christian’s Yang and I often wonder how they managed to stay friends for so long. “We balance each other,” Richard tells me. Where Christian is “Drink more, talk less!” (his other favorite saying), Richard is very contemplative and philosophical and we talk a lot. We talk about love, life, culture, and everything in between. His full name is Richard Guerra and when he reminds me that Guerra means "war" in Spanish and I tell him that Richard is synonymous with Dick in the U.S.; he laughs heartily, when I began calling him Dick War. “You’re hanging out with Christian Kruse and Dick War!”

Richard is Latin and passionate and it is reflected in his music. He makes girls swoon all over Bali whenever he decides to randomly serenade people around us with his guitar or hop on stage and join the local band. “I can’t believe I met the lead singer of ChupaCabras, can you sign this,” tourists who recognize his band ask as we travel. A Peruvian, living in Germany for the last 15 years, his fluid switches between Spanish, German and English really takes people for a loop when he’s singing and rapping. His music is wonderful, but more importantly, he is kind and I find myself sighing when he stands and offers his seat to a lady standing on the bus, saying “I cannot watch this.” He promises to take me salsa dancing when I get to Germany and I’m writing this down so that they can remember!

  

Richard signing autographs

Over the next four days, we make our way across Bali shopping, eating and talking. No stone is left unturned and I simply adore these guys. We drive through and stop at temples, stores and beaches in Singaraja, Sembiran, Ahmed, Amlapura all the way to Ubud. With the Adventurer in front with me, we often come across something and I’ll say, “Did you see that?” Christian’s reply often mirrors my enthusiasm, “We have to go do that! Turn around!” Richard, the Philosopher, goes along with our mayhem, but will often show us what we are missing. Hiking towards the highest waterfall in Bali, he says “Look around for a minute. These mountains can make all problems seem small.” He’s right.

 

Ubud is our last stop together as they are headed deeper in Indonesia over the next month and I am headed to India. Once in Ubud, we go to the Monkey Sanctuary. I’m scared of monkeys (period.com), but I go anyway praying that I don’t get scratched; that’s an instant trip to the hospital! The Monkey Sanctuary is packed full of wild monkeys roaming freely around tourist. It's an incredible place to just sit and watch the action or monkey drama.  We have a ball there and start searching for accommodations immedialy afterwards. We settle on a guesthouse that can accommodate the three of us, check in and like every night we head out on the town to listen to music and chill.

Ubud is chocked full of western tourists and is nothing like the authenticity we had encountered earlier in our drive. Also, the city basically shuts down early after dark. I was aware of this as the draw in this town is the artist community that has gathered there, but the guys were pretty disappointed in this part of Bali. Ubud is more like a Banana Republic edition of hippie Berkeley, California. Since our choices for nightlife were limited, we made due in celebration of the end of our road trip by heading to the grocery store for Bingtang like college kids.

 

Drink more, Talk less

Richard who is a vegetarian and doesn’t drink alcohol either, has had to be flexible with his diet in Indonesia since vegetarianism isn’t a major priority everywhere. Since he had already crossed the line a few times, he decided he would drink a Bingtang tonight too. Two beers later and the night was over! A drunken naturalist is the funniest thing you will ever encounter, hands down. Richard was the entertainment for the night and we laughed forever. We went back to the guest house and settled into a bitter sweet routine of getting ready for the next day, our last day.

And this is where things got hectic…

Kiss!

After Christian ran out of the room, I sat up and went outside to try to gauge the situation. Richard wasn’t on the veranda, where he had gone to write earlier, but the night assistant for the inn, a tiny Balinese woman, was standing there. The Guest house is setup like a compound of individual rooms with exterior entrances all facing a courtyard that contains the family temple and a beautiful garden. Christian, who was near the garden looking up at the second floor of rooms, finally turned to the assistant and speaking in English, told her to call the Police. “It’s too early, no one is available. They won’t come,” she replied. Sometimes there’s a point when traveling when you realize that you REALLY are in another country; this was one of those moments. The look on Christian’s face when she said that was the exact sentiment in my head. “TOO EARLY?! THE POLICE?! WTF?!”

All of sudden it sounded like someone was taking out a wall with a sledge hammer. Christian ran up the stairs and I ran back into the room to put shoes on. I’m not a fighter! I have never been in a fight in my life, but know firsthand how violence can escalate and within a fraction of a second lives can be altered. I was scared out of my mind and worried for these guys, especially since I had no clue what was going on, none us of were in our home country and apparently the police weren’t available. MADNESS! I came barreling out of the room, looked up to the second floor and Christian was holding Richard back and Richard was cursing like crazy. The next voice I heard was female and she was saying in a heavily Asian accented voice, “He’s trying to kill me!”

Richard would never lay a hand on a woman! This didn’t make sense, I thought.

Upon hearing the woman, Richard said in English, “Then leave your husband tonight! This is your life, your health! We will stay so he can’t follow you!”

For me, the context of their conversation clicked immediately...

“I have no money! I cannot leave him,” she shouted back in anguish.

Suddenly a German accented voice in a room that I could not see into said, “She is not my wife!” and then continued shouting in German. I’m not sure what he said, but Richard was trying desperately to get back in that room and holding him back, Christian’s face took on this serious look. Pointing his finger at the man and in a tone I had yet to hear him use, he said something in German so ill that every man up there was suddenly quiet. It was eerie…

Finally, the owner of the building arrived and she headed directly to me. “What is happening? Is it safe for me to go up there?”

“Lady, I have no clue! It’s quiet now, so you should go ask.”

Only Richard and I laughed at this sign; the German didn't get it.

She’s scary like me, so she waited for Christian and Richard to come downstairs to explain what was happening. When they finally came into the room, Richard had blood on his shirt and the look in his eyes broke my heart! Apparently, he had been writing and when he heard the man upstairs beating and kicking a screaming female, he reacted. People had come out of their room, but he was the only one to race upstairs and open the door. When he opened the door there was blood all over the woman and all over the floor. Yelling, Richard pulled the man off of the woman and the man beating her said with a thick German accent that the woman had bit him. Realizing that this man was also German and according to Richard, “should know better than to hit a woman,” Richard began telling him off in German. When the man made an attempt to get the woman again, Richard had had enough.

Men in skirts!!

If still waters run deep, then Richard is the middle of the Atlantic. That sledgehammer sound I heard earlier was Richard opening up a can on that man, right before Christian pulled him off. “I have never seen him like that,” Christian said with a little pride and puffed up chest (Way too much testosterone floating around...). Running to do the right thing, regardless of the consequences is exactly who Richard is; this is his character. Loyally protecting his friends and shutting the whole thing down with scary ass intensity is exactly who Christian is. They fit; the priest and the mob.

The man and the woman were kicked out of the guesthouse and the man went past our room telling Richard and Christian that he would be back for them in the morning. He said this in German and I didn't see them as they passed by, but when Christian told me what he said in English, it was a wrap! I’m ready to go! Now! They looked at me like I was retarded.

“It’s too early and you have a long drive tomorrow by yourself. You need to rest,” Richard said. “We will leave early, but you are safe here,” Christian said as he went to change the locks on the door, “It’s no problem.” Richard changed his clothes, they turned off the lights and they went to bed. Really?? I did not sleep a wink! I am not a fighter!! I sat in bed listening for heavy footsteps, biting my nails and rocking like Miss Sophia. I kept expecting a big, wild looking German man to bust through the doors like Karl in Die Hard. Every time I heard something and got up to check, one or both of them would wake up and say, “Go to sleep. You are safe.” I bet they wished they had never told me what that man said.

Temple entrances are so ornate.

Around 6 am, I figured that the guest house staff was there and I could leave the room and go use the internet to call my husband. I unpacked my laptop, unlocked the door and headed towards the main house where the wifi signal is. It was still dark, but if the staff was there I figured I’d be fine. I turned the corner and at the entrance to the courtyard, standing under a light was the beat up chick! She looked like that movie “Carrie”, with all the dried blood on her face and clothes and she just stood there and then awkwardly said, “Hi." I didn’t even respond! I could have given Usain Bolt a run for his money as I high tailed it back to that room. I busted through the door, re locked it, pulled out every doorstop I packed and slid it under that door! Seriously, I am not a fighter!

The first person to wake up was Richard! “What is going on?”

“The beat up chick just scared me. She’s standing there with luggage,” I said.

“You’re safe here. It’s no problem.” was all Christian said in a groggy voice before they both went back to sleep. REALLY?? This is a MF problem!

Here’s the thing, they know how to protect themselves, so when faced with situations like this it doesn’t scare them. I, on the other hand, can only swing wild, uncontrolled, windmill punches, scream like a banshee, and run. I’m scared.

Way too much testosterone floating around!

When morning finally arrived, I made it to the main house and immediately skyped Chad. My husband is fighter too, so he likes Christian and Richard, but as he signed out he said, “You’ll be fine with them. Besides, Indonesia don’t want no real N-words to come over there!” (Way too much testosterone floathing around...) I ended up calling my mom and chatting with my brother on Facebook too! Just in case I came up missing in Indonesia, I needed people to know what happened! I stayed in that house for so long talking to people, that the inn keeper finally came over and said that the gentlemen were waiting on me to have breakfast. I do believe that I’d rather eat out of a garbage can on the other side of town, than stay here even one second longer, but I head back for breakfast anyway.

When I get back to the veranda where breakfast is being served, the guys are more worried about me not sleeping than the potential of a man coming back for them. They actually look so relaxed that I start wondering if I was being uptight. If Richard would run into a room to protect a woman he’s never met, then I couldn’t imagine what would happen if I were in danger.

Over breakfast we begin dissecting the night and I realize three things:

1) Like most men, they left out details that would have saved me from a nightmarish night. For example, I wish they had told me that the man was pobably 5' 2", clearly overweight and ridiculously inebriated.  REALLY?! I was looking for Karl and you guys were beating up Tattoo! I could have slept!

2) These are good guys and I’ve made some lifelong friends

but...

3) I’m definitely too old for their hijinks...

Road Trip: Indonesia (Part 1)

It’s 3 am. I have absolutely no clue what is going on, but Richard, who was just writing love songs on the veranda of our room, is now loudly and viciously yelling in anger at someone in the distance. And Christian, who like me was dead to the world in the bed next to mine, is now running out of the room towards the melee in only his boxer shorts. All hell is breaking loose at this Balinese guesthouse and the only words I understand are the German curse words they taught me earlier on the bus from Mount Bromo. Suddenly awake, I also understand that if Richard is acting out of character in this manner, then something isn’t just bad, it’s very bad.

Shit… What a way to end this road trip.

Let’s start at the beginning…

After arriving in Denpasar and catching taxis to Kuta, everyone who I met on the tour to Mt. Bromo exchanged email addresses and Facebook information and set off on separate paths. I pretty much had an open plan for Bali and I mentioned that I might rent a motor bike and use the next seven days to circle the exterior of the island. “Call us if you do that! We may join you,” said Richard, a musician I met on the trip. I had spent the last day on the bus between him and his friend Christian laughing, talking, singing and snoring, so I felt pretty comfortable with them and agreed. As Tu, a Canadian teacher who I also met on the tour, and I made our way to her hotel, which she had pre booked and offered to share with me for the night, she asked if I was going to contact them. “I don’t know. They are young men and this is Bali. I fear that I may be too old for the hijinks they will get into,” I said to her.  She looked at me like I was I retarded.

Kuta is like Fort Lauderdale during Spring Break, crazy and packed full of drunken tourist. This is the party place in Bali and I actually wasn’t up for it, so I decided to only stay one night. Before leaving, Tu and I had breakfast and I sent a message to Richard via Facebook letting him know my plan and that I was leaving today. He and Christian are two, twenty-eight year old, handsome, European men in Kuta, where the beer and butt flow freely, so I didn’t expect them to want to leave so early. I got up, packed my gear and headed to the motorbike rental place.

Now, I have NEVER even ridden on a motor bike or motorcycle, but my husband said that if I can ride a bike, then I can ride an automatic motor bike.  Cool. The rental place pulled that thing around and I looked at the bike, the pot holes, narrow streets and mash of cars, people and motor bikes lining the streets of Kuta and immediately said, “Ah, hell naw.” I’m up for learning how to do this, but this environment isn’t conducive to learning on the fly. So, I rented a car instead. Indonesians drive on the right side of the car and on the left side of the street, which is completely opposite of American drivers, so getting use to this was going to be a challenge. I was so happy that the side mirrors were flexible; because I must have side swiped a dozen vendors’ tables and scrapped a few cars getting out of Kuta.

The plan was to head to Ubud in the east and then follow the eastern coastline around the island. But, twenty minutes into the trip, I was just trying to avoid traffic, so I wouldn’t wreck these people’s car and in doing that I ended up on the West side of the island. I drove for hours, stopping where I wanted in towns like Batubulan, Tabanan and Antosari and eventually I found the coast at Balian Beach.

The villages through Bali are filled with mom and pop stores, schools, temples and people’s homes. One moment you’re driving along and there’s a wedding or funeral taking place. The next moment you’re caught in the traffic of a traditional ceremony or race and you have the freedom to sit and stare because now you’re part of it as well. Balinese people actually live in these villages and this was a respite from dealing with other tourist. Deliriously happy with my surroundings and with my decision to leave Kuta, I spent the day stopping at places that looked interesting and driving along bopping my head to Balinese music.

There aren’t many, if any, lights on the roads in Bali, so I had made a decision earlier to stop and find lodging once the sun started setting. I was now in Pekutatan, a village in Negara, and the scenery was becoming far less dense. Instead of towns and people, I was looking at miles and miles of rice paddy fields, with a house or stretch of commercial space peppering the path. “I should have made a better plan,” I thought as I searched for a place to stay. There was a sign for Puri Dejuma Cottages and since it was getting dark, I decided that this was where I was going to lay my head for the night. Lesson one when traveling through Asia: If they quote prices in Euro instead of the local currency, then it’s going to be EXPENSIVE!!

My bed... Sigh...

For a backpacker, this place was so far beyond my budget, but I checked in regardless because it was late and I needed a place to sleep. The Puri Dejuma Cottages are on the beach and after taking a long bath in my ensuite spa like tub, I went to bed in a luxurious four poster bed on linens soft enough to make you want to cry. The waves from the ocean rocked me like a lullaby and as I began to fall asleep, I thought about my experiences thus far and started laughing hysterically. This bed, this hotel, this cottage was so surreal and such a far cry from the places I had been staying in Asia thus far. Most have been lovely, but it’s still Asia and you have to contend with the random and unknown.

For example, I stayed at an AWESOME Indonesian guesthouse in Yogyakarta, but in the middle of the night a roach like bug actually crawled up my leg. MY MF-ing LEG!! In a half crazed, half dazed attempt to quell the hysteria taking me over, I picked it up and threw it not remembering that I was in a mosquito net tented bed and it had just bounced back in bed. It’s pitch black, I have no idea where the roach is in my bed, but I swear that you have never seen someone wake the hell up and search for a light and a trash can so fast. That was just a week prior and now I was sleeping at a Conde Nast recommended resort on the beach. REALLY??

The view from my porch

 

The next day I woke and took a walk on the beach. I ended up watching this old man from the village prepping bamboo by scrubbing it in the water and in the best broken English and jacked up Indonesian we could muster, we walked towards the village in polite conversation. At a fork in the road, he pointed me towards a street that would take me back to the Resort and I walked through the village, still shoe less from the beach. There are A LOT of stray dogs in Indonesia and cows can roam in this part of Bali, so the trip back to the resort was scary at times, but Balinese people, being who they are, met me along my walk and shooed the dogs away. One family in particular, welcomed me into their home, offered me drinks and food and attempted to talk to me in the best English they had. I think they were tickled that I was a black American (Indonesians LOVE, LOVE, LOVE Obama!), staying at the Dajuma no less, but walking the streets of their village without shoes just like them.

 

Yoga (on the far left) with his co-workers.

I made it back to the resort, checked out and headed back on the road. About 20 km from the Dajuma, I saw a large Muslim restaurant and store for handicrafts and decided to pull in for lunch. The food was great and the restaurant décor was authentic balinese. The family who owned the restaurant sent Yoga, their waiter with a good command of English, over to take my order and we began talking. He wanted to practice his English and I needed more information. The staff at Dajuma had already given me a map and helped me locate all of the must see places and available lodging, but their idea of “reasonable accommodations” was slanted towards their regular guests.  I needed a local’s opinion. “If you want to see more of the area, then I can take you,” Yoga offered.  Again, in typical Balinese hospitality, his boss encouraged him to show me the city and let him off of work to do it.

Jeggog Music!!

After two minutes in the car with me, reminding me to stay on the left, Yoga suggested that we get someone else who could drive. So he called his cousin and off we went.  They arranged for a private concert from a traditional group that played Jeggog music. They took me to the river to watch the fishermen, they showed me some of the most impressive churches, temples and statues in their city and then we rented ATVS and went barreling across the family adventure park in woods. Evening was settling in again and I kept thinking that I would never finish this trip if I kept engaging Balinese people in conversation. 

Since it was late, Yoga and his cousin recommend a local hotel for me and they helped check me in. “Do you want to go to the disco tonight?” he asked. An Indonesian disco… I have got to see this! “Yes,” I replied and they made plans to pick me up that evening.  They picked me up and after dinner and tea with Yoga’s family, we headed to the disco. Like the town, the club was small and full of friendly locals. It was also smoky as hell because young Balinese people have a tendency to chain smoke. None of this mattered though, because with Melaka, Malaysia still in my system, I danced like a crazy woman until three in the morning!


I needed to cover more ground the following day, so I declined breakfast with Yoga’s family and headed west around West Bali National Park. Before leaving, I checked my email and Facebook account and found a message from Richard. They were in Lovina for the next two days and still wanted to join me if I was interested. Surprised that they didn’t stay in Kuta (“too many drunk Australians”), I decided to pick them up since I was headed towards Lovina. I drove through Melaya, Gilimanuk, stopped at the Pulaki temple east of Pemuteran and then drove through the National Park, dodging monkeys and marveling at the four mountains dominating the backdrop. I made it to Lovina just after 5 p.m, checked into a guest house for the night and eventually connected with Christian and Richard again. 

“I still feel like dancing,” I told Richard and since neither he, nor Christian, have ever been to an Indonesian disco, they agreed and we met for drinks and dancing. Our first stop was at a bar where the live band was great and played requests on demand. Richard joined them on stage, while Christian introduced me to the wonders of Bintang. Once we closed the place down we headed to the Volcano Club. This club is Lovina's major night spot and it doesn't even open until midnight. The male to female ratio in that club, like much of Asia, was 3 to 1 which was awkward at times. But the music was great and we enjoyed ourselves nonetheless. These guys feel like family to me right from the beginning. No lulls in conversation and easy laughter; kindred spirits living life to the fullest. This is shaping out to be the best road trip of my life!

(Far too long for one post. So, to be continued...)

Tale of Two Islands: Indonesia

Mount Bromo from a distance at sunrise!

My two weeks in Indonesia is basically a tale of two islands: Java and Bali. This is the Java edition.

Street food! Yum...

I flew from Singapore into Jakarta for what was supposed to be three nights, but what ended up being two due to the disappointing lack of amusement in that city. I take that back; it was exciting, but not in the way you’d expect. Ramadan had just ended my first night there and since Indonesia has a largely Muslim population, people were celebrating everywhere. The call to prayer was played for 6 hours STRAIGHT (whose idea was this!!!) and a plethora of guns and few fireworks were being sprayed through the air for a large portion of the night.

“Do you want to go out there,” the sweet, little, Indonesian, assistant girl at the hostel asked.  Answer:  “Umm… that would be a hell no!” I know physics! What comes up, must eventually come down and that’s all I needed was to get hit by some random, stray bullet on the streets of Jakarta. I could have stayed in NY for that type of entertainment. I’m good… So, I stayed in that night and so did nearly all of the travelers at the hostel; which is how I met my Dutch travel partner for the next day.

Jakarta from the train window

Jakarta only has a few “tourist attractions” and my travel partner and I set out to see them all the next day. Unfortunately, we didn’t realize that the end of Ramadan is really almost like Christmas in the U.S; people go on vacation the week following it and basically the city shuts down. The Hard Rock Café in Jakarta was even closed! So, we ended up viewing the National Monument and eating at Ayam Goreng carts throughout the city. Jakarta was my first major travel disappointment, which is probably why I’m going to keep it real and tell you that I cannot remember that chick’s name! (Sorry if you are reading this.)





Yogyakarta: View from the train

From Jakarta, I took a train into Yogyakarta. I love riding the train and the service on the Indonesia Executive trains is fabulous! I had electrical outlets for my computer and such, hot meals served by waiters and the staff spoke a multitude of languages. I was pleasantly surprised and so very happy to be able to take the 19 hour ride to Yogyakarta on that train. On a side note, I wasn’t very happy with all the children. I think its torture to bring children on the train (for everyone involved) and they should have family only carts. I’m not “anti-children”, but towards the end of the trip, I literally sat through hours of kids running up and down the aisles, jumping on empty chairs, and screaming for no reason at all. This happened in China and Vietnam as well, so Indonesia wasn’t the only culprit.



Tuk tuk along Jalan Malioboro (main street in Jogya)



A part of me was jealous because I was getting antsy too; but being an adult it wouldn’t be cool if I popped my seatbelt off and just ran through the train like a grown ass banshee, yelling at the top of my lungs and jumping onto seats.  Another part of me was pissed. “Where are all of the “Tiger moms”? Certainly not on the trains!” I was tempted to “accidently” trip one of those children and then reach down to help them up, while whispering, “Now get up, sit your ass down and read a book before I call forth demons from the pits of hell to reclaim your soul.” The one thing I can’t stand is unruly children, but I digress.

When families go on their Ramadan vacations in Indonesia, they go to Yogyakarta. I didn’t know this until I got off the train at 8 pm and headed towards the guesthouse that I thankfully emailed earlier. Everything in the city in terms of accommodations was basically sold out and there was a crush of people, horse carts and tuk tuk drivers everywhere. People were shopping, eating, playing music and basically just hanging out and I sighed in relief because this was already better than Jakarta.

Borobudur Temple



What am I eating?

 While in Yogyakarta (the locals call it Jogya) I visited Borobudur, which is marketed as the Biggest Buddhist Temple in the Ninth Century. This temple was actually built three centuries before Angkor Wat and it was beautiful. Like many of the temples around Asia, this temple is also being restored, but the stories painted in the reliefs are still worth going to see. I also visited the Kraton, which is essentially the King's compound. I spent my time at the traditional market  that was in the city and wandered around spice markets tasting everything. Here's the thing: I don't know much about spices or even cooking, but tasting one wrong spice can ruin an ENTIRE day. The next time I do this, I'm hiring a guide and bringing loads of water!

 



Steam from the Volcano

From Jogya, I made my way south to Mount Bromo; Indonesia’s active volcano. Sitting along the crater of an active volcano is a very surreal experience! I would recommend it. Of course since this is Indonesia, there aren’t any safety rails up there or anything; just a crush of people and one wrong move and you’re a sacrifice. Nevertheless, I would do it again. Just not anytime soon because there are A LOT of stairs and it’s cold as hell up there!



The United Nations!



Part of the enjoyment of traveling to Bromo was the 10+ hour bus ride there and the 10+ hour bus ride from there to Denpasar. I don’t care who you are, if you spend that much time on a bus with the same people, then you are bound to make friends. And boy did I make some new friends… There’s the Danish Banker with model looks; the Canadian teacher; the German musicians; the Basque traveler who was doing the same trip as I was; and a ballsy group of girls from London, who I liked immediately. We laughed, sang songs, told jokes and talked so much that the nearly two days of traveling by bus was almost worth it.

Java was just “ok” on my travel scale. Thankfully, Bali made up for it in a MAJOR way!

Stay tuned… 

  

Yes, this is a river in Jakarta. Or should I say "was a river"?

Yogya!

Bitter, Bitter, Bitter! I forgot the name, but will always remember the taste.

Lady Boys in Indonesia aren't on the same level as Thailand's.

The London Crew!

The reliefs along the walls of Borobudur

The National Monument in Jakarta



Borobudur revitalization in action



Me at Mount Bromo! SO COLD!