Indonesian pictures are here.
The first few days before vacation are always engulfed in a mental holiday of sorts. Your waking hours are spent typing away, thinking of orange sunsets, palm fingered beaches, and towing a backpack throughout foreign lands, unworried of finding internet cafes to get your internet-work fix for the week.
I left Sydney, fashionably late, as usual, arriving at the ariport 30 minutes before departure, when they were already beckoning me over the intercom. In the departure gate, a girl left her handbag behind at the customs kiosk, and I tracked her down to return it. Ying, an Australian raised Singaporean, was so happy I returned her bag, that she came to talk with me all throughout the flight. Half way through the flight, she took me to first-class so I wouldn't have to wait upon landing.
Returning the bag was the best thing I've ever done, because upon arriving in Kuala Lumpur, Ying and her friend Tiffany drove me the 45 minutes into the city, and took me out to eat some incredibly good Malay food.
I checked into a cheap hostel found purely by chance, and not only was it $2.50 a night, but they had a DSL connection on the first floor: a big bonus for a nerd.
The usual mindless wandering that happens on the first day. Headlessly turning at every street corner, trying not to get run over while looking the wrong way, and excercising your mental long division abilities by calculating exchange rates to the local currency. 3.80 ringgits to the US dollar.
In the afternoon I met up with Ying and Tiffany and paraded around the local mall, whose only attraction I thought, was the myraid of copied DVDs for significantly reduced prices. Forget about the culture, I'm all about the DVDs.
Ying and Tiffany bought some Durians, and being the traveler that I am, tried hard not to faint from the strong odor. The taste resembled cheap onions, but then again, I'm not a fruit person. But the consequential light-headedness was amusing.
Buying DVDs is cheaper than renting movies back home. So we bought and went to see "O" at Tiffany's place. Got a spectacular night view of the Petrona Towers from her balcony.
Later tonight we went out to eat scrumptious Indian food with the girls, and visions of finding yet another handbag and returning it encircled my mind once again. You'd think I was homeless (well, I am) by the amount of importance I give to meals, but I'm generally pretty bad at finding delicious food on my own. And yes, there is such a thing as a free meal... It's a handbag: lost and returned.
After eating, we went to meet up with Ying's mom who had arrived, on a separate flight, in Kuala Lumpur. She was staying in the humble presidential suite of the Sheratton, and complaining all along about the lack of finesse in the decor. "Lady, I can fit my entire extended family in your suite, and I'm thinking about asking you for the extra soaps I *know* you're stocking up on, in the jacuzzi."
Well, at the least, I pretended to be a traveler with an expensive backpack, since anything else would seem highly unlikely. I of course, neglected to mention my 3 t-shirts and 2 pairs of underwear, especially since it's cheap underwear at most.
All in all, it was a great evening. Ying's mother was great to talk to, and I learned a few things from the "better off". If my Red Hat stock is ever worth more than the paper it's written on, I'm buying a first-class ticket to my next destination. They get free drinks, a real meal, and their seats recline all the way back. Oh yeah, and I'm definitely splurging for the bigger hostel beds, perhaps two twins beds side by side. That way I won't fall of the bed when the hostelers in the bunk below me decide to shake the bed at 3 in the morning pretending they lost yet another book.
Got bored, did some compiler work I'd been wanting to do for the last few months.
Saw many VCDs (video CDs) while being partly comatosed in the hostel couches.
Made friends with Joel, a Canadian backpacker, and went to see the Petrona towers. Bought some more Naguib Mahfouz authored Egpytian literature at the enormous mall at the base of the towers.
Bought about 60 DVDs for less than a $100. Hey, they looked original to me!. Threw away the evidence, I mean cases. Kept the discs. Now my backpack has 3 t-shirts, 2 pairs of underwear, 2 books, one laptop, every possible electricity convertor adapter known, and 60 DVDs. Not your typical backpacker.
Verified my visa to enter Australia was still valid. Changed my return flight to the US (which I plan to get refunded).
Left for the airport. On the way there had to haggle with the taxi driver over the equivalent of $2 because I had no local currency left, seeing that my travel companions, the DVDs, had taken up most of my financial allotment.
Arrived in Denpasar, Indonesia.
Arriving in new places always makes me feel lonely, especially after having read that there are no hostels in Bali. Having been sharing rooms with at least 4 other people every night, for the past God knows how long, makes me nervous. What am I going to do with a room all to myself? What am I going to do without people "borrowing" my soap every day?
In the airport, I chickened out of having extra soap, and introduced myself to Jens, a German backpacker who seemed as lost as me. I was already traveling with 2 soaps just in case, so I took the chance. We shared a cab downtown, and are staying at this meson for $6 a night each. Seeing that I'm on vacation, I went all out for the big room, two beds, hot shower, *and* air-condioner. Ooooh, and the toilets are inside the room. Toilet paper not included though.
Went out with Jens at night, pretending not to be the lightweight that I am.
You have so much to live up to when you're the only Puertorican backpacker (well, the only one I've met in 11 months). People automatically assume everyone from PR dances and parties like Ricky Martin, looks like Jennifer Lopez, and fights like Tito Trinidad. I always blame the early pub exits on headaches, having to work the next day, or jet lag (even when I arrived 3 weeks ago ;-)).
I don't do bar scenes. I'm more a computer convention sort of guy. You know, walk up to black rimmed glassed girls and ask for their homepage address. No problem, that's me. Traveling is another thing though. There's that whole latino preconceived idea, so I have to fake the effort and approach complete strangers. All in the interest of making the rest of the 3.8 million PRcans look good. Well that, and not having my latino card revoked upon my return.
I managed to meet 3 Norwegian girls and invited my friend Jens over, who seemed shyer than me asking for a raise when all I did was play Castle Wolfenstein and Prince of Persia all year round.
Had a great time tonight, mostly convincing Vibeka that my dancing technique is a new Caribbean concoction unseen elsewhere.
As far as I can tell, Indonesians can't pronounce "v", "b", or "f". They all come out as p's. I had read somewhere that these sounds were called sibilants (?) and were all related. I guess I hadn't noticed until I kept being offered "pipty thousand for pipe postcards".
Met this fascinating French girl, Hellen. She's new to this whole English thing, so I speak to her in Spanish and she responds in English. There are a lot of hand gestures to augment our communication.
There comes a time, when so much time has passed, that certain things are best left unlearned. You know, when you've known a person for 3 or 4 days and you still can't remember their name, but now it's embarassingly too late to ask. Or when you've been dating a girl for 2 weeks and you insist on calling her "precious", "baby" or "honey" just because you can't remember that uncommon name? Or worse yet, when you've been working at Cygnus for 2 years, and you still can't figure out the difference between the stack pointer and the frame pointer... And you're absolutely sure Jim Wilson, Richard Henderson, and Geoff Keating are a few of the people that have repeatedly explained to you what they are.
Well such is the case with surfing. You come from a tropical island and all your friends have been surfing since they were 11. You of course, opted to program in BASIC while everyone was drinking salt water through their nose. It's just too embarassing to learn to surf in Puerto Rico, when you're a local and in your mid 20s.
...so i wait till I'm at least 12 timezones away from home, swallow my pride, and pay $25 for a 3 hour surfing lesson here in Bali.
First, the instructor thinks I'm a local. This is not helping my frail water-sport self-esteem. Then after seeing me un-graciously wipe out in a variety of positions (head first, bottom first, head first but hitting the back of my head (don't ask)), he asks: aren't you from Puerto Rico? Aren't there even better waves there? Damn him! Why can't we just be known for Ricky Martin's "Vida Loca" and Jennifer Lopez's dress?
One hour later, and one local 12 year old virtually handicapped for life because of an unfortunate "this thing has no brakes; get out of my way; what's that you don't understand English.?.. Bampf" incident, I decided to assume, as in the case of a variety of compiler issues for me-- it's best not to know. Too late. To embarassing to ask.
"So yes, I know my lesson was for 3 hours, but let's just pretend this didn't happen and go drink beer for the remaining 2. They're on me". Yes, he laughed, but everyone loves free beer.
What's the PLT again? Bah! Can't be bothered. I'll stick to surfing the net.
Jens left today.
Hellen and I rented a small motorcycle and went to the Tanah Lot temple. Normally tourists rent motorcycles to tour around town, but no, I have to go out and rent it to drive 2 hours to a temple on roads where congested is an understatement.
Right before we take off, the boy who rented me his motorcycle says "you know drive on left side sir?". Whaddaya know, about to embark on 2 hours without a map, through dirt roads, and now he tells me I have to drive on the wrong side.
The scenery on the way there was spectacular. Rice fields, peasants with the funny hats, incoming traffic on your lane... Oops, wrong lane again! Right turns were notoriously difficult, since I only looked left, and then proceeded to get on the right lane without looking. When I was lucky there was no traffic on the right lane and I marched on for at least a mile on the wrong side. When I wasn't that lucky, there was Indonesian cursing involved, mostly directed at me, and Hellen looking less than amused.
I bought about 30 postcards for $2.50 from this girl who just wouldn't leave me alone. When I tried to ignore her and started speaking Spanish to Hellen, she turned around and said "ohhh, diez mil rupias por todas" (10 thousand rupias for all of them, in Spanish). Street merchants should be language teachers I swear.
Haggled with driver for half an hour. Managed to skim 75 cents off his final price to take us around Bali for 8 hours. Paid $10 for a choffeur for the day.
Went to a monkey reserve. Monkeys climbed on me to get the bananas I was holding up. Ok, so I was told not to do that, but it was soooo fun.
Hellen found out that hiding the bananas not only gets them mad, but they will climb up your legs. Oh yes, the big ones *demand* 2 bananas and they have bigger teeth. You don't argue.
Drove to the Batur Volcano. Had lunch overlooking it's peak and adjoining lake.
Saw a few Hindu temples on the way back.
Went to a local pub and saw a 4 foot 10 transvestide do a perfect rendition of November Rain by Guns and Roses (head jiggling and all). The things you see...
You know what I'll miss the most When I quit traveling? Second hand smoke. I get so much second hand smoke, I'd probably start getting headaches if the people around me quit. I should buy a nicotine patch just in case, for when I go home.
The ironic thing is that, compared to the rest of the world, Americans don't smoke, but virtually every cigarette abroad is American made. Marlboro can't advertise on TV in the States, but they can give away cigarettes to 9 year old kids in Azerbaijan.
Oh well, at least I'm hoping I'll gain weight when I come home. People say smokers gain weight when they quit. I'm under so much smoke, I'm bound to put on a few second hand pounds.
Damn it, where'd I put that Nicorette gum?
Went white water rafting on the Ayung river. Well, it was more like brown water rafting, but the view was incredible. The river goes throw a tropical rainforest with waterfalls and rice fields scattered throughout.
When I can no longer fake computer programming, I'm getting a job as an undercover cop. If there's one person that can impersonate a junkie, drug dealer, and terrorist, it's me.
Last night I got offered marihuana 21 times in a half hour stretch. I stopped counting after that. And this feat is not limited to Indonesia. Include every major city in the US on my motorcycle tour, Islamic countries were drugs are strictly prohibited, and every street corner back home and you'll have an accurate picture.
At home, I had to sell my expensive car because every time I went to play basketball in the "hood", nobody believed I wasn't a drug dealer. There is a plus side though, you ask for the ball and you always get it. And you never get fouled.
During the day, I have the "he needs dreds" look here in Bali. The drug dealers are all asleep, and their wives take over. "Want dreds on hair?". "No thank you, but tell your husband I want double my usual heroin score. See you tonight."
Hey, I can't help it if I look like a bum. My Red Hat stock is still under water, and my 3rd t-shirt is giving into the constant wear for 3 days, hand-wash, repeat, cycle. As part of my next raise I'm asking for 3 more Red Hat t-shirts. That'll essentially double my wardrobe.
Rented a motorbike again. Took Hellen to the airport to confirm her flight tomorrow back to France. On the way there a policeman stopped me for no good reason, asking for an international driver's license, which I obviously didn't have.
I was unable to con, I mean convince, him that my PR license doubles as an international driver's license. In an effort to "help" me out, he said I could either go to court and pay a fine, or pay a mere $5 on the spot and he'd forget about the incident. I argued for about half an hour, to no avail.
I don't care how little it is, I'm morally against bribes, and I've made it this far without paying one. So I told him I would gladly wait the few days and go to court. I was leaving tomorrow to Sumatra, so it seemed like a good choice.
I mean, I have to slave away every day, hoping that at the end of the day some global maintainer will say "This patch is OK". This is hard work! He gets to sit all day, stopping tourists just because they're blonde. I can't help it if Hellen can't fit in, and I'm not about to pay for her lack of hair pigment.
I think he caught my drift, because he said he'd have to keep my license, or the motorbike. I argued some more. He was as hard headed as me... but he did have a gun, so that automatically gave him more points.
I weighed the alternatives. On the one hand, I could just give him the driver's license and walk away with the satisfaction that I could keep both my $5 and my dignity. On the other hand, that Puerto Rico driver's license has doubled as a international student ID, motorcycle license, university ID, and international man of mystery ID (none of which is true). And it would definitely cost me more than $5 to replace.
Ok, so I buckled under the pressure, and sputtered away... five dollars poorer.
Drove some more. Went to the airport. Drove to a temple.
On the way there... we got stopped once again: same story, different town, same uniform.
I turned around and said to Hellen, "take a taxi back, I'm spending the night in jail. He can have the license; he can have the motorcycle; heck he can probably have you... but he's going to have to pry 50,000 rupias from my cold dead fingers."
I told the policeman quite frankly that I just paid 50,000 rupias 6 kilometres back and was not about to pay again. He must have seen the menacing determination in my eyes because he let me go.
Arrived at the temple.
On the way in, the guard shows me a sign saying that the monkeys (which seem to live at *every* temple) are agressive and that I should probably buy a guide to protect me. "Sir, I'm having an incredibly bad day, and if a simian but brushes me with his tail, I swear by Allah that I'll introduce him to the World Wrestling Federation".
Enough said: animals can sense insane anger. They didn't even ask for bananas.
Bali got too touristy for my taste. Flew to Sumatra in the afternoon. Patang struck me as odd in that I saw 0 backpackers at the airport. Zero backpackers either means, too expensive, or too far off the beaten track. I worried.
I followed my trusty Lonely Planet guidebook into some overpriced hotel. Well, $13, but overpriced for Indonesia. I was a bit appalled because the guidebook quoted half the price they asked. Sometimes, it seems, when places get too highly recommended in Lonely Planet guidebooks, backpackers will flock an establishment and sometimes cause the owners to wise up and jack up the price. I left for "Hotel Benyamin" a few kilometers away. $5 a night, much better.
Benyamin also seemed a bit odd. No backpackers, just locals. I checked in and went for a walk. Still, no travelers.
I went back. Asked where the bathroom was. Dear God! This was bad by my $5 a day standards, and the lack of John Crapper toilets, and toilet paper were the least of it. I feel a bit ashamed at saying it, but yes, I panicked.
I thought about my alternatives. I could buy a ticket to Medan ASAP and stay here the night. But that would mean I would have to fast for 24 hours for fear of using the bathroom, I'd have to leave my contacts on all night, and I'd have to sleep in the scorching heat with my clothes on for fear of bed-bugs. Even I have a roughing it limit.
Meanwhile... I realized I had thrown away the directions to the overpriced hotel which I now yearned for. To make matters worse, I had forgotten its name. I strapped on my backpack, gave my key back, and told the Benyamites: "I'm going for a walk (yes, with my full gear on, it's for exercise). Here's the key. I'll be back in a bit". Good thing I always check into shaddy establishments with my alternate ego "Aldy Barreto", passport #4274242, nationality Puertorican. None of which is true since my given name is Aldemar, 42 is the meaning of life, and my passport says United States of America.
Walked around looking for a cab. Found none. Typical of when I actually need to get somewhere, even though the streets are generally plagued by "hello mister, taxi?". Found a "hotel" by Indonesian standards. Scanned their price list top to bottom (price wise) which is the exact opposite of my usual selections.
"VIP suite #1 for $20 please" (an extravagant amount here). Full mister.
"VIP suite #2 for $19 please". Full.
"First class for $15 please". Full.
Damn it. Just my luck. Finally took a standard room with a/c for $10, but I would've taken a single at the Ritz, if I could've found it.
Bought a ticket to Medan on the only flight leaving Pedang tomorrow, and here I am, ordering from the restaurant for fear of catching Malaria, and watching DVDs on the laptop for fear of the unknown.
That's "Mr. Wuss E. Backpacker" to you.
Arrived in Medan. Still no backpackers. Bargained with a taxi driver and hired him out for the next 3 days. Wherever I go, he takes me. He finds his own accomodation.
Talked with a few locals. Sumatran tourism is pretty much dead after their political turmoil a few years back. After a 4 hour drive to Lake Toba, the biggest crater lake and 4th largest lake in the world, I noticed most of the places outlined in my guidebook were no longer there. Ended up staying at the best hotel in Toba, which was only about $30. It's a good change.
I feel like the Annie the orphan girl, with a big house all to myself. It seems I'm pretty close to the only guest (aside from a group of 20 Japanese ladies).
Saw lake Toba. Drove back the 4 hours to Medan.
I've had it for roughing it. Checked into a proper fancy hotel. Even ordered room service and ventured to have stuff from the bar/stack bar in my room. Potato chips are $3. Hell, I can afford it. I'm on vacation.
Treated myself to a full meal at the restaurant. Salad? Yes. Soup? Yes. Full meal? Yes. Wine? Yes. Ice cream ordered through room service? Yes. Fuck this backpacking. I've had it in the past 3 days.
The taxi driver didn't show up this morning. He was supposed to pick me up at 5am and drive me 2.5 hours to see the orangutan feedings in the wild. I'm guessing he conned me and took off with my $20 deposit. Oh well, I've had a perfect never-been-conned record so far.
The only reason I came to Sumatra was to see them damn orangutans sitting around the local welfare line. I was not about to return home without seeing them. Bargained with another taxi driver. Ended up getting a better deal. So no loss.
Arrived in Bukit Lawan (sp). Trekked for half an hour. Crossed a river by canoe. Got to the orangutan feedings.
Twice a day, park rangers feed the few orangutans that have been released into the wild and have not yet adapted to their foraging lifestyle. They are fed bananas and milk exclusively, so the lack of variety will inspire them to fend for themselves.
Almost on cue, two orangutans began arriving at exactly 3pm. Slowly advancing, being careful never to leave the security of branches. Going through great lengths to swing to the feeding, as if ground walking were a lesser form of transport. In total, three came, and one saw from a distance but never came down. Rumor had it that this 4th one, Johnny, had disappeared for 3 years and had just returned today. He was quite a social monkey, taking to drinking whiskey stolen from tourists. So in a sense, this 3 year lapse had been a rehabilitation in more ways than one.
Took a flight back to Kuala Lumpur, one week ahead of schedule. I got overwhelmingly annoyed at the lack of reliable transportation around Sumatra.
The political turmoil has more than ravaged the tourist industry, and I have been warned by more than one local not to venture to northern Sumatra, where Islamic fundamentalists have formed guerrillas to free the province of Aceh. Ironically, that was the only place I wanted to go, because the island of Pulau Weh has one of the best dives in the world.
I met a handful of backpackers that said that if I flew to northern Aceh, I'd have no problem, but seeing that both the tourist office and the diving shop up there have phone numbers that are no longer in service, and seeing that I *am* on vacation, I decided against it. I don't want to spend the last week of vacation worrying about guerrillas, religious fanatics, and unreliable transportation, I get all that in Puerto Rico.
So here I am, back in Malaysia, in a hostel, feeling as if I've returned home. Feel like a backpacking wuss, but on retrospect I've done more than a backpackers share in 2 weeks: temples, surfing (well kinda), rice fields, volcanoes, white water rafting, monkey forests, oranguntan feedings in the wild, and motorbiking around Bali on the wrong side of the road. So I think I deserve this last week to be free of warzones and filled with extraordinary diving off the coast of Malaysia. I can wish, can't I...