| Travel Story Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand |
| a true story - by Michael H. Green |
Essays:
Going Global
Integrity
Evolution
Interpretations:
Creative Writing:
Quotes
CV:
After 35 hours of plane travel, including a 6 hour layover in Seoul, and 2 hours in JFK and Anchorage respectively, I found it virtually impossible to attain at least semi-acclimation to a gargantuan Asian city. It overwhelmed me with it's vastness and congestion. My guide book said that there was a direct bus from the airport to the travelers zone of Banglampoo. Finding this bus was almost as easy as finding the subway stop that I'd used almost every day in Somerville, USA prior to my trip.
I'd been in Bangkok for half an hour, when an attractive young female sat next to me on the bus. She worked at the information booth at the airport. With a skewed accent, she spoke flawless English, she'd studied it diligently for the last 10 years. This, coupled with her University degree, provided her with work opportunities quite beyond that of the average Thai. I was under the impression that perhaps she'd like to procure a western boyfriend, maybe she'd had many prior, maybe not, perhaps she was trying to find one that would eventually take her there, to a utopia where opportunities abounded. This was where perhaps the hard currency grew from trees, like coconuts in Thailand. We exchanged conversation, she took pleasure in the fact that I expressed excitement about learning the Thai language. but we had absolutely nothing in common, how could we? Every life experience we'd had prior was completely different. Yet in another fashion, I thought that perhaps we had everything in common, both being human with the same desires, needs, and feelings, of love and life's infinite struggle, coupled with a constant desire to make a better life. All of a sudden a phone rang, she pulled it out from her jeans jacket pocket, it was the smallest phone I'd ever seen up to that point. During her conversation, the bus stopped, I’d reached my unknown destination.
I got off near Kao San Road, where the majority of the budget transient travelers reside. They are transients in Bangkok because their travels begin and/or culminate in Bangkok, the grandest hub in all of mystical South East Asia.
Two English guys hopped off the bus alongside me. They explained that a friend had recommended a certain guest house. Too fatigued to think for myself, nor did I have a better idea, I went with them, acquired a room, took a cold shower, and proceeded to relieve my bowels, (number two fashion), as never in my life had I been able to do this while aloft in an airplane. I'd only used a squat toilet once in an Italian train station, but the leg muscles needed for this endeavor would quickly gain custom to a daily ritual which would take place for the next few months. But the Italian toilet flushed, this particular one didn’t. I had to fill a bowl with water and perform a manual flush.
I then proceeded for a walk into the tropical Bangkok night, one small section of Bangkok actually. I was lost within a half an hour. It was dark and late, every Tuk Tuk (one wheel in front, two in the back with a passenger seat) driver stopped and hassled me to get in. Finally I accepted. It didn't seem as if this particular veteran Tuk Tuk chauffeur was taking me back to my guesthouse. He then exclaimed, "Pad Pong Road". His lascivious smile fed my intuition with the notion that this was the smut center of Bangkok. Surely if he could cajole me into hiring a prostitute, he would receive a commission. He kept insisting, I kept saying no, finally I felt forceful. I mildly fantasized the infliction of violence upon him, perhaps I’d been intoxicated by too many Americans movies, but I quickly realized it was merely due to my extreme fatigue. Hence, I kept my calm, this was partly due to the fact that I'd researched Thai customs prior to my arrival, hence, I knew that keeping one's serenity and pseudo smile, was in every instant, the most feasible option in Thailand. I exclaimed, smiling, "No, take me to this address or stop here," finally he took me to my guesthouse.
The fatigue made my brain feel as if it's size was reduced by 50%, then metamorphosing back and forth on a 50 to 100% scale. The heat and windless humidity of an opaque Bangkok produced a mildewy stickiness on my body. I wondered, what had I done? Why did I come here? Am I an idiot? Here I am, on the other side of the world, not knowing a soul, exhausted, and all alone. All this anticipation to come to Asia, but for what? Am I a masochist?
I fell into a deep sleep. My dreams were filled with utter anxiety, I was in jail, startled to the bone by a cold sweat, my bed being the jail floor, the four walls around me were the bars, my rational side wouldn’t allow a breakdown. I had other dreams, some were bad and/or very strange, they went on for two days.
The next day I talked to a few European travelers, pleasantly gestured toward some very friendly, happy Thais. I received my first therapeutic Thai massage, took a riverboat ride on the Chao Phraya river, and pondered upon making my way to the north of Thailand. Things proceeded to get much better, fast.
I'd met a handful of travelers on my first full day in Bangkok, some had been traveling for many months, that lifestyle seemed foreign to me. The next night I would board a 10 hour overnight deluxe bus for Chaing Mai. All I knew was that Chaing Mai was in close proximity to the world famous Golden Triangle, which held an unknown and aweing mystique to me.
Northern Thailand
Chaing Mai, Thailand's second largest city, sits on the brink of the world famous Golden Triangle region. But more importantly, Chiang Mai is great for organizing treks through primitive wilderness where Thailand's various hill tribe people reside. A three day trek constituted rich ethnic cuisine, prepared fresh from the land, elephant rides, bamboo river rafting, bathing under a majestic waterfall, and trekking through mild Thai jungle. Another attraction of these treks are the evening opportunities to sample as much opium as one desires. The novice tourist, as the veteran Thai user/seller/addict, must lay on the ground and smoke a full pipe, which constitutes two or three toques. Ten of these pipe fulls cater to a heavily opium induced state. Laying in just a sleeping bag on a bamboo floor produced utter body, mind and head relaxation, the effect after two hours of clear awake comfort produced a puppy like sleep. 8 hours of comatose and one is ready for another day of serious trekking.
Upon returning to Chiang Mai after a very positive and fun experience in Thailand's 'discontemporary hills/mountains', I felt as if the trip was metamorphosing into a whimsical adventure, my mood for exploration had increased.
A night out in the comfortably sized city of Chiang Mai proved ideal after 3 full days of isolation from modern civilization. In a very shabby dirt floored bar I witnessed an intense Thai boxing match, a sadist show, and transvestite dancing. After these events ended, the drinking went on until 6am. It was great fun. My company were some French and Australians whom I'd trekked, ridden elephants, and sampled opium with in the Golden Triangle.
The Thai boxing match was intense, it lasted four rounds, before blood spat up from one man's mouth whilst he lay unconscious on the ground. The sport has virtually no rules. kneeing, kicking, punching, headlocking, etc. are all legal. The slim yet muscular athletes executed lightning quick blows, they had incredible athletic talent. Thai Boxing is to Thailand as Baseball is to America.
The Sadist show, which probably should have been called 'the Masochist Show', whomever did the translating from Thai to English made a small error) was in the same ring as where the Thai Boxing had taken place. It featured a man pouring gasoline into his mouth and on his body. He had only shorts on. He appeared to be sticking a knife through his gasoline soaked tongue. He was burning his body and mouth. The man was a daredevil fire eater. I didn't understand. I was slightly repulsed, however, as my alcohol intoxication increased, so did my level of tolerance for witnessing this self inflicted violence. This was the way the man made his living.
The seemingly beautiful lady like transvestites performed on a stage, I'd exclaimed,
"That's definitely a girl",
the Australian girl Jody then exclaimed,
"No, it's a guy, look at the forehead, and look at the Adam's apple".
I was astonished by her keen eye. They all looked like beautiful women, but were really men. I acquired a twinge of bewilderment.
The next afternoon, when I awoke, I immediately ventured for the northern most point in Thailand. The Australian Sheilas informed me that from there, it was possible to get a one day visa permitting entry into Burma, the most poverty stricken land in all of Asia, sharing this oppressive realm with Bangladesh. Burma, also known as Myanmar, is in the top 10 list of the world's most oppressed countries. I stayed in a hotel on a river which separated Thailand from Burma. After 8 prior days of intense heat, the Thai town of Mae Sai's refreshingly cool night temperatures allowed for rock like sleep.
The next day was spent in a Burmese border town. It featured a huge market of people pushing everything imaginable. I was not in a buying mood, I walked around and witnessed intense poverty, begging, and soliciting. The poor souls tried so hard to sell absolutely anything, which was often nothing, to the non Burmese visitors.
Next I would venture south, a few hours a day by bus, and then stopping for a night in whichever Thai town that aided in my progression back to Bangkok. From there I'd venture to what I'd heard was true paradise, Thailand's world famous southern islands.
The food in Thailand was quickly becoming my favorite culinary cuisine. Perhaps the best thing I'd ever eaten was a Northern Thai Coconut curry, with chicken, cashews, garlic, ginger, bean sprouts, lemongrass and 5 different illustrious spices native to Thailand. My palette had transformed its entire essence in what it perceived to be culinary art. In America we eat like such shit, how could I have been eating such shit for all these years?
Ko Samui
"Come on, have some, you’re on holiday."
"Yes, well, if you’d like to call it a holiday, that’s fine, but why does a holiday automatically constitute the decadent display of constantly feeding one’s mind and body with toxins?"
This jargon caused the Northern English lass to wince mildly. She then completely disregarded any significance for what I’d exclaimed.
"I think I’ll go back to my Bungalow and roll me up a spliff, would you like to join me?"
As she opened a bottle of Sangtip whiskey, talking of how it’s so great to come to Thailand and feed her addictive personality, a hoarse cough corrupted her speech pattern. She continued.
"Think I’ll pop a 10mg valium. Alcohol, spliffs and valium, woohoo, what a combination, think I’ll just sit on the side of the ocean and be numb."
"Hmm, so, well, yeah, I see what you mean by a holiday."
She sat on the shoreline of Thailand’s tropical gulf, neurotically repressed. The constant sound of the sea would aid her vegetated and stagnant stance. I quickly rationalized that the girl was a full time escapist. I thought, Valium? Why? To shut out life? I was saddened and horrified.
I then ventured away from my bungalow and proceeded to motorbike around the vast tropical island of Ko Samui. While halted in traffic, I witnessed a dog eating another dog. This didn’t look or feel natural. Dogs here were so desperate for food that they’d eat one of their own kind who had fallen victim to death by famine. Dogs weren’t put to sleep in Asia, at night they would pack together, roaming the streets while the humans who abused and neglected them hibernated. The wee morning hours featured a world of desperate, homeless canines.
I ended up slightly ill while on Ko Samui, so I was forced to lay low. The worst part about it was that I couldn't enjoy the scrumptious Thai food. My stomach just couldn't allow it. I'd later find out that I was suffering from Salt Depletion Disorder. The intense heat caused perspiration which combined with the lack of salt served in Thai food, thus, it's quite easy for the non tropical sojourner to acquire Salt Depletion Disorder. It caused cramps throughout the body and major dehydration and diarrhea. Once the illness was finally diagnosed after 6 days, I quickly purchased a remedy at one of Thailand's very liberal pharmacies, and continued to use it as a prophylactic. That would prove to be the only physiological illness of my journey, but this didn't include those of the psychological genre.
Penang, Gateway to Malaysia
Because my 30 day visa for Thailand had just a day remaining, I was forced to venture out of Thailand and into Malaysia. I’d spend two days in Penang. Because there is a restaurant in Boston called ‘Penang, Malaysian Cuisine, ‘ which I had enjoyed immensely, I had become excited about eating Malaysian food in Penang. However, I quickly discovered that in Penang, my culinary options would be limited to Indian and Chinese. As I had previously become satiated by the food in Boston’s Chinatown, I settled for Indian, and it was quite taste worthy. I learned about Indian food and how eating it can have spiritual connotations.
In Penang I would witness the movie, ‘The Game’, fully censored. Malaysia is a Muslim country, full of rules, including, THE POSSESSION OF NARCOTICS AND OTHER ILLEGAL SUBSTANCES CARRIES THE MANDATORY DEATH PENALTY. This I instantly believed to be a rule of far too stringent proportions. But what intrigued me more were people who apparently ignored this life threatening deterrent.
I spoke to a Brit who purchased a joint from the owner of his guesthouse. Had he been caught somehow, perhaps he‘d have been put to death.
While waiting in the customs line to enter Malaysia, there was an American who pulled a marijuana cake from his bag. He broke it in half and handed one piece to a Brit, virtually forcing it upon his fellow westerner. The two guys frantically consumed their cakes, without an inkling of lethargy.
In the Cameroon Highlands, there was a Brit who withdrew a marijuana cigarette from his shoe and smoked it with his trekking partners. He had smuggled a huge bag of marijuana from Thailand. I thought these people to be plain crazy, or hard core thrill seekers, or both.
I went to see ‘Tomorrow Never Dies’. The latest 007 movie was heavily hyped throughout Asia. There I had eaten truly the best movie theater popcorn of my life. It was warm and fresh and mixed with heaps of caramel.
In Penang I would also witness a marvelously hand carved Chinese temple.
I knew that there would be no need to stay in Penang. But which way did I go? The options were limitless. Do I go south in Malaysia? Or perhaps I would book a boat ticket across the Strait of Malacca, to Sumatra, the vastest island of Indonesia’s purely tropical archipelago.
Malaysia is very developed, Indonesia on the contrary, is a place where plush amenities of the west are compromised. Many western luxuries don’t exist. This would add to Indonesia’s allure. I was here to experience the unknown, not the mundane. Hence, this philosophy would spark my decision to venture for Sumatra.
Medan, 'scuzzhole' of Sumatra
After a five hour hydrofoil across the Strait of Malacca, I arrived in a transit port town. After customs control performed their tedious welcoming ritual, a 45 minute bus ride constituted arrival in Medan, Sumatra’s largest, and grimmest city.
Upon stepping off the bus, their were touts, they tried to sell me everything, this would include transport, accommodation, marijuana, and women. They even waited for me outside of my guesthouse. Being from the west, I was apparently loaded with money to throw away. They were from a poverty stricken land, desiring that I redistribute some of my unfairly distributed wealth.
Due to hot and muggy air, coupled with a high level of noise pollution, the achievement of solid sleep would prove futile. I arrived on a Saturday, hence was forced to stay until Monday, until the banks opened. Medan was the only place in all of Sumatra where a credit card was accepted over the counter to obtain cash. This would be my form of acquiring survival money throughout the entire journey. In a city where rickshaw drivers possess a life expectancy rate of 32 years because of densely filled exhaust fumed streets, Medan would not be a good introduction to Indonesia.
Jungle Excursion
Next I was off to the jungle town of Bukit Luwang, a 3 hour ride. The bus was shabbier than what most western minds can imagine, but the view provided spectacular natural scenery. However, due to the buses velocity on the narrow stretch of road, danger of tragic proportions would be a threat, this held true throughout Sumatra.
A jungle tour guide named Tony from Bukit Luwang was on the decaying bus. He approached me immediately.
"Hi, I’m Tony."
Perhaps his real name was Rabat, or Amad, or something much longer, but he’d completely anglicized it, adding leverage to his life as a tour guide.
"What is your name?"
Extraordinarily, Tony spoke fluent English.
"My name is Michael."
"Where are you from Michael?"
He was trying hard to project false joviality. I wanted to tell him to give up, but I didn't deem the consequences of that statement to be in my best interests.
"Norway."
At times, depending on my mood and impulse of my perception to a situation, I'd lie about where I was from. This was due to my feelings that some people, once they know someone is American, tend to judge the American to be arrogant and pompous, and independently and incredibly wealthy. Some people in impoverished lands believe that America (The United States), is a land where all of its’ inhabitants are millionaires. I thought this erroneous information may have been partly caused by the type of mainstream American movies they had the opportunity to consume. The cinema is the number one source of knowledge about America that people in poor countries have access to. This at times, can produce a completely erroneous bias toward distant America.
"Ha, Norway, very cold this time of year."
He then produced hand written accounts of his treks, in Norwegian, written by Norwegians. Tony was desperately trying to win himself credibility. I exclaimed that I hadn’t come to Bukit Luwang seeking a jungle trek, but to see the orangutan sanctuary. These were honestly my tentative plans.
Upon arrival in Bukit Luwang, many guides were arguing with each other for my presence. I’d later discover that this was low-season for travel in Sumatra, and the mistaken foreign perception of smog filled Sumatran skies didn’t contribute to the depressed economic situation. In reality these soot covered skies hadn’t existed in months.
After finally brushing away the audacious guides, Tony walked along side of me, uninvited. I told Tony that I was going to the Jungle Inn. He brought me to his hotel, exclaiming to me that it was the Jungle Inn. Shortly thereafter, Tony kept on pestering me to go on a trek with him the following day. I flatly said no. I was not taken to people who possessed parasitic tendencies.
That night I would venture to the Jungle Inn, meet some people, and end up doing a trek with them. The two guides, Rabat, and Brontie, asked me nicely if I wanted to go on a trek with them, I said that I wasn’t sure. They then said,
"OK."
That evening I returned to Tony’s hotel, a man said,
"Hey."
I turned.
"Tony is over there, he wants to talk to you."
I approached Tony only to have him pester me. I exclaimed no to his trek once again. He scowled.
The next morning I checked out of Tony’s and into the Jungle Inn. I immediately joined, Brontie, Rabat, and the two Dutch girls who would be part of our journey, into the wild jungle.
We set out from Bukit Luwang, the small town nestled on the edge of a large Sumatra jungle. As we entered the forest, approximately 30 monkeys greeted us. They desired food. One guide startled the beautiful little rodents away. It's amazing to see them close up, noticing all the similarities they have to humans. We then hiked for a bit, up and down. This particular area of the jungle was very hilly/mountainous. We were then approached by a large orangutan, the two guides started moving backwards. I was naive. I had no idea that these creatures were dangerous, after all, why would we be out here if danger existed? The ape calmly walked past me. The two girls were behind me. I looked back and saw that one of them was extremely petrified, urinating in her shorts. At that moment, I thought her fear to be irrational. At the next moment, the orangutan lunged at one of the guys, pinning him to the ground, I was in a split state of frozen, shocked surprise. The other guide jumped on the orangutan and started pounding his head into a rock or tree, hence barely manipulating the ape away. The English speaking 'jungle boys' then exclaimed to us,
"Go straight up the mountain."
We moved, straight up, grabbing tree roots to help leverage ourselves up, fast and steady.
Though the physical aspect was semi grueling, I felt nothing, except for the mental need to move. I was impressed by the strength and serenity of the two girls during this time. The ape was following us. We were forced to stop and clean the leg bite which was freshly gushing blood from the young man's calf. Then a quick, makeshift tourniquet proved to stop the bleeding. He was in a state of extreme pain, and shock. We kept moving, steadily.
Finally, after about half an hour, the previously violent orangutan had vanished. Early in the trek we had managed an intense exercise session. Fear of the infliction of an ape attack and possibly death is sure to make a person exceed beyond normal physical limits.
The girls and I insisted on departing the jungle and acquiring some medical attention. We were also worried about the existing possibility of another attack. Both guides wanted no part of our proposition as we had paid them to take us into their jungle. Surely they would give us a better value than what had just taken place. This is how they made their living, and they couldn't afford bad publicity. We had no control of the situation, as we were in their territory. They’d grown up in this natural splendor. We then stopped for a jungle lunch, it consisted of cold rice, chicken, vegetables, and Rambutan, a luscious fruit native to Sumatra. They taught us various things about the jungle, including some of its abundance of homeopathic medicine.
We saw various types of monkeys, and orangutans, who didn't attack. The highlights were Gibbon Monkeys flying (literally), very high up in the ultra tall trees, (high like redwoods). This was one fantastic sight. The trek caused my entire body to drench in sweat, until we arrived at a refreshing river. We then rafted, in the white turbulent waters, amidst a barreling tropical rain.
During our white water descent, a minor accident forced us to make a pit stop. Coincidentally, Tony happened to be there with his trek of two German tourists. They were the only people we had seen all day. He saw me, and scowled yet again. He’d spent the majority of our long bus ride explaining his treks to me on the previous day, and I had gone with someone else. Neither him nor his group appeared happy. I was glad that I hadn't gone with them.
Besides the attack, the experience turned out to be genuinely amazing. There are tigers in this jungle, but during a one day trek it's not common to venture into densities where tigers roam. I also witnessed exotic birds and butterflies. We all departed the jungle alive, our new Sumatran friend received antidotes and all ended on a happy note. I would wholeheartedly recommend the trek to anyone.
The next morning, while passing time drinking rich naturopathic Jungle Tea, inside the restaurant of the Jungle Inn, I witnessed 20 monkeys enter the large two story windowless restaurant from the roof. They engaged in various activities. I witnessed two monkeys play fighting, one meditating, one sprawled across a picnic table napping, and all of them feasting on their favorite food, bananas.
North Sumatran Bus Journey
The mini-van journey from Bukit Luwang to Medan consisted of me studying the Indonesian language, while occasionally glancing out at the sun drenched green and hilly landscape. An array of various animals roamed in the pasture. All of a sudden, two young Indonesian girls of ravishing beauty were sitting next to me, one positioned on my lap. In Indonesia, there were no seating assignments on buses or mini-vans, they simply crammed as many people that could squeeze in, stopping frequently to drop and pick up passengers.
I smiled, they smiled back, possibly feeling some type of cross-cultural awe,
"Where are you from Mister?"
"America, and you?"
They started laughing.
"Here, in Northern Sumatra?"
They named their town, however, this I’ll surely never recollect. We talked for a bit, however, their English was very limited so we mostly smiled and laughed.
They got off the bus and seemed quite happy to have passed a bit of time with an American. Perhaps I was the first one they’d ever met. I then arrived in Medan, to change buses. The chaotic station was run down and shabby. Many people approached me. My taller, white, western stature hinted that I had currency to part with.
I found my seedy bus and spent over 2 hours crammed tight by a dirty, peasant woman. She was toothless, her hands were warn, and dirt streaked down her face. My legs and feet were far too big for the buses design. There was a pole, my leg was to one side of it, her side. My foot was stuck. She wanted me to move it so that she could cram us in more. This was the system here. All I could do was smile. Even in this cramped situation, I had my tiny phrasebook in hand, so I managed to communicate to her that my foot was stuck, still smiling. More people kept cramming in. From left to right, there were seats, with no isle. Upon entering and exiting, people would have to climb seats. Chaos appeared to reign in my immediate radius of existence. Because of my bodies lack of dexterity, I felt physical and mental pain, and a twinge of claustrophobia.
I glanced out the window, we were going up a steep hill, passing a car on a hairpin turn while a large bus was coming straight at us, and not slowing down. The two drivers miraculously managed to pass each other with just a hair separating the two buses. I’d immediately drew my hand in from hanging outside the window. Had I not looked out while approaching the hair pin turn, I may have lost my arm. And there would have been no one to sue. Additionally, I was the only western traveler that I’d known of on my journey to not be covered by medical insurance.
Berastagi
Berastagi sat 1300 meters above sea level. Hence the climate was perfect. Besides a very intriguing marketplace, inside the beautiful mountain town was a smoking volcano, Gunung Sibayak.
The following day I’d climb Gunung Sibayak, accompanied by a noble Spaniard on a two year travel sabbatical, a polite Austrian fellow, and an Englishman who thrived on outdoor adventure. The steep and muddy climb was grueling at times. We had assured ourselves early on that we’d take minuscule breaks only, to prevent prematurely tiring out.
We roughed it. After all, where is there to go but to the top? A goal was set out. Conquest of it would be automatic. The site of the smoking crater was unique in its splendor, but the sulfurous smell would eventualy become unbearable. Hence, we hiked down, a different route, this route’s end constituted 3 natural steam pools of varying temperatures. The natural springs provided comfort for our worked bodies.
The following day consisted of cool tropical rains barreling from the sky. I just read, and relaxed. The next day after that I would be off to Lake Toba.
Out of the Ordinary
Toba is the remnant of a volcanic explosion which outburst a huge lake and a large island sitting in the middle. And there are mountains galore on the island as well as surrounding the lake. It's a natural wonder that would make a still life nature artist mindgasm, never mind a layman. The tangible awe-like setting must have provided background for fairy tales.
I arrived around in the early evening, after a day of hellishly cramped, hot, sticky and dirty bus travel. Exhausted, I merely relaxed, then slept. The next morning after I had awoken, and after the 10th guy out of fifteen whose path I crossed offered me spliff/monte, I I ended up at the most luxurious accommodation in an area called Tuk Tuk. The Spaniard whom I'd befriended a week prior in Berastagi, had then exclaimed to me,
"You must at least go and see Carolinas while you are in Toba."
Why? I have no idea. Carolinas was nothing special, just semi ritzy and glittery, and geared towards the upscale tourist. I would later conclude that perhaps the name Carolinas, a symbol which originated in Spain, subliminally sensationalized the Basque Spaniard's attitude toward the restaurant/hotel.
I had a quick plate of Nasi Goreng, (this particular plate of fried rice was not worth writing about), I then proceeded to relax by the water, reading my Indonesian phrase book, and pondering upon what type of frolic, or serenity I’d engage in during that particular day, one of my 87 consecutive days without regimented agenda, except to see and do all that I wanted to. South East Asia offers a plethora of exiting and tranquil activities. The combination of climate, people, fertility and history, holistically mesh infinite wonder into a region that produces major contrasts of many propensities.
A lady/girl standing in the water up to her knees started screaming and yelling in Indonesian and pointing straight down, (I thought an animal was attacking her). This thought could have been due to the orangutan that I'd witnessed attack just a week prior. I couldn't understand Indonesian of course. She then started chanting hysterically,
"Come, come, ...... "
She was freaking out wickedly. I then moved for the water, removed my belt of valuables and scurried in. I was still thinking, What the fuck is going on? The girl/lady was screaming out of control. My insides cried. But I still thought, What? Three or four people were on a cliff on the land above/behind me. They hastily exclaimed,
"Out there, further out."
A girl was above the water swimming, and desperately addressing,
"Over here,"
I swam out a few meters and she pointed down saying,
"Look, down there."
The Indonesian woman on the shore was now experiencing a fully-blown nervous breakdown.
I saw a body laying at the bottom of the water. It was of a young Indonesian woman, medium sized, she laid adjacent to a sea floor break which instantly caused a drastic change from shallow level to deep proportions, in a matter of a centimeter's movement. I swam straight down, grabbed the body, and brought it up to the shore. Two people helped me get her out. Then two obese, middle aged - to elderly German males and one young man of a European nationality proceeded to perform CPR on her for roughly one-half of an hour. 25 people stood around and watched. It seemed as if there were only about 10 people in the immediate vicinity when I had gone in to get her.
This procedure was to no avail. The woman’s life was prematurely stopped. My mind was in disarray. I immediately fled the scene, walked up the road, and witnessed a shop owner who I had spoken to just an hour prior, he immediately questioned me.
"What happened down there?"
As I was exclaiming the episode, a van passed us slowly on the narrow dirt road, it contained the driver, the traumatized girl, and two European girls comforting her. Her deceased friend/sister was covered by blankets in the back, her numb stance visible to us through the van's window.
I then walked along the road, and met a French girl who instantly desired to befriend me, and share some gluttonous living. She wanted me to consume psylocybin mushrooms with her, I explained to her what had just happened. I instantly knew that it would not be conducive for me to consume magic mushrooms. Magic Mushrooms are not for disgruntled minds. I wasn’t successful in convincing the flighty French traveler of this. She appeared rather dense.
"Come on, look at this place, it's so amazing. Don't worry about anything, what happened wasn't your fault, don't let it ruin your trip. Come on, let's have some fun."
I couldn't convince the girl that it would be impossible to acquire a positive mood for fun on this particular day. I then quickly decided that I'd have to get through this day not dealing with people. A combination of the French girls' attitude, and the Indonesian girls death, put me in this hermit like mood.
Toba is a place where psilocybin mushrooms were accessible from at least half of the locals. There must have been 10 signs depicting/advertising the purchasing of these sensory heightening, natural hallucinogens. Tourists/backpackers purchase them daily. Magic Mushrooms are basically legal in Indonesia, a land in which the government/police casually construct whimsical rules and actions, usually to their own benefit.
I then went back to my guest house/bungalow and told the two girls from my Bukit Luwang jungle trek (whom I'd been traveling with for about a week) about the experience. It felt good to tell someone who was at least more than an acquaintance, and who showed and felt sympathy.
I immediately ventured out on the next ferry the morning after. An intuition wouldn’t let me remain in Toba, it didn't feel right. The ferry then went right past the scene of the drowning, I witnessed it and will never forget the morbid sight. I was really bothered for at least a couple of days or perhaps even a few. But I’d eventually be completely over it.
The victim was a school teacher from Jakarta. From Toba, the megalopolis of Jakarta is roughly a 50 hour journey by land and/or sea. The unfortunate victim’s friend/sister (who didn't know how to swim either) would be forced to return alone, without her deceased friend, they had been on vacation in a beautiful Sumatra resort.
What I’ll possibly never fully grasp is that the two girls were from a tropical nation of over 13,000 islands, and have never learned the mandatory second nature of swimming. What also irked me is that there were others who could have retrieved the girl from the water before me. But it was deep, perhaps the deepest I'd ever swam. The water was almost crystal clear. Any of the three or four tourists on the cliff could have jumped in and gotten her before me, surely they knew how to swim, but instead they just pointed to where I should go. And the girl in the water who was swimming above the victim could have swam down and gotten her, but maybe she was too startled.
Southern Hemisphere
Next I'd venture south of the equator to Bukkitingi, a perfectly sized populous sitting high on a temperate mountaintop. Here I would witness a movie, GI Jane, featuring Demi Moore, in a movie theater with a dirt floor and bamboo chairs. Because the movie was nothing worth remembering, the true experience was the uncomfortable seats, constructed of bamboo.
I'd purchase various fruits in Bukkitingi's very pleasant market.
Next it was off to Lake Meninjau, where I was fortunate enough to mountain bike 70 kilometers around the tropical lakes' perimeter. It was another intense workout which was accomplished out of shear goal orientation. Upon completion of the arduousous journey, my hamstrings were experiencing painful muscle spasms. However, these autonomous movements went away after about five minutes.
Next I'd venture to Padang, where a 30 hour luxury liner ventured for Jakarta, Indonesian's grand capital. Here I stopped to merely take care of mundane travel business. Next was a 12 hour bus ride, which transported me to Yogyakarta, a quaint city located in central Java.
Foreigner is walking along Jalan Marlioboro in Yogyakarta.
"Hey Mister, where you from?"
"America"
"America, numbah one, you very rich, dollah very strong.
"How long in Yogya?"
"3 days."
"Ah, 3 days, whah your name?"
"Michael."
"Ah, Michael Jackson, Michael Jordan, Michael Bolton, you have very populah name"
"Mike Tyson, ha ha ha, where you going."
I’m looking for the Apotik (Pharmacy), could you tell me where it is?"
"Apotik now closed, no open until 4 o’clock, (a blatant lie) you like Batik art? I show you where is expedition, one day only, we shipping all paintings to Jakarta in 2 hour, I make very good price just for you." (Another blatant lie, all Batik exhibits are open all day and none of the merchandise is really shipping to Jakarta).
This is very typical while walking on Marlioboro Street in Yogya (short for Yogyakarta, but more commonly used.) It turns out that these guys make a living on commission, selling native Javanese and Balinese Batik art to tourists, hence, these swift business agents will construe any possible, thinkable lie they can, in order to sway visitors to Batik art shops. However, despite the touters, the Javanese art is actually quite impressive and unique to the island of Java.
Gunung Merapi
Yogyakarta is a fantastic place. Here it is possible to organize trips to Borobudur, the largest Buddhist monument in SE Asia, and Prambanan, a huge Hindu complex. Also in close proximity is the Dieng Plateau, a great place for trekking, and Mt. Merapi, the most active volcano in the world. Here I would participate in a trek. It consisted of ten tourists and three guides. At midnight we set out for the top. Two Swedes, three Dutch people, (known by Indonesian guides to be extremely bad mountain trekkers, this could be partly due to the fact that all of Holland is as flat as a thin crust pizza, or Dutch pancake). Also there were two English blokes, a laddie from Ireland, a young intellectual girl from Australia and moi, the lone American, as usual. Upon ascending up the mountain, I thought, What am I doing? I haven’t slept since about 8 o’clock this morning, and I shan’t return to my guesthouse until noontime tomorrow. But I’d heard that the sunrise at the top had the propensity to be spectacular, providing the Javanese sky wasn’t obscured by clouds.
We started up a mountain path, my head was already light as it was a bit past my bedtime, but, since entering the jaded and mountainous landscape of Indonesia 3.5 weeks prior, trekking had transformed into a passion, and besides, turning back was not an option, and we were all basically in the same ludicrous predicament. After about 45 minutes, it was just myself, the two Swedes, and the young Indonesian guide, who only spoke Javanese, Indonesian, and about as much English as I spoke Indonesian, which wasn’t enough to carry a detailed conversation. He insisted on stopping and waiting for the others. Finally, the Irish and English guys appeared with one guide, and then the 3 Dutch and one Australian after them.
One of the Swedes was eager to trek, as was I, for standing or sitting in place increased my fatigue, hence, shortly thereafter, we started again. It ended up one guide, myself, and the two Swedes. The four of us were far ahead of the rest. The guide we were with performed the rigorous trek 4 times a week. Hence, he gracefully galloped up with ease, like a spoiled child walking up a mall escalator to purchase a trendy new toy.
The terrain became rocky, about three hours had gone by. My head was feeling the tension of needing rest, but my body felt nothing, as it was now accustom to mountains forcing endurance, more than ever in my life. The two Swedes and I were keeping up with the guide, who seemed eager to lead us to the top. Then we took a small break, whilst he was able to communicate to us that if we gave him 10,000 Rupiahs, he’d take us to the crater. One Swede agreed, hence I apathetically doubled his motion. The other Swede appeared indifferent as well, willing to accept whatever challenge was placed in front of him.
The terrain became rockier, and steeper. With a flashlight in one hand it was difficult to keep balance. Extremely fatigued, we made it to the crater at about 5am. It was still dark. The sulfurous fumes, coupled with an extremely fatigued cranium, made me nauseous. But the newness and splendor of the cooling lava made the stop bearable. There appeared to be minuscule caves everywhere, spewing gas, while lava, bright red, was the base of the emanating fumes. Gunung Merapi had erupted just three years prior.
Due to the fact that I was feeling extremely nauseous and lightheaded, I suggested it was time to start meandering towards the summit, surely movement would benefit more than stagnation. The climb would prove to be grueling, the guide led, and proceeded straight up a vertical rocky cliff.
Dawn was now emulating dark, hence, the flashlights were terminated. This proved to be a godsend. One Swede was about 10 meters above me, almost positioned at a 100% vertical. His body clenched to the side of the mountain. A rock, (about three times the size of a baseball) darted inches past his head, he had no leverage to move. I believe that if the rock had hit him in the right spot he may have been dead. Then, in perhaps less than a split second, the rock darted down directly to my midsection. Two things saved me:
First - I wasn’t at a purely vertical spot on the volcano, but at an incline, so I had leverage to move my arms, legs and body.
Second, - I played lots of baseball as a child. Hence I just fielded the rock like a shortstop, with no thought involved whatsoever, it was an autonomous and lucky reaction.
I was naturally quite upset for an initial split second, hence I wanted to fling the rock down in a fit of rage, but I realized instantly that I possessed no idea who was down there and how close someone may had been, so I merely dropped it down like an exotic rock collector who simply concluded that this particular stone would not be of aesthetic value.
It kept dawning on me that this was a dangerous trek, if this was the US, surely we would have had a meeting beforehand. The gathering would consist of paperwork stating that the organizing party was not responsible if anything out of the ordinary was to happen. But, in Indonesia there were no rules, everyone is responsible for themselves and are basically expendable. The meeting would have also consisted of a pre briefing, stating that this particular trek is not for everyone, and that you should bring plenty of water, and definitely a first aid kit. Nobody brought a first aid kit, including myself, and the water situation was rather sparse.
We then arrived at the summit, 2,911 meters high. We witnessed the sun peek from the sky. The sight was spectacular, the wind made the air frigid. After looking around me to all corners of the splendid Javanese landscape, I’d wished I wasn’t so exhausted, so that I could appreciate this feat, and what I was witnessing before my eyes. But all I could think about was passing out on the bed in my sticky and warm (lacking of air) guesthouse, and how passing out in that bed would be so soothing.
We passed an hour of time at the summit. This consisted of the two ultra fair, almost albino like Swedes, myself, and the very genuine, flawlessly built, back country Javanese guide. Who could blame him for moving at this arduous pace up the volcano? He just wanted to have enough time to take us to the crater and still meet the others at the top? After all, any extra money he could earn would make his early Sunday morning journey more worthwhile. By our standards, the man was poor, more poverty stricken than any of us westerners could begin to fathom.
The second group then arrived, the Irish and English lads, and their guide. They spent about five minutes shooting pictures when one of the Swedes and myself didn’t ask the guides if we could start going down, we commanded them that it was now time for all of us to start for the bottom. We were cold, and exhausted, knowing that as soon as we got some blood pumping, the pain would go away. It did.
We then met the Dutch group, and kept moving down. The sun was now up. It provided vision, something we didn’t have the night before. While looking up at some of the cliffs we had climbed, the consensus was that there would have been no way this 'freak of nature' would have been climbed had there been daylight. At night we couldn’t see the natural treachery, and we thought, surely our guide would have told us to be careful. Stupid idiots, he doesn’t even speak English. And the organizers, why would they warn of us of danger if that would stir up the possibility of not receiving the meager amount of money that the trek cost?
After a week in Yogyakarta, it was off to Mount Bromo, yet another spectacular volcano, very different from the two prior. Bromo depicted a plain, which constituted natural wonder, unexplainable by words. The very friendly natives on horses reminded me of nomads that I'd read about as a child. Many of them offered me horses to ride. It was difficult to explain to them that I preffered to trek.
Bali
Next it was off to the tropical island paradise of Bali. Arrival at sunset produced a vision of unprecedented paradise. I witnessed the lush tropical splendor from the bus which passed on a road adjacent to the Indian Ocean's sunset. This new scenery produced vibrations throughout my body. Kuta Beach would be my first venue. The surfers paradise was infested with tourists, hence touts of all sorts were prominent. It featured products and services of all kinds, from boys selling watches, to hashish peddlers, to pimps selling the exotic brown bodies of Balinese women.
Although Bali is a part of Indonesia, it's people, culture, landscape, religion, language, cuisine, and island life is extraordinarily different from the rest of Indonesia. The women there were much more beautiful than in Sumatra or Java. The Hindu religion is actually a mixture of Hinduism, Buddhism, and Animism. Animism is the belief that natural effects are due to spirits and that inanimate objects have spirits.
I was able to hike and bike in beautiful and hilly rice fields, boogie board in bath like temperatures of the Indian Ocean, where the world class waves were bigger than I'd ever seen. I'd also visit art galleries and museums galore. Every Balinese person is an artist. It's part of life, for spiritual and personal reasons.
I then flew to the Indonesian island of Batam, just a short boat ride from the island city nation of Singapore.
Singapore
While most advanced countries of the northern hemisphere lie far north, Singapore sits just 100 kilometers north of the equator. Packed with shopping malls, this island/city/country of heterogeneous polyglots, appeared even more efficient than Scandinavia.
In Singapore, cleanliness is a virtue, littering constitutes a S$100 (US$65) fine, marijuana possession is punishable by death, and chewing gum is prohibited.
Singapore is home to the MRT (Mass Rapid Transit), the most sophisticated subway system I’d ever seen. And I had ridden metros in Caracas, Paris, Montreal and London. In every station, the immaculate floor was mopped hourly.
Upon arrival, I was alone in the den of my backpackers hostel. I then witnessed a stranger, (a westerner).
"Have you done anything interesting here in Singapore?"
"Here you can have everything that all of SE Asia offers on one island."
Having just spent 2 and one half months backpacking in SE Asia’s underdeveloped world, I couldn’t agree. I thought Singapore to be an artificial and sterile fabrication of life. I merely exclaimed,
"Oh."
To argue over varying perceptions wouldn't be feasible.
I visited the Art Museum, the National Museum and Library, the Science Discovery Center, Chinatown, and Little India. I also visited the Raffles Hotel and Museum. Here is the bar which invented the world famous cocktail, the Singapore Sling. The drink was advertised heavily and sold for S$17 (US$11). It was only a regular sized drink, I deemed it ludicrous. But alcohol was expensive in Singapore. I took in Orchard Road. (kilometers of shopping malls) - Due to it’s contemporary glare and glitter, I found the whole concept ugly. However, in pleasant contrast to Orchard Road were the Chinese and Japanese gardens of Singapore, this man made natural splendor provided beautiful ambiance.
I also visited the Night Safari, which allows for the visitor to witness nocturnal animals in a manmade jungle, at night. Here I witnessed various species of Porcupines, Giraffes, Tigers, and many other rare and exotic animals.
If I was going to be a tourist, opposed to a backpacker, Singapore was the place to be. Everything was set up perfectly, and in English. The food in Singapore was now one my favorite cuisines. The selection is vast, one can choose from Indian, Chinese, or Muslim. It was cheap, and tasty. After a few days in Singapore, just taking in the city, not witnessing any excitement, I decided it was time to move north to Malaysia.
Journey to Bangkok
I passed through KL (Kuala Lumpur). I liked the food, but what really impressed me about KL is that in the middle of the city, there is a jungle, here I saw monkeys playing in the trees, from the side of a city street. They weren’t caged, they were wild, like the squirrels of Boston.
The highlight of my experience in Malaysia was the Perentian Islands, off of the northeast coast of the countries peninsula. Here there were no roads, only white sand beach and wild untamed jungle. I was fortunate enough to swim with a giant sea turtle, and majestic white tip sharks. I instinctively respected the sharks as kings of the ocean.
Each day before dusk, as the hot sun descended over the South China Sea. White sand volleyball games would crop, this was a treat for the volleyball connoisseur. Diving for the ball made for a comfortable sprawl in the soft sand. The Perentian islands produced a splendid culmination of my travels.
I would then venture north for the Thai border. From there, 22 hours on a train brought me to Bangkok, from where I would make my long journey to Boston, the place that provided my life’s base.
87 days had passed in South East Asia, it was time to venture back for the end of Boston's grueling winter. Re-acclimation would be my immediate goal.
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