Out of our five senses, smell is considered to be the strongest trigger of our memory. As I stepped through the airport doors in Denpensar, I felt as if I had been transported back in time. The year is 2012 and I am entering Asia for the first time--leaving behind the sterile comforts, rationality, and familiarity of my home, and trading them in for a vibrant, enchanting, chaotic adventure.
The smell of incense, jasmine, and ozone hit my nose and I was swallowed whole by the frenzied pace and sheer strangeness of Asia. My isolated, first-world mind exploded and was never the same. I was romanced by exotic beauty, charmed by a land an ocean apart from my own--I couldn't have felt the distance more.
On that day in April, three years ago, my eyes were opened to other cultures. The bubble in which I lived was popped and I was suddenly exposed, vulnerable and ignorant--a naked new born traveller. Since that moment I have learned so much, yet still know so little about this world and its people. My journey is an on-going education.
Three rotations around the sun and numerous passport stamps later, I have returned to the land of jasmine. Maybe it's the deep inhalation upon my arrival, the full circle course of my life, or the fact that I am traveling with my brother and David--two on my favorite people--but I feel a deep sense of contentment. I am exactly where I want to be.
We began our adventure in Kuta--the antithesis of Bali's serene, peaceful persona. The entrepreneurial spirit is strong in this large, sprawling city.
"My friend, buy this!" and, "transport, yes!" are commonly heard phrases during a walk down the vendor-filled streets. On the beach we were surrounded by salesmen and woman offering everything from ice cream, massages, and sarongs, to model ships and cross bows. In demonstration, one man threw off his flip flop and shot an arrow through it. He misunderstood our shock and delight as interest in his product.
Our stay in Kuta was short. Just long enough to sleep off the effects of the jet lag and to introduce Ryan to the world of cheap Asian beer and noodles. Bintang (beer) and mie goreng (fried noodles) are now the staples of Dave and Ryan's diet--each one trying their very best to make it until noon before indulging. Their efforts are admirable.
I am getting my kicks from the fresh coconut and fruit juices, along with gado gado--steamed vegetables in a delicious peanut sauce. You just can't beat a tasty meal that costs 25,000 IRD, or $2 USD. Winning!
From Kuta we took a car to east Bali where we caught the fast boat to Gili Air, a tranquil little island off the west coast of Lombok. For five days we ate fresh caught fish and drank cheap cocktails and Bintang while trying our hardest not to get burnt by the relentless equatorial sun. We bought used masks and snorkels and rode the south flowing current over flowering reefs chocked full of life--sea turtles, moray eels, and hundreds of species of fish. Visitors from another world, we swam among families of exotic fish, and watched them dive into colorful coral--taking refuge from the giant alien shadows that loomed over them.
The best part of our stay on Gili Air was the relationships we formed with the locals. Amung, Easy, and Didi, three good ole Muslim boys, entertained us relentlessly with their jokes and boyish antics. Didi plucked out pop songs on his old, rusty guitar while Amung and friends sat in a circle around Dave and Ryan, enthralled by every word they spoke. They enviously
commented on Dave's muscles, Ryan's mustache, and, to our shock and sadness, the color of our skin.
commented on Dave's muscles, Ryan's mustache, and, to our shock and sadness, the color of our skin.
"If only we were tall and white like you."
They saw our skin as a free-pass, a ticket to a world of ease, and, in their young male minds, lots of babes. Amung and Didi couldn't find girlfriends. They were told they are "too dark." No matter how much we disagreed, showing them our burnt, painful skin and complimenting the beauty of their complexions, they remained adamant.
Sadly on our small planet, surrounded by an unfathomably vast expanding universe, there is still an overwhelming stigma associated with such an insignificant thing as skin color. We witnessed it personally on Gili Air. Foreigners ignored the greetings of the locals as they passed by them on the road, or exhibited blatantly rude behavior and acts of superiority.
It shocks me to the core how we as humans have done great things--advancements in modern medicine, landing a probe on a meteor traveling thousands of miles per hour, and splitting atoms--yet we are archaic and backward in our judgement and treatment of our fellow man.
We said goodbye to our new friends and our cozy little bungalow on the beach and caught a twenty minute ferry to Lombok. From there we joined an island-hopping cruise to Flores with thirteen other travelers--ten Europeans, one Canadian, and two crazy Mexicans. Our boat, a small contraption of wood, tarps, and an engine, chugged along for four days, stopping at some thrilling snorkel spots.
One particular location was called Manta Alley and was a migratory hotspot for these massive creatures. We absorbed minor shocks and jolts from tiny jellyfish as we watched one graceful winged giant after another soar beneath our suspended bodies. We dived deep, hovering over them as they glided past us effortlessly. We were dwarfed by their presence. One, I swear, had a wingspan of fifteen feet! I believe the rest of the trio would agree that the Giant Manta Rays were the highlight of our trip thus far.
Two of our stops were on Komodo and Rinca Island, where we hiked among dragons with our stick-yielding guides--our only protection. What incredibly fearsome creatures the Komodo Dragons are. They may look slow and lazy while basking in the early morning sun, but they are only waiting for their chance to single out their prey--exploding with surprising speed, dealing a fateful bacterial bite.
Living on a boat in the middle of the Indian Ocean was a memorable experience. We witnessed four incredible sunsets bursting with color, and three new days born in the same sky that hours earlier held the light of a thousand stars. We observed huge flying foxes commuting in transitioning skies--back and forth between food and sleep; large jellyfish with tendrils of blue and pink undulating in clear deep waters--aliens suspended in space. We swam with reef sharks who patrolled their underwater kingdom; and, from the vantage point of our boat, we spotted a large pod of migrating orcas breaching the surface for breaths offresh air.
The ocean is an amazing, but sometimes treacherous, place. Potential hazards linger in numerous shapes and colors. They hide and wait or dance ominously in warning. Dave had a run in with one of these dangerous creatures while swimming. In shallow waters he placed his hand in the wrong spot in the sand and was struck by a small unseen critter who packed a powerful bite.
Dave has a strong pain tolerance so I knew it was serious when I saw him wrinkle his face involuntarily in bouts of misery. Immediately his finger swelled, the puncture point turned blue, and his entire hand quaked.
Back on the boat we informed our guide of the mystery bite, looking for insight and reassurance that the wound wasn't serious. He gave Dave some onion. I've heard of the phrase rub a little dirt on it, but an onion?
Miles from no where, I bundled some ice in a damp t-shirt, cracked open some Benadryl and consulted my watch. Thirty minutes after the infliction... still alive.
The swelling inevitably went down, the pain subsided and we deduced that Dave was going to pull through. The next day all that remained was a little stiffness. Another twenty-four hours later and it was as good as new. Dave's experience was a reminder that the ocean, despite its tranquil beauty, can strike as quick and as unexpectedly as a Komodo dragon. In a place so remote, a treatable accident can be life threatening.
We arrived in Labaun Bajo, Flores on the fourth day. To our disappointment, this port town was nothing more than a hungry money-eating tourist trap. Unable to rent transportation and faced with the island's high prices, we decided to call an audible and fly back to Bali. The cheapest available flight was in two days.
Again and again we tried to rent transportation in order to venture out of that moral-stealing hole-in-the-wall town, but everything was booked. Feeling discouraged and ready to Bintang our troubles away, we reunited with some of our fellow boat passengers who were planning an excursion. We chipped in and chartered a small sputtering vessel that took us to our own private spot off the coast of Flores. That afternoon, on an island no bigger than a few acres, we BBQd fresh red snapper over a small driftwood fire, drank cheap Asian beer, played beach soccer, and snorkeled the surrounding reef. Not a bad day.
We are currently in the air headed to Bali where we will surf for a few days until meeting up with our friend, Josh, on the 27th, Dave's birthday. From there we will regroup and form a plan for the next stage of our trip. Maybe Lombok, maybe Java, perhaps Sulewasi.
The future is open and bright and beautiful.
