The Grand Western Adventure

  Look up and imagine. A star-strewn sky, the tiny bright lights blinking in amusement. Leaf covered branches of deciduous trees, their ominous overhang softened by the light of the bonfire below. Gaze down. Sizzling sausages on wooden sticks, Polish style, with a side of fire grilled potatoes topped with sheep cheese. Listen. Cicadas sing their universal hymn, with a chorus of frogs in the background. Peaceful. Quiet. But definitely not Asia. Instead, it's Wisconsin and a preclude to the upcoming weeks.

  A month into homecoming, and I already feel restless. I guess wanderlust is never truly extinguished. It was a good month. Time spent with family and friends, visiting the old haunts and reminiscing on the past nine months, here and in Asia. A time of unpacking of the house, running errands and generally getting back to reality. Except reality differs now. We feel different, thankfully not yet immersed in the grind of a routine life. We still have the positive energy left over from an active travel lifestyle. So we make more plans...

  ...And decide to try a life somewhere outside the fabulous but busy Chicago. In preparation, we road-trip out West to see how reality flows elsewhere. Maybe a bit closer to nature. Tent, cooler and all. And so the trip continues on a budget.

  First stop: Denver. Stay tuned.

Ready? No. Set? No. Take-off!

Almost nine months later, and here we are.  At the dreaded return to routine.  Or the much anticipated return home.  We feel sad, somewhat nostalgic.  At the same time, it's exciting to see loved ones, and we're ready to experience the comforts of home.  At home.  The emotions varied from moment to moment.

We arrived at the KL airport early, and spent the last hours discussing the necessities of a return to the regularly scheduled programming that is life.  P’s flight to Poland left hours before mine, and I kept myself busy by browsing the expensive shops.  A girl can dream, although that dream was quickly smashed by the stink-eye of a perfumed sales lady, who refused to recognize my 9 months old backpacker gear of ratty shirt and Ali Baba pants as trendsetting.  Oh, well.  What does she know.  A final turn in the ubiquitous squat toilet, for old times’ sake, and it was time for a grand departure from Asia. 

We didn't leave unchanged.  Along with the mandatory souvenirs, we took back so much more.  So, a few of my thoughts after this surreal experience:

-          We learned to yield chopsticks like pros.

-          The local approach: fight heat with heat, both of the temperature and spiciness variety.  I’m still not convinced that it works, although it does quench thirst.

-          We learned to accept things as they are, not as we thought they ought to be.  It’s an elusive concept, and I hope we can still practice it back home, as its application is truly universal.

-          No English?  No problem.  You’d be surprised how effective sign language becomes.  Conversely, locals become very attuned to your body language, so check what you may be inadvertently communicating.

-          Curiosity is a major common trait of every traveler.

-          I prefer nature-made landscapes to man-made ones.

-          You may not know their name, but you've learned their life story.  Simple, with so little time at the crossroads of these common travel paths, people tend to open up more.  And more quickly.

-          Man, jungle insects make some weird noises.  I spent many a night awake, imagining what the creepy crawlies are doing.  And, more importantly, where they’re doing it.  Well, not IT.

-          Sometimes, food is best enjoyed while eaten with hands. For some unfathomable reason, it just tastes better.

-          Check and recheck everything.  And I mean everything.  The smallest detail can stunt your plans.

-          Freshly laundered clothes are a luxury under-appreciated back home.

-          My new favorite perfume: mosquito repellent.  No, not really.

-          I nominate the gecko for the least fussy pet award.  Feeds itself while taking care of those pesky insects.  Makes debatably cooing sounds, perfect for sleep.  No need for artificial white noise.

-          Smaller meals and an intense exercise regimen (up and down hotel stairs with a 10 kg bag, a few times a day) make for a healthy lifestyle.  Except maybe for the tons of dust you tend to swallow on local rides.

-          The proverbial “they” say that “getting there is half the fun”.  Yup, the “getting there” part makes for some really funny stories.

-          Get a thick skin.  As necessary as the fore-mentioned mosquito repellent, but for different reasons.

-          Skype rulez.  The end.

Most importantly, don’t lose sight that you are there to enjoy yourself.  Look.  See.  Quest with all your senses.  Trip of a lifetime and all that. 

See you on the road!

Bali

  So the original plan for Bali (that of the Eat, Pray, Love trifecta, which incidentally made Bali the touristy place it is today), was a continuation of our motorcycle diaries. But like all well-designed schemes, it quickly underwent a major change. Namely the motorcycle part. A quick assessment of the seemingly insurmountable traffic congestion, obscure road signage and the weeping scrapes on the limbs of many a tourist convinced us to scrap it. With a week left, why tempt Lady Luck?

Ubud

  From Lombok, we took the slow ferry into the harbor at Padang Bai. A tout quickly shepherded us into the designated shuttle,which dropped us off in Ubud, a place we've heard about all the way back in Bangkok. And...we've never seen so many tourists and, what that entails, so many persistent touts. I can see the attraction. Colorful Ubud, with its intricate Balinese architecture and maze-like courtyards, galleries for art purveyors of every kind and the Indonesian take on Hinduism, suffused with the incense smoke of the morning food offerings, is pleasing to the eye. Advanced infrastructure, catered to the tourist demand, makes for a comfortable stay. Ubud offers something both for the body and the mind – spas, markets, temples, cooking and yoga courses, cultural performances and language lessons all compete for attention. But take a little time outside of the city central itself, and you can still recognize the origins of the pull of this place that started the tourist hype in the first place. Rice paddies, green and fringed by palm trees and tiled by muck-spattered villagers in the traditional ways, hint of the olden days. And they get even better way outside of town. Once you manage to leave the made-to-order and mass-produced souvenir shops, that is.

Monkey sanctuary

Cute, but beware, they sometimes bite

Suckling pig

Typical courtyard.  Right from our front door.

Morning offerings

Luwak coffee.  Yes, we tried a cup.

Padang Bai

  Beaches in Bali differ in size, access and the color of sand, but they do have one thing in common: huge waves. While that may make for surfers' paradise, many beaches are not recommended for swimming, with red flags warning of strong currents. We had our goal: find the perfect beach. Researched showed us that our best bet was to go back to Padang Bai on the east coast of Bali. Considering that most tourists simply pass through the harbor and a few steps from the main strip promised a more simple life, we retraced our steps. Indeed, we found what we were looking for. Every morning, roosters competed for the honor of the loudest wake-up call (which annoyed the hell out of P). Chickens scattered on the road, while, in places, pigs, squealed in the background. Kids played loudly and joyfully in the courtyards, the noise only occasionally obscured by the calls to prayer. A village life, pungent smells included. But the nights were blissfully quiet.

  A short hike up some convoluted coast paths accessed a hidden beach, with white sand and clear, aquamarine water of the Indian Ocean. Earlier in the day, swimming is possible, although by afternoon, furious waves pound the shore, as if driven by Poseidon himself. Just a few steps south, as we found out by mistake, is a long beach with luminescent black sand. Not swimmable though. And a 20 km motorcycle ride to the village of Bug Bug offers up another sandy attraction. We had to try them all.

Kuta Beach

  Our time almost at a close, we moved closer to the airport by the famous(or infamous, depending on the interpretation) Kuta Beach, a monopoly on the touristic trail in Bali. Closest approximation of the vibe: Miami spring break. Its prominence on the party scene started as a surfers' haven, a given with the ridiculous waves that upstage the wide swath of white sand. And that's still the case, although its reputation as a playground for the young travelers has somewhat obscured that fact. Parties rage on until early hours of the morning, many places plying patrons with free booze, if not of the highest quality. Despite the revelry, the atmosphere is not as sleazy as in other places. No advertising of Thai ping pong shows, for instance, although you could easily score some rejuvenating Cialis, if you have the need. Maybe not the greatest place for our final days in SE Asia, but it will do.

  And for our concluding act, an overnight stopover in Kuala Lumpur, with a manic search for spices and Tandoori chicken. Pawel's off to Poland for some sailing and home-cooking, while I slowly make my way back to Chicago. Mom cannot wait ;)

From Sumatra to Lombok, a world of difference

  With its tranquil atmosphere, Danau Toba, or Lake Toba, was once known as backpacker central. Little remains of those times, although the place still welcomes plenty of local tourists, mainly in the form of religious or integrating retreats. Located in the crater of a volcano (which has been extinct probably since the times when dinosaurs roamed Earth, but boy, when it blew, it took out half of the world's population – ok, I know, there's a contradiction in there), that's not a surprise, as the vibe and scenery of the enormous lake are simply spiritual, especially when cloudy mists start to obscure the horizon. Ok, the fact that magic mushrooms are readily available may somewhat add to the mystique. In the middle is Samosir Island, Singapore-sized, covered by a lush jungle and inhabited by the friendly Batak people. Yup, those of the formerly cannibalistic headhunting culture. No worries, cannibalism and head loping were largely part of their ritualistic practices or forms of punishment, not just for fun.

  We rented a traditional boat-shaped Batak house, with a low entrance (forces visitors to bow respectfully – P could finally properly honor his queen) and a high ceiling under an ornately decorated roof. Cozy. But it was the veranda that occupied most of our time, where we'd spend lazy days reading. We'd take dips in the clear water, somewhat quickly scrambling out in thermal shock, as the temperature of the deep lake was a vast departure from our recently tropical climates. Come dinnertime, our sole purpose was to find the freshest catch of the day. Simple life. But nightly, that simple life was interrupted by the screeching sensation that was retreat karaoke. Members were probably just trying to blow off some steam after days full of mental exercises. Nevertheless, we decided to flee.

  And flee we did over the next 24 hours. The combo of ferry-local bus with gauged paneling-becak aka tuk-tuk with side car got us to Medan, where we spent the night on the wooden benches of the airport. Disturbed only by mosquitoes, we caught a flight early next morning to Jakarta, the capital, and then another to the island of Lombok. We grabbed oh yet another car to the harbor in order to cross into the Gili Islands, where all the real fun started. Using every excuse under the sun, shady boat operators tried to convince us that there are no afternoon public ferries onto Gili Air. Their solution: charter a private boat. Cost difference: $1 vs. $25. Not piggy bank breaking, but this is Indonesia. Cheap Indonesia. And like many people, we disliked the fact the someone was so deliberately trying to rip us off. We parked our butts on our bags, and decided to wait and see what would happen. In pouring rain. We almost got a ride on a private boat of some white island resident, when a member of the koperasi stepped in and threatened the captain with withdrawing of harbor privileges if he took us. God forbid we'd try to cheat them out of the passage money. So we waited some more, until enough people gathered and, surprise, a public ferry was launched. Tired and soaked, we got to Gili Air.  Despite the slight glimmer of “in-your-face” satisfaction, the experience was so achingly disappointing that, for the first time this trip, one thought took precedence – it's time to go home.

  Despite glowing reviews, Gili Air is a bit overrated. Yes, the water is crystal blue. Yes, there's a beautiful volcanic backdrop from Lombok on the East coast of the island. Yes, you can find both chilled-out and groovy, depending on your mood. But there are no true beaches, as washed out coral litters the scant patches of, yes, white sand. Not much room for barefoot strolls or even a sunbathing towel, until low tide in the evenings. Yet more coral populates the shallow waters, which, while great for snorkeling, prevents pleasurable swimming. And aren't those the main activities of sun-seeking vacationers? We did a dive, and, despite promises of sharks and turtles, that particular location lacked the variety and quantity of sea life we found in other places. But we did see turtles!

Our outside bathroom

Genius

No motorized traffic on the island

  With a bit under two weeks to go, we drift west to the most famous of Indonesian islands, Bali.

People of the Forest - Bukit Lawang

  “Brother. Sister. Welcome. How may I help you?” - we heard a second after we stepping off the local minibus in Bukit Lawang. Wary of the usual tout spiel, we tried to ignore him. Hours without sleep, we made a nice slow circle through the village, just... to end up back where we started. Groggily, we agreed to follow our self-appointed guide in search of a room. And, it seems, Oman remained our guide for the rest of the stay. 

  Since jungle trekking in search of wild orangutans is Bukit Lawang's main draw, the sale tactics start right off the bus. I read that guides approach on some kind of a rotational basis, ensuring sharing of the profits. Fair enough, especially since a flash flood destroyed the village in 2003.

  We signed up for a one day trek with Oman, eager to see the spectacular primates after encountering a few up close the day before at the rehabilitation center's feeding platform. In the wild, orangutans are now only found in the rain forests of Borneo and Sumatra. They are solitary animals, although mothers rear their young for up to seven years. They live mostly in the trees, constructing elaborate sleeping nests every night and thus negating the need for grounding. Besides, you don't want to face an orangutan on the ground, as that's when they usually respond to perceived danger.  They deftly navigate the branches, from the tiniest twines to the thickest trunks, pirouetting like some skilled circus acrobats or slow-mo ballerinas. I guess their long, red-brown fur could surely serve as tutus. Intelligent, their expressive faces mimic human emotion.

  So in we went into the jungle in search of these prodigious great apes. The weather established a pattern, soaking the jungle in torrential rain every evening, which in places made trekking hard work. I'd seek purchase on the wet jungle floor, only to find squishy mud or slippery, treacherous roots of gnarled trees.   Rewarded for persevering, we encountered ten orangutans during the course of the day, with ample time to observe their behavior as well as the great apes themselves, particularly the mothers with their uncoordinated young clinging to their sides. We couldn't avert out eyes.

  Even though the orangs were the primary focus of the trek, we reveled in the feel of the resourceful jungle, where trees produced rubber (locally known as condom trees, haha) and mutant – sized ants provided a natural cure for the common cold. We were sick, but no, we did not indulge. We saw Thomas or funky monkeys with their spiky hairdos. We aped (haha) singsong peacocks in their jungle catcalls. We listened to toucans and their manic “tuk tuk tuk tuk tuktuktuk ha ha ha haaaa haaaa” hoots. Sounding deliciously evil, they made me laugh every time.

P, king of the jungle Oman and Chris

Squeeze on its rump, and what comes out cures common colds

  Instead of trekking back, we opted for a jungle “taxi” aka few-tubes-strewn-together-by-rope down the rapid-filled river. Even after getting a faceful of the churning water, I thought it great fun. We ended the trek tired, muddy and wet. But our expectations were met. And there were only a few leeches.

  After an evening of “tost-ing” (Indonesian tost! = English cheers!) with our trekking buddies Kat and Chris, we faced, yet again, a day full of dusty Indonesian buses. After missing the last ferry, we were forced to spend a night in the crappiest room ever in nearby Parapat and crossed Lake Toba the next morning to the island of Tuk Tuk for some much-chilled out (literally and figuratively) respite.

Palm oil plantation