Empty boxes

I passed a man this morning on the sidewalk. It was a windy and rainy yet unseasonably warm morning, but the first week of January malaise meant that the sidewalk and the rest of the street were empty for as far as the eye could see. Living in a city center of one of the most densely populated countries on Earth, this happens so infrequently that I caught myself watching the only other soul in sight making his way slowly towards me. When I quickly realized his back was hunched and his head was down, I was instinctively emboldened to opening stare at him. He was incredibly well dressed in a black three piece suit and dark dress shoes. The black skin on his face was drawn. The hand that glasped shut the front of his jacket looked so fragile. Other than the curve from his hunched back, the suit hung off his emaciated body as it would hanging in a closet. Looking closer, I realized the oversized suit coat was probably the man's only winter jacket and wondered how many more lifetimes and years it had seen than me.

He shuffled along the sidewalk holding a clear plastic container that at one time probably held a corsage. He held it so tenderly in his right hand, away from his body as so to not upset it's contents with his body movement and seemed so fully focused on it, that I doubted at first that it was empty. What special event was this man going to or coming from or, rather, did he think he was going to or coming from? Why was he treating this seemingly discarded yet pristine clear plastic packaging like a treasured possession?

I tried to imagine what treasure he was planning to put on display in it. I have seen my fair share of objects that seemed so worthless to me proudly displayed by another for it's supposed symbol of wealth or for it's sentimental value. We are all guilty of this at one time or another. Think of the first time a Starbucks opened up in your neighborhood. Do you remember how everyone proudly showed off their paper or plastic cups with the signature green logo? In a conservative Muslim area of Indonesia, I watched a middle aged man carry around the same bottle of Heineken all night swaying dramatically and laughing loudly as if drunk. Being able to afford the $2 Heineken was a major sign wealth and perhaps seeming to buck the conservative Muslim rules by appearing drunk in public was also a sign of his status. But I think even that Indonesian man wouldn't find much value in a plain plastic box.

Perhaps my fellow pedestrian is senile. Perhaps, in his mind, he was sixteen again going to pick up the beautiful girl that would years later be his wife and would, in reality, have passed away a few years ago. I was so intrigued, I nearly stopped to ask him. I am sure my inquiry would have been returned with the same pitying wide eyed quizzical look that I had on my own face. It got me thinking, though. What empty plastic box do each of us carry around? What illusions do we hold most dear? What belief or value or even possession do we hold so tightly that, if we voiced it aloud or showed it to a stranger, would they doubt our grasp on sanity? And, most signficantly, which of those things are propelling us forward and which are holding us back? How are we getting in our own way?

I have spent the past few months job hunting and, thankfully, I have found a job I am really excited about. I just finished my first week there and feel like I am right where I am supposed to be. It is a great company and I feel right at home with my colleagues. I remember, in my many interviews, I was often asked to describe a weakness that I need to work on. I am sure it is a question we have all faced. I honestly admitted that much of the feedback I had received from previous managers is that I lacked the confidence and abililty to convince people and 'win' them with my point of view.

I have known this about myself for years and had figured at some level it was just something I was going to have to accept about myself. I had also secretly believed that it was a trait everyone possessed and most of their personalities revolved around managing their waning self-confidence. Strangely, though, several of the people I interviewed with challenged my answer. Two went so far as to insist I was just making up a fault I did not actually possess which is sometimes what candidates are coached to do. At first I was indignant in my insistence that I was being honest...not exactly what one should do in an interview. Imagine saying, "No, really, I have alot of work to do in building my convincing skills!"

But the more I tried to explain myself and, later, the more I thought back on this past year of travelling, I realized, something has shifted in me. Maybe it is time to set that belief aside and see what happens. So, I guess, when inevitably someone asks me why I took a year off to travel, I can add to my list of reasons, "It helped me to get out of my own way."

I wanna, I need ta, IKEA

Saturday, November 20

I am currently stuck quite deeply in the middle of the interviewing phase of job hunting. My interview yesterday made #15, I think. There is only so much a person should be allowed to talk about themselves. And, yet, I was literally up all last night contemplating after I was asked in my interview yesterday, "Where do you see yourself in the immediate and and long term future." I guess there is no bottom to my need for self-reflection. My poor husband. Thank goodness we have a spare bedroom where I can stew in my own juices alone.

For some reason now, in the midst of interviewing, seems the crucial time to get some home improvement done. It could be because I see the light at the end of the tunnel and that I may be working very soon and, thus, will not have as much time for such things. Or it could be that I am optimistic about getting a job (cha ching) and feel confident enough to spend some money. Well, I feel confident enough to buy some shelves at IKEA. That is not exactly furniture I guess, but I did buy four sets of shelves.

Sometimes it amazes me how little my husband and I do on weekends. We both felt a major sense of accomplishment after arriving back home from IKEA at 11 am with our four flat packed bundles....so much so that we abruptly posited the flat pack bundles in the rooms where they will eventually be installed and haven't touched them since.

Did you know that IKEA has one euro breakfast deals? Did you know that they open their doors at 9am, but that the store itself is not accessible until 10am? Genius! We, of course, did not realize this until we arrived at IKEA at 9.20 am. We sat huddled around one of many child friendly nooks while strangers let their offspring run wild as they enjoyed cheap bakery rolls and slurped not half bad 75 cent cappuccinos.

Monday, 22 November

So, in record time, we have made progress on our IKEA purchases. On Sunday, I put together the new night stand/shelving for our bedroom and we got it properly installed and decorated. It still amazes me that, after a university degree, two accounting certifications and years of work, I get such a great feeling of accomplishment from using screws and what is essentially particle board that has been painted white to build a shelf. I am so proud, I feel like posting a picture of it. I can't say I have ever felt the same urge to take a picture of a report I've worked on for weeks.

Weather

(image from http://shooonline.blogspot.com)

My God it's been cold this week! Winter just came up and smacked us on the face it seems. I can just see my dad slap his hands together and start rubbing them together furiously while letting out a stream of expletives. This week, I was that sixty something year old man swearing like a truck driver. Someone up there was just f(#$ing with us this week. It hardly stopped raining.

When the sun came out for a brief flirt a few days ago, I figured I would get in some grocery shopping and walk to the big supermarket we have here about half a mile from the house. It was bitterly cold, but the sun was shining so I grabbed my gloves and hat and headed out the door. No sooner had I got to the end of the street and it starts hailing sideways. It was coming so hard that I had to hide behind a building waiting for it to pass. As if Mother Nature suddenly realized the sun was still out, it changed to rain. I waited a few minutes behind the building under the shelter of an overhang, said a few more expletives in my mind (Okay one aloud too, but no one heard me over the wind and rain) and headed for the grocery store.

This is how much I have grown to dread our local tiny grocery store and its lackluster inventory. I walked the half mile gladly to our big supermarket in pouring rain because I knew they would have the fresh baked bread that I have gotten hooked on here - it is a raisin walnut bread. I was so soaked upon arrival that people I thought looked wet's eyes widen in shock upon looking at me and my dripping wet hat and coat. Ah well! It was the middle of the day on a Wednesday. We are all obviously not at high points in our lives if we are at a supermarket at this time of day.

Trying to get centered

I tried out a new kind of yoga this morning. It has taken me this long - I have been home just over two months - to try out another type of yoga other than Bikram. There is still just this nagging procrastination and hesitancy to try something new. If practicing yoga in Bali and also taking Bikram has given me anything, it is the confidence that I can walk into pretty much any type of yoga class and physically make it through the class with out passing out or (which is almost more humiliating) being that one person in the class that is moving completely different than everyone else.

Bikram feels like a mind-body cleanse to me. I was looking for a type of yoga with perhaps a little less sweating and a little more meditation. Trying to hold one outstretched leg back (so far it will hopefully eventually touch the back of your head) while simultaneously leaning forward all while perched on the other locked leg in 104 F degrees surrounded by underweight scarcely dressed people doing the pose much better than you imagined possible has a way of completely wiping the palette of the mind clean and snapping off the mindless monkey chat in one's mind. I have seen and experienced what it looks like when a thought flashes through someone's head while in such a pose. It is usually those people falling on the ground. "Oh, my God! Look at the cellulite on my thigh!" "Bam! Owwww!"

The Centered Yoga class I took was definitely less sweaty. In fact, I left my long sleeved tee shirt on for the duration of the class because I was kind of cold. A lot of focus is put on elongating the back, twisting, and stretching out the hips. I could definitely feel all that. I think, though, that the lack of intense heat in the room probably intensified my awareness. Overall, it was a very relaxing class. The poses stretched me enough to release much of the tightness I hold in my neck, shoulders, and hamstrings. The class was relatively less structured so I felt like I could really push myself in a pose and then relax into it. Bikram is so austere and regimented. We have an hour and a half to get through two iterations of 26 poses. In the Centered Yoga class, we did at the most twelve poses in an hour and ten minutes.

Oddly, I miss Bikram. It is addictive. Like a marathon is for a runner; like a cliff wall is to a rock climber - the intensity of having to be in each moment and the gratification of just finishing the class and maybe being able to do one more pose and go deeper into another feels great and can really be hard to come by so relatively easily for most people. I live in one of the flattest countries on the planet, for instance, and even if I enjoyed climbing or running, my joints and muscles just are not up for those challenges. For the price of the class and mat rental and a one mile bike ride, I can get a taste (the biggest bite I can handle, really) of the accomplishment super athletes must feel. From Bikram, I am so focused on my body that I literally go out of my mind. I get that stillness of mind so central to relaxation, personal growth, and spirituality that I have rarely felt before.

Oh, and there is the heat. Winter is setting in here quickly with what feels like constant rain showers and bone chilling dampness. I love that hour and a half of feeling like I am in the tropics. It is a chance for my feet, nose, and fingers to actually thaw.

A new yoga studio has opened up literally down the street from us. I can't wait to try it out this week. It offers classes in hatha and vinyasa yoga. I expect, though, that I will combining this new studio with trips to Bikram.

Stay Tuned

Stay tuned....I am working on a new website for my blog. I have been wanting something a bit more tailorable so I can add my own little flair to it. The name of the new website will be "Slightly Posh". What do you think?? Please let me know....I am always open to ideas.

Bonaire Bliss

My husband and I returned Tuesday from a two week vacation in Bonaire, an island that is part of the Dutch Antilles off the northern coast of Venezuela. The island holds special meaning for us because it is the first place I went diving after earning my certification and, three years ago, it was where my husband proposed to me...underwater.

I was really looking forward to enjoying the tropical weather and relaxing with my husband. I was also curious to dive in the location where I had my first experiences, but simultaneously slightly concerned that I would get bored of two weeks of diving in a location we'd already visited.

I equate my early diving to when I first started driving a car. I was so focused on the mechanics of diving and getting used to the sensations of being under the water, that I spent most of the dive watching my buddy, looking at my air and depth gauges, checking my buoyancy, and then repeating the above steps all again and again...and again. It is easy to imagine, then, that I remembered very little of what I saw under the water. With the help of pictures, I did manage to take away enough memories, though, to write a magazine article about our trip in a British magazine "Real Travel" and in the process of writing that article, conjured up certain scenes in pretty minute detail. My most fond memory being a school of purple wrasse fish raining down on me and engulfing me in their group.

Much to my surprise, the first few days felt like a prolonged spell of deja vu with all of it's familial, familiar, and eery pangs. By the end of the first week, the dives felt amazing...almost euphoric. Having finally gained enough experience and feeling so at home allowed my diving skills to become second nature to me and, as a result, I was so present in each dive. My spewing mind chatter had run its course by then and I was just left to enjoy the sound of my breathing and the colors and shapes all around me. I was so relaxed that I could just identify some object I'd like to get closer to and my breathing would easily adjust my buoyancy.

I have included some pictures from the trip. From left to right and top to bottom: a trumpetfish; a co-owner, Esther, and I; turbot.

Thank you!

Almost two years to the day, Theo and I found our wedding present. In lieu of a register, we asked for money to put towards a piece of art. We did not really need any of the household items that newlyweds traditionally ask for so we thought it would be nice to have a piece of art that we could look at and remind ourselves of our big day. Like all of our big (and even medium) ticket items, it can take quite awhile until we get to an agreement.

We found the piece of art at the Royal Delft porcelain factory on a visit with an out of town guest. Incidentally, we also found our new table setting which has been a decision about four years in the making. As my husband says, "You know you are getting old when Delftware starts to look cool." My response was that maybe, instead, it takes getting older for it to be in your price range.

So here it is. It looks like a vase that has been accidentally melted, but trust me, it is no mistake and it is beautiful. We saw a row of the unpainted vases sitting on a white-dusted shelf just after glazing while we were on the factory tour and it peeked both of our interests. But to see one finished after someone has hand painted it and done such an amazing job to give it the effect of looking melted...it is just...well, cool. It looks kind of like a tulip blowing in the wind. For me, it is quintessential Dutch with a modern twist. It looks great on our long, lacquered white entertainment center (a four month decision process) in our living room.

Thanks everyone!

R-e-j-e-c-t-i-o-n find out what it means to me

Wow! The past week has been quite the eye opener....like a good kick in the teeth. I think I have received more rejections for job applications in the past two weeks than I have ever received in my entire life. Granted, I have been making a point to apply only for jobs that interest me and those tend to be outside of my previous work history.

I keep telling myself that, after spending ten years on one career path, I cannot expect the same kind of success after just two weeks on a new career path. Nevertheless, I am a tightly wound ball of impatience and emotions. I want to switch out of finance compliance and audit in banking and it is really difficult to even get people to consider that most of the skills I have learned are transferable. It is not like I want to suddenly become a dolphin trainer or split atoms. I want a financial analysis, compliance, training, and/or process improvement role...preferably one that is all of the above.

Oh, yeah, and I want to work in The Hague. That last bit, the location, seems to be part of the issue. I am quickly coming to realize that working in The Hague requires fluency in Dutch. It may sound like a no-brainer, but in Amsterdam, where I worked previously, it is not always the case. Yes, I could just start looking in Amsterdam, but one of the things that I hated about my daily routine in the past was the commute. On a good day, I had a two hour round trip commute by train. On a bad day, it would take nearly four hours. By the time I got home, I had long since talked myself out of any evening activities like yoga or Dutch class.

And it is time to put my money where mouth is, so to speak, and finally learn Dutch. I am choosing to view this as the final push in the right direction. So, today, I go for an intake evaluation for an intensive intermediate language course....in New East India! Just kidding...well, sort of. That is name of the neighborhood in The Hague where the language school is. They offer a full immersion course in Spa, Belgium that is much more luxe, but it is also twelve times the price. The course will be every afternoon for three hours for two weeks and I will have five hours of homework each night. After that, I should be ready to take the first of two national fluency exams. After that, I plan to start twelve weeks of night courses to prepare to take the second fluency exam. So, the plan is to be fluent (at least by national guidelines) by the first half of 2011.

It feels good yet petrifying to have a new goal. If there is one thing I have learned about myself it is that I need a finish line for myself. I may go kicking and guilting myself every step of the way, but I need that sense of accomplishment that comes with completing all those incremental steps. What can I say? I am a born project manager.

Update after going to the language center..................

I'm in! Should I be so excited about getting into a course that I am paying to take? I think I am just relieved to finally have a place to get started with learning Dutch. It will also be nice to have a purpose and a structure to my days. I celebrated by doing something I have always meant to do. I went to one of the nicer department stores in The Hague (Bijenkorf), sat in their big picture window at their ground level cafe, and ate a ridiculously rich chocolate mousse dessert and washed it down with a cappuccino. Talk about a buzz to start the weekend off right!

Enjoy your weekend everybody!

Saturday snapshots

Here are some pictures from our Saturday in Delft and Den Haag. We really lucked out and had perfect fall weather. From top (l-r): Delftware factory - courtyard that used to double as a showroom for buyers of their building fixtures; example of tiles; inside the factory; (3rd row) View from inside Delft's Oude Kerk; lunch at the Belgian Beer cafe; fountain at Binnenhof in The Hague

Tourist at heart

I'd like to start this post with a big “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” to my dad. He turns 55 today (wink, nod)!

Today I finally got myself to the tailor. We have a great local tailor that I think fancies himself a bit of a ladies’ man, but he has the sweetest eyes and smile and patiently stumbles through Dutch with me (because he doesn’t speak a word of English). Three years ago I took in two pairs of Calvin Klein jeans that I had bought at an outlet mall on a visit to the U.S. I get SO much use out of them because they fit perfectly. I am wearing a pair right now, actually. This time I took in three pairs of jeans, two pairs of pants that my husband needed fixing (new belt loops and button), and a caramel colored leather jacket that I got for a song at JcPenney three years ago, but isn’t as fitted as I’d like it. I somehow managed to drop a few inches while travelling (probably from sweating my fanny off) and I am hoping a snugly fitting jacket and jeans will do the trick to encourage me to keep it off.

Tomorrow my husband and I are taking an American colleague of his sightseeing. I can’t tell you how much I like showing people around The Netherlands. We are taking her to Delft, the home of the famous Delftware pottery. They have a nice factory tour/museum complete with a huge gift shop of traditional Delftware (each piece hand painted and with prices that start at what most people spend on their monthly mortgage payments) and not so traditional Delftware (mass produced in China probably yet in a price range where you are comfortable using them). The town itself has a quaint town center complete with a great square full of shops and cafes with terraces great for eating lunch and people watching. The hundreds year old city hall is also in the square and is a popular place for weddings so it is highly likely we'll see a bride and groom (or several) on their big day.

It probably sounds a bit strange, but I really enjoy not only showing people around, but I also like the planning that goes into it. The prospect of visitors coming opens up a whole new perspective for me. I like to take long walks around The Hague to get some exercise and I can't help, but take more notice of the architecture or pay closer attention to what restaurants would be both fun for people watching and a good fit for whomever is coming for a visit. I also like to think about what streets would be most quintessentially Dutch to take a stroll along.

Delft's center is about as tradition as a Dutch city can get and yet it still has a modern charm about it that makes it one of the most sought after places to live and raise a family. I don't know the restaurants at all, but I do remember seeing a Belgian beer cafe on a prior visit and wanting to stop through. I know, it isn't typical Dutch food, but outside of taking someone to a pancake restaurant or sandwich cafe, there really aren't that many restaurants serving traditional Dutch food and there are many reasons for that. Namely that traditional food is pretty tasteless and that most Dutch people would much rather eat Indonesian or Chinese food. Belgian food (and beer), on the other hand, is wonderful! It still has some elements, french fries and beef, for instance, that are recognizable to Americans and the food is usually seasoned and prepared to perfection. They also have a wide variety of beers to choose from which I am guessing will be much more up our guest's (a Wisconsinite) alley.

Oh, and last, but not least...I like visitors because it gives me an excuse to serve Dutch chocolate and baked goods. I bought chocolate covered kruidnoten and am making a cinnamon apple cake. Don't gasp. It is from a mix. Contrary to the popular American saying, there are few things more Dutch than apple pie.

Back to basics

Well, hello there! It has been too long. I don't have any good excuses so please just accept my apologies. I have written several posts lately, but am not quite ready to put them out there. I guess I am still just processing it all.

My husband and I had dinner with two of our closest friends here in The Netherlands and one made the comment that, before she knew it, it was as if their three month long trip touring Italy had never happened. I find myself feeling the same way...and I have been home less than two weeks.

And then I will have these completely random flashbacks or space out and my mind will wander to a cooking class in Chiang Mai or the tailor's shop in Hoi An. Today it wandered to Phonm Penh, Cambodia. I was riding my bike home from Bikram yoga. (Yes, I have gone back...more on that later.) It is just the strangest feeling to have images of the busy Phonm Penh streets rolling through my mind as my eyes see a group of five preteen Muslim children playing and flirting on the sidewalk just down from my street or I move out of the way of our local mechanic backing a car out of his tiny repair garage. The smells briefly come back to my noise and the heat even momentarily flushes my body. It is like being awake during a dream. I love it. And I commit myself today to trying to hold on to that and cherish it as long as it continues to happen.

The pictures posted above are moments caught in Phonm Penh. The hundreds of ceramics clung perilously to wires and hooks at a stall in the local market. The slums were a ghastly reminder just around the corner from our school of just how far Cambodia still needs to go. And the fruit which I have already forgotten the name of was actually pretty delicious. I finally got the nerve up to try it in Indonesia when another guest explained what it all was to me and how it should taste. My favorite has to be lizard skin fruit. That is the fruit in the first picture. It all reminds me that there are more kinds of food and people and families and lifestyles out there than anyone can imagine...and some of them are pretty sweet.

Today I had my first interview. Sitting there with a finance headhunter, it was all a bit too much to take seriously. We walked through my career history, breezing over my 'holiday' abroad. I want to stop him and point out that I did most of that trip on my own. It is something I am very proud of and still quite can't believe.

If I have to answer what I got out of it all, I guess I could say that, today, sitting in that interview, it gave me a cool, quiet confidence like I have never had in an interview. I was always one of those people that wants to put my best face forward and treated the interview like a performance. I said what I knew they wanted to hear. There were a few times where I had to consciously not do that, but the nervousness was gone. I could, with a straight face and conviction not only talk about myself, but also say that it was really important to me to work for a socially responsible company.

And, for the first time in a job interview, I told someone that I want to work for a micro financing institution and, if that is not possible for a non or for profit company that takes social responsibility seriously and has stayed committed even when it isn't convenient. There were a few things I didn't say or didn't quite say correctly, but I know that's okay. I am pretty sure he felt the same way. Don't we all? So that, today, those are the things my trip has given me.

A San Francisco Treat

Hi Everyone! I didn't forget about my blog. The family and friends' visits have kept me pretty busy these past two weeks....that and getting in as much shopping as I can manage. I had to ship three boxes of stuff home! Some of it is thanks to the great new restrictions and additional fees for taking more than one piece of luggage on an international flight. Some of it is because I went a bit overboard.

Here is a shot of me hopping off a cable car in San Francisco. I think my mom and I were on our way to Ghiradelli square to get some of their great chocolate. It was freakishly cold there! I have on a fleece jacket under that corduroy blazer. It was perfect weather to try out clam chowder at nearly every restaurant we stopped through, though, so I didn't really mind.

It is just too surreal for me to comprehend that I am now sitting in the airport on my way back home. My trip of a lifetime to SE Asia is already almost over! Where did the seven months go?

Flying through the U.S. has been a culture shock all its own especially with visiting California, Wisconsin and Illinois. The three states couldn't be more different in terms of geography, economies, and people. It was a great way to transition back into the western world by seeing family and American friends. I can only imagine what culture shock lies ahead of me, though, as I return back to The Netherlands.

I haven't really had time to digest the past three weeks in the U.S. I'll have plenty of time on my flight to London Heathrow so I will try to post another blog from there during my layover.

I'm Coming to America

I can hardly believe it, but I have only three weeks remaining in my seven month round-the-world trip. I am both ready to get back to the creature comforts the U.S. has at every turn and also looking forward to seeing friends and family. Simultaneously, though, I am really looking forward to getting back to The Netherlands, to my husband, and the ease only found at home. I can't say I am enjoying the prospect of job hunting, but I am starting to get excited about getting back to a job and regaining a daily direction in my life. I wish I could tell you what that direction will be. I am trying the best I can to quell the panic this uncertainty is giving rise to and just enjoy my last weeks of vacation.

I have started to think about what I will take away from this trip, but I think it is only fair to wait awhile to draw any deep conclusions else they will be hasty and superficial. I need the emotional distance that is only possible for me with the passage of time so I can cull through my experiences - to turn them over and over and examine them from time to time.

I set out to do many things on this trip and have done most. I haven't written the articles for travel magazines, though, for instance, that I talked about doing nor started the website that was supposed to partially offset my expenses. Through this blog, though, I have been writing and, more importantly, I have started to share my writing which is a big step for me. (I hope all of you have enjoyed it too!) In doing so, it has catalyzed me to get into the habit of writing which is something I have always meant to do. So, in that way, the trip has been a success. Like so many, my hope is to one day write a book (or ten) and the thought was to use the trip for material. We'll see. It just seems so large a goal.

I fly out tomorrow morning from Vava'u, Tonga to begin what will surely be the longest day on record. I will take three flights, the longest nearly 13 hours, and still manage to arrive in San Francisco the same day as I departed Tonga. Time zones are funny that way. There my mom will pick me up from the airport and we will begin a week long whirlwind road trip to Muir Woods, wine country (Napa & Sonoma), and Big Sur amongst other places. Then we'll fly to IL together where I will spend two weeks catching up with friends and family. Ready or not, here I come! :)

Whale watching

It has taken me a full 24 hours to calm down after the whale watching trip I went on yesterday afternoon...and writing about it will probably get me excited all over again. It was AMAZING!!

Yesterday, I had the opportunity of a lifetime to swim with a mother humpback whale, her (approximately) one month old calf and an adult male (serving as bodyguard/escort). As part of a group of twelve customers, we went out on a twelve foot covered speed boat to search for signs of whales breaching the surface of the waters around Vava'u, Tonga. I think the owners of Beluga Diving had been tracking the mother, calf, and escort via the town's short wave radio station because they seemed to know exactly where to look. (To digress, this town in so many ways reminds me of a tropical version of the Alaskan village in "Northern Exposure". Remember the local radio station on that t.v. show? Vava'u's commentary is much the same and just as colorful. One boat's call sign is the little blue boat with big red balls, for instance.)

For the next five hours we followed the three whales around the open water and, when they seemed to be surfacing in relatively the same area for a few minutes at a time, a group of four snorkelers would be directed to jump in. We would then follow a guide to ensure that we approached the whales appropriately. For instance, it is dangerous to get between a calf and it's mother. I found this out accidentally when the calf decided to come check me out and left it's mother's side and seemed to be making its way towards me at the surface. Other than knowing that no underwater creature should be touched, I had no idea what to do. It is impossible to anticipate the movements of a baby about three times your length and weighing thousands of pounds. I just froze.

I was so simultaneously excited and in awe that I was completely surprised to feel this force move suddenly beneath me. The mother, a fifty foot, 70,000 pound shiny black mass changed directions and wooshed beneath me like a fish the size of a ship. I really can't tell you how close she was, but I probably could have touched her with my snorkeling fin if I weren't trying to pin myself to the surface to the water and remain as flat and as still as possible.

The mother surfaced on the side of the baby opposite of us and order was preserved, thankfully, with no one coming to blows...literally. They flicked their tales a few times and were off into the deep blue and we were all left speechless with hearts racing. All I could finally managed was, "Oh my God!"

In encounters later in the day, the mother and baby were so peacefully interacting and so seemingly oblivious of us that when they turned their attention on to us, their size immediately switches from fascinating to a potential force that is heart stopping and frightening. We tended to be swimming after them kicking as hard as our legs would allow. They obviously didn't mind us around because they not only did not disappear into the depths below, but they seemed to stop every minute or so as if waiting for us to catch up to them. Expecting them to shortly continue moving, we sometimes briefly overcame the mother's tail. She was usually many feet below the water with the baby floating above her practicing its surfacing and tail flukes. The mother, though, would gracefully begin to move her tail upwards and it was all we could do to back peddle to get out of her way. Her tail never really came close to us since she was well aware of our exact proximity to her, but it definitely got my heart racing.

In another instance of us catching up to the tail of the male escort, he began to dive deep to get away from us which is amazing because it allowed us to see him on an angle and, thus, gave us a much better perspective of his size. Just as our attention was waning expecting him to disappear, he made a U-turn and started back towards us vertically with his belly facing us. I thought he would breech and do a spectacular back flop for us, but he barely broke the surface and then was off again.

The mother and calf both seemed to make eye contact with us at one point in the day. At those moments, I was suddenly deeply aware of just how intelligent these beings are. It seemed as if the mother was trying to communicate to us, "I see you. I mean you no harm and you are welcome as long as you allow my child to just be." She was obviously in control of the situation and she was fully aware of that.

I didn't get any pictures, but others did and, hopefully, they will e-mail them to me. Two of the local whale watching operations, though, have great pictures on their websites. Have a look: Dolphin Pacific (whom I will go whale watching with next Monday) and Dive Vava'u (make sure to look at the whale watching and guest photos links). The pictures on these websites are great depictions of what I saw at close range. It is really hard to convey how deeply impressive and exciting this experience was and why. Maybe it is the unique situation of being in the presence of another mammal that is so many times larger than us humans. Maybe it is the experience of being in the presence of another intelligent being and realizing, through watching a mother with her calf, just how similar we are all at times. Maybe, like the silent view of the peaks of a mountain range, it is the awareness of the majesty and vastness of nature. Right now it feels like all of this and more...

Vava'u, Tonga

I will be the first to admit that I haven't gotten very many great pictures yet in Vava'u, Tonga. Nonetheless, I thought people might be curious to see what this little South Pacific port town looks like. It is cuter, better organized, and bigger than I expected, thankfully. It is a popular destination for yachts and other sailing craft making long distance trips because it has a naturally protected harbor and the surrounding islands are also relatively sheltered from the tumultuous ocean so they are fun to hop around to. It is also relatively big and westernized with nearly a dozen restaurants, several mom & pop grocery stores, and internet connection.

I have come here to swim with whales - humpback whales to be more specific. I have been lucky enough in the past two days to see two whales and a calf surface the water (as well as two pods of dolphins) and could hear them 'singing' to each other during my two dives yesterday, but I haven't seen them yet up close. Hopefully, I will have the opportunity this afternoon on a five hour whale watching tour that allows customers, four at a time, to snorkel with whales. Keep your fingers crossed for me!

Bligh Blah

Hi All,

I haven't forgotten about you. My internet connections at the hotels in Fiji have been ridiculously expensive and slow. I also haven't had a lot to say lately either. My trip up to Raki Raki to dive the world renowned Bligh Strait fell flat. The weather and currents were too rough to dive. We ended up only able to dive close to the resort in sheltered waters. While the diving was nice, the dive shop wasn't all that professional and, for the price, I preferred not to do repeat dives at dive sites. So, instead of doing the planned 12 dives, I only did four.

Well, let's hope Tonga is better. I am writing you from there now. I plan to go diving and on a whale watching boat trip.

If you want to see pictures of my husband and my diving trips within Indonesia, they are now posted on Facebook. I am tagged in his photo albums so, if we are friends, you can have a look.

Pictures next time...

Rice Paddy

I am really feeling a sense of accomplishment today. I got up early and hit the road on my rented scooter in search of some scenic countryside. It worked out perfectly. And, most importantly, the scooter and I both made it back unscathed. I can see why people like motorcycles - the feel of the wind hitting you and the exhilaration of having little between you and the outside world zooming by you. For those very same reasons, my motor scooter ride mildly scared the crap out of me. I had to consciously coach myself to relax, to unclinch my jaw, and to soften my white knuckle grip on the handle bars. Someone said to do something everyday that scares you.

Here are some pictures of what I saw...including a picture of my trusty little steed.

I am now back in Kuta (Legian), Bali. I finally found what draws everyone here - the beach. I walked along it and watched all of the teenagers trying to surf get chucked off their boards. I just love the sound of waves rolling in. And then I head to Gloria Jean's coffee. I will miss Indonesia, but I have had my fill of their unfiltered coffee. One regular latte, please.

My plan is to enjoy the sound of the waves once more with a morning walk along the beach and probably get in another latte. Judging by the bars and dance clubs that crowd the streets here, I expect that I will have the beach pretty much to myself.

Motoring

This morning was my last yoga class before leaving Ubud tomorrow. I took a Hatha yoga class from a tiny Indian fireball of a woman. Wow! I know I am going to feel that one tomorrow.

On Sunday, I leave Indonesia to head to Fiji (by way of Singapore and Auckland, NZ thanks to my round the world ticket with Singapore Airlines and Air New Zealand). I will have been here just under two months. As I was preparing my Lonely Planet Indonesia guide, I actually had pangs of sadness about getting rid of it. I bought the book in Thailand in March and it has been with me ever since. But I did sell it. The thing weighs about two pounds! I need to lighten my luggage all I can.

Have you seen the trailer for the "Eat, Pray, Love" movie coming out in theaters soon? I saw it a few days ago and there is a scene of Julia/Elizabeth riding her bicycle across a Ubud countryside of rice fields. I decided to go in search of my own rice field experience. I didn't get very far. Yesterday, I looked into renting a mountain bike. Renting a bike would be about $2.50 for a day. I nearly rented one, but talked myself out of it when I did a mental inventory of all of the hilly streets I had climbed here in Ubud in the past weeks.

At the end of my yoga class this morning, the sky opened up and it started pouring. When I realized how relieved I actually was to postpone my bike ride across the countryside, that solved it. No bicycling. I spent the late morning walking the now familiar streets of Ubud weaving my way around and through the tourist packed sidewalks. A pack of Aussies zoomed past me on motor scooters and I thought, "That looks like fun."

I had had the same thoughts in Thailand and rented my first motor scooter on the island of Koh Yao Noi. It was a great way to see the island at my own pace, but I wouldn't recommend a partially paved road to anyone as their first scooter experience. The roads here in Ubud are all paved...well, the roads I would be taking are all paved. The thought flashed through my mind that this would probably be my last chance to rent a scooter on my trip and, before I really knew what was happening, I was hoping on a motor scooter as the owner's wife told me repeatedly, "You drive VERY carefully."

My husband and I were going to rent a motor scooter for one day in Bali, but one look at the unending traffic on the one lane roads and my husband changed his mind. I really don't know what possessed me. Well, that isn't true. It was only $4 to rent the scooter for 24 hours. What a bargain!

And then the sky opened up again. Thirty minutes into my ride and several miles away from my hotel the rain started pouring down in sheets. Thank goodness the rental included a rain poncho. I stopped on the side of the road and waited out the heavier rain under the over hanging roof of an 'art gallery'. I put it is quotes because art galleries here look like someone crammed as many painted canvases as possible into mini mart the size of a one car garage and left them for years. I didn't feel so stupid stopped on the side of the road when a Balinese teenager on a scooter joined me. Just as it crossed my mind to leave the scooter and come back for it tomorrow, the rain subsided.

I made it slowly and safely back to the hotel and the scooter has been sitting out front ever since. My plan is to go out for an early ride tomorrow morning in place of my normal yoga class. Then it is off to Legian, another area of Kuta, Bali for one night before I fly out on Sunday.

What would you do?

Written on July 9, 2010

We have arrived to Kri, a remote island in Papua, Indonesia where relatively little has been touched of the place save for two resorts (Kri Eco Resort and Sorido Bay Resort) that have been carefully constructed incorporating traditional building methods, local materials, and the nicest amenities any Western hotel and diving resort could offer. It took my husband and I three days to get here, taking a combination of four flights and a boat trip, but it was all worth it. The moment our boat neared the Sorido Bay Resort’s 600 foot wooden pier, it all seemed worth it.

The diving is as great as everyone raves about it. And, to top it off, we basically have the place to ourselves. A French couple and their two year old son were the only other guests when we arrived and they left a few days ago. Lying on our backs last night on the dock looking up at the starry sky enveloping the world around us, we said to ourselves, “We are SO lucky!” And we are…everything was far exceeding our expectations.

We have all heard stories about how developing countries can be mired in corruption. Perhaps we have heard a story about a distance friend or colleague that was ripped off by a taxi driver or store owner. Or we hear what seem like mythical creations about how bribing government officials is a necessary cost of business. The extra amount tourists pay for things seems like a small price to pay and may even seem like a balancing of some theoretical scale that has long been out of balance. The bribing, well, if it really does happen, we’d all just like to pretend it is none of our business.

So when, for the past two days, small government boats have been arriving at the Sorido Bay Resort, I did not really concern myself with the goings on. For the past two days, police and local government have been coming to the island requesting the resort give them gasoline for free. The first day, the manager refused. The second day, he agreed to sell them half the amount requested, but refused to give gasoline away. So then, last night, the inspectors arrived. They stayed for probably twenty minutes and demanded to see all of the resort’s various permits and certifications. It was a kind of punishment dealt out by the officials.

The manager explained to us at dinner that the government uses boats to patrol the islands. Each official is given an allowance to be spent to buy gasoline. They either pocket the money or they sell the gasoline and then pocket the proceeds. They then go to the resorts and demand gasoline to use in their boats. And as Sorido Bay Resort is one of three resorts in the area (and since Sorido and one of the other resorts are owned by the same person), the expense can really add up. That and it is considered stealing in most countries. We were laughing about it last night with the manager and getting mildly upset about the corruption here in Indonesia, but only in the mild sort of way one does when distantly removed from the consequences.

Two smallish boats were unloading as we returned from our first dive this morning. The larger boat was painted black with “Police” (in Indonesian) written on the side so, as I watched the boat get unloaded, I expected to see the gasoline drums back again for filling. Luggage was being unloaded instead. Several people in very unofficial looking clothes were climbing up the ladder to the dock. Fleetingly I thought that this may have been a special escort for the National Geographic crew that was expected next week, but those thoughts were quickly dashed.

The government officials had decided that they would like to come and stay for a visit…for free, of course. There are eight guests and probably ten ‘crew’. The leader of the group seemingly a middle level officer (later we are told he is from Sorong, from where we hope to take a flight back to Bali) is here with his wife, mother, aunt and four best friends. Of course they take the best bungalows available…complete with sitting room and are normally reserved for EUR 300 per night or about three times the average monthly income in Indonesia. All of the guests and boat crew smile at us with big open and welcoming faces and talk jovially amongst themselves. When they say, "Hello", it is all I can do to glare at them, curtly shake my head from side to side, and hold my tongue as I say to myself, "Shame on you! Shame on all of you!"

It is a well practiced game and act that I refuse to play along with yet I am all too aware that in some strange way they hold the ultimate power in this situation. The crew sprawl out on the covered dock of the resort, sitting or even lying down and refuse to move for us as we try to get or wetsuits on and prepare for our next dive. They stare at us talking and laughing amongst themselves. I am wearing a modest two piece tankini swimsuit, but fight the urge to cover myself up further with a sarong as the men (I think) openly eye me up and down. They can take their hypocrisy elsewhere, I tell myself.

The black police boat is still parked at the front of the resort's dock leaving only space around the side of the dock in the much shallower water for our dive boat. As a result, the boat crew are forced to carry our tanks and equipment farther. The boat is now also nowhere near a ladder so we all have to jump down onto the boat's wet deck. I let out a loud frustrated sigh and now angrily meet the amused gazes of the crew members and pointedly ask them to move their boat. They act like they don't hear me even though they continue to look me up and down. The group's leader is a tall, thin, light skinned Indonesian man dressed in a golf shirt and khaki shorts probably in his late thirties. He is standing at the edge of the dock watching us all in interest with a broad inviting smile. I approach him then conscious to not match his smile with one of my own, but also conscious to keep an even tone although I want to call him any number of horrible names. "Your boat is in the way of ours. It makes it very difficult to load our dive equipment. Can you please tell one of your men to move your boat?"

I can only imagine that none of the resort's boat crew will say anything about the inconvenience. They have seen this all before and know it is best to take the path of least resistance, but I don't care. This is my way of protesting. The officer's face drops and he quickly yells at his crew in Indonesian to move the boat. He turns to me and ask if we are hear for diving. I say shortly, "Yes. We are here only to dive," and then I quickly cut off the conversation by going to get on our dive boat.

The dive, as always, is great. As we approach the dock, we can see that the police boat has been moved to away from the dock to a nearby mooring (a kind of parking place) - a small victory. Before that, though, we pass another dive boat. I assume it is from the neighboring sister resort, but soon realize that this is a boat load of snorkelers, very bad snorkelers. They are all kicking and struggling to stay afloat despite each lying on a huge orange life jacket. We can hear them talking, laughing, and squealing. With all that noise and movement, all fish will be long gone. Apparently after my brief conversation with the official, they all decided they must go see the fish themselves. As none of them are certified to dive or can swim, they were taken just out past the dock to snorkel....for free. It is a great dive site in its own right, but I can only imagine what the Indonesian delegation thought of us stupid westerners for flying all this way to see just a few fish and coral.

Stay tuned for Part II....

I'm back...

Today it is back to yoga. I took the afternoon Chi Chung yoga class. I had never heard of it and won’t pretend to understand it any better after a one hour and forty five minute class, but I was told that it is a kind of cross between Tai Chi and Hatha Yoga. The instructor, a thin athletically built American guy probably in his late thirties, told us that he likes Chi Chung because it includes a focus on releasing any bad tension that might build up during yoga poses. I think he gave me his Sanskrit name when I asked because I couldn’t even begin to pronounce it nor can I remotely remember it now. I should have taken that as a cue to just how yogi this yoga class would be.

For starters, he took off his shirt. He was in pretty good shape so I really didn’t mind and hardly thought twice about it probably because I am getting used to seeing all manner of shirtless men in the various beach and diving destinations I have visited across Indonesia in the past two months. Then began the series of body sways to loosen energy in various parts of the body. Fine. I could use some loosening up. Afterwards came the five minutes of skeleton shaking. We stood with feet hips width apart and bent our legs, closed our eyes, and tried to shake our entire body including limbs and head as someone would shake those skeletons kept on display in Biology classrooms or at doctor’s offices. It felt good, I will admit. And it was not half so bad since everyone else had their eyes closed too. Then it got weird.

We warmed our palms up by vigorously rubbing them together and then started stroking ourselves. First we stroked each arm, then each leg, then our chests. Hold it! My eyes snapped open and I watched as the instructor almost passionately rubbed his own pecks in a circular motion. He said, “Women should rub their breasts everyday. It is very important.” I couldn’t force myself to look at the other classmates for it was all I could do not to laugh. So, to go along with it, I circularly rubbed just below my collarbones. That was as far as I could go. I suddenly had the very real suspicion that I was on an episode of “Punked” or some other candid camera reality program. I went along with the ‘aura rubbing’ that followed (running our hands the lengths of our bodies with our hands an inch above our skin to smooth our auras that lay just above the surface of our skin), but half expected to find a film crew outside of the classroom as we exited. No such luck…or misfortune. Only in Ubud, I guess.

I feel I have been away from blogging for so long that I don’t really know where to pick up again. So, I guess I will pick up right before my husband left to return to The Netherlands. He is going to love that I am blogging about this, but I did get his permission first. We spent the one night and two days prior to my husband’s flight home in Sanur, Bali. It is another neighborhood of Kuta, Bali that lies in southern part of the island about twenty minutes from the international airport. To our relief, it is nothing like the neighborhood of Kuta referred to as Kuta. I know it is confusing, but think of Kuta as a kind of city with neighborhoods. One of Kuta’s neighborhoods is called Sanur and one of it’s neighborhoods is just called Kuta.

According to Lonely Planet, Sanur’s nickname is Snore because it draws pensioners (retired folk) and families with kids. That was fine with us. We had both had our fill of loud and slightly trashy Kuta. Decades ago Sanur built a 5km (2.5 mile) cobble stoned walkway along its man made sand beaches. It is open only to pedestrians and, unfortunately, bicyclists. With restaurants and hotels crammed along the walkway and greenery creeping along both sides, it is hardly wide enough for two way pedestrian traffic more less the holiday makers ambling slowly along on bicycles. With the great views of the water front and the ocean breeze, though, it is much better than the busy, narrow main strip of Kuta.

After we found our obligatory Balinese print in a carved wooden frame as our souvenir of the country, we went for lunch and my husband mentioned that it might be fun to get reflexology foot massages. I was completely surprised he’d be interested in the idea and since I was planning to get one myself when I returned to Ubud, I immediately took him up on the idea. My husband, like most men I imagine, is not a spa or massage person, but for some reason he was curious to try getting reflexology, a foot massage that focuses on massaging different parts of the feet in an attempt to also relieve tension in other parts of the body that are said to be interconnected neurally. We each got a one hour foot massage alongside four teenage Australian girls that had come to the salon for the full treatment – foot massages, manicures, and pedicures.

In typical fashion, the petite Balinese woman massaging my husband’s feet and calves was overtly flirtatious. It was so overt to me at least that it was not threatening as much as entertaining. Maybe because of the masseuse’s attention or maybe because of the callouses riddling my husband feet as he professed, he let himself get talked into a pedicure. And since I would be waiting around for him anyone, I also acquiesced and decided to get one too. I have pictures to prove it although I did not take pictures of the mound of dead skin they took off my husband’s feet. The poor woman! She got what she wished for, though, I guess. Despite my egging on, my husband refused to get his nails painted with even clear nail polish. In an uncharacteristically girly move, I decided to go with a shimmery pink polish. I am glad I did. It brings a smile to my face every time I look down at my toes while walking or while in a yoga pose as I remember my husband getting a foot massage and pedicure.