Six memorable months pass and at last, I find myself seated on a wooden chair with my fingers caressing over the keyboard. What had been the reason for the long delay of an attempt in a new blog post? Perhaps it was the sin of the sloth that had seized me. Maybe it was the dedication to live the moments as I tried to be part of the places I visited. Or both with a third factor in play. My fingers were locked, without words to jot down as I glared at my paper with a blank mind. A blank canvas before me and an empty palette in my hand. Do I write about the time I was bound to bed by illness? Would the debauched nights I spent in Bali and Malaysia, meeting strangers with every bottle emptied again and again characterise as compelling? I had little to no words. Although Johnny’s taco’s had me in such a euphoria that I came close to expressing my infatuation with the dish. Alas, my words would never be enough.
Truth be told, I lacked creativity and motivation. With a travel differing on every aspect from the previous, my writing needed a different approach and frankly, I couldn’t be bothered. A demanding journey through Europe had me bound in budget, transport and accommodation. Forced to live off little, without the slightest plan but direction and not a booking made, I had experienced a lot. Despite the prominent fact that indulgence in nightly gatherings fuelled by alcohol is relishable, I had grown a love for what now was lacking. More money was spend on testing my liver than participating in adventurous activities. That does not take away all the moments and stories of grand size resting in my brain, including the many encounters with the locals. It simply was not enough.
“Ready?”, he asked before spurting off. This time I was astride of another scooter, in lieu of my hostess’s. A safer bet, as she takes off from 0 to 80 in a whiff. The reason however, for me pressing my cheeks on a different scooter, was the family fearing comments from neighbours. In this part of Java, in the far East, two people from the opposite sex customarily do not spend time together. One time, a man I had just met spoke of weddings and careers a moment after he opened his mouth to me. Disregarding my disinterest. Thus, in an attempt to blow out the fire of rumours as I had merely interest in the town and she in in showing it, her cousin who works for Grab drove me instead. With little rivals, being the only courier on the application, all – with that being said, little – Grab-travellers go through him. The roads in the small village, if one would call them that at all, had an erratic path of mud and stones. Thus the ride made for a wobbly one. Our tour-guide and Grab driver, without extra expense, had brought us to see several cascades hidden away. Initially it did not seem to be a challenging activity. On my flip-flops I sauntered through the rice fields and descended down the slippery – I know, I used this pun last year – path. With mud dug in between my tiny toes, I stood atop a large boulder, observing the water rush through the rocks and pebbles, gravitating down. The flowing and splashing of the water had been a soothing sound. But there was little soothing about the hours that followed. Our tour guide had decided that where the path stopped, we carried on, creating passages as we went.
A sunset was missed a near hour ago. Cautiously I had been shuffling along the wall of dirt, holding on to clumps of soil, roots and branches. We had gone under a tiny, earth made tunnel, waddling through a stream and then slid down a slide with trees poking our sides. Grunts and sighs here and there. Stubborn, all marched on. We shall not retreat! A single shy kindled light was shared amongst the three of us. Guiding us through a pitch black night. Bit by bit we encroached further towards the edge of this jungle. Although, indubitably, none of us knew how far it was. It was after a gruelling climb up, giving all trust in a tree, that I had grown clairvoyant, sensing what came next. Mr Grab reached his hand out to assist me on advancing. Dubious, I did. Upon touch, at one fell swoop we shifted jointly. Then he began to pull his hand back, loosening the grip of my palm in his. Aware of the possible outcomes, I let go. With nothing but a handful of soil under my feet to hold me up, I knew that I was in for a tumble down.
Harrowed I lay in a bed of branches and leaves. Succumb by shock, I sat quietly for a minute before the realisation hit that my exhausted body had to climb back the distance I fell. It must have been a few metres. Praying to be elsewhere, anywhere, I endured. Together, we climbed for another several hours, which I did in a frantic manner. The two began chanting prayers of joy upon reaching the top. “Allah uh Akbar”, they repeated. Gladly, I marched with slippers in one and the torch in the other hand through the rice field and out. Bedraggled we returned where the village awaited us, carrying worry in their eyes. Minds leaning on the story of a girl who passed away in the same jungle. Relief filled them as they saw us. We had been gifted with food and a cold, refreshing shower. Simple as they lived, they were filled with kind hearts. Laughter felt the dark sky as we relived our jungle jeopardy through stories and aches the hours before taking on the steep and cold – I do realise I had not dressed properly for that day – Mount Ijen.
It seems forever since I sat down and took the time to write something. A pity, really. Writing is something I love. It gives me a calm feeling as does it make me happy having a story of my own travels in my style. An explanation, or an attempt of it is difficult. Most often, I do not understand my own brain, or how it works. I see it as a good thing. Making my way through life trying to figure out what that gooey clump wants is the biggest and most exciting puzzle out there. It is exciting, as I never know what it will lead me to. Throughout the past years, I have learned quite a bit however. Such is, that travelling is a key piece. With this come the many ways of travel, as I noticed that, without intend, all of my main travels have been different on multiple fronts. Within the Philippines, I have found another. It taught me, that finding these pieces is much more fun than having a complete puzzle from the start. If you’re interested, follow along with my puzzle. You might figure it out before I do. My gratitude goes to those who still follow along with my stories, even after an eight-month disappearance.
A short caption on Bali:
Although a week spend blissfully enjoying the warmth by caressing the soft sand on the beach, amongst all the Instagram posts that bring forth envy from all over the globe, I couldn’t help but notice the lack of acknowledgement towards the persisting purveyors. Whether it was a massage, a ‘massage’, souvenirs, Viagra or other substances, swarms appeared from every corner to bug you with their presence. When asking the same person relaxing on the beach a third time was not enough, one would linger and eclipse you from the sun while glaring at you. It was on the touristic streets of Denpasar where I learned that a friendly nod means to be interested in illegal substances or a cure for that sore “back”. When showing disinterest to participate in such, a lady dragged my arm with force and a man had neared an introduction of my fist in his face when his reply to my “Do not touch me”, was “Why not?”.
It is when you view the sunset for the fourth time and again you find yourself at five in the morning chewing away one of Johnny’s orgasmic delicious tacos that you wonder.. Does all of that even matter? No, it does not, for you are in a place where life exists out of sun, beach, sea and relaxation. Nothing matters but the beer that is cold, the weather that is fantastic and another enticing march towards the alley of tacos. So, feet dig into the sand and a picture of the sunset goes online.