Post 5: A Bit About My Holiday But Mostly About Travel Trauma

School vacation!

I’m pretty sure that whatever country you’re in, there’s something good about vacation. For my students, it was a reward after their exams (which really don’t count for anything but they take anyway), an opportunity to sleep, a chance to work part-time, and a week to visit family or just go to a city where things actually happen. For me and all other ETAs, it was time for an adventure.

After teaching on Friday, March 9, I hastened home to retrieve my trusty backpack and while away a short amount of time (ensuring that I had everything and that my backpack looked like it weighed less than 7kg) before my mentor would pick me up and take me to the bus station. Keep in mind that it takes about ten to fifteen minutes on flat road to walk to the bus station. It’s definitely doable, but that’s just far too far to walk in the Malay mind. However, it wasn’t worth fighting my mentor on so I let her take me. This turned out to be a good idea anyway because as I walked out the door, it started pouring rain.

Kak Nor and Pak Mac treated me just like their kid at the bus station. Even though they brought me there roughly a half an hour or more before the bus was going to leave, they waited until I was on the bus and out of sight. They waved me away and everything. My students who were at the bus station at the same time probably found it uncomfortable to suddenly be in the presence of two of their teachers (especially when Kak Nor insisted on sitting beside them while we waited for the bus). I admit, I was a bit uncomfortable and just had a lot on my mind about traveling. There are many steps to traveling when you don’t have a car to take you directly to the airport.

I shall elaborate. I took a bus for about two and a half hours to KL. From there, I grabbed the metro line to KL Sentral (a terminal for all sorts of transportation – taxi, train, and bus). There, I ate with Owen who wasn’t leaving until the next day and had just parted from Lauren and Holly before jumping on another bus to KLIA. It’s a good thing that…Malaysian airport security runs so smoothly because, yet again, I was cutting it a bit close.

Sorry, my flow is a bit choppy. There’s just so much to say.

I felt like I was hurrying, even though I wasn’t doing the majority of the work, all through my travels. I continued to feel antsy and hurried when I arrived at the airport just in time for my flight. But wait…my flight wasn’t taking off. They announced the departure for one flight that was supposed to take off after mine. Then two. Then three. Then four. Before I knew it, my plane was taking off almost two hours after it was intended to depart, and I knew I was in trouble. You see, I had a connecting flight about oh…two hours after I was supposed to arrive in Jakarta. Lovely.

So before landing in Jakarta, I tried to alert a flight attendant of my dilemma. She told me that I was sunk. That was not exactly what I was hoping someone would say to me at that time so I pushed my way through the line of disembarking people (because Malaysians don’t know how to walk fast) and then literally ran until I found the first member of the ground crew and flailed my ticket at him. Not so miraculously because he understood English quite well, he hurried me to a random mini-bus to get a special ride to immigration.

Immigration. I would like to blame immigration for the reason I missed my plane even though that’s highly unlikely since I landed at 12:50am and my flight was at 1:05am to Ambon. However, though the Indonesian ground crew tried to expedite the process of me making it through immigration with my visitor’s visa, the head immigration people were very unhelpful and managed to make my ticket disappear. That was an awful and most unappreciated trick.

Thus, by the time that I had paid for a taxi I didn’t want to take in the middle of the night to another terminal, it was nearly 1:30am, the domestic terminal at the Jakarta airport was closed, I didn’t have a ticket, I didn’t really have any money, and I had nowhere to go. I ended up standing in front of the closed BataviaAir office looking pitiful and pleading my case to a man sitting on a trolley with mushed packages on it. He seemed to be some sort of security man waiting for normal business hours to deliver the mail to Batavia. He spoke English and took pity on my frazzled soul. I mean, I’ve never missed a flight before. Not to mention that I was in a foreign country by myself where I didn’t really speak the language, it was the middle of the night, I felt very poor indeed, and the place I was trying to fly to only has two flights a day so I felt utterly doomed.

Oddly enough, quite a few Indonesian workers hang out inside the BataviaAir office in the middle of the night. They’re all in street clothes, but they were willing to help me after whatever the man guarding packages said. They sat me down and told me that I missed my flight. Excellent. Yes, I, in fact, already knew that. They proceeded to tell me that I could take a flight in over twenty-four hours. That’s when I snapped. I was tired and stressed. No, I didn’t lash out in sudden rage. I simply put my head in my hands and…cried a little. I felt very lost and very small.

This was another situation that proved crying only made me feel better. It didn’t get me anything more than a phone call to Brian who was my connection in Maluku and who I was trying to reach to spend my school holiday. Oh Brian, what was I thinking going to a foreign country all alone to visit a guy that happened to go to my school and have the same major? We only had a whopping one class together! Still, I had committed to make the journey to the little island of Maluku, and, in the end, it was totally worth it.

Though it cost me a pretty penny more (the life of an ETA is not one rolling in bank notes of any country’s currency), I managed to get on the next flight to Ambon just five hours after the first one that I missed. I actually almost missed that flight too because there wasn’t an announcement over the loudspeaker, but I can thank God and the common sense He gave me which guided me into feeling it was time to go through the gate. I might’ve been the last passenger on, but I was on.

From there, it was smooth sailing. I wandered through a tiny little airport and found the token white male in the vicinity with the help of many excited taxi drivers. Brian got us a ride on an ojek (motorcycle taxi – they drive and you ride behind them wearing a helmet of course) to the ferry that would take us from Ambon to Maluku and the charming town of Masohi. Not surprisingly, Brian and I had an abundance of conversation topics to discuss during all our various travel ventures. I quickly discovered that he had a very strong grasp on the Indonesian language which made me feel, honestly, a little stupid. However, over the course of the week, it helped me to listen harder for cues in a language very similar to the one I was attempting to learn covertly in Malaysia. I say covertly because I have to try and not speak any Malaysian around my students at school.

Brian’s world is so different and so similar to mine. He’s alone out there on the island of Maluku and is teaching students with a stronger grasp on the English language than my own, but he runs into a lot of the same obstacles that I do. I think Someone knew that I wasn’t ready for the solitude that the life of an Indonesian ETA entails. I will say that I was happy to make Brian a little less isolated for a week while integrating into his island life (complete with local Indonesian girlfriend whose family was wonderful and fed me and gave me a place to stay!).

What did being on Maluku look like? Well, being bed buddies with a fabulous Indonesian girl named Gita whose family treats Brian regularly like family and, by extension, treated me like family while I was there. Every meal they served me at their family restaurant (it’s built right on the edge of land so you can’t get any closer to fabulous sea) was free and fresh and delicious – fish, fish, FISH! They are wonderful people. Oh, but I didn’t mention that they don’t really speak English which meant we were dependent on my poor Malaysian/Indonesian language skills and, much more effective, Brian’s far more fluent Indonesian abilities. I really did enjoy being with the family though; they’re just such warm people as they spend their days waiting for customers to stop by and letting the salty air blow in (the windows at their restaurant have no glass so the wind comes right on in!).

Besides eating food (which is very important indeed), Brian and I went with Gita and another Indonesian ETA, Chris, to another town on Maluku called Sawaii. It’s this tiny and beautiful little place tucked into a cove. There’s a fresh water spring in the town and many of the houses in town are built on stilts so these fishing people are that much closer to the water. Literally, in the strip of…little bungalow-huts we stayed in, you could jump out your window into coral and fish-infested water (which Brian and Chris did). It actually rained most of the time that we were in Sawaii, but it was still beautiful and so so so relaxing. I think I almost wish we had been able to go there at the end of my holiday so I would’ve felt more relaxed when I came back, but I needed to relax then, too. In the gaps of the rain though, we went snorkeling in incredibly clear water, saw GIANT fruit bats and butterflies, swam around, explored little caves, and just used a blend of Indonesian and English to make sure all four of us were in the loop most of the time.

Part two of the holiday with Brian was equally fun. We said good-bye to Chris after a four-hour drive back from Sawaii (on roads that are like lava – curved, bumpy, broken, black, and dangerous), and Brian and I stayed around the little town of Masohi so he could coach debate and we could teach his classes on Thursday and Friday (Boys vs. Girls English Olympics!). I would say that his students have a stronger grasp on English than mine do and are definitely more into physical contact, but they’re still just teenage kids with their insecurities. For a lot of the students, I think I was the first American girl they’ve met or definitely had extended contact with (after all, Brian is a guy). It was fun to talk with them though a little confusing because my ear didn’t have enough time to adjust to the Indonesian-accented English.

The week in Maluku was too short to say the least. Not too short to try such weird foods as dried sea cucumber “eggs” and a delicacy of a once-a-year-breeding-sea-worm-that-only-comes-after-the-moon-sets-and-before-the-sun-rises. Still, before I knew it, I was saying good-bye to Gita’s family and to Brian with only instructions on how to get back to Malaysia. I just had to retrace my steps, right? Well…that mostly worked.

Early on Saturday morning, Brian drove me on his motorbike to the ferry that would take me back to Ambon. Easy enough. He told me to take an ojek back to the airport and not pay more than 70,000 rupiah though I probably didn’t have the language haggling skills strong enough to bring it down to 40,000 rupiah. Once I made it across the sea, I managed to get 60,000, but no one would take me for less so I hopped on behind some random Indonesian man. I arrived at the airport in plenty of time (so much time that there was no one at the ticket counter yet). When they did come, the first thing they told me was that the flight was delayed. Super. But just an hour. I would still have plenty of time to make my connection back to Kuala Lumpur.

I went through security and hunkered down to wait. And wait. And wait. And…wait. The problem with Malaysian airports is that their departure screens are totally void of updates if a flight is delayed at all or anything of that nature nor do they really make announcements over the intercom. I did notice, however, that people were starting to receive little airplane food lunch boxes labeled Batavia and thought I might be able to cash-in also. This is also the point where I discovered my plane would be an hour and a half late. When I asked the Batavia man when that would mean we would arrive in Jakarta, his answer was TRE Time. I know that my language skills aren’t always the best, but TRE Time means nothing to me in Indonesian or English, and when I insisted on an actual time, the man gave a perplexed sigh and walked away (hid really) and didn’t come back until I sat down and ate my airplane food.

An hour and a half passed. Two hours came and went. A little over two and a half hours after the original time my flight was supposed to depart, my plane finally appeared. Thank goodness. I’ll admit I wasn’t too thankful at the time because I just really didn’t want to have the exact same experience leaving Indonesia as coming to Indonesia.

My airplane touched down in Surabaya (eastern Java) where I had to switch airplanes. This was expected so it wasn’t too big of an issue, and it took off in a timely fashion. I almost left my ticket on my chair where I had been waiting though. A nice Indonesian lady brought it to me though. The Indonesians are certainly not very shy when it comes to making conversation with a girl who only understands them a little. One man in the Ambon airport attempted extended conversation with me. The little old lady in the Surabaya airport wanted to know where I was headed. Then, once I arrived in Jakarta, the flight attendant fellow wanted to help me to the other terminal (and also wanted my facebook name), but I declined both because he also needed to help the handicapped person off the plane which was just going to take too much time. The taxi man I took to the other terminal (I didn’t want to wait for the bus) also wanted to know my name and what I had been doing in Indonesia. Once I actually made it to the immigration check for my international flight, the security offered to show me around Jakarta next time I was around, and the TSA man who checked my bags for liquids was also very interested in practicing English with me. Oh Indonesians, such funny people. I love them.

My last leg of flying was not enjoyable. My flight from Jakarta was also slightly delayed due to fog, but because I had been in such a hurry, I dashed through security to the other side that had no food to consume except for…Haribo gummy bears. So I ate some gummy bears (though only other thing I had eaten recently was a power bar since I had spent most of my time in airports). Suffice to say, my food did not sit well through the turbulence on the plane, and since AirAsia is a budget airline, you don’t get one of those cute little bags “tucked in the seat pocket in front of you”. So with a hand clamped over my mouth, I made it to the vacuum-powered airplane toilet. Rainbow-coloured gummy bears don’t come back in a rainbow. I’m not sure whether that’s comforting or not.

I did not feel good after that incident. That was a turbulence first for me. My advice though is do not eat gummy bears on an empty stomach when you are stressed and are about to fly. The repercussions may be greater than you know (my stomach has been off since I’ve been back in Malaysia. Nothing traumatic but very…burbly). I do apologize if anyone reading this does not want to know these details, but they are very prominent memories.

It was about 11pm when I arrived back in Malaysia. I contacted Joe (the older brother of a Malaysian friend I have back in Colorado) for a ride. Good chap was willing to bring me back to the family house for the night. Malaysians are wonderfully hospitable also.

Thus, another bus ride later (where I still felt ill), I found myself in KL at 1am. Who did I see there? Three other ETAs hailing a taxi who had just come back from their holiday. I waved them on and headed to Klang with Joe where I spent the night before making a very quick turnaround. Next morning, I took a bus back to KL and then the monorail to the bus station where I took a bus back to Maran. So many modes of transportation!

Along the way, I spotted another ETA on the other side of the monorail station so we had a shouted conversation for about a minute which was delightful. I love all moments that make the world feel familiar. Then, conveniently, I ran into Patricia at the bus station. We ended up taking the same bus back (only after having to get off the bus that wasn’t working and onto another bus that smelled like smoke and then off that bus to get back on the first bus which was now, miraculously, working). Goodness. That’s traveling in Malaysia.

So I’m back to the usual in Maran now. It’s time to teach and find new, better, and innovative ways to make my students speak English and actually learn something from me. I’m always open to suggestions if anyone has any. This week, my principal has been trying to have my choral speaking students perform when they’re not ready which has been causing me some stress, but I’m shaking it off and moving onward.

Two highlights for the week with my students:

I was going to Tunas Manja (the local Wal-Mart) to get some food with Patricia (this was on Sunday when we had just arrived). I spied one of my students offering samples in front of the store. This girl is in my best Form 5 class, but whenever I try to talk to her, she just smiles sheepishly and shrugs her shoulders. Still, I know she must understand something. Lo and behold! Unprovoked, she delivered several completely perfect English statements. I don’t know why this opportunity worked for her, but I was thrilled.

Secondly, I was invited by one of the teachers along with some of the students to go bowling with them at the end of the month. People want to hang out with me! Okay, plenty of people have offered company to me here, but it seems like it’s often out of generally understood hospitality whereas this seems more like genuine interest in just hanging out with me. Hooray! We’ll see if it actually happens.

So that’s where I’m at right now. I’m tired. I’ve got a funny stomach that I am still slightly blaming on gummy bears. I have an abundance of teaching-esque things to occupy my mind with. It is hot in Malaysia, but I think I’m getting used to it. When I dwell on it, I miss family and friends very much.

P.S. I also am sorry for all the grammatical errors I know are rampant in my posts. I don’t go back and read them over again because I just don’t have time for the deep edits that I know would be require. Enjoy my raw thoughts despite the flaws.