Hadidah, Anak & Dinosaurs (Gifts, kids & dinosaurs...)

Our two night stay in Amed has slowly rolled into four nights and it's time to start the journey south back to the airport. Our last night the power blows out over dinner, we monitor typhoon warnings from battery-powered laptops before going to bed, but wake, safe and sound, to another sunny day. I can hardly believe a month is almost over...

We start bright and early the next day, layering tank tops over sunscreen and bug spray. I want pictures of the little towns we've known and have yet to explore, Christine and Jo are both game. We head out of Amed, inland, pulling aside at a little market. It's a ruckus, chaotic mess of baskets, produce, goods and people--food of all sort, shapes and colors moved on the backs of sweating adults as children run in and out of corners. It becomes clear this is not a tourist attraction but a regular "real", much used Indonesian town market. Over my time here, I've made a habit of buying little things (more often than not, for no reason or necessity at all) from strangers. Instead, a $1 bottle of water or $.50 in noodles gives me an opening to talk to them, practice my faulty Indonesian, build a little trust and inevitably lead to some new experience and, hopefully, if I'm lucky, a photo or two later to remember the moment shared.

As we enter the market to curious looks and stares, I buy a handful snake-skinned salak from the woman surrounded by fruit after she peels and hands one to me to try. She tells me the Indonesian name, "Salak" but I laugh, and tell her "Saya sudha engat!" (I already know!). To the amusement of those in earshot, I name the fruits: pisang (banana), chabae (chilis),< buwon puti (garlic) buwon mera (red onion), oranges (jerop), rumbutan (...rumbutan), tomat (tomato), durian (ick--durian)...

I hand a couple colored pencils to the young girls standing, watching us. They laugh and giggle at my clumsy words and animated reactions as we chit chat about where we are from, how long we've been in Indonesia and so on. Christine and Jo are instant converts, and join in the small purchases & conversations. For the 1000th time, I appreciate my fabulous, good-natured travel company. We move to coffee and peanuts, incense and water. Buying a little here and there, I'm always careful to ignite a conversation, spark a smile, bow my head and wish the elders Salamat Pagi(good morning) to which they respond by looking at their clock and correcting me with a laugh: Salamat Cian(good late morning).

Saya lupa! (I forget!) We share a laugh, a photo. Each time I pull out a colored pencil, I'm floored by their genuine appreciation and the way the simple gesture opens up all kinds of interactions: from three year old girls, groups of young boys to an elderly lady with stained teeth, weaving palm baskets. By the time we leave the market, there's a chorus of goodbyes and well wishes.

We scooter on! I pull over for a shot of freshly harvested peanuts, drying in the sun, on blue tarps along the road. I look across the street at the group assembled in front of a tiny store and outdoor bbq and decide I need to buy water here.

Christine and Jo in tow, I head over and with them good late morning (Salamat Cian!)! The serious man in military garb (and holstered gun) looks at his watch and laughs, Salamat Pagi! He corrects me.

Saya lupa! (I forget!) We share a laugh and as Indonesian spills from my mouth, as we chat and talk about where I've come from, how I've come to speak Indonesian, and so on. I ask the woman cooking over a make-shift bbq what's roasting in the banana leaves -- Ikan. Fish. She invites me to try one.

I've been curious what the banana wrapped fish will taste like but haven't worked up to it during my time in Amed. But here I am! I nod excitedly. She points to it, Pedas Secali(Very Spicy!) 10:00 in the morning and I mentally prepare my stomach for spicy, hot fish...for an Indonesian to call something "very spicy" means this is probably going to be disasterously hot. I can tell they're excited for me to try this and I hate to disappoint. (Plus, as I look up, Christine has her camera quietly shooting the scene.) The men then motion for me to sit and join them. The military man and the one next to him make moves to offer me their seat on the bench. But I wave them off, I'm already sitting on the concrete step like the other two women in the group. In my attempt to put people at ease in front of me and my camera, I do everything I can to observe what's taking place and mimic it, to make as few touristy ripples, so I can (hopefully) pull my camera out with ease later.

The woman picks a charred banana packet from the line up (I smile nervously at Christine and Jo--who decline a fish bite) as another woman wraps and folds fresh green packets to take it's place. They unwrap it and place a bite of fish piled HIGH with the same green spices (I recognize from babi guling) and bits of chili peppers. Just the heat (penas!) of the meat off the bbq sears my hand -- they laugh as I blow on it to cool and then take a bite. My first bite I taste only a bit of fire and a bit of bone that the fish meat sits on. I take a second brave bite, avoiding the bone, and I yelp with the heat! PEDAS!!!! PEDAS SECALI!!! AY!!!!

I fan my mouth and they laugh, AIR! AIR! (Water! Water!) I shout! More laughter and I'm presented with Indonesian bottled iced tea. When I can breath again, I say it is delicious, I finish the spicy, spicy hot meat and smile. We chat, we laugh, and watch fish bbq. The wind blows. I point, Siwa! (God of wind) They then teach us the symbols for each three gods: Brahma (fire), Wisnu (water) and Siwa (wind). A man stops by to order 5 packets to go, I warn him, "Ini pedas secali, hati hati, ya?" (These are very spicy! Careful, yes?) They all laugh. We grab our helmets and scooter on across town and up and around increasingly rough roads, through remote hills to a tiny village/dead end. Tiny houses perch on stilts, into the mountainside. Electric wires are strung from bamboo poles. Laundry hangs as chickens scratch the ground.

Our arrival stops just about everyone. We buy cokes and strike up a conversation, there's really no English to be had, just Indonesian. We walk through the tiny town, children, men, women stand outside their homes and cross the street to look at us, greet us, and sometimes just stare. We sing out Salamat Cian (good late morning!) only be corrected yet again: Salamot Pagi (good morning!) We shrug and laugh -- apparently the distinction between morning and late morning is village specific as it changes back and forth as the morning hours tick by. I practice colors and with a man who offers to take us to the Holy Springs, but sadly we don't have time. We keep walking up hill. A group of rag-tag boys stare at us. I'm desperately tired and weary from all the intense social interactions -- but get fired up seeing these boys. However, despite every ridiculous effort and goofy smile I can manage, they remain cold. I take a photo. I give up.

We make a move to go home. Then I remember! Bronto! (I'd packed a deflated plastic dinosaur toy, the mascot for the like named email delivery service we'd been evaluating for a client before leaving. They sent Bronto over for Seattle photos, when I volunteered to show Bronto my Seattle backyard and downtown before heading to Indonesia.) I pull Bronto from my pocket now and kneel down as they gather around me, with curious looks. As Bronto inflates, their smiles grow, skeptical little eyes sparkle. Jo, Christine and I smile at each other. I pretend to play with Bronto, then hand it to the ringleader who takes it carefully. I point to the dinosaur and say hijou (green!).

We laugh and play. I make my best imitation of a Indonesian clown for their amusement.Then we head back to our scooters. I turn around and see them laughing, playing with Bronto. The sun shines on the rough volcanic mountainside. I bite my lip. It's simple. It's beautiful. Why have I waited so long to do these simple things. It's not hard. It just takes a little effort on my part -- and look at the reward. Huge toothy grins, laughter, smiles. In the golden, hot sunshine of that small town, I promise to do more simple things, like this, more often, when I return home and on my subsequent travels. I'm so tired from the busy days, and this beautiful morning, so beat down from playing the perpetual, outgoing clown -- repeatedly putting my heart and happiness way out there, in the chance I'll be able to slowly warm the smiles of the reserved. But for some insignificant aches and pains on my part -- and cheeks tired from smiling & laughing on demand -- I know this is more than worth it.

The boys spot me watching them then, and I give them a huge, exaggerated wave (positive they'll still be too shy to respond). But they all wave back, I wave, they wave back more excited with each wave, they hold up Bronto. I shout victoriously: "Hijou!" (green!). A happy chorus of little voices shout back "Hijou!" (green!). I shout "Biroo!" (blue!). An increasingly animated chorus of little voices shout back "Biroo!" (blue!). So it goes - me happily shouting colors in Indonesian to children 20 feet away, shouting the same colors back, with greater enthusiasm and energy than my own - as we walk down the hill to our scooters and out of site as I feel little tears sneak into my eyes. I'm going to miss this place, these experiences, these people. I've missed interacting with kids and start thinking of ways to do more when I get home. I know I'm always going to wonder who these boys will become. A silent prayer that in my putting a little more good out in the world, it will eventually pay dividends for these ones and I hope they live good lives. I don't want to go.

Helmets on and engines revved. We look down the road, and it's surreal, hundreds of Indonesians, dressed in white, carrying flags, offerings pack the narrow road. I move to sit on a rock to watch the unexpected procession stream by, but instead they pause and pool around me. I'm drenched with questions, laughter, beautiful colors. As they sit on the ground and listen (and laugh) at our stumbling answers after they shout out questions. We're invited to stay but we have a day of travel yet to attempt. We have to go. We say our good-byes, the crowd parts as we carefully pedal our way through the surreal crowd until we hit the open road and gun it back to Amed.