Aku cinta kamu, sampai jumpa nanti (I love you...see you later)

By 2pm in the afternoon on Tuesday, I'm on my own again, quietly counting down my final 24 hours before I also fly home (Karmarin tamon pulong. Satu hari, saya mau pulong d'America.) and put my increasing Indonesian fluency to rest. I wrap up errands, I write last thoughts, I think of how I want to remember this trip. I miss Jo and Christine's conversations, laughter and joking. I miss sharing the days "adventures" with someone else...And I LOVE that I'm missing that. I love that I can be alone now, if only to fully appreciate the warmth and wonderfulness of their company from a new perspective. In acknowledging their absence, I know I've connected with them, and that makes me feel happily human.

I lay on my hotel bed, in air conditioned silence, flipping through the days of one month of Indonesian memories, experiences, adventures, tastes, good times, frustrations, challenges, and smiles of lessons learned. I just want to stop today and remember this, understand it, dive deep into what it is I want to incorporate into my day-to-day life d'America, after this trip.

I want to always remember my openess, my quiet strength to just accept what is and take what comes -- as it comes -- savoring both the good and the bad and learning fully from each experience. I want to always remember to be open to the people around me and not be afraid to chart new paths to unknown things. I want to make mistakes, learn, grow, and start over. I want to give those in my life the same freedom...and encouragement. I want to pursue new things that make my heart pound wildly, I want to put more good into the world. A domino effect of good things; started with a single smile, a kind word, an unguarded mistake.

I'm sincerely blown away by the people I have met on this trip. Their honesty, kindness, openess and willingness to connect with me, my camera, my life. Even now as I write, I can't sit outside, alone, because suddenly -- literally -- overnight, I find myself friends with all its occupants: the Hawaiians, the Aussie surfers and their families, the Balinese staff who eagerly test my Indonesian on every occasion. Within five minutes of sitting on the deck of my room, I draw a crowd of 10 Balinese hotel staff, then look up to see the construction workers next door have stopped hammering to listen to my faulty banter. Tossing out laughs and corrections and encouragement. When I ask, they tell me it is very rare to hear a tourist speak Indonesian, a few have never even seen it done. It makes me a little sad, ashamed of my tourist roots. This is how we, the majority, experience the world -- expecting others to do the work for us, to learn our language, to observe our customs and culture so we can feel at home in their country. It's not just Bali, it repeats in Mexico, Costa Rica...I wonder if it's not just tourism, but how our society lives. I wonder if it's how I live? Expecting others in my life to understand me, before I understand where they are coming from first. I promise myself to go home and practice this more.

How amazing to see this from the inside.

The phone rings. It's Mark, the Chicago transplant turned Hawaiian. I think about my plans to rent a scooter and solo it out to Uluwatu for a last quiet night of reflection...but have a feeling the phone ringing now is a sign I shouldn't. I pick it up. They're watching the sunset from their top floor room balcony, drinking Bintang, do I want to join?

I laugh. I've not even tried Bintang (the local $2 beer) since arrival. Keeping my promise to myself to not drink while traveling alone in the third world. My homage to the travel gods to keep me safe. It's worked so far. Tsunamis, earthquakes, bombings, flooding, fires, car crashes, rabis deaths, attacks, murder of a single Japanese tourist girl are all things I hear but never touch me on my travels.

30 minutes later I'm sitting on the tiled balcony railing, in the least-dirty shirt I own, chlorine-sundried curly hair looped back in a bandana, mountain bike scared knees, sun-burnt cheeks and chapstick-smile.

They're tanned, muscled, goofy and full of stories. They've been friends since they were kids. Mike talks about now teaching school in Hawaii. His jokes about being a hard-ass give way to sensitive insights and a teacher's passion to see all children succeed even as they face increasing number of ice-addicted parents, populations ravaged by poverty, tug of war between resentment and adoration from locals of their white Hawaiian counterparts. I feel a tug to take my camera there, someday. I've always loved Hawaii. It was where I learned to surf.

Under the surfer-brah act, they're older than me and see things I don't. They're unilaterally, unabashedly impressed that I came here for the first time, alone. Have since made friends and speak the language. Another round of ice-cold Bintangs are ordered up and I revel in their adoration, encouragement and cold beer. We talk of bikes, snowboards, Baker (always Baker...;), and surfing. I can't get enough of surfing. I love when they start talking of spots and I actually know some of them from my Hawaii wanderings, years before. I'm invited to stay and surf Bali with them, they leave for the other islands on a charted boat in the morning.

For 20 glorious minutes I contemplate what it would take to extend my trip and head to Nusa Perdida, Lombok and beyond. It's where I've been dying to go since I took up the trip. Mike says he knows enough people in Bali to work out the visa paperwork (smile). But I know it's not the right time for me. There's something tugging me homeward. Something I need to do there before setting sail on the next trip. I just have no idea what it is. I don't say no, I say Belum. Not yet. I know I'll be coming back to surf the endless, turquoise waves. This has just been the beginning.

Another round of Bintang as we listen to reggae. Mark's a music producer and owns a recording studio on the island when he's not working at his parent's vacation home...the home he offers to me to stay for free if I make it to Hawaii. They like how I travel and live these days -- they all promise to take me out surfing Hawaii style, show me the ropes from the inside out as we practice our pigeon. (Dakine.) It's like finding out you have three older brothers, I laugh, as I promise to take them up on the offer.

The other Mark is a fishing captain, smart as hell, muscled arms as big as my head and an easy-going attitude reminds me instantly of big Steve B in both look and demeanor. By the end of the night, as we talk about traveling alone as a woman, the fisherman two times bigger than me teaches me basic self-defense tactics and divulges vulnerabilities for my future travels.

Between smokes, Mike tells amazing-hilarious-scary stories of his first travels to remove Philipines islands to visit his diplomat father....but mostly to surf. Stomach turning stories of eating dog, turn to his travels to Indonesia, his latest quest to find the woman who got away three years prior. He's realized some things, he says as he inhales and smiles. I curious what they are but don't ask him what things. It seems like those things you have to come to on your own, over time. Instead he tells me her name, Lilius.

It's beautiful, I tell him.

They dated off and on and then lost touch last year. He went to her house two days ago only to learn she'd taken a job on another island, her family had moved too, no one knew how to reach her now. He'd tried talking to everyone. No luck.

Then when he'd given up. She called him. The word of his search had spread across islands. His smile is huge when the guys tease him. He tells the story how he took her out to dinner once. She was starving and wolfs down a ceasar salad. She's Muslim and doesn't eat pork. He watch her curiously to see if she'd realize there were bacon bits all over her salad. Instead she loves it. He laughs and doesn't have the heart to tell her as she orders another on their every visit.

The cigarette in his mouth burns intensely in the black night. Then an exhale. It's one of those things I'll tell her when we're 60 or something.

I love the simple, beautiful way he talks about the two of them together at 60. He talks of taking her back to Hawaii when her contract with her new job is finished. We'll figure it out. It's a good thing. Life, love and travel -- it's not a real adventure until something goes wrong.

I smile. At some point, life - and its struggles -- do seem to become too beautiful not to share. It's not that they're perfect or that they've finally figured it all out. I'm realizing, at least for me, it is what it is and the beauty is figuring it out as you go along. It's the chorus to the travel hymn, I've been humming to myself on this trip. I drink my Bintang as bats circle the pool and deserted beach chairs and Aussies stumble to bed.

I teach him how to say "Aku cinta camu, Lilius." (I love you!).

They'll be gone sailing by the time I get up in the morning. It's hard to leave. They each hug me and kiss my cheek. They tell me to keep going, keep doing what I'm doing. I tell Mike to find Lilius and give her a big hug. I tell them to catch some waves for me and I know I'll see them soon.

As I close their door and walk to my room, I know I will. It's funny when you let yourself be lost, let yourself drift, let yourself live in the moment and stop trying...how you're suddenly drawn to new, beautiful places.