So there I was, standing over what was one of the hardest
decisions I’ve made in a long time. Failure to perform this task with precise
execution could have lead to death, as I’m sure it has happened to some poor
soul that now resides in Davey Jones Locker. The tiniest slip would have, in
the least, surely ruined my day. The door closed leaving me in darkness save
for a single ray of light passing over the room. I could wait no longer: number 1 or number 2.
This weekend, I was privileged enough to venture out to the
Thousand Islands with a solid crew of friends.
It was a wonderful escape that has filled my head with wistful ideas of
abandoning this structured existence, buying a boat, and trolling around for,
like, a really long time. The most
important aspect of this trip is that it takes place in Indonesia, which means
it was bound to be full of failed promises, dodgy characters, and a complete
disregard for personal safety, yet at the same time met with fantastic surprises,
extraordinary beauty, and enjoyable chance encounters.
I will not waste time describing the Thousand Islands other
than they are a chain of islands that are the antithesis of Jakarta. I
encourage you to check out some pictures.
Trip starts out in a flooded fish market. Please imagine all the sights
and smells you attribute to a fish market, now remove all drainage systems and
refrigeration, turn up the temperature 85F with high humidity, add copious
amounts of garbage, while we’re at it how ‘bout a couple of wet stray
dogs. There is a certain ‘funk’ about
the place, and not the James Brown kind of funk, the bad kind. We are boarding
our ‘ferry’ to the Thousand Islands, which is strange because there is just
about that many people pushing about to get onto the dozen boats that are
leaving. No gangplanks, no handrails, water everywhere. As we pile into our
ferry, I am reminded of the alarming statistic I had made up and convinced
myself was true: two out of every five articles written about Indonesia in
Western newspapers are about a ferry that sunk and killed almost everyone on
board. Naturally I take a seat close to the door.
After a standard waiting time of one hour, we begin to motor.
Shortly after we leave I move to the top of the boat for some sun and fresh
air. It is worth mentioning that there are no seats on this ferry, you just
kinda find a place to through your stuff and then sit on it. We change boats two hours later piling 18
people onto some wood that had been glued together (I am completely
embellishing here) but roughly equivalent to the boat featured in Rookie Of The Year. It was enjoyable, although
the holes and gaps in the blue tarp roof caused leakage. Ah yes, it had just
begun to rain. I in no way wish to portray this as unenjoyably or negative, I
am loving every minute of this journey so far.
We arrive at the island, its wonderful. We have a great
meal, go snorkeling, get stung by jellyfish, have cold beers on a white sand
beach, built a raft and it almost worked.
After locating 8 extra beds the crew finally found some well deserved
sleep. The next day we go to the worst excuse for an aquarium I’ve ever seen,
but it somehow was more fun than most aquariums I’ve seen, way less
educational. We saw some giant lizards,
had pancakes, then prepare to return home.
Naturally, we show up to the ferry late and consequently are stuck up
top, but even there it is cramped. It is in moments like those were I curse the
length of my legs. It is only an hour into the trip when I realize nature is
calling. Making my way over the heaps of bags and awkwardly arranged people I
find the toilet. At the risk of creating the assumption the only thing in my
travels worth writing about have been those involving the toilet, I continue. I step inside and just burst out laughing. The
toilet is simply a hole cut into the bottom of the boat. The laughter subsides
when I realize I should really have been wearing shoes, then I just feel gross.
It was entirely possible to fall into the toilet hole, but not a handle in
sight. Thinking about it, even if there was a handle I probably wouldn’t have
touched it. In deep cogitation of how
long I could hold it, I make another realization. The boat is rocking, there is
no light, I’m not wearing shoes, and just like aerial bombardment campaigns of
WWII, you can never drop every bomb on your target. So despite my desire for
Ocean Dumpah, I opt for more specialized equipment and have to pass. Kyle Hay,
you still have me on this one.
After successfully not falling into the toilet, I climb
outside of the boat and scurry up to the roof to find my place in the intertwined
mass of bodies. I’m finding more and more, I can never have the experiences I
am having here in the States, or many places in fact. The very things that make
the US great are in some ways the same things that make it slightly lame. I don’t think Americans should opt for more
archaic forms of washrooms, but perhaps should loosen their neckties and relax
a little bit. After all, you can never have a good adventure unless there is
some adversity to overcome. Even if it is simply deciding between number 1 or
number 2.
