Nine Hours in Shanghai

Recently, I came across some interesting information, announcing that China had decided to allow international travels up to 72 hours within Shanghai and/or Beijing absolutely cost and Visa-free.  Thrilled at the prospect of saving $200 on the Visa, I jumped on the bandwagon, booking myself, as I so often do, a long layover in Shanghai.  My anticipation of my time behind the Silk Curtain alternated between excitement and trepidation, as all I had in my head was this very Americanized idea of iron-fisted communism, very wealthy upper classes, very poor lower classes, and a superiority complex.  Despite my efforts to have no opinions on things I've never actually experienced, China and all the stories I've heard about it has grown some ideas for me.  I knew this was just a stereotype, so I tried to put it aside, and succeeded to for the most part.  However, a few things still managed to surprise me.  My friend warned me that Shanghai is rather Westernized, so I'm a bit reluctant to form any opinions (or even completely toss out my stereotypes) about China, but this is what I saw.

The Big Three of the Far East are conveniently now
stamped on adjoining pages in my passport.

Getting through customs was surprisingly easy.  I expected people to know less English than they did and to know less about the 72-hour Visa than they did.  There was a moment when I was pulled off to the side and I worried that I was going to be detailed for questioning of some sort, but it didn't happen.  They just apparently needed a little more time for processing, since the 72-hour Visa isn't approved in advance or anything.  I was incredibly impressed that they had no problem with inspecting my itinerary off of my iPhone (Somehow, my printouts had gotten lost).  Everyone who worked at the airport, from the desk attendants to the security guards were incredibly helpful.  Way to win, Shanghai.

I was amused, I may note that the first thing I saw in China (not counting the airport, of course) was a McDonald's.  My word, they're everywhere.  I technically wasn't even off airport property, yet.  In fact, I was following a very "Secret Garden"-esque path to find the subway (note the green arrows on the road directing me to the line I needed).  I didn't stop because, anymore, even the thought of McDonald's turns my stomach (though I do partake in it occasionally if the right friend asks me to go).  I did notice that their menu seemed incredibly different from the rest of the McDonald'ses that I've seen in other places in the world, but I expected that after doing a case study on the franchise for international marketing.  (Just a tidbit worth noting if you actually do like McDonald's: Every region in the world has a unique McDonald's menu, catering to the specific preferences of the people there.)

I opted to take the subway (line 2) through Shanghai, as both airports are on it, and I needed to make an airport change.  I had read that you could pay a shuttle to take you across in about an hour, but I found the subway first, it was cheaper, and I figured I'd get a feel for the culture better on the subway than in a van.  So I put my Shanghai Subway Map app to work.  Not that I really needed it... like I said, both stops were on the same line.  In fact, everything I wanted to do was on that line.  But it was comforting to have nonetheless.

Things worth knowing if you ever decide to do this on your own: You cannot change from the 10 line to the 2 line at Hongqiao Airport T2 without paying again.  You must go one stop past T2 to do this.  Somewhere in the middle of the Line 2 (I don't remember exactly which stop), I had to change trains.  It wasn't hard at all.  I just got out and hopped on the next one going the same direction.  Everyone has to do it at that point, so just go with the flow.

While I was spending time on the subway (maybe about an hour and a half, give or take 15 minutes), I was surprised to run into a goodly number of German people.  Well... I guess that's relative.  I think I saw maybe 5 non-Asian people the whole day.  I struck up a conversation with one man that was pretty interesting.  He gave me some good tips on what to see.  I kept wanting to use my Korean to talk to people, though I knew it would do me no good, and I only know two words in Mandarin, though I doubt my tonality is correct.  Nevertheless, I used my two words.  For everything else, I smiled and bowed a lot.  This, however, seemed to go over well, and an older couple on the subway adopted me, praising my ability to get a seat in spite of being foreign and lugging some pretty serious luggage with me.  When we switched trains, they took up extra space on the bench to save me a seat.  It blew my mind that they would do that for me.  In my experience, that kind of kindness to a stranger is nearly unheard of in the East.  Let me emphasize nearly unheard of.  It's not that people are being mean or anything... it's just a cultural thing.  The two were so sweet.  We spent a lot of time smiling at each other, and the grandmother (I want to call her 아줌마, or 할머니, though neither of those are really appropriate as, once again, she was not Korean) made sure I saw that there were white people on the TV at one point (They were German, but it's the thought that counts).  Seriously, they just melted my heart and made my day.

Skipping forward, as this is already getting long, and I haven't even begun to talk about my sightseeing yet, I decided to go ahead and check in for my flight as soon as I got to the other airport.  It seemed like the easiest way to ditch most of my luggage, and, since the line was gigantic, I figured it was better to be safe than sorry.

Asia never leaves you room to doubt where you are.  My word, there are PEOPLE in Asia. 

It actually moved faster than I feared it would, so I was able to grab a locker for my carry-on stuff and hit the Mag Lev train within an hour of my arrival.  In case you don't know what the Mag Lev train is, it does this:

Me, super excited about how fast we were traveling.

As a result, I was able to chop about half an hour from my travel time.  Maybe more.  I didn't pay enough attention on the way in.

I had thought about going to see the infamous Bund at E. Nanjing Road, but I wasn't really feeling it by the time Lujiazui Street came up, so I hopped off on a whim and figured I'd look around.  It turned out to be a good choice, because the Oriental Pearl Tower was right outside the exit.  It is my opinion that the Pearl is on of the coolest looking pieces of architecture out there, and it's certainly one of the most distinctive buildings in Shanghai, so I was thrilled with my choice.  I was so thrilled, in fact, that I dropped most of my spending money on a ticket to the very top of the thing.  That turned out to be okay, though, because it was incredibly time-consuming.  I didn't have a chance to go anywhere else, and I somewhat wish I'd had more time to spend within the Pearl.  Nevertheless, I'm very glad that was where I chose to spend my time in Shanghai, mostly because it felt like I could see the whole city from the top, but also because of all the cool things that I kept finding on each level.  I do wish I had realized they were there so I could have paced myself better.  I ended up getting so frustrated as I was having to bypass things on the way out to make it back to the airport on time to catch my flight.  I did make time for a quick peek at the various observation decks, though.  Each one had a different view worth seeing.

I still got to see The Bund... just from a different angle than people had suggested.

The downward-facing observation deck was somewhat panic-inducing, to the point that I saw several people flat out lay down on the glass once they looked down, but I am proud to announce that I stayed upright (though I did walk incredibly slowly and lightly to get my way back to opaque ground).  I'm not sure why people don't really think about how high up they are until you put glass under them, but that seems to be the norm.  I suppose that's why we're always advised to "don't look down"... not that that ever stops anyone, but it at least makes a little more sense now.

I had thought ahead enough to make sure I grabbed a dumpling (For those who know what it is, this was definitely a 왕만두 and not anything remotely resembling what I imagined a Chinese dumpling to be.) and my customary new country Coke (another company that changes its recipe from region to region) to eat as I waited to get into the Pearl.  This turned out to be excellent planning, as I ended up needed to be one of those obnoxious people who asked if they could cut in front of everyone to make it back to the airport.  There was definitely some self-loathing that happened then, but I sucked it up and did what I had to.

Outside the Pearl, there were taxis waiting, just as I'd read there would be.  Even though I was positive (and I'm still pretty sure I was right) that the subway would be faster, my anxiety about the potential to miss my flight had me jump into the nearest mode of transportation I could find.  I was proud of myself for the ease with which I haggled with the driver over the price.  I didn't even stop to think about it.  It's not like I haggle all that much in Korea, but I guess living there has just made me more confident with the idea of doing it.  Once in the cab, I managed to convince myself to relax, and the driver and I had a nice chat about how awesome he thinks President Obama and Americans in general are.  I smiled and thanked him, then spent the next few minutes trying to figure out what America could have possibly done for China to make this man think our country is all that cool, but gave up on it when I realized that I could be taking advantage of the fact that I was now above ground for a part of the city that I'd only seen below ground and film my cab ride.  One incredibly close call between my hand and the front end of a bus later, we got this:

Welcome to China friends.

Getting back on the Mag Lev was amazingly easy, especially since my driver literally pulled up to the station stairs for me, proclaiming his love for Americans the whole time.  Getting through security at the airport was only marginally more difficult.  My customs security man was very chatty and curious about what I was doing in Korea and Thailand, but I just kept on smiling and answering.  I didn't even check my watch once (which, after estimating the time wrong in London and missing out on the London Eye during my first ever long layover, I had set for China time before I ever left Seoul).  Be proud of me.  I ended up having enough time to shop for a couple little people who are in my life before feeling the need to go wait by my gate.  Sadly, you have to have access to texting in China to get the airports free WiFi, but I can survive unplugged (usually), so it wasn't that bad of a wait.

Incidentally, I noticed  a family with what looked like twin young girls on the Mag Lev the second time.  I actually noticed several families throughout the day that were clearly Chinese and clearly had multiple children.  I had been under the impression that Chinese families were only allowed one child, but now I'm starting to wonder if that also was a misconception.

I will say, however, my experience with my airline, China Eastern, was not one that I ever intend on repeating.  A weight debacle that ended up costing me $200 and a lovely reinterpretation of the definition of "special vegetarian meal that you ordered" (confiscation of the main meat dish without replacing it with anything else) was enough to make me add them to my airline blacklist.  (Also on that list are Delta and Virgin, in case you were wondering.  Airports that made the list are Bangor, ME; Sofia, Bulgaria; and Jakarta, Indonesia... not that you can completely vow off an airport, but I'd like to avoid them as much as possible.  Incidentally, Turkish Air and American Airlines have made what I'd call a graylist for various reasons... Just proceed in booking with them with caution.)

All in all, for the traveler with the short attention span like me, I think this 72-hour Visa is definitely worth while.  I fully intend on taking advantage of it to see Beijing when I get the chance, especially now that I know how to anticipate things (though, let me tell you, it may take the full 72-hours just to navigate the Beijing airport, from what I hear...) and feel more confident that I'm not going to get arrested for simply thinking Western thoughts in China.  Hopefully this new Visa policy is going to be around for a good while, because I'm really liking it. 

Indonesia: Mt. Bromo

Most of my time in East Java included getting up incredibly early, feeling sick because of the hour, then hiking somewhere.  I barely recognized myself, because none of those things sound like me.  However, I forgave myself, because I got to see some really cool things.  As well as seeing the Ijen Crater, I went to see Mt. Bromo, a very active volcano/tourist trap.

We actually got hiking before dawn to see the sun rise over Mt. Bromo.  That was a bit nerve wracking, as we were walking up lava-tracked roads in the literal pitch-darkness.  One wrong step, and I would slip down into the deep craters left by lava from a recent eruption.  Considering that I couldn't see anything, that happened really frequently.

At first, I didn't realize we were there for the sunrise, so I got a little frustrated, waiting to move on, but I figured it out eventually.  It would have been really awesome, but the morning was so foggy I couldn't see the volcano.  What I did see was really pretty, though.  

Sadly, the fog turned into rain before I really got going on the day, so most of my photos ended up looking like this:

Look closely and you'll see my first glimpse of Mt. Bromo.

Needless to say, we're going to be relying rather heavily on my descriptive abilities.

I was pretty excited about Mt. Bromo for a couple of reasons.  1. It's constantly active.  The most recent eruption was the month before I saw it.  2. It's a much shorter hike than Ijen.  3. I got to ride a pony for most of the hike.  The negative was that it was below freezing.  Boo.  The hotel let me rent a big puffy coat, but I think I got the one that had been in the rain before, so it was very lumpy.  It was also several sizes too big for me, so it was not my most favorite of fashion statements, but it kept me from getting sick, thus it accomplished its goal.  It did not, however prevent me from getting soaked.

My soaked self, my pony, and a temple near the volcano. 

Incidentally, that was the last time I got to use those gloves.  A man from Portugal now has them, due to a bit of a miscommunication.  It's a bummer, but I hope they're keeping him warm, since my cousin worked so hard to make them!

Since the volcano had recently erupted, the entire area was brown and barren. There were deep tracks from where the lava had been.  As I rode my pony across it all, heading for an active volcano, I couldn't help but feeling like I had landed in Middle Earth and was on my way to storm Mt. Doom.  A 10th grade math test/over-confidence fiasco taught me never to hum epic movie themes in semi-dangerous situations, so I kept myself quiet this time, but, had that not happened, I would have probably been humming some Lord of the Rings throughout this adventure.  (PS. I wasn't the only person who was feeling connected to Tolkien; most people brought it up at some point during their time at the volcano.)

When the pony could go no further, I was presented with a massive set of stairs that led to the mouth of the volcano crater, where I bought a bunch of flowers to attempt to toss into the lake below:

Although stairs aren't my greatest pleasure in life, I think they're much nicer than having to deal with a hill on hikes like these.

The only guard rail was to keep you from falling into the volcano, which, while I appreciated that the park coordinators didn't want me accidentally sacrificing myself, wasn't always helpful when the wind wanted to push me over backward.  Many places were very narrow, so, once I found a spot that felt decently safe, I rooted myself to it and didn't budge until I was ready to go.

A new Korean man I met took a picture of me and my "sacrifice" for me.  Korean is turning out to be a more useful language than I originally anticipated.

Legend has it that there used to be a kingdom near Mt. Bromo.  The kingdom's princess married a young man, but they could not get pregnant.  She petitioned the gods, and they answered her prayer, telling her they'd allow her to get pregnant, only if she agreed to sacrifice her final child in the fires of the volcano.  She agreed and was able to have children.

I didn't hear if she followed through with her promise or not, but now, every year on August 4, the local people have a festival for the legend.  They buy flowers and dolls to try to throw into the volcano so as to protect their land.  (***EDIT 3/4/13: My friend Mark told me the rest of the story today - He's currently living in Indonesia, so I'm sure he's heard this a lot: The queen refused to sacrifice her youngest son, but when he became aware of the deal, he jumped into the crater in order to protect his village/family.***)

Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure I annoyed whatever god decided we needed to throw stuff into the volcano, because I failed miserably.

My flowers landed close enough to the top of the volcano that I probably could have climbed down, grabbed them, and tried again, like one Korean man near me did.  However, it was very windy, and I didn't feel like tempting Mother Nature, so I left them were they were (the bottom right corner of the left picture).

Basically, Bromo was this incredible experience.  Ever since I was a child, I had a ridiculously irrational fear of volcanoes (I blame it mostly on the movie Volcano and some children's book I read, which, in combination, left me thinking that a volcano could randomly sprout under my feet at any given moment).  I still vividly remember some of the nightmares I had about volcanoes.  I swore to myself that one day I would face that fear, and I was able to do that with this trip.

I touched the acid like and handled molten sulfur at Ijen.

I climbed up the side of an active volcano and threw things into its depths at Bromo.

I am one volcano-fear-conquering lady, and I'm incredibly proud of myself.

Indonesia: Ijen Crater

I wrote this while I was still in Indonesia; it's not my normal blogging writing-style, but I wanted to capture my feelings while they were still fresh.

January 24, 2013

Deep in the jungle of East Java, Indonesia lies Mt. Ijen.  From bottom to top, it is about a three kilometer hike, traversing steep, unforgiving slopes, leaving the climber with the distint impression that she is unwelcome at her destination, and why should she be?  Upon reaching the top, the climber is suddenly awed by the view that overwhelms the fog-covered mountains and treetops upon which she turns her back.  In front of her lies the crater of an active volcano, filled with the largest sulfur lake in Indonesia, turquoise blue and deadly acidic.

The sulfur lake in the Ijen Crater

This is the mountain I was taken to see on my trip to Indonesia.  A renowned attraction, a visit to this natural wonder is regularly included in tourist packages.  I was prepared to be exhausted by the climb.  I was prepared to be intimidated by the active state of the volcano.   I was prepared to realize my own insignificance in the face of something so powerful.  I was not prepared to meet the men who spend their days climbing up and down its path, mining the sulfur that has become so crucial to Indonesian culture.

When I first saw one of the many men carrying two baskets of sulfur bricks across his shoulders, I was floored.  Upon asking its weight, my guide told me that it weighed close to 85 kilograms.

"That's more than I weigh!" A nearby woman exclaimed.

With a jolt of shock, I realized that it would be an easier task for this man to carry me across the mountainside than his load of sulfer.  I assumed it to be a testimony to the poor economy of the area that the man did not have any modern tools to help him with the process, but a friend of my tour guide encouraged me to think further.

"I asked the men why they didn't use more modern tools," he said.  "They told me the government won't let them."

He went on to explain that Ijen is a type of national park.  "I guess that's why can't use [modern tools]."  But the look on his face left me with the distinct impression that he was as dissatisfied with that answer as I was.

At the mouth of the crater, I was quickly greeted with the opportunity to have one of the miners help me descent to the lake below and give me a tour of the mine.  He told me the trip would cost me 50,000 rupiah, roughly 5 USD, which would be slightly less than he would make for one load of sulfur (85kg is worth about 56,000 rupiah).  I agreed, eager to see the mine and happy to make the day easier for this man.  He produced a couple of painter's masks for me to layer and wear to combat the smoke, and we were off, climbing almost straight down through the noxious fumes.  Concentrating solely on not losing my footing, I often didn't see the miners until they were right on top of me, carrying their loads up a rock face that would have made me uncomfortable even if I had been harnessed into climbing ropes.  Yet they climbed it in goulashes, many mask-less in the acrid smoke.  I tried not to think of the number of years that were being cut from their lives during my trip alone.

A man carries his load up the crater

I greeted each man with a smile, to which each man always replied, "Where are you from?"

"America," came my hesitant reply.  Several overseas trips had taught me to share this information cautiously, as it usually elicits passionate responses.  The miners held true to form, although I was relieved to see it took a more positive bent.

"America?  Obama!" was the standard response, and, as if it was a cheer designed to hearten the rest of the workers, it was always met with a chorus of "Obama!" from all the men within earshot.  As Indonesia was the president's childhood home, I was not incredibly shocked by their love for him, but it took a moment for the magnitude of it to sink in.  His very name seemed to birth hope, something I've not seen in relation to any other president in my lifetime, but I imagine it was something akin to how the American people reacted to John F. Kennedy while he was in office.

We repeated this exercise almost every time I met a new worker until, on the floor of the crater, one man broke form.

"Obama?  He's my relative!"

I did a double-take.  Surely not, I thought, prepared to argue that the fumes had addled his mind like the man I'd overheard telling a pair of hikers that he was a Pokémon.  I looked to the men around him, trying to discern from their actions if there was any truth to his claim.  None of them laughed or turned away as they had with the Pokémon man; it seemed his had them convinced.

I spent a lot of time wandering around the crater, taking pictures and chatting with the miners, but, as the wind picked up speed, I began to feel an urgent desire to leave.  My guide had already been waiting at the top for me for quite some time, and I did not want to be extraordinarily long, so we began the ascent.  This time, however, the smoke was much more oppressive.  I could not see further than a meter in front of my feet, and it was not long before I joined in with the miners in spite of my masks, coughing and moaning.  Immediately, they were at my side, encouraging me to drink my water.  The miner who had brought me down offered me his ski cap through which he had been breathing himself. I took it reluctantly, and only used it for a couple of breaths, eager to get him to cover his mouth.  Eventually, though, the volcano began to win, and I crouched, hyperventilating against the rocks.  We doused my bag in water and added it to the mask collection on my face.  Between it and the miners pushing me through the steepest parts, I was able to make it back to the mouth of the crater.  I paid the man as quickly as my shaking hands would let me, and my guide and I retreated back down the mountain.

That night as I laid awake in bed, grappling with the pain in my smoke-burned lungs, I thought more about the conversation I had had with my guide's friend:

"I asked [the miners] what the hardest part was for them: the three kilmeter hike or the two hundred twenty-five meter hike up the crater."

"The climb, of course," I answered.

"Yes," he said.  "The smoke... the smoke..."

The men work through the smoke, with or without proper masks.

I wondered how many of the men were also lying sleepless on their beds, as I was, trying to massage the burning out of their chests.

"I asked why they didn't get other jobs," the friend had continued.  "But Indonesia's economy is bad.  This is the last stop for these men.  There's nothing else."

"They're cutting so many years off their lives for this," I said.  My guide's friend and I locked gazes for a moment, and I knew we were both trying to communicate the same thing across the language barrier: These men were doing what they had to do to provide for their families, even if it meant paying the ultimate price.

Indonesia: Taman Safari

Taman Safari was the main place I wanted to see in Jakarta.  A couple things had caught my eye in my research, but this seemed the most interesting to me.  I knew I had only a couple of days in Jakarta, and I wanted to make the most of them, but I also was exhausted from my adventure trying to find a hotel.  I tried to justify a couple days in the luxurious hotel to myself, but, in the end, I couldn't.  I walked to the travel agents' offices (because yes, the hotel was so nice that it had two different travel offices in it) and asked for information on things to do that would be open in spite of the flood.

Sea World, which was right on the water, was clearly not going to be an option, but then, a brochure advertising the Taman Safari park caught my eye.  I was sold.  The travel agents, however, were not.  They told me it was about 45 minutes away, and, if the water hadn't receded, I'd be unable to get there.  I asked them if they minded calling the park and asking for me.  Grudgingly, the agreed.  In the end, it sounded like, everything was going to be a go.  But I wasn't out of the woods, yet.  Next, they tried to convince me I needed to rent a car to drive through the safari myself.  I knew that normally people drove their own vehicles there, but, "Surely," I told myself, "a tourist attraction of this magnitude has options for people who have not yet mastered the mystery of driving on the left side of the road."  I scoured the brochure and found that you could arrange to rent a car there.  While driving myself around the park wasn't my favorite idea, it was at least better than driving myself through the giant, congested city, a feat I was sure would kill me if I attempted it.

So, the next morning, I ate an enormous breakfast at the hotel buffet (my plan was to survive on the two complimentary meals, provided by the hotel, a trick I learned at family Thanksgivings when we stayed at a similarly-styled hotel), and headed out to the taxi stand, where I found another one of my trusted BlueBird taxis.  I told the driver where I wanted to go, and, after he checked to make sure I was serious about the 45-minute ride, we were on our way.When we got there, I assumed that there would be some check point where the driver would let me out, and I'd piddle around until I found the rental area. So I was very surprised when I realized that there were animals surrounding the car.  As it turned out, the driver had opted to take me through the park himself, a considerably cheaper option for me (since the taxi fares in Jakarta are mostly based on distance traveled, rather than time - as they are in Korea) and, I'm assuming, a considerably more enjoyable option for him than his normal fares.  He even drove me around the theme park part of the area, driving me up to different rides and attractions and waiting for me to finish.  After the park, we made a couple stops for souvenirs, and returned to the hotel in time for me to have some dinner and do some serious work on my story (Yes, I'm still working on it.  If I'd been more faithful to it, I'd probably be further along by now, but I haven't been.  I can also justify it a bit by saying that I've been very anal about my edits, too, so it's changed massively since I started, which has contributed to the amount of time I've spent on it).  I made the choice to stay with this taxi driver, based on one observation: It was crazy cheap to do so!  I had a private driver the whole day for a grad total of $60.  That, my friends, is winning.

Now, we all know it wouldn't be a vacation post if there weren't some pictures.  I will tell you this, though, I forgot to charge my Canon PowerShot SX50 HS 12.1 Megapixel Black Digital Camera - 6352B001 (Google Affiliate Ad) the night before, meaning that a few minutes into the tour, it died.  At first, I was very frustrated, assuming I wasn't going to get any pictures, but then I remember that I had my Penguin (Aka.. my iPhone) on me, so I used that to take most of the pictures in the park.  I must say, I was very impressed with how they turned out.  See if you can tell where I switched cameras (to be honest, I can't remember exactly where it happened):

A lot of people brought carrots with them to feed the animals. As a result, many of them would stick their faces right into the cars, searching for food. I shook hands/trunks with this elephant.

My brother thinks this was a bull, but I'm not convinced. All I know is that I wouldn't want to be the one to make it mad.

This tiger looked like it was pretty settled to take an afternoon nap like many of the other tigers were doing, so I leaned out the window to take a picture of it (not at all uncommon for people to do in the park). At that moment, it decided it didn't like the spot it was in, got up, and started walking seemingly toward the car. The taxi driver started yelling, "Window! Window! Close the window!" It was a hand-crank window, so I was turning it as fast as I could, yelling also: "I know I know I know I know I know!" It turned out that the tiger only wanted to pass in front of our car to cross to the other side. (Apparently that's not just a chicken pass-time.) We both giggled rather sheepishly for a bit after that.

Llama face!

In the baby zoo, people could buy tickets to play with/take photos with various baby animals. The only two that were awake while I was there was the white tiger and the lion cubs. The tiger had just woken up from a nap, so he was happy to play. He licked my leg and sniffed at my arm, yawning widely in a couple of pictures. All in all, he seemed rather curious. The lion, on the other hand, was very sleepy, about to end his shift. He did sniff my face, something that made both the handler and myself nervous, but, mostly, he just laid there like a doll. But I can assure you, he most definitely was real.

Indonesia: Arrival in Jakarta

The Indonesia portion of my journey started off with an adventure.  I had noticed on my plane that I was nearly the only International person on it.  This was slightly unnerving for me, but I figured it was due to the late hour of the flight or something along that vein.  What I didn't realize was that Indonesia was in the middle of its rainy season and Jakarta, the city for which I was headed was flooded.  In fact, I didn't realize that until much later, the flood, obviously, being the first to catch my attention.

After landing and obtaining my Visa-on-arrival (wonderful things), I headed out, looking for the taxi service that was reported to be the only reputable one in the city.  I barreled past the drivers who were out of their cars and waiting in the luggage claim area (never, ever go with those guys; it'd be cheaper to connect your wallet to a vacuum.), and found where the other taxis were waiting.  The next obstacle were the drivers who were waiting on the sidewalk.  Generally, these are no better than the luggage claim area guys, but sometimes you get a good seed there.  Thankfully, I  had the good sense (and the blaring TripAdvisor warnings) to continue looking for BlueBird Taxi.  I breathed a sigh of relief when I found the correct taxi service.  It was the only one with a line, so I felt much better about it all.

It took me about half an hour to wait out the line, and never once did I waver in my resolution to take a BlueBird taxi.  When I finally got to the front of the line, I showed the driver the name of my hotel, and everything took a downward turn.  He got very disgruntled, even getting out of the taxi to consult with the attendant.  Assuming he didn't know where it was, I began to get frustrated.  I am notorious for picking bad hotels from the Internet, so I assumed I'd chosen yet another hole-in-the-wall place that only looked like it was find-able from a map.  Finally, after a couple of phone calls, we were on our way.

"There's a lot of water, so I'll need to take the highway," the driver said.  I agreed.  I'd looked at the map, the highway passes straight by the waterfront, leading to the center of Jakarta, where I had booked my hotel.  I also had learned from my trip in Thailand that this probably meant there would be a toll.  I was okay with these things, and I told him so.

Just as we were about to get off the highway, the driver pulled off, into the median, and said to me, "There's a lot of water, we probably can't go there."

Now, I was confused, and, once again, a bit nervous.  We went back and forth on it, until I realized what he meant.  There had been a flood.

"Can you just try to get to my hotel?"  I asked.  "I have reservations."

The man hesitantly agreed, asking the men at the toll-booth for the status of the neighborhood past the exit.  They assured him that it would be okay, and we plowed on through the puddles.  Unfortunately, those puddles began to get deeper and deeper, until I could feel the water vibrating against the floor of the car under my feet.  The taxi stopped.

"I'm really sorry, missus, but we cannot go this way.  There is too much water."  I secretly breathed a sigh of relief.  I didn't like us driving through the water.  But then, as quickly as the relief came, it left; I had no idea where to go.  Then, my driver turned to look me dead in the face.

"Missus, are you a Christian?"

My heart leapt to my throat.  All of my friends' warnings about Indonesia being a Muslim country didn't seem so trivial anymore.  I looked around outside the car.  The houses looked to be little better than those of a slum in the 1am gloom.  Everywhere, there was some amount of water.  I had nowhere to go.

I took a breath.

"Yes.  I am."

The man started speaking very fast.  "Good.  I am a Christian, too, and, in the name of Jesus Christ, I promise I will get you safely to a hotel."

I'm ashamed to say, I wasn't convinced.  "A nice hotel?"  I asked him.

"Yes, missus.  A nice hotel."

"Okay.  Let's go."

We pulled away, and I felt my deposit stay behind in the deep puddles of the neighborhood.  I had already had one instance of booking for the wrong dates and being charged for the room when I didn't show up.  Now, it was going to happen again.  I sighed and resigned myself to it.  There was nothing I could do about it at that point.

The first hotel we came to was a name I recognized; I had researched it in my hotel booking process and seriously considered staying there.  I paid the driver, thanked him, and ran inside, but he followed.  After a short conversation with the concierge, he informed me that there were no rooms available.  Later, that made sense to me: All the people displaced by the flood would have to go somewhere.  But, in that moment, all I could think about was how very much I wanted to sleep.

I got back in the taxi, envisioning a long night of hotel hopping and paying and repaying the driver.  Within, five minutes, however, he was pulling up a long driveway.  One look at its towers and circular driveway told me that I was going to need to switch hotels the next day.  There was no way I could afford that place.  Nonetheless, dear old Benjamin was going to take one for the team (the team that connected my eyeballs and my cognition), and make new friends with the people that ran the hotel.

When I walked in, I was greeted by a bell boy, who took my bag from my hand and my backpack off my back and led me up the escalators, where I came face to face with two large arrangements of Oriental Lilies, one of my favorite flowers.  In that moment I said to myself, You know what?  This is vacation; let's live a little.  After all, I did just get paid.  I decided to stay in the Hotel Santika Jakarta for the duration of my time in the city.  Much to my wallet's surprise, it only turned out to be ~$130/night for the exclusive suite I was given (they were pretty booked up, too), which included a breakfast buffet, complimentary mini-bar, and evening snack bar (which I turned into a dinner buffet).  Considering that that's roughly what I would pay for a night at a Wingate Hotel in the States, I gladly agreed that it was worthy my money.  Thus began a series of events that led me to several unexpectedly luxurious hotels.  For now, I'll leave you with pictures of the Hotel Santika:

Lobby

Breakfast buffet area

My room and incredibly soft bed

Exclusive lounge where I ate my dinners

Truly, though, the pictures don't do this place justice.  It was an amazing hotel, with excellent amenities, and a wonderful masseuse.  This was the perfect answer to the stress that came with my unfortunate timing in landing.

I just danced around my office.

Because I booked my flights for vacation in record time.

I'll be going to Vietnam to see my friend and fellow Orioles fan, Danielle.  It'll be great to see her, although it might be weird with no baseball around us.  The last time we did that, I think we were in high school...  Oh well.  It's clearly long overdue.

After Vietnam, I'll be heading to Indonesia, where I'll hang out in the capitol for a while, then head east, where there's, apparently  a volcano that's CONSTANTLY ERUPTING!  Volcano eruptions were my deepest fear as a child (one too many late night viewings of Volcano and Dante's Peak, I guess).  I had horrible nightmares about them, one of which I remember distinctly: I was trying to save my cousin from the volcano which had opened up into my church.  He was at the very top, and the volcano kept spraying lava everywhere... which was mac and cheese yellow with hairy tentacles.  (Aliens were my other big fear, also blamable on TV - you guessed it: Unsolved Mysteries.)  So, I'm putting my TV-crippled days behind me, and I'm actually very excited to go face this fear... maybe a little too excited.  Somebody should probably go with me to keep me from falling into the volcano... although, if you didn't, it would be a good way for me to prove once and for all that lava and aliens were different...

Additionally... Volcano-seeing may or may not be on my bucket list?  I don't remember... I'll have to check and add it if it's not.

But yes, I'm excited, and I'm going, and I'm (hopefully) returning to work afterward, when I will be happy, sunburnt, and maybe less jet-lagged than before.

Leave your Vietnam and Indonesia must-sees here.

Love you!