This is the second part of my account of my first days in Indonesia where I was a stranger.
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I boarded the Night bus to Bali at around 3pm having sat in a cramped office waiting room for about 3 hours with my year's belongings. Remember the Knight bus in Harry Potter? Well, when I was ushered onto the bus, I discovered that my coach/bus driver was a complete pyscho! In my diary I wrote:
Indonesians are crazy drivers! They swap onto the wrong side of the road, constantly overtake people, speed manically ALL the time, hoot their horns 10 times a second and, for not very good roads, this was scary!Bearing in mind this was supposed to be a 23 hour coach journey (which ended up being about 18 hours), you can imagine how hair-raising it was! If they did that in England, the Police would be after them!
When we made our first stop, at a Ruman Makan (eating house)- where I nervously allighted along with my fellow passangers - I experienced my first sense of welcome. A young guy (around 20) called Andikan and his student friends introduced themselves to me. They were all 19-21 and were students originally from Sumatra, studying in Jakarta who were headed towards the Hard Rock Hotel in Kuta, Bali to watch an American band. They kindly took me under their wing, letting me test my Indonesian on them, helping me with pronunciation and vocabulary, letting me talk Englush when I wanted, translating them and generally being kind about things. It was so so nice to have friendly faces and it was the first glimpse of welcome in this strange (to me) country. More empathy came in the form of their acknowledging that they had never taken this coach before and they too were terrified! About five times a minute, we felt that death was imminent!
We travelled through the night, jolted here there and everywhere, blasted with horns. I attempted to seat in my otherwise comfortable seat, desperate to visit the facilities but not daring to attempt the journey to the back of the coach as I was likely to be buffeted into a stranger by the maniacal lurking driving.
The next morning, rather bedraggled and bereft of sleep, we reached the coast at Surabaya to get the boat across to Bali. Andikan, his friends and I stood on board deck enjoying the breeze, the glorious young sun and the glistening waters and reached Denpasar at the Terminal Bis. I suddenly thought, that I had no idea what to do. Did I go to STSI, the arts college I was going to be studying at? Where on earth would I stay? I didn't know. I knew my Balinese gamelan teacher was coming to Bali on holiday in 3 days and would be arriving at the airport near Kuta, but in the meantime, where would I go? Stay in dusty old Denpasar? Andikan and co said that they were going to Kuta and would I like to go with them where they would help me find a hotel. They were very kind and they chartered a 5-seater taxi to the hotel they had booked to stay in. All were apologetic, saying was I sure I didn't want to stay somewhere nicer but despite it apparently only being a '1-star hotel', Hotel Ratna was really lovely! Andikan spoke to the reception, bartering and got me a room for 175,000 Rp per night (around £13. My rent when I eventually found my place to stay would end up being 300,000Rp per month, just under double that but it was a start). It was clean, air-conditioned, , big white and wooden with drinking water provided, table, chairs, TV, A TOILET, A REAL TOILET, TOILET ROLL, OH TOILET ROLL, A SHOWER! My words at the time were: "I am in heaven!" I suddenly felt like I was in a safe place. (despite the fact the bomb happened there, during my year, a few months later)
I changed into my swimming costume and sarong with a top and met the uys to walk down to Kuta Beach, stopping at the amazing Hard Rock Hotel for the boys to pick up their tickets and arrived for sunset. It was wonderful! I do think my love of sunsets stems from that day, seeing for the first time, that beauty and majesty of creation, with fresh eyes! We had great fun swimming and throwing ourselves at the surf waves before we got ready and went to a lovely restaurant for dinner where I ate my first proper meal I could actually stomach since arriving in Indonesia: Gado-gado and Nasi goreng with a chocolate milkshake for (43,000Rp- £3. Again, in future, my daily budget would end up being 13,000Rp for food but I had just arrived).
We walked back along a vast array of shops selling a variety of goods and it also felt normal (shopping, Kezzie was home!). I didn't mention that when I was on my way to Java, I was still recovering from a really nasty cold, so after wandering, I felt really tired and was coughing a lot, still jet-lagged so the boys walked me back to the hotel and then went out again to wander. As I returned, my phone joyfully registered a confirmation message of timings of my Gamelan teacher arriving and texts back from my sister and Mum. As I prepared to go to sleep, I wrote the words in my diary. Hope being happier continues. Thank you God for my Sumatran friends. It's funny to read that back now, as a Christian and see that even then, I was thanking God for that.
The next couple of days with Andikan, Marm and co was lovely. The uncertainty would continue for they were only there for 2 days before having to return to Java, my Gamelan teacher would want to move onto his village to study, and my money was limited- I couldn't stay in Kuta for long, paying hotel rates- I had saved hard from my part-time job and gigs but it wouldn't last long. BUT, those 5 guys had made me feel welcomed and safe.
I was extraordinarily lucky. Many people who have taken these night buses have been robbed or had people being a bit slimy towards them. Andikan and his friends were like angels in disguise- they were kind and welcoming but not too much so, they had just the right balance to make me feel safe and trusting of them. (I exchanged numbers with Andikan but strangely, when I tried to text some time later, the number didn't register. I wonder where they are now?)
And I did trust them. I am usually very discerning of characters of people and am not overly trusting, despite my family having the impression of me being a bit naive. But out of the 100 hundred scholarship students who went to study there that year, I was one of the few who didn't experience some sort of robbing or illness. I experienced further welcome and aid in the form of the English students over in Solo, Java which might perhaps some day form another story of post, so the story doesn't end. Many difficulties would ensue during my year but there, for those few days, I felt that perhaps it wouldn't be quite so difficult as it had first felt and perhaps I wouldn't remain a stranger.
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This is the second half of the story I shared during the International World Women's day of prayer on the 6th of March.