Good morning China!

I woke up, my first morning in China, to the sound of a loud knock and angry sounding Mandarin at my hostel door. No peep hole in sight, I opened the door cautiously. There stood the tallest Chinese man I had ever seen, measuring 6' 6", at least, holding a medium sized UPS box. He was visibly irritated. It took a second to realize this wasn't yet another weird, flight induced dream.

The pathetic language-less westerner that I am, all I could utter was Ni hao! 你好! He didn't appreciate the attempt, but rather pushed the box towards my face, continuously pointing at a figure in yuan with his Shrek like fingers. Doesn't take a genius to interpret the universal 'give me my money' signal. 190 yuan worth of tax?!?! For one UPS box sent from the US?!?? I didn't know the exact conversion, but this was more than a private room costs...we truly ARE China's bitch, I thought!

Politics aside, I still had this massive Chinese guy to deal with. And having been in China for exactly 8 hours, I had no yuan on hand. This, I knew, he'd like even less than waking me up. I did what every westerner does when language barriers exist...I grunted and made the no money hand motion. My Chinese UPS friend became livid. He yelled, hand motions a nice extra, and insisted I follow him. Down four flights of stairs we went and then...straight out the hostel door. I didn't dare ask but I assumed, hoped, we were en route to the nearest ATM.

My first view of Beijing was somewhat blocked by the giant that walked in front of me. There I was, hair disheveled, no jacket on, flip flopping behind this angry man in 50 degree weather for several Beijing blocks. I must've been a sight to see. I've been stared at as a tourist many times before; random folks have asked me to take photos with them on countless occasions. But this, this was a different kind of stare...the type the Lohans of the world must get after a major fuck up.

After what felt like hours, we finally reached the ATM. The UPS man yelled something, pointed at the machine, and then, respectfully, turned away. I inserted the card and quickly realized that I was about to have my first crash course in Chinese characters.

It's funny how quickly a desperate brain can recall the positioning of buttons on ATM withdrawal screens. After following button paterns engrained over the years, I was filled with glee when numeric figures, ones I recognized, popped up on the screen. The only issue was, I hadn't yet learned the conversion rate. Let's see...A private room costs 160 yuan, which is approximately $25 dollars, so 200 yuan must be...beep, beep, beep...the ATM began to scream.

I could feel the no longer respectful UPS man's glare on my back. Fearing the ATM would eat my card, which would probably be a UPS offense punishable by death in China, I hit the biggest number on the screen and hoped it didn't exceed the available amount. As the money began to rush out, oh sweet sound, I cracked a smile, feeling somewhat like a new graduate.

I handed Chinese UPS guy 200 yuan. He seemed somewhat pleased. He handed me 10 yuan and started to walk away. He didn't indicate so, but I hoped this meant he was walking me back to the hostel. Truth be told, I had no idea where it was. I might as well have been sleepwalking to that ATM. The paranoia of flip flopping through Beijing, screaming my hostel's name began to spread....Sanlitun...Sanlituuuuun...oh the horror! I walked briskly, trying not to lose sight of the massive giant who knew the way.

I breathed a massive sigh of relief when I caught a glimpse of the ghetto blue neon Sanlitun sign in the distance. The UPS guy walked me to the entrance and then, without a word, turned around and walked away.
Xie Xie (谢谢) I yelled, my western niceties kicking in. He turned around,  gave me the universal farewell hand gesture, and would you believe it, the giant even cracked a smile! Good morning China, I thought.

An unexpected loss

I expected I'd lose some things on this trip. I thought the *things* would be mostly material: the typical passport snatch (every backpackers worst nightmare), the wallet misplacement, mobile phone(s) disaster...or perhaps the less tangible, but just as memorable: loss of greed, jealousy, judgement, reliance on the material, loss of the superficial self...

I expected these things. I would've been prepared for their loss and still am. But note,all these *things* are directly related to the self. The loss of my closest friendship, such a sudden, immeasurable loss...for this, I wasn't prepared, not in the least bit.

While in Yogyakarta, I attended a world famous puppet show at Sultan's Palace. The story the puppeteer told was a sad, beautiful tale...a tale of deceit, loss and pain. Being from the Balkans, it resonated with me. Not the words the puppeteer sang - I didn't understand their meaning - but the music, the movements - these things are universal, they know no geographic bounds,

During the climax of the show, the puppeteer removed the loving face of one of the main characters and replaced it with an evil, deceitful, jealous looking face. It was the Eastern version of character suddenly turns antagonist. The changeover was beautifully done...the gongs paused, silence entered the palace, hands moved swiftly, curtains fluttered. We, the American, the Dutch, Chinese, Javanese, all sensed a breaking point. We were forced to reflect on this moment of pain...we knew the protagonist would be deceived but was unaware. We sat in silence and awaited the eventual doom. It entered, stage left, gracefully, foreshadowing my own demise...

Apparently, it takes less than a month to figure out who your real friends are when you embark on a long, personal journey. I've been blessed with quite a few incredible surprises: a boss, as supportive as a father would be, ensuring I have bread to eat upon my return. A friend in BK willing to step up no matter how big the favor. Another friend, always sending a message when I need it most, rekindling my long lost belief in telepathy. The kindness of those reading this blog, the Facebook support, the incredible strangers extending more love and hospitality than I could have ever hoped for, could have ever imagined!

And then...the antagonist, of course! To my credit, I sensed the mask come off a while ago...it was a final push towards this journey in retrospect, I just couldn't see, not clearly at least, the sharp, bitter, cold lines of the actual face cover while standing so close to it. Within weeks, the new mask took on an incredibly clear shape...lack of response to text, lack of email contact, empty conversations when contact was finally established, lies about contact attempts and...the eventual, complete disappearance and detachment.

I never could choose between 'out of sight, out of mind' and 'absence makes the heart grow fonder'. I guess I still can't choose. I think it depends a lot on the heart. It probably depends on the types of puppets you surround yourself with. Maybe, it all just depends on the swift hands of the puppeteer.

Redefining: Shedding privilege #1

I've never considered myself one of those prissy types. You'll probably never find me at the Ritz. I don't bitch too much about the lack of heat in my BedStuy - do or die - apartment during the winter. I've peed atop a seatless toilet before. I don't over-protect against bedbugs (a mattress cover is sufficient), have touched a number of suspect Williamsburg bar door handles, and have entered and survived a NYC subway during the flu season. Prissy, no...entitled to certain human rights? But of course...I'm an American!

What I'm learning, quickly, is that it's time to redefine my notions of 'right' and 'privilege'. So let's begin with the forced shedding of privilege #1...

Ah hot showers...what a lovely concept. Soap lathers more easily when heat's applied, salt from the sea disintegrates, bacteria die. 30 seconds under a hot water stream, eh viola - you have yourself one clean, bacteria free, first world human being. 

My showers used to be long, sometimes so long I'd get stamped as one of those non-environmentally friendly jerks by a Californian for sure!  A-hole or not, I used to cherish them; the daily bacteria massacre: a side-note bonus.  

The superbly executed ritual I developed around my hygiene maintenance over the years was somewhat of an art form: 

Shampoo, followed by conditioner. Let it soak in, hot water running, as I...shave both legs, then armpits, the more private of the parts, bodywash, face scrub and finally, complete the two minute rinse (mist or full blast depending on the mood). 

Five *high quality* products and one sharp tool later, the ritual would end as I stepped out of the tub onto a steamy bathroom floor and wiped myself with an extra large, well laundered, mountain breeze scented towel.

My third world showers, as the Green community will be happy to learn, require approximately 30 seconds of running water - karma is a B! The procedure, now, is as follows:

Turn water on...Gulp... inhale. Wet body as quickly as possible. Exhale. 
Turn water off. 

Shampoo. Gulp... inhale. Rinse quickly holding head back to avoid body contact...exhale. Turn water off. 

Apply conditioner. Wait 20 seconds, shivering, water turned off. Gulp...inhale, rinse...brrrrr...

Turn water off, exhale, thankful the heart attack I felt coming on was, yet again, a false alarm.  

Grab driest tool for wiping - tap skin lightly. Pray the '20 second rule' applies in reverse.

Walk off cold tiles, feet still wet...

Approach sink.
Shave right leg.
Shave left. 

Proceed to bed. Lie under covers. Wait for teeth chatter to cease. 

Back to sink...attack armpits with a quickly dulling, American manufactured razor.

Glare at red bumps forming on skin from goosebumps, relieved the chore is over. Dread the, once cherished, procedure that awaits me tomorrow.

I haven't had a hot shower since 8/27 in the a.m. Took the last one before my flight - didn't think to say adieu...

Conquering Fear: #1

So you wanna get around Indonesia? You better have the balls to get on a motorbike!

And so begins the journey of shedding Fear #1. It took me three days to gather the courage to rent one of these 'death machines'. I thought about it for days, imagined the horrifying phone call someone would have to place to my parents as I lay splattered on the concrete, bleeding, chickens and pigs running around me, the locals gathering and shaking their heads at the demise of yet another crazy white girl tourist lacking 'simple machine' operation skills - Orang puteh gila, they'd say!

On the morning of the third day I sat drinking coffee with a friend (my heavily experienced designated driver) watching passers by on the main road in Amed, Bali. No helmets are required in Amed, even tourists get away without one, so none of the passing motor bikers were protected from head injuries! Dangerous law, I thought.

And then, the following scene...four helmet-less children, seated in age order - four to eleven - drove by smiling and laughing the way children in Brooklyn do when they're taking a leisurely, single person ride through the park. The second in line swung around a shopping bag in his right hand - it contained a water bottle and a Djurian, so must've been quite heavy. This multi-player ride was obviously a regular event. The 11 year old driver, definitely Wayan, was in a rush and determined. I watched their faces closely and in awe as they whizzed past at around 40km/hr...not ONE seemed to be exhibiting fear!

I shrugged it off at first as childhood innocence - I too thought I was invincible as a child. But within thirty minutes, embarrassment in hand, I found myself at a rental shop negotiating a bike at 35,000 RPH a day. It was time to shed this fear. After all, I was out here learning how to stop safe living - this, quite obviously, was a first step. Did I fly all this way to rely on my friend for local transport? I think not!

I'm certain the locals will talk about my first ride often during the low season. I drove an average of 20km/hr, which, for any of you that have attempted a death machine ride, is way too slow and dangerous in itself. 'Drive slow', they screamed at me, followed by uncontrollable laughter and a comment or two about my useless bright yellow helmet.

I finally understand the meaning of 'white knuckles'. As I pulled into my new home's driveway I had to use my right hand to peel off the left from the brake. I took my helmet off, exhaled for the first time since getting on, and laughed harder than I have in a long time.

I've been greeted by the locals as drive slow multiple times since - drive slow is now my name, my claim to fame in Amed for years to come. Regardless, Fear #1 and I have faced each other...conquering the thing will likely take some time. But hey, I took the step! Thank you uninhibited children of Amed!

Just click SUBMIT

Who would've thought that clicking submit on a website could be such a powerful move? We do it every day - we buy shoes, electronics, pay our bills, purchase gifts for friends - all online, all very mechanically - enter number, expiration date, code & viola- standard, very American, handled with little thought or care (minus the shopaholics of course, who most likely feel a little surge of guilt towards the end of the procedure). Shopaholics aside, I assume it's quite rare that the submit button produces an overwhelming emotional response. I sat on my bed, hit submit and cried - they were tears of joy, but they were big, crocodile sized tears...

For years I've dreamed of escaping...I'm not sure how to define escape - I'm not a disgruntled housewife, nor daughter, nor employee (well, maybe a little)- so there wasn't a precise, tangible IT that I wanted to run from. I've worked hard to get where I am...a career focused, motivated climber, always thinking two steps ahead, sometimes three. My career, my friends, my family, my home - these were all the constants that kept me at 'safe stage'...I wanted to see the world, to 'find myself', sure, but it was always next year, after this project, after that deliverable, maybe when my parents retire...tick tock - it's funny how fast time passes by!

I recall distinctly spending hours on Facebook living vicariously through my more courageous friends, tracking their world-tour itineraries, admiring their photos, wishing that, one day, I too would be brave enough to let it all go, to step out of my comfort zone, to stop 'safe living' and actually start living...

At 31, on a beautiful Sunday morning, angry about my situation at work, heartbroken about a relationship that just couldn't work, comfortable in my king-sized bed, I woke up and turned to the key holder - kayak.com. I spent 12 hours looking for the 'right' ticket...return date in hand (I knew it was BS as I was entering September 11th into the return slot) I finally found the NRT-BKK connect to Denpasar. Perhaps a bit cliche, being in my 'eat, pray, love moment' and all, I assured myself that Bali was the best move - yes, I was lost, but it was also the furthest place on earth from NYC - I figured I could surely clear my head and plan the rest of my itinerary from there!

Though safe, I've never done things the conventional way. There was no going away party, no phone calls (I spoke to no one for four days out of fear they might divert my course in some way), no emotional goodbyes with family (parents on cruise, brother in CA), no plan. I got my vaccinations, my international driving permit at AAA - a blog in itself - packed (lighter than ever in my life) and prepared for lift off 5 days after my emotional purchase outburst. Sure, I was thrown an earthquake and a hurricane my way (in Brooklyn, come on!), but I chose to see these as signs that I was making the right move! Fear aside, my flight to Tokyo is the ONLY one to take off from JfK this morning of August 27, 2011...destiny? I choose to believe so, yes!

20 minutes after this picture was taken, the British flight was cancelled as well.

The rest of this blog is about my journey...it's for all of the kindred spirits out there afraid of the unknown...it's for all of those constrained by the golden handcuffs who might just need a kayak.com moment...it's about self exploration and most importantly, it's for the children I might one day have! What kind of bitter wife and mother would I have been had I not hit submit?I guess, thankfully, we'll never know!