Saya Berhasil!

Hello from Ubud! I'm here.

I think, in total, from door to door it took a little over thirty hours. I tried to figure it out mostly for curiosity and then kept losing track. But, I think 30 hours is correct. This is what I looked like when I was at my cleanest:

Brianna at Train Station. Holding all of her belongings and thinking, "ugh, Sarah, stop taking my picture, I feel lame."
Pink bag compliments of Addison, age eight. Note to self: prior to traveling the world occupationally, purchase luggage.

And so I went, first to New York to have sushi goodbye dinner with Jimmy, Craig, and Becky. It was delicious. We took selfies. Not particularly good selfies, but selfies nonetheless. Behold: 

Jimmy's picture face. And my attempt to make our selfie less terrible of both of us, "oh, here, look wine in the picture! That helps everything!" Did it though? No, not really. 

I left the apartment at 6:45, wearing canvas shoes in the surprise snow. My feet got wet. And then I came to the biggest hurdle of the journey. How to get all of my things through the one-person-only cage turnstile at the A station. As I neared the stairs to the station, it occurred to me that this may be a frustrating minute, I was right, and it did not disappoint. It also occurred to me that if I walked a block farther south, the turnstiles at the other end of the 207th street station were probably easier to manipulate. But my feet were wet. Choices. Anyway. There I was. First I tried to pull things behind me. Fail. Then I tried to hug my things. Fail. Then I had a moment of dread wherein I'd have to admit to everyone that I accidentally spent 30 days in the entrance to the A train, too ashamed and embarrassed to admit that the turnstile had defeated me. But then, like a true New Yorker I sometimes pretend to be, I picked my things up, held them in front of me, barreled my way through, and patted myself on the back. What other heroic events are in store for me today I thought? I can take any of them on. ANY OF THEM. I am a hero. 

Then I got to the airport, procured some snacks for the plane ride (sadly, no cheese) and some ice to keep my typhoid meds chilled, talked briefly on the phone while I ate a muffin and drank some coffee to report that unlike the dream* I had had the night before I made it to the airport on time, and boarded the plane. 

*For the record, I think dreams are never as funny retold as they are in your own head--but I had a dream that we were going on family vacation to Taipei and our flight was in the morning and Rachel was all, "yeah, that's cool, but let's play darts first?" So we went to a bar on our way to JFK and Betsy kept texting me to say, "GET TO THE AIRPORT NOW, YOU NEED TO LEAVE THE BAR, HAVE FUN LATER" and Rachel was like, "um, but maybe just one more round?" And then I discovered I had left my wallet somewhere and so Jimmy was like, "oh, it's cool, take this extra credit card I have, buy yourself some nice things."

Basically real life from start to finish.

Anyway. My sixteen hour flight was relatively unremarkable. Other than how it was closer to eighteen hours because we left 90 minutes late due to the plane's need to be deiced. Safety, I guess. I watched Suffragette because, oh, a movie about my favorite civil liberty? Yes, please. AND starring Meryl Streep? Hard yes. And then nine hours into watching Downton Abbey on my phone, one of the attendants told me that electronic devices weren't allowed to be on, ever, at any point in the flight. Then I transitioned to straining my eyes to read Foreign Affairs, which was made significantly more pleasant by my seat mate, who had a USB light that he plugged in for me. It was made less pleasant by my reading the entire magazine's cover story all about the world's state of stagnation and the declining economies of China and Russia. Eventually I took a nap for a few hours and finished Downton Abbey without anyone noticing.

At one point, between meals (side note: I love airplane food. I love when it comes at surprise intervals. I love the weirdly hot courses. I love how everyone eats like caged animals. It's a delightful surprise every time. Being fed this way is undoubtably why the caged bird sings, contrary to whatever Maya's theory is), I realized that I was ravenously hungry. I devoured some trail mix and then ate my weight in gummy bears. Moments later, regret sunk in as I felt like one giant gummy bear.

Then we landed in China. And I waited in a very long, very humid, and very crowded line for thirty-five minutes before confirming that I was in the wrong place. I thought that I knew where I was supposed to have been and that the line I was in was wrong, but as the counter I thought was the right one was closed and didn't look like it was going to be open anytime soon, I thought, meh, why don't I go where all the people are? No, that was dumb. Never follow the people unless it's a road race, then it's generally a safe bet. Follow your heart. Always. In international airports as well as in life.

Because my first flight landed so much later that it was scheduled to, my layover was actually pretty short, which was a surprise bonus, especially since the airport wifi didn't work and literally what does one do without the internet in an airport? I filled up my water bottle, failed to get some more ice, received judgment for asking for said ice, and boarded my next plane (the plane was American made! Just like me!), where I had an entire row to myself (luxury!) and slept for nearly the whole ride. Noted exception: meal time. I would never sleep through airplane meal time.

I made my way through customs and the visa counter and baggage claim and found my driver to my homestay. He was really friendly and was not too mocking of my accidentally getting into the driver's seat, because it didn't occur to me to look at the car to see what side the driver sits on. In my defense, it was hour 29 since having left the Inwood apartment. We talked for the first couple of minutes and exchanged basic biographical facts. He has lived here all his life; I have lived in New York my whole life, sometimes in, sometimes near the city. I culturally paused when he asked me how old I am and was surprised at my reaction to the question, which is actually totally benign and reasonable, but one that we've trained ourselves to think is rude. As it turns out, we were both born in 1983 and he just turned 33.

Eventually the moment I had longed for arrived: a shower and then a bed.

When I woke up, I felt like a clean person again. I ate some breakfast (some toast, a fried egg, and some fruit. Also--nescafe for coffee, which reminded me of Africa, or more accurately, Rachel complaining about it in Africa, and wondered if after 28 more days I will grow to hate it too), unpacked all of my things, and wandered out into the city.

Look! All of my things fit into their places. I would also include a pic of the room (which is small and adequate), but as I was leaving earlier this morning, the host told me that tomorrow they're going to move me into the "nicest and best" room because I'm here for so long. This is exciting because I was admiring how great and perfect their balcony is and also how their window isn't in the direct sunlight, so probably, their room is much cooler. 

I wasn't really hungry--or so I thought, but I WAS thirty. And definitely wanted both iced coffee AND iced tea and tbh, I have no regrets about ordering them both (plus, they're both less than $1!). I also got a gado-gado salad, which reminded me of Peter and his midnight meal and the time that I took a nap on a table while waiting for it. Peter's may have been better than this, but this was excellent and it allowed me to watch birds I can't yet identify for an hour or so. 

This is a view from one of the main streets, some of which are separated by rice patties and/or rivers that you can get glimpses of as you walk by (such as the one above). 

It's not clear to me if this is an entrance to a temple or just to someone's home, but they all sort of look this way and I am pretty consistently reminded of Cambodia. Both because of the crushing humidity and heat and also because the decor is very reminiscent.

This is the entrance to one of the markets I wandered around for a bit and will no doubt buy things from when the time comes. For myself and possibly everyone I've ever met. But certainly for myself.

This is a picture of the beginning of my street. All of the dangly things are attached to mailboxes and some sort of prayer holder (there is without a doubt a more accurate name for them, I just haven't discovered it yet) and are in front of nearly--if not every--home.

This is also on my street, on my walk back. Do you see the volcano in the background? I am going to climb it.

Hm. What else. The time difference is 13 hours. I'm 13 hours ahead of you, so it's 3:40 p.m. there on Sunday afternoon and 2:40 a.m. in New York, Sunday morning. The current temperature is 81, feels like 90, with 85% humidity (which, tbh, is better than the last time I checked when it said that it was 90, feels like 108 and I felt relieved that my body wasn't actually dying, just melting like a generic white body that grew up in the Northeast does while its in the tropics).

I have to figure out where my school is so that when I walk there tomorrow morning, I don't get horribly lost. And also I might look into getting a gym membership for a month, which feels easier than trying to run (though I'm sure I'll manage to do that too, just not every day). And there are several cool-looking bars that I walked by earlier, which I may go to during happy hour to meet some friends. And I think that's it? I'm trying to find my inner zen. More accurately: was told to discover and introduce myself to inner zen and not schedule myself with things to do for every minute of every day. I guess I could go sit somewhere? Idk. Is that when zen people do?

Anyway. Happy Sunday.