Indonesia
The End of the World As We Knew It (and a New Beginning?)
NOTE: I wrote and published this story from home in San Francisco three months after I was traveling in Indonesia, making it significantly retrospective (as opposed to the previous stories in this publication, which were authored concurrently with the visits).
Indonesia was never on the itinerary. Looking back, I feel beyond fortunate that I got to experience a pinch of this intensely diverse country — geographically, ethnically, religiously, linguistically, gastronomically, biodiversely (that’s a word now). My visit there finally felt like the kind of spirit-shifting travel that I had been longing for since deciding to step away from my life in San Francisco for 120 nights circumnavigating the globe. But it was also the most stressful time of the trip, and signifies the end of the adventure, the dream, and even the world as I — we all — knew it.
Another revised itinerary trying to circumvent coronavirus was announced in early March and included five Indonesian ports, the most of any country we were supposed to see. But we only made it to three, and our time in each was drastically cut down because of mandatory COVID-19 health screenings, temperature checks, paperwork, etc. (which you can imagine did not quite go smoothly, even when our ship was determined to be virus-free). With such short notice and iffy internet connection, I couldn’t do much advance research or planning. Indonesia and I would just have to make it up as we went along.
Bali was stop number one, and I was admittedly a little jaded and snarky, thinking that it might be too much of a California Bay Area “Burner” destination overrun with wellness retreats (and I really like yoga and kale). Over the last few years while traveling, it’s become bit of a guilty pleasure — I mean, creative hobby! — to take photos of people obviously posing for Instagram photos. I anticipated that might be how I spent much of my time in Bali. And while those opportunities certainly were there, I was quick to admit that I could see why (even through the hours-long torrential rainstorm we encountered) people seeking beauty, peace, and presence in their lives say they find it on this island.
At the Ubud Monkey Forest, I was the “lucky” one in the group to literally have a monkey on my back — a large, cheeky adult male one, who covered my eyes with his all-too-human hands. The encounter happened not far past the entrance, and I was a little trepidatious wandering around the rest of the forest. Surprises — including monkeys doing classic monkey things, Hindu temples, bold statues (and… oversized phallus souvenirs?!) — were around every corner, but thankfully no more sneak attacks.
The main temple, Dalem Agung Padangtegal — Great Temple of Death — is dedicated to worshiping Shiva, whose role is to destroy the universe in order to recreate it. (If Shiva is currently at work, might our world be set to follow a better path on the other side of this pandemic?) I then stumbled on a cremation temple and cemetery, which at first I thought was for the beloved primates. However, it’s actually for deceased humans from the surrounding Padangtegal village, who are buried here temporarily until mass cremation as specified by Hindu tradition, which happens every five years.
Something that caught my attention all over Bali, as well as the other Indonesian cities I would explore after, were the omnipresent signs of rituals and spiritual practices. Little woven boxes with colorful petals and incense are left as offerings at graves, shrines, statues, temples, houses of worship, and even just on sidewalks, stairs, and doorways. Basically everywhere. I had to keep looking down to make sure I wasn’t stepping on one!
At the cemetery in monkey forest, I was bothered that the mischievous residents had messed with the offerings. But I learned that these devotional gifts (canang sari) are created and then later swept away every single day. A simple reminder of the impermanence in our world. A practice that I imagine strengthens one’s resilience in the face of endings, loss, and grief (not to mention global pandemic).
Lombok was the next Indonesian destination, actually a backtrack of sorts sailing east on our westward course. This island is just getting into the tourism game, so it provided a profoundly distinct experience from Bali. It felt much more untamed and untouched by Western desires (though the area of Senggigi Beach is there for that, if you want it). With a mishmash of English, hand signals, and Google Translate, we communicated to our young driver, Iskandar, that we wanted to see local spots — to take us where HE likes to go.
We found ourselves in a flooded dirt lot with a sweet cow acting as the parking attendant and more horse carts (cidomos) than cars. Iskandar led us into the market, which is always one of my favorite ways to get to know a new place. This particular market was more homegrown than any I’d ever seen — it felt like no other tourist had ever set foot there. Each specialized vendor had just a few bits and bobs to sell, as if that morning they had pulled the handful of vegetables from their garden or plucked a few ripe fruits off their tree.
All eyes were on us, and when people started pointing and saying, “Coronavirus! Cruise!” I wasn’t certain how welcome we were. I was thankful to have Iskandar as our guide, and was comforted when we rounded a bend and he recognized one of his aunties there selling fish! Waves and smiles and repeatedly asking to be reminded how to say ‘thank you’ (terima kasih) got us through as inoffensively as possible.
A little discomfort and challenge to your sense of control (as long as you’re not in danger) is a healthy part of travel. You bend toward others’ way of doing things — their language, tastes, sensibilities, rules — and realize yours isn’t necessarily the right, best, or only way. Personally, this is what makes me feel most alive and connected both to the greater humanity, as well as to myself.
The heat and distance between points of interest on Lombok dictated that much of the rest of the day was spent in the air-conditioned car, singing classic rock and stopping for temple tours, snacks (goat satay!), and photo ops. It was probably an unusual request to pull over at a cemetery, but we drove by a couple that were too intriguing to pass up.
This island is predominantly Muslim, but the culture is still influenced by Hindu, Buddhist, and Christian beliefs and practices. The colorful cemetery that caught my eye was a Chinese burial ground with artfully sculpted and painted graves. It was right off the main road — people sped by on motorbikes, and some took breaks in the shade. There seemed to be plenty of life among the dead.
Our full day ended in a rice field at dusk, when the temperature was finally dropping with the sun. Two boys, probably brothers, were flying a homemade kite. The older was teaching the younger, who was shy and kept hiding behind his protector. More fumbling to communicate, with Iskandar doing his best to translate and taking his turn at launching the kite. It was one of those magical experiences that can’t be planned and will grip my memory forever.
I was truly a happy traveler, fulfilled, having forgotten about coronavirus for a moment. But once back on board and back to “reality,” it was announced that we could not leave Lombok that night, and would not be going to our next port of Surabaya. There was never a thorough explanation, but we knew it was COVID-related. We knew things were extremely tenuous.
Semarang, the capital city of Central Java, is where we landed once we finally left Lombok. More health screenings and a six-hour delay disembarking took a good chunk out of our time there. However, feeling like each time I stepped off the ship and on to land could be the last was motivation enough to make the most out of the hours we did have.
Semarang is a large, working city — historically a Dutch colonial port — with a few touristic attractions smattered around. My top priority that day, if I did nothing else, was trying their beloved lumpia (usually fried spring rolls). And I got the sense that they must not see too many out-of-towners at the local lumpia stalls when another patron asked to take pictures with us!
In addition to lumpia, I did do other things that afternoon — in fact, pretty much all the major things that Semarang has to offer.
These things included:
- the former headquarters of the Dutch railway company, called Lawang Sewu, which is Javanese for “Thousand Doors” (I didn’t get lost!)
- two Chinese temples — one a large complex from the 1700s now catering to tourists, and the other a more intimate, but much flashier (lots of color, candles, lanterns, incense, and twinkle lights) place of active worship
- the UNESCO World Heritage Site colonial old town, buzzing with families buying kids intricate balloons and groups of teens “doin’ it for the ‘Gram”
I also went to check out Kampung Pelangi, The Rainbow Village, that was intentionally created to attract more visitors and boost the tourism economy of Semarang. (The power of Instagram is truly a force to be reckoned with!) Built up on a hill behind a road lined with fantastic flower vendors is a DIY community who banded together to blanket their neighborhood in bold, inventive Crayola-colored arts and crafts.
There’s no entrance fee and although the scene is welcoming, it felt a little strange to essentially be wandering through people’s homes. Getting to the top of the hill was a sweaty climb, but it provided some direction and offered worthwhile views. I have no idea why it was located here, as it seems a touch inconvenient; however, the local cemetery was right at the apex of the village. Where trees offered shelter from the sun, kids were playing among graves. Those too mature or too hot to participate were lounging on the cool tiles.
In nearly every foreign country I’ve ever visited, both on this trip and others, cemeteries aren’t found on the abandoned outskirts of town, the sets for scary movies. Rather, they’re living, breathing spaces integrated into the community. And because they’re close to home, loved ones can be visited often, sometimes every day. Or, there’s just people around, using the cemetery as a park, hanging out or passing through. Fortunately, there are people in the U.S. who are innovating new designs for burial, cremation, and even composting — methods and places that will help us honor those we’ve lost (as well as prevent us from losing more of our environment with eco-friendlier practices).
Exhausted yet energized by my surprising day in Semarang, I was ready to take on the massive city of Jakarta the very next day. But in a perfectly poetic ending to this story, my adventure, and even the world as we knew it, on that evening of Friday the 13th, our trip was curtailed due to COVID-19.
We would not be going to Jakarta. We wouldn’t be going anywhere else. Instead, our ship would beeline back to London, with only a couple logistical stops for fuel and provisions. At no point could passengers disembark. In Indonesia, we were basically on the opposite side of the Earth from the UK. The return journey would take an entire month.
Waves of relief, sadness, anxiety, fear, and at times even profound appreciation and gratitude washed over me during those four weeks at sea. The world I would re-enter in April wouldn’t be the same one I had left back in January. In a blink, practically everyone on the planet’s experience of life — and of end of life — was altered. Givens were now in question. Sense of control surrendered. The perpetual turning temporary. With little warning, impermanence and indefiniteness became the only constants.
I’ve always believed that travel helps make us more empathetic humans. And if we couldn’t find absolutely anything else in common, death is our bond. Our one universal truth. So if nothing else is gained from everything lost in this global pandemic, I hope our sense of interconnectedness — of shared humanity, resources, and cooperation — will emerge more alive than ever before. And we can travel again with new purpose and joy.
How we remember THIS time in our lives will be central to our story.
