Half Hobo

After a 4 month writing hiatus for no other reason that I got busy and out of the habit I’ve decided to start up halfhobo again. Not so much because I have a lot to say but rather the repeated shit kickings I got after returning home and discovering that some moderately enjoyed the posts, so here goes (under mild duress).

Now, I am a very linear story teller so having an extended gap in the story causes me an alarming amount of anxiety so please indulge me in an abbreviated recap of the last 120 days of my life.

Went to Singapore. Got Dengue fever, thought I would die, spent 5 days in the hospital. Hung out with Deb’s friend Tracey. Went to a Balinese temple ceremony. Experienced annual silent day and Gado Gado festival. Went to Hong Kong. Ate many dumplings. Met with businessy people. Back to Canada. Caught up with friends. Hung out with the fam. Flew to North Carolina. Warehouse. Showroom. Market. Lamps. Furniture. Pillows. Jewelry. Concrete. Photoshoot. Customers. BBQ. Fire. Cigarettes. Chocolate. New friends. Wallet, laptop and camera stolen. Went to NYC. Many friend times. Pizza. Bagels. Central Park. Citibikes. Brooklyn. Hipsters. Back to Canada. Friends. Work. Friends. Work. Friends. Work. Family. Surprise Emma for her high school graduation. Pack the turtle shell for the next leg. Stress shedding my hair at an alarming rate. Fly to Hanoi. Jet lag zombie. Feels like 47 degrees. Lose my wallet. Overnight train with John. Amazing cave hike. More train. Ahh… that feels better.

That said I also need to take a minute to reflect on the last year. In March 2015 I found out I was being laid off from my job in NYC. The timing was serendipitous as I had been wanting to travel anyways so I took 2 months to wrap my NYC life and enjoy the city while funemployed. I sold most of belongings and left the U.S.. Skip ahead and it has been 362 days since I left on my year long adventure with no agenda and only my carry-on turtle shell to keep me company. In 5 months I visited 16 European countries, did 6 Workaway stays, slept in countless hostels, couchsurfed, experienced a never ending buffet of transportation methods. I shoveled shit, weeded gardens and organized a hoarders home. I destroyed my Nikes and took a ridiculous amount of photos.

In that time I exchanged emails with my second cousin which culminated in me flying to Indonesia to hang out for a few months and see if we might want to work together. Skip ahead a 7 months, and here I am in Vietnam on a train to see our digital agency. I have signed on to this new life of regular 6 month migrations of Indonesia, China, Canada and North Carolina. We go where we are needed. This means that my halfhobo moniker has never been more accurate. I still live out of the turtle shell, have no permanent address but now I instead of visiting museums and trekking scenic trails I ride my scooter to workshops and factories. Spend my time in cafes managing websites and coordinating projects.

I have had more change in my life in the last year than I could have ever imagined. In addition to being homeless, starting a new career in an unfamiliar industry in a foreign country with a previously unknown relative, my parents also chose this year to get divorced after 42 years. It’s been an mind boggling time of self discovery and also a year of hanging on for dear life. No wonder I’m losing my hair.

Bamboo Village.  Green School. Bamboo factory.

Today marks my 2 month anniversary of arriving in Indonesia. I am shamefully behind on these blog entries so I am sneaking in some writing as we from Yogyakarta to Bali. It’s rather awkward to type but I power through for my legions of loyal readers, all 7 of you.

There reason for the backlog isn’t because I’m drinking daiquiris poolside while working on my tan, it’s because we keep a surprisingly packed schedule. The first few days after Lombok I spent designing a powerpoint for a VP in Los Angeles proposing how to reorganize his department. Serious Getty flashbacks. Deb and I had to find somewhere for us to live and watch 10 episodes of ‘Making a Murderer’ with shotty wifi so I knew what the heck everyone on Facebook was talking about AND buy new flip flops. Exhausting. #notreally

Me, John and Maria (designer we’re working with) take our scooters and head up to Sideman for the day to see some property that Maria has and meet with her production partner. We take the longer scenic route to avoid traffic and pass through some beautiful countryside. 

As were making our way through the windy hillsides and through the rice paddies, the sun is shining on my face, the wind is warm in my hair and I think to myself “I’m happy. I love riding a scooter. What a great moment. Soak in it. What is the ying going to be to this yang? Is this moment in response to a previous or future moment? What bad moment can I expect?” Now, I’m not sure if me thinking these exact thoughts caused the universe to respond but not 10mins later I found myself facedown on the pavement with my scooter laying on top of me.  

In Indonesia, shoulder checking and using rear view mirrors is an foreign concept (literally) so when the lady in front of me cut be off with 12 inches of response time, I bit it. Seconds later the bike was being lifted off me and l was being ushered to the side of the road to inspect for damages. Scraped elbows, shins and ankles but no broken bones and nothing above the neck. Lucky! I use my emergency toilet paper to dab up the blood and we search the street for the missing break handle attachment.

Once the blood clotted and after some deep breaths I get back on the proverbial horse, albeit with significantly less confidence then before, and we finish the 2 hour drive to Sideman. Since we’ve chosen the scenic route it means potholes are the rule not the exception. This means that after the adrenaline wears off it is quickly brought to my attention that my ribs took the brunt of the impact and wanted me to acknowledge that fact.

Increasingly sore we arrive at Wira’s home (Maria’s business partner) and his wife patches me up with some Chinese medicine. They have a beautiful view of the rice fields below and they just happen to be harvesting that day. It’s a surreal experience to eat rice for lunch while watching the farmers in the sweltering heat doing hard physical labour to get every last grain. Certainly makes you appreciate each mouthful.

Wira shows us his abandoned pig barn, a house they built, his land, a new development going in across the village and we talk/lecture about the need for recycling plastic in the village. This is one of those ‘get-to-know-you-and-see-if-we-might-work-together’ kind of excursions. After a few hours we get back on our noble steeds and drive the 2.5 hours back to Ubud. Everything hurts. I take a couple of sick days and try not to bend, twist, rollover, basically just move as slowly as possible. Luckily I have my roomie, Deb, to fetch me water and snacks since I am being pathetic.

Two days later, John, Maria and myself catch the early flight to Yogyakarta so we can introduce her to another one of our potential designers/producers. We drive to Temanggung the scenic way (of course) and pass some pretty cool farming along the way. The methods they use to utilize every inch of land along the mountain side is pretty impressive. We meet, greet, and brainstorm before the drive home. It makes for a long day.

Another day of popping into workshops, this time mostly weavers and textile dyers since that is what Maria is interested in. We are staying at Yabbiekayu homestay again but this time we got the big Joglo house which is completely surrounded by a 12” fish moat to keep the bugs away. It’s very bizarre be sitting on the toilet and watch a dead frog float by while a pirana’esque fish tears off it’s legs.

After our 5am conference call and a nap I pile into the rental car and John, Dyah and Dio  to drive to Juwana, and you got it, the scenic way. Beautiful and bumpy seem to be our themes when it comes to transit. About 7 hours later we arrive and check into our ‘hotel’ where it’s deemed acceptable for them to come in and spray industrial strength mosquito repellent all over the room while you sit on the bed. You can imagine the standard of luxury from that.

Next day is a packed agenda . We meet with the ‘boat wood guy’ who is dismantling old fishing boats and salvaging the wood. We meet with the ‘casting guy’ who casts our metal frame furniture. Then we are told about a ‘big table guy’ so we drive into the country side until we stumble upon his factory making reclaimed teak furniture where we end up ordering some custom samples. Last up we make a few inquiries and find our way to a shitty little shack where they are casting metal hardware. We chat and order some more samples. It’s 3:00pm now and it’s time to drive back. A long but very productive day.

With that portion of the trip complete John and I settle into computer screens. We don’t leave the house for 3 days while we dig into the nitty gritty part of the business. I try and learn the complexities of endless spreadsheets and formulas while sourcing UX designers in North Carolina and writing guidelines for photo editing. I will say, these tasks are easier to swallow when butterflies flutter around me and I can pick passionfruit just a few feet away for a snack.

We’ve been back in Bali for almost a week now and I am trying to remember how we spent the rest of our Christmas vacation in Lombok. It’s a very different Indonesia than our little expat oasis here in Ubud, but well worth the experience.

Most days we hopped on the scooters and went to the beach for a swim, green coconut and a nap. We’ed weave along the narrow roads avoiding the constant obstacle course of rogue cows, dogs, chickens, goats, kids, fallen rocks, potholes, snakes and whatever else decided to wander into the road. We pass by countless construction sites where small machines pummel rocks with a constant bang…bang…bang. Workers smash stones held with their flip flopped feet with sledgehammers. Kids congregate crouched on the edge of the road playing games on their smart phones while they wait for their parents in the rice fields or for a sibling to herd the water buffalo.

Half the time when we arrived at the beaches we are the only ones there for the beautiful blue water and white sand but it does’t take long to be surrounded by a steady stream of kids selling bracelets and adult selling sarongs. The beaches are littered with bottle caps, abandoned shoes and chip bags. Wild dogs and chickens seek shade under our thatched huts where we order chicken satay and Bintang while watching the Muslim females swimming fully dressed. It’s fascinating to see extreme modesty people meet the beach culture.

Some days our scooters get flat tires. Other days (or 5 days) John gets food poisoning and is quarantined atop the mountain. Some days we would run out of water for the shower. Most days we’ed lose power for a few hours. Others days our flip flops would fail and we’ed tumble down the mountain side collecting cuts and scrapes along the way. We also collected exhaust pipe burns, mystery spider bites and countless mosquito bites (we’ll, just me). Some days it’s so hot it feels like I might melt through the holes in the hammock. To cool off you try the outdoor shower only find a scorpion is also trying to beat the heat.

But every single morning we wake up to a spectacular sunrise over the ocean cliffs. We have a beautiful breakfast with freshly prepared fruit juices. We soak up the glorious sunshine and stock up on vitamin D and float in beautifully buoyant waters. We spend hours driving west down the nearly empty roads with the wind in our helmetless hair and watch the sweeping coastlines around every other hillside. We get big smiles, enthusiastic waves and greetings from the people sitting in the thatched houses along the road. I have never shouted hello at 40km/hr so many times in my life.

We wake up to a beautiful sunny day with an absolutely gorgeous view of the beach below. Our gracious host Marco brings us fruit plates and mango juices before we head out for the day. We carefully navigate our scooters down the steep pathways along the mountainside trying to avoid the water ruts and crumbling concrete. We are definitely off the beaten trail here, very few tourists other than a handful of surfing enthusiasts. We return hellos from the children along the way and wave to the friendly locals. Indonesians are friendly folk.

It’s back to back bays along the coastline so we spend the day hopping from one to next trying to find our favorite. Tampa beach, marked only by a chalk arrow on the pavement, accessible through a narrow walkway (or scooter way). We pay $1 to the local kids to lift the makeshift bamboo gate and we find ourselves on our own personal beach. We settle into a beach hut for some shade and it’s not long before we are joined by Dayosh. He invites us back to his home where his wife Nang serves us Lombok coffee, fresh mango, rice, octopus and green beans. They were extremely sweet and even more so when they find out that we’re staying with Marco, turns our he’s a bit of a celebrity around here. An Italian surfer/yogi who has lived here 3.5 years and has been very active in helping the community. Whenever we mention his name we get big smiles.

We put a lot of miles on the first day getting a lay of the land. This part of Indonesia is significantly poorer than Bali. It’s much drier so farming is challenging. Water buffalo, goats, chickens, dogs and cats roam freely, often sharing the road with us. We’re back to a primary Muslim population again so the mosques and call to prayers dot the landscape. There are no lights along the roads at night so we are sure to be back before dark. We don’t get cell service up here and we can only borrow a 3G convertor for a few hours a day from Marco so we’re pretty disconnected. Luckily, before leaving Bali I loaded up with movies so the three of us huddle around my macbook and settled in for a double header of ‘Joy’ and ’Sicario’.

Next day, John headed into town to do some work so Deb and I opted for beach time. We spent some time with some of the local kids from neighboring towns who are still genuinely interested in spending time with foreigners. The kids that spend their time on the popular beaches are smooth operators though, getting us to buy coconuts and pineapples and playing rock, paper, scissors to get us to buy them sodas. We have a beautiful swim at Mawun beach (our fave). It’s calm, warm and a beautiful blue. We head home for a Christmas Eve dinner of authentic Italian pasta served by Marco and settle in to watch the epically long ‘The Revenant’. Watching people freeze to death in a movie filmed around our home town makes Christmas in Indonesia even more pleasant.

With John and Deb both nursing multiple cuts and burns on their legs we decide to take the day off from swimming. We go into town to find wifi and send Christmas greetings back home. After some leisurely afternoon naps we walk down to the beach where we’ve arranged to have a seafood BBQ from one of the local warungs. We sit on the beach drinking Bintangs when 4 young girls came over for a visit. We write our ages in the sand and they laugh and point at Deb (the oldest of the three of us). We also decide its easier to just say that John and Deb are my parents for these interactions.

As the girls headed home a boatload of surfers returned to shore and we met Harry, a charmer who was shamelessly trying to give me a ‘special christmas’. My new parents were of no help in this situation. After the sun went down we sat down for fresh caught mahi mahi, squid and prawns. We sat surrounded by an empty beach with hardly signs of civilization visible in the dark of the night. After dinner and the walk back up the mountain we brought pillows, blankets and a mattress outside for another movie night. With crickets chirping and the sounds of surf in the distance we watched ‘The Hateful Eight’. Well, we watched an hour of it before we started to fall asleep. A valiant effort after such a huge meal I think.

Since arriving back from chilly China John and I have spent the last few days at the container warehouse. Here is where some of the product photography is shot, quality control and wrapping is done to prep for the next shipment to the States. It’s a 20min drive from where we’re staying in Ubud and our commute looks a little something like this. Bali is surprisingly busy.

When Deb returned from her week long silent yoga retreat it signaled a break in the business initiation and I began the transition into vacation mode. We spent the day shopping for tropical clothes so I could stop wearing the same 3 things. Beyond that we mostly just flit between warungs for coconuts and fruit juices. Our pace is rather leisurely since neither of us have anywhere in particular to be.

Our more eventful days came when we decided to rent a scooter. It being nearly Christmas we rented whatever was left. Wobbly steering and the breaks almost nonexistent but it got us from point A to B. We hit up one of the many expat spots for a delicious Australian flat white and smashed avocado. We wandered around the painfully pretentious Yoga Barn where hundreds of foreigners converge to drink green smoothies, eat vegan nut balls and make long uncomfortable eye contact. Rusty, you would hate. We drive with no direction and end up in the middle of a remote rice field where we gingerly navigate the narrow trails and hope to find a road at some point. A kind local guy reassures us that if we keep driving we will eventually end up back at a village so we persevere. We pass a massive group of people cheering on a cockfight and a family bathing in the river on the way to eat gelato for dinner.

Next day we we get pulled over and are informed that we owe the policeman 250,000Rp for not having an international drivers license and 250,000Rp for going the wrong way down the street, even though all the locals do it. Me and the officer launch into 10mins of intense negotiating before I finally agree to the price of 200,000Rp ($20 CAD) for the error in my ways. As we drive off we can see the next pale skinned bodies being waved over. Guess they have some Christmas gifts to buy.

Since the best way to relax form such an eventful day is obviously to consume something so we meet up with John and his friends at Cafe Vespa for a Jamu Jamu (Turmeric, tamarind, orange, ginger). We meet Sky & Sanna, the Swedish yoga teachers who live under the banyan tree. Jenny, the Norwegian vegan and yoga enthusiast who is starting a cooking blog. Ingela, another Swedish yoga enthusiast who works with the school kids up in the mountains every weekend. And Yohan, the yogi artist, whom I don’t know much about. This little group of people are all students of SwammiJi, (John’s guru) and are the most genuinely nice people you will ever meet. Kindness and softness oozes out of them which unfortunately shines a pretty bright spotlight on my general skepticism.

We head off to the massive Banyan tree where this community of people live in their own houses surrounded by rice paddies. SwamiJi is not quite what I had pictured. A 60 something, 6’3”, white dude from Oregon with a sanskrit accent invites us in and cooks us lunch while we wait out the downpour. After our vegetarian meal Deb and I go to Restorative Yoga with Chiara, a 60 something Italian woman with the kindest soul you will ever meet. I also discover that this is my kind of yoga, we didn’t stand up once. It should really be called ‘stretching with pillows while getting spritzed with essential oils’. This I will do again.

Relaxed and a little light headed, Deb and I jump on our trusty scooter. It’s dark and the ground is wet from the rain so when I accelerate up the narrow hill I don’t give it enough juice which results in us tipping over into one of the concrete water canals. I manage to swing around and keep the bike propped off of us but in the process kick Deb off and she falls into the muck. Shit. We access the damage and amazingly only one skinned shin and one severley bruised ego. #scooterfail

Next day we pack up and head to Denpasar for Deb to extend her visitor visa and for us to catch a flight to Lombok for the holidays. The flight is short, only 30mins and we are picked up by the driver arranged for us by our Airbnb host, Marco. 40mins of windy roads and some legit off roading we arrive at our little house on top of the mountain. It’s dark, so we go to sleep under our mosquito nets in anticipation of seeing the sun rise over the shoreline in the morning.