"the quick electric keys are my instrument, my harp, my RCA glass-tube microphone, and my fine soprano saxophone all at once. That is my music, for good or ill, and on some nights it will make me feel like a god."
-Hunter S Thompson "Kingdom of Fear"
… Writing is the only thing that keeps me sane… that makes me feel normal.
Especially when my mind is spinning, my stomach is in knots, and my heart is tangled up so tight its like a chain that has been inside a moldy bag in the corner of a boat out at sea, and gotten so twisted and rusted and screwed up from the ocean air so bad that there is no point in even trying to salvage it… so you dump it and let it fall to the bottom of the deep sea and let go of it.
I'll find a new one when the time is right.
I have been writing letters to nobody… I've been writing letters to somebodies… I've been writing words just to write, because like Hunter S Thompson, it's my music… its my word vomit and i've been pretty sick lately.
I left paradise island (Togat Nusa Retreat) and every time i do that, i seem to get physically sick. It's like my body rejects the idea of leaving paradise and perfection… or maybe it's just rejecting what i always leave the island and go towards.
I experienced one of the scariest, ugliest things i've ever seen when i got to Padang, and even now, nearly a week later, on a boat out at sea, i am still sick from it all.
I can't wait to get home, to safety and security and sanity… to intelligence, and elegance, and eloquence.
I feel like i have had a relationship lately with my keyboard. I can tell it anything. I write to it constantly and it just listens and reads back to me what i needed to get off my chest, the way Tawney and those who have done Cafe Gratitude workshops seem to be able to do so well… to reiterate what i said to them in the first place.
Just hearing back what you feel empowers you and makes you feel heard.
Even though the only thing hearing me is an inanimate keyboard, but Hunter S Thompson understands me…
I'm taking breaks between sleeping, crying, writing letters that nobody will ever read, swimming, eating, drinking, and staring out at the rippling waters dancing beside the boat to read "Kingdom of Fear" - Thompson's crazy face nonsensical rambling autobiography… it actually makes me feel relatively normal.
My life is in transition… again… as usual… as always.
I guess this is just how its gonna roll.. always changing.. always creating a new, dramatic, fucked up chapter in my life story… in my own crazy face nonsensical rambling autobiography i will write one day that might make someone feel relatively normal one day.
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Days later… i am not so sick anymore, though most of the guests on this charter have gotten what i had, some kind of Giardia, which is the last thing you want to have while on a boat with 14 guys, but hey. those are the cards you're dealt sometimes so you roll with it.
The strangers who have become my friends here on this floating, rocking, rolling boat of constantly evolving and changing perspective and emotion for me… they have been like mirrors held up for me to remember what i need to remember and see what i need to see.
At this moment in time we are cruising north along a very windy, bumpy sea that makes it nearly impossible to walk through the narrow corridors of the charter boat.
We are heading to Lances Left where my friend Ben has a resort called Kingfisher. When we were there a few days ago, Ben wasn't around and I was so sad to have missed him… but thankfully the last few days at a wave called Macaronis has fulfilled the quota for the boys so we are heading back towards Ben's place where I will be grateful to get on land and find steady ground again, and also to visit with my friend who traveled Nepal last year while I was in India.
A few days ago we stopped at 'Bat Caves' which is a wave that wraps around a tiny perfect island with 47 palm trees and a million birds.
The tender boat dropped me off on the island to collect shells and pieces of red coral before zipping around to drop the boys on the wave. One of the guests later told me that they all call me "Bo" now since when i got off the boat and walked towards the island into the sun that was dropping behind the palm trees I looked like Bo Derrick from the movie "Ten" which i haven't seen but want to now.
Shayne has been sleeping a lot (as usual) but in the last few days actually gotten up and been going out for a surf and or dive and i can see his improvement. He had a hard time in Padang and then we both got this Giardia B.S. a few days into the trip.
Finally it seems like we are coming right as the Aussie's would say.
I am DAYS away from being back in California and I can hardly wait.
I don't remember feeling this excited to come home… ever.
I love being the gypsy traveling daughter… and i always groan and hate the responsibility of having to go back home and deal with the real world, but for some reason i am itching to get back… i am dreaming of hugging my Dad and cuddling on the green couches with Rosie the pup… and of course thinking about my mom every single day.
I keep thinking about how i want a Kombucha and Kale chips ASAP… then for dinner i want the greasiest mexican food i can get… nachos with extra guacamole and sour cream and those little carrots and peppers that are on the side with the salsa…
and about four huge blended margaritas.
Then when i wake up the next morning i will start cleansing - juicing with the veggies from my parents garden and get a liver cleanse before going to the doctor to get everything post-malaria finally checked out by a western doctor.
I can't wait to unpack the boxes that are in the attic above my dad's studio…
I can't wait to go for a run along the beach in Encinitas and breathe in California...
I can't wait to take a yoga class where they have to turn the heat up to make us sweat (ha!)
I can't wait to go to Whole Foods and buy expensive but beautifully prepared and packaged raw foods…
I can't wait to lay on the huge Oriental rugs in my parent's living room with my arms spread out to the sides.
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I'm in Batam which is a small island in the Indonesian archipelago which calls nearly 18,000 islands hOMe… but this one looks out across a small channel at Singapore - a bustling first world, english speaking, expensive and somewhat irregular growth on Southeast Asia, not unlike Hong Kong….
Ferries run every hour on the hour from Batam to Singapore and with any luck I will be on board one soon.
I met Pak Bukhori (which sounds an awful lot like "Broccoli"), the overweight Indonesian man who had hypertension, walked with a limp, and sat next to me in exit row 12 on our Batavia Air flight from Padang into Batam. He spoke impeccable English after living a life spent working around the world in various businesses…. We fell into a deep metaphysical conversation on the plane. (As you do)
I asked him straight up about his religion, Islam. The religion of billions of people in this country I have been calling home over the last few years.
Pak Broccoli told me that in the year 700, the profit Muhammed was just a normal guy who couldn't read or write and had this seemingly spontaneous enlightenment at age 40 when this overwhelming river of divine information came through him and he continues to receive the teachings from God until he died at age 63. All the teaching came from his mouth and were dictated by the literate onto cow hide and bones and anything they could write the Arabic on to.
He said the teachings of the Qur'an are basically at the core, the same as all religions (something i make note of often).. Be good, don't do bad things, live morally, act with compassion, love all beings of God.
I asked him about Holy War.
He said "Zani… God is so powerful, he doesn't need you to fight for him."
I really liked that.
He continued to tell me that according to Islam, killing yourself is one of the worst sins you can commit as a Muslim. You did not create yourself so it's not UP to you to end it. According to his lifelong study of the Qur'an, nowhere does it condone the acts of radical Jihadists.
People read what they want to read and hear what they want to hear… you see this throughout society and all over the world but especially, I find, with religion.
I told my new friend that people were missing "wawasan luas" - which means a broad insight.
He smacked my arm and smiled so big when i said it.
"EXACTLY!"
He reminded me of the old story where a group of people stand around an elephant with narrow blinders on.
One says "Oh. this animal is smooth and white and long and sharp, like a bone."
One says "no. no. this animal is long and wiggly like a snake"
Another says "oh no, it's big and round and wrinkly and feels like sandpaper."
Nobody is seeing the whole elephant so nobody is completely right and everyone is completely missing the whole thing.
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Pak Broccoli offered to drive me to the ferry but was in a rush so he couldn't wait for my bags, which i was standing at the wrong carousel anyways.
I managed to get to Singapore and get in the taxi queue, immediately striking up a conversation with a nice older Australian man who lived and worked in Singapore. He was a little too flirty for a man with a wedding ring on his hand if you ask me, but soon enough our taxis came and i got in with an Indian driver.
I had just been talking to the Aussie guy about India and explaining why i loved it so much.
I fell right back into to talking about India as soon as I got in the taxi and started heading for the Changi airport.
"Okay, okay, including the food, the culture, the scenery, the people…. which is your favorite? India, Thailand or Indonesia?"
AGHHHHH. he asked me such an impossible question.
Comparing green curry, papaya salad, pad thai, beautiful Theravada buddhist temples and stunning islands…. to Malai Kofta and Aloo Paratha, chai and doses, mango lassi, the chaos and celebration of death in Varanasi, the beauty of the Ganga in the North, the Himalayas, Dharamshala and the home in exile to the Dalai Lama…. to Indonesian Gado-Gado, Nasi Goreng, Cabe spicy everything, the beaches and tribal culture of the Mentawai islands to the explosion of palm trees and lush lakes and mountains of Sumatra and divinity (albeit raped by tourism) of the magical island kingdom of Bali…
I just can't choose and I didn't.
I got out of the taxi and left my sweet Indian friend hanging. He even gave me a deal on the fare.
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I left the mentawais at 1pm on July 4th when Kaimana pulled anchor and started cruising at about 9 knots, back East towards Sumatra and into a storm that tossed us around all night for about 13 hours.
at 1am on July 6th i was waiting in a Singapore starbucks for the minutes to click by. The Malaysia Airlines counter regrettably told me that i couldn't check in for 7 hours and would not be able to enjoy the amenities inside the airport - which allegedly include a movie theatre and places to sleep and everything. No instead, i am drinking cloudy apple juice and reading Hunter S Thompson, occasionally being woken up by a Starbucks personnel who tells me in a thick accent that i cannot sleep here to which i smile, nod and moments later nod off into my light sleep once again.
I decided i will keep local Mentawai time to figure out exactly how long this journey home takes me.
I think it's somewhere around 60+ hours.
I did however get a heads up from the Malaysia Airlines girls about my bags… it doesn't matter the weight - it just can't be more then 2 bags or they will charge me several hundred dollars. (ridiculous rule)… so i had to repack my bags and make my heaviest one weight only 7kg and will have to carry it on, since the dimensions of a guitar case and the big green backpack I've carried around the world over the last year could never reach carry-on size.
Fingers and toes crossed this all goes down without a hitch.
I kind of feel like I am dealing with a big travel here… lots of patience and waiting and sitting and staring at clocks willing them to go by… so maybe just maybe they could cut a break and let this all work out well for me.
Who is they?
I guess I was refereeing to Malaysia Air, but it felt more like i was referring to the many Gods that are sitting in the first class lounge sleeping on lazy boy recliners getting foot massages from little Singapore ladies while i get shaken awake, smile, nod, and nod off again.
Wow. I am becoming Hunter S Thompson crazy here as this early morning crawls like a stoned sloth towards 4am when the counter will open.
Thats all for now.
Gotta get through the next 25 hours or so and i'll be home FREEEEEEEEE
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65 hours in transit, some greasy nachos at El Napolitos, and i am hOMe.
come see me in San Diego. I'm staying put for a while.
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