This Isn't A Travel Blog

Although Indonesia has a special place in my heart…a lot of Indonesia will perpetually be fucked. Bali will always be fine regardless of what happens around it. As long as the Chrissy Teigen’s of the world continue to post selfies of themselves breastfeeding while in Bali, Bali will continue to be popular. On the other hand, a place like Lombok, which is so raw and is filled with natural beauty, will struggle for a long time. The devastation from two ~7.0 earthquakes will set them back years. In theory, through humanitarian and charitable relief efforts, buildings will be rebuilt, rice patties replanted, etc. But in terms of tourism, they will suffer. For an economy that starves for foreign intervention, two earthquakes will keep tourists at bay.

These earthquakes are by no means the first natural disaster in Indonesia- Mt. Merapi erupted just 10 days before our party arrived in country. To not go someplace because of natural disaster, in my mind, is a tad ridiculous (while reading this, please keep pre-coronavirus ideals in mind).. I am in no way suggesting one should book a trip to someplace when it has recently been devastated by a horrific force of nature. However, in a year or two from now, when order is restored, it should not be a factor if one is thinking about going there. By this logic, one would not go to a lot of places. if there is a potential for natural intervention: California; Mexico City; Japan to name a few.

Traveling now has become so homogenized- there are endless resources sharing both recommendations and itineraries. Naturally there is planning that goes along with a big trip to another country, and of course a game plan should be set in place. But we’ve gotten to a point in society where planning travel is centered around some travel influencer who takes selfies of her ass in front of national landmarks and post herself (and don’t forget her ass) drinking an açaí smoothie every morning for breakfast. I fear that one day I will overhear someone saying, “Let’s go this café in Berlin- it mainly got four star reviews and apparently TheHolocaustIsAMyth.com says that the coffee is divine.” I know that’s a bit extreme, but the point is that with so much information accessible, we not only limit the opportunity of spontaneity, but we end up basing our travel decisions on shallow internet bullshit.

It’s unfortunate that some people would even qualify going to Indonesia as a risk because there is not as much information out there compared to what is conventionally defined as the “first world”. Granted, I did a shit ton of research for this trip, and a lot of that was just because I wanted to educate myself. Nevertheless, we knew that regardless of how much pre-reading we did, once we were in-country there was going to be a ton of “winging it”. Why does that scare people? Naturally it goes without saying that one should do their due diligence to check out every hostel/hotel/AirBnB, any tours/guides you are hiring, etc. I’m not proposing one should go down a back alley and end up in a smoky backroom playing Russian Roulette like Christopher Walken in The Deer Hunter. But isn’t there something thrilling about improvisation and true unplanned discovery? If you don’t think so, stop reading now. Go back to your 75 hour-a-week job solving the meaningless problems of corporate America, and start planning your next big trip to Cabo. Don’t forget to pack your Patagonia vest you wear to work every day even though it’ll be 90 fucking degrees out.

The inception of this trip started with a freshmen year course, The Politics of Southeast Asia, which was taught by a certain Professor Hindley, an old British chap. Although he was 80 years old, he was still as fiery as he was 50 years prior. Regardless if he is no longer teaching due to a very public spat of “alleged” anti-Semitism, he romanticized Southeast Asia for me. I am aware that many a white man has found Southeast Asia appealing. But as a Jewish man, my people have suffered throughout history. So my interest was not from a conventional white imperialist angle (I think?).

The “Far East” is a topic that has been spoken of and written about for centuries. Exploring what has been largely unexplored. It is a fantasy of many white men- Kipling, Orwell, Conrad, to name a few (a good chunk of these writers were quintessential British elitist colonialist bastards). But there is a deeper compelling force than just exploration of the unknown- it’s about escape. The Western World has self-created problems, most of which are psychological. In this case, the appeal of the “Far East” is to integrate into a world that is an 180° departure from what is known. Something that is so radically different, that is raw, untouched, and not inundated with Snapchat filters and and Uber XLs. In some minds, the “less civilized” world is more appealing because it transports one to a simpler time when human beings were more connected to the natural world. Eugue Fodor, one of the first publishers of travel guidebooks, describes this notion, of course with a nice flourish of ethnocentrism:

“Why go East? The East has always woven a spell to enchant the West. Asia is vast and teeming and infinitely complex, an inexhaustible source of riches and wonder…Asia still holds, for the mind of the West, the lure, the challenge, the spell, and the rewards that have drawn generation after generation of Westerners from the snug, familiar lives into a world utterly different from every they have known, thought, and believed. For Asia is half the world, the other half…The East may well be strange, but it doesn’t have to be frustrating. Once you have actually been there, you may still find it mysterious, but that’s what will make it really interesting.”

Although I find Fodor to be a condescending and insufferable prick, I related to this school of thought on some level. Although I knew I would eventually return to the USA, to get back to my family, my girlfriend, my friends, my job, my life as I knew it, there was a small part of me that felt that if I liked what I experienced, I would stay permanently….or possibly return in the future to live there. Even after going, I still feel that way, but for different reasons than I anticipated. It is deeper than just trying to find a fresh start someplace different than what I’ve always know.

The contents of the following pages are not meant to be a playbook on how to spend two weeks in Indonesia- it is not meant to lay out a recommended itinerary, or to provide tips. If this does help to educate and inform travel to Indonesia, that is of course beneficial. This recounting is meant to tell the narrative of a group of friends taking a trip together. It is meant to entertain. It is not an intended promotion of travel to Indonesia, but more an exposé on the wonders of travel holistically.

It is meant to reinforce that travel connects people, enriches them, and changes them. It pushes them out of their comfort zone and opens their eyes up to experiences they never could have imagined possible.

In Indonesia, all of that is definitely possible. It is wondrous; mysterious; beautiful; adventurous. There are infinite adjectives to describe this place.

That is all for now.

As I sit here on the plane contemplating why I thought it would be a good idea to sign up my friends and I for 20 plus hours of flying, I try to find reasons why I shouldn’t end my life. I didn’t bring any cyanide with me unfortunately- there must be cleaning solution in the kitchen area I can chug. But in the spirit of positivity, I will attempt to find some silver lining. Although I am packed into my seat like I’m heading to Dachau, Singapore Airlines has its benefits.

1.    I cannot stress enough the importance of free and unlimited alcohol. This is absolutely essential for any chance of survival. Admittedly, I am skeptical about both the regularity of the service and the volume served. What will one of these flight attendants think when I immediately chug my red wine and then ask for a whiskey ginger? Either they will detest me for 19 1/2 more hours or respect me on a level they’ve never respected a passenger before.

2.    The menu. On a longer flight with a carrier like American Airlines, some chicken that looks like throw-up might be offered, if anything at all. This menu is lovely. Moving past the alcohol options (which again, I cannot reiterate the importance of), they have, for instance, stir-fried Asian noodles with pork belly for breakfast. Unreal. Let’s hope they have some kind of super industrial strength toilet because if three people on this plane go for the beef pastrami with bow tie pasta for dinner, we’re going to have a category 4 shitstorm on our hands.

3.    The movie selection is on point. Black Panther, I Tonya, Florida Project, the list goes on. I watched the first two episodes of the Ken Burns Vietnam documentary on three different fucking Delta flights because the movie selection was that bad. They even have the full first season of The Wire. Am I going to watch a quarter of a movie, and then watch other people watching their movies and judge them for what they’re watching while slugging drinks? Possibly.

4.    I kind of feel guilty about it but I’m digging the Asian vibe. Half of the men boarding the plane had woodys because they caught a glimpse of the Asian stewardesses in their kimono-like outfits. It immediately transported them to that geisha fantasy where they’re thinking, “I bet if I pay enough Singapore dollars, I can shag this minx in the bathroom on the second deck.” The music is also soothing- I could easily drink 17 glasses of red wine and listen to this music if forced to. Of course when the stewardesses make announcements in German one goes from a meditative, relaxed state to thinking it’s time to start swallowing their jewelry (I know, two Holocaust jokes already, I’m in a dark place).

I truly hope that this trip will live up to be everything I have built it up to be in my mind. I am a bit worried that there are going to be a lot of locals with shrill, high pitched voices, cackling at us all at once to buy some shitty knick-knacks. I don’t know what to expect in terms of level of English, bathrooms, transportation, etc.- I am hoping intuition will guide us. This is a once in a lifetime trip. Who knows where I will be in a few months. I could be dead for all I know. Dead, floating under the Williamsburg Bridge.

After witnessing two German couples take a group picture with a selfie stick (who uses a selfie stick on a plane? Truly revolting), I relocated to the aisle seat of an empty row. This is the ideal set-up for a long flight- now it’s time to just kick back and relax, right? Well, the deutschbag (that’s German for douchebag, I think?) in front of me already has fully reclined his seat, meaning my right leg will naturally dip into the aisle and will be continuously run over by the service carts for the next 11 ½ hours. The music is different this time- seems to be catered to the German audience. Maybe Wagner? It’s not quite “Ride of the Valkyries” in Apocalypse Now but it’s not far off either.

After about 11 glasses of wine on the flight to Frankfurt and a beer once in the airport, the plan has to be to stay the course and pound myself to sleep. Beer alone will not suffice- a Singapore Sling has been calling my name. At last the trip is starting to feel more real. Sort of. This flight is going to result in permanent knee damage. This motherfucker in front of me has no idea what’s coming. I am going to rock him back and forth non-stop. My hatred for Germans is further cemented.

🖕Deutschland.

That was way too much flying without major drugs. Although the plane was large enough to allow for excessive pacing up and down the aisles and the ability to lie down and stretch, my knee feels like jelly. The airport in Singapore (Changi Airport) is crazy nice- the ceilings are high, it’s clean, sleek, and really cool how the vegetation naturally grows within the walls.

Customs was a breeze- our friend Sam had arrived a day earlier to work from his company’s local office, so we planned to meet him at his hotel. I had recalled that he was staying at the “something Regis”, but was either too lazy or too strung out to look up exactly which hotel he had told us. Ian confidently asserted that Sam must be at the St. Regis- he had heard of the chain before, so we jumped into a cab and headed there.

Something felt off once we walked into the lobby- not that it was improbable Sam could be staying there, but this felt exceptionally nice. Like if Trump does ultimately meet Kimmy J (Kim Jung Un) in Singapore, Donny would stay there. Sam had said he’d meet us in the lobby by where they were serving breakfast, and when we walked over, he wasn’t there. We popped around a few other sitting areas, and it was very apparent he wasn’t staying at this hotel. Only then did it occur to me to open our group correspondence, where he had previously messaged us that he was staying at the Park Regis. Off to a rocking start.

We dropped our bags off in his room, grabbed a fine cup of coffee, and headed towards Chinatown, where we were going to eat at a renown Michelin starred chicken and rice joint known for its juicy chicken at stupid cheap prices. It’s definitely hot walking around- but it’s the humidity that’s killer. Truly a jungle climate. Like a moron, I left the raincoat I purchased the day of our departure in my apartment in New York. Ryan didn’t bring one either, not because he forgot, but solely because he’s Ryan and is incapable of remembering pertinent things. So the two of us searched Chinatown prior to the restaurant opening, ultimately purchasing what were essentially garbage bags. The chicken and rice place (Liao Fan Hong Kong Soya Sauce) was quite good, although some of our party members were not as keen about it because they were bitter that their chicken meat to bone ratio was off in their specific serving.

Chinatown is pretty cool in Singapore- coming from New York, it’s not a shock having street vendors aggressively propositioning you and following you down the street. While walking around, we stumbled upon a cool Buddhist temple, the highlight of which was a portion of the ceiling with a deity who appeared to be in the form of a woman but had a rather sad looking penis and sack, the latter of which seemed to have enough space to fit at least another nut, possibly two. Maybe the gap is sort of like a little pillow for the penis to rest on. Regardless, I will continue to ponder this for at least another week.

We had to get back to Sam’s hotel to check out by 1pm- after an impromptu workout, we walked to the AirBnB with our luggage. Was this necessary? No. Were we all sweating our asses off? Yes. After an arduous process of getting into the building complex and the apartment, we dropped our shit off and immediately made way for the 4th floor pool. It was L shaped and swung around the side of the building, overlooking some neighboring housing complexes. I had the foresight to bring a Spalding ball with me- you never know when a ball will come in handy. Throwing a ball in a pool is never not fun. You can dive without getting hurt (that’s not true at all) skip it off the water, play taps. It’s limitless. We played a new game, called, Jesus ball, where I swam to the back wall and stuck my arms out in a pose that modeled Christ on the cross. The object was then for each person to have a go at hitting you from a distance without you flinching or moving. Of course I was ridiculed for literally looking like Christ on the cross because my ribs were exposed, although in my opinion I am the poster boy of health and beauty. This game occupied us for at least 35 minutes, and then we decided it was time to shower and hit the National Museum of Singapore.

Sounds like a no-brainer, right? Learn about the city’s rich history, its diverse and complicated cultural roots, etc. Well, it sucked so hard. I would have rather stared at the rain out of the AirBnB window for 90 minutes. Three of the other four members of the group agreed this was miserable, although my friend Ian was so jet-lagged that he had the intellectual capacity of a leaf. Ryan and Jerry looked for Sam, who was slowly and deliberately reading every word in the History of Singapore exhibit. I drank my coffee while Ian battled with himself to stay awake- lots of head-rocking, slapping himself in the face, and open mouth blank stares at me and everyone around him. For me, this was easily the best part of the museum experience. Out of sheer boredom, I searched for Sam, going through the full exhibit twice; of course he came out just as I had reentered for the second time. Tired, hungry, desperate to go anywhere else, we decided to head to a restaurant in Little India called Banana Leaf.

The restaurant seemed like a tourist trap in its appearance- large tables, tacky interior design, clearly stolen silverware from United Airlines- but the food was legit. Sam, Jerry and I split three dishes, the highlight of which was fish head curry. Literally a fucking fish head in a bath of Indian spices. Equally as important as the food was the beer…the beer was rejuvenating. We split eight total liters, with Ryan insisting we chug our first two glasses.

We planned dinner around seeing the light show at the Gardens by the Bay, a beautiful display of large trees and gardens recently featured on Planet Earth (I religiously watch Planet Earth, I’m not a dork, if you don’t think nature is dope you’re an idiot). For those paying attention, the light show itself was very cool- although most of the group was either too buzzed or too jet-lagged to enjoy it.

The best part of the night by far was the roof view at CÉ LA VI. 3 of the group members had to hit the john the second we got there, which delayed us from going to the roof for a bit. When we did arrive, it was worth the wait. I teed up five Singapore slings (fuck it, it’s vacation, so drinks were on Papa, my self-proclaimed title), and we found a little couch with a panoramic view of the marina. There wasn’t a tremendous amount of conversation between us at all- again, this could have been out of sheer exhaustion, or possibly because we were soaking it all in. For me, it felt like we were in an episode of Westworld or something (even though Westworld is relentlessly pretentious and self-indulgent), specifically when Dolores is exposed to the “real” world for the first time. 57 stories high. Infinity pool. A view of the marina and downtown on one side, the ocean and gardens on the other. A band with a jazzy sax. Clearly a mix of hoity-toity business people, wealthy tourists, and ladies of the night (prostitutes). And then there was us. Five goons from New York wearing gym shorts.

Sharing a bed with Jerry, who sniffled and wheezed the entire night like an 88-year-old Italian woman who’s been smoking since she was 11, wasn’t the worst part of the night for me. Sometimes when you play with fire, you get burned. And throughout the rest of the night, I got repeatedly burned.

Even after an evening of hourly bathroom visits, I was optimistic about our next stop: Yogyakarta, the cultural soul of Indonesia.

Other than Jerry taking forever to check his bag, the morning was quite lovely. The airport lounge in Singa is incredible- nothing like a fat bowl of laksa accompanied by a nice full-bodied Pinot at 10AM. The flight was easy too, besides a visit to both the front and rear bathrooms (the flight was an hour long). Once we landed, we exited directly onto the runway- it’s always nice to physically be on the runway. Although it was bright, direct sunshine and heat, at least it felt refreshing compared to the oppressive humidity of Singapore.

We didn’t pre-book any car services for Jogja (upon landing I immediately became a local, so dropped the ‘Y’ and swapped in a ‘J’ because I ain’t some white honky), so we asked one of the airport services what the cost would be. She said ~100,000 rupiah- just under $2 a person. Seemingly not bad at all, however we would learn later on how absurdly cheap taxis could be. The airport employee requested that we pay upfront. Now as cynical New Yorkers who assume that everyone in the world is inherently bad and has some kind of agenda, we proposed to pay half upfront and half upon arrival to our AirBnb. Seemingly out of nowhere, a large van appeared and we got in. This driver was not the brightest light on the Christmas tree, and after a series of wrong turns, we decided we were close enough to get out and walk to our place.

The AirBnb was fine for our purposes. Although it was hot as hades and ridden with bugs, at least the bedrooms had A/C (yet smelled like bleach). In hindsight, we probably should have just booked a hotel that still would have been insanely inexpensive. But we liked to walk the line between hazard and adventure.

We dedicated our afternoon to booking our tours for the next four days-we booked the Borobudur sunrise tour and Mt. Merapi hike online, and decided to wing Jomblong Cave. I started to get antsy sitting around and wanted to explore the city, so we cued up a Grab (Indo’s Uber, so fucking cheap, less than a dollar split five ways) to hit a quick café called Move On. The food was good, but the coffee was euphoric. From there we headed to the Kraton Complex, the former palace of the Sultan. From the pictures I had researched, we had high expectations that this was going to be a majestic palace. It was in fact, how you say, a complete dump.

And speaking of dumps- as soon as we were dropped off at the Kraton, Jerry desperately exited the car, holding his shorts and seeking refuge in the nearest restroom. He sprinted ahead of us and dove into a random police station to ease his pain. Just what we needed- headlines in the paper reading, “MORONIC AMERICAN TOURIST GETS ARRESTED FIRST DAY IN JAVA FOR DEFILING A POLICE STATION”. After a brief period, he emerged and we walked around the back of the palace. He later informed us that he had not had the opportunity to properly clean himself (although he clarified there was some splashing of water to wash the scene of the crime). Classy stuff.

We then decided to walk to Malioboro Street, the main shopping street of Jogja. We really stuck out like sore thumbs. The locals literally stop walking and stare at these five large white guys who were walking the streets without a care in the world. Beyond staring, a few locals approached us to take pictures with them, which made sense. They needed physical proof to show their children and their children’s children that they encountered giants among men. Amidst the clusterfuck of people gawking and shouting at us, the sheer volume of people, cars, mopeds, and the piercing noise of the Call to Prayer, we pushed forward, looking for some classic tchotchkes and souvenirs to get our friends, gals, and family members. Only problem was every goddamn store was selling the same shit. The tackiest, grossest, ugliest clothing. Honestly, it’s amazing these stores can co-exist since they literally sell the exact same garbage products. No exaggeration shirt for shirt the same.

I had researched some restaurants in Jogja ahead of time and suggested we head to Jaba Jero because of its self-proclaimed claim-to-fame that it had the cheapest beer in the city (that’s a one-way ticket to my heart). On the way, we stumbled upon a little tourist stand which advertised selling Ramayana Ballet tickets, an activity that was mostly on my radar. In the sketchiest of manners, the proprietor called the ballet (or what he said was the ballet) and reserved us five tickets; in return we paid him and he handed us a stamped “voucher” which he said we would just present at the ballet to redeem our tickets. The entire situation screamed reliability and trust. We all looked at each other and non-verbally acknowledged that we had just sent 100,000 rupiah each down the drain. Best to wash that memory down with a cold beverage.

Jaba Jero is my kind of joint. Definitely not clean, not exactly dirty, a lot of exposed fresh air while also having a consistent stream of cigarette smoke floating around from unidentifiable sources. Oh, and cheap beer there was. Like $2 USD for a large Bingtang. This was our first sampling of Bingtang, and it was love at first sip. There was an understanding that this beverage would be our life force for the rest of our tip. The food was also so good and truly authentic. I got tofu rendang (yes, tofu, I know I’m soft), and the sauce was super spicy though required an excessive amount of sambal and chopped chilies just to take it to that next level and ensure crippling stomach pain. Ian was pleasantly surprised by the rendang too. Since he and Ryan both have peanut (cacung in Nesian) allergies, they had to be super diligent and insistent to ensure that each dish was nut free.

Let’s just say the rest of the evening was a cleanse…and not the spiritual kind either.

I was already up for our 3:30AM departure time to Barede Hill to see the sunrise and the temple in the very far distance because I was woken up at 2:50AM by my stomach’s need to empty itself. Prior to being in country, I had researched four or five options for tours for Borobudur (the largest Buddhist temple in the world, erected in the 9th century), and as a group we had agreed we wanted to do the sunrise tour specifically at the temple. Naturally when Jerome booked it, we somehow ended up 50 kilometers further away from the temple than we wanted to be, but whatever it worked out fine in the end.

The van picked us up at a shithole of a hotel called Hotel Indah Palace, an eight-minute walk from our apartment. Based on the taxi from the airport, it was clear the location of our AirBnB was tricky to find so we didn’t want to risk it. It was about an hour drive to Barede Hill, and although it wasn’t what we intended to do, it was very nice. To see Mt. Merapi (the world’s most active volcano), Borobudur, and the mountains all in one view is pretty stunning. Not the worst fuck-up.

The sunrise was exquisite even with some cloud cover- we then headed to the temple itself. The security was interesting. We were required to pass through metal detectors, yet not required to remove any metal from our persons. Now I’ve never personally worked as part of a security team, but intuitively loudly beeping metal alarms are not usually a sign of safety and security. We all passed through as if this was normal. There was a lone tourist that was picked up as part of our larger group who we invited to join the five of us as we experienced the temple. His name was Dennis…or Tennis…or Travis…no one really knew.

To get to the temple, we meandered through a garden complex, and the voila, the temple is front and center. It’s a nice steep incline just to get to one of the lower surrounding levels, with stairs that have large and uncomfortably awkward gaps between them. We all almost ate shit ten different times walking up and down the stairs of the temple. The walls are intricately decorated with different Buddhist scenes/figures (e.g. Buddha, Vināyaka, etc.). Once you reach the top, the view is insane- not only do you see the path leading into the temple but you see surrounding gardens, jungles, and mountains. Standing on top of this temple that was erected in the 8th century truly makes you appreciate the capacity for human creation and imagination.

After the temple, we had a quick lunch and some time to kill before getting back to the van. I got absolutely ripped off by paying 50,000 rupiah for a stupid ceramic temple that no person would have any purpose for. Yes, 50,000 rupiah is equivalent to ~$3, but it’s not about that. It’s about how stupid this tchotchke was, and how easy it is to barter with these street vendors. I think Sam bought a larger version of the same piece for a fifth of the price. Fuck me. I quickly learned my lesson after that experience. Naturally Jerry somehow got separated from the rest of us, and after a quick search, the guide found him and we returned back to the BnB. We all took pretty lengthy naps and went to a local Thai restaurant within walking distance called Yum Yum. The name was pretty accurate, and they had Bintang which was essential.

For me, the cave diving tour was the top of my priority list in terms of activities for Jogja. The pictures were absolutely stunning, and a rudimentary peruse of some online reviews seemed very positive. There are, however, a few things they do no warn you about:

1.    The pulley system that lifts you up and down is rickety and decrepit and makes you wonder if it could support the weight of a 50 pound child.

2.    Ultimately, you are lifted back up by a small army of 20 random Indonesians, who don’t even seem like their employees. Just random citizens that are rounded up.

3.    The cave is really dark and muddy as shit.

4.    The last, and most important point if you are a male, is that, due to the harness, the entire weight of your body is supported by your balls.

One side note- other than the next tour we would take, Mt. Merapi (the world’s most active volcano), which was booked through viator.com, we basically just did rudimentary research for tours that seemed reasonably reliable and then Whatsapped the contact number listed on the website. Pretty smart, just blindly trusting an Indonesian stranger to pick us up at the agreed upon time and place to take us on the said tour. These random numbers could of picked us up and just taken us directly to their basements, where we’d be ransomed (although with the favorable conversion rate it’d probably be a pretty cheap ransom deal).

Anyways, this dude named Harry picked us up at the same dump of a hotel we were picked up the prior day at 7:55AM, without us paying him in advance. This time he was blindly trusting us, although really what were we going to do, we were getting in a car with a stranger. He instantly was a nice guy, clearly excited to be driving around a group of white gorillas. We only had one other pickup- we went to this palace of a hotel and picked up this Asian guy from Texas named Dean. Honestly if you’re named Dean that automatically raises red flags. When have you ever met a cool Dean? Well, he actually turned out to be a good guy, but was an absolute dweeb, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. The cave was located up in the hills which led to a very scenic drive, although driving in a country where there are literally no traffic laws is a bit jarring.

Let’s just say that the system set in place for us to descend down to the cave was not the pinnacle of organization. It is unclear why the customers, who are nervous, anxious, and filled with anticipation are forced to putter around for 2 ½ hours doesn’t seem to make the most sense. Maybe re-structure the system so there are staggered times for the groups to spelunk (8AM, 11AM, 1PM) and have a set number of people per group? Nah, that’s dumb. Better to keep everyone either sitting or standing around the edge of a cliff for the majority of the experience. I guess beauty can come through pain. And this was just the tip of the pain iceberg.

We finally were close to being lowered down and were told to pair off and get ready to be put into harnesses- Ryan and I agreed we would partner up. The harness situation is tight. Actually it’s not tight, it’s toight. And upon lowering, you immediately recognize that the weight or your body is being supported by the cahones. No divertido.

We finally made it down, and after more waiting around, we then had to walk down to the entrance of the cave. One of the guides who had heard me groaning about the whole pelvis situation approached me and asked in shaky English, “Is your dragon okay buddy?”. This one innocent comment was a game changer for the rest of the trip. We had now been equipped with the firepower to make infinite dick jokes to the locals. A true turning point that would alter the trajectory of the trip and our lives forever.

The boots that we were encouraged to wear—although so uncomfortable and literally resulting in the bleeding of the feet—were absolutely vital, because the cave is a muddy, treacherous mess. There is one narrow path on cement stones, which have no grip whatsoever. Additionally, there’s barely any light- in fact, Dean the Dweeb asked our guide if a flashlight would be helpful and our guide said no. Naturally Harry has never been in the cave, so it was smart to take his word for it. It’s always a good combo when walking into an unfamiliar place- an impossibly slippery surface that could at any point result in falling into four feet of deep mud in essentially complete darkness.

Once we got to the area where “Heaven’s Light” shines through, the trek was worth it. Beauty through pain. The light was indescribable, and the mist coming from the river below was quite refreshing. I generally love the feeling of being in places where you wouldn’t or shouldn’t be, and this sort of felt like that. Human beings had no business being in that cave. But we were. I have yet to check to see if my sperm count is permanently affected, but assuming it wasn’t, this was an unforgettable sight. I’m not going to describe the painful experience of getting lifted back up because I’ve beaten that horse to death, but there was some additional important “dragon” banter when I asked the guide to “catch my eggs” in the event that something went catastrophically wrong. We now had a complete terminology- a dragon and eggs. They had never even thought about calling them eggs, so I was basically heralded as a comedic genius. Yep. The bar was that low.

The lunch was garbage food, but it was functional. Sam was having an alarming coffee withdrawal which led to a lot of complaining. It is undeniable that a lot of the overall experience was quite annoying; however, we’re in fucking Indonesia. It wasn’t going to be perfect. Ian took advantage of the situation by kicking Sam when he was down and suggesting that maybe he is too reliant on coffee. Veteran move. Shit on someone and their lifestyle choices when they’re in a lot of physical pain. Harry, our guide, was overly nice and got Sam some Advil and aroma therapy to help his headache. Once Sam had that and quick nap in the car, he, and the rest of us, were ready for the second part of the tour, which was tubing in the river within Pindul Cave.

Pindul Cave actually shares the same river as Jomblang Cave- a river canal connects a few caves within the area and ultimately feeds into the Indian Ocean. We paid off some soldiers (like a $1 each, they can fucking have it), bought towels, put on our life jackets, and then jumped onto the back of a truck with two guys that didn’t speak a lick of English. Along the way, we waved to the locals; there was something so satisfying about this and receiving both waves in return and huge smiles. Makes you feel like you’ve made a real connection with the locals, like you’re not an ethnocentric ignorant douche.

Once we were in the cave, the guide wanted us to hold onto each other’s tubes so he could pull us gently in a line. No fucking way that was happening. A five-foot-tall scrawny Indonesian man is not pulling the six of us. Nuh-uh. Using some finger wagging and other hand motions, he understood that we would be paddling on our own, even if the cave is dark. But not close to as dark as Jomblong. This was intuitive at least- just doggy paddle towards the general light. After a decent amount of paddling we finally arrived at an area where you could climb up on a rock and jump off of it into the water. The guide went first and did a nice tight dive where he started vertically head to foot and gently rotated in the air to foot to head before landing in the water. No shit he made it look easy. First of all he’s a tiny compact human. Second, he’s probably done this 10,000 times. He may of grown up in this cave for all we know. But because I am an asshole I had to try it without gauging the height or width of the cave and the depth of the water. Why ask these questions? It’s easily worth the risk of severely injuring yourself to look cool in front of a local who you can’t verbally communicate with and will never see again. We all proceeded to take turns jumping off the rock. It was a blast.

After such an epic day we now needed to reward ourselves with, of course, nothing other than Bintang. We asked our guide Harry if he knew of any local stores that sold large Bintangs (on principle, one absolutely cannot drink a regular sized Bintang) since Indonesia has restrictions on where alcohol can be sold. After a few failures, I was finally able to purchase ten large Bintangs from a local restaurant, Via Via. With Sam taking it upon himself to select the dinner place, the rest of the group was able to sip on a Bintang carefree. Ultimately an “expensive” tapas restaurant was selected, and by expensive I mean ~$10 UD a person for ten large Bintags and a shit ton of food. Oh, and we took an epic group picture- the start of a trend for the rest of the trip.

There were no tours while we were there that enabled you to actually summit the peak- not that it was necessarily a good idea given that the volcano exploded not two weeks prior to our arrival. The tour we ultimately booked involved hiking along the side of the volcano in more of a dense jungle area. For the first time, this tour was completely private, and we were able to sleep in until 9AM. We immediately knew this guide was our best yet- his English was nearly perfect and he got our sense of humor. Abraham (the guide) actually participated with us- he showed us pepper plants, coffee beans, chili peppers, where former rivers of lava had flown, etc. The hiking itself was not that strenuous, mostly just brush and some narrow/slippery patches of dirt and gravel paths. Nevertheless, it’s still a volcano, and the most active in the world at that. At one point Abraham showed us a dried up river which had molded into solid asphalt rock, while at the same time informing us that this specific area was restricted due to the recent eruption (note: the most recent eruption was sin lava, primarily consisting of steam and large rock projectiles). So that was kind of badass.

We eventually made our way up to the former house of the guardian of the volcano, which not only was destroyed in the catastrophic eruption of 2010, but resulted in his peril. Jogjakarta has been and is still ruled by a sultan since the 1600s- it is said that when Jogja was first founded, the natural spirits spoke to the first sultan, instructing him where to build the city. The city was built in a square format intentionally so there would be protection on all four sides: a volcano, Mt. Merapi, to the north; the Indian Ocean to the south; and large dense hills to both the east and the west. It is then the duty of the sultan to appoint guardians that are more closely in contact with both the spirits of the volcano and the sea (nobody gives a shit about hills). These guardians are summoned periodically by the sultan to report, if for instance, the spirit of their given domain has signaled that an eruption or tsunami is coming.

The 2010 eruption was of epic proportions- lava was not the killer, but the ash plumes, lahars, pyroclastic flows, and sulfur dioxide.. The guardian of the volcano’s home was still, even eight years later, covered in volcanic ash and surrounded by large rocks that were shot out the heart of the volcano. I admit, I somewhat buy into the whole spirituality thing in Jogja- there is a palpable connection between the people and the natural order, and clearly there has been for thousands of year. But the spirit of the volcano clearly dropped the ball in 2010, or something got lost in the communication between the spirit of the volcano and the guardian of the volcano. Since then they’ve had meteorologists closely monitoring the volcano. Um. No shit.

On the drive to the volcano, we asked Abraham if there were any must-do Jogja activities outside of what we had already covered off and were going to do, and we also asked if there were any good stores to get our families/girlfriends/friends gifts because of how unsuccessful we had been trying to find stuff on Malioboro Street. In the spirit of Indonesians to over deliver and be overly hospitable, Abraham recommended two stops outside of the tour. First, he took us to a store called Hazmah Batik to get a sense of everything they sold, and then on our own free time we could go to their other location on Malioboro (somehow we had missed it). This store literally had everything you could possibly imagine…but honestly the best part was that every time you entered a different level of the store a bell was rang, the employees chanted something, and they all bowed to you. You don’t get that shit at JC Penny.

We only spent a short time there because we wanted to get to our next stop, which was a coffee joint called Kopi Luwak. Luwak coffee, simply put, is literally poop coffee. Here are the steps to making this delicacy:

1.    A civet, a sort of hybrid between a raccoon, ferret, and possum, eats the coffee beans.

2.    This same civet shits out these coffee beans.

3.    The beans are then (hopefully) thoroughly washed.

4.    The beans are then hand peeled, which is oddly satisfying, although again your fingers are intimately touching beans that have been freshly processed through an animal’s ass.

5.    The beans are then roasted to ultimately become this unique cup of coffee (that were previously crapped out)..

For coffee lovers, this a bucket list cup of coffee to have- people describe it as transcendent and euphoric. At this store, they even pull up a clip from The Bucket List with Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman showing Jack’s character’s desire to have a cup of Luwak coffee before he kicks the bucket. Here’s the thing- what’s cool about normal coffee is that it’s just about the quality and taste of the bean itself without it being digested and excreted by a B version of a raccoon. So that was a bit of a mental roadblock for me. But I wasn’t not going to try it. Was the coffee good? Undoubtedly. But if you offered me a filet mignon that a silverback gorilla shit out, I’d probably pass. The most enjoyable part was playing with the baby civet named Batur.

After a really quaint family style lunch, we decided to go home, quickly shower, and head to the other Hazmah Batik location to amass gifts for our inner circles. After the gong and bowing experience at the other location, I craved that instant audible dignity again, so I would go up and down the stairs just so they’d repeatedly ring the gong and bow. We accumulated a shit ton of gifts and then headed to our second night of fine dining to a place called Rosella Easy Dining. Although the view was nice, the experience was anything but easy. The most trying part of the experience was that they were out of Bintang. Absolute disaster. If I’m at a restaurant in Indonesia, having Bintang in stock is probably more important than the quality of food. Or if it were to be a math equation, it would be:

Bintang ≥ Quality of food

The staff of course recognized how big of a mistake they had made. They should havef anticipated that their normally quiet, romantic restaurant would be invaded by five thirsty Americans. One of the waiters actually ran to the mart across the street to grab eight large Bintangs. The meal itself was good, although I had 19 plates in front of me (realistically I had four) before any other person had one.

But the food was good.  

I had been in a routine of waking up around five or six in the morning because of the previous few days of tours. So I would spend the early hours either reading, writing, or debating whether or not it’s worth returning to my life in New York, whilst everyone else slept. Luckily Ryan woke up early on this occasion and we agreed to go for a walk. This walk at first seemed intuitive- just take a left by the cackling roosters, walk for a bit, and then take two lefts to return to the main road. Wrong. This place was a fucking maze, full of side inlets and dead ends. Even Google Maps was confused where we were and how to get home. Luckily after 45 minutes of random yet miraculous circumstances we found the river full of garbage next to our apartment and made it home.

We had decided the night before that we wanted to go to the Taman Sari Water Castle (the former house of the Sultan and his 26 wives). The tricky part was trying to find a place that was open for breakfast- a lot of the places we looked up weren’t open until 10AM, and with Ramadan evening celebrations happening it could have been later. So we took a gamble in going to the Water Castle Café. In the States, going to a restaurant associated with the tourist destination is a recipe for horrendous food at high prices. This place was not that. It was completely empty. We sat at a lovely table with cushioned seats outside, and the food was super fresh. The fruit was the highlight, specifically the red dragon fruit. Although the bathroom situation was far from comfortable and clearly violated so many health codes by being right next to the kitchen with an open roof, it would have to do.

You’d never have guessed it, but the Water Castle was actually right next to the Waster Castle Café. A particularly sketchy looking Nesian was lurking around the Café and offered to guide us as we perused through the castle grounds. He actually turned out to be pretty informative and helpful in directing us how to logistically tour the grounds- and ultimately he steered us to the Batik store which sold beautiful cloth with intricate artwork stitched into it. We had done some bargaining here and there, but this was the big leagues now. This owner smelled weakness and was going to demand the best out of us. Some came out better than others and some snickered about their success. Whatever, it was handcrafted art that was massively discounted and we could easily afford.

We got back to the BnB, quickly showered and packed, and I had to return the Bintangs we purchased two nights prior to the airport. We could have easily afforded to pay for the bottles, but it’s not about that. It’s about the respect I would get from random people I would never see again. At first I couldn’t find the bottles and sent the housekeeper a message which she interpreted as me being angry. Was I mad? No one will ever know. Regardless, I found the bottles after 30 seconds of looking and then made the walk to the restaurant. Lots of heads were turning and staring…not a lot of 6’4” white dudes walking the streets in the morning with a box full of 24 large Bingtangs.

When we arrived at the airport, we assumed there was no chance there would be an airport lounge. We had become accustomed to a certain lifestyle when waiting for our flights; the lounge allowed us to weed out the plebeians and go into a safe zone with unlimited food and wine. To our disbelief, there was a lounge, which more than anything separated us from the sweaty mess that were the terminals. We saw two lost Australian girls lurking around the lounge, so Ryan urged Jerry and Sam to talk to them and invite them into the lounge. They sat with us, and Jerry exchanged info with the larger Aussie, which we all knew would lead to something later on.

Denpasar also has a nice airport, and Ryan had been communicating with our guide Suki about where to meet. We instantly knew it was him because he was wearing his traditional Hindu garb…classic guide move to stick out. We got in the car and made our way to our hotel, Adi Jaya. Denpasar already was totally different than Jogjakarta. It felt like Vegas- big flashing lights, so many tourists, live music everywhere. After a bit of traffic we got to the hotel and dumped our bags because Suki recommended taking us to Ganesha Café, a seafood restaurant literally on the beach, and then we would go to the notorious Sky Garden.

Often when you hear of a beach restaurant, it’s near the beach (as in around the corner) or has a view of the beach from indoors…but it’s not literally on the beach. Ganesha Café is literally 10 feet away from the water. The ambiance alone had me sold- being literally on the beach, cocktails, stray dogs running around, a cover band going from table to table taking requests. Plus the seafood was basically straight out of the ocean. So naturally we drank and feasted like kings, eventually attempting to sing along to requested songs like “Otherside” and the lengthier “Stairway to Heaven”.

We were clearly boozed up, which we definitely needed to be for our next endeavor, Sky Garden. Holy crap this place was a zoo. Since we were American ballers we naturally felt the need to get a private table with a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red and hookah. Nothing screams class like Johnnie Walker Red and hookah, right? Naturally things escalated quickly. We flew through the bottle and the hookah and seemingly decided to order another round of hookah. Textbook.

Then things began to get foggy and were only illuminated the next day. I decided to walk back to the hotel (a 35 minute walk) while taxi drivers and locals advised me that this was a sketchy/unsafe neighborhood. My response? “I was in Jogja, this is nothing.” Pure idiocy. Apparently Sam and Ian made out with two Chinese girls for 3 hours straight. Ryan talked to his mom on the phone and then got pizza with a prostitute. And Jerry had an interesting experience himself.

We all knew once Jerry and the Aussie chick from Jogja exchanged numbers something was bound to happen. I saw her at Sky Garden smoking hookah and having a blast. Of course she loved this place. A 20 year old getting drinks and hookah on the house. She got a taste of that good life. What I heard secondhand was what happened after Sky Garden between Jerome and her, because I had passed out face down after my long walk.

Apparently the two of got back to the hotel room after me but before Ryan, Sam, and Ian…and they started to get into it. Apparently Ryan, Ian, Sam were opening the door and she bellowed, “DO NOT ENTER.” Apparently Jerry went down under if you know what I mean (that’s a clever Aussie joke). Apparently his dragon stayed in its lair if you know what I mean (gross). And apparently she abruptly left the next morning and failed to answer any of his messages asking if she was alive or okay.

It’s hard to say who had the most interesting end to their night…my vote is Ryan with the pizza prostitute.

Although I was very hungover and felt like I had black lung from the hookah, we wanted to make the most of the day and woke up at somewhat reasonable hour to get breakfast. The breakfast at the hotel was all-you-can-eat, so we stuffed our bellies with a variety of offerings. We then headed out a little later than we wanted to- Sam and Ian were the slowpokes of the group and were the source of our delay. We wanted to get to the Uluwatu Hindu Temple early in the day so we could spend as much time as possible at the renowned beach club Sunday’s.

Out of respect, I wore pants and long sleeves to the temple, even though it was 90 degrees outside. After our experience in Borobudur, we knew at least a t-shirt and shorts that went below the knees was required or else you’d be forced to wear a sarong. Well, pants don’t mean shit in Bali. You’re wearing a sarong no matter what. This was the start of our sarong tour. The temple itself was beautiful and literally on a cliff- you feel as though you are on the edge of the world. On top of that, it is ridden with extremely mischievous, conniving monkeys who, if you let your guard down, will for instance steal a bottle of water and chug it. They’re pretty entertaining if you’re not a complete idiot- as long as you aren’t dangling a piece of beef jerky in front of them, they’re fine with being observed/talked at. We walked about as Suki (our guide) gave us some context about the significance of the temple, and general Hindu beliefs/practices, such as the belief to respect the gods, to respect one another human being, and to respect nature (everything is in a triangle/threes in Hinduism- I listened to Suki speak for 10 minutes and I’m an expert now). As we got to the the end of the temple, we encountered a group of Chinese tourists- basically a mirror of our group of five except if we were tiny, shy, and Chinese. Somehow we managed to get on the same page to take a picture together and all kept our composure as it was taken. We had a good laugh afterwards- it’s always great when moments like that happen.

We felt like we crossed off the cultural part of the day and could finally have our first true relaxing part of the trip: Sunday’s Beach Club. Although the drive is down windy dirt roads, which would lead you to suspect that this is not in fact an upscale establishment, it in fact was. Way too upscale for a bunch of low lives from New York. It only cost 250,000 Rupiah to get in a pop (~$20) which included a drink and food. Even if it didn’t include that it was well worth it. This was everything you imagine a nice elitist beach club would be, but affordable. It made sense to get some food first- I got the Javanese Chicken which was so good and avoided getting a cocktail because I was still a tad hungover. Then we hit the beach, which was paradise. Some of the group took naps after our debilitating prior night out. I unfortunately get stir-crazy if I sit for more than ten minutes. So Jerry, Ryan, and I got snorkels and explored the shallows. Nothing crazy, but some solid fish variety and coral. Snorkeling kind of blows actually. The mask hurts your face and nose (especially if you’ve got a good-sized shnozz, which we all do) and water constantly gets into the mask, forcing you to have to pop up every 2 minutes to readjust the mask. But whatever it killed some time. We paddle boarded too which was nice.

5:00pm at a beach club is naturally happy hour and they had a two-for-one drink special. Even if you feel shitty, there’s no way to turn that action down. I went to the bar alone and got myself a Bloody Mary and a margarita to start. In hindsight, it wasn’t the most deliciously paired combo, but I sucked them down and then went for it by getting another Bloody Mary and a passion fruit daiquiri. The daiquiri was huge…and when you ask the bartender to make your drinks extra extra extra strong (which in turn means you’ll receive a kind of strong drink) I was starting to feel much better. I then convened with the rest of the group by our beach chairs, and they too had begun to enjoy happy hour, although they were intelligently pacing themselves by splitting the two-for-one deal in duos versus double fisting. But I knew I could rely on Ryan to join me- it only took him a few minutes to realize he needed to get two drinks for himself at a time.

The sunset was probably the most beautiful sunset I had ever seen in person- not only were there multiple hues, but the warmth of the light was truly unbelievable. I mean it’s literally on the southernmost part of Bali, where the next closest land mass is Cunningham Island off the coast of Australia (over 1000 miles away). It feels like it’s the edge of the world. Maybe Kyrie Irving is right that the Earth is flat. I mean no he’s not, flat earthers are absolute scum, but it does feel like the edge of the world. Once the sun set and we were finished with the last of our cocktails, we headed home. Unfortunately the traffic was brutal and killed our night- so we grabbed a relaxed dinner at the hotel. Ryan and Sam called it quits, but Jerry, Ian and I had a hankering to explore a bit more.

Jerry suggested we head to Mixwell Bar, a place with live music where we could sip on a Bintang and people watch. What’s interesting to me is that when one googles “Mixwell Bar”, the first three hits say, “Drag performances were brilliant” or “Most flamboyant drag show I’ve ever seen” or “voted Bali’s best gay bar for 12 years running!” So it shouldn’t of been of surprise when we got there. I am in no way against gay bars- I have been to plenty in my day and drag shows are both fun and hilarious. I generally just like to know beforehand. So when we showed up, it was a slightly different vibe than anticipated. In fact, the entire street was lined with gay bar after gay bar. Maybe Jerry knew all along? Maybe he was trying to tell us something?

We’ll never know because we quickly got in a cab and to quickly return back to the hotel.

Ignoring the whole snafu from the night before, we packed, ate another delicious breakfast and went to do some water sports prior to heading to Ubud. The drive to the water sports area was interesting- you drive over a little bridge to another small island off Bali. When Suki first told us about the water sports, he gave us the impression that we were going to be able to experience all of the options offered: windsurfing, parasailing, flyboarding, etc.

And maybe it was just a language barrier thing. All of the options listed above were available, but each option was decently pricey. Like $35-$50 USD a person per activity. Which for U.S. standards isn’t bad, but for Indonesian standards was quite expensive. Ultimately we landed on parasailing- it was the best activity for the entire group, and we bargained him down to $20 USD a pop. Our group was paired with a Chinese family- they were entertained to see this band of fellas squeeze together to go parasailing. Ryan, Sam and I made one trio and Jerry and Ian paired up. It was a fun way to start the morning.

Suki then had a few other activities in mind for us on the way to Ubud- he made it his mission to give us the full cultural experience. We first stopped at a Batik store which sold lovely clothing with beautiful cloth, not dissimilar to Java. Everything was pretty expensive, but my main mission was to relieve myself. My prior worst bathroom experience was at Barede Hill, where I had to miss some of the sunrise to explode into what was essentially a hole in the ground. This was a combination of both bad facilities and contextually bad. There was no TP, just a hole and a hose. So after I took care of business I then had to eviscerate myself with a hose. There’s no way you’re coming out dry. Luckily I was wearing navy shorts because I was soaked. Very unpleasant. Especially walking around a semi-classy establishment. You don’t feel like a champ after defecating in a nice store’s bathroom. We only hung around for a little bit and were firm with Suki that it was time to go. On to our next destination: the Silversmith Store.

This place was fascinating and its products beautiful, though would require quite the deep pocketbook to afford even the smallest of items. It was interesting to see the process by which the silver was made, the attention to detail and craftsmanship. But the best part was the architecture in the surrounding grounds. A lot of it was a tad disturbing- creatures in bizarre forms making wretched faces. They reminded me of the characters that were turned to stone by the White Witch from Chronicles of Narnia. Except if there were countless frog creatures roaming Narnia, and she was on a mission to turn every last damn one of them to stone. There were so many frogs! As if it were scripted, there was one staircase with five frogs sitting vertically in a line on the staircase, and we all arrived at the same conclusion to mimic the action of the frogs. I was granted the bottom-most frog- it was my opportunity to have my own group/band picture as the front man.

Although Suki was undoubtedly an earnest and good-hearted person, his loyalties ultimately were to help the businesses of his peers. Even if the water sports, Batik store, and silversmith store were all great experiences, it felt a bit like he was sort of steering cattle in the direction he wanted to, hoping we would buy an over-priced shirt or just open our wallets up and do a bunch of different water sports. I’m sure there have been plenty of sucker tourists who splurge, so this is effective overall for Suki and the corresponding local businesses. Regardless, it was worth stopping at each place even if we didn’t make any significant financial contributions. Tengenguan Waterfall had been on my radar as a must-do. I threw it out to Suki and it worked nicely that it was in between our previous activities, lunch, and Ubud, so we stopped there.

On the walk to the waterfall- we made instrumental purchases- we all bought Bintang tank tops. This momentous purchase by each of us bonded us physically. Bintang was the glue, it ran through our bloodstream, our motivation to do activities just to return to enjoy one. Okay maybe that’s a bit of a stretch. But not by much. Anyways, it was a hike just to get down to the waterfall. If Java was bad with stairs (e.g. Borobudur), Bali was 1000 times worse, and this was just the beginning. Why is it so difficult to build sensible stairs? The pictures we had previously seen before showed people submerged in the waterfall. but this wasn’t really the case once we got to the waterfall itself. The only way anyone could physically withstand that water is if you are a eunuch like Varys in Game of Thrones. Doesn’t matter if it’s 100 fucking degrees out. That water is freezing. Plus the current is pretty fast and the rocks underneath are the perfect combination of jagged and slippery. Only a true moron would fully submerge in that water. We saw some dumbass girl get in there and basically beg her boyfriend to help pull her out before she drifted away. Honestly it might have been for the best if everyone turned a blind eye and let her drift into the abyss. If you’re a somewhat reasonable person, you can come to the realization that by standing in close proximity to the waterfall, you can reap the benefit of a nice mist, which is refreshing rather than numbing.

Suki took us to lunch at his favorite restaurant (or so he claimed, he knew how to ham it up with us) which specialized in pork ribs. Absolutely dynamite. Great way to enter Ubud. Once we were done feasting, we drove into Ubud, which is an experience in itself. It’s really unlike any other city- it’s truly a jungle city on a hill. The streets are lined with Hindu decorations and offerings, beautiful trees, there are stray dogs everywhere, and there are so many beautiful little shops and restaurants. We all had the same reaction upon entering- holy shit, this is totally different than expected. This is a place to relocate to solely based on the physical appearance. And our AirBnB reaffirmed that. The housing complex was called the BliBli Kaka, meaning the “BliBli brothers”. It was a collection of homes of one large family of artists, and the home on the end was rented out to us. It was ideal- there was a little pool right upon entrance, a koi pond, and we all had our own bed, (and once Sam left our own bedroom). We of course had stopped at the grocery store before getting to the AirBnB to stock up the fridge with 20 large Bintangs- gotta be prepared.

At the store, I had an interesting conversation with an American ex-solider who was doing some contracted work in Bahrain (if you don’t know Bahrain, it is a small sovereign nation composed of 30 islands that is between Saudi Arabia and Qatar). He was saying his entire family was trash from Florida- typical racist, gun wielding, fat, slobbering, close-minded Americans. If he had never left for military service, his eyes would never of been opened to realizing that

a) other cultures, albeit different from the USA, are not the stereotypes perpetuated by his American peers, and

b) even as a former member of the NRA, America is in fact more dangerous than 95% of other countries, and he would not want to raise his children in the USA until all guns were recalled.

This was both a happy and upsetting conversation. Happy in that someone of his background had the capacity to be open-minded, but saddening in that it took this drastic change in his life to come to this conclusion. If he had not left Florida, by his own admission, he would be a redneck asshole shooting guns out of the backyard and supporting Donnie Trump. So he feels blessed he was able to leave the USA. Pretty fucked up actually.

After dropping our shit off, we knew for sure we wanted to go to Campuan Ridge, a nice lengthy walk along a path that cut through jungle, rice patties, and had some little shops/restaurants/bars at the top. In theory it seemed like a good idea to go around sunset, to see the different parts of the ridge under the nice light. And it definitely was. Except we made the mistake of continuing to walk further and further up the trail, until it was no longer it a trail, it was just a main road clearly leading to a different section of the city. It’s weird to see smoking rice patties- at first we weren’t sure if that was intentional or not. However, when we asked, nobody could give us a straight answer. The best answer we got was that it helps harvest the rice. Great, thanks. We finally turned around and popped into a little bar overlooking a smoking rice patty- four large Bintangs were ordered (Sam declined), and it was nice to just sit in the fresh air, overlooking a rice patty as the sun was setting. We did not foresee the lack of lighting on the walk back. It was real dark. And we were the only people on the path save for a few bikers and mopeds that would sharply turn the corner and appear out of nowhere. So we used the flashlights on our phone to see 10 feet in front of us, and we got to the beginning of the trail with no way home. We walked, which of course took 45 minutes, and was a strenuous uphill climb where we had to walk on narrow roads and hope that speeding mopeds and cars would recognize there were humans in the road and not mow us down.

We learned the hard way that Grab and other taxi app services were not available in Ubud to protect the local drivers. So without Suki to drive us, it’s not easy getting around Ubud, and naturally the local taxis charge significantly more than Grab does. So we decided to just walk from the AirBnb into town to go to one of the restaurants we saw on the stretch of road that we had initially drove on. Ubud is not easy to navigate, even with Google Maps- the roads are narrow and often unidentified. It was late (~9:00PM) so there wasn’t a whole lot open, and on top of that, we got lost and ended up on more residential roads where there were limited restaurant options. So we hopped into a random place, and it turned out to be great. We were the only people there, they had Bintang, and we were able to get some good local Nesian grub.

Perfect.

Sam was leaving today to go back to the airport, so we sort of structured our day around him. We wanted to go white water rafting, and Sam agreed this was at the top of his list. So the plan was to wake-up, get coffee and breakfast to avoid any chance of a migraine/meltdown like at Jomblong Cave, and then have Ryan Whatsapp Suki where we were. This did not happen at all. Holy cow did we blow it. We ended up meandering for about an hour and half, getting progressively further from where we intended to be, thus making it continuously more difficult to figure out how to get there. Absolute disaster. I mean if I was a tourist and saw five whites wandering, I would be licking my chops to mug these fuckers. Luckily that didn’t happen. We found a main road and some random café where Sam and Ryan got coffee and Nasi Goreng. Jerry and I wandered off in different directions- he ended up getting this weird rice cake/bread/roll thing and I went to a local market and got rice and tofu wrapped in a banana leaf. Yes, I know, I am a visionary, I do not merely accept what I see at face value. I see past it and question my surroundings. But that is a rare God given talent that few are blessed with.

Ryan messaged Suki, who was confused trying to find the little shop we were at, In fact, he drove by me at the local market and didn’t recognize me. Even after spending a good amount of time together in close proximity, to him all whites look the same. Fair enough. He picked us up and we drove to the white water rafting meeting point, which we were pumped for, yet had no idea what we were in for. We thought there were a lot of steps at Tengenguan Waterfall, but getting down to the river to go rafting was horrible. It doesn’t help that we’re assholes and were walking barefoot. It’s literally 400 large stone steps with sharp pebbles and sticks scattered throughout the long, endlessly winding staircase. Took 45 minutes just to get to the damn river. But it was worth it.

I sat in the back closest to the guide, and we began our journey down the river. It was hilarious at first- we did as we were instructed to do (forward paddle, backward paddle, left, right, jiggle jiggle) and learned that it was socially acceptable to eviscerate your peer rafters with water by splashing them with both your paddle and hand. I mean we were going to town on complete strangers- we became sick with the fever to absolutely drench any fellow boats. By focusing our efforts on splashing, steering the boat became secondary, which eventually led us to getting wedged between rocks. At first we tried to “jiggle jiggle” to get the boat loose- but then I was instructed to stand in the front of the boat and rock up and down. So I basically twerked in Jerry’s face, and later more or less face fucked Sam’s, and this wouldn’t be the last time. The guide got out of the boat to help rock us, and eventually we were jarred free, except he was left behind. Awesome. We’re ten minutes in and we’ve lost our guide. He got into another boat and was able to catch up with us and get back in, and then we continued. There was a little waterfall we approached where a gathering of boats had amassed; it was an opportunity to get out and swim a bit. The waterfall pressure was strong, but being idiots, we all went in without any hesitation. Now a large gathering of boats in close proximity to each other meant one thing- splash fight. So everyone went bonkers. Oh you’re a group of Chinese girls that don’t want to get splashed??? The water is too cold??? Too bad. You signed up for this. Read the fine print: go white water rafting, and acknowledge that there is a strong chance you are going to end up getting assaulted with water by people who are getting a sadistic satisfaction out of ruining your experience.

The river is by no means a lazy river- it requires synchronized paddling and a lot of balance because there are plenty of drops and bumps. When we went to Jomblong Cave, I asked the guide if anyone had ever died right before we were about to spelunk. It is of course an intuitive question to ask prior to doing a dangerous and potentially life-ending activity- has anyone died doing what I am about to do. In the case of Jomblong Cave, the guide took pride in being able to say that no one had ever died, and the closest situation was having to hoist up at 350 pound man, which basically required an entire village to do so by hand. When I prompted the white water rafting guide, he did not have the same answer. He immediately answered yes, someone has died before. Was I going to leave it alone after that? No. How did this person die? The current was strong that day, he fell out of a boat, drifted down the river, got stuck under a fallen tree and drowned. Cool cool.

None of us died- which was the goal. And we loved every second of it. Lunch came with the tour, and afterwards our plan was to quickly hit up one of the famous Bali swings before Sam had to go back to the AirBnB to get his luggage and head to the airport. This was a tourist trap. The swing definitely looked fun and the view was sweet, but I wasn’t paying $20 USD to go on a fucking swing. I can go on a swing in Harlem and google a picture of the view in Bali and imagine I was there. But Jerry wanted to do it, so we stuck around. While we waited, I wanted to get a coffee. They instead offered us a sample of coffees and teas for free, which actually made the trip to the swing worth it. Riddled with guilt given that they had just given us a free sample of 14 different drinks, I bought a coffee and we bailed. We popped over to our AirBnB, Sam got his stuff, and Suki dropped the four group members that remained at the monkey forest. Even though Sam’s job gives him unlimited PTO, he felt that because he had a lot of trips planned throughout the summer that it would be taking advantage to stay another week. Which was unfortunate because we were really excited about the next few days in Ubud and Lombok.

Of course the monkey forest is must-do, even if Suki gave us the head’s up that this forest was overrun by tourists and that the monkeys were desensitized due to the never-ending flow of humans combing the grounds. He also informed us there was a very nice monkey forest in Lombok we should go to which is less mobbed- we made a mental note of that. Nevertheless, none of this information deterred us from going to the forest in Ubud. There were definitely a lot of tourists around, and the monkeys do not give a shit about them. They are in their own world and not concerned with human presence. But, still it’s not everyday you get to walk around and a monkey is literally inches away from you. One highlight was watching an employee feed a monkey with enormous testicles. I mean he couldn’t sit down on his rear end because his eggs were that large. Quite breathtaking, really. There is a directive from the park that you shouldn’t make direct eye contact with the monkeys because that could be interpreted as a threat and they may attack. At least in our experience, that’s bullshit. Maybe if you are Ted Bundy and make eye contact with a monkey, they will pick up on that bad energy. But really they don’t care. We saw some monkeys jump on people’s shoulders, and we desperately wanted that.

I like to think of myself as a sort of Ace Ventura, one who is closely connected and understands the animal kingdom. It is plausible that this connection to the animal kingdom is because I am closer to a primate than human being and that somewhere along the line my evolution was stunted. Nevertheless, we had a plan to sit on a little bench in a high traffic monkey area and just play it cool. Not look at the monkeys, not encourage them to come over, just expose our shoulders as if to say, hey monkey, this seems like a pretty nice place to sit. Sure enough, monkeys sprung on both Jerome and my shoulders (I may be closer to primate in the evolutionary chain, but Jerome is a literal silverback gorilla, so that made sense why the monkey chose him. Connect with kin.). The monkey on my shoulders actually sort of cuddled/nuzzled in my beard which was nice. Are monkeys the hygienic? They eat bugs off one another and throw poop at each other, right? Pretty fantastic he got right up in my grill.

The monkey forest is located in the heart of Ubud, so we figured we’d walk around a bit once we had finished perusing through. It was sunset, and there was a Hindu street celebration happening as we exited. As we walked up the road, we stuck our heads into a few gift shops, and were curious when we saw a giant black dick bottle opener (what’s weird is that that wasn’t the first time we saw that, but I wasn’t about to ask Suki what the significance of a monstrous black dick was in Balinese culture). We moved on and found a little bar that had a rice patty in its backyard and got ourselves a few cocktails. It was happy hour, after all. Ian won the night with his espresso martini- it was real good, strong in both aspects. All we were doing was hydrating after a long day. I mean that’s what were doing with Bintang all along- it’s medically essential to cool down in hot weather with a nice, cold, refreshing drink.

Bebek Bebil was recommended by many people as a dinner venue, famous for its crispy duck. Duck is actually a delicacy in Bali and the preferred dish. This crispy duck is out of this world. We also got duck spring rolls which were ridiculous and easily could have been the best thing on the menu if not for the crispy duck. But the crispy ‘D’ is for sure the masterpiece. You know that old KFC commercial where the customer thinks the chicken is so tasty that he doesn’t realize he ate the bones? Well, we were well aware we were eating the bones. It’s that good. When it comes to duck, they are not fucking around.

We finished at Bebek Bebil early because the next day we had a sunrise hike of Batur Volcano, and Suki was picking us up at 2:30AM. 

We had done some early morning tours in Java, but this was the earliest and would definitely be the most grueling physically. We didn’t really know how this tour worked, but we would later find out it was a first come, first serve race to the top of the mountain to get there in time for sunrise. Which explained why Suki was going 110 km/hr down dark, windy, narrow roads at 3AM in the morning. At first we were going ~35km/hour; I must have been almost dozing off because all of a sudden we were up to 110 km/hr. Hot damn. But hey, it was necessary in the end because we got to the apex with about 25 minutes to spare before sunrise.

Our guide was this younger Nesian- a Nesian bro if you will. At first we thought the hike was going to be lame as the first half hour or so is walking on a relatively flat, paved road with farms on either side. The true mountain revealed itself soon enough. Because we are Americans with big swinging penises, we needed to show this guide that we could hike up faster than the average group. So we pushed ourselves a decent bit, bypassing groups and straying off the main route to move up faster. And this was by no means easy- it was probably a 65 degree incline, with slippery rocks and dirt that didn’t allow you to hold your ground for long. There was one member of the party that required more breaks than the others- we continued to push him as we didn’t want to get stuck behind slow, laboring groups, and we definitely didn’t want to miss sunrise. It’s a pretty amazing sight. There are hundreds of people all hiking up at once in the dark with only flashlights.

The English of our guide was limited, so he needed some kind of moniker to identify the four other people he was responsible for, especially given that one person was a bit behind at times. I came up with “Bintang Kaka”, which of course means the Bintang Brothers. Not only did this work as a way to communicate with each other (the guide would scream, “BINTANG KAKA?!?!” and we would all scream back “BINTANG KAKA!!!”), but everyone, locals and tourists alike, thought it was hilarious. Bintang is larger than beer- it brings people from all over the world together. It transcends race, class, ethnicity, language. Shit I should really work for them. What would the world be like if Bintang was a global beer.

Our guide’s biggest contribution was the spot he had carved out to watch the sunrise. It wasn’t crowded, he had a place for us to sit, and we could see the neighboring volcano, city, and even Lombok. Ryan and Ian Facetimed their ladies at the time (Ryan’s went in a positive direction, he is now engaged; Ian’s blossoming relationship…not so much) to share with them the unbelievable view. Easily the best sunrise we saw all trip.

Descending the volcano was relatively easy, and of course the three of us that wanted to get up there as quickly as possible also wanted to sprint down. So there was more of the same BINTANG KAKA screaming as there was when climbing the mountain. But it was much easier than ascending. When we got back to the parking lot Suki was nowhere to be found- we thought he bailed. But after ten minutes or so he found us, and we were glad because we were wiped. Suki mentioned there was a natural spring we could stop at before heading to the Purification Temple, but when we got there, it wasn’t the natural spring we envisioned, á la Yellowstone. It was just a shitty little bath. So we declined and left for the purification temple, which worked out because we all passed out very hard in the car on the way (Suki had slept while we were hiking Batur, so he was well rested).

This purification temple beyond exceeded expectations. We were only four of maybe seven total white people, which either meant that it was a unique, authentic experience, or that, (although we made concerted efforts not to be), we were imperialistic assholes that shouldn’t of been there. Nonetheless we were welcomed. Initially we had to put on purple saris just to walk around the temple itself. Suki took great pride in explaining to us the religious significance of different areas of the temple and the overall history of the temple. The natural water source was set in place before Hinduism came to Bali (~8th century), as well as the practice of purification. So this temple is very important to the Balinese. And here we are. Hwhite men. We then had to put on green saris to get into the water- Suki joined us in doing so, the first activity other than lunch he participated with us. He noted that each head/spigot of water has a different purification purpose and different blessings are therefore recited; he also informed us which heads of water to avoid that were dedicated to the deceased. One at a time, we got in- the water was cold, but given that we were so sweaty after summiting Batur, it felt great. Not sure if it was exactly the best thing to jump into the holy water of a purification temple when we smelled like rancid garbage, but no one said anything. I suspect because it’s so hot all of the time, everyone smelled of rancid garbage all of the time, so we were just normal.

By no means am I a religious person- I don’t think any of us would consider ourselves by definition religious. Each of us differ in our degree of belief and practices- we all probably believe in some kind of deity or outside force that guides our actions. Personally I believe we’re just animals that are born, live, and die. Within this water, however, there was a palpable feeling, something “spiritual” or moving- I think because of the surroundings, you feel a calm come over your body and mind, a natural ease. Does this temple truly “purify” one of one’s sins or help lead to a more righteous path upon cleansing? Sure, it’s possible. I would predict the righteous path for us would lead to an excessive amount of large Bintangs.

After the Purification Temple and a nice outdoor lunch, we headed back to our AirBnB to take a nap before dinner. Because I walk that fine line between genius and moron, I decided that I wasn’t that tired from the sunrise hike and would go to the rooftop to get a little color- I was still pretty white. This was obviously an error in judgement, because I fell asleep after 5 minutes and woke up 3 hours later. I instantly was the color of a baboon’s ass. Not ideal, especially given that the next day we were going to Lombok as our beach relaxation portion of the trip. Now I get to be the dumb guy in a swim shirt. Only three types of people wear swim shirts: vampires that melt in the sun, old people, and very young children. Now I get to be among them, lurking in the shadows underneath umbrellas and rooftops.

We all gathered in the courtyard after our naps, drank some Bintangs, and hung out by the pool. As Guy Fieri would say, we found a funky lil joint that had nice open space and a lovely vibe. Naturally after sitting down, we teed up some Bintangs, and before we knew it, this German woman and her baby came over to our table and sat with us. We of course, being on vacation, wanted to be the open-minded, free-spirited tourists that embrace all conversations as a new and enlightening experience. And this was that- a woman who is taking advantage of her paid maternity time off in Germany to live in the magical city of Ubud. A woman who wants to expose her son to a culture where the locals are inherently good and generous, who instinctively want to do the right thing. On the flip side, she may simply just be trying to swindle a bunch of guys to pay for a beer and a free meal. Turns out she actually did just want to converse with us. Shocking. This quiet and intimate environment was shortly afterwards invaded by a group of 20 French teenagers.

The French are already bad enough- but a massive group of horny pimply teenagers turned the douche-meter up to an all time high.

Leaving Ubud was complicated- although we were definitely excited for Lombok for a plethora of reasons (the resort we were staying it was by far the nicest place we were going to stay, the beaches, the Gili Islands, a chance to relax, the possibility of contracting malaria, etc.), Ubud is unbelievable. I could have easily stayed there another three or four days and walked around and explored. One of the nice things about Lombok was that it didn’t require us to get on another plane- we could have if we really wanted to, but we wanted to change it up and take a boat. We had researched beforehand that there was a fast-boat in Padangbai, about an hour away from Ubud. Suki would take us there and pick us up there when we returned from Lombok. Getting to Padangbai was a breeze- after all Suki was our master navigator that knew every inch of Bali. Getting to the Mahi Mahi dock (the name of our fast-boat) was not the easiest. Suki went the wrong direction down a one way road and we nearly hit a few cars/carts/mopeds/pedestrians, but he somehow got us to the dock. Naturally I had to shit my pants so I got the pleasure of splashing myself in a not so clean bathroom. But after my session I ate Indonesian plantains for the first time which were quite scrumptious.

The boat was a very pleasant experience- they don’t give a shit about any safety regulations, so people could sit up top and hang over the railing. Even though I was torched from my infinitely idiotic rooftop nap the day prior, I excessively applied lotion so I could enjoy the view. It wasn’t too bumpy- once you get far enough from Bali, you really are just in the middle of the ocean with no land in sight. After a quick 45 minutes we landed on the beach- not even on a dock. Literally jump off the edge of the boat directly onto the sand.

We encountered our first sort of slimy Nesians of the trip. Up until then all of the local we had come into contact with were honorable and genuinely wanted us to have the most positive experience possible. Not these fuckers. They thought we were your average tourists that were willing to pay whatever for a cab to the hotel. Well, my Nesian nemeses, this wasn’t our first rodeo. After some negotiating we got into two cabs to take us to the Katamaran Resort where we were staying. Holy balls this was nice compared to where we had previously stayed. Not that we had been staying in shitholes by any means- but this was a gorgeous resort filled primarily with couples. It was romantic as fuck. Did I consider proposing to one of my friends? It’s just so goddamn romantic there. If I had a ring, who knows what would have happened.

Once we got to our suite which was clearly intended for either honeymooners or a small family, we all agreed that the day would be about relaxation. No scheduled agenda, just hanging out after the mad dash we had gone through the past eight or nine days. We went in the infinity pool- I could only go in for a few minutes because I otherwise would have melted in the sun. So in turn I decided I would go to the gym and get a sun treatment massage to try to help accelerate the healing process. Jerome and Ian also got massages- but they weren’t concerned with getting aloe rubbed in every nook and crevice of their body. This massage was next level. She really rubbed aloe everywhere. I wasn’t even sunburnt on my buns, but whatever it couldn’t hurt. I felt very refreshed but also sticky afterwards. But then came one of the better parts of the day that I had a feeling would be prominently featured in our daily schedules in Lombok: happy hour.

Half off drinks at happy hour is by no means a revelation- but being in a resort with a gorgeous sunset on the beach is more than enough inspiration to take advantage of happy hour. And take advantage we did. Ian, Jerry, and Ryan were able to drink at the pool bar- since I was recently aloed, I drank by the exterior of the pool and met a spritely little pudgy baby boy who was most interested in splashing me and my drink. His father soon came over to chat with us, a nice Australian bloke on vacation with his family and parents, holding on by a thread, his only salvation was the few 007 martinis he could enjoy so he could feel like a badass. His father was a nice fella too- his main contribution to the conversation was muttering unintelligible words and then slamming his head on the top of the umbrella of the pool bar. After laying a nice foundation of alcohol down and showering, we went to the nicer restaurant within the resort, where of course we went nuts. Ordered a few bottles of vino, (one of which was a quaint Syrah might I add, yes I know I sound like a complete toolbag), way over-indulged in food, and had a good time fucking around with the Nesian staff. We later saw on the bill that somehow the meal that should have been ~$25USD a person- which is absurdly expensive by Nesian standards- turned out to be roughly $5 USD a person.

Dopeness.

When we initially checked into the hotel, we had asked the front desk for some guidance on the various activities we wanted to do: go to a waterfall, the monkey forest, Gili Islands, surfing, etc. All of these options were serviceable through the resort; of course, the prices were way jacked up. As an alternative, the resort pointed out a small service across the road that appeared to be loosely associated with the hotel. There we could rent mopeds, zoom across the island and hit all our desired destinations. We first took full advance of the free breakfast, hit it hard, and then went to get our mopeds.

This was a complete and utter disaster. Riding a moped is not as easy as the Nesians make it look. Ryan and I were sort of wobbly but managed to circle around the entrance of the hotel a few times, even ride up the hill to where the nicer restaurant is. Ian wanted no part of riding a moped, and hadn’t from day one. And Jerome, as if it were scripted, immediately crashed into a bunch of other parked mopeds. That about killed our hopes to cruise around, although Ryan continued to push for it because he subconsciously had a death wish. So instead we decided to rent a car to drive around to our various destinations. They looked at us like we were crazy for requiring an automatic, but they gave us a vehicle with a little bit of gas and informed us that the gas station was “a little up the road”. We were really set up for success- a vehicle with the driver’s seat on the other side than we were used to, driving on the other side the road from what we were used to, with an empty tank of gas. And no traffic laws whatsoever. So I of course volunteered to drive first.

My desire to drive was multifold- of course it’s an interesting experience to drive in a foreign country, especially one where there’s no real traffic laws other than a loose understanding between the locals. Also, I, maybe like Ryan, had a bit of a death wish. Not necessarily actual death, but getting close. That age old human thrill of nearly dying at any given second due to getting hit by a motorcycle, truck, or other vehicle. And sure I played it a little closer than I needed to, resulting in the passengers freaking out every 30 seconds when I nearly hit a cow, or a villager, or another vehicle, or getting hit straight on by oncoming traffic when trying to pass. But sometimes you need to almost get in an accident every thirty seconds for two hours straight to appreciate life more. That’s what I was trying to do- give my comrades perspective.

The sights of the drive were interesting- we were really in the thick of it. We meandered through different villages, windy roads, and more so than in Java, felt like we were the only tourists around for miles and miles. Our eventual destination was Gangga Waterfall, which was two hours Northeast of our resort. It wasn’t that it was such a far distance- it just takes forever because the roads are a nightmare, and Google Maps wasn’t exactly giving us a pinpointed location. After about two hours, we ended up on a super rough narrow road, and thankfully found the sign for the waterfall.

There were three Nesians bumming around in the parking lot when we got out, and we inquired about the waterfall. One of them offered to take us there- again, this didn’t seem official by any means, but we were riding the wave of trusting the locals to do the right thing and agreed to go with him. He said there were a few waterfall options- the first of which was a shallow area where a volcano used to be. It was a short hike to get there, and because I am a fucking moron I decided to blindly toss my hat backwards assuming it would just land on the narrow bridge we had just crossed. Instead it landed in what one would deem as an inaccessible part of the waterfall; however, the guide just blindly jumped in and tried to get it, but was too late. Honestly when he dove in I thought that was it- he was going to sacrifice himself to try to recover an Avion hat. He said we could jump in there too- at that point we vehemently declined thinking this guy was off his rocker.

The first area was cool- the water was refreshing even though in the back of our minds we all felt like there were undiscovered species of microbacteria and/or parasites that were probably swimming up our urethras. But whatever, a potential castration is worth it to take a cool picture in a waterfall. Our guide (or a stranger who out of the goodness of his heart wanted to take us around) then offered to take us to a more remote area within a cave. And in the spirit of blindly agreeing to everything, we said sure. To access this area required descending down a rocky area, wading through rivers with our backpacks over our heads (it was a tad weird- you could leave your shoes at the edge of one river bank but not your backpacks because monkeys would steal them. I guess monkeys don’t give a shit about sneakers?) until ultimately reaching an enclosed cave area. He didn’t really warn us beforehand that to getting to the upper cave would require climbing up and walking across an extremely narrow and slippery piece of bamboo. Of course he smoothly made it across the bamboo because he has tiny feet and is essentially a monkey. Jerome and I were tall enough where we could lean down and reach the edge of the rock to support ourselves across. After Ryan attempted twice and nearly shattered his head on a rock, Ian smartly declined to attempt it.

Once we got up there, there wasn’t much further reassurance. He took some water into his hands and splashed one specific area within the water of the cave and informed us that this was the only place you could jump. It’s six feet deep, and if you miss, you’ll hit jagged rocks. Seems worth the risk. So we jumped and both did not end up with a rock pierced through our legs. Awesome. We then had to make about a 15-20 foot jump from the cave pool down to the lower level where Ian and Ryan were, also with a similar head’s up that there was only one specific area we should plunge down into. Had I known going into this experience that I was going to have to spend 90 minutes trekking to one specific area to ultimately jump in one finite space, and if I missed could bleed out, would I do it? Actually probably, yeah that sounds exciting.

Once we got back to our parking area, our guide asked what was next on our agenda, and we told him we were going to head to the monkey forest because we had heard that the monkey forest in Lombok was better than the one in Ubud/ less overrun with tourists. We had passed signs for the monkey forest on the way to the waterfall, but ultimately could not find it because, we didn’t read or speak fucking Indonesian and were in the thick of it. Instead, our guide/stranger proposed to show us a more local and less known monkey temple. Hell, we didn’t have anything to lose, so we agreed to let him to take us to this unmapped destination. And of course the token moron, Ryan, decided to ride on the back of our guide/stranger’s moped, while we drove in our rented car through tiny, more-or-less unnavigable roads until finally we reached a village that very clearly had never come into contact with white people before. There is no doubt that in Jogja we were rarities. But this was entirely different because it was such a small, isolated village. This seemed to be their true first experience with those unlike themselves. Immediately our guide realized that we did not have sarongs with us and had to ask some local villager to hook us up, which she did. While by the waterfall, the guide recommended we buy peanuts from the local stand to feed to the monkeys. This seemed to be problematic on multiple levels- firstly, two members of the group were allergic to peanuts, and secondly, is feeding stray monkeys a good idea? What if they get a hint of that delicious peanut smell and just mall us? Honestly we all looked and smelled like monkeys at that point so we were in it.

This was much smaller than the monkey temple in both Uluwatu and Ubud, and that’s what made it so much more special. It was literally us, the local kids, and about 75 monkeys. They were timid and confused by what was going on- but once the peanut throwing commenced they began to socialize. And we made it rain peanuts. I was spraying them all over the place, hitting the monkeys way downtown but then also making physical hand to hand connections with the monkeys in closest proximity. As the one who was holding the peanuts, I got to throw the most peanuts and the fastest rate- I think the anti-peanuters got riled up and put aside their reservations to get involved with the tossing. I mean Ryan is going to be a vet- unless he’s working at the zoo he’s not going to have many opportunities to come into that close of a contact with a monkey. And his love of animals superseded his deathly peanut allergy.

Once we ran out of peanuts it was time to go- and with our exit followed the procession of the local children. When we reached the entrance of the temple, I asked if our guide could take a picture of us, and we somehow managed to get the children to get in too. I tried to think of something that we all could do- the picture felt a little stiff with us just all standing there. So I suggested the universal symbol of a thumbs up- and because we were giant white people, a thumbs up was hilarious and cool for the kids to do. They were so excited, and of course we fed off of their energy to make for a great picture. We then high-fived all of them afterwards, which was so fun. There was one girl towards the end of the high-five procession that went for a high-five and I pulled my hand back, which was at first funny to everyone. But after a second time she started to tear up- I didn’t realize how important it was to her to get that high five after all of the other kids did. So of course I gave it to her. The best kid by far was this very chubby kid who was wearing a superman shirt. So cute. He was really having the time of his life hanging out with these four aliens.

We got into our car and the kids ran after us, which of course was awesome. Ian drove home decided to drive along the coast (vs. in the central jungle) which was crazy. It’s like driving on the Pacific Coast Highway but way more remote and there’s no traffic laws. At one point we got out (I took a leak) to appreciate the view- you could see the three Gili Islands in the distance (Gili Trawangan, Gili Meno, and Gili Air). When we finally got back to the little shack that rented us the car, we felt like victors. Not only did we survive driving around and not get a scratch on the car, but we had truly embraced spontaneity. Every decision we made miraculously worked out and far exceeded anything we could have possibly envisioned. So what does one do to continue to ride this high? Cocktails. We had taken advantage of the happy hour the previous day, but this night we dialed things up. Turned up the A/C dial in the car from one all the way to four. Not quite full blast, but approaching it. By the end of our time at the pool bar we had amassed 26 cocktails. And similar to Sundays Beach Club, we asked the bartenders to make our drinks extra extra extra strong. But unlike Sundays Beach Club, these bartenders actually bought into it. They were letting us DJ. They were pouring whatever alcohol they had into our drinks. Vodka martini extra extra strong? Okay we’ll dump some rum in it. Recipe for success.

I can say I generally remember dinner- we sat in this submerged table with mini infinity pools surrounding it. There was never any hope for semi-intelligible conversation or pleasantness during the meal. Ian and Jerome got in a fight over spilled sauce which resulted in sauce on both of their shirts. Jerome soon after passed out at the table. The highlight of the meal was when without asking, Ryan just ate a peanut chip. This not only resulted in him having a mini freakout, but then proceeding to vomit all over the ground. It was a sizable amount- probably five solid heaves. And smartly we all sat there. Didn’t move an inch. And it wasn’t like there wasn’t throw up everywhere. We just were too drunk to give a shit.

There is not a more dignified way to end a day of unbridled adventure and surprise than to watch your friend throw up and not do a thing about the vomit getting on your shoes.

We woke up too late to make the regularly scheduled speedboats to Gili Air (see cocktail total from the night before), so we went back to the old reliable shack that rented us the car and also publicly advertised that they sold magic mushrooms. The owner informed us that his father would drive us to and from the dock, and he contacted another local agency about boating us from Lombok to Gili Air. His father was a true, dignified Lombokian- decrepit, anywhere from 45-95 years old, and always holding a napkin over his mouth because one cough could lead to a number of different outcomes. With one hand on the wheel and one hand holding the napkin over his mouth, he taxied us to the docks.

The stream of communication between the tourism agency near our resort and the guys at the dock seemed a little unclear- it was a surprise to them that we showed up and were looking for a lift to Gili Air. But again, basically on good faith, as was the running theme throughout the trip, they took us on a boat to Gili Air. After a quick 10 minute ride, they dropped us off right onto the beach of a nice little bar. We did not want to waste any time getting into the water, so we quickly paid for four beach chairs and got in. This water was the clearest water I’ve ever been in. Much clearer than the Caribbean. I probably swam out to where the water was 30 feet deep and you could still see the bottom of the ocean clear as day.

I would assume that most people who were on the island were there on day trips as we were- because after walking around and exploring the surrounding areas (I can’t sit still for 30 seconds), there wasn’t jack shit to do besides sit on the beach, swim, eat, and drink. It was sort of sad walking around. There is so much surrounding beauty, yet by walking five minutes away in the opposite direction of the beach, you could see the immense poverty and sole reliance on tourism as the means of sustainable income. But yet again, there was no sense of depression among the locals- they still took pride in the businesses they were running, the food they were cooking, and simply in being Indonesian.

We did the usual- dicked around in the ocean, got lunch, played some darts, and even had a Bintang (shocker). Just a classic vacation day. As verbally agreed upon when we left for Gili Air, the boat driver agreed to pick us up at 5PM because it was still Ramadan and they wanted to take advantage of as as much time as possible after sunset. While we waited at the shore of the beach, and watched boat after boat dock, we realized we had never established a meeting place, or taken note of the type of boat we were dropped off on, or even what our drivers looked like. Finally, after all this time, the four white baboons were about to get swindled. Leave us on Gili Air, go into our hotel rooms back on Lombok and steal all our shit. I knew this was bound to happen. Lombokian motherfuckers.

I was the keeper of our receipt from the travel agency and also had phone data- so I rang the agency and with the help of some sort of divine intervention the main operator picked up and informed me that a boat was in fact coming. And by some arbitrary recognition on their part (I can imagine the drivers were told to look for “four white assholes sitting on the beach”), a small fast-boat with two operators pulled up. I showed them the receipt, and they told us to get in. Sure, we sat there, unsure if this was our designated boat or if we hitched a ride and were going to have to pay additional rupiah. But with a perfect track record, we believed in Nesians and their propensity for honor and goodness. So alas, we got off at the dock we started from, and got back into the car of the father of the owner, who was waiting for us, taking turns between puffing his cigarette and aggressively coughing into his napkin.

After the previous night’s indulgence during happy hour (e.g. Ryan throwing up in the middle of the table, Jerome passing out relatively early in the meal), we decided it would probably be best to dial it back a bit. After all, we were going to have a full travel day the next day- returning back to Bali to ultimately fly back to Singapore. We agreed to have a nice easy dinner at the hotel restaurant, which was lovely. Throughout the dinner, it dawned on me that this being our last night in Lombok meant that the trip was next to over.

How the frank am I going to reintegrate back into my Western life with my bullshit meaningless problems.

There were no ideal flights from Lombok back to Singapore, both from a timing and financial perspective- so we booked a night flight from Denpasar to get back to Singapore. That way, we could leave Lombok and arrive back in Bali with some breathing room and could grab lunch. Checking out of the Katamaran was pretty devastating- it was not easy to leave this paradise. But hey, at least we stuffed our faces with the all you can eat breakfast one last time.

We took taxis to the Senggigi port and got there early. Hanging out on the dock was good and bad- the water was so transparent we could see a sea turtle swimming pretty deep down. The sea breeze was lovely, however, due to being surrounded by many Europeans and Asians, was inundated with cigarette smoke. Plus there was this one beer can that was rolling around that no one was willing to pick up. Based on this, I felt the need to step away…but also really had to take a whiz. After putting in 5% effort to find a bathroom, I ended up going in a relatively public area of the beach. It would not have been ideal to have been seen by the Indonesian conservative authorities with my Ding Dong Johnson out.

After all of that, we finally boarded the Golden Queen. Our previous boat experience was great- we sat on the roof deck and enjoyed the view and breeze over the course of 45 minutes. This boat ride experience was not that. If you asked me to collect a group of 50 of the biggest douchebags, I could not have dream up the passengers that were on this boat. I mean sweet Jesus this was the worst collection of people I’ve ever been around. Forget how they were behaving and the types of conversations they were having- visually these people were appalling. There was one colossal toolbag in particular who’s image is burned into my mind. He was a white guy with blonde dreadlocks (already off to a bad start) wearing a white sleeveless t-shirt with some kind of hippie design on it and purple pants. Really really bad. And because there were a bunch of boats taxiing at once, we ended up having to sit a few miles away from the dock and wait for an additional hour. At one point I looked around to see if I could find the anvil or some kind of heavy object, because if I had to spend another five minutes with this group, I would rather just jump into the water and hold tight until imminent death.

Finally after wading through the sea of assholes, we found Suki and left Padangbai. Since we had some time to kill before our flight, we asked Suki to think of a cool place for lunch, something that we hadn’t yet experienced with him. He took us to a restaurant called Natrabu, which served Minang style food (western Sumatran). This style was sort of like tapas, in that there were small plates to share, except with much much bolder flavors. Naturally I added an unnatural amount of sambal to each dish (which was already plenty spiced), and it was delicious. Suki’s son ate with us too which was nice. It was a really solid meal to end our time in Bali.

The drive to the airport took a little over an hour, and we still were very early for our flight. We had no problem getting to the airport early, for all our needs could be met at the lounge. We got through customs pretty easily and headed there- we had access to two adjacent lounges, which we bounced back and forth from, especially since our flight continued to get progressively delayed due to rain in Singapore. Ultimately when we were finally able to board, they put our carry-on bags through another baggage scanner. To our surprise, all of our bags were flagged. Why you might ask? Because we had stuffed beer from the lounge into them. I had four Tigers taken from my bag. As Michael Jordan said, “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.” Worth a shot.

We ended up getting to Singapore late in the evening, and after a little back and forth with the AirBnB owner, we finally got into our building and into our apartment. I slept on the couch because Jerry’s room was 1000 degrees, although the couch was four feet long.

Not the best sleeping situation, but who cares- it was our last night before the dreaded 24 hours to back to the US of A.

We knew the night before that our plan would be to hit the hawker stalls in Singapore. After all, Anthony Bourdain spent a decent amount of time there and raved about them in the Singapore episode of Parts Unknown. So we hopped in a Grab, which, to our surprise, turned out to be a pretty entertaining ride. The driver immediately recognized us as Americans and steered the conversation to focus on the impending North Korea/United States summit, and how we felt about, (as he referred to him), “King Trump”. Naturally we expressed our disdain for him, and how putrid of a title that was; we told him that Trump is no king, he is in fact a clown. That really tickled his fancy.

After arriving at the hawker stalls, we surveyed the upstairs area to scout out what the best options were. At the entrance of the complex, we saw a long line for a stand called “Sinar Pagi Masi Padang”. A long line is always a good indicator of quality grub. I asked a woman on line if the food was in fact good, and she whole-heartedly expressed her love for the food and her frequent visits to this stand. So Ian and I of course hopped in line. There were so many good options to choose from within the glass display: sambal prawns, chicken rendang, BBQ beef with spicy coconut gravy, etc. All of the food is pre-prepared, and if you choose to eat it there, the combination of what you order is steamed within a banana leaf. I ended up way over-ordering because everything looked so fucking good. And it really was. So many bold flavors. 

Due to our AirBnB checkout time, we knew we needed to return back there after the Hawker stands to grab our luggage and drop it someplace, since our flight wasn’t until later that night. Ian had done some research beforehand and found a hostel for us to store our bags for a few hours. On our way, we received the unfortunate news of Anthony Bourdain’s suicide. To honor him, Ian and Jerome decided that they would go to another set of Hawker stands after dropping their luggage; for Ryan and me, one large meal was enough sustenance, so we decided to head to the Marina Bay Sands Casino, which we had thought about going to our first night but instead went up on the roof.

Ryan is the perfect person to go to the casino with- like me, he has little to no impulse control, loves to take advantage of free drinks, and is totally fine with being down $500 after playing three hands. With that communal spirit, we eagerly approached security, ready for anything. Of course, we needed our passports and had left them at the hostel. So we cued up another Grab to go back to the hostel, and asked if he would then take us back to the casino. Really stupid to not bring a passport in a foreign country to a casino.

This Grab driver was chatty, just like the last “King Trump” driver…but this driver specifically wanted to talk about his son wanting to be a basketball player, and how much he enjoyed watching the Golden State Warriors play basketball. Ryan and I were taken aback at one point when the driver said something along the lines of, “my son is so good, he’s like those n@$$#% in the NBA!” This doesn’t need clarification, but yes there was a hard ‘r’ at the end of that word. Any iteration of that word is heinous, but a really hard ‘r’ definitely doesn’t help. The thing is, he didn’t think it was racist at all- he just thought he was being hip and cool. A Chinese guy from Singapore saying the n-word is in no universe acceptable (although small part of me though does have to give him some credit for taking a risk, that was ballsy).

When we finally entered the casino after our ordeal, we felt like we were in paradise. 600 tables. The possibilities were endless. However, there were some catches. First, there was no free booze. And nothing in Singapore is cheap. The only free beverages were coffee, hot chocolate, and water. So I got a coffee and Ryan got a hot chocolate, because although we didn’t want these beverages, they were free, so we had to take advantage of that. Second, the buy-ins were expensive. Ryan wanted to go to the Hold ‘Em tables first, and the cheapest buy-in was $25. We’re used to $5 buy-ins at the casino where it takes a long time to get deep in the hole. Ryan decided to play the $50 a hand table, and lost three hands in a matter of 45 seconds. Down $150 and we hadn’t been at the casino for 20 minutes.

Ryan (smartly) decided to cool it for a bit, and I headed to the roulette table with a $25 buy-in. We were sitting next to this older woman who clearly had some dough to throw around, because she had a lot of chips and was just randomly spreading her chips around different numbers and colors, barely even looking at what she was doing. Meanwhile, I was maniacally analyzing what the past five numbers were and how I should spread across my five $5 chips. I quickly was down $75 and wasn’t loving the energy at that table (meanwhile the woman at the table lost thousands of dollars in one turn), so we moseyed around in search of a table free of other gamblers. We finally found an empty table, and there was a palpable positive juju in our minds. Admittedly, my approach was not the most conservative. Ignoring any basic understanding of how probability works, I continued to do what I did at the prior table of trying to analyze what the previous winners were. If the previous winners were red 25, black 6, black 14, and red 31, I would think, “hmmm, so maybe somewhere in the 8/9/11/12 range, possibly 32/33/35/36, since those numbers weren’t featured in the previous winners”. Makes no fucking sense. But it started to work. And upon my success, Ryan got in. It was magical. The dealer, who in a society of conservatism and respect, couldn’t help but smile at these two goofs somehow were winning with this nonsensical approach. Once her tenure was over and another dealer came in, we were fucked. We started to lose instantly, and we decided to cut our losses and head back to the hostel. Bad juju.

Ian and Jerome had a blast eating their balls off and conversing with other tourists, so we all had good experiences doing our separate activities. We had a lot luggage, so we required a larger car, and a van came to pick us up with a driver that looked like the Chinese equivalent of Sloth from The Goonies. After getting out and walking to security, Ryan realized that he had left one of his bags in the car. He asked if he could borrow my phone since I contacted the Uber, and somehow Chinese Sloth was able to loop around and get Ryan his bag. Another example of how things just worked out and people doing the right thing. Clutch. We headed right to the lounge with plenty of time to kill, so I filled my belly (Ian and Jerome did not require much food after their 6 meals each at the Hawker Stands) and we all loaded up on Tigers. After all, we were about to get on our longest flight yet of the trip, 14 hours direct from Singapore to London. 

The plane ride was, all things considered, not awful. I elected to sample multiple types of alcohol as I watched movies, including Brandy. From a taste perspective Brandy is fine. To be perfectly honest, I am not particular about the taste of alcohol. I would be fine in prison drinking the hooch that Fat Jimmy made in the cell next to me. The point of drinking was not about enjoying a refreshing beverage, but rather for the comedy that one would elect to drink Brandy. I imagine the average Brandy customer is a 75 year old British man who takes his dentures out before he enjoys his nightly Brandy. By the end of the flight, among other drinks, I probably had around 10 brandies. So I was feeling real nice when we landed in London at 6AM.

We had to go through customs again, and upon passing through we headed to the lounge, where I had a lovely full bodied Cab with breakfast. Although I had started to ponder my re-entry to Western civilization very rudimentarily, it truly dawned on me in London. And while on Virgin Air, I would continue to ponder this, but naturally with more Brandy.

After 24 hours of travel, it’s hard to have any substantial thoughts. The singular focus is the desperate desire to get to the final destination, wherever that may be; and upon arrival, to get home to go directly to sleep. There is of course excitement to return home to see friends, family, significant others. To ease back into comfortability and one’s known routine. On the flip side, there is dread associated with having to return to, for the vast majority of people, their jobs, their financial responsibilities, and other obligations. However, these are more surface level, immediate feelings when you travel for an elongated period of time. In this case, what are the broader implications of returning? Did the acclaimed appeal of the “Far East” hold true? Was the time spent in country compelling enough to make me want to leave my known life in New York?

These are difficult questions…questions that require at least another two brandies. Out of everywhere we ventured, Ubud is the only place that I would want to live and would be able to most maintain the style of living I was accustomed to. Denpasar was the only other “city” we visited, but was a complete shithole. So many trash people, riddled with Australian assholes partying it up, desperately hoping to get laid on holiday. Ubud has a variety of bars, restaurants, shops, and culture. Feasibly, I would have the resources to live comfortably, at least by my standards- for instance, I would be easily be able to rent a home/AirBnB that has indoor plumbing, and would be able to find a local mart to buy toilet paper (definitely steering clear of the hole in the ground/hose approach when I can). The important things.

Within Ubud, you have so much diversity topographically: hills, mountains, volcanoes, waterfalls, rice patties, beaches, jungles, etc. Ubud is also close enough to Denpasar and the boating ports, making the airport accessible for either inter-island or international travel. But more than anything…there is truly a magical vibe that encompasses the city, an aura if you will. Ubud has a mysticism about it…it is a tangible force that can be immediately sensed upon spending a small amount of time there. In this sense, Ubud does live up to some of the perceptions of Westerners, such as the “spell” and “mystery” that Fodor writes of. It is this feeling that my anti-Semitic professor all those years ago had spoken of so passionately that inspired me to venture to Indonesia in the first place.

I would be remiss to not mention the Indonesian people themselves- besides the scumbags on the beach in Lombok, we experienced universal human qualities among the Indonesians we encountered. Indonesians are kind, honorable, innately happy, loyal, spiritual, and respectful. Imagine a world where all human beings had those traits- I think that less than 1% of the population of New York City have even one of those traits. For all of its physical beauty, which is stunning, it is the people that one cannot experience or understand until physically being present in country.

Having said all that…I would not want to move to Ubud permanently, at least not at this point in my life. It would be great to live there for a few months...like the German woman we met who was on paid maternity leave. Maybe twenty years from now, when I’m paying a mortgage, still working 60-70 hours a week, stumbling through a marriage, raising a family, my only source of happiness coming from Wednesday wings night with a few of my friends where I’ll get the atomic wings which will result in diarrhea for two days afterwards…a fever will come over me, and I will feel the desperate urge to drop everything and disappear to Ubud. But I guess there’s plenty of time for that to happen. And maybe it’s a nice thought to have floating around in my subconscious as a source of comfort. That, although what I experienced within Indonesia was fleeting and ephemeral, it could all be extended and expanded upon permanently.

But again, there’s plenty of time for that to happen. For now, may as well have another Brandy.