I should have taken cues from the fact that all the information and directions that, previously had politely been reiterated in my native tongue, now just took on a garbled sound reminiscent of the teacher speaking in the early Charlie Brown cartoons.  I stared blankly at the flight attendants nimble fingers as she buckled and unbuckled a sample seatbelt in the middle of the isle, half expecting to see subtitles scroll across her midsection.  Thinking nothing of it, as I am quite experienced with the buckling of a seatbelt and finding my nearest exit, I plugged in my headphones and gazed out the window watching the subtlety of various layers of green melt into one another, as if the shores of Bali were becoming dollops of oil paint against a far off canvas.  Only a short 2-hour flight away, I wondered how very different Java could actually be from the wonderland of quaint villages and smiling faces that had been my home for several weeks.

I had decided to extend my trip in the hopes of meeting the family of a Javanese child I sponsor here. Against the better judgment of the loving, albeit more cautious, people in my life I set off alone to the big city of Jakarta.

Becoming slightly aware of my lack of preparation, I decided to review the letters and correspondence I had exchanged with the family over the previous year…‘The family lives in a rural village outside of West Java.’ said one letter, followed by ‘the family lives in a semi-urban suburb of the large city of Bogor’…hmmm, I thought. I quickly dismissed the incongruity that I had never previously made note of and ventured on… ‘The father is a fisherman…’ Now wait a minute! I admit that my knowledge of geography ends at the exact moment when I no longer have internet access to Google maps, but in this case I was pretty sure that the home address of my sponsored family was a good 2-hours from any reasonable sized body of water.

No need to read on, I thought, obviously this is just a case of an under resourced, over worked nonprofit that had some inconsistent translation. (It is my nature to generally assume the very best, and why not? If things turn out differently than I expect, at least I didn’t waste all my time stressing about it in advance.) Besides, I am going to meet someone, and it’s always amazing to meet new people, especially from unfamiliar lands.

I drifted off in my luxurious accommodations, to be infinitely grateful waking just before landing with the seat next to me still empty and no blatant glares from neighboring passengers as I closed my gaping mouth and wiped the slippery wet drool off my right cheek and the small scratched window I had inadvertently been washing. I have never been a dainty, feminine sleeper with the cute closed mouth, silent breathing, and peaceful expression. As if being called, ‘sturdy’ all my life wasn’t enough, I get the deviated septum in a gonzo nose tribute that rattles audible breathing at best, and deep reverberating man-snoring more often. My momentary self-consciousness stowed for landing I practically burst with excitement as the wheels touched down.

An easy exit with only my carry-on slung over my shoulder, I bound through the halls and out into the sunlight with eyes dancing from one sign, with a hand scrawled name across it, to the next.  The delightful young lady at the front desk at my previous hotel had scheduled my pick up, so I was confident my chariot would be waiting. My eyes fixed on a single sign and I paused wondering if this was the one. It made me smile because it was written like a traditional Balinese name, listing the birth order first and then the name. True, it wasn’t exactly my name or even that close, but I am a ‘made’ [pronounced ma-day] and it could be a strange miss-heard translation of  ‘Tawnya’…maybe. In the absence of any other viable option I approached with an ‘All-American’ smile and outstretched hand. “Hello, I’m Tawnya. Are you going to M-One hotel?”

He nodded and then leaned to the right allowing his eyes to pass by me back to the door. I attempted again, “Do you speak English? M-One hotel?” Another nod, a smile, and a “yes” followed by a sideward lean so dramatic that it resembled more of a well practiced yoga bend, in an attempt to remove me from his immediate view.  Mildly confused I stepped away and scanned all the signs again. I walked to the far end, and back, and hovered a moment assessing my most appropriate next step. At just that moment 2 armed police stood to each side of me and showed me that my next appropriate step was to move forward into the large group of people waiting and sit down. Interesting they, and it seemed no one here, spoke English. They did muster the word “sit”, waited for me to comply, then they returned to their post at the airport exit door.

Waiting has never been my strong suit, and it didn’t seem likely that my driver would find me in a mass of unfamiliar faces, so being a girl of action I figured it was time to either call the hotel or hire a new driver. Either way, I needed a phone and someone who could speak English. Four random strangers later I found both. A quick phone call made by a kind trilingual stranger, about 200 yards of miscommunicated directions, and I was finally climbing aboard for what was supposed to be an hour and a half ride to my hotel. At the helm was my driver/musician Didi, listening to his broken English and newly released first album Fanilla…(all in Indonesian…pretty good stuff! 🙂

(visualize clock hands spinning rapidly around and around in infinite succession)

Five LONG hours (yes five) in LA worthy traffic and I stumbled into the most bizarre looking hotel I think I have ever seen. My first impression was that it looked like a shopping mall or department store of some kind. It was like a hotdog-on-a-stick themed color pallet climbing bright, bold, and bouncing into the grey rain filled clouds.

The rooms had deep red and green plastic awnings like there was an after-Christmas-sale at the dollar store, and yet my room was huge! True, it smelled of mildew and wet dog, but the sheer square footage would make any California real estate agents mouth water. Walking through the office like glass door there was a full downstairs living area complete with brown leather-like furniture and a TV (which surprised me considering my rooms have been devoid of such monotonous pleasures thus far). As you head up the stairs you find a very spacious bedroom, bathroom, closet, and another TV. In fact, I would wholeheartedly recommend this hotel to anyone in need of a party palace if the motel 6 is already booked!

In contrast, for me, I flop onto stained pillowcases, no top sheet, no wifi, and the smell of mangy mutt (without the benefit of fuzzy unconditional dog love), and say a quick prayer that I will fall to sleep quickly, everything will seem better in the morning, and I will not be bitten by an infestation of bedbugs…amen.