The unforgiven

Oh so where do I begin? Forget it, MB tells it better...so without further adieu I give you MB...

After a long and restful stay in the wonderful land of Bali, the adventurous duo set out yet again for another journey to a less forgiving island (Java that is).  We arrived at Denpasar's famed Ubung bus station and were immediately accosted by a dozen men offering their transportation services.  "Surabaya, 200,000 rupiah."  We bartered with them and settled on a price to take us through the ferry to the other side.  After entering the bus, we passed by some people tending their pet birds, exchanged glances, and sat down.

And so it began...

And went...

And went...

Luckily, Merriam Bellina (who? I duno...) was playing her much sought after 80s love ballad karaoke jams on loop on the bus TV.  I believe we looped through about 10 times.  Great torture device I suppose.

When the bus was somewhat filled (there is no timetable, they just fill the bus and go), we began to get ever more restless, as we began to realize that we would likely miss what we thought would be a 2:50pm train in Java to begin our travels west.  The driver offered us a tease by sitting in his seat and honking the horn.  But, alas, he then rose, walked off the bus, and went, well, somewhere, for a while.  To get to the point, the bus took off 2 hours after we arrived at Ubung.  Just as we finally thought the driver was going to put the pedal to the metal, it stopped in the parking lot.  A young British couple jumped on and sat next to us.  They were still paging through their Bali travel book, which I thought was strange.

Gilimanuk is the port town in west Bali about 3hrs from Denpasar.  The bus arrived there and began boarding the ferry.  At this moment, the Brits decided it would be a good time to have a little chat.  "Where the fuck are we?" as they pointed at their Lonely Planet map.  I pointed to our current location, which was certainly not where they had intended to go.  Just an aside, I love how British people say "fuck."  We passed them by while exiting the bus to the ferry and they attempted to communicate with the driver.  Either they were scammed or tremendously stupid.

The ferry was interesting.  M had heard some rumors as to how "sea-worthy" these barges would be, but it was too late to be concerned.  We looked back to Bali as it took off and began to wonder what would be different in coffee-land.  Turns out, quite a bit, but more on that later.  At the ferry you can buy bananas.  They had other things, but bananas sounded best.  I munched on one while watching some teenager try to put on a trade show of sorts in front of the passengers, selling these stupid rubber balls that had fiber optic epileptic seizures when you drop them on the ground.  For the kids, of course.

The ferry lined up its arrival and we began to size up this long skinny island in front of us.  No big deal, we thought, no biggie.  Shortly after the bus drove off the barge and onto Java soil, the bus employee flagged us to the back of the bus, pointing at the train station that we so insisted on being dropped off at.  I immediately regretted not taking the bus straight to Surabaya, as the area looked beyond sketchy.  Either way, we were getting off that bus and were on our own.  Great...

We were dropped off at a corner with a vague sign indicating that it led to a station.  As we began traversing the street, some lovely goats greeted us.  I could feel those evil goats cursing us.  The station did not look exactly inviting, and M attempted to purchase tickets to Surabaya.  Not available until 9:45pm, uh oh spaghetti-O.  We looked at the clock and it was 2:30pm.  And that 2:50pm train we thought we'd make?  Didn't exist.  Some "friendly/scam-worthy" local negotiated what was an apparent arrangement for a bus to take us to Surabaya, and he left on his motorbike to finish the deal, we supposed (no idea how it was supposed to work).  We were tired of waiting, and a young boy started a conversation with us.  Only M could somewhat understand him.  I'm pretty sure he was serenading her and to be quite honest, I was too annoyed by the day to absorb his charm.

Frustrated and scared, we ventured off again onto BF Blvd and found ourselves on a taxi that did not appear honest at first glance, but who cares at this moment?  We arrived at yet another, and exceedingly sketchy, bus station, and found ourselves back at square one, yes, a bus to Surabaya.  They said it would take 6 hours, 40 minutes.  How exact!

Upon entering the bus, we were the stars of the show, as we always are in Asia.  I considered holding out a cup for $, might as well considering the entertainment we provide for staring natives.  The creepy thing about the staring in Java is that they don't smile like they do in Bali.  

A brief moment of relief sits in.  Yes, today sucked, yes, we are yet again on a bus to Surabaya, even though we tried to avoid it.  But we were back on track.  We didn't care that the bus seemed to stop at every block.  So we sit, and sit, and sit, and did I mention we sat?  My ass went numb and eventually my tailbone felt like it had been paddled hard by a sadistic fraternity brother.  M mentioned maybe changing positions.  Didn't work, just uncomfortable no matter what.  We dozed off occasionally and worried every time we looked at the clock and realized that the estimated time of travel was grossly misrepresented.

At one point, we stopped at a station that, if I had one word, would describe as Hades.  Put it this way, if you were stranded there, you wouldn't survive the night.  M had to pee, and when she exited, the vulnerable white boy with the stinging ass waited for her impatiently.  Luckily, we had some nice visitors come by and say hello.  One of them had a gimpy leg and slid his way down the bus aisle.  That was nice.  Then, as I looked to my left, an apparent leper was sitting there with his hands out, ordering me to feed him.  M is much nicer than I am and fed him some bread, but had an insatiable appetite.  I also found out that when M attempted to find a bathroom, men began asking her where her husband was.  She was so scared that she ditched the bathroom idea and bought "food" instead.

Some time around 9pm or so, the bus stopped flat in its tracks and the bus employee shoved us off, pointing at the honking bus in front of it.  Quite an impatient driver, I thought, just give us a damn minute to gather our enormous hiking bags.  We entered the bus and did not like what we saw.  Some seedy-looking fellows were sitting to the left of us, one of which particularly enjoyed hucking loogies, clearing his throat, and generally just snotting everywhere.  Not to mention, this bus was eerily darker, drearier, and just dirtier than the last one, and that's saying something.  But that wasn't the worst part...

Unbeknownst to us, Mario Andretti was piloting the starship.  I should have predicted that the honk-crazy driver would have a lead foot, but this was beyond human tolerance.  Despite the complete lack of suspension and overall safety and security of the bus, he drove with reckless abandon.  It seemed like he was going 100mph at all times down a seemingly endless sea of potholes, beeping incessantly and just generally bullying everyone on the road.  We might as well have been in an ambulance.  M and I clung to each other and feared for our lives.

If there was any redeeming qualities to this driver, at least we got to Surabaya much faster than originally anticipated.  We found a taxi, which took us to our destination.  Surabaya looked OK, habitable enough.  We were too relieved to start judging.  The front door was locked and we went around back to check in.  The room wasn't great and it had a creepy blue light at its top.  The bathroom was mildly gross and overbleached.  Didn't matter, we made it, one step closer to Jogya in this unforgiving terrain.  Time to keep on keeping on....

M here again. I'll break this post for the next, and thus far nicer, half of the journey.

Oh so where do I begin? Forget it, MB tells it better...so without further adieu I give you MB...

After a long and restful stay in the wonderful land of Bali, the adventurous duo set out yet again for another journey to a less forgiving island (Java that is).  We arrived at Denpasar's famed Ubung bus station and were immediately accosted by a dozen men offering their transportation services.  "Surabaya, 200,000 rupiah."  We bartered with them and settled on a price to take us through the ferry to the other side.  After entering the bus, we passed by some people tending their pet birds, exchanged glances, and sat down.

And so it began...

And went...

And went...

Luckily, Merriam Bellina (who? I duno...) was playing her much sought after 80s love ballad karaoke jams on loop on the bus TV.  I believe we looped through about 10 times.  Great torture device I suppose.

When the bus was somewhat filled (there is no timetable, they just fill the bus and go), we began to get ever more restless, as we began to realize that we would likely miss what we thought would be a 2:50pm train in Java to begin our travels west.  The driver offered us a tease by sitting in his seat and honking the horn.  But, alas, he then rose, walked off the bus, and went, well, somewhere, for a while.  To get to the point, the bus took off 2 hours after we arrived at Ubung.  Just as we finally thought the driver was going to put the pedal to the metal, it stopped in the parking lot.  A young British couple jumped on and sat next to us.  They were still paging through their Bali travel book, which I thought was strange.

Gilimanuk is the port town in west Bali about 3hrs from Denpasar.  The bus arrived there and began boarding the ferry.  At this moment, the Brits decided it would be a good time to have a little chat.  "Where the fuck are we?" as they pointed at their Lonely Planet map.  I pointed to our current location, which was certainly not where they had intended to go.  Just an aside, I love how British people say "fuck."  We passed them by while exiting the bus to the ferry and they attempted to communicate with the driver.  Either they were scammed or tremendously stupid.

The ferry was interesting.  M had heard some rumors as to how "sea-worthy" these barges would be, but it was too late to be concerned.  We looked back to Bali as it took off and began to wonder what would be different in coffee-land.  Turns out, quite a bit, but more on that later.  At the ferry you can buy bananas.  They had other things, but bananas sounded best.  I munched on one while watching some teenager try to put on a trade show of sorts in front of the passengers, selling these stupid rubber balls that had fiber optic epileptic seizures when you drop them on the ground.  For the kids, of course.

The ferry lined up its arrival and we began to size up this long skinny island in front of us.  No big deal, we thought, no biggie.  Shortly after the bus drove off the barge and onto Java soil, the bus employee flagged us to the back of the bus, pointing at the train station that we so insisted on being dropped off at.  I immediately regretted not taking the bus straight to Surabaya, as the area looked beyond sketchy.  Either way, we were getting off that bus and were on our own.  Great...

We were dropped off at a corner with a vague sign indicating that it led to a station.  As we began traversing the street, some lovely goats greeted us.  I could feel those evil goats cursing us.  The station did not look exactly inviting, and M attempted to purchase tickets to Surabaya.  Not available until 9:45pm, uh oh spaghetti-O.  We looked at the clock and it was 2:30pm.  And that 2:50pm train we thought we'd make?  Didn't exist.  Some "friendly/scam-worthy" local negotiated what was an apparent arrangement for a bus to take us to Surabaya, and he left on his motorbike to finish the deal, we supposed (no idea how it was supposed to work).  We were tired of waiting, and a young boy started a conversation with us.  Only M could somewhat understand him.  I'm pretty sure he was serenading her and to be quite honest, I was too annoyed by the day to absorb his charm.

Frustrated and scared, we ventured off again onto BF Blvd and found ourselves on a taxi that did not appear honest at first glance, but who cares at this moment?  We arrived at yet another, and exceedingly sketchy, bus station, and found ourselves back at square one, yes, a bus to Surabaya.  They said it would take 6 hours, 40 minutes.  How exact!

Upon entering the bus, we were the stars of the show, as we always are in Asia.  I considered holding out a cup for $, might as well considering the entertainment we provide for staring natives.  The creepy thing about the staring in Java is that they don't smile like they do in Bali.  

A brief moment of relief sits in.  Yes, today sucked, yes, we are yet again on a bus to Surabaya, even though we tried to avoid it.  But we were back on track.  We didn't care that the bus seemed to stop at every block.  So we sit, and sit, and sit, and did I mention we sat?  My ass went numb and eventually my tailbone felt like it had been paddled hard by a sadistic fraternity brother.  M mentioned maybe changing positions.  Didn't work, just uncomfortable no matter what.  We dozed off occasionally and worried every time we looked at the clock and realized that the estimated time of travel was grossly misrepresented.

At one point, we stopped at a station that, if I had one word, would describe as Hades.  Put it this way, if you were stranded there, you wouldn't survive the night.  M had to pee, and when she exited, the vulnerable white boy with the stinging ass waited for her impatiently.  Luckily, we had some nice visitors come by and say hello.  One of them had a gimpy leg and slid his way down the bus aisle.  That was nice.  Then, as I looked to my left, an apparent leper was sitting there with his hands out, ordering me to feed him.  M is much nicer than I am and fed him some bread, but had an insatiable appetite.  I also found out that when M attempted to find a bathroom, men began asking her where her husband was.  She was so scared that she ditched the bathroom idea and bought "food" instead.

Some time around 9pm or so, the bus stopped flat in its tracks and the bus employee shoved us off, pointing at the honking bus in front of it.  Quite an impatient driver, I thought, just give us a damn minute to gather our enormous hiking bags.  We entered the bus and did not like what we saw.  Some seedy-looking fellows were sitting to the left of us, one of which particularly enjoyed hucking loogies, clearing his throat, and generally just snotting everywhere.  Not to mention, this bus was eerily darker, drearier, and just dirtier than the last one, and that's saying something.  But that wasn't the worst part...

Unbeknownst to us, Mario Andretti was piloting the starship.  I should have predicted that the honk-crazy driver would have a lead foot, but this was beyond human tolerance.  Despite the complete lack of suspension and overall safety and security of the bus, he drove with reckless abandon.  It seemed like he was going 100mph at all times down a seemingly endless sea of potholes, beeping incessantly and just generally bullying everyone on the road.  We might as well have been in an ambulance.  M and I clung to each other and feared for our lives.

If there was any redeeming qualities to this driver, at least we got to Surabaya much faster than originally anticipated.  We found a taxi, which took us to our destination.  Surabaya looked OK, habitable enough.  We were too relieved to start judging.  The front door was locked and we went around back to check in.  The room wasn't great and it had a creepy blue light at its top.  The bathroom was mildly gross and overbleached.  Didn't matter, we made it, one step closer to Jogya in this unforgiving terrain.  Time to keep on keeping on....

M here again. I'll break this post for the next, and thus far nicer, half of the journey.

Oh so where do I begin? Forget it, MB tells it better...so without further adieu I give you MB...

After a long and restful stay in the wonderful land of Bali, the adventurous duo set out yet again for another journey to a less forgiving island (Java that is).  We arrived at Denpasar's famed Ubung bus station and were immediately accosted by a dozen men offering their transportation services.  "Surabaya, 200,000 rupiah."  We bartered with them and settled on a price to take us through the ferry to the other side.  After entering the bus, we passed by some people tending their pet birds, exchanged glances, and sat down.

And so it began...

And went...

And went...

Luckily, Merriam Bellina (who? I duno...) was playing her much sought after 80s love ballad karaoke jams on loop on the bus TV.  I believe we looped through about 10 times.  Great torture device I suppose.

When the bus was somewhat filled (there is no timetable, they just fill the bus and go), we began to get ever more restless, as we began to realize that we would likely miss what we thought would be a 2:50pm train in Java to begin our travels west.  The driver offered us a tease by sitting in his seat and honking the horn.  But, alas, he then rose, walked off the bus, and went, well, somewhere, for a while.  To get to the point, the bus took off 2 hours after we arrived at Ubung.  Just as we finally thought the driver was going to put the pedal to the metal, it stopped in the parking lot.  A young British couple jumped on and sat next to us.  They were still paging through their Bali travel book, which I thought was strange.

Gilimanuk is the port town in west Bali about 3hrs from Denpasar.  The bus arrived there and began boarding the ferry.  At this moment, the Brits decided it would be a good time to have a little chat.  "Where the fuck are we?" as they pointed at their Lonely Planet map.  I pointed to our current location, which was certainly not where they had intended to go.  Just an aside, I love how British people say "fuck."  We passed them by while exiting the bus to the ferry and they attempted to communicate with the driver.  Either they were scammed or tremendously stupid.

The ferry was interesting.  M had heard some rumors as to how "sea-worthy" these barges would be, but it was too late to be concerned.  We looked back to Bali as it took off and began to wonder what would be different in coffee-land.  Turns out, quite a bit, but more on that later.  At the ferry you can buy bananas.  They had other things, but bananas sounded best.  I munched on one while watching some teenager try to put on a trade show of sorts in front of the passengers, selling these stupid rubber balls that had fiber optic epileptic seizures when you drop them on the ground.  For the kids, of course.

The ferry lined up its arrival and we began to size up this long skinny island in front of us.  No big deal, we thought, no biggie.  Shortly after the bus drove off the barge and onto Java soil, the bus employee flagged us to the back of the bus, pointing at the train station that we so insisted on being dropped off at.  I immediately regretted not taking the bus straight to Surabaya, as the area looked beyond sketchy.  Either way, we were getting off that bus and were on our own.  Great...

We were dropped off at a corner with a vague sign indicating that it led to a station.  As we began traversing the street, some lovely goats greeted us.  I could feel those evil goats cursing us.  The station did not look exactly inviting, and M attempted to purchase tickets to Surabaya.  Not available until 9:45pm, uh oh spaghetti-O.  We looked at the clock and it was 2:30pm.  And that 2:50pm train we thought we'd make?  Didn't exist.  Some "friendly/scam-worthy" local negotiated what was an apparent arrangement for a bus to take us to Surabaya, and he left on his motorbike to finish the deal, we supposed (no idea how it was supposed to work).  We were tired of waiting, and a young boy started a conversation with us.  Only M could somewhat understand him.  I'm pretty sure he was serenading her and to be quite honest, I was too annoyed by the day to absorb his charm.

Frustrated and scared, we ventured off again onto BF Blvd and found ourselves on a taxi that did not appear honest at first glance, but who cares at this moment?  We arrived at yet another, and exceedingly sketchy, bus station, and found ourselves back at square one, yes, a bus to Surabaya.  They said it would take 6 hours, 40 minutes.  How exact!

Upon entering the bus, we were the stars of the show, as we always are in Asia.  I considered holding out a cup for $, might as well considering the entertainment we provide for staring natives.  The creepy thing about the staring in Java is that they don't smile like they do in Bali.  

A brief moment of relief sits in.  Yes, today sucked, yes, we are yet again on a bus to Surabaya, even though we tried to avoid it.  But we were back on track.  We didn't care that the bus seemed to stop at every block.  So we sit, and sit, and sit, and did I mention we sat?  My ass went numb and eventually my tailbone felt like it had been paddled hard by a sadistic fraternity brother.  M mentioned maybe changing positions.  Didn't work, just uncomfortable no matter what.  We dozed off occasionally and worried every time we looked at the clock and realized that the estimated time of travel was grossly misrepresented.

At one point, we stopped at a station that, if I had one word, would describe as Hades.  Put it this way, if you were stranded there, you wouldn't survive the night.  M had to pee, and when she exited, the vulnerable white boy with the stinging ass waited for her impatiently.  Luckily, we had some nice visitors come by and say hello.  One of them had a gimpy leg and slid his way down the bus aisle.  That was nice.  Then, as I looked to my left, an apparent leper was sitting there with his hands out, ordering me to feed him.  M is much nicer than I am and fed him some bread, but had an insatiable appetite.  I also found out that when M attempted to find a bathroom, men began asking her where her husband was.  She was so scared that she ditched the bathroom idea and bought "food" instead.

Some time around 9pm or so, the bus stopped flat in its tracks and the bus employee shoved us off, pointing at the honking bus in front of it.  Quite an impatient driver, I thought, just give us a damn minute to gather our enormous hiking bags.  We entered the bus and did not like what we saw.  Some seedy-looking fellows were sitting to the left of us, one of which particularly enjoyed hucking loogies, clearing his throat, and generally just snotting everywhere.  Not to mention, this bus was eerily darker, drearier, and just dirtier than the last one, and that's saying something.  But that wasn't the worst part...

Unbeknownst to us, Mario Andretti was piloting the starship.  I should have predicted that the honk-crazy driver would have a lead foot, but this was beyond human tolerance.  Despite the complete lack of suspension and overall safety and security of the bus, he drove with reckless abandon.  It seemed like he was going 100mph at all times down a seemingly endless sea of potholes, beeping incessantly and just generally bullying everyone on the road.  We might as well have been in an ambulance.  M and I clung to each other and feared for our lives.

If there was any redeeming qualities to this driver, at least we got to Surabaya much faster than originally anticipated.  We found a taxi, which took us to our destination.  Surabaya looked OK, habitable enough.  We were too relieved to start judging.  The front door was locked and we went around back to check in.  The room wasn't great and it had a creepy blue light at its top.  The bathroom was mildly gross and overbleached.  Didn't matter, we made it, one step closer to Jogya in this unforgiving terrain.  Time to keep on keeping on....

M here again. I'll break this post for the next, and thus far nicer, half of the journey.

Oh so where do I begin? Forget it, MB tells it better...so without further adieu I give you MB...

After a long and restful stay in the wonderful land of Bali, the adventurous duo set out yet again for another journey to a less forgiving island (Java that is).  We arrived at Denpasar's famed Ubung bus station and were immediately accosted by a dozen men offering their transportation services.  "Surabaya, 200,000 rupiah."  We bartered with them and settled on a price to take us through the ferry to the other side.  After entering the bus, we passed by some people tending their pet birds, exchanged glances, and sat down.

And so it began...

And went...

And went...

Luckily, Merriam Bellina (who? I duno...) was playing her much sought after 80s love ballad karaoke jams on loop on the bus TV.  I believe we looped through about 10 times.  Great torture device I suppose.

When the bus was somewhat filled (there is no timetable, they just fill the bus and go), we began to get ever more restless, as we began to realize that we would likely miss what we thought would be a 2:50pm train in Java to begin our travels west.  The driver offered us a tease by sitting in his seat and honking the horn.  But, alas, he then rose, walked off the bus, and went, well, somewhere, for a while.  To get to the point, the bus took off 2 hours after we arrived at Ubung.  Just as we finally thought the driver was going to put the pedal to the metal, it stopped in the parking lot.  A young British couple jumped on and sat next to us.  They were still paging through their Bali travel book, which I thought was strange.

Gilimanuk is the port town in west Bali about 3hrs from Denpasar.  The bus arrived there and began boarding the ferry.  At this moment, the Brits decided it would be a good time to have a little chat.  "Where the fuck are we?" as they pointed at their Lonely Planet map.  I pointed to our current location, which was certainly not where they had intended to go.  Just an aside, I love how British people say "fuck."  We passed them by while exiting the bus to the ferry and they attempted to communicate with the driver.  Either they were scammed or tremendously stupid.

The ferry was interesting.  M had heard some rumors as to how "sea-worthy" these barges would be, but it was too late to be concerned.  We looked back to Bali as it took off and began to wonder what would be different in coffee-land.  Turns out, quite a bit, but more on that later.  At the ferry you can buy bananas.  They had other things, but bananas sounded best.  I munched on one while watching some teenager try to put on a trade show of sorts in front of the passengers, selling these stupid rubber balls that had fiber optic epileptic seizures when you drop them on the ground.  For the kids, of course.

The ferry lined up its arrival and we began to size up this long skinny island in front of us.  No big deal, we thought, no biggie.  Shortly after the bus drove off the barge and onto Java soil, the bus employee flagged us to the back of the bus, pointing at the train station that we so insisted on being dropped off at.  I immediately regretted not taking the bus straight to Surabaya, as the area looked beyond sketchy.  Either way, we were getting off that bus and were on our own.  Great...

We were dropped off at a corner with a vague sign indicating that it led to a station.  As we began traversing the street, some lovely goats greeted us.  I could feel those evil goats cursing us.  The station did not look exactly inviting, and M attempted to purchase tickets to Surabaya.  Not available until 9:45pm, uh oh spaghetti-O.  We looked at the clock and it was 2:30pm.  And that 2:50pm train we thought we'd make?  Didn't exist.  Some "friendly/scam-worthy" local negotiated what was an apparent arrangement for a bus to take us to Surabaya, and he left on his motorbike to finish the deal, we supposed (no idea how it was supposed to work).  We were tired of waiting, and a young boy started a conversation with us.  Only M could somewhat understand him.  I'm pretty sure he was serenading her and to be quite honest, I was too annoyed by the day to absorb his charm.

Frustrated and scared, we ventured off again onto BF Blvd and found ourselves on a taxi that did not appear honest at first glance, but who cares at this moment?  We arrived at yet another, and exceedingly sketchy, bus station, and found ourselves back at square one, yes, a bus to Surabaya.  They said it would take 6 hours, 40 minutes.  How exact!

Upon entering the bus, we were the stars of the show, as we always are in Asia.  I considered holding out a cup for $, might as well considering the entertainment we provide for staring natives.  The creepy thing about the staring in Java is that they don't smile like they do in Bali.  

A brief moment of relief sits in.  Yes, today sucked, yes, we are yet again on a bus to Surabaya, even though we tried to avoid it.  But we were back on track.  We didn't care that the bus seemed to stop at every block.  So we sit, and sit, and sit, and did I mention we sat?  My ass went numb and eventually my tailbone felt like it had been paddled hard by a sadistic fraternity brother.  M mentioned maybe changing positions.  Didn't work, just uncomfortable no matter what.  We dozed off occasionally and worried every time we looked at the clock and realized that the estimated time of travel was grossly misrepresented.

At one point, we stopped at a station that, if I had one word, would describe as Hades.  Put it this way, if you were stranded there, you wouldn't survive the night.  M had to pee, and when she exited, the vulnerable white boy with the stinging ass waited for her impatiently.  Luckily, we had some nice visitors come by and say hello.  One of them had a gimpy leg and slid his way down the bus aisle.  That was nice.  Then, as I looked to my left, an apparent leper was sitting there with his hands out, ordering me to feed him.  M is much nicer than I am and fed him some bread, but had an insatiable appetite.  I also found out that when M attempted to find a bathroom, men began asking her where her husband was.  She was so scared that she ditched the bathroom idea and bought "food" instead.

Some time around 9pm or so, the bus stopped flat in its tracks and the bus employee shoved us off, pointing at the honking bus in front of it.  Quite an impatient driver, I thought, just give us a damn minute to gather our enormous hiking bags.  We entered the bus and did not like what we saw.  Some seedy-looking fellows were sitting to the left of us, one of which particularly enjoyed hucking loogies, clearing his throat, and generally just snotting everywhere.  Not to mention, this bus was eerily darker, drearier, and just dirtier than the last one, and that's saying something.  But that wasn't the worst part...

Unbeknownst to us, Mario Andretti was piloting the starship.  I should have predicted that the honk-crazy driver would have a lead foot, but this was beyond human tolerance.  Despite the complete lack of suspension and overall safety and security of the bus, he drove with reckless abandon.  It seemed like he was going 100mph at all times down a seemingly endless sea of potholes, beeping incessantly and just generally bullying everyone on the road.  We might as well have been in an ambulance.  M and I clung to each other and feared for our lives.

If there was any redeeming qualities to this driver, at least we got to Surabaya much faster than originally anticipated.  We found a taxi, which took us to our destination.  Surabaya looked OK, habitable enough.  We were too relieved to start judging.  The front door was locked and we went around back to check in.  The room wasn't great and it had a creepy blue light at its top.  The bathroom was mildly gross and overbleached.  Didn't matter, we made it, one step closer to Jogya in this unforgiving terrain.  Time to keep on keeping on....

M here again. I'll break this post for the next, and thus far nicer, half of the journey.

A tale of two unarmed robberies...

     How can I even begin to describe this week? If I can't do that, then last night certainly has no single word to describe it either. The closest thing I can think of is A-bomb of all cluster fucks and that's what? 5 words.

     As a warm up for the story to come, you should understand the week I've had. Consider it the opening act. My parents were in KL until Wednesday. I didn't get to spend as much time with them as I would have liked because of work, but they took my housemates out to banana leaf (I should so open up a shop back home...). Wow, that seems like forever ago...and it was Sunday. Monday we grabbed drinks at the hotel clubhouse, which had a killer view of KLCC. Unfortunately, I had to finish up work back at the hotel; and by finish I mean start. It was a late night.

     Tuesday I had the pleasure of being in the office from 9am until 7am the next day. I have never pulled an all-nighter for school, so pulling one for work seemed just as pointless. Many of you probably gasp at this, but I know when to stop for the night. Plus, it gets to a point where my brain tunes out and nothing that great gets accomplished anyway. Most of the ideas that come into your head at 3am are usually things you end up having to fix later (unless you're one of those people that prefers to work at night). Anyways, I digress, the only thing I really learned from that exercise was that I could take a day and a half leave.

    After falling asleep in the bathtub at the hotel, I said bye to the fams, checked out, and slept for a bit. Wednesday night I joined the regular CS crew for Indian food and free drinks (as it is ladies night). Thursday I went into work late, saw Harry Potter (it came out here before it did in the US, which I found  bit strange, maybe because of the date change? Basically what I'm getting at with all of this is that I don't sleep all that much. I've got a month left here, I don't see the need. It's a long plane ride home.

     Time passed at the office at an exceptionally slow rate yesterday. It rained when we (C and I usually head in together) and it poured when we left. Lunch was the worst meal I've had here by far (we chose a new place...tak best lah). At about 6 the entire office decided that watching the storm was more exciting than whatever else they were doing. It was the first storm here that was similar to the ones you get back in CO. I'm sure anyone back home knows what I'm talking about, as it has rained its heart out over there. It was the kind where it gets quiet before hand, the sky turns that awful color, and you aren't too sure if it's night or day.

     C and I were supposed to go to a pool party that night, so the outlook was not so good. A was supposed to pick us up and I was meeting H, N, and...ahh screw it let's just say the Alphabet and head to a party on my side of town. I live in a mostly Malay (usually implies Muslim) area so this is a rare event. The party needed music and obviously no one was really swimming so I headed to Changkat BB (where the bars are) with the Alphabet Gang. At this point, people were starting to party and things picked up a bit.

     C and I have this thing where we always seem to be the ones stirring the pot so-to-speak. Like most parties, BYOB is a courtesy thing, and C and I had bottle of vodka as our weapon of choice. We found it hilarious that when we were out on the town and took it out people in the group were surprised. Where I am from this is called smart, I suppose it's not as common here but I could be wrong. Everyone was having a blast and it was a great night of dancing, drinking, and being with a crowd of kick ass people.

     Unfortunately dancing with a purse filled with a large camera does not really work, so I put mine down. Huge mistake, obviously, as I am now without an iPhone as well as a local phone. Luckily I insured my iPhone before I left, so all I have to do is figure out what hoops I have to jump through in order to replace it (or if worst comes to worst I'll sell the iPad my mom left me). I obviously didn't see when it happened, but it was quick, I left my purse only for a few minutes until someone in the group moved it next to theirs. No, I don't need a lecture on how dumb it was for me to leave it there (it was stupid, people do stupid stuff, no one is perfect) and about the affects of alcohol. It's the first time I've had anything stolen from me while abroad, it was bound to happen someday. As they say, Karma's a bitch. What's done is done. No biggie.

     The person who stole it needs a lecture on what to steal. I had two cameras (one is a SLR), credit cards, and cash that were all left alone. Basically the person stole a shitty burn phone and an iPhone that's locked and requires passwords to do anything with it. He or she chose this over a $2,000 camera...I would put that under EPIC FAIL.

     However, I cannot say that C had the same luck. Just before I realized my phone had gone, she left to go back. To make a long story short, she fell victim to the classic motorbike thing they do here. Essentially they come from behind, slam you on the ground or drag you until your bag strap breaks and drive away. She lost everything except her phone and keys.

     I got home about 20 minutes after her to find her with dried blood all over her back. Of course, my immediate thought was someone had tried to rape her or something. She was too angry to even get words out at this point so I went to bed. She had gone to the cops by the time I woke up, but I didn't know it at the time so I had become pretty freaked out. I was also pissed at myself for losing my phones. MB always tells me that if he got a dollar for every time I asked where my phone was he'd be a millionaire. Well now the joke is on him...kinda.

     I headed over to the mall by my place to try to sort this phone thing out. They, of course, said they couldn't do anything and wrote down a place for me to go so I hopped in a cab. Get to the place, they say they need my passport (I don't carry it around here so - ironically enough - it doesn't get stollen) and there isn't anything they can do. At this point  I'm getting that OMG I don't want to deal with this country right now, WTF WTF WTF thing going on in my head that all expats experience at least once. This is time number three for me here, not bad. You just have to suck it up and move on.

     So in my frustrated and slightly hungover state I head home. C's back and I gave her a once over and she is pretty banged up. Got huge scrapes all over one side of her body. One of them looks pretty bad and wouldn't stop bleeding. So what do we do? Burst out laughing. I mean what else can you do? Yes, it probably doesn't sound funny, it's a huge pain in the ass to have to deal with but we are both ok and it could always be worse. For the time being, I'm C's sugar momma, but I ain't got much sugar. It's been a while since I've had a night that was as much fun as it was awful.

     Bad things always come in threes, so to top this one off our shower head broke off and our shower has become more like a fountain...

     Sometimes you come to a place and it looks lovely, acts pretty, and shows little sign of a dark under-belly. Other times, you get back handed in the face. The latter makes for a better story.

-M

     How can I even begin to describe this week? If I can't do that, then last night certainly has no single word to describe it either. The closest thing I can think of is A-bomb of all cluster fucks and that's what? 5 words.

     As a warm up for the story to come, you should understand the week I've had. Consider it the opening act. My parents were in KL until Wednesday. I didn't get to spend as much time with them as I would have liked because of work, but they took my housemates out to banana leaf (I should so open up a shop back home...). Wow, that seems like forever ago...and it was Sunday. Monday we grabbed drinks at the hotel clubhouse, which had a killer view of KLCC. Unfortunately, I had to finish up work back at the hotel; and by finish I mean start. It was a late night.

     Tuesday I had the pleasure of being in the office from 9am until 7am the next day. I have never pulled an all-nighter for school, so pulling one for work seemed just as pointless. Many of you probably gasp at this, but I know when to stop for the night. Plus, it gets to a point where my brain tunes out and nothing that great gets accomplished anyway. Most of the ideas that come into your head at 3am are usually things you end up having to fix later (unless you're one of those people that prefers to work at night). Anyways, I digress, the only thing I really learned from that exercise was that I could take a day and a half leave.

    After falling asleep in the bathtub at the hotel, I said bye to the fams, checked out, and slept for a bit. Wednesday night I joined the regular CS crew for Indian food and free drinks (as it is ladies night). Thursday I went into work late, saw Harry Potter (it came out here before it did in the US, which I found  bit strange, maybe because of the date change? Basically what I'm getting at with all of this is that I don't sleep all that much. I've got a month left here, I don't see the need. It's a long plane ride home.

     Time passed at the office at an exceptionally slow rate yesterday. It rained when we (C and I usually head in together) and it poured when we left. Lunch was the worst meal I've had here by far (we chose a new place...tak best lah). At about 6 the entire office decided that watching the storm was more exciting than whatever else they were doing. It was the first storm here that was similar to the ones you get back in CO. I'm sure anyone back home knows what I'm talking about, as it has rained its heart out over there. It was the kind where it gets quiet before hand, the sky turns that awful color, and you aren't too sure if it's night or day.

     C and I were supposed to go to a pool party that night, so the outlook was not so good. A was supposed to pick us up and I was meeting H, N, and...ahh screw it let's just say the Alphabet and head to a party on my side of town. I live in a mostly Malay (usually implies Muslim) area so this is a rare event. The party needed music and obviously no one was really swimming so I headed to Changkat BB (where the bars are) with the Alphabet Gang. At this point, people were starting to party and things picked up a bit.

     C and I have this thing where we always seem to be the ones stirring the pot so-to-speak. Like most parties, BYOB is a courtesy thing, and C and I had bottle of vodka as our weapon of choice. We found it hilarious that when we were out on the town and took it out people in the group were surprised. Where I am from this is called smart, I suppose it's not as common here but I could be wrong. Everyone was having a blast and it was a great night of dancing, drinking, and being with a crowd of kick ass people.

     Unfortunately dancing with a purse filled with a large camera does not really work, so I put mine down. Huge mistake, obviously, as I am now without an iPhone as well as a local phone. Luckily I insured my iPhone before I left, so all I have to do is figure out what hoops I have to jump through in order to replace it (or if worst comes to worst I'll sell the iPad my mom left me). I obviously didn't see when it happened, but it was quick, I left my purse only for a few minutes until someone in the group moved it next to theirs. No, I don't need a lecture on how dumb it was for me to leave it there (it was stupid, people do stupid stuff, no one is perfect) and about the affects of alcohol. It's the first time I've had anything stolen from me while abroad, it was bound to happen someday. As they say, Karma's a bitch. What's done is done. No biggie.

     The person who stole it needs a lecture on what to steal. I had two cameras (one is a SLR), credit cards, and cash that were all left alone. Basically the person stole a shitty burn phone and an iPhone that's locked and requires passwords to do anything with it. He or she chose this over a $2,000 camera...I would put that under EPIC FAIL.

     However, I cannot say that C had the same luck. Just before I realized my phone had gone, she left to go back. To make a long story short, she fell victim to the classic motorbike thing they do here. Essentially they come from behind, slam you on the ground or drag you until your bag strap breaks and drive away. She lost everything except her phone and keys.

     I got home about 20 minutes after her to find her with dried blood all over her back. Of course, my immediate thought was someone had tried to rape her or something. She was too angry to even get words out at this point so I went to bed. She had gone to the cops by the time I woke up, but I didn't know it at the time so I had become pretty freaked out. I was also pissed at myself for losing my phones. MB always tells me that if he got a dollar for every time I asked where my phone was he'd be a millionaire. Well now the joke is on him...kinda.

     I headed over to the mall by my place to try to sort this phone thing out. They, of course, said they couldn't do anything and wrote down a place for me to go so I hopped in a cab. Get to the place, they say they need my passport (I don't carry it around here so - ironically enough - it doesn't get stollen) and there isn't anything they can do. At this point  I'm getting that OMG I don't want to deal with this country right now, WTF WTF WTF thing going on in my head that all expats experience at least once. This is time number three for me here, not bad. You just have to suck it up and move on.

     So in my frustrated and slightly hungover state I head home. C's back and I gave her a once over and she is pretty banged up. Got huge scrapes all over one side of her body. One of them looks pretty bad and wouldn't stop bleeding. So what do we do? Burst out laughing. I mean what else can you do? Yes, it probably doesn't sound funny, it's a huge pain in the ass to have to deal with but we are both ok and it could always be worse. For the time being, I'm C's sugar momma, but I ain't got much sugar. It's been a while since I've had a night that was as much fun as it was awful.

     Bad things always come in threes, so to top this one off our shower head broke off and our shower has become more like a fountain...

     Sometimes you come to a place and it looks lovely, acts pretty, and shows little sign of a dark under-belly. Other times, you get back handed in the face. The latter makes for a better story.

-M

     How can I even begin to describe this week? If I can't do that, then last night certainly has no single word to describe it either. The closest thing I can think of is A-bomb of all cluster fucks and that's what? 5 words.

     As a warm up for the story to come, you should understand the week I've had. Consider it the opening act. My parents were in KL until Wednesday. I didn't get to spend as much time with them as I would have liked because of work, but they took my housemates out to banana leaf (I should so open up a shop back home...). Wow, that seems like forever ago...and it was Sunday. Monday we grabbed drinks at the hotel clubhouse, which had a killer view of KLCC. Unfortunately, I had to finish up work back at the hotel; and by finish I mean start. It was a late night.

     Tuesday I had the pleasure of being in the office from 9am until 7am the next day. I have never pulled an all-nighter for school, so pulling one for work seemed just as pointless. Many of you probably gasp at this, but I know when to stop for the night. Plus, it gets to a point where my brain tunes out and nothing that great gets accomplished anyway. Most of the ideas that come into your head at 3am are usually things you end up having to fix later (unless you're one of those people that prefers to work at night). Anyways, I digress, the only thing I really learned from that exercise was that I could take a day and a half leave.

    After falling asleep in the bathtub at the hotel, I said bye to the fams, checked out, and slept for a bit. Wednesday night I joined the regular CS crew for Indian food and free drinks (as it is ladies night). Thursday I went into work late, saw Harry Potter (it came out here before it did in the US, which I found  bit strange, maybe because of the date change? Basically what I'm getting at with all of this is that I don't sleep all that much. I've got a month left here, I don't see the need. It's a long plane ride home.

     Time passed at the office at an exceptionally slow rate yesterday. It rained when we (C and I usually head in together) and it poured when we left. Lunch was the worst meal I've had here by far (we chose a new place...tak best lah). At about 6 the entire office decided that watching the storm was more exciting than whatever else they were doing. It was the first storm here that was similar to the ones you get back in CO. I'm sure anyone back home knows what I'm talking about, as it has rained its heart out over there. It was the kind where it gets quiet before hand, the sky turns that awful color, and you aren't too sure if it's night or day.

     C and I were supposed to go to a pool party that night, so the outlook was not so good. A was supposed to pick us up and I was meeting H, N, and...ahh screw it let's just say the Alphabet and head to a party on my side of town. I live in a mostly Malay (usually implies Muslim) area so this is a rare event. The party needed music and obviously no one was really swimming so I headed to Changkat BB (where the bars are) with the Alphabet Gang. At this point, people were starting to party and things picked up a bit.

     C and I have this thing where we always seem to be the ones stirring the pot so-to-speak. Like most parties, BYOB is a courtesy thing, and C and I had bottle of vodka as our weapon of choice. We found it hilarious that when we were out on the town and took it out people in the group were surprised. Where I am from this is called smart, I suppose it's not as common here but I could be wrong. Everyone was having a blast and it was a great night of dancing, drinking, and being with a crowd of kick ass people.

     Unfortunately dancing with a purse filled with a large camera does not really work, so I put mine down. Huge mistake, obviously, as I am now without an iPhone as well as a local phone. Luckily I insured my iPhone before I left, so all I have to do is figure out what hoops I have to jump through in order to replace it (or if worst comes to worst I'll sell the iPad my mom left me). I obviously didn't see when it happened, but it was quick, I left my purse only for a few minutes until someone in the group moved it next to theirs. No, I don't need a lecture on how dumb it was for me to leave it there (it was stupid, people do stupid stuff, no one is perfect) and about the affects of alcohol. It's the first time I've had anything stolen from me while abroad, it was bound to happen someday. As they say, Karma's a bitch. What's done is done. No biggie.

     The person who stole it needs a lecture on what to steal. I had two cameras (one is a SLR), credit cards, and cash that were all left alone. Basically the person stole a shitty burn phone and an iPhone that's locked and requires passwords to do anything with it. He or she chose this over a $2,000 camera...I would put that under EPIC FAIL.

     However, I cannot say that C had the same luck. Just before I realized my phone had gone, she left to go back. To make a long story short, she fell victim to the classic motorbike thing they do here. Essentially they come from behind, slam you on the ground or drag you until your bag strap breaks and drive away. She lost everything except her phone and keys.

     I got home about 20 minutes after her to find her with dried blood all over her back. Of course, my immediate thought was someone had tried to rape her or something. She was too angry to even get words out at this point so I went to bed. She had gone to the cops by the time I woke up, but I didn't know it at the time so I had become pretty freaked out. I was also pissed at myself for losing my phones. MB always tells me that if he got a dollar for every time I asked where my phone was he'd be a millionaire. Well now the joke is on him...kinda.

     I headed over to the mall by my place to try to sort this phone thing out. They, of course, said they couldn't do anything and wrote down a place for me to go so I hopped in a cab. Get to the place, they say they need my passport (I don't carry it around here so - ironically enough - it doesn't get stollen) and there isn't anything they can do. At this point  I'm getting that OMG I don't want to deal with this country right now, WTF WTF WTF thing going on in my head that all expats experience at least once. This is time number three for me here, not bad. You just have to suck it up and move on.

     So in my frustrated and slightly hungover state I head home. C's back and I gave her a once over and she is pretty banged up. Got huge scrapes all over one side of her body. One of them looks pretty bad and wouldn't stop bleeding. So what do we do? Burst out laughing. I mean what else can you do? Yes, it probably doesn't sound funny, it's a huge pain in the ass to have to deal with but we are both ok and it could always be worse. For the time being, I'm C's sugar momma, but I ain't got much sugar. It's been a while since I've had a night that was as much fun as it was awful.

     Bad things always come in threes, so to top this one off our shower head broke off and our shower has become more like a fountain...

     Sometimes you come to a place and it looks lovely, acts pretty, and shows little sign of a dark under-belly. Other times, you get back handed in the face. The latter makes for a better story.

-M

     How can I even begin to describe this week? If I can't do that, then last night certainly has no single word to describe it either. The closest thing I can think of is A-bomb of all cluster fucks and that's what? 5 words.

     As a warm up for the story to come, you should understand the week I've had. Consider it the opening act. My parents were in KL until Wednesday. I didn't get to spend as much time with them as I would have liked because of work, but they took my housemates out to banana leaf (I should so open up a shop back home...). Wow, that seems like forever ago...and it was Sunday. Monday we grabbed drinks at the hotel clubhouse, which had a killer view of KLCC. Unfortunately, I had to finish up work back at the hotel; and by finish I mean start. It was a late night.

     Tuesday I had the pleasure of being in the office from 9am until 7am the next day. I have never pulled an all-nighter for school, so pulling one for work seemed just as pointless. Many of you probably gasp at this, but I know when to stop for the night. Plus, it gets to a point where my brain tunes out and nothing that great gets accomplished anyway. Most of the ideas that come into your head at 3am are usually things you end up having to fix later (unless you're one of those people that prefers to work at night). Anyways, I digress, the only thing I really learned from that exercise was that I could take a day and a half leave.

    After falling asleep in the bathtub at the hotel, I said bye to the fams, checked out, and slept for a bit. Wednesday night I joined the regular CS crew for Indian food and free drinks (as it is ladies night). Thursday I went into work late, saw Harry Potter (it came out here before it did in the US, which I found  bit strange, maybe because of the date change? Basically what I'm getting at with all of this is that I don't sleep all that much. I've got a month left here, I don't see the need. It's a long plane ride home.

     Time passed at the office at an exceptionally slow rate yesterday. It rained when we (C and I usually head in together) and it poured when we left. Lunch was the worst meal I've had here by far (we chose a new place...tak best lah). At about 6 the entire office decided that watching the storm was more exciting than whatever else they were doing. It was the first storm here that was similar to the ones you get back in CO. I'm sure anyone back home knows what I'm talking about, as it has rained its heart out over there. It was the kind where it gets quiet before hand, the sky turns that awful color, and you aren't too sure if it's night or day.

     C and I were supposed to go to a pool party that night, so the outlook was not so good. A was supposed to pick us up and I was meeting H, N, and...ahh screw it let's just say the Alphabet and head to a party on my side of town. I live in a mostly Malay (usually implies Muslim) area so this is a rare event. The party needed music and obviously no one was really swimming so I headed to Changkat BB (where the bars are) with the Alphabet Gang. At this point, people were starting to party and things picked up a bit.

     C and I have this thing where we always seem to be the ones stirring the pot so-to-speak. Like most parties, BYOB is a courtesy thing, and C and I had bottle of vodka as our weapon of choice. We found it hilarious that when we were out on the town and took it out people in the group were surprised. Where I am from this is called smart, I suppose it's not as common here but I could be wrong. Everyone was having a blast and it was a great night of dancing, drinking, and being with a crowd of kick ass people.

     Unfortunately dancing with a purse filled with a large camera does not really work, so I put mine down. Huge mistake, obviously, as I am now without an iPhone as well as a local phone. Luckily I insured my iPhone before I left, so all I have to do is figure out what hoops I have to jump through in order to replace it (or if worst comes to worst I'll sell the iPad my mom left me). I obviously didn't see when it happened, but it was quick, I left my purse only for a few minutes until someone in the group moved it next to theirs. No, I don't need a lecture on how dumb it was for me to leave it there (it was stupid, people do stupid stuff, no one is perfect) and about the affects of alcohol. It's the first time I've had anything stolen from me while abroad, it was bound to happen someday. As they say, Karma's a bitch. What's done is done. No biggie.

     The person who stole it needs a lecture on what to steal. I had two cameras (one is a SLR), credit cards, and cash that were all left alone. Basically the person stole a shitty burn phone and an iPhone that's locked and requires passwords to do anything with it. He or she chose this over a $2,000 camera...I would put that under EPIC FAIL.

     However, I cannot say that C had the same luck. Just before I realized my phone had gone, she left to go back. To make a long story short, she fell victim to the classic motorbike thing they do here. Essentially they come from behind, slam you on the ground or drag you until your bag strap breaks and drive away. She lost everything except her phone and keys.

     I got home about 20 minutes after her to find her with dried blood all over her back. Of course, my immediate thought was someone had tried to rape her or something. She was too angry to even get words out at this point so I went to bed. She had gone to the cops by the time I woke up, but I didn't know it at the time so I had become pretty freaked out. I was also pissed at myself for losing my phones. MB always tells me that if he got a dollar for every time I asked where my phone was he'd be a millionaire. Well now the joke is on him...kinda.

     I headed over to the mall by my place to try to sort this phone thing out. They, of course, said they couldn't do anything and wrote down a place for me to go so I hopped in a cab. Get to the place, they say they need my passport (I don't carry it around here so - ironically enough - it doesn't get stollen) and there isn't anything they can do. At this point  I'm getting that OMG I don't want to deal with this country right now, WTF WTF WTF thing going on in my head that all expats experience at least once. This is time number three for me here, not bad. You just have to suck it up and move on.

     So in my frustrated and slightly hungover state I head home. C's back and I gave her a once over and she is pretty banged up. Got huge scrapes all over one side of her body. One of them looks pretty bad and wouldn't stop bleeding. So what do we do? Burst out laughing. I mean what else can you do? Yes, it probably doesn't sound funny, it's a huge pain in the ass to have to deal with but we are both ok and it could always be worse. For the time being, I'm C's sugar momma, but I ain't got much sugar. It's been a while since I've had a night that was as much fun as it was awful.

     Bad things always come in threes, so to top this one off our shower head broke off and our shower has become more like a fountain...

     Sometimes you come to a place and it looks lovely, acts pretty, and shows little sign of a dark under-belly. Other times, you get back handed in the face. The latter makes for a better story.

-M