All You Keep's The Getting There

"He says we are two adventurous sisters," Yeni glows and gives me a high five. "He" is the security guard at the resort who is surprised to see us and even more surprised that I want to go swimming in the rain but generously offers the use of his office as a locker room. To use the real change rooms the resort will charge us $10 USD so I'm fairly quick to agree. I grab my towel and head out in the rain towards the salty, warm Indian ocean, leaving Yeni under my puyang (umbrella) to tell him our story.

We left at 6:45 in the morning, hoping to catch the 7:30 ferry from Pungurri terminal. When we finally found the right bis (bus) it involved a transfer and a forty five minute bus ride through two outlying villages. A boy on the bus tells Yeni it is four hours to Lagoya Beach by ferry.

"Four hours?" I say doubtfully.

"Yes. Maybe we go to Pengyenget instead." She says, brow furrowing with worry.

I shrug. There's no beach there and I'm not keen on the plan but it might be the best option. "First, we will check at the ferry, yes? If it is four hours then we will go to Pengyenget."

At the ferry terminal they say it's only an hour via Unjur so we buy our tickets and board the ferry. Once we have seats Yeni giggles and tells me excitedly that a group of teachers had come to visit her the night before and asked her if we would join them on their trip to Bintan next week.

"But they are renting car and I say no, because this is no good. There is no adventure in this. I want adventure so we go. They say, You can't. But I said yes."

"Why did they say we can't?" I ask, hesitatingly, uncertain I want to know the answer.

"Oh there is no public transportation to there."

"Oh really?" I say suppressing a worried laugh.

The ferry ride is a short twenty minutes. When we arrive in Unjur Yeni confers with a man from the ferry, then tells me we need to wait on a corner for the bus. Half an hour later there is still no bus. A man offers us a cab ride, another offers unjet (motorbike cab) but I shake my head no. After half an hour a bus rumbles by but doesn't stop. After several more minutes I convince Yeni that the man from the ferry probably didn't know and we should walk a ways then ask again.

We pass a ring seller and, when I comment on how nice they are, Yeni says we should stop there and look while we wait. We examine every ring in the man's stock. He shows me beautiful opals and onyx, stones with interesting fossil imprints and shapes in the striations. There is one that looks like a map of the earth and I ask "Berapa?" (How much?)


Yeni tells me he says $2,000. She asks him if this is the boolay price and insists he barter with her. I feel kind of awkward about this as it's only $2 but she gets him down to $1500. When I hand him the money she says, "Oh no! Not 1500, one hundred and five." After much discussion I finally grasp that she is trying to say
 $150, 000 IDR ($15USD) so I put it back explaining that that's more than I paid in Canada for the ring I'm wearing, though I don't point out that the setting on the one I'm wearing is silver plated and not already rusting unlike his.

We continue walking and after several inquiries find the bus. We hop on and, despite being the only one's on it it sets off immediately. After two blocks it stutters to a stop and we wait. After ten minutes a man climbs on and tries to sell us on a tour, by car, for only $30 USD. We shake our heads. It's another fifteen minutes before the bus pulls out and heads out of town.

Yeni gives me a bahasa lesson on the way before we settle in to watch the inda (beautiful) scenery roll by. But clouds begin to darken the skies overhead and two minutes before our stop the thunder rolls in and the rains are unleashed on the red earth. We dash towards the nearest convenience store to wait out the rain and buy some snacks. Yeni buys some sort of fish cake with chili sauce.

"Have some," she insists.

"What's it made from?" I ask, pointing to the pita shaped crisps.

"Fish and powder," she says. "They're my favourite."

"Powder like tepung?"

"Yes, yes," she is pleased I understand.

"Tepung terigu (wheat flour) or tepung nasi (rice flour)?" I ask.

"Nasi," she says. So I try one. It tastes like fish with throw-me-down-and-choke-me hot chili paste. Fish not being my favourite flavour I wouldn't eat them by choice but, they are ubiquitous here and it's good to know that, if I'm in a pinch and need a snack, these are safe to eat.

When the rain eases and settles into a steady drizzle we head out in search of unjets for hire but because of the weather there are none. Yeni is becoming discouraged, certain that the day is ruined thanks to the rain. I point to a gathering of police men watching TV under a tent pitched on the boulevard across the street.

"Let's go talk to them," I say.

So we cross the road and Yeni asks them how we might get to Lagoya as there are no unjets about. They tell her to go to the gate and wait, we can hop a ride with one of the buses that will come through. But, when we get to the gate the security guards insist that we must take a cab for $7 USD.

"What do we do?" Yeni is near tears, though I don't quite understand why.

"Well, we either pay for the cab or we go back and talk to the police again."

But Yeni doesn't make a move. She just repeats the story and tells me how unfair it all is. Several times.

"Yeni," I finally say, "it's the boolay tax. If you want to travel with boolay get used to it. We have two choices. We can take the cab and I will pay or we go back to the police and ask sweetly again about this free ride."

She just stares at me. I grab her hand and we walk back to the police tent where she says something in Bahasa to the incredibly fit and handsome police man who greets us. He laughs and waves us into the tent where he parks me in front of the TV to watch "The Prestige".

"Hey, where's your husband?" A policeman playing a tile game in the corner of the tent calls out in English.

"No husband." I answer warily. I already know where this conversation is going, I have it dozens of times every day, but it still unnerves my sensibilities as being rude.

"How old are you?"

"34," I answer honestly.

"What religion are you?" Of all the questions this one bothers me the most, probably because I don't have a religion but the few times I have tried that answer I am greeted with uncomprehending stares so I've taken to saying, "Buddhist." Of course this isn't true. For me Buddhism is a philosophy, not a religion. I don't have a clue what any of the Buddhist rituals are about and I could never prostrate myself or chant. I'm not wired for it. But secularism seems not to be an option here, pantheism too hard to explain, humanism more so, so I opt for the closest explanation they will understand all the while resisting the Western impulse to simply say, "It's none of your business."

"What?!?" He exclaims, shocked as everyone always is. "You are not Roman Catholic?"

"No." I say, then offer helpfully, "My parents are Christian. Protestant Christian."

This time he nods. This makes sense and is acceptable to him.

Yeni exchanges phone numbers with the gantung (handsome) police man who's been chatting her up while we wait and I will tease her mercilessly about this for the rest of the day. (She insists because he is not boolay he is not boolay she is not interested. I tell her she is barking mad pointing to the skinny, pasty pink Western boys who pass on the beach with their prim girlfriends and saying, "Really? You want that?" "They are like you" she says laughing. "Precisely," I answer triumphantly. Well, at least we know I'm not narcissistic). Eventually we are whisked into a land rover full of police men, including the gantung William who speaks impeccable English.

He asks a million questions too, though none of them are of the usual personal nature that makes a Western girl feel shocked by the impertinence.

"We will drop me off at my office and then my men will take you to the beach." He says, and when we drop him off he says, "I hope you will come again, please. Many times." I tell him I will try to come back again some day when the sun is shining.

And so we finally arrived at Lagoya by police escort and I am finally body surfing the waves as the tide rolls in. Later, Yeni and I explore the beach but what we really discover is that, besides adventurous spirits, we both are paralyzed by lost loves and restless souls and neither of us can keep track of our keys. We collect sand dollars and clams, navigate slippery rocks and climb trees in sheltered groves and, over the course of the afternoon, we become kas (sisters).

At 3 o'clock the security guard tells us we can get a free ride back to town if we go with him to the bus. On the way he tells me, through Yeni, that he hopes I will come back to stay at the resort. I tell him, through Yeni, that I don't think I can afford to stay at the resort. He tells me if I come back I can stay with his family and come to work with him and swim all day. I laugh and say that is very kind and maybe I will come back one day when it's sunny.

The staff -security, janitors, maids- all stare at me when they get on the bus. This makes Yeni laugh maniacally. "They are all so shocked to see boolay on their bus!" I just smile. At them and at her. Nothing about where I find myself in the course of a day surprises me anymore.