Hello, Bali!

Well, let's get that last post off the top of the page, shall we? First off, I should say that I'm doing much better - the stitches came out on Monday, and my doctor was very happy with how the cuts are healing. I'm still not at 100% mobility, and there will be scars, but at least I can shower without a bag over my leg now, and don't look such a wally going up and down the stairs.

In the meantime, I took a little trip.

Work has been really hectic of late, and is on the verge of getting more so. I wanted to take a short trip away to ground myself so that I drive neither myself nor my colleagues completely batty, so I scoured the internet for deals, hit up friends for suggestions, and eventually wound up booking a weekend in Bali - specifically in the Sanur region. The initial plan was for Biking! Walking! Swimming! Kayaking! Unfortunately, the injury put paid to a lot of that (the stitches were still in when I went), so a reassessment of expectations came into play.

And it ended up being...wonderful. I arrived on a Friday night, and my room was upgraded to the beautiful suite shown below. The queen-sized bed and king-sized terrace would have made the weekend away worth it even without the rest of the delights.

Welcome!

A real, not twin-sized bed

Yes, thank you, I think I will spend many hours sitting here reading

After checking in, I wandered around the resort, walked down to the beach, and then got dinner at one of the local restaurants.

Prawns with a lemongrass & chili sauce - delicious

After dinner, I went back to the hotel and sat on the terrace reading for a while before heading to the luxury of the queen-sized bed. Heaven.

Saturday dawned very bright and very hot. First task of the day was coffee on the terrace with a book. I sat there for...a couple of hours, actually, just enjoying the sun, the coffee and the lack of internet access. They were two of the most relaxing hours I've had in ages, and it was a bit of a stretch to pull myself away. Pull myself away I did, however, to take a walk around the resort and the town in daylight. And maybe to book a massage. Or two (they were 2-for-1 specials...how could I resist?).

At the resort

Roundabout by the town's temple

 

View from the terrace

After a walk and the massage (and a shower) I decided to be ever-so-exciting! ...and read on the beach. It was a glorious view.

...truly stunning

 

I did try to go canoeing, but the canoes on offer were full-sized, and I'm just not able to handle a two-to-four person canoe by myself in the ocean with a bum knee. I tested out a bike as well, but pedaling was excruciating. Quite sad, but something to look forward to next time. Plus? By that time I was ready for breakfast...er, lunch?

Delicious, delicious mee goreng

The rest of Saturday was spent walking, reading, sitting on the beach, and generally doing absolutely nothing of any importance whatsoever.

And again I say...Heaven.

Dinner was at a vegetarian Indian restaurant, and I wish I had gotten a picture of the eggplant dish and naan I ordered. Spicy. Garlic-y. Delicious.

And then another night in the Glorious! Bed! (I am 5'10". I sleep diagonally in my twin bed in Singapore because I'm just too tall for the head and foot boards. A queen-sized bed? Luxury.)

And then it was Sunday.

Frustration

I was thinking on Sunday that I should write a post - on settling in, settling down, developing good routines. I'd had a lovely weekend that involved biking, yoga, pilates, coffee, a couple of birthday celebrations for friends, errand running, cooking...all of the things that make me feel centered and grounded and at home. All of the things I've been trying to develop since moving to this odd little Island.

I didn't write the post - I went out with friends instead - but was still feeling that calm sense of belonging on Monday morning when I set out to work in the rain.

Now, I like rain. A lot. But I don't like rain when I'm outside in Singapore because (foreshadowing!) the sidewalks are not good. Many of them turn into slick sheets at the first sign of dampness, with no grip and no traction. When we have the type of weather we had Monday morning (lashing rain, wind, thunder, lightning) I wear my heaviest, grippiest shoes and am ever-so-cautious about how and where I walk.

Ah well, the best laid plans...

Nearly to work, walking carefully, carefully, foot steps on sidewalk, foot slips on sidewalk, I go down, and knee meets corner. Blood and pain and rage.

I ended up in the emergency room, and my leg received eight stitches in the two gashes - one just at the bend of the bottom of the knee (deep enough to see kneecap), one where the shin and knee meet. I went to work (I work just next to the hospital) and stayed for a while, but the pain was bad, and the frustration...

I've always, always been clumsy and accident prone. I'm no stranger to broken bones, sprains, torn ligaments, stitches, bruises, etc. It's a running joke amongst my friends and family.

But guess what? It's not so funny. I can't walk properly, no biking or jogging for at least a month, no yoga or pilates for at least two weeks. I can't do the things that keep me centered and balanced and sane. Going up stairs is a chore, standing on a crowded bus is agony. I can't find a comfortable position to sit or stand or lie down, so my sleep last night was nearly useless. I can't get the wound wet, so showering...no, let's not speak about that.

It would be frustrating anywhere, but somehow it feels worse here. I don't know why.

I guess all there is to do is suck it up and deal. The only way over is through. Wish me luck.

Catching up

Hello, little neglected blog. How are you? Apologies for the silence (yet again) on this end - it's been a busy few weeks since I returned! Nothing too exciting going on, really. Just work and work and friends and work. Fairly even keel.

Today, however, has been its own little nightmare. I'm getting over a bad cold, which always makes me ever-so chipper; I slipped in the rain, fell into a puddle and got to work soaking wet; and to cap it all off, I caught the heel of my shoe on the foot of my (wheeled) office chair while changing into a t-shirt, the chair went one way, I pitched forward the other way, and the knuckle of my hand caught the screen of my laptop. Rest in peace, little Lenovo screen. Rest in Peace.

Add to this the knowledge that in recent days I have also bruised my cheek by accidentally hitting my face on the arm of a chair, dumped a full cup of coffee into my lap and spilled bleach on a favorite dress, among other smaller incidents, and you will perhaps understand my frustration.

My mother, as she always used to remind me, did not name me "Grace".

But moving on to happier subjects...

I was downtown on Sunday to meet a friend for yoga. I realized mid-bus ride that I didn't have any cash with me, and I didn't know if the studio took debit cards. Thankfully, there was an ATM in a shopping center across from the studio, so I stopped in. And the smell of the shopping center brought me to Huntington, WV, to the department store (Stone & Thomas, maybe?) that we would go to with my grandmother. It was instant recognition, and a lovely surprise. I'm not sure what it was - the shoe store, perhaps? A bit of must? A combination of factors? But my nose recognized it instantly, and it made me think of the cities I visited this past trip, and their scents.

Chicago is bus fumes and dumpsters, in the nicest way possible, their odors wafting quickly past from the seat of a bike. And also the smell of the grass where its scent meets that of the lake on the north end of the Lakeshore Path. A bit of Greektown is thrown in there too, particularly the deli on the corner of Halsted and Jackson. 

DC is somewhat sterile to the nose for me, but a mix of coffee and tar can bring it back at times. Boston was the smell of the Charles mixed with a slight chill, with an overtone of books and brick. New Orleans and Baton Rouge seem like their scents should be equally green and musty, but Baton Rouge has an industrial scent that's overshadowed by hints of funk in New Orleans. The scent of crushed acorns always brings my mind to BR.

And then at a friend's place recently, the smell of the kitchen sink (slightly damp sponge, beer dregs, and soap) put me instantly back to my flat in Leeds.

When I got back to Singapore and stepped outside of the airport, the city's scent rushed to meet me. I think of it as a mixture of durian (imagined, I'm sure), the sweat of 5 million residents, and the sea air mixed to form the peculiarly Singaporean smell. It's actually quite lovely, and I was glad to let it envelop me. The recognition of the scent made me feel at home, and I sunk into it.

I may not have the greatest memory for things that happened, people I've met, or books I've read. But waft the mixed scent of gas and grass under my nose, and I can place myself into the shed of our first house in Baton Rouge. It's a powerful thing, the nose. Thanks be!

Waiting at the nearly-there

I'm sitting at Chicago's O'Hare airport for the umpteenth time, again waiting on a delayed flight. I should, at this moment, be somewhere in the air over the US on my way to Tokyo en route to my little island-nation. Instead, I'm working on a paper, returning emails, and hoping that the delay doesn't stretch beyond the predicted five hours.

I'm ready to be home.

The rest of my time in Boston was lovely and interesting and delightful and fun, and I had a wonderful time catching up with family and friends in the warm(er) southlands over the last few days. But I am So. Ready. to be home. To be back in my office, on the bus or the bike, drinking coffee at my coffeeshop, cooking quinoa and black beans in my kitchen. I like my routines. I love to travel and explore, but after a month I want to be home. Putting aside the discombobulation of living out of a suitcase, depending on others for rides, and constantly pulling out a map. Settling back in.

Three more hours until the flight, 14 hours in the air, and a layover somewhere in there. Let's get going.

Mid-way

It's been a whirlwind North American trip thus far. I've taken no pictures, seen no great sights, and experienced no once-in-a-lifetime moments. What I have done is catch up with old friends, wander around some of my favorite cities, visit some of my favorite places, and dive deeply into the life that I've missed since I left. It's been good. So good. Damn, I know some interesting, lovely, and delightful people!

The funny thing, though?

I actually find myself missing Singapore.

I do miss things here. Being in Chicago (in my old apartment building, no less, with my old neighbors who I miss SoMuch) made me remember how much I love it there. DC is always a good place to wander, and the Ethiopian food was something I've sorely missed. Toronto was lovely and snowy and beautifully Canadian, and I had forgotten (in the ten years since I've been here) how stunning and compact Boston is. The overwhelming feeling I've had since being back is "cozy" - something I rarely experience on the Red Dot. There's something about coming in from a cold day to take off the coat and gloves and scarf and boots. Something about curling up under a blanket with a book or the computer (because work must get done, of course) on my lap. Something about seasons and short days and long nights. I can't live forever without snow and wool and soup.

But my life is in Singapore now. My things, my routines. I'm loving this trip and everything about it. But I will be ready to return home when the time comes. I often find myself looking back, trying to make sense of the stories in my past, working to identify patterns and continue the good ones while halting the bad ones. I don't always do a great job of that, and I sometimes get stuck. Now is the time to appreciate where I am, and look forward to the future. Working on it.

Working on it.

Heading off, again

...and so the travels continue! Today has been spent packing, running errands, doing laundry, and taking care of the myriad tasks that are the precursors to a long trip. As of early tomorrow morning, I will be heading off for a month-long, multi-city tour of North America - hurrah! Some work, some play, some uncertainty, some things to definitely look forward to. It's funny that I've finally felt of late that I'm hitting my stride here, just in time to leave. I'll miss (don't laugh) my office and my colleagues, but thankfully will have the chance to see some of them while away. I'm anxious to see how it feels to be back after being gone.

Tomorrow - Central Time Zone!

Christmas 2011, In which I go for a rather steep walk (Part 3)

Our room for the night was densely packed with three sets of bunk beds, all of which were adorned with wet clothing and rucksacks. Orchid and I shared the room with four other hikers - two Indians via way of Australia, and a couple who I believe were Dutch. When I opened my pack to take out my night clothes, I was hit with the realization that everything in the bag was wet. My clothes, granola bars, papers, passport...Despite having secured things in plastic bags inside the pack and securing the poncho over, the rain had seeped in through the zipper and the fabric of the pack itself. I sighed, and bundled myself as well as I could in damp leggings, a skirt, and a t-shirt, read for a bit, and turned over for a restless night. While our bunkmates snored merrily, Orchid, who is apparently a fellow insomniac, and I counted the squeaks of the springs as we tossed and turned and searched for the elusive specter of sleep. Despite my misgivings about the early hour, I was relieved when alarms started going off at 1:45.

Did I mention that the second day of the hike starts at 2:30 AM?

The six of us groggily started packing our things, all lamenting the ever-present dampness. Never mind though, after cleaning ourselves as best we could in the cold shower, securing our packs, and brushing our teeth, we all headed downstairs where there was a promise of coffee. At Laban Rasa, you begin the day with an early breakfast to prepare you for the hike ahead. I sank into my coffee and noodles-with-egg, and gave thanks for warmth, friendly companions, and the knowledge that I would, at some point that day, get to take a real shower. At 2:40, Nani met us at the door and we began the next part of the climb, adorned with headlamps and bundled against the cold. The rain, miraculously, had stopped for a bit, and we caught glimpses of stars in the blackness above.

The second day's hike starts with a trek through the blackness up to the summit for sunrise. 2.7 K, which sounds like...not much, really. Less than two miles? I walk that and more every day. But this...is uphill. Steeply uphill. And it's dark. And it's slippery from the previous day's rain. And did I mention that it's uphill?

The altitude began to get to me a bit here. Or the fatigue. Or the constant climb up slippery steps. Thankfully, the trail is fairly narrow here, and so you really only move at the pace of the slowest person in front of you (all of the groups leave around the same time). I was able to take a good number of breaks without disturbing the pace too much, for which I was immensely grateful. There's not much noise outside at that time of day - the climbers are too tired and breathless, and of course there's no traffic - so you plod through the quiet darkness, with a string of lights ahead and behind you indicating the headlamps of the other climbers.

Strangely enough, this was perhaps my favorite part of the climb. You couldn't really see the scenery, beyond passing glimpses of the lights of the towns far below, it was cold, and the climb was daunting. But it's quietly solitary, particularly as the hikers string out more along the trail, and it's very focused in the present. There's no dwelling on past imperfect or future uncertain - there's only present tense. Where is my foot now, and where should it be next? Stay upright. Don't go too fast. Maintain a slow and steady pace.

It was, in short, the part of the climb most removed from how I normally live, and I sank deeply into it.

We passed the tree line, and emerged onto the very rocky face of the remainder of the climb. You pass through a small checkpoint where they check your badge and remind you to use the rope.

Did I mention the rope?

Parts of the climb are really steep at this point, it's pretty much bare rock face, and (yes, again) it had been raining. The rocks are slick, so there's a guide rope attached to the rock. And you will use it. To haul yourself up, hand over hand, not quite daring to look behind and below.

The rope (at a less steep bit where I was willing to take a photo)

It's hard.

The altitude, the minimal upper body strength, and the mental and physical fatigue all came together to make it difficult to take the next step. Thankfully, Nani got me past some rough patches and reminded me to take it slow. That's the only way to do it. So I walked, pulled, rested, sat when I could, and plodded, one foot in front of the other.

And the reward? Was amazing.

I promise that's me - the full pic will not go up :-)

Sunrise

 

 

My pictures don't do it justice, but it is astoundingly beautiful. Small towns and cities below, rock all around, the tree line emerging beneath you, standing above the clouds. It's worth the climb, the bad sleep, the cold, and the wet. It's a proud moment, when the sun comes up and you see how far you've come.

Orchid, Nani, Fit, me and Everest - sleepy but accomplished

The climb down is easier, but more difficult, if that makes any sense. All those steps you came up yesterday? You go down today - the full 8.7K on top of the 2.7K you did to start the morning. At the top of the climb I was grateful that we had climbed up in the dark - seeing the terrain in the light was quite scary, particularly when going backward while hanging on to the rope! Breakfast (the real one) at Laban Rasa breaks up the descent a bit, but by the end our knees ached (I think I pulled my IT band), our toes were numb from slamming against the front of our shoes, and we were all ready to hit a shower.

But it was so worth it, and I can't wait for the next climb.