I title this blog quite appropriately "Buger King" because at 9 pm Sunday that is exactly where we found ourselves. After a long weekend vacation at the popular resort destination, Bintan, Indonesia, there was no where else, or nothing else really that any one of us wanted except to be in the Home of The Whopper. Let me explain...
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To celebrate our first official weekend in Singapore, us internationals decided that a trip abroad was in order. Left with the task of organizing, planning, and recruiting, the trip was to have some specifically Sarah Howell, or if not, girl flavour: i.e. one girl, eight boys.
So, one plus eight we set off on Puke Ferry to our exotique beach getaway.
Upon arrival, all thoughts of exoticism flew out the window. For those laboured in the backpacker travels-- you know what I'm talking about... 'nough said (Except for Shit River-- more on that later).
You may wonder, as I did and still do, what it's like to be a girl travelling with a Troop of young men. Like anything, there are high's and low's. (On a side note: luckily The Island was not void of other beach-seeker-girls.) However, normals aside, I truly don't think our weekend would have unfolded the way it did given the prescence of more estrogen...
I have never in my life counted minutes till death:
Unfortunately this weekend we were all reminded of the power of the Ocean. What started off as a peaceful afternoon sun bathing on some rocks by the sea, turned into a frantic rescue mission for Bass.
Three of the boys had ventured out past the Break in chase of the waves. The mid-day change of the ocean's tides suddenly caught them off guard. Before they knew it, things had gotten really real, real quick. Bass was unable to outswim the under swell. Too fatigued to fight the current, he had to be held up by the other two (also coincidentally trying to hold themselves up).
From the time the others on the beach had clued on to drowing Bass to the time that Bass was pulled out of the water something like fifteen minutes had gone by. Under normal circumstances, this would have been an embarrasing time lapse on our part, but we had picked a near deserted spot to swim.
Seeking out the locals was our first obstacle, then getting them to understand us without speaking our language was our second. We were given one life jacket. For three guys. As Will set out in the water with the one and only safety floatation device we had, I hoped on a motor bike with one of the locals, Bikini and all (or nothing.... keeping in mind this is a Muslim country), in search of other life vests.
By the time I returned with the only other two life vests for miles, Will had managed to hand Bass the life jacket and luckily the others were able to muster up enough strength to swim past the swell and back to shore.
I walked back onto the beach to find four boys, panting, but luckily, beached.
While holding the two extra life vests I thought to myself what a mess this would have been if help had only arrived now. I could see on Bass' face that he had been counting minutes.
Then, one fell down:
On our last morning some of the boys had decided to rent motorbikes and ride around the Island. Somehow-- and yet unexpectedly at this point-- within the first half hour of their departure Mike comes roaring back for help: Shane had crashed his bike.
After setting off, riding along the one and only paved road on the Island, taking in the fresh air and warm sun Shane had decided to follow his instinct: drive on the Right side. Unfortunately, by the time the others had realized he was on the Wrong side of the road a car surprised him around a bend. Looking to avoid head on collision, Shane swerved off the road, skidding bike and body.
Damage: arm scrapes, wrist cuts, toe sores, and knee flesh.
Overall, it could have been worse. Like Bass' incident, much worse. The big crack on Shane's helmet said it all.
Dear Yenny, you would have be proud of me now. I got past the big flab of flesh just dangling off his knee, along with the swarm of flies feeding off his open sores, and proceeded to disinfect and bandage him up. My tools: Alcohol and Band-aids. Definitely a patch-work opperation.
---
Overall, our first weekend away wasn't all scary. But sitting in the comfort Buger King we promised one another that this was a learning curve, and that from here on out our trips would be safer, saner, and filled with much more estrogen for both our sanity and safety.
---
Some comedic relief:
At 'Backpackers Paradise' there was a creek that separated us from the other resorts down along the beach. When we first arrived, its smell was a background issue and we plugged through its waters willingly and excitidly without much hesitation over to the other side. Soon enough, however, we slowly clued in that this creek was where our bathroom issues were being flushed...
With the simplicity of trudging across now out of the question we turned to Plan B: long jump.
You would see various individuals at various points and times throughout the day setting up for the jump: knees bent, toes dug into the sand preparing for the launch up into the air and, hopefully, over on over to the other bank. You would know right away if they had succeedded or not based on their cry of success or utter disgust.
One night, some one had started plan C: catapulting across with a bamboo stick.
If you have ever seen or touched a bamboo stick you should be thinking to yourself right about now: Brilliant! Absolutely fucking brilliant-- bamboo is highly inflexible! So you can imagine how many cries of disgust this idea brought with it...
Onto Plan D:
Coming back from a party late one night I decided to lay out the bamboo stick as a walking plank connecting the two banks. Good Idea: Most people have enough balance to walk the couple feet and bamboo is fairly strong.
Or so I thought...
While trying to fall asleep that night to the peaceful humming of the tides I suddently hear a loud crack, then a plop, and then a "Oh-HHH-h Shit!"
Poor soul.
I hope the lack of showering facilities didn't encumber his night too much...
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Sunday, January 10, 2010
"Computer Says No"
It was written in my cards that this trip would be a success. I know this because a Fortune Cookie told me so, literally:
"A new venture will be a success."
On the eve of my departure from the Motherland, Canada, Fate had cunningly handed to me a series of words that would prove to mean a world of encouragement. Funny how life works out, and funny how a Fortune Cookie was enough to get me through Day 1 (...or 2 if you take into account time zones).
I had wanted an adventure, and an adventure I got...
--
The Big Day started off early in Edmonton, bumble-cold-fuck-no-where, and eerily reminiscent of Little Britain's David Williams skit as the infamous banker, Carol Beer (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carol_Beer). Yet this time, rather than some bank-wishing customer being denied access, it's my trusted Air Canada flight agent that looks up at me and says, "Computer says no...". I was being told that the system would not process me to go through to Singapore, my final destination, due to visa requirements.
My immediate thought: Oh FUCK.
The rational follow up: No Fucking Way. My Fortune Cooked at last night's Chinese meal predicted success. And anyways, I tried to inform her, Canadians were on the non-visa required list for Singapore.
Unfortunately, handling agents don't have access beyond flights and schedules and it's not their problem if the airline suddenly decides to deny a customer. So, after being asked what my plan B was, and realizing that Edmonton and the whole 1/3 of a person I knew there would offer no solution to my problem I decided to jump on an earlier flight out to Vancouver and hopefully try out my luck with Air China once there.
Without delay, I hop onto an earlier flight out to the City of Olympic Mania and, hopefully, the answer to my problems.
Upon arrival, I wait out the check-in queue for a second time only to be promptly told, again, by Air China that, no can do: no visa, no Singapore. Two strikes, I'm panicking.
The last flight of the week with an available seat (my seat!) leaves for Beijing in exactly 40 minutes. In the meanwhile, we try to contact the Singaporean embassy, customs, immigration, other airliners, etc. and all to no avail. No one is open, or responding, or has any answer. The agent looks at me and flatly tells me that there is absolutely nothing else they can do for me at this point. (Enter tears).
"Let's put you back on a flight to Edmonton so that you can sort it out there," she offers.
No! I don't want to go back-wards. Edmonton-- as already established-- is never the answer.
"Well, what about Vancouver? Any family, friends, place you can stay for a while?"
For a while? No! I don't have for a while! Nor do I have a Vancouver connection!! (In hindsight, I did: Erin O. But Erin or not I wanted Singapore-- and that's what I was going to get! We would have had fun though, Erin and I...).
So, after consulting with a slew of other agents I decided to take a chance and fly to China with no certainty that they would allow me to fly on to Singapore once arrived.
Time check: T minus 5 minutes till gates close. (Exit tears).
With fresh adrenaline pumping through my blood I hectically sign a forced contract that more or less confers full legal and financial responsibility on my self for my decision to proceed without a green light. As an aspiring law student, I am slightly ashamed at having signed over my soul and, potentially, life in such haste. And for a brief moment I question my decision.
"Just how much money are we potentially talking about here?" I ask the agent before sealing the deal with my name.
"I have no idea," she replies. "It could be nothing... or a lot."
A lot? I sign away.
After thanking the agents profusely (for what!?) I grab my bags and book it through YVR to my gate. Run Forrest run I did. All the while an image played out in my head of me calling my dad, desperately asking for him to bail me out for hundreds of thousands of dollars. "They gave me no choice!" I heard myself say. Because indeed flying back to Edmonton where it was minus 30 or staying in Vancouver where the sky was a straight shade of gray were neither options.
The worst part of the day (aside from being rejected Little Britain style twice) was the 12 hour flight to Beijing.
In total, I had at most 40 minutes of sleep. But even that was restless. I was going to China with no formal okay. If they wanted, they could easily send me back upon arrival, or turn me into Tom Hanks in "Terminal". Adventurous and slightly romantic for the latter, perhaps, but again, not ideal.
Twelve hours and 10 nails later we arrive in Beijing. Every checkpoint has me biting further whatever stubs of nails I have left. Again and again I hold my breath to get by.
And I did. No problem.
Fucking Canada, eh.
After speaking with agents in Beijing and being okay-ed for my final destination we conclude that the Canadian agents fucked up and didn't know what they were talking about (my point exactly all along). So, a few translators later I wait (9 hours, due to delay) for my flight to Singapore. Of course, I don't rest properly until I have securely planted two feet on Singaporean soil. And ironically, I do without any sign of protest from the authorities. Just one question: "Miss-y, can you please declare how long you plan to stay in Singapore for?"
"No idea."
Passport stamped.
--
From now to then, A Lot can happen.
But I am comforted and I smile because a Fortune Cookie plays my cards.
(Closing words of travel journal entry on Jan 7).
"A new venture will be a success."
On the eve of my departure from the Motherland, Canada, Fate had cunningly handed to me a series of words that would prove to mean a world of encouragement. Funny how life works out, and funny how a Fortune Cookie was enough to get me through Day 1 (...or 2 if you take into account time zones).
I had wanted an adventure, and an adventure I got...
--
The Big Day started off early in Edmonton, bumble-cold-fuck-no-where, and eerily reminiscent of Little Britain's David Williams skit as the infamous banker, Carol Beer (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carol_Beer). Yet this time, rather than some bank-wishing customer being denied access, it's my trusted Air Canada flight agent that looks up at me and says, "Computer says no...". I was being told that the system would not process me to go through to Singapore, my final destination, due to visa requirements.
My immediate thought: Oh FUCK.
The rational follow up: No Fucking Way. My Fortune Cooked at last night's Chinese meal predicted success. And anyways, I tried to inform her, Canadians were on the non-visa required list for Singapore.
Unfortunately, handling agents don't have access beyond flights and schedules and it's not their problem if the airline suddenly decides to deny a customer. So, after being asked what my plan B was, and realizing that Edmonton and the whole 1/3 of a person I knew there would offer no solution to my problem I decided to jump on an earlier flight out to Vancouver and hopefully try out my luck with Air China once there.
Without delay, I hop onto an earlier flight out to the City of Olympic Mania and, hopefully, the answer to my problems.
Upon arrival, I wait out the check-in queue for a second time only to be promptly told, again, by Air China that, no can do: no visa, no Singapore. Two strikes, I'm panicking.
The last flight of the week with an available seat (my seat!) leaves for Beijing in exactly 40 minutes. In the meanwhile, we try to contact the Singaporean embassy, customs, immigration, other airliners, etc. and all to no avail. No one is open, or responding, or has any answer. The agent looks at me and flatly tells me that there is absolutely nothing else they can do for me at this point. (Enter tears).
"Let's put you back on a flight to Edmonton so that you can sort it out there," she offers.
No! I don't want to go back-wards. Edmonton-- as already established-- is never the answer.
"Well, what about Vancouver? Any family, friends, place you can stay for a while?"
For a while? No! I don't have for a while! Nor do I have a Vancouver connection!! (In hindsight, I did: Erin O. But Erin or not I wanted Singapore-- and that's what I was going to get! We would have had fun though, Erin and I...).
So, after consulting with a slew of other agents I decided to take a chance and fly to China with no certainty that they would allow me to fly on to Singapore once arrived.
Time check: T minus 5 minutes till gates close. (Exit tears).
With fresh adrenaline pumping through my blood I hectically sign a forced contract that more or less confers full legal and financial responsibility on my self for my decision to proceed without a green light. As an aspiring law student, I am slightly ashamed at having signed over my soul and, potentially, life in such haste. And for a brief moment I question my decision.
"Just how much money are we potentially talking about here?" I ask the agent before sealing the deal with my name.
"I have no idea," she replies. "It could be nothing... or a lot."
A lot? I sign away.
After thanking the agents profusely (for what!?) I grab my bags and book it through YVR to my gate. Run Forrest run I did. All the while an image played out in my head of me calling my dad, desperately asking for him to bail me out for hundreds of thousands of dollars. "They gave me no choice!" I heard myself say. Because indeed flying back to Edmonton where it was minus 30 or staying in Vancouver where the sky was a straight shade of gray were neither options.
The worst part of the day (aside from being rejected Little Britain style twice) was the 12 hour flight to Beijing.
In total, I had at most 40 minutes of sleep. But even that was restless. I was going to China with no formal okay. If they wanted, they could easily send me back upon arrival, or turn me into Tom Hanks in "Terminal". Adventurous and slightly romantic for the latter, perhaps, but again, not ideal.
Twelve hours and 10 nails later we arrive in Beijing. Every checkpoint has me biting further whatever stubs of nails I have left. Again and again I hold my breath to get by.
And I did. No problem.
Fucking Canada, eh.
After speaking with agents in Beijing and being okay-ed for my final destination we conclude that the Canadian agents fucked up and didn't know what they were talking about (my point exactly all along). So, a few translators later I wait (9 hours, due to delay) for my flight to Singapore. Of course, I don't rest properly until I have securely planted two feet on Singaporean soil. And ironically, I do without any sign of protest from the authorities. Just one question: "Miss-y, can you please declare how long you plan to stay in Singapore for?"
"No idea."
Passport stamped.
--
From now to then, A Lot can happen.
But I am comforted and I smile because a Fortune Cookie plays my cards.
(Closing words of travel journal entry on Jan 7).
As Promised...
Before embarking upon my studies abroad I had promised numerous people under numerous guises that I would blog about my adventures. At the time, I admit, this was an absent promise. But within the first 24 hours or so of my trip I decided that there would be a blog-- someone (whoever you are) had to hear this.
I reckon for those suffering through yet another brutal Montreal winter some innocent displacement could do nothing but warm the heart. Also, this a brilliant way for me to log some of my memories in electronic stone. And so, blog I shall!
- Luv Loads, Srah
I reckon for those suffering through yet another brutal Montreal winter some innocent displacement could do nothing but warm the heart. Also, this a brilliant way for me to log some of my memories in electronic stone. And so, blog I shall!
- Luv Loads, Srah
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