I have begun my first week here in Banda Aceh, Indonesia, and feel it is time that I enter the world of the wired and begin my first blog. Shortly I will be adding pictures to compliment my less than stellar prose. This blog will be for friends and family, a way to keep in touch without me having to send those miserable group emails. This way you can chose to check in and read my blabbering incoherent take on things or you can chose to skip it, there is no obligation to read and I do not become part of your spam (but remember, this is not meant to replace the personal emails).

To maintain autonomy over this blog I will refrain from making specific references to the organization that I am working for, rather, I will call it my ‘NGO’ or some variation of this.

I do not know how often I will update; it will have a lot to do with time, energy and the amount of worthwhile stories I have to tell. I hope you enjoy this and maybe together we can make me sound more normal (and less like the tool that this first entry makes me sound).

For most who know me you know that Mr. Bear is the one consistency in my life: from childhood to undergrad, from undergrad to Peace Corps (PC), from PC to NY, from NY to DC (and Graduate school), from DC to Indonesia, he has always come along for the ride. So off to Me and Mr. Bear: Man-Up…side down.

The Flight

I left my apartment, a sad, sad goodbye to a great little place with a world of memories, and headed to the airport at 3:30pm on Thursday the 28th of September. I made it to the check-in counter at 4, they finished checking me in at 6:30, and there was no line. My 2 extra bags, and a trip with 5 different legs to it, forced them to create some new math-formula for charging me (approximately 435$ for the two bags) and required them to manually “organize” luggage tracking tags. They actually used tape to “laminate” the tags. I was a bit annoyed but at least I would have time to grab a water before I hoped on the plane…Oops, no, I had to pay the excess baggage and the credit card reader was not reading…so 7:00pm and I am off to my 7:10pm check-in, as you all know I have limitless patience so this was of course no problem for me. I dashed through the airport, passing a shifty-eyed man who was trying to smuggle 50 cans of tuna-fish on the plane in his carry on and was inexplicable let-on after answering the inevitable question of why: “I really like tuna fish,” the man was flying to Newark.

I am tired, cranky and hungry but I am in-line to board…crash, wiz, bang. Thunder! All flights were grounded. To cut to the chase a storm grounded my flight. Since I now had time, I went to the duty free shop where I managed to break a bottle of 60$ cologne and get in an argument with a counter girl who did not think I should be allowed to make duty free purchases: it ended with me pointing at her and very gently saying repeatedly: “you are rude, very rude madam,” until I started to giggle and had to flee. Karma! The next flight was canceled. This was very bad because I was going from Newark to Singapore at 11pm and this now looked impossible. I was back in line, an hour-and-a-half later it was my turn at the Continental desk. The young woman could not have been sweeter, she loved the NGO I was working for and did everything she could to get me on a plane.

She found me a flight on United. That meant racing to the baggage claim getting all 250lbs of baggage and racing across the airport to check in at the United counter. They too created their own math (approximately 655$) and another series of homemade baggage claim tags and I was off, racing through security for a second time, to catch the final boarding call for a flight to London. Desperately hungry and tired I now was seated and off!

In London I had about an hour to race through the airport to grab my connecting flight to Malaysia but that flight was great. I was able to sleep for the first time in nearly a week. Well rested, for the first time since the whole process began I started to contemplate what I was doing and where I was going—I was on my way to a new life and a new world.

The Kuala Lumpur airport, in Malaysia, is one of the best I have ever been, they had every kind of store imaginable and I bought some great cologne at duty free—word of warning, they work on commission and every time I went in I had to say no thank-you on average about six times. Seven relaxing hours later I was off to Medan smelling good and looking happy…

Medan is the worst airport ever. I was pawed, my bags were pawed, I was pushed and pulled by everyone and it smelled like a mixture of old body odor, stale cigarettes and ear wax. Of course I had less than an hour to go through customs; it would be much easier this time since two of my bags did not arrive. I was so drained and stressed that it was almost relieving not to have to haul my extra bags along through that miserable airport.

After about 20 minutes of endlessly being poked and touched (as well as being bathed in that stench) I was on my way to Banda Aceh. An hour later an angel appeared holding a sign with my name on it and a car waiting. It was 5pm on Saturday the 30th of September.

Home Sweet Home

That angel was a 35 year old Indonesian man but standing just a few short feet from him was the women I was here to “replace.” She took me to my temporary house for the night where I was able to hear the sounds of prayers being blared in Arabic on the loud speakers, you can hear them in all parts of Banda Aceh year round, yet they hold a specific importance during this holy month of Ramadan. It’s a soothing sound; the rhythm of the prayers has a trancelike quality that encourages reflection. We are in the good parts of Ramadan, it is early so the fasting has not taken its toll on the people yet.

Once in my new room I was able to shower and use a non-moving bathroom for the first time in days. Too anxious to sleep I called the girl I was succeeding and she sent a car to pick me up for a little dinner party at her place. It was an expat dinner party for a few people that are leaving. We had crab, prawns, chicken, spinach, beef and a whole fish. The eight of us dinned on an amazing meal prepared by a girl who works for another NGO in the area. We followed this by several drinks and a tarot card reading by our drunken cook. It was a nice, if not odd, welcoming to Banda Aceh.

The next night was Sunday and an office goodbye for the women who was I was replacing, they showered her with the kind of love and attention that only comes from genuine appreciation, it was clear that she was truly respected and loved in her office. After having spent a few days with her I know why, I find myself lamenting the fact that she is going—she is a special person and I thank her for all that she has done for me, this has to be one of the easiest transitions I have ever witnessed.