.....Hello everybody!
I would like to apologize for not posting anything from my last month in Indonesia. I had a wonderful time scuba diving and taking more dance classes. I was just way too busy to spend time on the computer!!! I'm now home safely and planning my next Asia Adventure--scheduled for spring 2010 to Korea.
So...stay tuned for....
AsiaAdventure2010
In memorial
May 21
After many long weeks of mourning my lost camera and abstaining from picture taking, I feel it is finally time to move on.
After many long weeks of mourning my lost camera and abstaining from picture taking, I feel it is finally time to move on.
Goodbye old camera. I will miss you.
Hello sexy new red camera!!!!!
Indonesia!
We finally made it out of Malaysia and into Indonesia. We are way behind schedule.(And I still don't have a camera so I have to stifle my creativity. I couldn't refuse taking a picture with these masks that a salesman was trying to sell us our first day in Jakarta, so I had to borrow Staci's camera.)
Happy 30th Birthday to me!
Semporna, Malaysia
May 15
The big 3-0.
During our first day of diving, our dive master found out that my 30th birthday would be in a few days. He said that a party had already been planned for that day for two of the employees who were completing their dive master certification. He also said that I should stick around and the party could also be for my birthday!!! Staci and I really hadn’t planned on spending so many days in Semporna, but once I decided to do my underwater photography class and the extra night dive, it worked out to be able to celebrate my birthday with them.
(Sorry, no pictures. I’m still mourning the loss of my old camera so I haven’t bought a new one. And even if I did….what happens at a 30th birthday party in Malaysia, stays in Malaysia.)
May 15
The big 3-0.
During our first day of diving, our dive master found out that my 30th birthday would be in a few days. He said that a party had already been planned for that day for two of the employees who were completing their dive master certification. He also said that I should stick around and the party could also be for my birthday!!! Staci and I really hadn’t planned on spending so many days in Semporna, but once I decided to do my underwater photography class and the extra night dive, it worked out to be able to celebrate my birthday with them.
After spending several days diving with Scuba Junkie, I was lucky enough to have made many friends, both at the dive shop and other travelers. I’m so glad I stayed because we all had a wonderful time celebrating. Of course, I missed spending the time with family and friends, but it was a birthday party that will not quickly be forgotten.
(Sorry, no pictures. I’m still mourning the loss of my old camera so I haven’t bought a new one. And even if I did….what happens at a 30th birthday party in Malaysia, stays in Malaysia.)
Scuba Junkie
Semporna, Malaysia
May 11
After finishing our exploration of the jungle, we were ready to do some exploring under the sea.
Can you spot the pygmy sea horse in this fan coral?
(If anybody wants to get me a belated birthday present, I need the Waterproof Case WP-DC31!! Hint! Hint!)
May 11
After finishing our exploration of the jungle, we were ready to do some exploring under the sea.
We journeyed to Mabul Island and hooked up with a scuba diving outfit called Scuba Junkie. It proved to be one of the most memorable few days of my trip. Being PADI open water certified, but with only about 13 dives under my (weight) belt, I was pleased to notice a great improvement in my diving skills during my 7 dives in Malaysia. I was much more comfortable under the water than ever before. After the three dives on the first day, I was hooked. I did my first night dive the next day and enjoyed it immensely. As a birthday present to myself, I rented an underwater camera and took the PADI Underwater Digital Photography class, which consisted of 3 more dives and a course book that I had to read and answer questions.
I can remember back to my first dives in Hawaii when I brought along a cheap underwater film camera but was so stressed out at just trying to breath and stay alive that I forgot completely about taking pictures. I was amazed at how much I had grown as a diver, when I was able to control my breathing and buoyancy enough to stay virtually still long enough to really focus on taking some truly amazing pictures. I was in love with underwater photography. I most certainly will have to invest in a new camera and the underwater case that goes with it.
Can you spot the pygmy sea horse in this fan coral?(If anybody wants to get me a belated birthday present, I need the Waterproof Case WP-DC31!! Hint! Hint!)
Welcome to the Jungle
Malaysian Borneo
First couple weeks in May
We went to the jungle.
We saw some monkeys.
It was fun.
The end.
(I am way behind on my blog, so this is my attempt at catching up. Plus, since my camera was stolen, either the pictures from these places were stolen, or none were taken due to the lack of camera.)
First couple weeks in May
We went to the jungle.
We saw some monkeys.
It was fun.
The end.
(I am way behind on my blog, so this is my attempt at catching up. Plus, since my camera was stolen, either the pictures from these places were stolen, or none were taken due to the lack of camera.)
Kota Kinabulu, Borneo, Malaysia
May 1
During an evening out on the town in Kota Kinabulu, I had the most unfortunate luck of getting my purse stolen.
Up until this point, I had been surprised at how safe this area of the world was in terms of personal belongings. They trusted each other so much that we soon trusted them too. During long bus rides, the driver would stop every few hours for us all to get out and use the restrooms and get food and drinks. Everybody left their belongings on the bus without thinking twice. At first we were wary, but we soon learned to relax and trust them. We were also often leaving our bags in “storage” if we arrived at a hostel before check-in, or wanted to explore without our bags after check-out. This “storage” area, when staying at most hostels, was just an area near the counter, not really locked up. But nothing was ever taken. Possibly, it is the combination of religion (both Muslim and Buddhism are devoutly practiced), the fact that everybody knows everybody, and the deeply held desire to save face, but the result is a region that you feel very safe in.
Until your purse gets stolen.
I must admit that it was really my fault. I should not have taken off my purse to play pool, but I did. I took it off and set it down on a bench that was right by the pool table, only to go back after the game and realize the purse was nowhere to be found. I immediately informed all the men in the pool hall that my purse had been stolen. Most of them did not speak English, but soon the word got around in Malay what had happened. After some discussion, it was decided that the person who most likely stole the purse was a young guy that nobody really knew because he was from a different province. And he was long gone by this point. Several of the men went out in search of him while we called the police. We went to the police station so I could fill out a police report but there was really nothing to be done. Inside the purse, I had several hundred ringgits (Malaysian money), my cell phone, my camera and various odds and ends, such as a notebook that I had been using to take notes, hand sanitizer and chapstick.
Luckily, I had a support group back home that was on the job 24/7 so that my phone number could almost immediately be suspended. There was nothing I could do about the camera and money though. The camera had been well used and was starting to show many signs of its age. It was nearly time for an upgrade anyway. I had rather hoped that the camera would last until I got back to the States so I could take my time researching a new one, but it wasn’t in the cards for me. There were several days worth of pictures on the memory card that I hadn’t copied to my laptop yet. Those will be gone forever and that is, by far, the most painful thing for me to lose. That is why there is quite a date gap in this blog, because I have no pictures to show.
By the next day, it had really sunk in what had happened. I felt so sad that I didn’t feel like sight-seeing so I spent the entire day alone. For some reason, I was drawn back to the pool hall where my purse was stolen. Maybe part of me had hope that it would show back up, or somebody would find it. Maybe I needed to be there to really say goodbye and get closure. For some reason, or many reasons, I wanted to be back in the same place that the loss had occurred. So I went there and sat in a chair near the bench for many, many hours just thinking. Thinking and crying. I kept thinking about all the pictures I had lost and tears would come to my eyes. I felt intense hatred for the guy that had stolen the purse because he had also stolen my trust in the Malaysian people. When I thought of this lost trust, hot tears would fall down my face. For the first time, I felt vulnerable and bitterly cautious of everybody. Every new person that walked into the place was scrutinized, as I searched for the face of the young man that had stolen my purse. I thought he might return. I don’t know what I would have done if he did come back, but I looked for him regardless. I could trust no one. It made me so sad. I’m sure everybody there thought that I was a crazy white person for just sitting for hours, staring into space and crying every once in a while. But I didn’t care. Soon, very soon, my story had been spread throughout the pool hall. There were several guys that worked there that recognized me from the night before. They talked to me and tried to make me feel better. They also told my story to all those that didn’t speak English. I knew that my story was being told because I could hear the words “camera” and “cell phone” and “passport” mixed into sentences of Malay from all around the pool hall. It was rather humorous. My story started with those near me but pretty soon, it spread clear around the room. From across the three pool tables, I could hear the words “camera” and “cell phone” make it around the room. Guys would leave and new guys would come. They would notice me and ask and be filled in on the events of the night before…”camera”…”passport”….."cell phone”….
Some of the old men actually came up to me and in their very limited English, asked for my version of the story. They would ask what was stolen and I would tell them. Then they would ask “Passport?” and I would say no, I still had that, luckily. They would express sympathy and support and then they would go back to watching pool. One of the workers gave me a cold bottle of water. One gave me a napkin for my tears. One of the customers bought me some corn on the cob from the little child vendor passing through the pool hall. (I had been so depressed that I hadn’t eaten for hours, so it was a very welcome snack.) Slowly, through the kindness and sympathy of these strangers, the anger I was feeling toward all Malaysians eventually dispersed. I was able to eventually say goodbye to the stolen pictures of so many memories and I finally felt at peace.
May 1
During an evening out on the town in Kota Kinabulu, I had the most unfortunate luck of getting my purse stolen.
Up until this point, I had been surprised at how safe this area of the world was in terms of personal belongings. They trusted each other so much that we soon trusted them too. During long bus rides, the driver would stop every few hours for us all to get out and use the restrooms and get food and drinks. Everybody left their belongings on the bus without thinking twice. At first we were wary, but we soon learned to relax and trust them. We were also often leaving our bags in “storage” if we arrived at a hostel before check-in, or wanted to explore without our bags after check-out. This “storage” area, when staying at most hostels, was just an area near the counter, not really locked up. But nothing was ever taken. Possibly, it is the combination of religion (both Muslim and Buddhism are devoutly practiced), the fact that everybody knows everybody, and the deeply held desire to save face, but the result is a region that you feel very safe in.
Until your purse gets stolen.
I must admit that it was really my fault. I should not have taken off my purse to play pool, but I did. I took it off and set it down on a bench that was right by the pool table, only to go back after the game and realize the purse was nowhere to be found. I immediately informed all the men in the pool hall that my purse had been stolen. Most of them did not speak English, but soon the word got around in Malay what had happened. After some discussion, it was decided that the person who most likely stole the purse was a young guy that nobody really knew because he was from a different province. And he was long gone by this point. Several of the men went out in search of him while we called the police. We went to the police station so I could fill out a police report but there was really nothing to be done. Inside the purse, I had several hundred ringgits (Malaysian money), my cell phone, my camera and various odds and ends, such as a notebook that I had been using to take notes, hand sanitizer and chapstick.
Luckily, I had a support group back home that was on the job 24/7 so that my phone number could almost immediately be suspended. There was nothing I could do about the camera and money though. The camera had been well used and was starting to show many signs of its age. It was nearly time for an upgrade anyway. I had rather hoped that the camera would last until I got back to the States so I could take my time researching a new one, but it wasn’t in the cards for me. There were several days worth of pictures on the memory card that I hadn’t copied to my laptop yet. Those will be gone forever and that is, by far, the most painful thing for me to lose. That is why there is quite a date gap in this blog, because I have no pictures to show.
By the next day, it had really sunk in what had happened. I felt so sad that I didn’t feel like sight-seeing so I spent the entire day alone. For some reason, I was drawn back to the pool hall where my purse was stolen. Maybe part of me had hope that it would show back up, or somebody would find it. Maybe I needed to be there to really say goodbye and get closure. For some reason, or many reasons, I wanted to be back in the same place that the loss had occurred. So I went there and sat in a chair near the bench for many, many hours just thinking. Thinking and crying. I kept thinking about all the pictures I had lost and tears would come to my eyes. I felt intense hatred for the guy that had stolen the purse because he had also stolen my trust in the Malaysian people. When I thought of this lost trust, hot tears would fall down my face. For the first time, I felt vulnerable and bitterly cautious of everybody. Every new person that walked into the place was scrutinized, as I searched for the face of the young man that had stolen my purse. I thought he might return. I don’t know what I would have done if he did come back, but I looked for him regardless. I could trust no one. It made me so sad. I’m sure everybody there thought that I was a crazy white person for just sitting for hours, staring into space and crying every once in a while. But I didn’t care. Soon, very soon, my story had been spread throughout the pool hall. There were several guys that worked there that recognized me from the night before. They talked to me and tried to make me feel better. They also told my story to all those that didn’t speak English. I knew that my story was being told because I could hear the words “camera” and “cell phone” and “passport” mixed into sentences of Malay from all around the pool hall. It was rather humorous. My story started with those near me but pretty soon, it spread clear around the room. From across the three pool tables, I could hear the words “camera” and “cell phone” make it around the room. Guys would leave and new guys would come. They would notice me and ask and be filled in on the events of the night before…”camera”…”passport”….."cell phone”….
Some of the old men actually came up to me and in their very limited English, asked for my version of the story. They would ask what was stolen and I would tell them. Then they would ask “Passport?” and I would say no, I still had that, luckily. They would express sympathy and support and then they would go back to watching pool. One of the workers gave me a cold bottle of water. One gave me a napkin for my tears. One of the customers bought me some corn on the cob from the little child vendor passing through the pool hall. (I had been so depressed that I hadn’t eaten for hours, so it was a very welcome snack.) Slowly, through the kindness and sympathy of these strangers, the anger I was feeling toward all Malaysians eventually dispersed. I was able to eventually say goodbye to the stolen pictures of so many memories and I finally felt at peace.
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