Unexpected

Never in a million years would I guess I’d be speaking Spanish and eating burgers with strangers from Barcelona in Indonesia.

Yet here I am.

Today I was stuck in a place where – both geographically and emotionally – I did not want to be.

Coming into Indonesia, I was mentally prepared to handle this adventure on my own. At the eleventh hour – as it always happens – I connected with a friend I met 8 years ago in Argentina, and we agreed to meet for a post-Christmas island trip. I settled into traveling with her so easily that it left me a little blindsided when she departed, socking me in the gut with loneliness. For the first time since I left home, I felt homesick (only 2 weeks in! GAH!). It was all too easy to enjoy the comfort of the familiar – catching up with an old friend after years spent apart, reminiscing about our time in Argentina, even just speaking English at my usual pace, with my usual slang – it all felt lovely. So when she left, I was left again to my own devices. Even though I initially set out to embrace my time alone, it was so much easier – especially emotionally – to handle everything with a buddy. I don’t think I would have enjoyed the nightly whole-island blackouts half as much if we hadn’t been in the dark together.

I followed my friend to Seminyak and we had a fine time our one night there. We would part ways in the morning; she would continue her adventure to Thailand, and I would go wherever the wind blew me. Or so I thought.

I was stuck in a cheap hotel in a busy/noisy/touristy area that left a lot to be desired after experiencing the warm welcome of Ubud and quiet coolness of Lembongan. I tried to arrange for a taxi to get the hell out, really to anywhere they’d take me away from this less-than-serene spot. It’s a popular place for lots of reasons, but it had no place in the quiet, reflective journey I desired. The noise, traffic, fancy boutiques and parties were not what I came for. I asked the front desk for help arranging to leave, and they made me feel like such a bother. Taxis would not even come to the hotel because traffic was too heavy; they knew they would get stuck, just like I was. What was meant to be a mere pass-through started to feel like a prison.

I sat in the one and only seat in the hotel lobby all day, my stomach still angry after a miserable 24-hour bout of Bali Belly, with no bathroom, no air conditioning, spotty wifi, and dwindling hope that I would be able to get out of my trap.

These unexpected frustrations had stolen my sense of adventure for the moment, leaving me with a sour mood that didn’t match the Bali bliss I had found so far. I felt like a total stinker, and it was my own dang fault I was in this pickle in the first place. My spontaneous “planning” (I use that term very loosely) philosophy had finally taken a wrong turn.

After literal hours of reaching dead ends in pursuit of an escape plan, I ran across a lovely guesthouse near where I wanted to be (which, truthfully, was anywhere away from this Godforsaken hotel). The Spanish owner, German, got back to me in a jiffy.

All his rooms were full. All I could think was, “ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME???”

But he offered to help. His place was full, but he would find a place for me nearby. He sent a driver to pick me up since no local drivers would bring me there. I had been waiting for hours, unable to even help myself due to language barriers, disagreeable taxis, limited wifi and a lack of planning. And he solved all of my problems in minutes.

A few more hours later in what felt like one of the longer days of my life, I arrived at the guesthouse and German asked my favorite question – “would you like a coffee?” (The answer is always, ALWAYS “yes!”). The smile instantly returned to my face.

We sat and chitchatted. I practiced my Spanish and he told me the story of how he ended up in Indonesia (one of my other favorite questions – you always get an interesting story!). He messaged some friends and found a place for me to stay. He took me and all my things to another guesthouse up the street, showed me around as though it were his place – and offered to pick me up later for dinner with his Spanish friends who just arrived in town, if I was interested. (Yes yes YES, I was!). He treated me like a friend.

As German started to leave to allow me to settle in, I threw my arms out to hug him. I could tell I surprised him, but he handled it gracefully. I wasn’t even a paying guest at his property (yet – I moved there a few days later) and he had generously given his time and effort to help me, a complete stranger. No words in any language could express my gratitude for his help and his kindness.

I stepped into the warm shower to wash the day away – outdoors, stars shining overhead – and it began to rain. Warm beads of water from the shower and cool droplets from the dark sky overhead rolled down my skin, and I began to laugh. Hard. Out came all the sourness, the frustration, the negativity from earlier in the day. As unfamiliar as this place was, I had found such familiarity and comfort in a language that isn’t even my own, and in a person that, as of an hour ago, was a complete stranger. The unexpected strangeness of all this produced a laugh so deep that my belly ached and I fought to keep sound from coming out, lest I disturb my very new neighbors. And with that laugh, the stink face I had been sporting most of the day melted away into the beads of water. I took a deep breath and felt a gorgeous, deep release.

Every single bit of this day was totally unexpected; the second half of this day became one of my favorites so far.