I arrived in Jakarta, Indonesia in September 2024 after two full days of travel; of course I was jet-lagged, but barely tired. Too captivated by the neon lights, the hums of the motorbikes, the rich smell of street food surrounding me. Starting my upcoming weeks of backpacking across the island of Java. My first real sense of culture shock (I’d never been outside North America or Europe) felt thrilling. After some issues obtaining a SIM card for my phone and getting it to function, I was in the Gojek (Indonesian Uber) van on the way from the airport to my cheap Agoda hotel. I wasn’t sure what to expect for $3 a night and, well… you get what you pay for.

But my accommodation was the least of my focus. Instead, my eyes were opened wide to the full streets. My brain was working backwards trying to get used to the drivers being on the left side of the road. A full plate of rice and chicken for less than $1 at any street vendor, at any corner? Hell yes! Every morning in Jakarta I’d wake up around sunrise to explore – and anyone who knows me knows I do not get up this early for much of anything. The city was calling, and I couldn’t ignore it. I wanted to see the fish markets in action, bright and early, putrid smell and all. I wanted to feel the weather change from hot to hotter to sweltering sticky inferno. I wanted to dodge the motorbikes while crossing the street – so many of them as early as 5am, off to a restaurant or a construction site or delivering coffees to early morning hotel staff.

And I would stay up all day into the night. I wanted to witness the set-up of the night markets, the blinding bright red and yellow and blue signs advertising for bakso or gado gado or king cobra or plain and simple tea. (I did try the skewered cobra, by the way, roasted evenly on a barbecue grill with snake blood. It was delicious.) I wanted to feel the weather change from sweltering sticky inferno to a more tolerable just hot. I wanted to hear the sounds of the traditional drum marchers in the distance, and see the extravagant costumes. I wanted to see the colorful birds doing tricks in exchange for a few rupiah. I was in awe, and I knew I never wanted this feeling to disappear.

I headed east across Java, mostly by bus. I was pleasantly surprised by the service of the long-haul bus companies in Indonesia, as they were often stocked with snacks and water for us. A few even stopped for an actual buffet that we could stuff our faces with within a 30-minute time frame, included in the cheap price of the bus ticket. I stopped in Bandung, where I experienced my first “floating market” (a common staple, I later learned, across these island countries). A floating market is located in a harbor or on a pier, and all of the vendors are on colorful small boats. It’s a majority of fresh food vendors selling their goods, but there are artisan boats and spice boats and souvenir boats and boats you can take a short ride in and even boats with soup so good I didn’t realize I was eating offal until I was halfway finished with the bowl. Bandung also had tea fields and rice fields far and wide, which was part of the appeal.

I traveled further east to Malang, a city that caught my eye due to its completely blue-colored neighborhood. That was a surreal experience – like being inside a painting, an artwork, a life-size museum exhibition. However, the more memorable event was as I was walking down a trail, I looked up to realize I was walking under webs and webs of the biggest spiders I have seen in my life. They were bigger than an average human hand just… hanging out above me. I didn’t run, but I did walk faster out of that trail than I’d ever walked. 

Bali is where I celebrated my 22nd birthday, on the beach among surfers and locals and other travelers. Enjoying a tiki-style beach fire with a delicious barbecue food table. The reggae Wish You Were Here cover by Alpha Blondy was playing, and I still associate that song with this memory. I spent my birthday morning with the wild and endangered long-tailed macaque monkeys, who are frisky and will try to unzip your bag and steal items if you’re not watching them. Married folks are instructed to take off their wedding rings, women to take off their bracelets: the monkeys will take it. They will also jump on you and play with your hair. If they successfully steal something precious of yours, don’t try to grab it back – they’ll get angry. Instead, try to make a trade with the macaque. 

Indonesia is where I was beginning to learn, for the first time, how to love a place so foreign from everything I ever knew. It’s where I learned how to make friends abroad – ever-evolving from a socially awkward and anxious teenager to a young adult who can connect with someone regardless of background or language barrier. It’s where I learned how hard it can be to leave the people you meet far away from home in pursuit of a next destination. How it really is possible to feel so close, so connected, after just a few days of knowing one another. I learned, for the first time, how it feels to love a land, to want to learn it, to want to understand its people.

I met a group of Bali locals – surfers, artists, musicians, beautiful souls. They weren’t blood related, but by all intents and purposes, they were brothers. They celebrated my birthday with me on the beach that night. When I left the island a few days later, I said goodbye, hope to see you soon. A few days ago, I learned that one of them unexpectedly passed away. I learned, for the first time, that a bond formed on a beach halfway across the world could make my chest ache. I learned that sadness can transcend continents and languages. As I see videos on Instagram of the surfing memorials and flowers bouquets on their beach laid out for his service, I feel gratitude for what this group and their island taught me.

Rest in Peace, Gado.

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