ISO Humanity

In elementary school, we went to the library once a week. Next to gym class it was my favorite hour between Monday morning and Friday afternoon. The library had several attributes that brought me joy. First, there was a large, sunken in reading area to play in. It had a giant, sloped ramp on one end to roll down and ultra-wide, stage like steps on the other that my friends and I used to rehearse our favorite tunes. Then there was the smell. The smell that books have that still leads me to purchase physical copies of them rather than convert entirely to audio books. The book smell was accompanied by a mélange of rubber cement, ink and Pine Sol cleanser. No wonder I loved to read, I was probably high from the fumes.

But the best feature of the library was the magazine rack on the far back wall. Positioned in a seldom visited dark corner, it was a tired looking, four tiered, brown shelf that gave the impression it met a requirement on the library checklist yet wasn’t exactly a cherished fixture. To me, it was a precious gift that ignited 35 years (thus far) of wanderlust. National Geographic, it’s crown jewel always positioned on the top shelf, offered my first glimpse of the exoticism that existed beyond our dairy farm and my hometown of 500 people. Brazil, Papua New Guinea, Borneo…

My first night in Kota Kinabalu Borneo was spent at a collection of carnival-like hawker stands called the “night market” eating fresh fish and sauteed morning glory. This giant outdoor dining hall was clad in plastic table clothes and a sea of weathered banners exhibiting faded photos of menu items. Every banner at every stall was nearly identical. The market occupied several blocks of the central waterfront and was filled with droves of hungry locals and a smattering of tourists. The food was fantastic, but I was surprised and mildly disappointed at how well developed Kota Kinabalu was. Restaurants on every corner, plenty of shopping centers, even a Starbucks. The Borneo of my childhood imagination had no paved roads and people lived in houses on stilts in the jungle…

The next morning I set my disappointment aside and headed to the northern tip of Sabah to spend a night in a Rungus longhouse. The Rungus are the largest indigenous group of Borneo. Many still live in communal dwellings that house several families under a single roof, with several longhouses making up a village.   The longhouses are sparse, made primarily of rattan and bamboo with thatched palm roofs. They are elevated on stilts to create cool, circulating air in the hot dry season and to protect from flooding during monsoon rains. This was a sizable step closer to the National Geographic vision I developed when I was eight, made even more sizable by the fact that bamboo and rattan don’t join together like brick and mortar. As a matter of fact, they don’t join together very well at all. Which means many things outdoors end up indoors, particularly at night. Things like geckos and mosquitos are expected and can be tolerated. Bats, rats and other creatures that scurry in the jungle are a bit harder to ignore. All this plus sleeping on a hard, thin mat under a stuffy mosquito net fit perfectly with my idea of Borneo. However, the group of kids sitting around a picnic table on the lawn watching a movie on their computer did not.  Sigh.

Rungus Longhouse

The remaining week of the trip was spent between two safari locations, one on the Kinabatangan River and the other in Danum Valley. Here’s where the National Geographic articles finally leapt off the pages and into view. Wild orangutans, silver and red leaf langurs, long tail and pig tail macaques, wild bearded boar and proboscis monkeys too many to count. Three species of hornbills, stork billed kingfisher, comb-crested agamid, water monitor lizards and crocodiles.  Even the most unlikely and coveted animals on the list made an appearance on the final night, a slow loris and western tarsier. But one moment above all left an indelible imprint in my collection of memories. While out on a daily afternoon safari searching for orangutans, our guide received a call that a pair of pygmy elephants had been spotted down river. Borneo pygmy elephants are endangered with population estimates ranging from 1,000-3,000. Our guide made an immediate u-turn and raced toward the site. It was at this moment that dreams and reality merged, like two sides of a zipper coming together in perfect alignment.   I was racing down the Kinabatangan River, wind in my hair, mist on my cheeks, in pursuit of an animal sighting few ever get to witness. I closed my eyes and gave thanks for being alive, for the good fortune of being in this moment and for dreams that occasionally make their way into our reality. It mattered not if the elephants were on the bank when we arrived, as this moment was perfect.

Sukau Rainforest Lodge Safari Group

Many people I know have been to Bali.   It made my travel list because people consistently describe it using a shower of superlatives – “the friendliest people I’ve ever met”, “a religious experience”, “supremely beautiful”. One Seattle woman I know loved it so much she bought property and built a house there. Now having been, I concur with many of their sentiments. The Balinese are incredibly friendly and adaptable, quick to smile and to lend a hand. The landscape outside the bustling cities is stunning; greens in so many shades my well of words would run dry trying to describe them.   There’s a spiritual vibe that pairs beautifully with the terraced rice paddies and colorful residents, both Balinese and imported. That said, I also found Bali to be like a library full of hidden revolving doors that led to contrasting experiences.

It’s true, Bali is beautiful by nearly anyone’s standards. It’s also incredibly crowded with overdeveloped stretches of beach dripping with trash and underdeveloped roads clogged with motorbikes, tour buses and belching trucks. There are almost no stop lights and it’s a toss up which is more dangerous – crossing the street or walking down the sidewalk, a veritable mine field of ankle busting holes, piles of rubble, puddles of unidentifiable liquid and stray dogs. Yet amidst the chaos are innumerable paths and alleyways leading to tranquility mere meters from the street. Small inns, spas and restaurants set amidst ancient temples and blooming pink lotus ponds nearly silent from the sound of traffic. Healthy organic juice within a stones throw of anyplace you stand in Ubud or Seminyak. Yoga studios for every type of practice imaginable lead by some of the best yogis in the world and quality spa treatments that cost a pittance.   And the icing on the cake is the amazing service that comes with each and every stop.

I felt this contrast, this tension of place, almost immediately and it was reinforced throughout the trip. For example, when I met a group of four, tough looking men sitting in a circle on a dusty courtyard gently massaging the most beautiful roosters I’ve ever seen. It caught my attention to see such tenderness paid to these birds when thousands of neglected (and sometimes rabid) dogs roam the streets in desperate need of care. Not to mention this careful caressing was being delivered by men who at first glance could have passed for heroine traffickers. After striking up a conversation I learned they were fighting cocks, accessorized with razors where their spurs used to be to ensure the fight ended in one rooster’s demise. I didn’t witness a fight but I got to see the roosters practice…that was enough of a show for me to get the point.

Then again when I took an evening stroll through a town called Petulu where thousands of Egrets return each night to nest and feed their young. It’s quite a site to look up at the trees and see thousands of large white birds and feathers outnumbering leaves.  A live National Geographic episode ripe with up close encounters of bird behavior – feeding of young, tending to nests, fighting for a good branch and inevitably, relieving themselves. Everything eye level and above was a delight; let your eyes wander to the ground and it was another story. We were given umbrellas by our hosts that started out tan and ended up heavily speckled after a couple hours. I’ve never seen such copious amounts of natural fertilizer nor have a smelled such a stench and I grew up on a farm.  Rwabhinneda.

All that said I loved Bali. The beauty, the people and the culture far outweigh the inconveniences and you can be assured that if you visit, no matter which door you choose you’ll be rewarded with an experience worth the while.