FUNEXPECTED
The blue whales are bigger than our boat. We have been in convoy for a couple of days amongst these mighty creatures. It is surreal. They are beautiful; we feel small. I have been watching them amble along for days, learning their patterns. They give me a visceral, full-body sense of awe — a tingly kind of feeling. They are just so magnificent; I take memory photographs. They sunbathe, they flick their tails, they take progressively bigger breaths before they dive deep and disappear. Their magnitude is hard to fathom. One comes alongside, close; the sound of its big, puffy breath makes me shriek with excitement, and my heart beats faster. I feel so fortunate.
Our default mode is anticipation. We expect unexpected things to happen — in fact, we sent out an invitation to the universe. We set the table for surprises with open hearts and open minds.
Waypoints carve a general direction for our journey, but we leave deliberate space for chance and magic. Life is like a kaleidoscope. We turn the dial and take in the new world of colours and shapes that form each day. We wait and watch, we listen, fun-radars dialled high. And life always delivers.
A dugong is like a unicorn — but better. For two years, I’ve searched the Pacific and Southeast Asian seas to set my peepers on one. Ni-Van locals told us two dugongs lived in the seagrass on Lamen Island. I snorkelled, shivering cold if you could believe it, in the rain for over an hour, on the hunt. No dice.
The Komodo dragons in the Flores Islands proved to be less elusive — we fly in especially to see them. Our guide helps us spot the beasts sleeping in the shade under trees. Their reputation is more impressive than the encounter. Their bite can kill you dead; they sometimes eat their own babies. They look prehistoric — their skin scaly, dragon-like — but disappointingly, they don’t breathe fire. A tick nonetheless.
Our fast boat stopped for the tourists to look at a pink, shelly beach, hike a hill, meander a bright white sand spit, drift-snorkel, and collect ample fodder for their Instagram feeds. We sit on the periphery, letting those on a two-week vacation soak it in first. I am in the water amongst the throngs of travellers, half-heartedly moseying along, when I hear the guide yell “Dugongs!!!”
I lift my head, see the direction he is pointing, and I absolutely pin it — leg-pumping strides, I kick hard, eyes wide, breath shortening. And… before my very eyes, she swims right in front of me. I blink and blink and blink. I scrunch my face in my mask. Joy is flowing. She is bigger than I ever imagined — graceful, white, and mermaidy. Then she is gone. I breathe again slowly. I am so grateful. I feel the tingle of dreams coming true.
It’s not just the big stuff; little moments of magic are super special too. I see a full-grown man flying a kite from a fishing canoe — he is smiling. The surround sound of the call to prayer when we anchor amid several mosques. A three-year-old in a café greets each of us slowly, lightly pressing the backs of our hands to her forehead in salutation. This is called salim — a special sign of respect from the young to the old. Her expression when we bring her coloured pencils and notebooks the next day is a heart-melter.
Elderly women like to aggressively kiss my cheek, holding my face as if I am kin. This has happened more than once. It reminds me of my aunties: it is odd and wonderful. One woman in a market holds her open palm up close to my face, pauses and announces with a sparkle “Beautiful”. A little girl holds her brown arm against mine, touches my skin lightly, looks me in the eye, and says “Black”. I understand; we are almost the same colour. A foursome of women around my age wave me over to tell me they like my dress. I do a twirl and we all laugh.
One evening I watch millions of bats fill the sky as they move from one island to the next against the backdrop of a dusk-pink sky exchanging day for night. It lasts over half an hour and I wonder where they are going and think how lucky I am to see their transit. Two humpbacks visit one day, and often, in the jungle, massive butterflies flit about silently. Lightning storms can be raucous: you feel the thunder in your veins.
Turtles swim along the surface, they lift their heads, look side to side to see where they are going, then they swim along some more, then lift their heads again, on repeat. It’s fun to watch them find their way. On oily calm days the flying fish leave trails as they blast out of the water: they fly, then skim, then dive. It’s a hectic way to get about. Miniscule blue shiny dots speckle the water like fireflies, and scatter as we dive in for a morning swim. Dolphins say hello most days. It is all miraculous.
We gift an older man reading glasses. The look on his face as he focuses is everything. He grins, revealing his last four sporadically spaced teeth. I hold up a book with small writing and he gestures in celebration with his hands that the writing is bigger. Wide smiles all round, lumps in throats, we catch each other’s eyes knowing he gifted us more than we gifted him.
We trade coconuts for masks and snorkels, buy fresh tuna and crayfish from master hustlers, and dine like kings. Teenage boys, dressed like LA gangsters, film Tik Tok dances on the end of a wharf, in the most stunning bay, on the most stunning day. Such wild and wonderful moments we only catch by chance.
Village visits are my favourite. We make a parade. Throngs of children surround us and practice their English. We are escorted, hands held. There is dancing and singing, the odd fight breaks out. Kids take us to the banana grove and gift us the most banana-y bananas I’ve ever tasted. They watch us eat as they loudly count to ten, offering themselves a loud round of applause for their English efforts. They help me stumble over poor Bahasa counting, they cheer me on, help me learn their names, and clap for me too. Schools lessons come completely undone as children run out of the classrooms to greet us. I feel for the teachers, but luckily they seem just as curious.
We pose for so many photos. As is universal convention, one kid will always pull the bird. Babies are thrust into our arms: they cry, every single time, and look at me as if I am an alien. As a kid I had the same relationship with Santa Claus. I remember thinking “Who is this man, and no, I do not want to sit on his knee thank you very much”. “Selfie selfie selfie” the children chant. We agree and smile and wonder what happens to all these pics.
Amongst the throng I scan the faces and hold eye contact with intent. Lifting my sunglasses, I aim to connect. I seek out the older women so that they know they are not invisible. I always hold their hands gently to say good morning, “Salemet pagi”. As often as I can, I shuffle through the kids to greet an elderly woman properly, to look deeper into her eyes to convey: you matter too. I am rewarded, it feels reciprocal.
Each night we set the trap for new experiences, our bait is gratitude. We accept there is a lot we will never know about each place and these people but we feel fortunate for it all. As we leave each village the children help us push out our dinghy. They say get in, we will push you. We scream thank you, they scream back and wave like maniacs. There is magic everywhere if you take the time to notice. We are blessed. We repeat this mantra like a benediction, because we are.
