Panama

The humidity hits us like a wall as we step off the plane.
As much as we tried to mentally prepare for this moment, it's still a shock to the system.  Especially after sitting on the runway for 35 minutes with the air conditioning on full blast, or considering we flew from Toronto where they were experiencing FREEZING RAIN!
We wander through the airport in a semi-daze and are immediately approached by a man who asks, "Taxi?"
I tell him the name of the hostel and he replies, "Anywhere you want to go miss."  I can actually feel Mike rolling his eyes.
We agree on a price and follow him to his 'cab' - an unmarked white Escalade.  I watch the city skyline come closer into view as his subwoofer rattles in the trunk.

We arrive at Hostel Mamallena and just as my friend Sam warned, the exterior is pretty seedy.  It's compound-style property boasts a triple barbed wire fence and a buzz-in gate; the neighbourhood has seen better days but at least the property is secure...
At reception they give us our room key and tell us to relax and return for check-in when we're ready.  We are overheated, overtired and a little frazzled from 24 hours of straight travel so we pick up a few cervezas and some food from the market and take up residence in a courtyard hammock.
We try to stay up, but our flights were overnight and included a transfer and neither of us did little more than doze, so we don't make it past 8:00 pm.

View of Panama from the plane

In the night we frequently wake up - Mike to nightmares, me to nausea and both of us to the sounds of fireworks, but we manage to catch a few Z's in the early morning before starting our day.  We walk to Panama Viejo to see the historic buildings and then cab to the causeway.  Both of us are struggling in the 30+ degree weather so we stop for frequent breaks and call it an early afternoon.

Panama skyline

The next morning, we're eager to make the most of the day.  We get up early[ish] with intentions of visiting the infamous Panama Canal.  We know there's a bus we can catch from the main terminal, but the metro card we need can only be purchased at the main terminal so we decide to walk.  It looks pretty close on the map, we've got to eventually adjust to this heat and besides, the streets are doted with police presence.

Cut to half an hour later, Mike and I are walking through a sketchy area full of dilapidated buildings and loose pit bulls, where a mysterious dark coloured liquid flows from random rooftops.  We walk a bit farther and suddenly we seem to be at an army base.  Now we're walking alongside a highway and nothing resembles a bus terminal.  I begin to panic, but Mike remains cool and leads us to our destination.  We decide to quickly nip into the neighbouring mall to take advantage of the AC and so Mike can buy some proper shoes for his poor blistered feet.  As it turns out, Mike is a giant compared to most Panamanians, so finding size 11 shoes is harder than expected but we persevere.
Eventually we cross the street to the terminal and buy a metro card, but nowhere amongst the hustle and bustle do we see a schedule or route map, in fact, there is no signage at all.  Buses just seem to be arriving at random and stopping at will and all the locals clearly have it figured out.  We ask a guy who works there where we can catch the Miraflores bus and he simply turns and walks away.
"Do we... do we follow him?" we wonder aloud.  We do and he tells us to wait here at the end.  We see some other fair skinned Europeans who are also going to the canal, so we keep close to them.  Buses come and buses go, but none of them say 'Miraflores.'
Suddenly we hear a gruff voice call out, "Make sure you use lots of sunblock!" and before we know it, we're in the midst of a conversation with an Alabaman who tells us about his army stints around the world, this being his last until retirement.
"I live 120 miles from Panama City but I come down here to go to Costco and 'cause they got Burger King down here.  We got McDonalds where I'm at, but it just ain't the same.  Love me some Burger King!"
That's when I see it, about 3 stops down: Miraflores.  We politely excuse ourselves from Alabama, motion towards the Europeans and run for the bus.  While we wait to board, a very fashionable young Panamanian boy, grasps tightly to his mother's hand and gives Mike the stink eye.  He looks from the glowing white skinned legs, to the top of his head and back down to his feet; his mouth hangs agape and he cannot break his gaze.  This will not be the last time on our trip that someone stares at Mike.

We get to the canal visitor centre, there aren't any boats going through the locks yet so we check out the museum.  It's amazing that the same basic model they created back then is still being used today with some technological additions.
We watch the movie about this history of the canal and it makes me cry.  I didn't know that the US controlled the canal for so long or the amount of Panamanian students who died in protest.  Even when the 1977 Torrijos–Carter Treaties declared a handover, Panama did not actually gain control of the canal until nearly 2000!  It's so shameful, the negative presence America has had in nearly every country and it makes me cringe when I think that many people may associate me with the states and its actions.
I dry my eyes and we join the hordes of other tourists on the viewing decks and watch a couple huge cargo ships enter the locks where the water drops to allow them to descend from the man-made lake and into the sea.  It's incredible.

We return to our hostel and I'm hungry and lazy so I suggest we check out a nearby eatery.  We both get peposas, mine seafood and Mike's chorizo.  Mike tells our 8 year old waiter, "No mayonesa por favor."  So of course it comes out drenched in mayo.  I attempt to wipe it off and Mike tries a bite and his mouth immediately goes numb.  Mine is also covered in mayonnaise and also some sort of thick tomato sauce.  The bread is stale yet somehow mushy at the same time.  It's downright disgusting.  We pay our bill and pretend to take our food and then guiltily toss it when no ones looking.  Mike passes out in a Benadryl induced slumber while I spend another night battling insomnia.

In the morning we're eager to get out of the city and get to the station just in time to catch our luxury double decker to David.  We climb the stairs to the top and snatch the front row seats in order to better enjoy the view. We soon discover that the seat numbers are assigned as we get booted from our prime spots and banished to the back of the bus.  The seats are comfy and the AC is cranked and our butts barely leave the seats for over 8 hours.

We climb off the bus and consider trying to hoof it to our hostel, but David is busy and chaotic so we opt for a cheap cab, and it ends up being the right decision because our hostel is impossible to distinguish amongst the other homes in what is largely a residential area.  Hostel Bambu is a chill crowd comprised of many other Canadians.  We grab some groceries and cervezas and enjoy a lovely home cooked meal and a dip in the pool.

In the morning we're out early and off to Bocas Del Torro.  But first we stop to buy new cellphone chargers because we've both managed to lose ours already (d'oh!)  Luckily there is a cell shop next to the bus depot and despite not speaking English, the girl behind the counter is very helpful and we manage to communicate to her what we need.
We hop in the little taxi bus and we're off!  Through thick jungles and sparse landscapes, the drive is beautiful.  I become slightly fearful when our driver takes off at 90 km in a 50 zone, but at least he seems to know the roads well.  We arrive in Almirante and take a quick cab to the water taxis.  Upon arriving we are rushed towards a ticket booth and pressured to sign something while another guy grabs at our bags.  The whole scenario is reminiscent of a negative experience my mom and I had trying to catch the public boat to Lombok and makes me uneasy, but the ticket price is what we expected, although the guy who forcibly grabbed our bags refuses to return them and demands $1 tip
.
The boat ride is fast and rough but we arrive at Isla Colon unscathed  We wander down the main drag into the first hostel we see.  It's called Selina and it's definitely the place to be, with names of European DJs dotting the marquee.  We quickly discover that private rooms start at $80 a night and that they have zero availability.  We've been totally oblivious to the fact that it's a) the weekend; b) a major tourist destination; and c) a somewhat small island with fewer hostels.
We wander from hostel to hostel to no avail.  We end up at Calipso Hostel where a nice Italian girl tells us there are two dorm beds left and if we book for two nights its only $12.  We take it, drop our bags and stroll the town centre.

We rent bikes and bike out to Playa Punch for a quick dip.  We're already feeling the heat and getting hungry so we have a quick rinse and grab some groceries.  We meet a couple cool Europeans who are all solo travellers, but our hostel is otherwise occupied with a large group of standoff-ish Aussies so we do our own thing.  There's some kind of festival or celebration going on cause the streets are packed and men dressed as devils simulate sword fights.  We watch all of this go down (along with a slightly worrisome display of commercial grade fireworks being launched into the tree tops and power lines) from the safety of our hostel balcony.

The numerous bars serving up shots until 3 am obviously gets the best of some of our roomies because he staggers in and vomits profusely onto the floor (or so I'm told, I sleep through the entire thing... God bless ear plugs!)  Upon awaking, we quickly flee the puke covered room.
It's Sunday and nearly everything is closed.  We opt for a chill beach day, but while walking through the sand, we experience a strange sensation on our feet and toes.  It almost feels like a bunch of slivers, but the pain is sharper and it comes and goes.  The only thing we can come up with is there was some seaweed we trekked through that had little squiggly balls so maybe they sting to protect themselves?
[If anyone can shed any light on this, I would much appreciate it!]
But despite this unpleasantness we have an awesome swim and chill beach day.  Mike even eats some pork grilled roadside over a fire and grate.  I'm super impressed to see Mr. Foodsafe throw caution to the wind.

That night, my dreams are filled with huge bed bugs and when I wake up I'm itchy all over my legs.  I am obsessive about bug spray and wore pants the previous night so I know it's something more sinister than mosquitos.  Mike and I are covered with probably a hundred bed bug bites each.  Knowing what we know about bed bugs we know these bites likely occurred a couple nights ago, plus our current hostel diligently wraps their mattresses in plastic so we're pretty sure they're from Panama City.  To make the situation worse, we're sunburnt as Hell and we have to switch hostels.  We shake it off, store our bags and rent a little electric bike for the day.  The guy at the store doesn't speak English and what I gather with my pathetic Spanish skills is that he doesn't want us to go out to Bocas del Drago if we're doubling.  Why?  That I'm not sure... Maybe it'll hurt the suspension?  In any case, I assure him we won't.  We fly around town aimlessly and enjoying the sights.  We end up down a rural, thickly forested road.  Intrigued, we continue further and further until we notice a sign that says 'Bocas del Drago.'
Nervous, and aware of the fact we are in the middle of no where, I insist that we turn back to the safety of the town.  We finally understand why he didn't want us venturing out there: our battery is nearly dead, any further and we would've been stranded.  We go for a quick dip but quickly retreat to shore when a while jellyfish rubs up against Mike (white jellyfish are the nice ones right?  Right?!)  We stop for a bite and head to our new hostel.  The vibe there is way more chill: there's a grassy yard with trees and a bar, plus there's even a small pool that we gratefully splash around in before relaxing with the other hostel go-ers.  We meet some awesome Swedish girls, one of which is currently living in Vancouver, and a guy from Mexico.  After a few beers they convince us to come out to the Iguana Bar which happens to be right on the water so Mike can't resist the urge for a quick dip.  We call it a night since we have to be up early for a tour.

In the morning we're a bit fuzzy, but ready for our island tour.  We see dolphins and sloths and even visit the island that Survivor was filmed on (Zapatillas).

Zapatillas Island

By the time we get back we're wiped out and ready for a good nights sleep because in the morning, we are off to Costa Rica!

Back to the Mainland

The day finally comes when my mom and I return to the mainland.  After the tranquility of Nusa Lembongan, Sanur is a shock to the system.  It's loud and dirty and full of people.  We arrive at our home stay and although it's only $25 a night for a room, it's awful compared to our other rooms in the same price range.
We walk down the boardwalk and grab lunch.  All the restaurants are American-ized chains and the street vendors are ruthless.  A woman offers to give my mom and I massages and gestures to a dank alley.
"Where do you do that actual massage?" my mom asks.
The woman shows us a small dirty room, it's slightly terrifying.  Another woman really wants to cornrow my hair, I venomously shake my head no.  We continue walking and they all shout lower prices at us and follow us down the beach.  We end up making appointments at The Nest, a more upscale (but still affordable) spa.
We walk up and down the boardwalk, my mother desperately searching for the hotel in which Mick Jagger and Jerry Hall tied the knot.  It doesn't seem to be anywhere and the vendors are becoming more pushy, following us for ages even when we ignore them, yelling after us, trying to usher us into shops and towards stalls.  Clearly it is off-season and the hordes of Balinese women who sit smoking clove cigarettes on the streets, perk up as we pass and call, "Massage miss?"
My mom begins answering their questions in Italian, a genius move that actually deters them.  We finally find the hotel, but it's all private residence and the security guy refuses to let us down the driveway.  We walk back to the beachside and are able to see into the grounds, they're quite picturesque, an ideal venue for a rockstar.

We found it!!!

Dinner time rolls around and at this point, we are so sick of rice and noodles that we decide to splurge on Italian food.  We find a spot that has a pretty legit menu so we decide to spend the $10 for a plate of pasta (still a steal of a deal compared to the astounding Australian prices.)  We are also so tired of drinking Bintang that we decide vino is a necessary accompaniment to our supper.  Here's the catch: imported wine is ridiculously pricey.  Our waitress tells us a glass of wine is $10, but thankfully, this restaurant is BYOB.  I run down to the bottle shop hoping for better luck, but even a bottle of Yellow Tail Shiraz is marked at $45.  I end up spending $32 on an Indonesian cab sav.  My mom and I grimace at the first sip, but by the end of the bottle we're both remarking, "Hmm, this is not half bad!" (funny how that happens.)
I am thoroughly enjoying my dinner, gnocchi in a gorgonzola sauce, (even though my dad's is obviously way better) until a massive rat runs in off the street and scurries under our table and close to our feet.  I scream and hyperventilate and dry heave all at the same time.  Thanks a lot Mr. Rat.

We're not really feeling the vibe in Sanur so my mom suggests we try Seminyak instead.
It's very different from all the places we've visited so far, it's extremely commercial with a lot of posh restaurants and resorts, it's chalked full of tourists and it seems more family oriented.  The beach is nice, but pales in comparison to some of the others we've seen.
My mom's excited because she's found a great Expedia deal for one of the pricier boutique resorts in town and she insists we book it and tells me she'll pay the difference (at this point I'm on a pretty tight budget after all my previous splurging.)  After all, she will be flying out a couple days before me and wants to be certain I'm 'somewhere clean and safe.'
When we arrive at Mutiara Boutique Resort and Spa, my jaw drops.  It's a real hotel with a massive pool beneath beautiful frangipani trees; the rooms have cable; the beds have actual down comforters rather than just itchy sheets; and there's a mini fridge AND a kettle.  It's pretty luxe, to say the least.
I accompany my mom as she picks up some souvenirs in the markets and we hangout at the beach a little.

The next day my mom really wants to go to this bar and restaurant called Potato Head.  The description in Lonely Planet makes it sound pretty trendy, so I make a small effort to dress up.  When our hotel shuttle drops us off, we are taken by golf cart down a massive private driveway surrounded by palms.  When we do finally arrive, the outside of the bar looks like a colosseum made entirely of different coloured window shutters.  We walk up the looping walkway and come out into an opened bar with it's own private pool and beach.  The hostess tells us the couches by the pool are at a 3 hour wait, but we are welcome to sit on one of the mats on the grass... we do the latter.
The cocktail list is 12 pages long (yet they still don't have Caesars!!!) and the only food they serve is overpriced tapas.  I get a Passionfruit Pimms Cup and my mom orders some sort of fancy daiquiri.  The drinks take 20 minutes to make and arrive in things like conch shells and coconuts... they're not messing around here.  We bask in the setting sun and watch the beautiful people get buzzed by the pool.  There is a massive group of Aussie men sitting on the couches directly in front of us, the seem to be a bucks party and we can't help but take notice of their drinking... they down bottle after bottle of champagne, order every kind of cocktail, have bottle service, Greygoose and soda no less.  My mom wonders aloud how they're keeping themselves so composed.
I shrug, "They're Australian, they know how to drink."
After the fourth 40 of vodka, they're starting to get a little loose.  A member of the security team has to come over and speak to them, but they hand him a big tip and he shakes their hands and leaves them to it.  One of the guys disappears for a while and reappears with three young Korean women clad only in tiny bikinis.  They each pick a man and straddle him, putting on a sort of lap dance.  They cuddle with their respective men, but do not speak and are not offered a drink.  They are clearly prostitutes.  When the three men (one of which I assume is the groom) disappear with the girls, I can't help but feel a little sick to my stomach.
Once the sun sets, we take off in search of some affordable food to chase our overpriced cocktails.

The day finally comes for my mom and I to part ways and I try not to cry when I walk her to her cab and give her a hug.
"I wish you were flying back to Canada with me," my mom sniffles and I can't help but to feel the same way.  But I know I still have unfinished business in Australia.  We say our goodbyes and I retreat to my room, feeling the full weight of loneliness.

~~~

Luckily for me, I don't have to stay in solitude for long.  My friend Katlyn is in Canggu and her boyfriend Seb is leaving the morning after my mom's flight.  Since there is an extra bed in my room and we're both flying solo now, we agree that she will come stay after dropping Seb off at the airport.  

After a stressful and hectic day, Katlyn climbs into the pool and the two of us get to gabbing.  We take it easy and go to bed early and then the next day set off to make the most of our remaining day together.  We have an awesome breakfast and head to Medewi (although no one can seem to agree on the spelling) so that Katlyn can book a home stay for when I leave.  I climb onto the back of scooter and am amazed as she confidently whizzes and flies through traffic.  Katlyn, you are a bad ass bitch, I admire you every day.

She eventually finds a gorgeous room in Seminyak and the two of us are off to Tanah Lot Temple to spend the day revelling in the spiritual splendour.  On our way back into town, the scooter lurches and we nearly both bail.  Katlyn manages to get us onto the shoulder of the road and we discover the issue: the tire has burst.  We push the now heavy bike into the nearest town and are ecstatic when we discover there is a bike shop only a few minutes away.  The price for an entire new tire?  $5.  In no time at all we're back on the road. 

We grab some bakso street soup and go for a sunset swim, then the rain begins and we take refuge in a tacky Mexican cantina before heading out for a quick shisha.  

From there, I face another tough goodbye (accompanied with a 'see you soon') and before I know it I'm boarding my flight, resolved on returning to Indonesia and seeing everything else it has to offer outside of Bali.

It's been a trip.  Thanks mom for helping to make it happen.

Lombok, Gilli and Nusa, oh my!

We leave Ubud and begin our journey towards Lombok.  My mom and I both agree that we're willing to spend the 4 hours on the public ferry in order to save the $45+.
Of course, our slightly sketchy cab driver drops us off in front of this tiny tourism shop and as soon as we exit the cab a group of men surround us, take out bags, usher us into a tiny office and begin insisting I sign something.
"Wait, how much is it?" I ask.
"$45 each," one answers.
"No, no, no, we want the public ferry!"
"Yes, slow boat miss."
"That is way too much money, we were told the public ferry is $6."
"Yes, $6 but then we provide transport to Senggigi."
"But we want to go to Kuta first."
"Nothing in Kuta, you must hurry, we must go now, boat leaves in 5 minutes."
My mom and I both know the ferry leaves in 20 minutes and that these guys are full of shit, but being surrounded by them while they all scream in our face at once, telling us how we must hurry, I feel chaotic and so confused that they almost successfully bamboozle us.
We tell them no and they continue to yell at us that there is no other ferry and if we don't leave now the next one isn't until 2:00 and that we're wrong and don't know anything.
We leave the shop and one of them actually follows us down the road still yelling at us and furiously dropping his original price.  I try to stay cool and be firm, but I'm about to lose my temper, thankfully he finally gives up.  We walk directly to the large vessel which is so obviously the public boat and experience similar situations in the 200 metres to the ticket office.  We finally make it and buy our legitimate tickets at a cool $3 a pop, but once onboard my mom immediately gets ripped off.
She hands me a cup of the shittiest instant coffee I'd had yet and when I try to throw it out she is horrified, "Do you know how much that cup of coffee cost? $6!"
"What?!  You got had!!"
"Well I can't haggle with them, it'd be like trying to haggle on BC Ferries."
"You wouldn't haggle anywhere in Canada, it's different here... He saw you, one of the only white women on this boat, he named an exorbitant price and you actually paid it.  Were there prices listed anywhere?"
"No..."
"There you go..."
Oh mom, I love you to pieces but you're too nice!

The ferry itself is very basic, picture the Gabriola boat but with no indoor seating, just these kind of spongy raised platforms where everyone sleeps.  The toilets are holes, no sink, no toilet paper.  I'm not too fussed, the ferry from South to North Island in New Zealand was the same length and time flew by on it.  But in the meantime, we overdose on Gravol and pass out.

Lombok

We disembark on Lombok and before we get swarmed by taxi drivers, my mom and I agree on a price to Kuta.  The bus is $15 each so we think $30 is fair.
A guy offers to take us for $35.
"$30," I say firmly.
"$35," he counters with determination.
"Okay, then we'll take the bus."
"There is no bus!"
"Well, we'll find out for ourselves," I reply, walking away.
"Okay fine, $30."
No more Miss Nice Fran!

We get to Kuta and it's beautiful.  Turquoise water in a half moon bay, just as Lonely Planet promised.  It's virtually deserted and we check into a home stay across from the beach for a mere $15 a night.  We go for a swim, but because the sandbar is so far out, all the bay water is uncomfortably warm.  We sit on the beach and an old lady cosies up to my mom.  She's selling bracelets and sarongs that she swears, (along with everyone else selling shit on the beach) were made by her grandmother.
My mom initially says no, but engages in conversation with her.  She is really pushing these bracelets and my mom finally relents and buys a few at an inflated price.  She, wrongfully, assumes that'll be the end of it, but now the lady is forcefully pushing the sarongs and why not?  As I explain to my mom later, she's already convinced her to buy something she didn't want, surely she can do it again.
My mom escapes for a swim and the woman turns to me, but I put in my headphones and ignore her.
Do I feel like a bitch?  Sure, but it works.  The lady sees a while couple and chases them down the beach.

Gilli T

We spend another day relaxing and then we're off to the Gilis.  We share a car with 3 people - an Aussie bloke, a German girl and a Latvian chick who are headed up Mount Rinjani.  My phone is dead so I'm stuck in the back eating pizza flavoured shapes and listening to their inane conversation.  We finally make it to Bengsal and, after some confusion, find the ticket office and purchase our slow boat tickets for $2.  It fills up fast so we don't have to wait long.  We arrive on Gilli T and begin wandering in search of accommodation.  A guy at the docks tells us to go to his home stay because it's only $30 a night.  We head in the direction he tells us and never do end up finding it, but instead stick out heads into Hakuna Matata.  The Finnish owner Rebecca and her Indonesian boyfriend Joe are the loveliest hosts and our room is quaint AND equipped with AC.  $25 a night is the price, perfect.

Hakuna crew

We head to Horizontal Lounge and claim a couple bean bags on the beach.  When I complain that I need some shade my mom looks at me like I'm crazy.  By the time I get home, I already look like a lobster.  I traipse along the dirt road clutching a sarong around me in respect to the many "NO BIKINI ON THE STREETS" signs, while drunk tourists stumble about and the call to prayer booms through the speakers.  If there was ever a more profound clash of cultures, I haven't seen it.

Tired of Indonesian food my mom and I go out for sushi (surprise surprise, it sucks) and as it's happy hour, we get three drinks for the price of two.  Before long I'm seriously buzzed and getting tired of fighting off the vivacious flirtation from the local bartenders.  One makes me a butterfly out of a napkin and sultrily tells me, "Welcome to Freedom Island."  Later on he tries to convince me to come out and party with him.  Instead, my mom and I watch the 'Play for your Country Beer Pong Tournament' (which I can proudly report, Canadians are absolutely dominating) and then grab some take away drinks and stroll the streets.  Everywhere we went the Indonesian men address my mom as 'mother' much to her annoyance.
"Hi Mother,"
"Yes Mother,"
"How are you Mother?"
I begin saying she's my sister.
They also like to address her in this way while basically complimenting her on creating an attractive child.
"Mother, your daughter is so beautiful!"
Sometimes they would just cat call me directly, but mostly it was in this weird passive manner.
The streets of Gilli are too wild for us so we head home.

The next day we rent bikes and snorkel gear and cycle the entire island while stopping every so often to snorkel.  We see heaps of florescent fish in the reef, but sadly, no turtles.
We hit the sunset bar, but the clouds roll in, obscuring the view and soon all the beach go-ers are running for cover beneath the sudden torrential downpour (that lets up just as quickly as it begins.)

We hit the fish market and have skewered tuna and sample a buffet of tasty local dishes, washed down with Bintang and followed by gelato.
I want to go to bed, but my mom makes fun of me ("For God's Sake Francesca, it's 8:15 on a saturday night!")
So we stroll the strip and my mom insists we stop for foot massages (her treat!)
My masseuse asks where we're from and when we say Canada, he says, "My brother lives there!"
"Really?!" I ask, gullible as always.
"Yah, his name is Justin Bieber!"
My mom is delighted, any excuse for her to discuss her love and pride for Biebs...
I don't really enjoy my massage.  My masseuse spends the entire time mercilessly hitting on me and complimenting the shape of my legs.  At this point, I'm actually sick to death of being hit on.

Eventually our time on Gilli T comes to an end and we book our fast boat directly to Nusa Lembongan.

Nusa Lembongan

We finally make it to our hotel and go to take a shower, the tap water is clearly treated ocean water and leaves our skin feeling of wax, also, the power is down.  We go out for dinner and dine at Heroes, the most delicious warung we've been to yet.  

The next day we walk almost the entire island and stop for some tasty sushi at Mama Mia restaurant overlooking the seaweed farms before checking out the infamous yellow bridge.

We get home and go for a swim and I manage to step on a black sear urchin.  It feels like getting stung by seven bees at once and my skin immediately turns black where I've been pricked.  I try to get the spines out, but they are fragile and break off in my skin.  I freak out and immediately assume I'm going to have to have my foot amputated.  My mother tries to remove the spines with a pin and I try to act brave and hide the fact that tears are pouring down my face.  

Thankfully, it feels better by the time I go for my first dive the next day.  The other pupil doesn't show so I have the instructor all to myself, I'm delighted for two reasons, one: I'm certain I'll need the extra help and two: I secretly have a massive crush on him.  

Practicing in the pool is weird at first especially with so little space while breathing in and out of the mask feels unnatural.  We head out into the ocean and when we begin to submerge, I freak out and return to the surface.  I feel claustrophobic and fearful and as if I'm not getting enough air into my lungs.  I tear up and declare that I don't think I can do it.  Luckily, my instructor talks me through it and we slowly submerge together.  I'm having trouble with my buoyancy, so he holds my hand while we swim (it's super romantic.)

We see amazing coral reefs and many amazing fish (lion fish, clown fish, unicorn fish, just to name a few!)  I'm grateful for the experience, but can't help but feel relieved when we return to the surface.  

We say our goodbyes to the lovely island and return to the mainland to rap up our trip.

***Note: Anytime I mention money it's already been converted into Canadian/Australian dollars