I was supposed to go to Indonesia four days ago.
my final group of clients left zambia, and I was supposed to pick myself up and get on a plane bound for asia to begin the second half of my round-the-world trip; the half where I’d be completely solo, where I’d jumping blindly into an incredibly strenuous & complicated trip, in an increasingly unsafe corner of the world. I think you all know me a bit at this point, and I think I’ve drilled it into all of my answered messages over the years that just because bad, scary things happen here and there around the world doesn’t mean that it should inhibit you from traveling & trusting in the goodness and kindness of the majority of people in the world. en yet, in the 24 hours leading up to my departure to indonesia, seven different events of attacks around the world transpired at once and I received about 29 different emails from people telling me to reconsider indonesia and for the first time in ten years, in 66 countries traveled,
I decided not to go.
not indefinitely, though. there were issues I had to deal with in zambia, so it was actually a good excuse to push back my flight to Indonesia for two days to focus on what needed to be dealt with in zambia, and all the while debating whether or not I truly wanted to go to indonesia. I tried not to let emotions play into it; I was already overtly depressed about leaving africa, and tried to think logically instead of emotionally (such as: do I really not want to go to Indonesia for fear of my safety, or is it just that I’d rather stay in cozy, safe, familiar southern Africa?). in the end, I decided to wing it, and I departed livingstone for johannesburg to catch my fight to Doha, then to Jakarta, then to a remote island where I was planning to climb a mountain in only a couple days’ time.
I came to terms with leaving Africa; processed it justly, wrote about it, and felt comfort in the conviction and knowledge that I’d be back next year for several months. this and now was my time for Indonesia. so during my little layover in johannesburg I relaxed, let loose, had two beers with new friends, and walked proudly and capably to the check-in counter to get on my flight, when I found out – long story short – that my tickets were void due to government issues, and there’d be no way I’d get to my flight, and my initial amused/disbelief laugher turned into embarrassing sobs as the reality really hit – I’m not going to Indonesia, I have nowhere to go in Johannesburg, it’s almost midnight, I’m not going to climb the mountain I’d had my heart set on for months, I was finally ready to depart when this happens, what could it possibly mean – but behind all these thoughts there was a part of myself that felt, more than anything, relief.
that night, I ended up at one of Joburg’s best hotels as an early christmas present to myself, where the staff pityingly brought me dinner at 1AM and I tried to facetime and text people but was so tired I was tripping over my words, and sincerely did not care. what mattered was that I was still in south africa, and I kept turning over every moment of the past 3 days in my hands, desperately searching for the reason of why this was happening, why now, and mostly, why never before.
all day today – specifically for the past 13 hours – I’ve been sitting on my fluffy king size bed while researching what to do. road trips through mozambique; three weeks in japan; australia then new zealand; cameroon, maybe even algeria. with every new idea that seemed foolproof – yes! this is it! – i realized about 20 minutes knee-deep into google searches that i simply didn’t know enough. i’d have to make a decision by tomorrow morning, and i didn’t know anything about japan, or cameroon, or new zealand. i’d need weeks, at least, to have any idea of what to do, where to go, what made sense. what i kept coming back to, though, was what i knew. I knew Indonesia.
so it made sense: go to Indonesia. or… go home. right now, those options seem best. yes, I could road trip around mozambique and lesotho and swaziland, but I’ll be back in southern africa next year, and I can do that then when I have time to do it correctly. yes, I could go to japan or fiji or some random place I didn’t think about until a few hours ago, but would my time there be any safer than going to Indonesia? would it be as fulfilling if I went blindly, whereas with Indonesia where I’ve read & poured over every inch of that country for the past six months? every alternative I came up with seemed to point back to the simple truth: I’d decided to go to Indonesia, and the only real other option would be to go home to New York.
depending on the minute, the moment, going to New York sounds like heaven. the thing is, for the past weeks that I’ve been in southern Africa, I’ve been completely enveloped in pure, unadulterated bliss: perfect weather, stunning landscapes, incredible people, and a place that feels more like home to me than anywhere else in the world. even now, as I sit here typing this, it’s a comfortable 60 degrees, I’m freshly showered and my clothes are washed, I’m drinking a wonderful pinot that reminds me of the great wines I have in New York, the wifi is the fastest it’s been in months, and I’m comfortable, happy, and safe.
going home to new york would the continuation of that: comfort, and perceived safety.
going to indonesia would be the beginning of 5 weeks of absolute chaos, heat, long bus rides, unknown people, unknown places, confusing logistics, massive remote mountains i feel inclined to summit, humidity, travelers sickness from bad water and unclean foods, and mostly, a deep, perceived fear of the state of the world.
but here’s the thing.
I could go to new york tomorrow instead of indonesia, and I could be killed by a drunk driver or a moose on a country road.
people keep telling me to be “aware” and “afraid” of Indonesia and the radicalization and threats – they constantly question the audacity I have to be traveling there during such a time of turmoil around the world – but no one tells me to afraid of night clubs in florida, or of train stations in belgium. the other day my father angrily texted me saying “where are you going after Indonesia? Baghdad? Syria?” and I wanted to text him back asking him to use the same logic; when he was planning to forego all his business in Florida, or in Paris?
what I’m trying to say to you all, is that fear is a very real and very credible thing. we live in a media-centric society where we are constantly bombarded with headlines that terrify us. I have probably received close to 300 messages in the past year alone from readers telling me that they’re afraid to travel because of this big, bad world, and while I’ve always told you all that for every evil person there are a million kind ones – and I stick with this statement – I want you all to know that fear hits me sometimes, too. and as I’m at this crossroad, it’s hitting me sincerely and deeply now more than ever.
but the world is good, and kind, and it’s waiting for us.
if we choose to be bystanders, to live in the perceived safety of home, we will miss out on a glorious world that’s just waiting to be discovered. there are life-changing people I’m on the trajectory to meet, phenomenally beautiful places I’m waiting to see, significant memories that are waiting to be made, and I can’t wait to discover them, if only I’m brave. and in all the years I’ve been doing this, I’ve always known that the greatest moments, people, and places come to me when I’m out there, on the road, letting the world unfold before me. it’s an extraordinary world, a massive world, and we cannot let fear hold us back.
And so, my friends,
I’m going to Indonesia.
I hope you will all find your Indonesia’s.
And I hope you will go there, too.