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twstheadcanons · 3 years

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Self-Indulgent TWST Geography

A long post of generalised geography headcanons for the world of TWST complete with continents for my own personal needs. The post divides locations by Continent.

Anyway why is there a homeland whose name is just the definition of a desert.

Continents (and ocean)

Errant - a western continent in Twisted Wonderland. Mzunguko - the second largest continent in Twisted Wonderland. Yalmae - the largest continent in Twisted Wonderland. Abíní - a continent West of Errant. Tridente Ocean - the largest ocean in Twisted Wonderland.

Errant

Rose Kingdom – a country in the western region of Errant. It isn’t a particularly large country, and traveling from it to its neighbouring countries is possible via buses or car. Crownsshire – a county in Rose Kingdom Crowns – the capital of Crownsshire. It is the town Riddle, Trey, and Che’nya live in.

Land of Pyroxene – a large country in Errant. Known for its cold, snowy winters and history with legends pertaining to five of the Great Seven. Waldburg – province Vil’s family is from. Largely influenced by another country within Errant. Argent – a province in Land of Pyroxene. Verre – a city in Argent. Trein and Cater are from here. Félicité Cosmetics originates here. Miroir – a province in Land of Pyroxene. Has a large outlet mall popular with fashion-lovers and shopaholics. The Ténèbres brand originates here. Enchantée – a town in Miroir. Jack and Vargas live here, whilst Vil and his father move here. Scharlachrot - a province in Land of Pyroxene. Epel’s Village of Harvest resides here, and is famous for its widespread organic produce.

Isle of Lamentation – island country, its popularised global name is a translation from the isle’s original Nísos Thrínos. It has robust technological advancements and is the homeland of the popular idol group On the Edge, known for having concerts with elaborate imagery and visual effects from some of the best technicians available. Due to legends of the God of the Underworld, dogs are extremely popular on the Isle of Lamentation. Kapnós – capital of the Isle of Lamentations where the Shroud family resides.

Valley of Thorns – an isolated country small in population, largely consisting of a large mountain range. The closer one is to where its Queen resides, the colder it gets. It is said the Valley of Thorns can go weeks with nothing but moonlight. Geimhreadh - technically the name of the forest near the Valley of Thorns’ mountain range, where the Queen makes her home at its peak. Its name spread to the residential areas nearby.

Mzunguko

Afterglow Savannah – country in Mzunguko, ‘Afterglow’ acts as a loose translation of its name, Baadaye. It lies in eastern Mzunguko. Famous for its royal guards and leading role in nature conservation. Kiburi – a county in the east of the Afterglow Savannah. Mwamba – capital of Kiburi, where the Kingscholar royal family lives. Maisha – a county in Afterglow Savannah, with its capital sharing the same name. Jioni – a town in Maisha. Ruggie and his family live here.

Manyoya – county in Afterglow Savannah. Well-known for a famously expansive library and a high population of avian beastfolk. Uzuri – a city in Manyoya, where Rook is from.

Yalmae

Land of Hot Sands – one of many countries in the continent of Yalmae,. Within the country, it’s referred to as Aldif’. Rich with its magical history and origins of astrology, Aldif’ nurtures Magicians skilled in divination. It has a vivid musical scene as well. Misbah - governate of Aldif’. Yatamanaa – capital of Misbah, a largely lucrative city within Aldif’ and city where Kalim and Jamil live.

Abíní

Port of Jubilee - a diverse nation where Sam’s family lives, owning an extensive emporium. A vast amount of cultures reside in Port of Jubilee, many sharing common ancestors and languages with one another. Nanm - province in Port of Jubilee. Sekrè - port town in Nanm that Sam is from. His family owns an impressive emporium popular with locals.

Tridente Ocean

Coral Sea - a sea within the Tridente Ocean. Many of coastlines range across countries within Errant, Mzunguko, and Yalmae. Beneath its waters lies a kingdom sharing the same name as the sea.

Name Trivia

Continents (and ocean)

Errant - the continent of Errant has the homelands based off movies such as Alice in Wonderland, Snow White, Hercules, Sleeping Beauty, Beauty and the Beast, and Cinderella. The name stems from certain scenes in the movie marking a particular moment the protagonists feel out of place or stray off the expected course.

Alice in Wonderland: Alice’s misadventures begin when she makes the decision to follow a strange rabbit, straying off the course of simply reading and studying as her sister wished, where the curious and at worst annoying strange creatures and nature of Wonderland take a turn when she meets the Caterpillar, who questions Alice’s place and identity, and the stress of her situation and being unable to return home overwhelms her emotionally.

Snow White - the horrific moment Snow White, in a state of panic, rushes through a dark forest, where her fears envision hidden horrors within the trees and wildlife.

Hercules - after refusing to listen to Phil’s warnings about Megara being in cahoots with Hades, Hercules faces the devastating fact that Megara (reluctantly) deceived him, and loses his superhuman strength and faith in himself.

Sleeping Beauty - shortly after meeting a man she falls for, Aurora becomes devastated and resigned to her fate being betrothed to a complete stranger out of responsibility for her future and country.

Beauty and the Beast - Maurice’s ventures through a mysterious forest consequently leads him to the Beast’s castle in a desperate attempt to escape cold, only to be imprisoned by the Beast for intruding, ultimately putting the story into motion. After Belle makes a deal to swap places with her father and free him, Belle starts off terrified and in over her head despite saving her father’s life.

Cinderella - after the mice’s hard work creating a fitting ballgown for Cinderella to enjoy the ball, her stepsisters ruin the dress and Cinderella’s chances of leaving her oppressive family’s home. Her distress and tears lead her to meeting the Fairy Godmother.

Mzunguko - “circle” in Swahili, the language prominent in Lion King’s names, lyrics, and Rafiki’s dialogue, as well as the official language of Kenya, where much of the movie’s settings take inspiration and blatantly feature. Taken from the iconic “Circle of Life” song.

Tridente Ocean - “trident” in Italian. Yes, I hear you. The author is from Denmark. The statue is in Denmark. The movie references the statue in Denmark. However the surname Ashengrotto and Azul’s mother running a ristorante screams Italian and there’s the overall edgy mafia vibe the Octatrio has going on. I win this one.

Yalmae - “shine” in Arabic (يلمع). I wanted a name that illustrated the vibrant, lively diversity of the continent’s many countries, cultures, flora, and fauna. Something akin to a name that inspires a welcoming feeling.

Abíní - “morning” in Navajo. I wanted a name that inspires energy and enthusiasm, like a sunrise in summer.

Homelands

Rose Kingdom

Crownsshire - just the most painfully English name I could think of. “Crown” refers to, naturally, the crown of the Queen of Hearts. Also decided to make the Rose Kingdom its own, smaller, more limited country, instead of allowing its apparent monarchy to leech off 20+ different countries Crowns - do you have any idea how genuinely shocking it is we don’t actually have a town here named this.

Afterglow Savannah

Baadaye - “afterglow” in Swahili. The official and native name of the Afterglow Savannah. Interestingly, my findings found translations of it meaning “future” as well, which I consider fitting. Kiburi - “pride” in Swahili, can refer to a ‘pride of lions’ or confidence (often overconfidence). Mwamba - “rock” in Swahili, alluding to the Pride Rock that Mufasa’s pride resides in. Maisha - “life” in Swahili. Jioni - “evening” in Swahili. This refers to where anywhere the sun doesn’t reach, Simba shouldn’t wander, because it’s too dangerous. Originally, I wanted to go with “Kivuri”, which means “shadow”. However when I went to double check that ‘shadowland’ was a thing in Lion King, referring to where the Elephant Graveyard is, it’s actually a song from the Broadway musica called “Shadowland”, sung by Nala (Heather Headley). It both mourns the desolate state of the Pridelands under Scar’s tyranny, and narrates Nala’s resolve to leave and find a way to save her people and their land. The song is absolutely gorgeous, solemn, and powerful, and contributes more than any live-action CGI Disney movie could ever come up with. Its instrumental composition features the melody lei-motif prominent in the animated film (yes, That song. the heartbreaking one). It’s one of my favourites in Lion King alongside “He Lives in You” and “Not One of Us” because I like the ones where the chorus goes off. Please just listen to the Lion King Broadway soundtrack it makes me cry with how gorgeous and heartfelt it is. Anyway in their money-grubbing ways I hope Disney puts the Broadway on Disney+ so some brave soul takes one for the team to pirate it Manyoya - intended to mean “feather”, but to my understanding it also encompasses “fur”. Uzuri - “beauty” in Swahili. Nothing too deep here, just something pertaining to Rook.

Land of Hot Sand

Aldif’ - “warmth” in Arabic (الدفء). Meant to allude to a comforting warmth, kind of hinting that the popularisation of “Land of Hot Sand” more or less leaves the official name lost in translation. Misbah - “lamp/light” in Arabic (مصباح), naturally referencing the magical lamp sought after throughout the movie. Yatamanaa - “wish” in Arabic (يتمنى). Meant to be bit a bit of a cheeky play on words. The “wish” inside the “lamp”.

Land of Pyroxene

Waldburg - Wald is "forest” in German. References the forest that Snow White runs away into after being warned of the Evil Queen’s intentions. Argent - “silver” in French. References Cinderella’s silver dress. Verre - “glass” in French. References Cinderella’s glass slipper. Miroir - “mirror” in French. References both the Mirror of Snow White and the enchanted mirror Beast gives Belle. Enchantée - “enchanted” in French. Ties into the theme of enchantments, curses, and charms prominent in French fairy tales, and specifically makes me think of the Enchanted Rose from Beauty and the Beast. Scharlachrot - “scarlet” in German. References the red colour that hides the infamous green of the poison apple’s true nature.

Isle of Lamentation

Nísos Thrínos - Greek for the isle’s name. Kapnós - “smoke” in Greek. References Hades’ iconic appearance surrounded by black smoke.

Valley of Thorns

Geimhreadh - “winter” in Irish. References the winter court of Unseelie fae in Celtic folklore.

Port of Jubilee

Nanm - "soul” in Haiitan Creole. References the importance of determination and drive prominent in Princess and the Frog.

Sekrè - “secret” in Haitian Creole. References Dr Facilier’s ulterior motives.

#twisted wonderland #worldbuilding headcanons

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sciencespies · 3 years

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What Happens When Scientists Become Allergic to Their Research

https://sciencespies.com/nature/what-happens-when-scientists-become-allergic-to-their-research/

What Happens When Scientists Become Allergic to Their Research

Bryan Fry’s heart was pounding as he stepped back from the snake enclosure and examined the bite marks on his hand. He had just been bitten by a death adder, one of Australia’s most venomous snakes. Its neurotoxin-laced bite could cause vomiting, paralysis and — as the name suggests — death.

Fry, at the time a graduate student, had kept snakes for years. Oddly, the neurotoxins weren’t his biggest worry; the nearby hospital would have the antivenom he needed, and, although data is limited, people who receive treatment generally survive. Anaphylactic shock, on the other hand, might kill him within minutes.

“Anaphylactic shock is the single worst feeling you can possibly imagine,” recalled Fry, now a biologist at the University of Queensland in Australia. “It is just insane. Every cell in your body is screaming out in mortal terror.”

Fry, who had spent his life admiring and eventually studying venomous snakes, had become deathly allergic to them.

Bryan Fry observes a cobra on a trip to Pakistan. He is now deathly allergic to snake venom.

(Courtesy of Bryan Fry)

While most cases are not so extreme, anecdotal reports and expert analysis suggest that it is far from rare for scientists, students, and laboratory technicians to develop allergies to the organisms they study. Perversely, some allergy researchers say, it is the researchers’ passion for their subjects — the close observation, the long hours of work each day, and the years of commitment to a research project — that puts them at such high risk.

“It is true that some things cause allergies more often than others, but the biggest factor is the frequency of the interaction with the study organism,” said John Carlson, a physician and researcher at Tulane University who specializes in insect and dust mite allergies. “You probably have about a 30 percent chance of developing an allergy to whatever it is that you study.” While data is limited, that estimate is in line with research on occupational allergies, which studies suggest occur in as many as 44 percent of people who work with laboratory rodents, around 40 percent of veterinarians, and 25 to 60 percent of people who work with insects.

Federal guidelines suggest that laboratories have “well-designed air-handling systems” and that workers don appropriate personal protective equipment, or PPE, in order to reduce the risk of developing an allergy. However, interviews with researchers and experts suggest that there may be little awareness of — or adherence to — guidelines like these. For scientists working with less-common species and those engaged in fieldwork, information on what exactly constitutes appropriate PPE may be very limited.

Many researchers, perhaps especially those who do fieldwork, are used to being uncomfortable in service of their work, Carlson points out. “I think that a lot of researchers are so interested in the process of the research,” he said, “that they aren’t really considering the long-term effects that it could have on them.”

In general, allergies develop when the immune system overreacts to a substance that is usually harmless, or relatively harmless. The immune system monitors the body for potentially dangerous invaders like bacteria, fungi, and viruses. Sometimes, for reasons that are not well understood, the immune system identifies something benign, like pollen or animal dander, as dangerous. To help mark the intruder, a person who has become sensitized in this way produces antibodies, or types of proteins, to identify it.

When that person comes into contact with the substance again, the antibodies flag it as an invader. As part of the response, immune cells release compounds like histamine, which irritate and inflame the surrounding tissues, resulting in allergy symptoms.

Although some risk factors have been identified, researchers who study allergies are often unable to determine exactly why this overreaction occurs in some people but not others. But it’s clear that, for some substances, repeated exposures can increase the likelihood of an allergic response.

While anecdotes of allergic scientists abound, research into the issue is scant. The best documented are allergies to rodents, which are ubiquitous in biomedical research. But some scientists report allergies that are almost completely unstudied, potentially because relatively few people — at least in wealthy nations in which many allergy studies are conducted — regularly come into contact with the organisms that cause them.

For example, while most people avoid regular contact with leeches, University of Toronto doctoral student Danielle de Carle goes out looking for them. De Carle studies leech genetics in order to figure out how different species are related to one another and to understand how blood feeding evolved. To study the leeches, she first has to catch them, and like other researchers in her field, she uses her own body as bait.

“We wade into swamps and stuff, and we let them attach to us and feed from us,” she said. For most people, leech bites are relatively painless. When de Carle needed to keep the leeches alive in the lab, she would let them feed on her then as well.

Doctoral student Danielle de Carle now uses sausage casings filled with pig blood to nourish the leeches she studies.

(Courtesy of Danielle de Carle)

After about a year and a half of this, she started to notice symptoms. At first, the bites became itchy, but the more she was exposed, the worse it got. “The last time I fed a leech — which I try not to do anymore — my entire hand swelled up so much that I could hardly make a fist,” she said. “It itched like crazy.” De Carle said that, when she’s out hunting leeches now, she can avoid an allergic reaction if she removes the leech after it attaches itself to her, but before it starts to feed. For the leeches she keeps in the lab, she’s switched to feeding them pig’s blood from a butcher shop instead of letting them feed on her.

Nia Walker, a Ph.D. student in biology at Stanford University, has also begun reacting to her research organism. Walker studies how genetics influence coral bleaching resistance and recovery. She began to notice rashes on her hands during her third trip to conduct fieldwork on corals in Palau, an island nation in the South Pacific. “And then each subsequent trip after that, it got more and more extreme,” she said. “It got to the point where my face would bloat and I’d get welts on my hands from touching them.”

While her symptoms are especially intense, Walker said she’s not the only member of her lab who has developed a sensitivity. By now, she said, everyone in the lab has “developed a slight irritation to corals.” Walker has been able to manage her allergy by using protective equipment and over-the-counter antihistamines. “It’s sad,” she said, “but it’s also pretty funny.”

Sometimes, allergies that scientists have picked up during lab work can spill over into daily life. More than a decade ago, evolutionary biologist Karl Grieshop worked in a fruit fly lab in which bananas were a key part of the flies’ diet. Ever since, he said, his throat gets itchy every time he eats a banana. Jon Giddens, a doctoral student in plant biology at the University of Oklahoma, said that he didn’t have any allergies before he started studying Eastern redcedar, a small evergreen tree that is widespread in some regions of the country. But now, even though it’s been more than a year since he last worked with the species in the field, he has year-round nasal allergy symptoms, he thinks from the redcedar pollen in the air.

Likewise, Brechann McGoey, who received her doctorate in ecology and evolutionary biology from the University of Toronto, said she didn’t experience hay fever before she started her graduate work. But after repeated exposure to ragweed pollen during experiments, she developed symptoms like post-nasal drip and persistent cough. Even though she no longer works with the species, she still gets hay fever every fall during ragweed season. “It’s a souvenir from my Ph.D.,” she joked.

Reflecting previous research on occupational allergies in veterinarians, most of the researchers who spoke with Undark did not seek medical attention or get a formal diagnosis for their allergies.

Biologist Nia Walker attaches an ID tag to the base of a tabletop coral on the northern fore reef in Palau. Everyone in the lab she works in has “developed a slight irritation to corals,” Walker says.

(Dan Griffin / GG Films)

In many cases, scientists report that their allergies are annoying but manageable. But sometimes, the allergies force researchers to make major changes.

Entomologist Chip Taylor began his career studying sulphur butterflies as a Ph.D. student at the University of Connecticut. When he started his own lab at the University of Kansas in 1969, he had every intention of continuing to work with the species. But, he said, “by the time it rolled around to 1973, I realized I was so allergic to these butterflies.” Taylor began to experience asthma-like symptoms whenever he worked with them.

In the summer of that year, during a research trip to central Arizona, Taylor and a colleague rented a trailer to use as a workstation to process butterfly wing samples. “I could not go in the trailer,” he recalled. “I slept outside with my back up against a tree so my sinuses and my throat could drain.” To manage his symptoms, he was regularly taking prednisone, a powerful anti-inflammatory drug that can have serious side effects. “I decided that I had to get out of working with those butterflies,” Taylor said. “I had to readjust my career to work on something else.”

Taylor spent the next few decades studying killer bees. He returned to butterfly research in 1992, when he started the monarch butterfly conservation program Monarch Watch. Taylor said he’s never experienced any symptoms while working with monarchs — maybe, he guesses, because the two species produce different types of pigments.

Fry, the biologist who became allergic to snake venom, also said his allergy has shaped his career. The venoms of different snake species share similar components, Fry said, so someone who is allergic to one type of snake is likely allergic to many types. Because of this allergy, Fry also has to be extremely careful even around venomous snakes that are usually not dangerous to humans.

“Whenever I work with these animals now, I look like I’m going into the Hurt Locker,” he said, referencing the Oscar-winning movie about U.S. Army specialists who defused bombs in Iraq. “So, of course, in the tropical sun I’m absolutely melting.” Those limitations, he said, have made working with snakes less enjoyable. “I can’t just blithely interact with these animals that I find so absolutely fascinating, knowing that death is just around the corner at any given moment, even from a snake that normally wouldn’t be a medical problem.”

Fry survived his encounter with the death adder thanks to a snakebite kit containing injectable adrenaline and antihistamines, as well as a quick-thinking friend who raced him to the hospital. The allergy, he said, has caused him to redirect much of his research to studying venoms in other animals, including Komodo dragons, slow lorises (the world’s only venomous primates), funnel-web spiders, and box jellyfish. “I’ve managed to turn it into a good thing,” he said, “but it’s been nevertheless very frustrating.”

Allergy experts say that reducing exposure is the key to preventing allergy development. Exactly how much the exposure needs to be reduced is less clear, and increasing protection may be costly for institutions and inconvenient for researchers.

Some laboratories that use mice and rats have equipment and policies designed to reduce exposure to allergens. These labs install ventilation systems for the cages, use a robotic system to clean them out, house fewer animals per room, and provide an area for workers to change out of allergen-contaminated clothing. PPE such as masks, gloves, and gowns can also help researchers reduce their exposure.

But actually applying those preventative measures can be challenging, said Johanna Feary, who studies occupational lung disease as a senior clinical research fellow at Imperial College London.

In 2019, Feary and several colleagues published a study of seven research institutions in the United Kingdom that performed research on mice. They found that facilities that used individually ventilated cages, instead of open cages, had dramatically lower airborne allergen levels. But even that was not sufficient to prevent technicians from becoming sensitized to mouse allergens. The facilities with the lowest levels of sensitization were those where workers also wore properly fitted masks. The research, she said, demonstrated that, at least in the U.K., the development of allergies to lab animals “is probably preventable in almost all cases.”

But Feary said that lab animal allergies continue to be a problem for many people. “We should be getting better at it,” she said. “I’m not sure we are getting better at it.” The main reason, according to Feary, is that it can be costly to install equipment that reduces allergen exposure, such as those robotic cage cleaners, especially if it requires renovating older facilities.

It’s also hard to accurately assess the magnitude of the problem, she said, especially given that conditions and practices differ widely around the world. While well-run facilities will monitor workers’ exposure and health, “at the other end of the scale, you have filthy places with poor health and safety,” she said, where recordkeeping is patchy and people who develop allergies may simply feel compelled to seek work elsewhere. “So, it may look like everything’s fine, and nobody’s got any symptoms, but actually all the sick people have left,” Feary said.

It may also be the case that only the best-run facilities will report their data, she said, while the rest will simply not engage. Indeed, several years ago, when a group of Duke University researchers attempted a nationwide survey of the incidence of anaphylaxis associated with lab-animal bites in the U.S., only 16 percent of facilities even responded.

And with less well-studied allergies, there’s simply little information available regarding prevalence and what sorts of protections are sufficient to prevent their development. Several scientists living with allergies, though, said they think that more information and awareness could help increase the number of scientists taking precautions in their research.

Fry said there is more awareness of snake venom allergy than there was when he started formally studying snakes in the late 1990s. But, he added, “it’s still not as well-known as it should be.” Researchers in the field, he wrote in a follow-up email, can be reticent to talk about venom allergies. But, he said, “I’m quite candid about it because, you know, this is life-saving information.”

Walker, the coral biologist, said more research on allergies among researchers would be helpful. “A lot of these things can be addressed if you knew to look out for it,” she said.

Early-career scientists generally receive thorough training on proper handling of biohazards and harmful chemicals. Institutions often provide extensive safety plans for fieldwork to help researchers prepare for the various risks involved, from dehydration to hypothermia to bear attacks. But scientists may learn little about the potential for developing allergies to seemingly harmless organisms.

“I feel like maybe there’s a bit too much of a casual attitude about protective gear,” said McGoey, who developed an allergy after doing research on ragweed. “Maybe especially if you’re working with a plant or animal, where it’s like a natural thing, and you’re not in the lab with a chemical, maybe people are just not careful enough.”

“As silly as it sounds, just maybe having more emphasis on using PPE and the consequences of not doing it would be kind of nice,” said de Carle, the leech researcher. “It can be really easy to just think, like, ‘Oh, I don’t really need to wear gloves; I’m just touching flowers or whatever.’”

Carlson, the allergist, said that even well-informed researchers can get caught up in their enthusiasm for the work and rationalize not taking the proper precautions.

In 2009, Carlson worked on a project that involved collecting data on house dust mites, microscopic arthropods which cause nasal and respiratory issues in millions of people worldwide. Despite his expertise, he neglected PPE. “I know all this,” he said. “I know I should be wearing a mask, but it’s hot, and it’s sweaty, and I don’t have a boss telling me what to do.” As he worked, he developed a runny nose and itchy eyes — the first steps toward a full-fledged allergy. “I pushed through and I ended up hyper-sensitizing myself,” Carlson said, to the point that even getting down on the ground to play with his then-young children made him “absolutely miserable.”

Carlson is saddened thinking about those scientists who have to give up the work they love due to allergies. “I really do feel for these folks doing their work and developing an allergy,” he said. “The more we get the word out there, the better.”

Hannah Thomasy is a freelance science writer splitting time between Toronto and Seattle. Her work has appeared in Hakai Magazine, OneZero, and NPR.

This article was originally published on Undark. Read the original article.

#Nature

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bobasheebaby · 5 years

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Departure- The Rise chapter 1

Pairing: Sean x F!MC (Coral Grady)

Written for @badthingshappenbingo Fandom: Choices Endless Summer Square filled: Thwarted Escape

Word count: 2,209 Warnings: angst, dark!fic?, gore? Summary: The catalysts head home only to find everything has changed. A/N: My MC is Coral Grady and she is dating Sean. This happens after the start of the apocalypse. Thank you to both @itsstillnotwhatyouthink and @blackcatkita for proofreading for me. The dialogue and a lot of the set up comes from Endless Summer Book 2 chapters 13 & 14. This chapter is fairly mild.

Series Warnings: death, rotting flesh, gore, blood, biting, turning, blood consumption, may get NSFW. It’s zombies, it ain’t gonna be pretty! By requesting to be tagged you acknowledge you are at least 18 years old and can stomach the gore.

If you need to avoid The Rise postings, filter #choices zombie au or #the rise to ensure you won’t see my zombie fic posts.

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist. Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters, I’m simply borrowing them for a bit.

The catalysts stood staring at the portal, hearts racing with hope as they watched the swirling portal, crackling with electricity. The air hung heavy with anticipation, no more fighting, struggling to survive, they made it and found their way home. “Let’s do this together.” Coral said, turning back to face her friends. “This is it. Together, we’ve faced dangers none of us could even dream of. If you guys are by my side, there’s nothing we can’t overcome.”

“Compared to some of the things we’ve seen, a purple death vortex is a cakewalk.” Craig proclaimed.

“I’m with you Coral! All the way!” Grace replied

One by one, each of the catalysts, friends stepped forward joining Coral on the catwalk.

“So Varyyn, after we’re through, take the heart and get outta here.” Diego said, his voice breaking with emotion at the thought of having to leave Varyyn behind. “Don’t get caught, okay? I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”

“You would not be able to know either way.” Varyyn replied.

“—I’d know. Somehow I’d know.” Diego answered, a tear streaking down his cheek.

Varyyn’s lip trembled, seeming to hold back his own tears. He pulled Diego into his arms embracing him, his lips meeting Diego’s one final time. “I will wait for you, Diego.”

“For a million years?”

“For eternity.” Varyyn promised. “Goodbye my friends. It was the greatest honor of my life to know you.”

“Can we please move this along? The radiation cannot be good for our health!” Aleister grumbled, irritated and anxious to return home to Hartfeld and get away from this blasted island of death, away from his father.

“You ready Princess?” Jake asked with his familiar smirk, though Coral could see the nerves he was trying to disguise.

Coral took a step towards Sean, slipping her smaller hand into his larger one. Ready or not here we go. Her heart pounded in her chest hoping they made it through before being detected.

“I know I look like a tough guy, but a moment ago, I was scared witless.” Sean said gazing down at her.

“Really?” Coral questioned gently squeezing Sean’s hand.

“Really. And somehow, the moment your hand touches mine, all of that evaporates.” He replied. “Coral? Let’s go home.”

The twelve of them encircled the portal sphere. “Everybody, together. One—” Coral said, her breath caught in her throat, they nearly made it, they were finally returning home. “two—” She squeezed Sean’s hand. “three.”

They stepped forward into the light simultaneously. They felt their bodies stretch, shrink, dissolve and reconstitute, as they transmitted across dimensions, falling through the quantum foam. They held hands tighter, refusing to let go of one another.

“Whoaaaaaa!” Shouted Raj.

“Yaaaaaaah!” Craig screamed.

“Aaaaaaaah!” Michelle shrieked.

Finally, they felt something solid underfoot. “Do you feel that?” Coral questioned, both excited and afraid to open her eyes. Home, we’re home. It worked, we actually made it.

“I think we landed somewhere.” Zahara answered.

“I still can’t see.” Diego replied.

Coral winced against the blinding light as she opened her eyes.

“We made it! We really made it!” Grace exclaimed excitedly.

Gradually the haze faded. Silence hung heavy in the air despite the sun hanging high in the sky.

They stood in the middle of the roof staring out across the buildings. The sun hung high in the sky marking the middle of the day, yet a silence filled the air.

“What? What happened?” Quinn questioned. What went wrong?

The campus stretched out in front of them, everything quiet as if everyone vanished at once, the stench of death hung in the air. Familiar buildings stretched before them. Bare trees, and cool crisp New England winter air showing how long they’d been gone. It’s winter? It was just summer. The world appearing both familiar and unfamiliar at once. The realization of how much they missed, how long they’d been gone, how much had changed settled around them heavy in the air.

“Dammit, Z! You got the coordinates wrong!” Craig exclaimed in frustration, kicking a stray rock across the roof.

“I didn’t! I wouldn’t make that dumb a mistake!” Zahara denied with the air of indignation at the accusation.

“Then where the hell are we?” Michelle asked, her voice laced with confusion and annoyance.

Coral covered her nose and mouth with her hand, trying to lessen the stench she breathed in as she drew her gaze over the familiar surrounding, eyes squinting in the midday sun. “The gate worked—” Coral said, choking on the sickly sweet smell of rotting flesh. “We’re home.”

They stared out at the campus, the silence of the normally busy square was deafening. Not a living soul in sight, they felt their hearts sink, each thinking the same thing; what happened? Where is everyone? Tension hung heavy around them as they scanned the horizon for some sign of human life or what had caused everyone to abandon the once busy campus they had all called home.

Sean silently watched the stillness, his face creased with pain. “Yea, it’s Hartfeld.” He replied, voice cracking with emotion.

“Nah, man… No way!” Raj replied incredulously.

“Yeah, last I remember there were fucking people! It wasn’t a fucking wasteland that smelled like death.” Craig angrily rebutted.

“I don’t understand. What happened?” Quinn questioned, her usually bubbly personality subdued as she tried to wrap her head around their surroundings.

“Surely this must be the distant future. It must be.” Aleister offered, refusing to believe this was their reality.

Coral slowly spun around, every corner silent, empty and oddly still. What caused this? She couldn’t think of anything that would cause a mass evacuation and leave the stench they were surrounded by.

“What the hell are we supposed to do here?” Michelle questioned the group.

This was all they wanted, to get home—but this wasn’t the home they left, the home they were trying to return to. Could they even return to La Huerta? Would that be the better option than staying?

“We have to look for survivors.” Coral replied, her stomach twisted in knots as she hoped that someone survived, that they could get answers. They can’t all be gone, right?

“Coral’s right. People could be hiding from whatever caused this.” Grace answered gesturing at the empty quad.

“I wouldn’t bet on it.” Jake replied grimly.

“Well sorry if I don’t take your word for it, Jake. Come on!” Sean countered, annoyed at the pilots pessimism.

They carefully descended the building’s creaking fire escape down to street level. Belongings left behind, cars abandoned with doors left wide open. The twelve look around trying to decipher what they were seeing, trying to piece together what could have caused Hartfeld to be seemingly abandoned. What could have been so bad that everyone would simply leave?

“Okay, let's look around. But be careful, okay?” Coral suggested.

The friends carefully maneuvered the desolate street, looking around, looking for clues as to what happened. Stray leaves swirled around them in the breeze fluttering in the wind. Sean suddenly paused, breaking off from Coral, heading down the vacant street.

“Where is he going?” Michelle asked.

Coral shook her head, breaking from the group, following after Sean. She followed him into an abandoned building, mailboxes in the entryway hanging open, everything as eerily quiet as outside. She climbed the staircase up to the second floor, following his path. She paused when she saw him standing in the open doorway, staring into the empty apartment. “Sean? What are we doing here?” She asked stepping closer, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“This is my mom’s place. Was. Was my mom’s place.” Sean replied with a shake of his head. I should have been here for her.

“Oh… Sean.” Coral answered softly.

“After we finally managed to get away from my dad, she wanted to stay close to me. I wanted her close.” Sean said stepping further into the living room looking around sadly. “She got this apartment when I was a freshman. Closest building to Hartfeld stadium.” He walked up to a cracked photo frame, hanging askew on the wall. He picked it up, looking at it sadly. A photograph of a young Sean, beaming after winning a peewee football game stared up at him. Hugging him are a proud mother and father. “I always hated that she kept this photo up. She still loved him after everything. After everything that bastard did to us, she still loved him.” Sean whispered sadly. “At least…she loved the old him. But that man was dead.” Sean slumped down clutching the frame. He blinked, welling tears forced out.

Coral sat next to him, grasping his hand in hers. “I wasn’t here, Coral. I told her I’d always protect her, and I wasn’t here—”

“It’s not your fault, Sean.” Coral replied leaning her head against his shoulder and squeezing his hand.

“That’s all I was ever good at, you know? Taking punishment so someone I care about doesn’t have to.” Sean said sadly. “And for my mom, for the person that mattered most… I couldn’t even do that.” His head dropped in shame. I shouldn’t have left, maybe I could have saved her.

“Sean, we’ll fix this.” Coral replied, voice strong and sure. She had to fix this, for everyone, for Sean. They had no choice but to find out what happened and fix it.

“You say that with such certainty… I don’t know how you do it.” Sean said looking up at her, letting out a laugh. “Only you could make me look at the end of the world and think ‘Yeah, this is fixable.’” He sighed shaking his head. “It seems completely nuts. But I look at you… and I believe it.”

“I believe in us.” Coral replied, standing up, offering Sean her hand. “Come on Heisman. The world needs saving.”

Sean took Coral’s hand following her out to their friends. They stopped in their tracks when they saw Raj falling apart in front of them. Nothing gets to Raj.

Raj paced, his hands thrown up in the air, as he ranted to himself. “This can’t be happening. It can’t be happening. It’s a nightmare. I can’t deal with this. I can’t!”

“Uh, Coral? I think we finally broke Raj.” Zahara stated gesturing to their fun loving friend mid panic.

Coral walked over to Raj. He ran his hands forcefully through his hair, eyes wide and almost wild. Coral wrapped him into her arms. He suddenly stopped moving, freezing as her arms came around him. “I— I—” He stuttered, unable to complete his thought.

“We’re here, Raj. We’re here with you.” Coral stated reassuringly.

“Okay. I’m okay. I’m good now. Thanks, Coral.” Raj replied exhaling. He wrapped his arms around Coral, returning the hug. “You’re a pretty good hugger by the way.”

“You too big guy.” Coral answered, breaking from the hug with a final pat on her friends back.

The twelve turned, heading back to the dorms when Diego froze, squinting his eyes trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

“So. This might sound weird, but—” Diego trailed off, his eyes wide with shock and uncertainty.

They turned, their eyes following Diego’s gaze.

“Is that people?” Jake asked.

“They aren’t people, they’re zombies.” Zahara replied, eyes wide in amazement.

“Zombies? Real live zombies? Cool!” Craig exclaimed.

“Craig, think. Zombies eat people, and we are the only people around.” Zahara replied slugging Craig in the arm as to knock sense into him.

“Oh, yea that’s bad.” Craig replied.

“Run!” Estela shouted.

“Hurry! Back to the rooftop! Go! Hopefully they can’t climb!” Coral declared.

The zombies grew closer, the quiet, the stench, the fact everything was abandoned now making more sense. They sprinted as fast as they could, reaching the fire escape, scrambling up to the roof. Back we have to go back!

“The Gate! It’s gone!” Quinn shrieked her voice high with panic.

“How the hell do we get it back open?!” Zahara demanded.

“I—I don’t know!” Grace replied sullenly.

“Oh no—” Aleister exclaimed, eyes growing wide as their brief head start was coming to an end.

They saw the zombies moving in closer still. The horde seeming to grow the closer they got to the building.

“Varyyn! He must’ve taken the Island’s Heart out of the machine and is on his way back to Elyys’tel!” Diego answered.

“So we’re totally screwed then. Great!” Michelle shouted.

Coral thought back to the times her mind linked with Varyyn. She closed her eyes and searched for him in her consciousness. She searched, pleading, praying he could hear her and feel their desperation. She tried, over and over, squeezing her eyes shut, hoping to finally find him. But she can’t find him, seconds ticked by and all she found was empty space. We must be too far. She slowly opened her eyes, the realization settling in on them one by one, they were stuck. How could we have been safer on an island that tried to kill us than home? She looked around her friends bewildered faces, every face etched with the same fear and worry. How do we get back now? Can we survive long enough to get back? Could whatever had changed be reversed, or was this simply the beginning of the end?

Feedback fuels me, please like, comment reblog or send an ask. Feel free to scream, I promise I can take it.

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mas-ai · 5 years

Text

UTAPRI DISNEYLAND HEADCANONS!

Pardon me while I indulge myself, unload my mind and project.

Warnings ahead: Extremely long post, OOC, self-indulgence, shipping mentions, rare pairs (all characters aged up but nothing nsfw is here), Disneyland ‘spoilers’ , mentions of mental illness/causes of mention illness (Reiji, Ichinose, Aine, etc), not a dark post though, fluff,

Ai:

Mom mode activated

Everyone has specific, custom glowsticks so you can find everyone at night no problem

Also everyone has to wear GPS bracelets that allow Ai to track them in case anyone gets lost

He downloaded a mental map of the parks

Literally never lost, knows where everything is and the fastest way to get there

Faster than the Disneyland app by 73.2% (ok for real though I had almost no issues with it when i was there??)

He knows all of the secrets

All of them

Blurts out a bunch of random trivia and info he found while researching (which makes him fun to be with!!)

Then asks why it's important and has to have it explained to him

Snacks and water every 2 hours

Natsuki:

The actual child

Ai insisted on tethering him to a harness+leash after the aquarium fiasco

Also must have someone keeping an eye on him at all times

Outprincesses the Princesses

where's tinkerbell

more of a fairy than tinkerbell

goes to bibbidi bobbidi boutique and gets pixie dust (glitter) sprinkled in his hair)

the BEST character interactions

insists on eating all the food so he can remake everything when he gets back

somehow finds his way into the kitchens and poor syo is a victim

Poses everyone before all the photos

Must go on the fastest/scariest rides 6 times in a row

Always has hands up and is laughing in every ride photo

The cutest, most magical expressions in all their pictures

Masato:

Brought the snacks and water

Helps Ai give them out on schedule

Also has bandaids, bug spray, sunscreen, hats, sweaters, spare shoe inserts, spare clothes

Has 2 bags in bag check and carries around an oversized backpack all day

LOTS OF BUG SPRAY

"masato there's not really a lot of bugs here"

Insists everyone calls the minute that they're done rides if they separate

Also insists on breaks midday

Ai agrees

Really interested in seeing all the shows, parades, etc and making this a learning experience

Also wants to go on as many tours as possible

Buys everything for Mai!!!

Video calls with Mai so she can see!!

Holds Ai's hand during fireworks

Syo:

we'RE noT taKinG breAkS

he has this D O W N

he trained for this

he made everyone else train for this

This boy is getting everything done. Everything.

Fainted when he realized how much there was to do

Probably asked for Ai's help to make a schedule so they could get everything done

Is the first to deviate from the schedule the minute they're through the gates

Designated FastPass runner

Coordinated everybody else's outfits

"do you think we can get on a parade float"

Boardwalk games!! He wins everything!!

reluctant to leave at mid-day squad

later really glad they left mid-day and is happy to sit by the pool squad

Otoya:

Absolutely the most excited for the trip until they got there

Is now overwhelmed

Really interested in the music

Seriously he pays attention to everything in the background and hums it the entire time

He's so inspired for new songs now

Designated photographer

All his photos are blurry

CARS LAND!!!!!

Winds up just running for FastPasses with Syo instead

(i got kinda shippy with syo/otoya on ideas but ill resist)

Ichinose:

Pulled more allnighters than necessary (sometimes with Ren) to plan and book everything but nobody knows how much they put into it

Original daily routines, flights, reservations, packing lists, everything was started by him and Ren (until Ren started to favor sleep after two weeks)

At first it’s all super simple but then he starts overcomplicating it and when he's in the thick of it he can't stop and has to solve every potential problem

(no problems wind up happening)

Reiji discovers him one night and shuts it down (and then took over/shifted some stuff to Ai who would be better suited)

He and Masato were then in charge of buying items for the trip but Masato started overplanning/over worrying so he took over

Park bags? Got them. Ponchos? Thank him. Waterproof phone protectors? You got it. Chargers? Lots! Trading pins? Preordered online

Also really thinks hard about everybody's individual needs and concerns and is worried about everyone not having the best time ever

This boy is S O F T

He was also in charge of meal plans (until they got to the park and Ranmaru started hearing about all the food and took over)

This boy has not slept since they first decided they were going and hasn't done a single thing he wanted to do the entire time they're there

So crowds are a thing and he's now crashing

Reiji pulls him aside and they wander off to get some drinks and probably to Tom Sawyer's Island (very quiet! beautiful nature views!) and just... be in Disneyland

Really deep conversations while looking into New Orleans!

They ride the Mark Twain together and drive the boat too!!

Reiji takes him through all the shops on Main Street and they spend hours in the art gallery

Also they sit on the disneyland railroad and just go around the park 400 times? (he likes the parts in Splash Mountain, also the show scenes)

He and Reiji get caught in one of the 'bandit' shows where their train is 'robbed'. He's annoyed at first but has fun.

Is now just the designated ticket/pass/autograph book holder. Probably safely storing everyone's passports in his luggage too.

Camus:

Does not appear interested in this adventure. At all.

Until one night he orders Cecil awake at 3AM to do a bunch of research for him and does not say why

Nobody finds out until the day of, but he's upgraded EVERYTHING. First class jet, upgraded rooms, premium viewing for shows, etc

Probably managed to book an entire section of the park (or even an entire park) for the group

Also he just wanted information on every treat in the area

He wants to try EVERYTHING

He knows where all the best sweets are (don’t be fooled a lot of the food/treats are d i s g u s t i n g) and all the specials for the season

Contacted ahead of time to have special treats made for each of them that represent them and are then delivered during their dinner as a surprise

Do it right or not at all

Don't half-ass things

This means nothing. I care about none of you

"peasants"

he's smiling

reluctant to leave at mid-day squad

later really glad they left mid-day and is happy to sit by the pool

Cecil:

"whats that"

O H

NOW HE'S VERY EXCITED

Marathoned every movie EVERY movie for months with everyone

TAKE THIS BOY TO THE PARADES

ALSO ON THE TEACUPS

ALSO MUSICAL CHAIRS WITH ALICE AND HATTER

thinks the princesses are actually princesses

charms them all

Was not amused at waking up so early and obeying Camus but learned a lot and is surprisingly well-versed in the park

Knows where everything is and what everyone is doing at every point in time

"has anyone seen x it's been 4 hours" yes he knows where they are

Also Ai would wake up halfway through his planning sessions and stumble across Cecil and they'd wind up planning together

Really cute early morning planning sessions before work

Cecil falls asleep on Ai’s shoulder

This is when he finds out about Ai

He changes into full-on rainsuit for water rides 'for ai's sake' and makes ai do it too (ai is confused)

He and Ai huddle together under an extremely oversized raincoat (or refuse to get on water rides altogether)

But if they're getting splashed he dramatically sacrifices himself for Ai

reluctant to leave at mid-day squad

later really glad they left mid-day and is happy to sit by the pool nap squad

So inspired by all the lights and costumes

STARISH is now getting led costumes

Also quick-change costumes (tear-away to reveal a second outfit!)

Skipping/running EVERYWHERE

singing the entire time

Ren:

This boy takes forever to get ready in the morning

But he’s one of the first awake and helps Ai & Masato to parent everyone out of bed

There’s an ongoing joke that the three of them are married

Maybe they are

Did so much more for this trip than anyone realizes

Suggests they split off several times during the day so everybody can enjoy what they want to

Probably winds up taking over photos after seeing Otoya's

They're much better

Insists on hiring professional photographer though

Don't tell anybody but he pulled all-nighters to get things planned out with Ichinose

Coralls everybody in for the afternoon breaks

“Time to relax in the pool” initiation squad

“yes you have to shower before we go back”

really glad they left mid-day and is happy to sit by the pool squad

Reiji:

"we're riding indiana jones ten times in a row kids" take me with you

haw yee

This boy has the most flamboyant hats and you can spot him from a mile away

the worst for being tacky

But also at the same time really charming and cute somehow??

But don’t tell him!

Doesn't voice anything he wants to do, wants everyone else to have the best time.

Insists on surprise kiss pictures with everyone

Scrapbooks everything at the end of the trip because it was some of the best memories he had with everyone

he probably cries over the pictures because they mean a lot to him

Ai finds out about the scrapbook and helps out

Is surprised for the following Christmas when everyone pulled together to make matching sweaters & ornaments for the whole group for a group picture for Reiji’s sake

It’s now a tradition

It’s his favourite tradition

Ranmaru:

Here for the food

Or so he thinks

Winds up liking the rides a lot though

Probably the one everyone hangs onto when they're scared

super protective of ai on rides

throws himself over ai on several occasions to prevent him from getting wet

this is a good boy. ty for protecting the precious robot

Last to wake up and first to head home but b o y does he have the most fun

hell to pay the one day masato forgot to pack a banana

masato still feels bad

(reiji to the rescue to prevent meltdown though)

unintentional cat naps with cecil during the mid-day breaks

either they’re cuddling

or cecil wanted to watch a movie and they wound up falling asleep while ranmaru was playing with cecil’s hair

he didn’t realize he swears

he just missed relaxing with a cat

cecil says nothing

Bonus!

Aine:

at the bottom of the finding nemo ride

bye

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asterinjapan · 5 years

Text

Where the sky meets the sea

And so my final day on Okinawa comes to an end... "But wait," I can hear you think, "didn't you boast about Okinawa being a subtropical island before? We've only seen a beach on day one, and a small one at that." Well, hypothetical critical reader of this blog, let me rectify that. You want white beaches? Clear blue skies? Even clearer and bluer seas? Coral reefs? Today's the day!

So I ventured outside of the main island Okinawa to nearby Tokashiki island. I had actually already reserved a ticket the day I arrived, since today was the only possible day left, but ferries can be cancelled on the day itself due to high waves. My luck hadn't run out yet: the weather was great and the ferries were on.

They recommend for you to be at the ticket office an hour in advance, so naturally I woke up way too early and ended up at the office about an hour and a half in advance, oops. I got a return ticket from Tomari port in Naha to Tokashiki in return for my reservation, and waited patiently for the ferry.

I had booked the marine liner ferry, as it's a high speed ferry twice as fast as the car ferry, and boy, are they serious when they say high speed! I thought a seat on the deck would be nice, but almost no one else sat there, so in the end I followed the rest indoors. Just as well, because wow, it felt like a plane taking off! I had to keep looking outside to remind myself that it wasn't plane turbulence and that we were on the water, whoa.

35 minutes later, the ferry arrived at Tokashiki. Now, for the prettiest beaches, you need to go to the other side of the island. Luckily, there are buses that are timed with the ferry times, so there were already 2 buses waiting to shuttle us to Aharen beach.

The bus ride crosses a mountain area and goes past a smaller beach, Tokashiku (not a typo). And that view alone was just - breathtakingly gorgeous. The skies were blue and stretched out over amazingly green and blue seas, so pretty it was hard to believe this was real and not brushed up.

And that wasn't even my destination, because soon enough, the bigger but no less beautiful Aharen beach came into view. The bus parked right next to the beach entrance, so it was only a couple of steps to be treated to a view of utter beauty. Wow.

Realizing I had a whole day to enjoy this, I took my time leisurely strolling across the beach, which was relatively quiet due to the high season being over. I took off my shoes and walked though the water, which was a sweet relief, aside from the reason these beaches are so white. You see, the Kerama islands that Tokashiki is the biggest of are famous for their coral reefs. And since coral is alive, it also dies. The beach was covered in small bits of white dead coral. I can only hope they died naturally. If anything, the kerama islands have been declared a national park and as such, preservation efforts to save the coral and sea life are in place.

Following the line of the sea, I ended up on an uphill trail, which I followed through the palm trees to find the Kubandaki lookout tower. Ohhhh my gosh. Let's just say I took a ton of pictures, panorama shots, and stayed up here for a good while, just taking in the amazing scenery and relaxing in the shade and breeze.

After that, it was nearing midday, so I walked back down all the way to the bus park, which is also the host of plenty of drink and food stands and marine rental services. I sat down with a delicious smoothie as I waited for one very nice service: the yellow submarine. I'd inquired upon arrival, and now again, and was asked to return at 12:30, because the submarine won't leave with just one passenger.

I was in luck once again however, since a German speaking family of four had gathered here too and together, we met the minimum of five. Thank you family!

The service included a shuttle bus to the port where the ship was waiting for us. True to its name, the yellow submarine is yellow. And though I thought it'd be a glass bottom boat, it was something else - like a true submarine, the bottom part of the boat was below sea level and had windows on all sides. I think you can predict what that means - the submarine would tour the bay and bring us past the coral reefs, so that we can observe them without needing to dive.

At first, only a single curious fish checked us out through the windows and the ship sailed too quickly to make out more than bubbles. But then it slowed down, and the real beauty came into clear view.

Gorgeous coral reef upon coral reef, all hosting fish of all shapes and sizes, some in schools so massive they seemed never ending. They seemed pretty okay with the boat floating past, so we could see them clearly and I made sure to take plenty of photos, although honestly... this was such a wonder of nature, you just can't capture that in a photograph. I bet half of them are blurry too, since I wasn't really looking at the screen. I just wanted to take in this gorgeous view right in front of me.

As icing on the cake, a sea turtle came swimming past, taking his time and not at all bothered by the ship. We also spotted a sea snake, which our guide assured us was very dangerous. I'm glad the boat was watertight, haha.

The trip was generously long, I think about 40 minutes? It wasn't cheap, but oh boy, this was just - almost otherworldly. I have seen similar views at the zoo not even too long ago, but to be a visitor in the natural habitat of these creatures was something else entirely. And all this just minutes away from the pretty beaches. So much marvel right at our feet.

Well, colour me impressed for sure, haha. We were shuttled back to the beach, where I got a shaved ice and pondered my options with over 2 hours left. At this, my feet spoke up, saying "listen, we carried you to nakagusuku castle on top of a hill, which is fine, that was lovely, but we're at a SUBTROPICAL BEACH now and we're going to RELAX".

So I went and rented a parasol and beach chair, with apparently the additional service of a staff member walking with me bringing said items, ask where I wanted to sit, and dug in the parasol for me. That's so much more service than I'd expected! I could just leave them there when I left too. Niiice.

And so, I spent my last hour and a half chilling on the beach, near the sea, shielded from direct sunlight by my fancy parasol, occasionally taking a selfie just to annoy everyone back home. Ahh, that's the life. (And I'm not even one to sit back and do nothing, but time really flew like this. )

Eventually, the time approached when the bus back to the port would arrive, so i made my way to the stop in advance. The way back was peaceful, although I did get pills to help against motion sickness as I was already feeling a bit queasy after that first ferry ride. I'm not sure how they even work, but they did their job as I wasn't nauseated at all on the return. That or it was the fact I kept dozing off, haha. It's been a long and exciting day after all.

I found my way back to the main shopping street without trouble and even without Google maps, though I must say the big landmarks are very well marked here. In fact, I haven't gotten lost even once! Credit where credit is due, Google maps definitely helped out a lot finding the right bus stops, but still. I must also note that the bus system is considerably less confusing if you can read Japanese, or at the very least the stops you need to pass. In the end, I used a combination of 3 websites and Google maps, but I did find everything I wanted to do, minus that weird mishap with sefa utaki.

I had dinner with Okinawan taco rice and then made my way back to the hotel to repack my luggage for tomorrow's flight, something I'm still in the middle of as I'm waiting for my laptop to finally finish updating (it's been at it for over an hour and it's still at 27%, so I just ended up typing the whole report on my phone, yikes).

I can't believe I've been lucky enough to see almost everything I'd planned this week, and with such amazing weather too, if a little hot. And the buses are all but empty, I'll have to get used to being crammed into trains again after tomorrow, haha. I really ended up loving Okinawa. To be fair, I have loved it for a while now, but that was on paper, in theory after seeing the pictures. Getting to experience this unique place myself has been amazing, and I'll be treasuring this week for years to come, I already know. Today really was the amazing cherry on top.

I still have 3 weeks left, but there's a strong typhoon on its way right now and seems to head right into Kyushu and/or Shikoku. Since I'll be going to Kyushu tomorrow and Shikoku next, I think you'll understand I'm less than stoked. At least the typhoon won't get here until the weekend, so my first couple of days in Fukuoka should be alright. I'll cram in the day trips I most definitely wanted to do and then... the waiting game, I suppose. I'll be checking into my hotel on Okayama near Shikoku on the 14th, so we'll have to wait and see what the typhoon is to by then. As the Japanese say, 'shikata ga nai', it can't be helped even you want to. I can't go out and stop a typhoon, so I can just prepare and hope for the best. I'll keep an eye on the news and if there are signs of it being too dangerous to go out, I most definitely won't.

I'm just telling you ahead of time, because this looks like a typhoon that might show up in the news abroad too. Let's just hope for the best case scenario. For me, it's just a pity that a couple of days are going down the drain, but people's livelihoods are also at stake here, which is so much worse than a couple of days in a 4 week holiday spoiled.

So on that slightly blue note, I'm signing off on Okinawa for tonight. Wish me luck with my suitcase and my laptop updates, haha.

See you tomorrow from Fukuoka!

#report #japan 2019 #report: japan 2019 #for those of you reading the tags: yes that title refers to the moana song #I hope this entry looks okay since I'm posting it on my phone

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latenightskid · 6 years

Text

Wacorra Under

Kathryn was helping Ethan cover himself with a special plastic to keep his wiring away from the water. Mark, standing in the doorway in his wetsuit and helmet, arms crossed tightly, tapped his foot impatiently against the floor; it made a faint clank that was beginning to bother Tyler, who stood next to him.

“Can you stop tapping your foot?” he asked, partially annoyed. Mark grunted as he forced his foot to stay still.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, turning away slightly. “I’m just… nervous. How do we know these Waccorans aren’t going to try to drown us, or kill us, or make us one of their undersea statues?”

“Because they asked us to come and help them with their planet,” replied Kathryn. “They’re not going to hurt anyone, and they won’t let us get hurt.”

Mark mumbled something else under his breath, but no one heard him. They all assumed it was another complaint. Amy walked up to him and placed one hand on her hip, the other wrapped around the helmet at her waist.

“Are you too angry to give us a rundown of Wacorra?” she asked him. He sighed and pulled out the panel they needed. It turned on and pulled up a holographic image of the planet. It was entirely covered in water, except for some small patches of land dotting the surface, including the one they had landed the Barrel on.

“The entire planet is an… organism,” explained Mark, shivering at the word. “Nothing good’s been coming from it, as would be expected from under the ocean. The Waccorans said they would have more information for us when we got here.” A short, three-toned beep ran through the ship.

“That’s them,” said Tyler. Amy walked over to the door and pressed a button. The metal door slid up, and a staircase deployed to let them step out. The group stepped onto the smooth, teal terrain of the island. A pair of brightly-colored people stood in front of them. Their legs transitioned at the knee into large pieces of coral with flat bottoms, like lumpy, porous feet. Their skin was composed of patches of different shades of their main color; these two were light blue and peach, respectively. Their shoulders and ears branched into smaller pieces of cylindrical coral, and their hands each included three webbed fingers. Flat noses sat on their faces, and their eyes were mostly black. The blue one’s hair was short and yellow, and it looked to be partially crystalized. The peach Waccoran’s red hair was a bit longer, reaching his neck. Their lower halves were covered in rags that matched the color of their hair. They both looked happy to see them.

“You are the crew of The Barrel, yes?” asked the blue one.

“Yes,” replied Amy. “I’m Amy. This is-”

“We know your names,” interrupted the peach one. “You are very popular on Waccora. Great heroes. I am Lesp. My partner here is called Miern. We are happy to have you.”

“Happy to be here,” replied Ethan with a friendly smile. “Well… most of us.” Miern gazed at them, giving an approving nod as he looked each of them over.

“You can breathe underwater, yes?”

“With these suits,” replied Kathryn. Miern nodded rapidly, and he and Lesp exchanged an approving smile and nod.

“Please, follow us.” The two turned and stepped into the water, side-by-side. Kathryn, Amy, and Ethan didn’t hesitate to follow them. Mark approached the water’s edge slowly and peered in. It was a teal color that matched the land -- the land he wished he could stay on. Tyler gently poked him in the back, causing him to inch forward. He flinched and turned to see Tyler giving him a smirk.

“Come on,” he stated. “We’ve got to help these people.” Mark sighed and started in after the group.

The water was surprisingly clear. They were able to see a good distance ahead, mostly of rocks and several colorful varieties of kelp rising from the floor. The ground wasn’t sand, but rather a smooth rock surface. Miern and Lesp led the group.

“The Wacorra is our parent,” began Lesp. “We came from the coral beds of the valleys within the Wacorra. But recently, the Wacorra has been mistreating us. They release toxins into the water that have killed many a village. They have swallowed villages whole, and we are dying by the dozens. We must ask you to embark on a dangerous quest, heroes.” The two stopped and turned to the crew. In the distance, they could see spires and tall structures grouped together. “We ask that you dive into the mouth of the Wacorra and find what is causing them so much distress.” Lesp and Miern seemed uneasy; they knew that their request was a lot to handle.

Mark wanted to say no. He wanted to tell them how their quest was a death sentence, that they were putting his entire crew in jeopardy for something they could do themselves, but he didn’t. He wanted to help. He saw how upset the two had been while talking about it. Everyone did. They were terrified for the future. That’s why Mark said, “Alright. Give us everything we need to know about the Wacorra. We’ll help any way we can.” The group nodded in agreement. Lesp and Miern gave each other large grins, and Miern took one of Mark’s hands in both of his.

“Thank you, heroes,” he began. “We are very, very grateful.” Mark patted his hand gently, feeling the rough coral texture against his skin.

The group finally made it to the village. Spires of crystal-covered stone sat around the outskirts of the village, creating a border. The buildings were rough boxes, carved from stone and decorated with paint that was made to withstand the water. Many more Wacorrans walked across the square, each with their own bright color scheme. Some of them looked over at the group and seemed to recognize them, growing excited and mumbling to each other. Some of the buildings had open fronts to allow for quick shopping, but they couldn’t see much more of the village for the Waccorans surrounding them. Lesp and Miern stopped at a structure and motioned for them to step in. They all piled into a small room with crystallized chairs that seemed to have once been made out of a different material, but none of them could tell what. A table sat in the middle of the room in the same condition, with a small panel inside a large bubble in the middle of it. Miern reached his arm in; the bubble didn’t break as he slid into it. He pressed on the panel’s screen, and a holographic image appeared.

“This is the mouth of the Waccora,” he explained. “It is just beyond the border of our village.”

Miern and Lesp explained the entire plan of action with the group. The Waccora themself was made of more than just a mouth, but comprised different caves and underwater bodies of liquid. Once the plan of action had been discussed and everyone was in agreement, they started out the doorway.

“Thank you again, Barrel crew,” said Lesp. “We owe you our lives.”

The mouth of the Wacorra was anything but a mouth. It was a wide cavern that fell into darkness as far as they could see. Mark had been brave so far, but this was insanity. “There’s no way,” he mumbled.

“Mark,” prompted Kathryn, “we need instruction.”

Marked looked around at the group to see they were all looking at him. He took a deep breath and returned their stares. “We have to check on the six different areas,” he began, “all of them with a different function. There’s three passages that connect two of the areas. Once we reach the bottom” -- he stole another glance into the pit -- “if there is a bottom to this, we break into three groups. Kathryn and Ethan, you two will head to the filtration lake and the crystal support. Tyler, you find the root garden and the crystal core. Amy and I are going after the disposal pit and the coral reef. Everyone got it?” They all nodded. “Great. Keep your comms at the ready, and report in if anything happens.” Ethan was the first one in, already jumping in as Mark finished talking. Kathryn followed him quickly with a small chuckle. Tyler patted Mark on the shoulder and began to float down next. Mark crossed his arms and watched the rest of them drift down. The darkness encased them once they got deep enough. Amy grabbed Mark’s shoulder and looked down at the mouth.

“After you,” she said. He shook his head quickly and began to turn. Before he could start walking, she pressed on his shoulder and pushed him down into it. Before he knew it, he was dropping head first into the belly of the beast. Amy floated beside him, and he quickly grabbed her waist. She chuckled and let him hold her. Once they reached deep enough, they were trapped in darkness. They floated for a couple more minutes until finally, Amy touched down. Faint lights came from down two other corridors, which she assumed were the rest of the group.

“Are we at the bottom?” asked Mark.

“Is Mark clinging to you like a baby?” teasd Kathryn.

“Wha- no!” Mark quickly let go of Amy and allowed himself to drop to the ground. He quickly pulled himself up and turned on his flashlight. A few quiet laughs rang through his comms, and he made a face. “Turning off team comms, if you don’t mind.” He switched his voice connector so only he could only talk to Amy. Everyone sounded off and did the same. Amy turned to the remaining tunnel of rock, and squinted, trying to see into it from where she was.

“Well, it’s now or never.”

“How many people do you think are left?” asked Ethan, scanning the area with his flashlight. Kathryn looked over her shoulder at him.

“I don’t really want to think about it,” she replied. “It’s a scary time for them.”

“I know… I feel so bad. Wait, up ahead.” They walked farther until the walls of the tunnel expanded into a circular room. In the center sat a large body of deep green liquid, surrounded by some smaller puddles of the stuff. The ceiling of the cavern was porous, with faint trails of gases escaping the holes. It was warm. Really warm.

“How does it work?” asked Ethan.

“Apparently it’s supposed to filter out the bad chemicals in the water for the people to live, but it’s been expelling them instead,” Kathryn explained. They looked around the room. Ethan squatted down and looked at one of the puddles.

“Hey,” he started, “does it take in any solid material?”

Kathryn turned to him from the other side of the room. “It’s not supposed to. Why?”

Ethan slowly reached his hand in and pulled out something rough and covered in the green sludge. “I don’t know. I just found…” He shined his flashlight at it to get a better view before screaming and tossing it into the air. It floated down and hit one of the small areas of land in between the puddles.

“Ethan? What is it?”

“Coral! There’s coral in here!”

Kathryn’s stomach dropped. “What?” she asked, beginning to move toward him. “Coral? Why would there be coral in here?”

“I don’t know! Why would anyone come down here?” Ethan pushed himself to his feet as Kathryn examined the piece of coral. She reached her hand toward the liquid, but felt intense heat before she even got close.

“What happened here?” she asked softly, to no one in particular.

Tyler wandered down the tunnel, scanning the area with his flashlight. The root garden hadn’t had any issues; in fact, was actually quite pleasant. It was a large room where roots had hung from the ceiling, all apparently healthy and vibrant. He couldn’t imagine what could be causing so much distress to the poor planet, but it wasn’t anything in there, he was sure. His flashlight reflected back at him, and he shielded his eyes. He had reached a smaller room. In the middle of it, connected to massive roots, floated a large crystal. The crystal itself was covered in the same crystal particles that coated the hair of all the Waccorans. He circled it, looking at all the sides. One caught his attention with a large, wide crack. He let out a small gasp as he shined the flashlight at the ground at his feet; there were shards from the break scattered around him. Tyler gently ran his hand over the edges of the break. It was created by something external, he knew that much; the crystal couldn’t have done this itself. What caused it, though, was what scared him. He placed his hand against the crystal beside the fissure.

“We’ll fix this,” he mumbled. “Alright?” A deep sound ran through the room, ending with a few clicks. It sounded close.

Mark stayed close to Amy, turning here and there constantly to make sure nothing was behind them.

“I can you feel you dancing the salsa behind me,” she laughed. “We’re almost there.”

“Hey,” he protested, accidentally bumping into her on another twist, “you don’t know what might be down here. The Wacorra is obviously distressed. How do we know it isn’t from some deep sea monster?”

“I mean, technically, it’s possible.”

Mark’s eyes widened at that statement. When he saw the room get larger, he turned forward. “Is this… the coral reef?”

They walked slowly past small, crushed piles of brightly colored coral. Pieces were everywhere, some large, others practically dust. They shined their flashlights across the ground.

“It can’t be,” mumbled Mark.

“What happened here?”

“Obviously nothing natural. I told you there was something down here.” They looked the room over once more. Amy let out a sigh.

“Nothing to find,” she said, turning to Mark. “We’ll have to head to the disposal pit. I can’t imagine what that’s like.” Both of them took one last look at the crushed coral around them. Neither of them wanted to think too hard about what it really meant. What all of the coral was supposed to be. As much as neither of them wanted to face what had caused all this damage, they had to move. They needed to help the Waccora, so things like this would never happen again.

The trip between rooms lasted only a short time. There was no exchange of words, except the occasional check to make sure the other was alive. Their minds were racing. They were in the dark, n the inner mechanisms of an ocean planet, n a place that they could easily be attacked by… something. Anything. Neither of them knew what, and neither of them wanted to find out. They finally reached the disposal pit, where Amy let out a sharp, “Oh my…” Her hand pressed over her helmet where her mouth was. Mark placed a hand on her shoulder, but he was equally horrified. Broken stone structures rested in large piles. They looked just like the villages above them had. The room stretched back farther than they could see, and neither of them wanted to move forward. Scattered across the debris was coral pieces, some composed of entire limbs, others shattered into bits. When Amy didn’t move, Mark pulled her closer.

“What did this?” asked Mark, more upset than scared. Amy pulled away, keeping a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Are you alright?” She gave him a quick nod and turned to the rubble. They moved a bit closer; they needed more information on what had happened. They both had to constantly look away, as some coral parts were a little too intact for comfort. A sudden groan rippled through the rubble, and they exchanged a glance. They grabbed each others’ hands and flashed their flashlights toward the sound. They watched a small hand wave slowly in the distance. Their stomachs dropped, and Mark moved quickly.

“Hold on,” he called, climbing over the debris. Amy soon broke from her state of frozen fear and joined him in the climb. Mark tried to move the debris, but it wouldn’t budge. Amy pulled too, almost in tears. Nothing.

“Don’t,” came a voice. They both stopped, and Mark shined his flashlight down. The top half of a pink and purple Waccoran stuck from the debris. She lowered her hand onto the rubble, her eyes heavy and slow. “Heroes. I knew… I knew you would come. Eventually. You would come.”

“Is there any way we can help?” asked Mark, on the verge of panic. “Is there… is there any way we can get you out of this?”

Her long purple hair swayed slowly above her, strands catching on the debris behind her. She held out her free hand and placed it on Mark’s thigh. “I’ll be gone soon. But… you must find the beast. The Wacorra… the Waccora will not stop fighting. Fighting against the beast inside. Unless it is stopped, we all will crumble.”

“What is the beast?” asked Amy, tears in her eyes.

“I don’t know. Please. Amy. Mark. Save the Wacorrans.”

Amy held back tears as best she could as the Waccoran’s hand slipped from Mark’s leg and fell slowly to the debris. Mark helped Amy off of the debris and pulled her into a tight hug as she cried.

“We’ve got to find… whatever this beast is,” he told her quietly. “Did anyone bring any weapons?”

“I don’t think so,” she replied, slowly pulling herself together and pulling away from Mark. “How are we supposed to do this?” A scream cut in over their comms, and they quickly switched them to team communication.

“Tyler!” called Mark, motioning for Amy to follow him as he began jogging out of the room. “Tyler, is that you?”

“Everything checks out here,” came Kathryn’s frantic voice.

“Tyler!” screamed Ethan. “We’re on our way!”

“What’s happening?” asked Kathryn.

“There’s some monster in here,” explained Mark. “The Wacorra has been trying to get it out of their system, but can’t track it down. They’re pulling in anything from the surface in hopes of getting it off the planet.”

“Well, it’s not doing a very good job,” yelled Ethan. The pairs made their way into Tyler’s tunnel and joined together.

“I have an idea,” began Kathryn as they moved. “There’s a bunch of puddles of waste coming from the filtration room. Ethan was able to put his hand in, but when I reached for the liquid it was hot. Really hot. If we can lead the monster into that tunnel, we can kill it.”

“Tyler,” called Mark. “Are you still alive?” Grunting noises came from Tyler’s comm, as well as faint clicking and screeching noises.

“Barely,” he grunted. “But… I’m holding…”

“We’re almost there,” called Amy.

“Tyler, we’re coming buddy!” yelled Ethan. They reached the crystal core and were immediately met with a horrifying figure. Their flashlights revealed bony, black legs with long, sharp claws at their ends. Its back was hunched, with pieces of coral stuck to it. Its face was mangled and its deep red eyes were positioned haphazardly. A rough, black tongue hung from its mouth from between a razor-like teeth. It opened its mouth to let out a shrill screech, ending with a clicking sound. Everyone froze. Suddenly, Tyler pinned it to the ground.

“I heard the plan,” he groaned, as it struggled against him. “Get a head start. Go!” They turned and ran, some of them sooner than others. They raced down the tunnels as fast as they could underwater and turned down the tunnel toward the filtration room. The clicking and screeching grew louder, from echoes to a pinpointable origin.

“Almost there,” called Ethan. The beast’s noise was right on their tail, and when they finally reached the chamber, everyone jumped to the walls. Kathryn gave the creature one final push as it charged into the sludge. It let out an piercing, horrifying shriek as it melted into the liquid, marbling the green with deep black. Everyone panted, and Kathryn slid down the wall.

“Did you get it?” asked Tyler, over the comms.

“We got it,” Mark replied between breaths.

Miern and Lesp stood outside while the crew peeled off their wetsuits. Everyone but Ethan had wrapped towels around themselves. Kathryn and Tyler ate while Ethan described what their sections of the Wacorra had been like. Amy and Mark stepped off the ship to say their goodbyes to the Wacorrans.

“Thank you,” began Miern, almost in tears. “Thank you, heroes. We give our hearts to you. You saved our people.”

Lesp nodded at every word. “Yes, yes,” he continued. “We thank you. We have teams below now. They are working to repair and fix the damages done by the beast you have slain. Is there any way we can repay you?”

Amy was about to say something when Mark cut in. “Yes. Don’t ever let me go into the water again.” Miern and Lesp looked confused, and Amy gave Mark a hard smack on the shoulder.

“What he means,” she began, giving him a glare, “is that we don’t need anything, really. We were happy to help.”

Miern and Lesp nodded, not particularly torn either way about the refusal of their gift. “We wish you a safe flight.” The two groups parted ways, and Mark patted himself down.

“Ugh… where are my keys?” he grumbled. Amy held them out in her hand with a smart smirk. Mark gave her a sarcastically happy look and took them from her. “Thank you, Amy.”

#spaceiplier #space au #markiplier #crankgameplays #amy nelson #kathryn knutsen #tyler sheid #lazy writer

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argotmagazine-blog · 6 years

Text

The Art Of Being A Unicorn

“Look, all I’m saying is that I don’t believe for a minute she really wants to fuck women.”

Our first round of drinks arrived five minutes ago and already the conversation is on Candace and her recent induction into the Sapphic Sisterhood. I take a deep gulp of my Riesling. And another. Empty glass in forty-five seconds. Self-preservation in the form of wasted wine.

“It’s just some kind of phase. Maybe she skipped the ‘experimentation’ stage in college and wants a round two. Either way, no way she’s suddenly a dyke.” Kate takes a deep swig from her bottle of Magic Hat, confident she’s made her point. The alcoholic equivalent of dropping the mic.

“It’s just so weird.” Lisa tries to fish the cherry out of her Cosmo with the swizzle stick. She slowly pulls it up the side of the glass, and then loses it, the candy red sphere tumbling back to the little well in the bottom of the martini glass. She purses her lips as she stabs it and then pops it into her mouth. “She’s only dated guys, before. Though, I mean, it’s not like Dana is much of a chick. She’s so...” She trails off, twirling her hand in the air in front of her as she tries to find the word.

“She’s ‘so’ what?” I press, knowing the answer, my tone sounding more frustrated than I planned. The others at the table don’t seem to notice, but out of the corner of my eye I can see Kevin lean his head on his hand, so his face is ‘casually’ pointed my direction. He raises his eyebrows, his eyes reminding me of my promise to be nice to his friends. I give him my best ‘I know, honey, but I kind of want to stab them in the face right now’ smile in response, my lips almost painfully pressed into a thin, curved line, my eyebrows raised to mock his.

“Oh! Butch! That’s the word I was looking for!” Lisa looks satisfied. She turns toward her husband. “Right?”

Mark shrugs, dipping the complimentary pumpernickel directly into the included ramekin of butter. He scoops the off-white cream onto a corner of the bread, takes a bite, and double dips.

“Maybe she’s bi? Or pan?” I bring out the smile I usually reserve for annoying customers, hoping it will keep my voice even and friendly.

Kate scoffs. “People only say that as an excuse to be sluts.”

“I dunno, Kate. She was cheating on David with Dana before they broke up.” Mark points at Kate with his second piece of bread, his mouth full.

“Bisexual doesn’t mean slutty. And even if it did--“ My voice comes out an octave higher than I’d have liked. The customer service smile is not so much put back in its neat little compartment in my mind, as violently ripped away. Kevin takes in a sharp breath which evolves into a heavy sigh as he leans back in his seat, finding something interesting about the ceiling.

Kate speaks over me. “Yeah but David hadn’t had sex with her in, like, a year. So, that’s kind of his own fault.”

Mark helps himself to another scoop of butter. “You think Dana tricked her, somehow? I mean, like, Candace is lonely, vulnerable, and then this person swoops in and makes her feel desired. Yeah, the parts are different but if you close your eyes, it all feels the same.” He looks up at the rest of us, noticing the sudden silence. “What? It’s only gay if you give.” He pops the last bit of bread into his mouth. “Well, I guess except for butt stuff.”

I eye Kevin’s Captain and ginger ale. The server could come back any time, now. I really should have ordered something stronger than wine.

“Lesbians don’t do ‘butt stuff’, Mark.” Lisa rolls her eyes at her husband. “They use, I dunno, dildos and shit.”

“Cos all ladies really want the D.” Mark’s voice is smooth as he purses his lips in a cocky mockery of seduction, motioning with both hands to his crotch in the universal, ‘suck it’ sign. “Right, Kev?”

Kevin looks away from the lights on the ceiling. “Hmm? I, uh--“

“Oh yeah,” Mark interrupts, giving a slow, knowing nod, “Kevin knows.”

“Look, why--“ I clear my throat and lower my voice as Kevin gives me a light kick under the table. “Why do you care so much about Amanda’s love life? She’s dating a woman, now. So what? I mean I’m--“

“Wow, the salmon looks awesome!” Kevin interjects. He points at an expertly crafted photo of perfectly air brushed pink fish in the menu.

“Dude, you can’t order fish at Outback, that’s just weird.”

“I’m having the chicken.”

“Oh come on, why would you go to a steak place and not get steak?”

“I like chicken.”

“Blasphemers, all of you.”

I leave them to their bickering, reaching across Kevin to snag his drink. I stare at the side of his face as I down it in two chugs. Fuck it.

Later, walking to the car after goodbyes and promising to get together again soons are exchanged, I let out the hot, writhing put of snakes that have been in my stomach most of the evening.

“Dude, what the fuck was that?”

Kevin doesn’t even look at me as he pulls out his keys, pressing the button to unlock the car. His green Camry beeps, the interior lights automatically illuminating the cabin. “What the fuck was what?”

“Cutting me off like that when they were talking about Candace! I know they’re your friends, but they were being fucking assholes.”

He opens the passenger side door, stepping back and waiting patiently for me to sit down and reach for my seatbelt. “Because I knew you were going to play the bi card.” He pushes my door closed and walks to the driver’s side. His door dings when it opened.

“Excuse me? ‘Bi card’? Are you actually serous right now.”

The overhead light dims into darkness. He shrugs, inserting his key into the ignition. “I just don’t see why my friends need to know that about you.” He turns the key, reaching for the radio volume knob as the CD player come to life. Death Cab for Cutie pours from the speakers. “It’s not like it even counts, right now. You’re with me.” He turns up the volume and puts the car into reverse.

“Care to explain this?” Meredith throws the pink and blue notebook onto the black marble coffee table. It slides across the smooth, polished surface, before coming to rest in front of me. Half of it hangs into void between the table and the couch. The 3D yellow flower on the front bounces slightly on its small spring. Meredith glares down at me, the angry lines around her mouth betraying the age her perfect make up tries to hide.

“My journal? You bought it for me for Xmas.”

“Don’t be a smartass.” My dad’s voice holds barely controlled anger. I know that he will end up yelling by the end of this confrontation--he always does. And I will end up matching his volume as my words devolve into rage filled sobs. It’s a very specific script. But for now, he’s holding onto at least a shred of civility.

“I really don’t understand what’s going on right now.”

“What’s going on,” Meredith’s voice drips with patronizing contempt, “Is that you got ‘hot and heavy’ with Hope. What are you, some kind of dyke now?”

Pressure starts to rise in my sinuses. “You read my journal? What right do you have--“

“What right does she have?!” Dad jerks forward in his chair, his face red. “What right do you have?! You don’t own that journal, little girl. It’s under our roof, it is our property.”

“Why is this such a big deal to you?” My throat is tight and my words come out in a strange croak. I am determined not to cry this time. I won’t give her the satisfaction.

“The big deal,” Meredith’s lips purse in disgust, her coral lipstick fluorescent against her overly tanned skin, “is that it is wrong. And we will not have it under this roof.”

“Technically, I wasn’t under this roof. We were in Derek’s car.” I want to delete the words from existence as soon as they’re out of their mouth.

My dad sighs. I’m impressed with his composure thus far. I expected my inability to keep my mouth under control to spark the shouting portion of tonight’s entertainment. “You’re not even old enough to have sex with men, how could you possibly know if you want to have sex with women?” It’s the same line he’s given any time I mention my various gay friends.

“I’m sixteen.”

“Exactly.”

“The fact I exist proves that teenagers have sex, Dad.”

“I called her mother.” Meredith interrupts the debate on teenage sexuality to bring us this important breaking news. She crosses her arms over her off-white sweater, smirking.

Panic rises in my throat, followed by the acidic taste of bile. This panic is not for myself. “Are you serious? How could you do that?! Her parents held a freaking laying on of hands at her birthday party! They wouldn’t allow her to attend sex ed! What do you think they’re going to do with her when they find out she likes girls?”

“That is not my problem, but she assured me that this will never be an issue again. And you two are forbidden to see each other.”

There is a low buzzing in my head as my mind fills with a white, blank space. I don’t realize I’ve left the couch until I find myself sitting at my desk in my room. I’m surprised they let me leave without further judgment. I don’t even know if I’m grounded.

Later that night, long after my dad and stepmom go to bed, I sneak the cordless phone out of the living room, and dial Hope’s cell. It goes directly to voicemail.

The next day an overly polite computer voice informs me that the number has been disconnected.

Hope isn’t in school that Monday. Or Tuesday. Or Wednesday. Then, through the Humphrey High rumor mill, I hear the news.

“Her parents Baker Acted her!” I shout as I walk through the door leading into the kitchen from the garage. Meredith is at the island putting the finishing touches on a sandwich. She doesn’t bother to look up.

“Who are you talking about?”

“Hope! They lied and said that she’s a danger to herself! She’s in an institution because you told her mother about us! This is your fault!”

Her eyes meet mine, steel wrapped in brown silk. “I will not be spoken to that way by a dyke.” She takes a bite of her sandwich and places it onto a dark green plate. She carries it out of the kitchen, through the living room, out the sliding glass door, and onto the patio. She sits on the painted white concrete and dips her legs into the clear water of our pool.

“So you’re a lesbian?” My mother’s voice is calm and conversational. I hear her typing through the other end of the phone, multi -tasking between talking to me and participating in an ‘alternate-lifestyle’ chat room. She recently acquired a computer, launching herself into the late 20th century a year past Y2K. Her internet provider is AOL.

“No, mom, I still like guys, too. I guess I’m bi. I actually kind of like this dude in my Chemistry class. He looks like Ethan Embry.”

“I have no idea who that is.”

I sigh, exasperated in that way only teenagers feel when confronted by their parents’ ignorance of the really important things in life. “He’s an actor, mom. He was in Empire Records? Can’t Hardly Wait?”

“You know I’ve never seen these movies.”

“That Thing You Do?”

“Oh! I liked that one! Who was he?”

“The bass player.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, he’s cute.” She pauses. “But you like girls, though.” Back on topic.

I slouch further into the fuzzy blue overstuffed chair in the corner of the den. It’s the ugliest chair that ever uglied but I love every comfy inch of it. It was the only piece of furniture left over from when my parents were married. I have no idea why my dad lugged around for over a decade. I am equally confused as to why Meredith allowed it in the house, as it clashes with everything, even if it is banished to the den, the room company is least likely to see. All I know is that I call dibs when I move out after graduation in a few months.

“How did your dad and Meredith take it?”

I sigh, my breath causing static into the phone. “Not good.”

“Hmm.” She makes a noncommittal noise and I can tell she is trying to decide to play nice or let me know for the eight thousandth time how she feels about my father and his bride. “You know, I’ve experimented with women.”

My mouth could catch flies. “Wha--really?”

“Mmmhmm.” The keyboard continues to clack in the background. “That one convention I went to, I played with a couple female subs. It was okay. Boobs I could play with all day but anything below that, eh. Not really into vaginas. Dicks are much more fun. Oh, and Allen and I did have a threesome with that Mille girl who used to live next door to us. Remember her? She used to keep an eye on you when you were in middle school?”

I shut my eyes tightly, a sharp pain in my temple. My brain tries to process this outflow of information. The play dates with ladysubs weren’t really a big deal--I’d known about my mom’s kinky lifestyle for a while--but Millie? Beautifully damaged, dramatic, soft haired Millie?

“Y-You had sex with Millie?” I stammer when my mouth decides it can once again form words.

“Yeah. Kind of. Allen was there, too--“

“I had a crush on Millie, mom.” Actually, crush was a loose term. I was infatuated my Millie. I dreamed of Millie. She was the first real life girl I was ever interested in. My confused desires previously focused on beautiful actresses like Lucy Liu and Portia De Rossi, what with Ally McBeal being my queer gateway drug.

But Millie. There was something special about her. Something wild in the way her life was full of emotional turmoil and passion. She was a walking soap opera and it fascinated me. She was also the first person I ever smoked weed with, so there was something to be said about my mother’s choice of baby sitters.

My mother laughs. The typing sounds stop. “Really? You liked Millie?” Another laugh cuts off whatever I wasn’t going to say. “Looks like we have the same taste in women.”

“Oh god.”

The typing begins anew.

“I’ve seen her play five times.” The woman in front of me has dark hair and is beautiful. The dim lighting of the bar shadows her skin a darker brown and she wears her hair naturally, kinky curls springing from her head in every direction.

“And I thought I was bad!” I give a little self-deprecating snort. “I’ve seen her three times, I think? I try to make sure to get tickets whenever she’s in town. She really must love this venue.”

Arms reach around and above me as women crowd the bar to grab a drink before the end of intermission. Melissa Ferrick is already back on stage on the other side of the club, tuning her guitar and laughing at something her drummer said. The stage lights make her short brown hair look blue.

The woman takes a sip of her martini, her maroon lipstick staining the glass. I didn’t know anyone actually drank martinis. Everyone I know makes due with the cheapest beer they can dig up, and wine either in a magnum or a box. One day my friends will realize that being twenty-one means we are allowed to be choosy. I’m tired of pretending I like the taste of PBR.

“What are you thinking about?” Her lips are a smirk. I didn’t even realize I zoned out, staring at the dark green olive at the bottom of her glass.

“I want to eat your olive.” My answer is honest, but I wish I could take back the words. She raises her eyebrows for a silent second before bursting into laughter. It comes from deep inside of her.

“Is that what you kids are calling it nowadays?”

I’m glad for the bar’s terrible lighting as I feel my face get hot. I take a long swig of my Newcastle. Oh god, new subject. “I saw Doria Roberts open for her a few years ago. She was just fucking amazing. I just oh man so good.”

She gives me that smirk again and my insides feel squiggly. “I was at that show. Too bad I didn’t see you there, we could have met sooner.”

I can no longer meet her eyes. It’s just too much. “I was with my ex then, anyhow. He was reviewing the show for UCF’s newspaper. Trying to get a music column up and running. “

When I look back up, her eyebrows are furrowed. She pulls her head slightly away from me, looking at me out of almost the corner of her eye. “He?”

I shrug, not sure why she’s asking. “Yeah. Didn’t work out. Still friends, though.”

She shakes her head, sighing as she stands. “Sorry, chica, I learned a loooong time ago not to get involved with straight girls. To0 much drama.”

I spin fully towards her on my bar stool. “But I’m not—dude, I’m bi.”

She scans the crowd closer to the stage, making eye contact with someone and raising her hand in the ‘one minute’ sign. “Oh honey,” she says as she picks up her drink. She continues smiling at the woman in the crowd, not bothering to look back at me. “If you’re still calling yourself bi at your age, you’re straight. Sorry to let you know.”

She walks away, weaving through the crowd of bodies towards the front of the stage. Melissa Ferrick readjusts her mic, her black guitar reflecting the shadows of her fans. There’s a squeal of feedback. Everyone laughs.

“I’ve liked you since high school, I just needed to see what it was like.” Jane’s fair cheeks are red as she confesses, looking from me, to her hands, to the TV showing the DVD menu for Moulin Rouge. My lips are still tingling from the kiss she surprised me with a few seconds before.

“I--“ Ugh, I’ve never had to do this, before. “Look, Jane, I’m flattered and you know I love you, but not really like that. I just don’t—“

“It’s ‘cause you’re still in love with Ray, isn’t it?” She rolls her eyes, flinging herself against the back cushions of the couch with more force than I thought her tiny frame could muster. She blows an errant lock of blond hair out of her eyes.

“No, that’s not—“

“I liked you better when you were a lesbian.” She reaches for the remote.

“What is with you, today?” Kevin hurries to catch up with me as I hurry to keep myself a few steps ahead of him. I should have known better than to come to Pride. This was a stupid idea.

“What are you talking about? I’m fine.” I maneuver around a pretty girl with a pink crew-cut. Her t-shirt informs me that linguists do it with tongues.

I feel a tug on my arm and stop as Kevin uses it to hold me in place while he closes the last few feet between us. “No. I know what okay looks like and this is not okay. This is acting weird. What is going on?”

I gently pull my arm from his grasp and run my hand through my pixie cut. “I just--“ I pause to find the words. “I feel weird. Here.” I look down at the sidewalk. A fried and shriveled earth worm is stuck to the concrete. “With you.”

“What?” He sounds more hurt than angry. Damn it.

“It’s not really about you, I just feel like--” I shrug, looking up to scan the tops of the surrounding buildings. I never noticed that there was molding up there. Lion heads. Clichéd. “I feel like I’m an imposter. That I don’t belong here because I’m with a guy. Okay?”

He scrunches his nose and scoffs. “That’s stupid.”

“What?”

“No one cares that you’re here with a guy. No one is judging you for not being gay enough, okay? Everyone’s been enjoying the parade and the free candy. No one has even noticed. You’re being paranoid.”

I take a deep breath to keep myself from screaming. He doesn’t understand. He didn’t see the raised eyebrow the dreadlocked woman next to us gave when he caught one of the handfuls of condoms that were thrown into the crowd by muscled men in silver shorts. When he gave me a nudge with his elbow, saying “This’ll come in handy tonight!” with a wink. He didn’t see the man in front of us turn to look, pursing his purple stained lips, as Kevin stated with surprise that he didn’t realize the Polar Bear Club supported gay rights. The man rolled his eyes as I explained in a hurried whisper what the term ‘Bear’ referred to, and no, it didn’t mean they liked to jump into freezing cold rivers. He stood out in his black t-shirt amid the sea of rainbows. And it made me stand out beside him.

I slowly let out the breath I’ve been holding and take his hand. There’s no use in arguing. “You may be right. I’m just being insecure.”

We walk a few blocks, taking in the colorful crowd that surrounds us.

“Kev?” A voice from across the street stops our stroll. Candace waves, making her way through the crowd, Dana holding onto her hand protectively.

Kevin waves back and we meet in the middle of the sea of people. Hugs and "oh man how’s it been, haven’t seen you in forever"'s are exchanged.

“Wow, you’re the last people I thought I’d run into here.” Candace states, laughing.

Kevin returns the laughter, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t usually see a lot of straight couples at Pride.”

Jenna Swisher's work has appeared in Chatham University's literary magazine, Minor Bird, as well as Daikaijuzine, The Battered Suitcase, and Beyond Imagination. She lives in Pittsburgh with her boyfriend and their five cats.

#bisexuality #biphobia #relationships #emotional labor #pride #lgbtq #culture

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travelworldnetwork · 5 years

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By Andrew Evans

20 March 2019

Lord Byron’s grandfather was having a bad day.

Scurvy had taken down his crew on the HMS Dolphin, forcing them into their hammocks where they swayed in the sticky heat of the tropics as their ship listed slowly across the Pacific.

Eager to control the South Atlantic, the British Navy had tasked Admiral Byron with settling an island off the South American coast where ships could resupply, and then finding an alternative route to the East Indies. By the time he finally returned to England, he had set a record for circumnavigating the globe in less than two years; claimed the western Falkland Islands for the Crown; and nearly started a war between Great Britain and Spain in the process.

Byron sailed away, marking his frustration onto a new map of the world by naming these atolls the ‘Islands of Disappointment’

But after rounding the tip of South America, the explorer confronted the world’s largest body of water: the endless Pacific Ocean. After a month of empty blue horizon, a tiny island appeared. Byron noted the date (Friday 7 June 1765), and joyously described the island’s “beautiful appearance – surrounded by a beach of the finest white sand – and covered with tall trees, which… formed the most delightful groves”.

View image of Tall coconut groves fill the interior of Tepoto, in French Polynesia (Credit: Credit: Andrew Evans)

The naval officer watched as his crew crawled onto the deck, “gazing at this little paradise” that was green with abundant young coconuts whose vitamin-rich meat and milk could heal their bleeding gums. Alas, Byron quickly ascertained that it was impossible to land. “I could not forbear standing close round the island with the ship,” he wrote in his daily log. With the high surf and a shallow coral shoreline that dropped starkly into the bottomless blue, there was no safe anchorage.

Then there were the natives, noted Byron, who showed up on the beach brandishing 5m-long spears. The islanders set massive signal fires to warn a neighbouring island of the impromptu invaders. “The natives ran along the shore abreast of the ship, shouting and dancing,” Byron recalled, waving their long spears as a warning.

“They would kill us… if we ventured to go on shore,” wrote Byron, who attempted one more landing in a longboat before giving up. “[They] set up one of the most hideous yells I had ever heard, pointing at the same time to their spears, and poising in their hands large stones which they took up from the beach.” The British made a go at frantic diplomacy by throwing old bread at the islanders, who refused to touch the stale food but instead waded into the water and tried to swamp the longboat.

Byron backed off and instead set sail towards the larger neighbouring island, but he again failed to anchor along the ringed coral atoll. Meanwhile, natives armed with spears and clubs followed the longboat in the surf, using “threatening gestures to prevent their landing”. Byron only convinced the islanders to back off when he shot a 9lb cannonball over their heads. Less than 20 hours after arriving, Byron sailed away, marking his frustration onto a new map of the world by naming these atolls the ‘Islands of Disappointment’. The map was published following his round-the-world journey, and the moniker has stuck ever since.

Rediscovery

I laughed out loud when I first spotted the name in Byron’s sea log during a bout of insomnia, and was instantly hooked, reading line by line through the night until dawn. The name, now commonly listed as ‘Disappointment Islands’, sounded more like the title of some back-shelf Tintin comic than a real place on Earth. But the name checked out online, pointing to Napuka and Tepoto, a pair of far-flung dots in the South Pacific, etched upon the blue surface of the Tuamotu Archipelago, the largest group of coral atolls on the planet.

Peering down on Google Earth, the smaller of the two Disappointment Islands resembled a single-cell organism floating alone in the ocean. Measuring just 4 sq km, Tepoto is one of the smallest of the 118 islands and atolls that comprise French Polynesia. This green teardrop banded by sandy beach upon a deep blue ribbon is also the tiny island where Byron failed to land. Could I get there, and would I be disappointed, too?

No hotels, no restaurants, no tourist industry – it sounded like paradise to me

And yet, 254 years after Byron’s attempt, the Disappointment Islands still proved difficult to access. Flights to the larger atoll of Napuka are not even listed on Air Tahiti’s international website. I spent three weeks making cold calls before I got hold of an agent.

“You can fly to Napuka in February,” she explained in French, “but then you have to stay a full month.” And so I travelled in the better weather of May, when scheduled flights still gave me a minimum eight-day stay. Located nearly 1,000km from Tahiti’s capital, Papeete, Napuka is one of the most isolated islands in French Polynesia, and a quick stop on a larger circular air route. Once I stepped off the plane, I would have to stay.

“You should arrange a place to stay beforehand,” my friend Celeste Brash recommended. She had never been to Napuka, but as the author of Lonely Planet’s Tahiti & French Polynesia guidebook, she spoke from personal experience: “Those really remote atolls in the Tuamotus don’t really know what to do when visitors show up.”

No hotels, no restaurants, no tourist industry – it sounded like paradise to me. This was my ultimate desire as a traveller: to show up unannounced like those ailing British sailors, open to the naked fate of true exploration. I opted out of scurvy and long months at sea in favour of the 18-hour flight to Tahiti from Washington DC, measured out in cups of fresh pineapple juice poured by flight attendants wearing floral prints. After a night in Papeete, I boarded a two-hour prop plane to Napuka.

Journey

For the first hour, I watched the empty ocean far below me. The blue intensity astonished me as much as the immensity of the water. Polynesia is believed to be one of the last areas on Earth settled by humans, and that ancient people sailed across this void in narrow canoes from places like Indonesia and the Philippines seemed nearly impossible. Resting my forehead against the vibrating window, I studied the leathery surface of the mid-morning Pacific, basking in that rare moment when stark geographic truths confront you: Polynesia is more ocean than anything else.

View image of The Disappointment Islands are part of the Tuamoto Archipelago, a chain of nearly 80 islands (Credit: Credit: Andrew Evans)

Faint white rings of coral atolls appeared – les îles basses, or ‘low islands’ of the Tuamotus. We dropped in tight circles and landed on the atoll of Fakarava, where at least half the 20 passengers departed. Ten minutes later we were back in the air, hovering over an even longer stretch of blue.

Another hour passed before I recognised tiny Tepoto – alone in the ocean, single and miniscule, exactly like on my computer screen back home. The plane veered right and the larger atoll of Napuka filled my oval window view, like a turquoise boomerang encircling a long necklace of white coral islets. Right before we landed, I saw a flash of metal rooftops and green palm groves, a few dirt roads and a pointed church steeple.

As the doors opened, thick, hot air saturated the plane and I dashed across the tarmac and into the shade of the Napuka Airport – a small, open-air shelter just off the runway, stacked with luggage and cargo. It seemed as if the whole island had come to meet the plane – the first flight to land in weeks. Families rushed towards us and flung fragrant flower leis around the necks of loved ones. As the lone foreigner, I stood apart, awkwardly watching the ritual of welcome, already feeling invasive and uncomfortable. Though I had travelled 12,000km, a great divide remained. I did not belong in this scene, and everybody there knew it.

“Are you here on holiday?” a younger man asked me in French, heaving a duffle bag into the shade.

I smiled and shrugged. “Oui.” It was easier than explaining how late-night Googling and reading the diary of an 18th-Century sea captain had led me to embark on this indulgent quest.

We chatted. His name was Jack, and he and his colleague Evarii were electronic technicians from Tahiti, servicing all the tsunami warning sirens in French Polynesia. They had come to repair the siren on Tepoto, which is only accessible by boat from Napuka, and like me, they would have to stay eight days before the next flight back. But why had I come? Jack asked me. Where would I stay? Did I understand that there were no ‘services’ on Napuka?

Evarii seemed annoyed by my presence.

“Do you do this often?” he asked. “Just show up in a place without any plans?” Before I could tell him yes, in fact, this was my favourite way to travel, Jack intervened.

“I’ll talk to la mairesse. We’ll figure something out.”

View image of The only way to Napuka is aboard an irregular two-hour prop plane from Tahiti's capital, Papeete (Credit: Credit: Andrew Evans)

As if stepping out of a Gauguin painting, a woman soon approached me with a flowing bright skirt and a wide straw hat pinned with flowers that shaded her face. Her name was Marina and as tavana (‘mayor’, in Tahitian) of the 300-person atoll, she oversees everything that happens on Napuka, including every flight that lands at the airport.

“Why did you not contact us to let us know you were coming?” tavana Marina asked me. “We have made no arrangements!” I fumbled an unconvincing response, saying that I didn’t want to be a burden.

“Do you want to visit Tepoto?” tavana Marina asked, because a boat had already been organised for the technicians. Yes, I wanted to visit Tepoto. That was Byron’s first elusive island, and aside from the once-a-month supply boat, there was no way to reach it. I jumped at the chance.

“Come with us,” said Jack, smiling. Evarii huffed.

“You know there’s no water over there!” Evarii mentioned as he looked over my meagre luggage. I knew. I had practically memorised the Wikipedia entry: ‘These islands are arid, and are not especially conducive to human habitation’. I had a few litres of water in my bag, but it was barely enough for one day, let alone a week.

“We can share,” Jack said. We drove in the back of tavana Marina’s pickup truck to the short cement dock, where a small metal skiff was hanging by steel cables from a front-loading tractor. I helped load the tiny boat with supplies, including a massive cooler of drinking water the technicians had checked as cargo from Tahiti. In a flash, the front loader dropped the skiff into the water, and two drivers jerked the outboard motors to life. The three of us hopped inside, and with a burst of engine, broke through the surf.

Arrival

Out past the reef, the sea was calm with a light swell that rapidly pushed us north-west from Napuka towards the vague horizon. Aside from the wind, the only sound was the buzzing of twin outboard motors that carried our tiny party out into the heart of the ocean. In all my travels and ocean crossings, I had never felt this vulnerable on the water. I was seated on a boat the size of a kitchen table, floating atop the bluest and emptiest part of the globe without a speck of land in sight. The fringe of palms on Napuka had disappeared behind us, and for a solid 10 minutes, the blank horizon met my gaze from every direction, blue upon blue.

And yet I felt an inherent trust towards my Polynesian crewmates. I had dropped my life into their hands and watched as they read the changing currents like road signs. Their eyes focused on the horizon and their fingers twitched the angle of the motor by half an inch, this way and that, steering us towards the invisible target of an island so tiny you could miss it and not even know.

View image of A front-loading tractor must use steel cables to raise and lower boats into the surf (Credit: Credit: Andrew Evans)

“No GPS!” cried Evarii, shouting over the engine. He nodded to the drivers and tapped the side of his head. “They just know where to go.”

Twenty minutes and 10km later, a thin green stripe of land pushed up from the water, followed by the white coral beach against the blue-green surf. After another 20 minutes, the island came into full view: coconut palms waving left and right, just as Byron had seen so long ago.

Unlike the admiral, I landed successfully on Tepoto. In time with the rising and falling waves, I hopped onto the short dock and watched another front loader pluck the boat right out from the sea. It made perfect sense that an 18th-Century British tall ship would fail to find harbour here. The island was nothing more than a sharp and shallow reef that dropped off starkly into the dark blue depths, just as Byron had described.

“Welcome to Tepoto,” a man in his late 30s said as he shook my salty hand and introduced himself as Severo, the island’s one and only policeman and the son of tavana Marina back on Napuka. She had called to tell him that I was arriving, and now a party of islanders was coming out to greet us. At the helm was a woman wrapped in a purple muumuu who dropped a string of white Tahitian gardenias around my neck, dousing me in a honey-vanilla perfume.

“Bienvenue,” she said, kissing me on both cheeks and introducing herself as Louana.

“Maururu,” I replied in Tahitian. Thank you.

View image of There is only one road on Tepoto and it's paved with crushed coral stone (Credit: Credit: Andrew Evans)

Louana was the tavana of Tepoto, and she led us up from the beach, past the leaning palms to the single row of pastel bungalows that lined the island’s only street, paved with crushed coral stone.

“Have you ever seen a four-headed coconut tree?” a young boy asked me in French, running alongside me.

“No, I have not,” I answered.

Have you ever seen a four-headed coconut tree?

“We have one,” an older boy piped in. “It’s a coconut tree… with four heads!”

I struggled to follow the excited rush of voices that came at me, each one a weird puzzle piece of information concerning this remarkable four-headed coconut tree – how nature made it comme ça – and how originally the trunk was split into seven heads, but those extra three broke off in a typhoon long ago. Several islanders offered to show me the arboreal wonder.

Two hours after dropping into the Disappointment Islands without water or plans, I had a place to stay with the visiting technicians in a peeling-pink shack with plywood walls and cut-out squares for windows. Red-orange curtains printed with white hibiscus flowers flapped in the breeze as I sat sweating on the bed, adjusting to the 38C heat. Not only had I landed in Tepoto, but I had been welcomed.

Tepoto

Minutes later, Severo buzzed by on his scooter with lunch cooked by his wife Tutapu: pan-fried snapper with rice, peas and coconut bread. The fish had been caught that morning and was more delicious than any I had ever eaten in a restaurant.

While we ate, Severo sussed me out. As the island policeman, his job was to keep the peace and look after the welfare of the few dozen inhabitants, he explained.

View image of Most of the homes on Tepoto are wooden bungalows with cut-out windows (Credit: Credit: Andrew Evans)

“It’s very tranquil here,” he said. “No real problems.” But now I had shown up and he kept looking into my eyes, as if trying to read my intentions. “I can’t remember the last time we had a visitor. Not for as long as I’ve been here – over 20 years now.”

In fact, Severo said that no-one could recall the last time a non-Polynesian had come to Tepoto – certainly not in their lifetimes. Then, he told me that what I had read on Wikipedia was wrong: there weren’t 62 residents on the island, but closer to 40 now, 13 of which were children under the age of 12.

“Young people leave,” he explained. Once they turn 12, the French government sends them to boarding school in Hao, another atoll in the Tuamotu Archipelago 390km away. For high school, teenagers go to the main island of Tahiti. Severo had grown up on Napuka and returned there after high school, then married a girl from Tepoto and moved here.

“What will you do while you’re here?” Severo asked.

“Explore,” I answered, though I had made no real plans. I had not really thought past the possibility of getting here. Now that I had actually made it, the coming days confronted me. “Wait until it’s cooler,” he advised.

View image of Tepoto's residents are predominantly Catholic and often attend mass in the island's one church every day (Credit: Credit: Andrew Evans)

I dozed through the hot, humid afternoon and heard no other sounds except my own slow breathing that seemed to follow the rhythm of the whispering surf and listing palms. At 16:00, I followed the sound of a tinkling bell across the road, where most of the islanders sat on outdoor benches facing a shrine covered in garlands of flowers and chains of seashells. A musician played a guitar in one corner while the island’s nurse stood up and led the congregation in a strong and harmonious hymn.

Still singing, a woman moved to one side, offering to share her bench with me. The Catholic mass lasted a full hour, rotating through chants and readings and hymns – all in Tahitian. Afterwards, the lady explained that this was the holy week of pilgrimage when islanders gathered twice a day before the Virgin Mary, the angelic figurine at the centre of the elaborate floral decor.

“We are lucky here on Tepoto,” she said. “There is no war. No crime.” There were no real problems at all, she mused, lighting a hand-rolled cigarette. She also told me there was no running water or internet, and very limited electricity. Tepoto received its first solar panels and electric power in 1995, and a mobile phone tower within the last five years.

“Have you ever seen a four-headed coconut tree?” she asked me, point blank.

“No, I have not.”

“We have one here, maybe the only one in the world,” she said with an air of mystery before saying goodbye and returning to her bungalow to untangle a hairy pig tied by one leg to a palm tree.

Night fell fast and the stars blew me away. I gawked upwards from the empty beach as if catching the night sky for the first time, the Milky Way scrawled like a diagonal swath of pink gauze.

The bell woke me before dawn, calling believers to another Catholic mass. This time I opted out and walked to the end of the one road, past the fanning palms and out to the coral shoreline. The sun rose behind me and lit up the sea like silver. I continued southwards, walking the length of the 2.6km island and admiring the tidal pools that housed tiny worlds of maroon-speckled crabs and green fish. Blue-eyed clams lay cemented in the rust-coloured coral and seabirds soared overhead.

Massive white-stone crosses marked the cardinal points of the island, while the windward stretch of beach showed a collage of remnants that had floated in from the outside world: a whisky bottle; Chinese pharmaceuticals; a cracked CD case; a bottle of Japanese salad dressing; and a barnacled tennis shoe. I considered the long journey of the driftwood that now rested on this bit of shore. Where had it come from – Asia, the Americas or New Zealand? Tepoto was like some forgotten punctuation mark between all three.

View image of Massive white, stone crosses mark the four cardinal points of Tepoto (Credit: Credit: Andrew Evans)

In three decades of travelling, I had never encountered such a raw and solitary place. The empty beaches and silent palm groves seemed timeless, as though a mirage of Byron’s ship still hovered somewhere off in the warm, salty breeze. I had seen this island depicted on old atlases and my grandfather’s globe and had somehow transported myself here – and yet, even my own footprints seemed implausible, as if I had stepped from my own reality into some far-flung dream state.

Within days, I fell into the forced simplicity of the island: sleeping under a single cotton sheet; sipping instant coffee made using rainwater drained from the roof; eating raw clams; and then exploring every short footpath on the island. I bathed with a dipper of water from the rain barrel. Under the shade of trees and front porch roofs, I talked with the islanders and listened to their stories. At times I grew painfully thirsty, but kept silent, never asking for a drink. Yet somehow, the islanders always knew, sending their kids to gather fresh coconuts and then chopping them open and urging me to hydrate. I offered to pay and was always refused. In fact, I only handled money once, to pay Severo for my room and board.

News that a foreigner had landed and was staying in the pink bungalow near the dock drifted across the tiny island. Occasionally, a few people stopped by in the evening to say hello, offer me a tour of the island or to ask me earnest questions. “How many houses do you have you in your town?”. “Are you a Christian?”. At times when I went off to explore, I caught glimpses of watchful eyes, peering at me through the palm fronds. They knew I was under the policeman’s care but remained on alert. I reacted by living with total transparency, down to my underwear drying on the clothesline.

When it grew too warm, I swam in the ocean, the islanders watching from shore. Wearing goggles, I caught the flash of colour and life that swam beneath the waves – pastel fish whose scales matched the row of humble houses on Tepoto. Mounds of spiky coral glowed neon-like, healthy and unbroken, spared from the careless destruction of men.

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Perhaps Byron’s disappointment had sheltered this place from the rest of the world, preserving it to this day. I’d seen the bleached and broken coral reefs of Bora Bora and Tahiti, where too much love has ruined the natural paradise that first put Polynesia on the tourist map. But here, halfway between the Marquesas and the main Tuamotu island groups, Tepoto has remained comparatively unblemished. I felt lucky to glimpse the vibrant and teeming underwater life, knowing that millions of tourists would visit the rest of Polynesia and never see this kind of virgin reef.

Nor would they ever see the four-headed coconut tree. After days of anticipation, I received a personal invitation from three schoolboys – Tuata, Tearoha and Sylvain – who escorted me to the mayor’s office where the technicians were finishing up their work on the tsunami warning signal.

A stumpy tractor with a wide shovel (the island’s only vehicle) had been dispatched for our adventure. Sylvain’s father André drove, while I rode inside the shovel with the technicians. In all, there were eight of us clinging to the tractor as we manoeuvred and bumped our way into the dense coconut grove at the island’s centre.

Coconuts are the only cash crop on Tepoto, and as we pushed through the forest, I noticed small piles of halved coconuts, thick with hairy husks, drying in the sun. The oily white flesh, called copra, earns a fixed rate of 140 local francs (about £1) per kilogram, and is carried away once a month aboard a supply ship. Every islander has the right to collect and sell copra for cash, but André explained that the coconut trees had begun to die. A small invasive beetle was killing them, he said, making the leaves fall off and leaving bare, toothpick trunks poking into the air.

After 20 minutes driving through the grove, the tractor stopped and the engine cut. I looked up and there it was, skinny and circumspect, barely noticeable except for the four branches that spun out from its base. The long fronds waved back in the wind.

View image of The residents of Tepoto are incredibly proud of their four-headed coconut tree (Credit: Credit: Andrew Evans)

“It’s the four-headed coconut tree!” Tearoha shouted like a carnival barker. I stood in awe at the oddity before us and wondered how it came to be. By now I had heard the story from nearly every human on the island, how there had been seven branches, but three had broken off in the last major typhoon. The men began to recall different storms that had flattened the forest of trees in hours, and how the old people could predict a typhoon just from watching the birds. In the past, the islanders latched themselves to coconut palms to keep from being blown away by the gale-force winds. Now they had a siren triggered automatically from hundreds of kilometres away and the stone church to protect them.

We took the long way back to the village, continuing first to the southern tip of the island. André pointed towards Napuka in the east, and standing on land instead of crouching in a boat, I could barely see it over the waves. A baby black-tipped reef shark hunted in the shallows, zipping after the schools of smaller fish.

We followed the beach around towards the pink sunset, and I caught sight of my own footprints from days before – the only footprints on that side of the island. Just like Byron had marked his disappointment on a map of the world, I had left my own impressions in the sand of Tepoto. Another tide and my trail would be erased and redrawn with the winding trails of seabirds and coconut crabs.

André stopped the tractor in front of his turquoise bungalow and leaned against a palm trunk. With a few swift chops of his machete, he hacked down fresh coconuts for all of us and handed me a whole litre of coconut water.

View image of Coconuts are the only cash crop on Tepoto and are hauled away once a month on a supply ship (Credit: Credit: Andrew Evans)

“We may not have water,” said André, “but we can always drink coconuts.”

That night, André, Severo and some of the other men of Tepoto gathered outside our pink house to drink beer and talk fishing. They spoke a mix of French, Tahitian and the local Tuamotuan language of Paumotu. I strained to fully understand their epic tales of catching bonito by the hundreds – the same bonito I had been served that day for lunch, raw, but with chopped onions and coconut milk.

“Here, a gift,” said Joseph, a fisherman who handed me a handmade lure that he used to catch bonito. The sharpened metal hook was decorated with a carved mother-of-pearl spinner and a wild pig’s tail. In return, I gave him my goggles.

This was a tiny solar-powered island without internet, cars or Starbucks. The technicians and I were the only outside influence, and I tried to make it count. During my last two days on Tepoto I taught Tuata and Tearoha how to play chess. The elementary school had a chessboard, but none of the children knew how to play. After hours of instruction, I had them play against one another. That night, Evarii challenged me to a game and we played into the evening. One by one, the Tahitian technician killed my pieces until only my tall white king remained, chased in circles by the black king and bishop.

“Checkmate,” Evarii said.

“No, wait,” Jack intervened in French. “C’est la nulle.” It was a draw. Neither of us had won. My plastic king was destined to wander the board aimlessly, and Evarii would never have the satisfaction of killing me. He went off to sulk in the last sunset I saw on Tepoto, when the sky lit up blue and green, then peach, rose and orange. Wood smoke scented the air and shooting stars lit the night. Jack played the ukulele, singing lovelorn Polynesian songs along with our hosts until well past midnight.

View image of Sunsets on Tepoto light the sky in blue, green, and then peach, rose and orange (Credit: Credit: Andrew Evans)

Napuka

The next morning, the men launched the boat into the surf, lowering it with the tractor and plopping it into the turquoise shallow at just the right moment. Severo’s in-laws came with us. From time to time, they liked to visit family on Napuka.

“You are welcome anytime,” said tavana Louana, dropping a string of polished cowrie shells around my neck.

“Yes, come stay with us again,” said Severo, adding another necklace. André and the other islanders came and added their own hand-strung necklaces. By the time I climbed into the wobbling boat, my head bowed forward with the weight of shells around my neck. Five minutes later, Tepoto was nothing more than a whisper of green on the blue ocean.

I spent three more days on Napuka, adjusting to the sudden noise and crowds of this 200-person metropolis. Severo’s mother-in-law had warned me, “On Tepoto, we don’t lock our doors, but on Napuka, we lock them.” Two hundred people were too many to trust, and unlike Tepoto, there were cars and at least three streets including the road to the airport.

View image of Fishing on Napuka with Evarii, Jack and Marama (Credit: Credit: Andrew Evans)

Whether he was assigned or volunteered, the island’s fireman became my escort on Napuka. His name was tattooed across his muscled chest – Marama – and within an hour of landing, he had me knee-deep in the lagoon while he cracked open a live clam.

“Eat it,” he said. “You need to taste how good our clams are.”

I reached into the shell and pulled at the cool, gelatinous animal. Then I plopped it in my mouth, squishing down and biting through the salty and slimy flesh.

“More. You left the best part,” Marama said. I cleaned out the shell and then slurped the juice like an oyster. Marama beamed. Was this some kind of test?

“Most foreigners would never agree to eat a raw clam like you did,” Marama said. “But this is our culture. This is how we survive out here. You showed that you respect us.”

I did respect them, but on Tepoto, I had also been eating clams for every meal – raw, pickled, cooked and curried. I never foraged on my own; to take anything from the island would be stealing, I thought. The islanders enforced their own quotas, but shared whatever they pulled from the sea with me.

Marama told me he was on the Napuka island council that regulated the gathering of clams and coconuts. When there was no other food to be had, there would always be clams, and it was his job to maintain a sustainable population of both clams and coconuts.

View image of Frangipani grows wild on Napuka; the smaller, star-shaped Tahitian gardenia is a symbol of Tahiti (Credit: Credit: Andrew Evans)

“How did you hear about Napuka?” Marama asked me, as we walked back towards town. I told him that I had read about the islands in a very old book.

“Byron?” asked Marama with a smirk.

“Yes,” I answered. “Byron came here in 1765.”

“You know,” said Marama, “the people here are not very happy with Byron. He called us ‘The Islands of Disappointment’, right?” He laughed, “I wish people knew the truth about this place. You really have to know the people to understand.”

“I know,” I said. “And now that I’ve been here, I know that Byron was wrong.”

Indeed, it seemed impossible to feel disappointed in the scene that enveloped me at that moment. The sky seemed Photoshopped with evenly-spaced clouds, and the lagoon glowed the colour of California swimming pools. Twenty metre-high coconut palms danced slowly, and I had just made a new friend who would take me fishing the next day and then swimming at his favourite beach. He would introduce me to dozens of new friends, including Maoake Tuhoe, one of the oldest men on the island, who claimed I was the first foreigner he remembers coming to Napuka since, “those Peruvians passed by in that boat.”

Upon further questioning, I discovered ‘those Peruvians’ were, in fact, a group of explorers aboard a raft led by Norwegian Thor Heyerdahl in 1947 that washed up in the Tuamotus 72 years ago.

Marama would be there on the day I left, gifting me a necklace he had strung with large, fragrant flowers and kissing me on both cheeks like a brother. And I would leave him my favourite cowboy hat, the one that kept me from getting burned in the scorching South Pacific sun. He wore it as he waved to me on the plane.

Back

It took a day of island hopping to get back to Tahiti, where I felt overwhelmed by everything: the traffic, the streetlights, the tourists and even the hot running water in my hotel bathtub. I had filled notebooks and hard drives with words and images from Napuka to Tepoto and back again, but I wanted a more professional opinion.

“The Byron story is the only recorded account we have in which the Europeans arrived, yet failed to make contact with the natives,” said Jean Kapé, who grew up on Napuka and now serves as director of Tahiti’s l’Académie Paumotu, which is dedicated to preserving the language, culture and environment of the Tuamotu Islands. I had met Kapé’s brother in Napuka, and he had connected the two of us.

Responding to Byron’s sense of disappointment, Kapé said: “If someone from somewhere else gives their opinion about a place, it’s already false, because that opinion is only based on what they know.”

Byron’s unsuccessful landing represents the ultimate missed connection – a spark of static that failed to ignite. And yet, his failure may have spared Napuka the same fate as many islands in the South Pacific.

View image of Measuring just 4 sq km, Tepoto is one of the smallest and most remote of French Polynesia's 118 islands (Credit: Credit: Andrew Evans)

“Napuka [and Tepoto] are the last places where you can witness the original vegetation of the Tuamotu islands,” Kapé said. The Paumotu language, which is only still spoken by an estimated 6,000 people, is also alive there, along with their customs – one of which is unbridled hospitality towards the rare visitors they receive from nearby islands.

“[Welcoming others] is sacred to Polynesians. It is the soul of all humanity,” Kapé said. “But too often with history, foreigners are the ones holding the pen, hence a name like ‘The Disappointment Islands.’ But even Napuka and Tepoto are just nicknames. The islands’ real names tell a much fuller story of the place you just visited.”

I cannot pretend to fully understand, or worse, attempt to convey such a beautiful and complex history

We talked for hours, Kapé and I. Over and over, he tried to explain the islands’ many Polynesian names, like Te Puka Runga, “The Tree Where the Sun Rises” (Napuka); and Te Puka Raro, “The Tree Where the Sun Sets” (Tepoto), deciphering the complex dialect and the multiple hidden meanings behind each name. It encompassed centuries of stories that stretch back to the original inhabitants and their worldview when their universe was nothing more than the two islands, the surrounding ocean and the big sun that moved overhead.

I listened carefully and took notes, but I cannot pretend to fully understand, or worse, attempt to convey such a beautiful and complex history with my own words. Rather than repeat Byron’s mistake of trying to name them from my limited understanding, I will keep silent – not from disappointment or neglect or laziness, but out of respect for this little piece of the world, unknown to so many, even in French Polynesia.

I thanked Kapé for his generous time and shook his hand. Then he gave me a lift back into the centre of Papeete, where throngs of French and American tourists dug through racks of floral print shirts and souvenir tribal tattoos.

“I forgot to ask,” Kapé said as I opened the door of his car. “On Tepoto, did they show you the four-headed coconut tree?”

Travel Journeys is a BBC Travel series exploring travellers’ inner journeys of transformation and growth as they experience the world.

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stellasummersjourney-blog · 7 years

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I want to share our experiences we make visiting Indonesia. Before we came here I read a lot about Indonesia online – most on a quite famous blog in German. It contains all the useful information needed before you visit a country for the first time. It sounded like paradise. I realize now the simple recipe to success of this German blog: “Only share the good stuff. Make people dream (and buy your travel guide).” Me too, I got so excited when I read all these wonderful descriptions about Indonesia. Time for the reality check! Let me share things we’ve learned about the country, about tourism here and some experiences we made. I am still trying to enjoy my time here (and I will) but Indonesia doesn’t make it easy, that’s what I can tell.

Tourism:

There is no balance. Most people live very basic. Food is cheap. You eat one meal at a local warung for 10 to 15 thousand Rupiah. This is about 1€. In a place for tourists you pay two to three times the price for exactly the same meal. Often service charge plus taxes are added. This means you pay 10% on top. You can sleep in a double room for 7 to 15€ easily. Often there is a resort next door where you pay five to ten times this price. It’s the same area and the same beach. Often the standard in the resort is not so much higher. – This wide range of prices is not healthy for a country. Everyone who has the chance to make money with tourists is rich. Everybody else is not. This means everyone comes at you as a foreigner and tries hard to make money. This is a hassle all day, where ever you go. This is exhausting.

Indonesia doesn’t understand how tourism works. The beach is full of plastic and no one cleans it up. Dozens of diapers are spread along the beach after a storm and no one collects the garbage. The water is so dirty you can get sick because everything is led into the ocean. In Kuta, Bali, you could see the brown foam on top of the water in the morning when everyone used the shower and toilet. No one cares. Indonesia destroys it’s most precious resource: the nature. I’ve never seen so turquoise water in combination with withe coral sand and lush green hills! I’ve never been to such a beautiful empty beach with together with cows, surrounded by rice fields. It’s really stunning. This is the reason why tourists go to Indonesia. But Indonesia destroys these areas step by step by building more resorts that tourists can fill. There are already many beautiful places that stay empty. Everywhere we can find a beach with shopping malls and ugly hotels but an empty bay is hard to find in the western world.

Locals don’t understand western culture and they don’t even try. They want to make money. Everyone who thinks he has a chance to make money with tourists builds huts and houses on his rice fields. Everything gets out of balance. They don’t try to be nice or to make you come again. All they want is your money. Now. They don’t plan ahead.

Transport:

The only transport for tourists are taxis and private drivers. There are a few buses running but as a foreigner you don’t have a chance to take them. You’d need the help of a local to stop the bus and to negotiate an ok price for you. As a tourist you are forced to take a driver or a taxi. Uber and grab car which are the cheapest options are under pressure from the taxi driver mafia. There are demonstrations against Uber and grab car regularly. There are areas marked as red zones where no Uber driver can stop. Uber and grab car still works on the islands because everyone tries to work as a driver for tourists. This is good money. But it is risky for the Uber drivers. We always tried to use Uber but you should obey to certain rules when you use it – to protect yourself and the driver.

You can use the public ferry but everyone will run at you and try to sell a ticket for a speedboat or sell you an overpriced ticket for the public ferry. You really need to know what you want and where to go in advance.

Corruption / Mafia:

We were often warned of the police. Locals told us that they always try to find something you did wrong to get money. Make sure you use helmets on the big roads and switch on the light in the evening. Should a police officer stop you and ask money from you for any reason, stay calm and ask for the paper. Officially he has to write a paper and you need to pay later. Usually he will let you go then.

The Indonesians organize themselves against tourists. We would call it mafia because it is dangerous and sometimes illegal. It i s scary to listen to the Uber driver’s stories about the taxi mafia. It is frightening how much influence these organizations can have here. In Lombok most beach accesses were occupied and we were forced to pay entry to see the beach and to park our scooter. We know this habit from Bali where it was crowded sometimes and at least useful to have a parking area. But on Lombok there is enough space everywhere. Nevertheless you do not dare to park your scooter elsewhere because scooter are often stolen or damaged here… The people who take the entry fee do not own the beaches nor the land behind it. You have to pay just because you are not from here.

There are not the same rules for locals and foreigners. When you feel exploited constantly as a visitor it is really annoying. In Europe we also pay a fee for the parking sometimes but then everyone has to. We are treated differently (not better!) only because of the color of our skin. You know how we call it? Racism. That it is just normal here doesn’t make it any better.

Locals:

Local people are not friendly. They treat foreigners rude, aggressive and without any respect. Your money is welcome but you as a person are not. The questions that are asked are just to find out how to make money with you. Local people are not really interested in you. After three weeks in Indonesia I had less than ten friendly encounters with local people, I would say. My ass is more friendly than they are with their face.

Don’t trust anyone! It makes it very hard to feel comfortable in a country where you can not trust anybody. But it’s good advice! There are various tricky ways to cheat on you. There is no respect for you. You are not protected by no one. You are the target because you have the money. Watch your belongings, lock your scooter twice and be careful. You don’t have an insurance when you rent a scooter and they’d love to make you pay for any damage. There are manipulated ATM and you can hardly disguise them. The surf shops are professionals in over painting dings – our second hand surfboard was full of water after a few times surfing and very old dings appeared on the surface because they had only been over painted, not fixed.

Money:

We had a few friendly conversations with locals – thanks God! Here are some numbers they mentioned:

A beautiful hut with attached bathroom and furniture, designed in the typical balinese architecture style costs 1000€ (1.5 million IDR) to be built. Everything is handmade from local craftsmen and good quality. The hut consisted of wood, a traditional roof, and of panoramic windows. It was located 50 meters from the ocean.

A piece of land in Medewi, Bali, located at the beach front, costs 17’000€ (250 million IDR). It is big enough to build six to eight huts on.

A person working in a resort or hotel earns about 170€ (2.5 million IDR) per month. This is nearly nothing. Our Uber driver quit her job at a resort because she can earn up to four times this amount as a free lancer as private driver. To have a private driver costs you about 500’000 IDR per day! This explains why everyone wants to work as a tourist driver.

A meal costs 1€ at a local warung.

Petrol costs about 0,50€ per liter (7’000 IDR).

Personal fazit:

I don’t know how you travel. I always try to live the local life as far as it is possible. Eating local food and buying the daily papaya at the local fruit stand makes me very happy. I want to know what real life is in this country. From time to time I enjoy western food in a tourist restaurant. I look for homestays or traveler’s places to sleep. I don’t need aircondition and a high standard in my room. The more nature around me and the closer the ocean the more satisfied I am. I always try to take public transportation and to meet local people with a smile on my face. Traveling like this needs time. Having time is my greatest luxury. – I think Indonesia might work out for tourists who want to spend two to three weeks holidays there. Compared to Europe or other countries everything is cheaper and affordable. If you only compare the prices here to your home country you are probably very happy. Maybe you experience Indonesia more friendly in the resorts. Your private driver for 30€ a day has a smile on his face because this is a shitload of money in Indonesia. – I still try to become more ignorant towards the circumstances – although I don’t think this is basically a good thing, I find it necessary to become able to enjoy the remaining time here. Not everything was bad. The guys from the brand new little surf camp in Medewi gave their best to make our stay enjoyable. We could relax for a few days there. Kuta, Lombok, still has a bit of a travelers’ vibe. Some pretty cool restaurants with handmade signs and some cheap local places create an atmosphere I enjoy.

I realize for myself that the most beautiful place on earth (which is probably one of these islands) is not enough to feel home. Society around you is vital. And: we don’t like to admit that we have a rough time. We tend to only share the nice pictures and experiences. This is normal but gives a wrong impression about a place. I can easily post twenty pictures of Indonesia here which make you want to come here immediately… A picture does not say much about a country.

Although we only visited Bali and Lombok so far, I don’t expect other parts of Indonesia to be much different concerning tourism and behaviour of the local people. – There are other countries on this planet with similar climate and nature that are more open towards foreigners. Thailand and Malaysia are on top of our list of countries where we felt very welcome.

Reality check: why Indonesia does not catch up with your dreams I want to share our experiences we make visiting Indonesia. Before we came here I read a lot about Indonesia online - most on a quite famous blog in German.

#backpacker #bali #garbage #Indo #Indonesia #island #lombok #medewi #money #surfing #taxi #transport #uber

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