Palu Jaunt.

Palu Bay at Sunset

This week I traveled alone to the provential capital of Palu to get my visa extended.  While some of us (Jaime) were smart enough to take care of that prior to entering into this country, others of us were not.  So three nights and 20 overwhelming hours of roundtrip shared van travel later, I’m back in Tentena and pledging to never again leave. 

There were some really nice parts of the excursion (see pictures for reference) but overall the trip there and back, the four full days of communicating effectively with no one except for my temporary host mom, Lita, and the bureaucratic nonsense I endured at the immigration office dampened the Palu 2k12 experience.  Yesterday, especially, during the ride home, my ability to handle cross-cultural differences was put to the test.

And I failed.  In a big way.  

Look: I’m not saying I’m proud about how the afternoon went, but you try spending eight hours sitting in a van with no seatbelts, plowing through mountainous terrain in pouring rain, fully wedged between a leaking door and a chubby lady holding her barfing, crying baby, all while consistently inhaling secondhand cigarete smoke from the horn-happy driver puffing away freely two seats over, directly next to the babe.   

The vans that destroyed me. 

For no reason I understand, almost everyone here thinks it’s acceptable customer service to shove you into tiny places next to sick people for hours on end and it is NOT, okay.  It’s not.  I have a high tolerance for touching and being touched but no one’s tolerance is high enough to handle a sweaty stranger’s body draped half across you for an entire day, elbowing you in the breasts, and unapologetically pushing their full body weight into you (and you into the door) at every road curve.

I couldn’t communicate anything effectively or politely, though, so for a long while I sat there.  I sat there, curled up as small as possible, telling myself: This is what you wanted.  You wanted to come here.  It’s your fault that you came here and didn’t know the language.  This is not your country; people should not cater to you.  You are representing America.  Don’t you remember that you want to be a social worker?  Where is your compassion!

But the second that kid opened up his mouth and projectile vomitted on to me, I snapped.  Then, when the mom started taking napkins, sopping up the throw up, and tossing the trash directly past my face and out the window I snapped again. I was like, DON’T LITTER.  And then to the driver I was like, STOP SMOKING IN FRONT OF THE BABY. And then a woman behind me, laughing, was like, “Speak Indo-niece-ia, ha ha!”  And I was like, LADY, YOU DON’T EVEN WANT TO KNOW WHAT I HAVE TO SAY.  And then I called Lian.  And I said I was sorry.  But I couldn’t do it anymore.  And with only an hour left in the journey, I put her on the phone with the driver, and he pulled over the van.  And he told some poor kid that he had to switch places with me while the whole car looked on at me in disappointment and shame.  They began referring to me as “the tourist.”  And even though I felt embarrassed, and just generally bad for being such a brat, that last hour of the drive—without anyone throwing up on me or touching me with their too-warm body—was a pretty perfect hour. 

If I ever leave this place again, I’m doing it in a private car.

Palu's redeeming qualities: 

#1. Raka.  Lita's 22-month-year old.  Some of you may remember Lita as the woman who works with Lian on the Malinuwu Project--Mosintuwu's eco-consciousness initiative.  Her home is actually in Palu so I stayed with her while I was there.  She was a wonderful host.  Thank you so much, Lita!  

Little bit windy.  

Raka & Lita. 

Q. T. 

#2.  Fruit Galore.  You don't see stands like these in Tentena. 

#3. The essentially empty beach at Tanjung Karang, 40ish minutes by ojek from Palu.  I spent Thursday day here, waiting for immigration to finish processing my visa.  (No idea why they needed two full days for that little stamp but whatever.)  It even had wifi!

Just hanging out with my self-timer!