I am a chiropractor, health advocate and advocate for the Deaf and Hard of Hearing community. I love to travel and spent several years working overseas in Indonesia and Ghana. @aslchiro- Instagram
'Hi, Bule!" The call of a young Indonesian child makes me turn my head and wave. The child lights up, enthusiastically waving back. I continue walking down the crowded sidewalk, ducking to miss the low hanging backpacks that a vendor is selling, towering over the rest of the passerby. I am the Bule.
The Movement of Life
Steam rises from a dusty street A microphone squawks The call to prayer rising through the heat Dawn breaks and the day begins.
Welcome to Saigon
The warm night air covered me like a blanket. People around me were chatting happily while neon lights advertised the stores lining the street. It was late at night but the city was bustling and scooters crowded the streets. It was a stark contrast to the cold and sterile Immigration and Customs room that I had just been in at the airport, staffed with dour immigration officials who spoke in curt sentences and barely looked at you.
Staring through the glass Waiting for the time to pass Isolated Sunrise and night fades Warm sun and dark shade Frustrated
Volcanic Craters and Tea Fields
I stared at the hissing lake, a gray greenish color, spewing blasts of sulfur into the sky. It smelled distinctly like rotten eggs. The crater lake bubbled and roared. It was a scene straight out of Mordor in Lord of the Rings. However, instead of evil rings and dark wraiths, this Mordor was filled with tourists and small buses. People chatted happily as they began the trek around the lake. Nema and I opted to take the quieter path that led around the side of the volcano. As we moved away from the crater, the greenery enveloped us, a direct contrast to the bare mountain and seething lake.
Sultans, Temples, and Coconut Rice
I stood in the pre-dawn darkness outside of the Losman (Indonesian hostel) and waited for the bus. When I entered the bus, I was pleasantly surprised to meet two young European women about my age. They were both from the Netherlands and we chatted as the bus wound its way through the Indonesian countryside. The sky lightened and we could see the rice fields and terraces in the mountainside where the tea fields were. The sun rose above the horizon and the sky filled with color. I looked at Mt. Merape in the distance, Yogyakarta's famous active volcano, to see the sun hovering above its peak, illuminating the mountain and the countryside below. I gazed at the stunning beauty before me, imprinting the image in my memory. After about an hour of scenic beauty, the bus arrived at Borodobur, the ancient Buddhist temple site.
Tears and Fears in Kakum National Park
"Don't look down," I whisper to myself. Ahead of me lies my nemesis, two planks with a rope handle hanging over empty space. Never a fan of heights, I consider backing out and heading down the mountain. The faces of several small children half my height eagerly walking across the bridge make me swallow my fears and step on the shaky boards. The pit in my stomach grows larger but my ego goads me on. My pride demands that I don't wimp out in front of these children. I stare fixedly ahead and slowly place one foot in front of the other, my fingers clenching the rope handle in a death grip.
Gossamer wings A fragile thing Floating in the warm air Seemingly without a care An image of light Beautiful and bright