Sunday, February 8, 1998

Up very very early to get my ride to the airport in Bali. It's dark, the roads are windy, the adventure continues. The plane makes two stops on the way to Ambon, the largest town in the Maluku Islands. The flight to Banda leaves tomorrow morning so tonight I'll stay in Ambon. On the flight, I meet a woman who used to work for the National Museum of textiles. Now she plans and runs treks and culture tours in Indonesia. She makes some interesting suggestions on places to see textiles after my time in Banda Neira. My plans after the Earthwatch program ends in two weeks are up in the air. I don't go to Europe until early April. My next stops could be Nepal or New Zealand. The luxury of such freedom includes the challenge of so many choices.

I also meet a woman who used to work for Earthwatch and is traveling before moving to San Francisco. She is going to Banda Niera on the flight tomorrow morning. We take a cab from the airport into town and find a place to stay. The guidebook and information from Earthwatch suggest a place to stay. We climb the stairs, check out the rooms and with some bargaining, we have rooms for the night. After depositing our things, we wander around town and go to a very bad American movie. At least the theater is air-conditioned. It is relief from the constant heat and humidity. The worst movies ever made in the US get sent overseas. This one is a second rate gangster film set in modern Las Vegas. No plot, very poor acting and lots of extra violence with the tacky sets and choppy camera work. No wonder the world has a skewed view of the United States.

While looking at the menu of a nearby restaurant, we meet a Swiss couple and have dinner together. They travel during the off season of their lake-tour business in Switzerland. I enjoy hearing other people's travel stories. After a nice meal, we return to the hotel for an early night and some sleep. We've got to be up early to get to the airport for our flight tomorrow. I'm nervous about how it all will go. Will I get there? What will Banda and the program be like? What are the people like?

Monday, February 9, 1998

Ah, Banda Neira. I made it and it's great. We leave our hotel with an early morning, bizarre taxi ride through darkness to the airport. A collection of strange of pop music blares on the driver's tape player. We zoom past dark villages and sleeping roosters, a vision from the twilight zone. At the airport, we board a small older plane for the short flight to Banda Neira. Most of the bolts on the plane stay in place long enough for our flight to arrive. They vibrate as I look out the window at the ocean and islands below. Now I know where old planes go when they're out of service in the U.S.

Bob is also on our flight. He and I are the two "volunteers" for this Earthwatch session. Peter, the project leader meets us at the airport. It is a strip of pavement in the middle of the island with a small building serving for a terminal. We arrive in one piece, vibrating with the engine noise. There are introductions and the usual initial meeting confusion. It is all new, I am nervous and interested to find out where we are staying, how the program runs, what we will be doing. One of the few vehicles on the island gives us a ride to our guesthouse.

We are staying in a converted Dutch colonial home, similar to many of the houses in town. The town of Banda Niera was built by Dutch from the trading companies. They were here for the nutmeg, mace and cinnamon from the area. Most of the Dutch left after the Japanese occupation during World War II. Locals now occupy the houses. Most are in various states of repair. Ours has been fixed up as a guesthouse with about 10 rooms, each with it's own bathroom. The bathroom has a toilet and a "mandy" or what looks like a large area for holding water. It's not a tub that you get into; rather it holds the water and you scoop it out with a bucket to wash yourself. There is also a sort of hose contraption with a hand shower attachment. There may not be enough water or water pressure to have any sort of meaningful shower. The guesthouse also has a sitting area in the front and a porch around the garden yard with long tables for meals in the back.

We settle in our rooms, have a rest, drink some tea and then go to Peter's house to meet the rest of the team. It is a nice group of people that include Peter's wife acting as group medic, an archaeologist, various support crew and a photographer. Most of them have been working here for a while. Bob and I are the new temporary members of the team. Peter gives us an overview of the project, expectations for our work, ground rules and safety guidelines. Then I have my first lessons in archaeology by sorting through piles of artifacts. Lots of little pieces still covered in dirt were bagged as they were unearthed. The task of sorting them consists of brushing off the dirt and then trying to decide what they were and which pile they belong in. The designations include pottery, clay pipes, bones, and blue/white ceramics. Once a bag is sorted, then each category is weighed, labeled and bagged. The tedious details are the foundation for good data.

Next, we have a great lunch and take a boat trip to a beautiful cove for snorkeling. It is wonderful to see so many coral and fish. It must be a challenge to keep working when such beauty beckons. Back in my room I have a nice shower, hang up my mosquito net and get organized. I feel sort of funny, a headache. Maybe it's the leftovers from my cold or the stress of the travel and this new place. I'll try and get a good night sleep. I am glad for the earplugs. They make a huge difference in my ability to sleep through the roosters and snores and crickets and thunks in unfamiliar surroundings. I'm looking forward to this project and learning about archaeology. It should be fun.

Tuesday, February 10, 1998

Getting used to group dynamics after being on my own for a while is a bit of a challenge. Most of the team knows each other. They fall in together easily and go with the flow. Maybe it's my own discomfort with groups and this very different situation. I want to be liked and to have a good time.

It is raining today. Instead of going out in the field, we sort artifacts from previous digs. Our tasks include cleaning them off and putting them into the appropriate piles. The rain falls gently as we sit on the porch. It's warm and everything is damp. Things have that muffled quality that comes with wetness. We sort, putting the piles on scales, recording, weighing, labeling, bagging, and putting the bags in more piles. There are so many details. I make pencil drawings of special pieces that may be significant. It is fun helps provide a better look and understanding of the artifacts themselves.

A next door neighbor stops by to show us how to make nutmeg jam from the outer part of the nutmeg. We take the spice for granted, using it primarily for holiday cooking, never considering where it comes from or what the plant is like. The jam is nice, with the essence of nutmeg but with a fruitier flavor. For a break, we go on a field trip down the street to the museum in town. It's a local affair. A large painting on the wall depicts a violent version of what happened when the Dutch arrived. It shows the locals who did not submit to slavery were slaughtered. According to the painting, this was the Dutch method of forcing others to work for them. The painting is a gruesome affair. The rest of the room contains furniture and other artifacts from the islands' history.

After another good lunch, we get in a boat to go to another island. We are meeting with the last individual owner of a nutmeg plantation. If all goes well, and permission is granted, we will dig on his land tomorrow. He's quite a character, handling his 12 American visitors, including one with a video camera, quite gracefully. We sit on his porch, taking time for small talk and sharing refreshment. Peter speaks Indonesian well and a few of the others know some also. There is conversation and sharing of ideas. Peter's respect of local customs and knowledge of the language greatly helps the acceptance of his project by the locals. They like him. They are interested in what he is doing and understand that he has good intentions. He shows this in his actions, not just his words. This is his second year on the project. We follow Peter's lead. The locals take us in stride and welcome us into their community. We are more than tourists.

Our visit to the plantation includes a tour of the building where nutmeg is dried. We see the trees and some of the fruit itself. The owner also shows us mace, which is another part of the nutmeg. He has cinnamon trees that he points out to us. After our visit and a walk around, we return to our guesthouse for a rest and dinner. It's fun to sleep under my mosquito netting.

Wednesday, February 11, 1998

It is a good day. We are up early and have breakfast. Breakfast is usually bread, nutmeg jam, tea, and sometimes fried rice. The rice takes time to make.

 

Peter has a great relationship with the local plantaion owner who lets us dig on his property.

Like all westerners, we are on a schedule. Frequently it is time to leave before a more elaborate breakfast can be made. We gather at Peter's house and then walk to the pier. The boat takes us back to the nutmeg plantation. We arrive with our gear, shovels, tarps and water bottles. The group hikes to the top of the hill where Peter has chosen a site for digging. All this takes place in the pouring rain. We raise a tarp to keep things somewhat dry. The next step is to measure off the proper area to dig. There are specific steps and methodology to maintain order and consistency in the process of digging and analyzing a site. Again, it is all in the details. There are steps to follow when gathering data. Accuracy in every step helps Peter make the correct hypothesis about life here.

This is a very direct way to experience what it takes to make a good archeologist. It changes the way I look at history and archeology in general. There are so many variables, from where you dig, how deep you dig, how precise you are in measuring and bagging your samples. How meticulous you are at maintaining layers and labeling things. How well you track where each hole is dug, your conclusions and information about the location of the hole and it's relationship to other holes. How careful you are not to contaminate the hole with miscellaneous debris or artifacts that are outside of your dig coordinates. Then once you sift and sort through all the gathered artifacts, do you sort things correctly, do you ask the right questions, is there some artifact or other detail that you overlooked, are you open to findings other than previous assumptions and opinions. I learn that archeology is a complex undertaking. Each archeologist has a slightly different approach and approaches change over time.

At the designated, delineated spot, Scott jumps in and starts digging. This is a "test pit", a quick way to look at a location and analyze if it will be a productive place to continue exploring. Peter chooses his sites based on his research of the region, looking at patterns of how and where people lived in the past and conversations with locals about known Banda history. As the digging continues to

50cm, we sift through the dirt, not finding much. Andy photographs the spot, recording the progress in the hole and then, more digging. Peter and I go off to scout more possibilities for dig sites. We see a spring, a house foundation and a small farm on top of the hill. It's a pretty site, with a view to the ocean below. Peter thinks that there could have been some villages or activity on the top of the hill because it may have been a lookout location.

Even while surrounded by the beauty and interesting details of archeology, my mind continues to noodle over fitting in with the group and where to continue my trip after my time with the Earthwatch program is complete. In the evening, after dinner, I write in my journal. The mind chatter continues. No breathing exercises or mantras of "be here now". It's just a good dose of insecurity amongst all this remote tropical beauty. Go figure. I carry more baggage than my small suitcase and while it doesn't weigh anything physically, it gets in the way of enjoying myself. This too will pass. It's a full moon, that must be it. One good thing about this project, there is someone cooking good food for us; no worries about restaurants. It's so much fun to sleep under the mosquito netting. I tuck all the corners in and feel like some romance heroine off on an exotic adventure. My legs and arms are getting tan from days in the sun. It's a good trip. So where to go next? To another country, stay in Indonesia? There are so many options, each with it's pros and cons. Who knows, I'll figure it out eventually. No revelations are forthcoming at the moment. Time to go to sleep.

Thursday, February 12, 1998

I miss my family, my nieces. I hope they are happy and healthy. I wonder how my sister is getting on with going back to work after being out on maternity leave? Maybe it's time to find the phone and call home. I wonder how much a phone call costs? This island is remote, there is no bank or ATM or other modern way to get money. We take for granted progress in most civilized places. It seems there are more of ATM money machines every day. With each installation of electricity comes television. More progress.

I'm having fun but I don't think I'll rush out and become an archaeologist. I like my machines and computers and technology toys. My thoughts return to the contemplation of the universe. For now I don't need to think about where to stay or eat or go. My mind is free to wander. I worry about next places to travel, what to do with my career, how to handle finances, relationships, and a host of other mental gymnastics. It's very different dealing with group dynamics and this project after being in a solo travel and observation mode.

The days develop a rhythm. We get up early, then after breakfast, we meet at Peter's house to gather before the morning digging. Then we take the boat or walk to where the dig site for the day is. We dig in the morning, finishing off about noon or a bit later. The boat picks us up and we head back for showers and lunch. Peter and his crew usually join us for meals at the guest house. We sit at the long table, waiting for big bowls of rice, fish and vegetables to be served. We talk in quiet voices, tired from the morning work. The heat and humidity also take their

toll. The temperature averages in the 80s or 90s and the humidity is always just short of rain. It is quiet and peaceful. The people in the guesthouse and town are very nice to us. We tell stories and joke with each other. I am lucky to have met such good people. After lunch, we usually sort and record data. I have become a visual recorder, drawing some of the more interesting artifacts. I like my "job". In the late afternoon we drift off to nap or walk or take care of whatever errands before meeting again for dinner. We eat heartily after our busy day. The food is good, simple; rice, fish and vegetables.

Today we dig again. It is pouring on our way to the digging spot but eventually it slows down. Peter goes up the hill again and decides on another location for a test pit. We follow to put up the tarp and get the digging going there. The results are disappointing. Not much is found, oh well. I get hungry and feel very nasty. I need some food! It doesn't feel good at all. And when we get home, everyone takes showers, more waiting for food. I feel crazy, grumpy, and in need of some creature comforts. The guesthouse is nice, but it is very basic. Everything is fine, I just miss the familiar. Food arrives and with it some sort of return to sanity. The afternoon is relaxed, more sorting and sketching.

In the evening several of us go to a waterfront place and have a drink while the sun goes down. The darkness closes to black as our voices drift over the ocean around us. Mosquitoes arrive and the bug juice is passed around. I've been taking malaria pills and have to remember them once a week. The travel books threaten all sorts of ailments and bugs and other such nasties, but it is worth risking various ills to be here.

Friday the 13^th and almost a full moon, uh oh.

No wonder I feel so strange. Today we dig on a different island, a few paces from a beach. The aqua bright water makes gentle waves on the shore. It's a beautiful spot. We are finding more artifacts. Hunger is not an issue. We've learned to bring snacks along, what a relief! In the afternoon, more sorting. Over time I feel more

comfortable with the group. They are a good group of people. I'm almost the oldest, except for Bob the other Earthwatch volunteer.

Sifting through dirt from a pit.

Later, I make some phone calls and manage to get through to my bank to check on exchange rates and how my finances are holding out. The rates on money from ATM machines and the occasional Visa charge gives is giving me very good exchange. In addition, the Indonesian financial situation means that for now, things are very reasonable for travelers with US dollars. This is lucky for me but hard for the locals. I wonder what will happen to sort out all the mess. In this remote location, they are not as effected by the economic crises. But basic staples that are imported, like rice, cooking oil and sugar, continue to rise in price. Fortunately, there is food that is grown or caught locally.

Saturday, February 14, 1998

Up for the usual. Everyone is low key looking forward to a rest day tomorrow. We dig in our pit near the idyllic beach. There are two being dug near to each other. The team I am working with has a pit closer to the water, the other pit several yards away. We are finding lots of artifacts. I even hoist the shovel for one of the ten 10cm layers. The work is physical and tedious but also fun. The setting and scenery are tropical paradise, a breeze blows gently from the ocean. We are digging with permission in a local farmer's cassava field. Tarps create shade from the morning sun. There is a rhythm and camaraderie in our working. One person digs out the dirt in our one-meter pit. The digger is careful not to break any possible artifacts. We work to maintain the integrity of the pit walls and are careful to dig in 10cm layers. It's like unpeeling a square of earth. Any loose artifact is handed up to one of the others for bagging. The dirt is brought up in buckets and overturned onto a mesh screen that hangs from the supporting beam of the tarp frame. The dirt is sifted. Artifacts like pottery and animal pieces are collected and placed in plastic bags. Each bag is labeled with pit location, depth, and date. It is all in the details. We keep going. An informal challenge exists between the two pits about which is the more productive, who has dug deeper.

Eventually, it is time to return. We gather our things, leaving the tarps. We'll be back soon. We walk down the path to the village and the boat docking spot. We are on one of the smaller nearby islands. Peter believes at one time there was a large settlement where we are digging. The village that exists today is a small collection of wooden homes and dirt courtyards. The children run and watch us as we parade by. Hello Mrs! Hello! We scramble back on the small boat that takes us on the 15 minute ride back home.

We get back, take showers, and have lunch. Then we go back to Peter's house to sort artifacts that were found in last year's digs. With so many artifacts, it's a challenge to keep up with the sorting and cataloging. The more we find, the more there is to clean, sort, weigh, bag and label. Then Peter has to tabulate all the data. He draws conclusions from what's been found and information from historical and other sources. It's analysis, story telling and puzzle work all in one. I work on sketching which I like better than sorting.

Evening brings party time. It is Peter and Kathy's birthday so everyone gets tidied up, dressed up (as much as possible) and heads to Peter's house. There are lots of different folks there. Many of the locals who have become friends and helpers join the festivities. The team staying at Peter's house has cooked up a feast including fish (of course), mashed potatoes and beer. I feel pangs of jealousy for the birthday party with its friends and good cheer all around. My birthdays are emotionally loaded for me and tend to be low key. This is fun, the people, the business, the stories and the food. After enjoying the variety of food, sitting, talking and having a good time, night swimming is suggested. Peter has contracted a local boat owner to provide transportation for the duration of his project. He takes us to a great spot we have snorkeled previously during the day. Splashing around at midnight under a full moon in the ocean is eerie, beautiful and magical. The night is clear and bright, we can see very well. The water feels so smooth and the air is warm and soft. Everything is beautiful and sensuous. This memory is for a lifetime.

Sunday, February 15, 1998

Slept until 8:30, oh my, so late! It is a lazy morning. I have breakfast then go into "town" to get a sarong. The two-meter long pieces of fabric are handy for various uses, everything from dress to skirt to blanket. Later we get together and spend the day snorkeling. What a day! In and out of the water in various spots. There are fish and coral and all sorts of things under the clear, warm water. I have left my contacts in my eyes in the water. Usually I take them out when swimming, but they stay when I swim with my mask. It's amazing how much more I can see. As the boat is puttering around various inlets around the islands, we spot a school of dolphins. The boat follows to try and get closer. Scott puts on his snorkel and mask and drags behind the boat hoping to see more. He emerges from the water exhilarated. A few of the dolphins came close to check him out but most of them kept a safer distance. The whole day feels like a being on a great adventure at camp. I manage to get burnt in the middle of my back in spite of heavy doses of sunscreen, ouch. It is a wonderful day. We all feel happy and tired at the end of it.

The bulk of Peter's team is staying in the house he rents for the project. The temporary Earthwatch volunteers like Bob and I stay in the guesthouse. The guesthouse has other guests, a changing collection of travelers, usually in their 20s or 30s, the majority male. There have been Australians, Dutch, English, Canadian and an occasional American. They are world wanderers in search of adventures, remote locations and cheap highs of alcohol or drugs. Most are mellow, sharing friendly conversation and minding their own business. A few pass through that are loud, rude and focused solely on their good time at the expense of everyone else. I watched one fellow bargain a boat owner down in price for a day's fishing and snorkeling trip and then drink several times worth the amount in beer. Everyone has a good time in his or her own manner. We ignore the obnoxious visitors as best we can. The ones that stand out are those who are interesting to talk to. It's fun to hear about where they've been, where they're going and the lives that they've left "back home".

Monday, February 16, 1998

It is time to get back to work. We are refreshed from our day of play. There is a lot more to be done. The dig we are working on is more controlled than the earlier test pits. We try to be precise as possible, forming a one meter square hole with clean, vertical sides. We remove one layer of dirt, ten centimeters at a time. As the hole gets deeper, its harder to dig and to move in the pit. Each bucket of dirt needs to be lifted out and then sifted. We each take turns with different parts of the process. Scott is the primary digger in our group. He's good at it because he's careful at watching out for possible artifacts while digging and he's in great shape.

Everything of possible interest is bagged and recorded. We each have our assigned tasks, from hauling buckets to sifting to recording. We watch out for each other, helping and getting water when needed. It's nice how we work together in out teams. Each of us sees and experiences this place in our own way. Bob and I are paying volunteers. Peter is working on his doctorate. Andy is recording video and photographs for a documentary. Others are taking time from their lives to share the experience and help I learn from each person here.

 

Sorting through piles of artifacts.

This afternoon more low key. After lunch, we end up back at Peter's and continue working on cleaning, sorting, weighing and bagging the artifacts found from different digs. My role has evolved into sketch artist and I am happy to do it. I sit with a piece of very moist paper and pencil and draw different views of the more interesting pieces of pottery we have found. Sometimes one of the crew has a rest in a hammock. Various people from the town wander in to say hello and check on the project's progress. It's a casual existence. We put on bug repellant to avoid mosquitoes.

In the late afternoon, I go back to the guesthouse for time with my tacky book or share a cup of tea and talk with some of the folks. I wait for dinner to be served. With the heat and activity, I am always hungry. As darkness settles in, we enjoy the food and share more stories. Sometimes the neighboring table filled with other guests gets a bit rowdy in alcohol induced boisterousness. Those times, we may end up back at Peter's for a game of cards or I go to my room, read a bit and then, earplugs firmly lodged, I fall asleep.

Tuesday, February 17, 1998

Another day falls into its similar pattern. I wake in the morning to birds chirping like crazy and a rooster crowing in the distance. Today Bob and I work on surveying the site. We measure points to map our location and the two pits we are digging. I've always wanted to know how to do surveying. We set up our instruments then carefully record and cross check our sightings. I am interested in mapping. Peter has a small GPS device that locates our position via satellite. Even in the remote wilds, technology can be found. Speaking of technology, Peter also has a notebook computer that he tries to do some work with. It's hard to rely on a computer. Electricity is an occasional thing.

The telecom building is a several minute walk up the hill. Like the electricity, connections are a chancy endeavor. I've sent a few faxes home and gotten through to my family once on the phone. The town is one of the more remote places I have visited. There are few modern amenities. It doesn't matter. The people are nice, the lodging is comfortable, and the food is good. Things are changing quickly. A few years ago there was no electricity and only one or two cars. Now with more regular electric current, there are televisions and the occasional refrigerator Even with the progress, the ground shakes when it wants to. Just across the bay from town is an active volcano. I woke up one night wondering if I felt an earthquake. In the morning, the others said they had felt something too. The volcano is barely vegetated, still dark with ash from the most recent eruption a few years ago.

I've decided to take the boat to Sulawesi after finishing my two weeks here. Getting a confirmed ticket for transportation is a bit of a challenge. The flight from Ambon to Banda made me queasy. Conversations around the dinner table do not add to my desire to fly that puddle jumper. It turns out they lost a plane and pilot on a flight check not so long ago. One of the folks helping Peter will get my boat ticket when the ferry office is open. I can't quite figure out when the boat leaves or how long it takes to get there. We have ongoing conversations but I figure it will work out in the end. Some of the others try to get firm confirmations on flights. It seems that airline seating depends on whether the plane goes. Maybe you'll get a seat or maybe not. Time will tell. It's all tropical logic.

Wednesday, February 18, 1998

I had a rough night trying to sleep and now I have a killer headache. I get grumpier and the mind games go and I start not to feel so good, shooting pains in my head and general aches all over. I go with the group and put on a happy face and try to fit in and try to have a good time but ouch. I give myself pep talks and keep up a good front, I never know what the others think.

Thursday, February 19, 1998

It turns out I really am sick with something. Charlotte tells stories of maladies and calamities that have befallen her and others who have been here before. It's quite a ghastly collection of ailments. As the "health officer" for the project, Charlotte has learned by necessity to not take any chances. The thermometer is produced. I am measured at 103 degrees and commanded to stay home and rest. Between the fever and the shooting pains it doesn't take much convincing. I lie on my bed beneath the mosquito net and try to sleep or read my latest borrowed novel. Occasionally I grab a nap. I try to drink lots of water. With the heat and work it's important to keep those fluids going.

A woman from next door is called to give me a massage. The price is negotiated and she comes into my room. My aching muscles are kneaded into bruised submission. Ouch, very big ouch. I'm not sure whether she is taking sadistic pleasure in paining the American or she knows something about healing. My body hurts. Is it from the illness or is it a symptom of other stresses accumulated over years? It's probably a combination of everything. I survive her ministrations, at least the bruises where she kneaded my backside take my mind off the headache.

I feel lousy. I go to mealtimes looking forward to the good food. When the forkful of food gets to my mouth, I can't eat. It's the strangest experience for me. I've never had that problem before. When I'm sick, eating food is not a problem. With time and rest I eventually feel a bit better. I take it easy, rest in the morning and in the afternoon do some sketching of artifacts. My temperature gradually subsides but continues to hover around 100. Charlotte's thinks I may have Dengue Fever. I do have some rashes but they aren't extensive.

Friday, February 20, 1998

I nurse my sick self. The shooting pains in my head are like a big pin stuck directly into the base of my head at odd intervals. Zow! A neck massage seems to ease the temporarily. Is this the result of years of work stress? Maybe past stress combined with whatever malady ails me creates one huge hurt. The rest required by Charlotte does me good. Gradually I am on the mend.

I go with the group to the dig and try to be helpful where I can. The pits are getting very deep, three meters and still going. I help Bob and Peter with surveying.

Saturday, February 21, 1998

I am nearing the end of my two-week stay here. Banda Niera moments wander through my mind. Kids riding by on bikes, they have big smiles and sing out salmat pagi, good morning! The prisoner from the jail down the street goes out in the afternoon for his exercise, playing soccer with local friends. I don't remember what he's in for, but he seems to have a relaxed incarceration and lots of companions who visit. Andy had the local bike repairman build him a lazy susan so that he could easily photograph artifacts. It was made of leftover bicycle parts. I liked it so much, I had one made for me. It's painted bright red, with felt for the top and gold plastic doohickeys for decoration on the sides; it's wonderful. Now the shop owner wonders if he has a business making these gizmos for tourists. The people at our guest house who take such good care of us, making sure we are well fed and comfortable. Answering and asking questions, sharing friendship and teasing and jokes. Looking in the schoolhouse windows as we go off to our morning digs, hearing the voices of children learning their lessons. In the late afternoon, on my way to the telephone office, I see some of those same kids playing a mean game of cards. Rumor has it there's problems with youth gambling. It's been a wonderful and busy two weeks.

 

Local kids are curious about our activities.

Sunday, February 22, 1998

There is rain, rain, lots of rain on this quiet Sunday morning. I feel sort of lazy, sort of grumpy, not great, not bad, in general a middle of the road. We hang around, watching the rain. It feels like I'm in a time warp, a different sort of place. The rain and the humidity and the heat and the sounds and the laziness are combined. I'm still not sure of where I'm going next. I've got a month and a half before I meet Liz in Greece. I've booked passage on the ferryboat that leaves Monday. Maybe I'll stay on in Indonesia. Why not, the price is right. I can look at more crafts and maybe do some collecting to send back home. I hope I have my own cabin on the boat. Adventures away, it will be a challenge to change gears back to solo travel, but it's time to move on. After Traci left, I did okay in Bangkok. Everything will work out when I move on from this group experience.

For our last afternoon together we go on another snorkeling excursion. This is a paradise. There is a lazy innocence about this special place. The people are so kind. Like everywhere, there are small gossips and life traumas, but there is a fundamental beauty in the surroundings and the people who live here. Everyone is anticipating change in the next few days. Bob and I are traveling on. The others will rest, taking time to regroup from work. Another group of Earthwatch volunteers will be here in a few weeks. We share last stories over our final dinner of pasta. It's a treat of sorts, a change from rice. Everyone trades favorite food wishes. With Banda's remote location, the variety of foods available here is very limited. The peanut butter supply is low, there are chocolate cravings and desires for something different from rice and fish and bananas. We trade addresses and I pack my bags. I am both happy and sad to be leaving, glad for my experiences and nervous about the unknown next steps on my journey.