Hope you're sitting down. This is a long one. Might as well get comfy.

I have a Balinese vacation hangover. Coming from a place of literal culture shock, this tiny spot in Indonesia brought me back to life, slowly and surely. Where to begin?

The people: my fellow “ELFs” are amazing. Not sure how I ended up being chosen as one of them, but I find myself marveling at the company. As far as I know, I’m the only one of us who has never taught abroad before, and the only one who does not speak another language, fluently. The ages range from 26 to 35, and the experiences are boundless. Some of us have taught in Muslim countries far more restrictive and violent (places where public execution by beheading is still practiced) than anything I could live with or near, some of us have taught the blind in Europe, some of us scuba dive, others are Linguistic masters, all are adept travelers, beyond competent at navigating new and unfamiliar situations, and each of the Fellows are totally hilarious in their own ways (and I must say we’re not bad on the eyes). It took time to peel back the layers within people who were strangers only a month ago, but by the end of our 8 days together, I felt like I’d found my family away from home. Thus, we made up “call names” for each other (in case we come across CB radios) based on personality traits, and these I list below for posterity sake (in no particular order).

-”Big Daddy Sheik” is a man of grand stature and goofy smile. I’ll admit, I massively misjudged the fella upon first encounter. A dry humor so subtle it fooled us all, this lovely man has a gushy heart of gold beneath the seemingly simple and unaffected exterior. Who knew a burly, dark haired Ken doll could recite the names of all respectable “chick flicks” in the last 20 years? All I can say is wow. You da man Big D. I’d be stuck on a desert island with you any day.

-”Blackjack” is the opposite of Big Daddy in age and size. This sassy sweet woman can talk to anyone, and frequently was beloved by our cab drivers and street vendors because of her limitless openness to strangers. At one point the man driving us to the ATM broke into song in the front seat along with a Brian Adams oldie and Blacky and I shouted back karaoke style as we bounced around the curvy roads together. Who does that? People who ride with Blacky, that’s who. Oh, and the type on her computer is in Portuguese. Cause she’s fluent (who isn’t?).

-”Supafly” was my roommate the whole time and not only did I NOT want to kill her by the end, but I actually liked her MORE. This lady is pure, simply put. The spirit beneath the corn-flake blue eyes is both innocent and wise, and her energy is unassuming and ultra giving. I probably talked her ear off way too much during our mosquito net chats, but she never complained. I also give her props for being so adventurous and daring as to climb a volcano with a heights scaredy cat like myself. And she’s fluent in German and French (and has been to Iceland--SO jealous!!).

-”Cooky” got her name because she is a self professed “foody”. She’s also a walking Encyclopedia Britanica, a Linguistical wizard, and an idiomatic talking fool. Nothing gets past this lady. Organized and whip smart, she could kick my rear end at Trivial Pursuit any day. She’s also ADORABLE. Love the pig tails. They remind me of a Winnie the Pooh character that shall remain nameless.

-”Princess” got her name because of her posh digs in Jogja. She has two servant boys and lives in a palace. However, this woman ran up that volcano like she was running to the post office. A PhD student at UMass Amherst (Blaky is also a UMass alum) she’s wicked smart and could take us all in an arm wrestling competition or a triathlon. Her man back home is a lucky boy.

-”Merlin” takes no b.s. from anyone. This gal knows what she likes and sticks to it. I respected her standards of living (ie: nice hotel room with WiFi over mosquito netted bed in the woods) and her unwillingness to compromise. She and I never got to go on our horseback ride, sadly, but I’m hoping we do someday. A sly cowgirl and a great listener, I found I wanted to hang out with her the more we spoke about life issues and lady stuff.

-”Mother Goose” took care of all the travel arrangements and paid everyone before we got there so that her little ducklings could have a seamless adventure. Trained in elementary education, “Mo” was the master organizer and chief party planner. I don’t know how she lives in Jakarta full time, but after having lived in Oman and China, she can take any city you throw at her, blindfolded and hog tied. Impressive woman with the quickest wit since Richard Prior. And best head of blond hair I’ve seen in a long time.

-”El Capitan”...so much to say, so little room. One of my favorite memories of the trip is when I woke up one morning to find 11 text messages on my phone, all sent from him within the span of 45 minutes the night before. Only one of them was in English (the others were in German, Spanish, and Bahasa...and some Gibberish and Pig Latin thrown in for good measure). Another favorite memory is his Lacan impression of the Theory of French Fries. It isn’t a party without Cappy. A dancer to rival the late M.J., this man needs little sleep and attracts an entourage wherever he goes. I heart you.

-”Wonder Woman” is what they call me. Cappy mentioned it was because I apparently look like Linda Carter. I’d like to think it’s because I run into the ocean with my invisible bathing suit on at the blink of an eye (I was wearing clothes Mom...inside joke) or because I can repel bullets with my fancy arm bands. Either way, I’ll take it.

The places: There was a lot of driving from one end of the island to the next. That meant a lot of bathroom breaks. There are no “rest stops” in Bali. When one of us had to use the facilities, we simply pulled over (gas stations don’t seem to have bathrooms or candy here, just gas) in front of someone’s house. The driver then asked the old woman sitting outside on her stoop if we could come inside. Now, I can be messy, but I always make sure my house is respectable. These houses were...not what I expected. The bathrooms were all squatters (no flushing toilets) and I had to bring my own paper and hand sanitizer (which, to be fair, I bring everywhere). Upon closer inspection I would find a toothbrush stuck into a crevice between the stones in the walls, or underneath a crack in the roof. But hey, they were free, and one doesn’t have time to clean for unexpected visitors. “Cooky” developed a rating scale for the bathrooms, and we had a good time whispering “that one’s a negative 2” to each other in passing. “Big Daddy” had a great scale for bathroom use urgency, a “10” being you were actually to the point of peeing in a cup while driving. To amuse ourselves, there was one point during a drive when we spoke only in idioms, and the texting between cars (you have to take 2 with 10 people...the extra one being Rich, “Momma Goose’s” sweet as pie boyfriend) was constant and incited much spontaneous giggling.

Oh, and when you order a carbonated beverage at a road side stand and mention you are taking it ‘to go’, they pour the contents of said beverage into a plastic baggie for you, and provide a straw. In case you’ve never tried it, soda is hard to drink out of a plastic bag (and they don’t refrigerate the cokes at such places, so it’s luke warm at best). They do this so they can keep the bottle and get the return on the glass. Just in case us Bules want the 5 rupiah, to bad for us.

Villa Toke was our first accommodation in Ubud. We had this place all to ourselves, and the showers had hot water (HURRAY!!!) and rose colored soap. Evening dance parties on the patio and breakfast at the long wooden table, we played in the pool and watched videos over burgers (The Hangover made me almost pull a “10” in my pants). An artsy town made famous by the book Eat, Pray Love, it was indeed my favorite place. For those of you on facebook, this is where I ate the green coconut cake and took the photos of monkeys. This is also were I bought a lovely red silk scarf, delicate flowered pink fan, and soy milk for my morning coffee. The stars in the sky were plentiful, and we were there during a Balinese ceremony that decorated the streets in flowing cloths and colorful offerings. The cab drivers were super talkative and if you want to shop for anything while in Bali, Ubud is the place to go. Ex-pats were everywhere. And I could finally wear a tank top without feeling like a flaming hussy.

And then there was Tristan, the 10 year old French boy (who spoke English, obviously) that lived next to our Villa. Walking back from the beach one day, we ran into him near the front gate. Around his right hand was a python. A baby python (I’m pretty sure it was his pet). Fearlessly, he was winding it around his wrist, watching it move slowly over his skin. Because “Supafly” speaks French, she initiated conversation, and we soon found out he was born in France, but spent many years in Morocco before coming to Bali. So he spoke Balinese, Bahasa, French and English. It must be mentioned that this little man was stunning...in another ten years he’ll stop traffic, and have tons of stories to tell at the bars, languages to speak, and hopefully a happy life ahead of him full of opportunities. He was also quite sweet, talking with the adults with very little hesitancy. We were all enamored, and I walked away hoping that my children (or child) has the same amazing life available to him or her. One thing is for certain, all children should learn languages while their brains are still spongy and open. Being able to communicate with others is a key to survival. We all deserve that much.

Our second accommodation was called the Manjangan Resort, and it lay in a nature reservation dotted with rust colored deer (“manjangan” means deer) and more monkeys (careful, they hiss when approached). This place was rustic, and right on the ocean. We broke into pairs and slept in grass covered huts with sliding doors that did not lock and hardly shut (it was, however, quite safe, save for the rat that ate poor “Princess’s” beaded purse). We ate in a restaurant made of local wood and palm leaves that had five stories, and the view from the top was straight out of a postcard. We were escorted around in a double decker bus (the resort was on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, so you could not get around much on your own unless you were willing to walk for miles on end with nothing much in sight) that was essentially seats on platforms with four wheels, and it was here that we went snorkeling (while the brave scuba dived). I saw fish in these clear waters decorated in fluorescent blues, glowing yellows, and every other color in the rainbow. The coral was perfect, and the temperature was soothingly warm. The boat that took us to our diving point was more like a skipper and on the way back we were splashed by the waves to the point of utter drenchville. Two of us actually vomited from sea sickness (the innocent shall remain unnamed). Coming from someone who thinks she could live on a boat (like Cooky did in the Caribbean), this was a bit much. The wind was freezing due to how fast we were going, and by the time we got to shore, we all felt like dryness was a distant ideal never to be reached again. Note to anyone thinking of traveling near the equator: the only people who did not get scorched by the sun after layers of sunscreen were wearing dive suites. Cover. Up. My back is peeling into my bed sheets and water blisters keep popping under my clothes. Not attractive.

Before leaving this part of the island, five of us took a ferry back to the East coast of Java and climbed the Ijen Kawah (a HUGE volcano/crater). The ride from the resort to the ferry was about 30 minutes, once on the ferry, one hour to Java, then 90 minutes to the middle of the volcano, at which point we spent another 90 minutes hiking. We left at 5am, and got to the top of the volcano some time around 10. Black monkeys swung from trees and colorful birds chattered all around me. Because volcanic lava produces the richest soil on earth, the trees and greenery going up the volcano were the most beautiful I have ever seen with hanging “leaves” that looked like a cross between spanish moss, weeping willows, and silky spider webs. We also passed a coffee “farm” on the way up, and little did I know that coffee beans are actually bright red before they are roasted to the deep brown we see in the bags at the shops. And no, you cannot smell coffee while it’s hanging from the branches. Much to my dismay.

We got to the top (props to all who suffered the thinning oxygen and perilous rocks) and I thought was going to collapse. The view was incredible, something out of a fairy-tale cartoon with slopping hills and mist everywhere, but I couldn’t see all the way down to the road we came in on because we were literally above the clouds. The reason my legs almost gave out was the view INTO the volcano itself. That sucker was deep. And the interior walls looked like they were covered in vanilla icing cracking over a black forest chocolate cake. Sulfur is yellow (didn’t know that either) and near the “inside” of Ijen little sulfuric chunks lay scattered about. Those chunks are actually frequently removed, and locals carve them into mini sculptures and sell them as souvenirs. “Big D” bought a few for ‘ole ole’ (gifts to bring to people after a trip away) and we made fun of him for being a softy on the way back.

This volcano has a lake in the middle as well. When the smoke was blowing in the right direction (parts of the volcano were hissing hot grey smoke that smelled like rotten eggs straight up into the ether) we could see the most science-fiction looking blue I will probably ever see outside of a Star Trek episode. I can imagine that is the hottest water found in Indonesia. Wish I could ship some of that back to Malang to pour into my shower water. Ah well. Cold showers make you stronger.

I sat myself down on the rim of this massive organically made crater and felt not only proud of myself for making it all the way up, but also so utterly at Mother Nature’s mercy in a way I cannot really explain. With my sunburned skin and the feeling of the solid yet potentially fatal rock beneath me, I understood fully how superior Mother Earth really is. I sat there in awe, and a deep and infinite peace washed over me. Now, I believe that there is something far greater than us humans in existence...but “God” has never really been my thing because the Western Christian “God” is based on a story book about someone (granted, Jesus was a righteous dude) who lived thousands of years ago. I’m sorry if I’ve offended some of you by typing this, but, sitting there, I felt humbled by the smallness of us humans and in utter worship over the planet we live on. I just hope my children and their children to follow can revile in the same striking beauty that I did that afternoon...hint to those who don’t recycle...start now. Cause Momma Nature is in charge, and she has one hot temper.

The descent from the top was just as hard as the hike up because of the slippery steep angle, but this time we were stalled at least four times by the locals taking pictures of the Bules in the “wild”. That was actually sweet. Families would see us from a distance and motion to their cameras while saying “Picture! Picture!” I even had one guy stop dead in his tracks, put out his hand to shake mine, and say, “Hello! Where are you from? My name is.....You are so beautiful!” Once back in the car we shook and bounced to the bottom, our behinds actually lifting off the seats between dips in the road. Much like the skipper ride back to shore after snorkeling, this was super fun at first, but after a while I found my backside quite sore and glad I’ve never been one to succumb to carsickness.

Our last place of rest was called the Padang Beach Resort in Padang Bai. This area had as many Bules as Ubud, but instead of Australians, it was littered with Frenchies (hence Cappy’s impression of Lacan) and Germans. A few doors down from the resort was the Topi Inn, which had internet (when it felt working), workshops, tours, and darn good food. Thus, we spent most of our time there. “Merlin” and I took a motorcycle tour of two of the nearby temples (there were many more that had to be skipped over due to time) and through isolated and quiet rice fields, which was totally amazing. The intricate details of those places of prayer, filled with historically mythic paintings floored me. However, I got to a point where I felt over stimulated and the stone carvings started to look the same. That’s when I knew I needed some down time, so I broke out the Uno cards with Cappy and Big D for a few hours of mindless smack talk. The local vendors in this area were really chill, and I bought a necklace that is now my new favorite from a woman who made me swear I would never forget her.

There was one moment in my final days in Bali that I hope to take to my grave. I was sitting alone at a table in the Topi, waiting for “Merlin” to show up for our temple tour, and an adorable little boy maybe two years old walked over to me. He was dressed in bright clothing, and wearing a little black hat with tufts of jet black hair escaping from under the edges. Smiling, he grabbed my right hand with his, and held it, looking straight into my eyes. I smiled back, instantly in love. He then turned my hand over in his so that the back of it was facing up, and then brought it to his lips and gave me the sweetest little kiss (all the while not taking his eyes away from mine). He let out a little giggle as I said “thank you”, and ran back to his Daddy’s lap (who was sitting a few feet away from me) with a shy blush to his cheeks. He looked back at me with a smile only a child can muster and it was all I could do to not follow him and scoop him into my arms. For all the complaining I do about getting starred at and having people stop me to photograph my white skin, it is this joyous, open curiosity that gets me about Indonesians. They are so kind.

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I am one lucky woman.