You give me Fever

It's been awhile, I know. To backtrack: December was an incredibly busy time with out of town speaking engagements, end of semester duties, and travel planning. And then the Dengue hit. Hit me hard. From now on I swear by mosquito repellent.

Dengue Fever is spread by tropical mosquitoes that bite during the day. There is no vaccine against this, nothing to do besides wear protective cream and arm your house with anti-mosquito oils and plug-in killers at every outlet. About a week before leaving for my semester break vacation, I was exhausted and burning with an internal fever that made me feel like a caged animal wanting to claw out of her confines. I went to my acupuncturist for treatments, and talked to friends who took me to pharmacies for pills. I thought I had worms or was maybe hosting a parasite. And then I showed up at my weekly dance lesson, unable to stand up. Toto, my teacher, suggested he and his wife take me to see one of their friends who happens to be a doctor. Thank God he did.

The first word this doctor said to me while shaking my hand was, “Fever!” I was burning up. My eyelids, feet, knees, everything felt like it was on fire. I don’t think Peggy Lee was referring to this when she sang the infamous “Fever” as it was nothing like the moody pop song indicates. I wanted to pell off my skin and bath in ice cubes. I wanted to jump out the window and float to Antarctica on an iceberg while licking icicles. Dr. Saraswati asked me some questions as I sat slumped over in a chair, and left the room to get my “treatment”. I should mention that this woman runs an alternative clinic and has cured cancer with her esoteric remedies. Normally a fan of non-Western medicine, I was quaking with fear that my trip would be canceled and I’d die in Indonesia, evaporating on the spot. Dengue effects your brain. My thoughts were as rapid fire as my pulse, and as foggy as smoke from a house fire. Another reason why I didn’t update my blog in December.

My task was to drink a concoction every three hours around the clock until the “medicine” ran out. I was handed a plastic bottle filled with brown liquid labeled “Kopi 2”. I was told to mix three table spoons of this liquid (which was a mixture of Chinese herbs and instant coffee) with honey, adding two egg whites and one egg yolk. Raw. She put my first dose in front of me and told me to either plug my nose or close my eyes and don’t think as I swallowed. I did my best, but the smell of raw egg and the consistency of human mucus made me gag. Bring brave, I finished my cup and grabbed the nearest candy (which was waiting next to the cup) to get ride of the vile taste. She smiled and said I had done well. This was to be my only job for the next few days. Rest, and drink this. When I asked her how much I owed for the treatment, she replied that I was a friend of a friend and to not worry about payment. Which is ironic, because I actually have health insurance for the first time in years, and I’ve not used it once.

I had my blood drawn three times over the next week, and my red blood cell count did rise due to doctor’s orders. Two days after seeing Dr. Saraswati, I was a crying heap of heat, aching all over and wishing I could just sleep (in a bed of ice). My dear and wonderful friend Wayan had to stay by my bedside for 24 hours straight, waking me up to feed me my “eggs and coffee” every three. Without her, I’m not sure I’d be here, typing this. I had the kind of Dengue that causes internal bleeding due to burst capillaries in your lower intestines, and 5% of those cases end up being fatal. It was just my luck that I was bitten by a really evil mosquito.

My vacation was postponed three days as I rested and started to feel confident walking across a room again. Wayan cooked for me and felt my forehead, making sure I didn’t exhaust myself in my stubborn attempt to be healthy. Miri and Toto also bought me groceries, stocking my fridge with these electrolyte drinks that I was instructed to swallow regularly. I cannot tell you how grateful I am to my two Indonesian families for being with me while I was so sick. At almost 32 it’s no less scary being ill when you’re so far away from home.

Instead of spending 3 days in Bali before Australia, I was there for less than 24 hours, leaving Supafly on her own in our hotel room to grade papers. Once I arrived, I knew I was not back to my old self, but I put my faith, once again, in non-traditional healing remedies and pop culture. For those of you who have read the best-selling novel Eat, Pray, Love you will know who I’m referring to when I say I went to see the infamous Wayan in Ubud. Jules and I walked into her “clinic” (more like a restaurant/massage parlor/organic heaven) and spent the next five hours receiving treatment. I told her about the Dengue, and she made me drink a series of five different herbal teas with leaves plucked from her garden. Before I knew it, I was sweating out the last of the Fever. Everything we put in our mouths was straight from Mother Earth, and it all had innate healing powers that I could actually feel restoring my system. She then read our palms and did a body/energy check, explaining where our systems were weak, and telling us how many babies/husbands we would have.

The Balinese take their time, and we were not the only “patients” in her care. She was able to walk between tables of people, giving us all what we sought in due time. That being said, nothing was private, and my future was read aloud in front of total strangers who walked passed wrapped in sarongs post bath. To make sure all ran smoothly, Wayan had cooks in her kitchen making organic vegetarian meals and boys that massaged and bathed her clients. We were the last to spend time in the upstairs portion of her den, which was an unforgettable experience. I’ve been receiving massages since high school, but I’ve never been adorned with garlic, ginger, herbs, oils, and other organic material while being massaged by three, yes three, young men at once. One on each side, and one at my head/shoulders. This was all in an open air environment, with Jules laying in the bed next to me and the sound of people walking up and down the worn wooded stairs with more supplies to use on our bodies. At one point Wayan stood between our tables as we lay in total relaxation and joked “In your country, they don’t give you three men at once, do they?” We all laughed. Certainly not. To cap off the experience I was then escorted to the bathroom, where I was bathed by one of my massage boys and an elderly woman, wrinkled and brown, in the most loving and non-threatening way imaginable as hot water cleansed my skin and the Fever circled down the drain.

I walked away knowing the Dengue had left me for good, but as the evening wore on, I could feel a head cold creeping into its place. Part of the massage was meant to drain your lymph nodes, and I was still filled with toxins. I tried to drink tea and rest, but by the time I woke up the next day, I was sick. This time with the run of the mill head cold. I took this illness to Australia with me, hoping I could sleep it off.

We spent an extra day in Bali due to a mechanical malfunction on the plane and were put up in a five star hotel by the airline for 24 hours as compensation. I took that opportunity to sleep, but I was angry at my body for failing to recover, and wanting more than anything to be Down Under instead of down and out. Once again patience was my only tool. I had to keep breathing and hoping that I’d heal.

We arrived, this time with Cooky in tow, in Sydney on Christmas Eve. I was still under the weather, and took in the sights of Balmain, the neighborhood we were staying in, slowly. By now I was going through a box of tissues every two days and looking like I’d survived, well, dengue fever, but I tried to keep my spirits up as we celebrated an orphan Christmas with a few Brits and Aussies also away from home. Being that it was the middle of summer in Sydney, it was perhaps the most surreal holiday I’ve ever had, but I was happy to be on a new continent.

Something I noticed right away was the release of tension in my body once arriving in a country where I was no longer the “other”. Here I could wear what I wanted, do what I wanted, and no one even thought to look at me twice (unless I opened my mouth, in which case I was asked what part of the States I was from). What also may have added weight to my awareness was the fact that I was in the process of reading Infidel by Ayaan Hirsi Ali (thank you Penny--I couldn’t put it down either) and although it made me grateful for living in a more or less “liberal” Moslem country, I still had over 5 more months under the watchful eyes of Allah. Being in Oz was exactly what I needed. My defensive armor began to fade within an hour of Sydney living. And you can drink the water Down Under. I practically ran from drinking fountain to water spout with abandonment and glee, skipping and splashing like a lunatic.

The only discomfort was the change in price from Indonesia to Australia. While in Sydney my accommodations were mostly free, thanks to Jules’s friend Natalie and her house-sitting gig, and that helped, but my US dollars no longer went a long way. That said, it was worth it, as my days were soon filled with moments I will treasure for years to come.

I’m saving the savory moments for my good old fashioned pen and paper journal (as I still guard the private and dole out the public in spurts), but I will touch upon the next leg of my journey and let the facebook photos tell the rest.

December 27th marked our departure to Hunter Valley, which is located about 2 hours outside of Sydney. We rented a car for the journey (which I drove for a brief 15 minutes before realizing that I had the parking break on...not used to cars after months on a motorbike) which proved stunning as we passed through forests and rolling hills. I saw my first kangaroo on the drive, and had a smile plastered on my face the whole time. Once in the Valley, we checked into our YHA room and picked a bunk bed (I’d been staying in the bunk bed of a five year old boy in Sydney, so I was used to this by now). Then it was off to wine tasting for the next few days, which I did gingerly as I knew drinking was not conducive to improving my immune system. Not a huge fan of wine (read: I have a low tolerance), I did enjoy the many varieties of vino and the craftsmanship that went into the making of said bottles. The people that ran the vineyards were an eclectic sort, and by the end of our day long tours, one of the owners was calling me “Chicago” while I giggled (I said I have a low tolerance) and poured the extra liquid in my glass into the spittoon while his back was turned. I hated to waste all that talent, but I am still a cheap date after all these years. At least now I have the capacity to stop myself before things get ugly (ie: before I fall asleep after two glasses).

Back in Balmain I stocked up on products you can’t find in the third world and continued my detox. While receiving a facial, the owner of the spa commented that not only were my pores clogged from not having access to hot water for four months to wash my face, but I had parasites in my chin. Apparently the products in Indo strip your skin of its natural moisture, so mine was over-producing oil to compensate. And that oil was building up because cold water does not dissolve it properly. I will now be wearing bug repellant AND boiling water on a daily basis.

New Years Eve proved low key with the most exciting part being the view of the stunning fireworks over the Harbor Bridge. New Years Day was spent at Manly Beach, which is just a ferry ride away from Balmain. The water temperature was a little below my comfort level, but I did find some shells to take back to Chicago, and I swam in a rock pool, which was, well, just a pool made of salt water. January 2nd was spent exploring more of the city, including the MCA and the Botanical Gardens (both lovely). On the 3rd we took a train to the Blue Mountains and hiked what was probably the most beautiful trail I have ever seen. Unfortunately the weather was misty and unseasonably cold, leaving the view from steep cliffs up to our imaginations. I felt like I was in the rain forest while also being cuddled by some ancient creature who only let us see 15 feet ahead of our noses (probably best considering my fear of heights). I also felt like I was alternating between scenes from The Neverending Story and Lord of the Rings, minus the Luck Dragon/Hobbit parts.

Sadly, the damp air and arduous hike left me with yet another chest cold, and I flew to Uluru feeling asthmatic and in desperate need of the desert. Our first night in Ayer’s Rock we went on a stargazing tour. From the middle of the Outback you can see both the Northern and Southern hemisphere stars at once. This was breathtaking. As an astronomy nerd I ate up the information our guide gave us about the constellations, planets, and solar systems. I could have looked through telescopes all night. The peace you feel when you realize how small we really are and how immeasurably large the universe is must be experienced every so often. I went to bed that night so very grateful for all that I was able to experience.

The activity just kept coming as the next morning I went on a sunrise tour and listened to an Aboriginal guide talk about life in the Bush. We sat in caves with ancient paintings and learned how to kill a kangaroo. The Aboriginals in Uluru have been there for 40,000 years, surviving on nature and ritual alone. Their culture is primitive (by our standards) but made sense to me. Duties are assigned to individuals in the group and responsibility is shared. They do not need currency (although, after the White Man came, of course things changed) and because there is no such thing as “possession”, they actually do not have a word for any number over 5. They figure if they have to count over 5, then there is too much of one thing and someone is being greedy. I was reminded of the Native Americans a lot when learning about the original Australians. Sometimes I think I should go back to school for a degree in anthropology as I ate up the information readily after years of enduring inadequate history lessons from teachers who should have retired long ago. Why we repeat patterns of dominance and cultural genocide throughout the world, I will never understand. I was, however, happy to learn what I could and tried to let the heartbreak of the damage that has been done to this indigenous culture go. We can only fix the future and maybe, some of us, can learn from the past.

Our last full day in Uluru was spent riding camels (a smile spreads across my face at the memory of these spectacular creatures) and walking through the Olgas, another huge natural rock formation in the middle of the desert. We watched the sun set this time, while drinking champagne (I barely finished my glass as trepidation over my health loomed) and learning more about Australian culture from our guides. I have to say I was very impressed by the tours given at the Ayer’s Rock Resort. Everything was professional, on time, well organized, and the people were fantastic. I’ve never laughed so hard with strangers in a foreign country. I was so at ease, and they made everyone on board feel welcome and comfortable. By the end of this last tour I was chatting with two older British men and a woman from Africa like we’d known each other for years. I love that about traveling. You build relationships quickly and with genuine interest.

Leaving Uluru was hard. I enjoyed the quiet beauty of the blood red landscape and the surreal hue of the bush. Flying over the Outback for the first time I swore I must have been hallucinating because the combination of the red earth, the mint blue shrubbery amidst light green trees seemed impossible. However, standing on that ground, carefully walking around ancient rock formations while listening to birds you’ve never heard before, feeling small but so very alive was incredible. The dry heat restored my lungs, and the relaxed atmosphere of the culture soothed my routine bouts of anxiety from teaching 90 Indonesian students on a regular basis.

There was less than 24 hours of turn around time between when I finally got back to Malang (suffered mechanical issues on the plane into Bali that delayed us 6 hours) and when I had to leave again for the island of Sulawesi to attend a teaching conference. My saving grace right now is the other English Language Fellows. We’re all fresh from vacations with stories to tell, wishing we had more time to transition. These ten wonderful people provide the perfect buffer to the abrasive and daunting environment I’ve returned to. Today alone went down as typically Indonesian as I watched teachers answer their cell phones while participating in training workshops and sat above crushed cigarette butts littering the tile floor of a University building. Let’s just hope I can keep the Fever at bay for the second half of my time overseas...