I could have filled a suitcase with all what I failed to pack: a sweater, toothpaste, toothbrush, shampoo, razor and lotion, a swimsuit, sunscreen, translation dictionary and travel diary whose pages I could fill with all the sidetrips I forfeited either for lack of time or money; to hot springs, buffet dinners, boat dives, guided day trips, to distant hilltop villages where old women weave ikat and chew beetel nut, to the undeveloped north coast around Riung, to visit the whale hunting peoples east of Larantuka, to see old remains of the Portuguese missions. I tuck my unwielding tangle of hair inside a borrowed baseball cap and ride the bus westward mumbling about the price hikes for foreigners in these parts. The road twists and turns, trucks and motorbikes squeeze by and detour the many construction
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