“If you’re feeling the board’s nose rising, just slide forward,” Miguel yells at me, his voice drowned by the strong winds and large waves. “Think of it as riding a bike – the more you think about what you’re doing, the more likely you’ll fall.” I’m perched atop a faded blue surfboard, trying to maintain balance while a succession of swells tries to knock me over. I try to erase all worries – not actually fear, since I love water (maybe because I’m an Aquarian) – and not care about all that’s around me. Ah, the things around me. I’m surrounded by other surfing neophytes unmindful of the chilly December winds, as we learn how to conquer the waves. I’m in Baler, the capital town of Aurora province in northeastern Philippines, popularized by two films – ... read more

In the end, maybe it’s wiser to surrender before the miraculous scope of human generosity and to just keep saying thank you, forever and sincerely, for as long as we have voices. – Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love I spend my final afternoon in Kuta Beach, the main tourist drag of Kuta in southern Bali. Heavy clouds drift overhead, casting a gloomy look on the long stretch of beach, though the general vibe of the area remains alive. I stroll along the dirty-white sand, passing a surfing school doing lessons with a few tourists who are learning to conquer the waves for the first time. A group of schoolchildren does some extracurricular activities, running towards me as soon as I signal to them my camera. Vendors sell bottles of Bintang beer, shirts and souvenirs. Somewhere in ... read more

It’s already dark when I reach Probolinggo, just like Desy said. It’s a little past 6 p.m., but with the streets practically empty and only a few sleepy eateries and stores open, it feels later in the night. I don’t have much difficulty finding my hotel, though, and after less than an hour, I’m in my room, lying on the bed and absentmindedly watching an Indonesian soap opera on television. I call Asrori Kholid, the one-man staff of Probolinggo’s tourism office and whom Desy had earlier connected me to. I announce I’m already in Probolinggo and tell him where I'm staying. “I’ll meet you in a short while,” he says. It’s almost eight by the time Asrori knocks on my door. He’s either in his late twenties or early thirties, looks more like a front man ... read more

“The Javanese believe that the placenta is the twin child of a newborn,” Reni Fatmasari says, holding a clay pot delicately while examining its smooth sides. “It is for this reason that when a baby is born, the mother’s placenta is placed in a pot like this, then buried in front of the house for 35 days.” It’s early Tuesday afternoon and we’re in a roadside stall that sells flower offerings. We’re on our way to the Kasihan Spring just outside the center of Yogyakarta and Reni suggests we stop by the store first to buy flowers we can offer to the spirits that are said to reside in the spring’s premises. While waiting for the store owner – a 50-something woman – as she places our purchase in a paper bag, Reni clues me in ... read more

A gust of cool wind brings a respite to the early afternoon heat. I squint into the sun at the sign that should tell me I’ve reached my destination. Then a young Indonesian man asks me in the local language, which I answer with nothing but a clueless look, slightly slack-jawed. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Indonesian,” I tell him. “Oh, where are you from?” he asks again. “The Philippines.” “Ah! But you look like an Indonesian.” I learn that it’s a conversation I’m going to get a lot here. As for now, I’m trying to withstand the heat while trying not to get lost. The man was asking if I would like to ride his ojek (motorbike taxi) to Prambanan. I tell him I can walk but will appreciate it if he can tell me ... read more