Lessons Learned :: Bankrupt!

Gili Trawangen, Indonesia

I arrived in Indonesia by accident. I was never intending on going there, let alone staying for more than 2 months, but I did and there are absolutely no regrets. The harbour of Benoa on Bali welcomed me to its shores and as soon as I stepped foot on this beautiful land, I knew I had to stay and discover more. And I did. Up the west and around the north, down the east with trips to the centre. I couldn't get enough of this magical place. The rice terraces allowed for hours of contemplation, the beaches; hours of sunbathing and body surfing, the pubs and restaurants; wind down time with other travellers, and the locals; lessons that I will take with me for the rest of my life.

I left Bali and darted over to Lombok. From there, I headed to the three little islands that dot the north east coast of Lombok--the Gili's. Gili Trawangen is where I landed and stayed for nearly a month. I couldn't give up my $3 per day bamboo hut which served up a daily dose of banana pancakes and all you can drink Nescafe. I couldn't turn my back on hours of snorkeling - just plunk in and let the slight current push you down the coast over the magnificent reefs to get out and walk back to where you started just to do it all over again. I couldn't leave the dive shop crew who had become like family to me. Of course I had to stay.

And then there were the locals. Walking from my bungalow to the dive shop should take a regular person walking with a regular gait, about 10 minutes--tops! But, the stoll down the carless dirt road would take closer to an hour. The first stop would be the corner store, not a concrete 7-11, but the closest thing to it...a bamboo hut about 4 square metres, selling coolish soft drinks in the mini bottles, warm bottled water, mosquito repellent and a few odds and ends. Of course the owner's wife would make a plate of deep-fried bananas each morning and it seemed after my first few purchases, it was mandatory to buy some every morning and to stop for a few exchanges of my rough Bahasa. Next stop would be Made who worked the currency exchange hut. And he would stop me to exchange his newly aquired rough English expressions. Walking further down the road, there was Tito, who worked the outdoor restaurant and served up the best Gado Gado on the island. His other magic was the mushroom tea. And as the dive shop would grow closer, there would be others you would bump into and have to stop and chat, or play a few chords with the want-to-be Marley's, or end up helping someone loading a boat to head over to the bigger islands.

But this was a highlight to the day. To mingle with the locals, to share a part of their lives, to hear and see how complicated we have made life and understand new perspectives on anything from religion to politics. I cherished the moments I had; whether it was with the divemasters out on the boat coming back from a dive, skinny dipping with Achok on a full moon and our bodies glowing with phosphorescents, playing cards and toothpick games while avoiding the start of the monsoon season, or swinging late in the evening in my hammock with the bungalow boys, their guitars and stories of an island years ago.

And no matter how much these memories are precious to me, there is still one lesson that sticks out in my mind. A lesson that I saw each and every day on the tiny island, and a lesson that I will hold dear for the rest of my life.

The lesson begins in a little bamboo shelter that sold sarongs, blankets, and hammocks. I knew my time on the island was drawing to an end along with the funds in my bank account and my visa. I wanted to buy a batik blanket to take back with me. A practical souvenir that I could use and fondly remember my time on the island. With no ATM machines and no visa, I had about $20 to last until I had made it back to Bali. I could stretch the money for about a week, but with the splurge of a blanket, I might be departing even earlier than anticipated.

I scoured the mounds of blankets and I saw the one that I wanted. Of course I asked how much and knew that the price quoted could be brought down with my effective bartering skills. I had the advantage. I knew that the Indonesians had the lowest price, then the tourists like myself a higher price and then the Japanese tourist were in a much higher bracket all together. And on top of that, I had just spent the past 7 weeks bartering for everything and I was confident in my abilities.

The sarong-clad man and I began the ritualistic bartering. His price high, mine low. An insulted look grew on his face, but that was all part of this dance. And so we started meeting between the two points. Finally it was down to about $10. I had brought the equivalent of $5 with me, and he didn't seem to budge.

Finally, I opened my wallet and showed him my ruppiah.

"Bank-rrrooopt," I said with an Indonesian roll of the Rs and the stretch of the 'oooo'. He looked at me in disbelief. (This is the part that I hated. Because of the colour of my skin, hair and eyes, I was perceived to be made of money. Like somehow back home I had my very own money tree which dropped bills and flowered coins.)

I smiled instead and said, "Look, bank-rrrooopt," and I pointed to my handful of bills in my wallet. The man laughed at me and shook his head. He took the bills from my wallet and counted my bills. And his white flash of teeth sparkled with each laugh.

"Yes, here, you are bank-rrrooopt, " he said as he pointed to my wallet. "But no problem," he added. "Friends, family, they help bank-rrroopt. No problem."

And then he placed the pad of his index finger onto my chest, pointing to my heart. "Bank-rrrooopt, here, big problem. No one make help. You no bank-rrrooopt here. Stay no bank-rrrooopt here."

And there you had it. My wallet was empty and I had a blanket slung around my arm, but my heart was full of wealth and richness. I knew it was filled even more by my time spent listening and learning from the locals, from the beauty I saw each day, from the joyous smiles that passed by that dirt road and the experience I shared with all. I knew then and there, that I would never let my heart become bankrupt; never.