Adventures in South East Asia

23 ~ Beach Love

Parangtritis Beach, Indonesia

The following morning, I went to the friendly woman at the front desk and asked about the easiest beach to access: Parangtritis. It was easier to get to than to remember how to say. Public transportation could get me there. I just needed to know which bus to take. The receptionist wasn't too keen on the bus idea, but I wasn't a security bubble tourist like most.

"It's dangerous. You can hire a motorbike instead."

I still wanted this back up plan instead. I missed independence.

"How dangerous? Will I get hurt?"

"No, but you can be robbed. And the buses are not very nice. Hot and dirty." She frowned and folded her hands.

"It's okay. I've taken public buses in Bangkok a lot."

She advised the best route and sent me off with a worried smile and a warning to be careful. As long as the possibility of being robbed wouldn't turn violent, I figured I'd be fine.

I had attended university in a less than favourable end of town for four years, so had acquired a few street smarts. I wouldn't fall asleep or listen to music. I would keep my bag on my lap and take as few valuables as I could. My friend had given me an item called a 'Safety Cat': a pointed brass knuckled key chain made of the same kind of steel they used for airplanes. So I brought it along to the beach as well.

After prepping for the beach, I put on a strapless, tye-dye dress and shoved my swimming attire in my bag. The dress fell to my ankles, an acceptable length; although, I wasn't sure about having my shoulders uncovered. As I walked down the street and attracted far too many stares, I chose to duck into a corner and throw my swimming t-shirt in over my torso. Much better. Now I could blend.

I caught the right bus on the street, after I had bought some water for the trip. As in Thailand, the woman working on the bus came to me asking for the fare, after I sat down and settled, instead of the Western custom of throwing it in a device when entering. I liked the idea of not being forced to dig for change right off the street, especially at home with six months of winter, making it too cold to fish for tickets.

On the bus, I dug through my green sling bag, careful not to show my wallet or how much money was in it. A few other passengers helped me with the Rupiah amount I needed with hand signals. I had 'Hello' and 'thank you' down pat, but I hadn't retained the numbers in Bahasa Indonesian. As a result much of the locals chatter had been wasted, but the result was the same.

I made a point to sit far enough from the doors to avoid a grab-and-go and slid next to the window to avoid a similar fate as an aisle passenger. My tablet was locked away at the hotel along with my fancier camera. I just had a book on Burma, a towel, sunscreen, a cheap camera and a bit of cash to feed myself and get back.

As I stared out at the passing city, I felt something on my shoulder. I slowly turned around and saw a man's feet were brushing against my arm, hopefully not on purpose. He sat on the bench behind me and had pushed his feet through the crack even more to be in my seat and space. I shifted toward the aisle slightly to avoid further contact.

I had thought feet were considered an extremely dirty part of the body and to touch another person with yours would be a very rude offence. Perhaps that was only in Buddhist quarters like Thailand. His arm began to creep through as well. But if this was the worst of the bus experience, I'd survive.

I got off the bus at a stop where a bunch of boys with towels jumped off. I vaguely heard the name of the beach that I could never pronounce from the driver and figured this could be it. It really wasn't that hard. There were just some words I would perpetually mix up. Parangtritis was one of them. I followed them through the narrow path of vendors and restaurants until the expanse of sand and sea took over.