Somehow we were able to have the privilege of surfing with the Green School’s surf program and be a part of their extracurricular program. That meant going to a specific beach every Saturday and meeting with the school’s surf instructors who would lead us into the water and surf with us. Then after the month was up, there would be a three night surf camp where all the kids who did surfing throughout the year would attend. We would also get to go. It would also be the chance where we could actually get to know and hangout with the students. Wescott would be going with the high school group on separate days and Otto and I would be going with the middle school group a week later. Since Saturday was the weekend, nobody was technically required to go to the weekend surf sessions, so for the first month in Bali, we didn’t see a lot of other students in the Green School Surfing Academy, but we would soon be immersed.

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7:30 am. The mornings of the surf week were always quiet, peaceful even. After breakfast everyone would go down to the beach and surf nonstop till noon. In total, there were 25 kids as well as multiple surf instructors, a few chaperoning dads, and Colin, who was in charge of the whole surf academy, in the water at once. We spent the week at a beach called Medewi in the western part of Bali where fishing boats lined half of the shore and dead fish was as common as sand. Once our arms started resembling that of a noodle, and only then, we’d all head in for lunch. A couple hours later, there would be an afternoon surf.

“Here’s the competition: there are two boards and two teams. One at a time, each person from both teams will go out and catch a wave. You’ll be scored individually by how well you surf that wave, but if you decide to catch and ride a whitewater wave you automatically get a 2. If you fall off, that counts. You don’t get to keep trying for another shot at a wave. So pick good. Then at the end we’ll add up all the scores and the team with the most points wins. And the first team to finish, where all their people have gone out and come back, gets an additional 10 points added and the second team only 5. So, you’ll have to think about performance as well as speed.”

We were sitting on the beach in a half circle around Colin while he was explaining the afternoon’s game. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at all nervous. It was just for fun, but still, I couldn’t help the butterflies surfacing inside me. I’m confident enough in my surfing ability yet when you add the pressure of catching a good wave, riding well, and doing it somewhat fast, then I had no idea how I would hold up in that situation. Not to mention that the board was as tall as me, give or take a few inches, and I’m like five-foot-nothing! I’ve never ridden a short board before so this would be very interesting. We were soon divided into groups and the first two people began to paddle out. When it came to my turn, I decided to just go out the back like I normally would and catch a wave. Unfortunately, none of the waves were looking that good, and when a good one did show up,  I was too late because the person from the other team was already riding it back. I was alone… For now.  I needed to catch a wave, but time wasn’t on my side.  Heading back in, I managed to snag some whitewater, barely getting up. Definitely not one of my best rides. Though thankfully, unlike some kids back on Mercer Island where to them gym equals the equivalent of the Olympics, nobody seemed too upset by my lackluster performance.

7:00 pm. Dinner was finished and by now night was fully upon us. I was rooming with two other girls―really five if you take into account the fact that it was an adjoining room and we had opened the door to allow easy passage. Sprawled across three of the beds in one of the rooms, I watched passively as all the girls took out their iPhones and I was reintroduced to the digital world. I had forgotten what this was like―what I myself was like―to be in the same room hanging out with someone while simultaneously not being there at all.

“Do you have Facebook?” One girl had put on music and was blasting a rap song.

“No,” I casually answered.

Another girl was texting with a boy, saying something about liking him and stressing about how to reply back to each incoming message.

“Mmm,” and the girl talking to me went back to her Snapchat.

A different girl then asked, “you have a phone?”

“Yeah, but I left it at home. I didn’t bring it on my trip.”

“Oh okay,” and next to her the ‘mmm’ girl looked up; laughed saying, “I could never do that,” which got the other girl laughing too.

7:30 am. The next day led primarily the same path as the last, but later there would be no afternoon surf. We would then be leaving the following morning.  So with the rest of the day  free, we decided to go for a swim in the pool, accompanying those already in who had the same idea. About an hour later, I had to get out because one of my ears became so clogged with water that I couldn’t hear anything. I spent the next thirty minutes trying unsuccessfully to get the water out when everybody started coming back in. While they showered and changed, I filled the time by sitting on my bed with a water bottle in hand, voraciously gulping down the awkwardness of not knowing what to do with people you just met with each single drop. I probably drank the most water in that couple of days than I had in the whole year. But, soon we all settled down and played a few games of BS and listened to music until we noticed it was time for dinner.

11:00 am. We arrived late morning at the Green School, where Mom was waiting eagerly for us with kombucha and raw peanut butter cups. I waved goodbye to a few of the girls and then we simply drove back to Ubud, passing the now familiar rice paddies.

“Did you have fun?”

“Yeah,” Otto and I replied, almost in unison.

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While my surfing wasn’t stellar, and the waves weren’t perfect, I realized that what I will remember most is that you can be halfway around the world and find a group of friends that make you feel like you are right at home.

This is a huge mural painted in the lobby of the hotel!

We visited an uberhip gallery in the W Hotel that represents many Bali artists. Mom and I liked the work of Dodit Artaman who does massive paintings of Barbies with bottles of gin.

The road to the entrance of the W Hotel is enveloped in bamboo.  Mom and I made our way to the sidewalk and began to stroll towards the center of town. Along the way we went into shops and browsed the shelves because we could. Because it was only Mom and me. Tuck and Jones only a distant memory. We found that most of the stores were air-conditioned, so along we went going from one store to the next, trying to escape the heat.

Bamboo arches over the long entrance drive into the hotel.

We stumbled upon a cool art exhibit in a coffee shop displaying dozens of pieces by Yaari Rom.

Seminyak is on the coast of Bali, so it is a super surf hangout with the cool, hip, relaxing vibe of an upscale beachy town. As we were nearing the middle of town,  we noticed this small outdoor marketplace. Unlike the souks of Marrakech, everyone there barely batted an eyelash as we walked through the stalls. With a friendly, non-accosting exchange, we bought a few gifts for cousins and then headed to this trendy restaurant for a light snack.

Cool street art on every corner!

Afterwards we met our driver, who took us back along the narrow roads and past the rice fields to our place in Canggu.  As we turned into the driveway, we noticed that even the contraptions made to keep the birds away from the rice had an artistic flair.

Arusha, Tanzania.  I never knew when these shocking moments would hit. At around ten that morning, I groggily stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom: a crucial part of my daily routine. The shower always represented a place to unwind, relax, and mentally prepare myself for the upcoming day, and in Arusha, Tanzania specifically, the nozzle represented no danger what so ever, however today I was in for a rude awakening. I falsely felt a sense of safety as I took a luxuriously hot shower.  As I thoroughly rinsed the remainder of shampoo from my hair and finished up, I reached down for the metallic lever to switch the shower off.  As soon as my hands made contact:  ZAP!  Volts of galvanizing electricity violently made their way through every fiber of my body.  As you probably know: wet person plus electricity equals not good. I shook up and down with my hair standing on end like a cartoon character.  In the midst of this involuntary spasm, my hand bumped against the lever once again and doubled the pain, and doubled my distrust in showers from now on. Ever since that experience, I now do a little poke test on metallic levers with the tip of my index finger prior to dampening myself. I stepped into that bathroom a tired, naive, and unprepared zombie, but left a shocked piece of toast who couldn’t feel more awake.

Yangshuo, China.  We entered the substantially sized grocery store with an equally big grocery list: eggs, fruit, vegetables, milk, and the other usual items needed to accommodate the maximum impact family.  My mom and I looked around puzzled.  Neither of us could read Chinese, but by first glance everything appeared wrapped in shiny, vivaciously colored, plastic wrappers.  We circled the store while scrutinizing the merchandize; the entire “supermarket” contained nothing more than various packages of gummies, candy bars, and other highly processed goods.  Just to be clear: this isn’t some random candy store, our house manager specifically told us that this is the supermarket.  We walked in to that store expecting to leave with food, but left with a full grocery list and a greater gratefulness for the supermarket a short walk from our house back home that carries dairy, meat, fruit, vegetables, and everything else.

Ubud, Bali. The inconsistency of plugs frustrated me from day one.  Why does everybody insist on using different shapes?  We carry a bag of adaptors with us at all times because you never know if the plugs in the next country will be shaped like a guy with a surprised face (the US plug), a sad face (Australia), a mad face (Tanzania), or any other expression you can think of.  In Bali, the outlets only accept double pronged, cylindrical plugs.  As I fiddled with various adaptors seeing which one would fit into the holes like solving some jigsaw puzzle, my hands frequently made contact with the metal prongs. Sure enough:  ZAP!  I successfully tapped into the electricity, inaccessible with United States plugs, with my hand. Albeit, the shock did not hurt as much as the shower escapade in Arusha, but that is not saying much.  I plugged in with a mild perturbation of using adaptors to charge my iPad, but unplugged my body with a mild fear of using adaptors to charge my iPad.

Bagamoyo, Tanzania. I anxiously awaited with my hand under the shower nozzle for the water to turn from freezing cold to an amiable temperature. Thirty seconds went by, then a minute, then three: the water pressure began to dwindle and the temperature stayed at a constant fifty degrees (Fahrenheit). I finally just stepped in and took the excruciatingly cold water like a man, but only for another minute or so, because after that, the water went from a drizzle to a drip-drip-nothing. That was the second worst shower of my entire life. I turned the shower on expecting hot water and the pressure of at least a squirt gun, but the cold stream shortly died out along with my misconception that showers are only warm and soothing.

Koh Tao, Thailand. Fizz stood a favorite restaurant of mine in Koh Tao, Thailand until the third visit. We all fell in love with the cafe ever since the first night: eating healthy, delicious, pomegranate salad and watching the exotic sunset with the tropical Thai beach in the foreground. The second time at Fizz, we lounged in beanbags on the soft sand, sipped on extravagant cocktails (virgin of course), and listened to their DJ lay down some original drumbeats. The third visit to Fizz, I planned on sitting in the corner, eating some fresh lunch, and working on Biology while my family walked around the island… but not everything goes according to plan. I unpacked my bag at the table and plugged in my rubber, white power cord into the outlet nearby  (a US plug, I couldn’t believe it.)  I nonchalantly picked up the end of the charger to begin charging my device and ZAP!  The doohicky that magnetizes itself inside the computer sent a volatile shock throughout my whole body. I somehow plugged the possessed cord in, but my whole body shuttered and a tingle went up and down my spine. I stared at my dad and started stammering, “Dad, DuDad, Dad!”

He stopped walking away, “What’s the matter?”

“The stupid cord shocked me when I picked it up!”

He responded with, “Did you touch the end of it?”

“Yes,” I tentatively replied.

“That happens to me all of the time, it’s fine.” He seemed unconcerned.

I touched my index finger to the smooth, metallic trackpad and ZAP!  Again.  Now, I not only felt scared and shocked, but angry at Dad who convinced me to shock myself again.  I frantically looked up at him and blurted out, “It shocked me again! It really hurt.”  He walked over (at a pretty slow pace I might add) and touched the computer: ZAP!  Sweet revenge. “Let’s find a different cafe,” he suggested with an anxious look in his eye. I walked into Fizz expecting to get a tranquil view, a healthy plate of salad, and a good amount of work done, but left with the bottle of water I ordered and a newfangled cautiousness when handling my power cord.

Zanzibar, Tanzania. Zanzibar opened my eyes in many ways, but perhaps the most significant shocker occurred when my grandfather, dad, brother, and I visited Kingey’s home… our driver from Crazy Mzungos.  We made our way out of a small street market and turned onto a bumpy, dirt road.  Houses, comprised of scrap metal, cardboard, and cement surrounded us, along with a herd of stray cows, palm trees, and a group of local kids playing soccer with a scrappy ball of trash.  Everything looked dirty and exasperated by the oppressive heat.  We parked the car outside of a tiny cement compound with no windows, and walked in through the door frame (there was no door.)  Inside sat three women, one elderly and two middle aged, as well as two small kids who looked three or four years old. They greeted us with big smiles and said hello in Swahilli, “Jambo.”  I scanned the room: no lights, no furniture (besides two plastic stools and palm leaf mats) and nothing to entertain themselves but each other. They had so little, but still seemed so joyous. I walked into Kingey’s home hot, tired, and longing for a cool pool, but I left shocked and grateful for what I already had.

Wiring in Yangshuo, China where we had the best WIFI in Asia!

She wasn’t always Stephanie Craig.  Throughout most of her high titled career as our prospering nanny, she was incidentally Stephanie Jones.  Yes, another Jones in our family.  Having been with us since our first years on Mercer Island and then all the years after that, the goodbyes when we left for the trip were fairly wet. Mostly it was her eyes doling out the steady stream of salt while us kids insisted that we would be gone only a year and how little time it actually is if looked at in that perspective.  But, we would soon be the ones convincing her and her husband, Aric, to come and meet us on our global adventure. Though it was more of an obligation than anything. I mean, all of the other Joneses in our lives were making an appearance on ProjectEquator so she couldn’t just not come. So, with much back and forth, we soon were all reunited in Bali.

Steff and I hanging at Karsa Spa in front of the lotus pond!

The time quickly went by, seeming to slip right through our fingers, but not before we made sure “everyday was the best day ever” which was set out by Steff and Aric and wasn’t a very hard goal to accomplish.

Hanging outside of Intuitive Flow, our favorite yoga studio in Ubud!

Aric and Steff both loved sliver smithing class as much as I did.

Of course there were obstacles, even still in heavenly Bali.  Obstacles which put everyone (except Otto, Jones, and I fortunately enough) in a 24-hour state of toilet dependency. It didn’t matter what end of the pipe it came out of―nobody was feeling up to par and the victims were left helpless to the bug. Yet, we all managed to come out alive, for there were still plenty more things to do and see…. which leads me to one last thing. Steff and Aric, while we loved shepherding you around Ubud and spending time together, we’re not done with you yet on Project Equator. Come to Mattapoisett!!

CHEERS to the first day Steff and Aric were with us in Ubud!

Here’s a video tour! 

I start to head down again, back to my life of solitary, but the land fish seem incessant on keeping me by their side. One of them, I notice, holds out a small rectangular box to me. I’m not used to all this attention. My instincts warn me that these land fish are no good and so I duck down again. No reason to start going against all my intuition now. They trail behind for a couple seconds, then gradually the water stills and I’m alone once more. Fading into the constant beating pulse of the ocean, I can’t help but wonder, what do the land fish think of me?

[Authors Note: turtle’s can get itches on their shells]