Two nights ago I got food poisoning. No pictures will accompany this post!
Around 2am I awoke to that lovely ‘gut-wrenching’ churning feeling that makes you hop out of bed toute suite; vomiting was soon to come. Back and forth throughout the night; honestly, I will not go on. Suffice to say the thought of standing up, packing, and then getting on an airplane were the last things in the world I wanted to do.
In the taxi to the airport, I motioned vomiting with my hands to mouth to the driver and laid down in the back to sleep. He laughs. Good times. I had two days of flying ahead of me: first I had an hour flight from Yogyakarta to Jakarta on Saturday; stay at an airport hotel one night and then a four hour flight to Manila, Philippines on Sunday.
I must have looked like a chump: slumped over at the ticket counter, I could hear mom, “stand up straight.” But Ma! I can’t. I feels like a sack of tatters.
In fact, my tum tum hasn’t been happy for most of Indonesia; maybe it’s the water or maybe the spices? Or, could it be the chicken on the third night of our volcano trek? I’m pretty sure they didn’t cook it three days ago. Ohhh nasty.
The strange Jakarta airport hotel, in the midst of renovation, was in a complex called Aeropolis, a series of vacant store fronts; someday it might be finished? I walked over rubble in the entrance to get to the registration desk. The rest of the floor was impeccable white tile. Inside the room, no larger than a twin bed, there it was: a fluffy white comforter. After eating a few bites of a chicken sandwich (more torture?), I dove into the fluffy white comforter and slept; then slept; and slept more. It was late afternoon and I woke at 8pm feeling gads better.
I skyped with some students and then returned to bed for some more wonderful sleep. With every hour of sleep my body was recovering. When I awoke I felt so refreshed, then I peaked at my watch: 8am! The airport shuttle leaves at 8:15!!! No one called me for my wake up call. Shit. Shit. Shit. Hopping up, I threw on my dress and ran out of the room. Turns out it was only 7–time change. Whef. But still. The panic.
Walking past all the batik souvenir shops, it reminded me of making a batik one afternoon with Ellen. And the coffee we drank while waiting for it to dry. What memories will I find in the Philippines?
I made the flight and am now having a tea at Starbucks. Don’t judge me. I wanted a piece of home. Calm tea. Yeah, I’m drinking a tea called Calm. Again, do not judge. Frank Sinatra is singing: “Fly me to the moon.” Ahh. Nice.
The other cherry on the top: when I got to the ticket counter, they didn’t charge me for changing my ticket. I was originally supposed to leave a week ago but stayed to hike another volcano. And finally, in the duty free shop, I found an old perfume that my stepmother gave me years ago: Calyx by Clinic. Smelling it made me think of home.
During my bout of stomach poison, I wanted to go home terribly. Hop on the nearest flight; I didn’t care about cost. Get me home. But, as I wait here to take off to another new place, that feeling is dissipating. Just like the icky stomach pains. I’ll find new things and I won’t even remember the tummy cramps.