Chapter 2; Indonesia - Yogyakata & Jakata

Friday 6th November 2015

The news told us that Bali airport had opened. Typical. But we couldn't look at that and regret any decisions. It was onwards only with the upcoming and unexpected overland trip. I was actually relieved to know that I wasn't going to be cruising through the skies with a cloud of ash, that could have ended up swallowing us. The overland was going to test us and push boundaries. That it what travelling is about, and it isn't as easy as what is it sometimes potrayed.
"Hey mum guess what? The airport has opened up this morning..."
Mother said nothing, but her look of exasperation said everything. We shuffled into the elevator and pushed in one of the many buttons to transport us to the breakfast area. I had already made the glorious deal with myself to take full advantage of the umlimited buffet and eat until my antagonised stomach screamed for me to stop. I used the excuse that I had a fifteen hour bus ride to endure, and there wasn't any statement about stopping for snacks along the way. The random selection of hot Western and Asian food on my plate went down exceptionally well. I completed the meal with a final helping of mini cakes/pastries. I felt terribly greedy but not enough to regret it. You come to realise whilst travelling that any free food is precious.

Once we were back in our regal room, we gathered up our pocessions. I was of course ready before mother and ended up watching her, bemused at how much one person can take such a lengthly amount of time to get ready. She gained professional status as we fell deeper into our tour, but at that precise moment , she struggled.
As she put her monster pack on her back, her sun glasses toppled to the floor. Growling slightly, she reached down to collect them, but due to the pack's hefty weight she instead ended up falling over backwards. I burst out laughing, as all I could think of think of when this scene revealed itself was how she looked like an insect. You know when they are stuck on their backs and it results to them wiggling their helpless little legs around in the air? I somewhat composed myself and helped her up again whilst trying to subside bouts of sniggers, then we left the luxury behind us.
Downstairs, I was just about to hand over the room key at reception, when I heard mum gasp loudly.
"Amber, wait! I have left something in the room and I need to go and retrieve it!"
I sighed as I passed her the key and sat down on the sofa to wait.

My eyes watched her scurry up the corridor and back into the elevator. I loved her,and all of her quirky imperfections. Without them she wouldn't be my mother. When she returned I smiled and stood up.
"Now, are you sure that you have everything?"
She declared that she did, so the key then departed from our custody forever.
The eight minute walk in the blistering humidity was yet again a challenge. Once we had reached the bus station we were drowning in our own fluids. The man at the office pointed unsteadily to where the bus should have been collecting us. We sat amongst the natives who were also waiting for their ride to arrive. They stared and they didn't care about making it obvious.
"Is this where he said to wait?" I asked, focusing all of my attention onto mothers pretty face, and working hard on to not react to the surrounding curious eyes.
"I have no idea. I don't see any other westerners either yet."
That was because our bus departure time had been changed to leave an hour later, so we had an extended period to hang around at the beaten up shelter. I asked a bus officer about our departure point, not by speaking but by pointing to the tickets that were in my clammy hands. He replied back also with hand gestures, that told us to hold on at the spot that we were already sitting at.
We waited at that station for two hours in total, and we had to entertain ourselves by watching the buses that had seen better days pull in and out.
I would never moan about the condition of any bus back in England ever again. An argument almost took place between mum and the toilet attendent, because there was a fee to use them. The facility was eroded with grime and covered in absolute filth. To have to pay for a vile pit such as that one was taking the piss. No pun intended. The attendant couldn't speak english and had a severe lack of manners. Luckily, mums heated vexation calmed down. There was already enough heat to deal with and my shirt clung onto my body because of pesky sweat.
A bus pulled into the spot where we were twiddling our thumbs at, and it seemed like it was our one according to the bus attendant. I could have broken his clipboard in two when another said that it was the wrong bus. The mixture of heat and confusion was testing our nerves and our patience. Eventually, the correct vehicle was revealed to us, so we stood by it until it was time to climb aboard and leave. Two young boys cleaned it's exterior until it shined sumptously, and a random man that stood close by played some dodgy sounding European pop out loud from his mobile. The songs were on repeat and they were soon instilled into my brain, then refused to show any sign of leaving.
The time to board finally arised, and the interior of the bus was pleasantly surprising. Exectutive class didn't lie. We fell back into the cushioned seats and spread ourselves out within the large amount of space. I plugged in my head phones and pressed the play button on the ipod to throw out that euro garbage that was stuck horribly in my mind. The journey had begun and we began to feel at peace.

But of course, the peace didn't last for very long. The driver had turned out to be quite the maniac, and his reckless driving had made my hands clasp onto the arm rest, fingernails dug deeply into the material. He accelerated up to a deadly speed as he overtook the probably normal paced cars that cruised along in front of us, and my heart galloped along with it. There must have been a race against time to reach the ferry dock. Or he was utterly insane.
It took a few hours to arrive and during those hours when we weren't debating whether or not the bus was going to flip over, we saw some various scenery. From barren beaches, with their pounding waves that roared up to the skies, to small villages where both the young and old were working as hard as each other. It was imagery that caused inspiration. We somehow also managed to catch some winks along the way, and became oblivious to the dangerous driving for a short while as we lost sense and sight of where we were.
Before the coach boarded the ferry, sellers came on board to offer food and water. One man even started to randomly play the ukelele. The ferries were compact, and to begin with it seemed impossible for more than four coaches to be able to squeeze in on it. But with alarmed shouting and copious amounts of arm flailing, the workers triumphed.

Journey Details-http://www.baliblog.com/travel-tips/bali-travel/getting-around/getting-from-bali-to-jakarta-and-return.html

Everybody stumbled off of the bus and walked upstairs to where the seating deck of the ferry was. Mother and I were both bursting for the toilet and couldn't find it at first. We hurriedly circled the boat with bladders full to the brim. The only one that we did find had the doorway blocked by school kids. It was hot and the cramped space was claustrophobic. There was no way that we were going to hold on by the time the toilet would become vaccant. However, one of the captains had seemed to have spotted us moaning, and crunching at our pants in agony, so he began to walk towards us. He pointed to the stairs that headed up to the next level.
"Come, this way," he nodded sharply, "You follow me instead."
I looked at mum and shrugged, in too much pain to work the situation out, then began to follow the captain upstairs.
The stairs had led us to the the control room, where the driver was sat, steering us to our next destination. I glanced around and noticed that no other travelers were up on the higher platform. The captain beckoned us to walk with him around the corner.
"Here is the toilet, and here is where you can sit."
He pointed at a small door, and then to a chair that stood a few

metres away. The space was out in the open, and the breeze was a saviour after being put through the humidity down below. As mum peed, I sat myself down and looked out to the water. Why had we been chosen to be allowed to sit up by the control room? How did we manage to be selected as the privelidged ones? Questions that were never answered. When mum had returned I took a visit to the toilet to subside my raging bladder, and then we sat down together, pain free and blissfully looking out at the sun that was saying goodbye, dissapearing behind the mountains. During the journey, the driver had called me into the control room and asked me to sit next to him. I sat and stared at the various coloured switches that were displayed in front of me, and tried not to accidently touch anything. Through broken english he questioned me about our journey, my family, and of course my love life. I thought that the latter part of the questioning was going to be inevitable with most of the men that I was going to encounter. The driver was very sweet however, and I was honoured to have had the experience of sitting next to him as we cruised towards Java. I looked towards mother and I could sense that a calmness had seeped into her soul. When I had joined her agan outside, we saw the other passengers down below. Most of the locals were either goofing around or looking very sea sick.
The crossing itself only took around fourty minutes, but it took longer because of the queue to get into the port. We said goodbye and thanked the driver and captain for their custom, then decended down to the main floor to buy some water. As we waited for the ferry doors to release us, a group of teenagers asked us if they could have our picture taken with them. I still couldn't quite believe all of the attention that we had been recieving, and I doubt that I could handle the fandom if I ever were to beome famous.

We were part of the last group of passengers to depart and didn't realise that everyone on the bus was waiting for us. The bus driver ushered us on.
"Let's go!" he shouted abruptly, "LET'S GO!"
The whole bus began to laugh as we searched for our seats, and I joined in the banter despite being somewhat flustered.
"Mum, let's not be late getting on a bus again!" I muttered to mother as we slouched into the row.
"Agreed..." she murmured back to me, before she grew comfortable and settled for when the lights were to switch off above.
The rest of the journey consisted of a lot of sleeping. We stopped off for a true Indonesian dinner in a joint along the motorway, that was a slight dive and held a subtle creepiness. We embraced true culture to our best of our intention.

Saturday 7th November 2015

At around the hour of 7am, when we were deranged and deprived from being zonked out, the driver told us that we had to quickly get our asses off of the bus, only to get onto another. Nothing had been mentioned about changing buses, but we really shouldn't had been surprised about it. 'Expect the unexpected' became our motto. As we were waiting for the next bus to turn up, stifling yawns and stretching out limbs, I suddenly realised that I had left my Entrails jumper on the bus.
"Fuck!" I cried out, snapping wide awake, "mum, my jumper is still on the fucking bus! Could you please go and grab it?! I'll wait here with the luggage."
Mother threw me a look of exasperation. "Oh bloody hell Amber!"
Off she ran and onto the bus to retrieve it, and it was typical that in the same instant, the next bus pulled in to collect us. My strength had run away, and I was grateful to the man who had helped me get the bags into the luggage compartment. I was almost frantic because I thought that we were going to be left to lay in the dust, but then mum appeared with my precious death metal jumper in her hands. We clambered onto this new bus, wired, ...which was far from new, and the journey continued for what seemed like an age. Sleep wasn't on the cards because the bus had a karaoke channel on the TV screen up front, for entertainment. It was the complete opposite of entertaining, trust me. The supposedly fifteen hours had stretched to an unwanted twenty. But hey, we were traveling, that was definite.
We arrived at the main bus terminal in Jogja, puffy eyed and fragile. But the journey still wasn't over. We had to get the small trans Jogja buses to Tugu station. The taxi touts pestered persistantly and I had images of wanting to tear their limbs away from their bodies. We steered away from them as much as we could and found the tiny trans Jogja bus station. Well, it was actually more of a platform.
That took another half an hour or so, and we took up the majority of space on the bus, so I tried my hardest not to smash into anybody with my baggage. The relief that washed over us when the train station was in sight cannot be fully described.

We had planned to stay in the station for the day, but as we passed the dusty windows and glanced around at the dreary ticket office, we changed our minds.
Our train tickets had needed to be printed via a machine, and we both looked at it, sceptical, not wanting to encounter any difficulty because of how helpless we felt. Luckily, with a little encouragement from the locals, we managed to print them with ease. We could also store our bags in lockers for the day which was superb, as we had had ten hours to kill.
The main street of Jogja was just around the corner from the station, so off we walked, almost skipping because of the relief from the baggage, to check it out. The city was crazy, and not in a good way. The whole street was overflowing with market stalls, and shopping malls were positioned side by side, almost caving into one another. We wasn't left alone and it was downright draining. Our lack of concentration even made us fall into the art gallery scam. A man stopped us in our tracks.
"Hello, where are you from? What are you doing here today? Where are you heading to?"
So many questions, but the most important was, "....Do you like art?"
He started to explain about the art scene in Indonesia, and that we should visit a gallery that wasn't too far away from where we were stood.
"Come" he beckoned, "I shall even take you there!"
I didn't want to be dealing with any of the mans nonsense, and could only look at mum in shock as she began to follow his footsteps.
"What are you doing?!" I hissed, as I gripped onto her arm, trying to pull her back, "We need to lose him, this doesn't feel right!"
"Well we have to go with him now," she answered and brushed my hand off, "It's probably fine Amber."
"No," I argued, "why are we even following this guy, I like art but fuck being taken to an art gallery in this city!"
But yet we continued to be escorted to my dislike, and ended up being upstairs in this small room that was decorated with a great amount of paintings. It was no gallery, it was just a shop. As soon as we were given a free drink, the recognition lit up in mums eyes, and we exchanged a worried glance because we knew that we had to somehow get ourselves out of this trap. The man carried on talking, and described in his rehersed lines about the paintings. I wasn't listening, as I just wanted to get the hell out of that room. All he was after was our money, and when mum declined his offer about purchasing something, I was apprehensive as to how his reaction would be. After many masked smiles and a false 'Thank you', we thudded back down the steps and moved madly away from the glorified 'gallery'. The scam almost happened a second time too, which was stupid. Mother once again fell for a mans twisted words. We were trying to find a museum but couldn't.
"Havn't you learnt from what happened earlier?" I shouted at her as she paced up the road ahead of me. I was getting to the end of my tether, bellowing from across the street as she began to follow him. Apparently she had not.
"Well, we don't know where we are going,", she claimed, vulnerability, reflecting in her eyes, "so he may be able to help us find what we are looking for!" Instead, he wanted to take us down an alley way that could only bring flickering flashbacks to all of the horror flicks that I had seen. But what we were in was no movie. We firmly declined and scarpered. We were definitely weary and uncomfortable in Jogja, not being able to talk or trust anybody. It saddened me to see that the people there had to go through great lengths to try and get money. Again, manufactured papers, one of the roots of evil...
The only part of Jogja where we felt protected from was the main shopping centre, and we made frequent trips to it just to be away from the hysteria outside. At least there was somewhere to restore sanity.

Jogja Shopping-http://galeriajogja.com/intro.html

We were back in the safer surroundings of the train station and waiting for the last part of the jouney to unfold. As we collected our luggage from the lockers, two boys began to walk towards us, looking somewhat nervous but smiling. One of them glanced shyly at mother.
"Excuse me, could we get a picture with your daughter please?"
I felt my Cheeks redden. Celebrity status had kicked in yet again.
"Why sure, of course!" Yes, mother would grant permission whether I liked it or not. So I stood next to the two boys and smiled for the camera phone. Their lit up faces proved that they appreiciated the encounter with us, and it was actually a little gratifying to see that a shared moment like the one just shared, meant a great deal. I appreciated the positivity after the trying day.
They joined us again as the time moved along, and we passed pleasant conversation. There were four boys in total, and they were on a vacation from studying. They told us about Bornio as that was where they resided, and told us facts about the country, such as how the heat there can be brutal. If we ever were to visit Bornio, we would be most welcome to stay and be shown around by them. Mother kept creating laughter, and the light hearted energy was something of a blessing. My level of tolerance balanced out. One of the sweet and well mannered boys was named Panji, who kept throwing shy glances my way. He was the boy who had wanted the photo with me. When their train rolled into the station and it was time to say hug and exchange goodbyes, he took off one of his bracelets that were hanging onto his skinny wrist, and placed it into my hand.
"Amber, I would like you to have this," he said, eyes bright and innocent and full of admiration, "It is a friendship bracelet. You are beautiful and I wish you all the best."
I could only thank him because other words had left me, touched by his own and by his gift. The smallest of gestures go a long, long way. I still wear the bracelet on my wrist and every time I look down at it, Panji's sweet, shy smile appears in my head. Then off the boys went, waving behind them as they ran and bounded from the platform onto the train. Our own train crawled into the platform shortly afterwards and we ascended it with open minds. It turned out to be a better journey than the last two vehicles that we had been on, in terms of comfort. However, I had to constantly keep the free blanket over my head so I was smothered and shielded from the glaring lights that were not switched off throughout the night. The loud voices that barked from the television, which was situated at the front of the carraige, was also a mission to drone out. Because I had been suffering from exhaustion, I passed out in the semi coated darkness and slept without much hindrance.
Bali airport had shut again. I could easily admit that I was secretly

pleased about this piece of news.

Sunday 8th November 2015

It was 4:30am when the wheels squeaked to a stop at our stop of Gambir station, Jakarta. As much as we had managed to catch some winks, we still felt very fatigued and not entirely with the conscious. Our legs discovered circulation again and we took them out into the eerie early morning darkness. The blue bird taxi service is the best and most trustworthy service to use, so we hunted for one to get us to our final destination, the Packer Lodge hostel. The taxi driver slipped up and accidently took us down the wrong side alley. There were plenty of them that came off of the main road, and some of the slim, pitch black passages seemed to stretch endlessly into voids of the unknown. Our hostel was located down one of them, and it was a relief to see that the building was holding up well compared to it's neighbours. The welcome at reception was warm and one of the girls took us to where we could rest until our room was going to be ready. The interior of the hostel was clean, spacious, and had a chilled vibe which was the complete opposite to the raving mad streets that made up the city of Jakarta. I remember feeling a sort of relief after every time we had to walk through the front sliding, gleaming glass doors of the place. It was an actual escape from the hectic reality. The lounge area was made up of two large sofas, that were covered with huge pillows, situated opposite a television and dvd player, and in front of high tables with stalls that had plug points. I perched myself up on one of the stalls and began to hack my way through social media, whilst mum buried herself under the cusions and rested. Through the exhaustion, I thought to myself that I wouldn't have changed that chaotic journey at all, because it had made us stronger beings. It had taken a part of us away, and cut a piece of our souls, but it had replaced it with a knowledge that is worth the battle scar. The roads that we don't realise we are going to take at the time, end up being the ones that we remember the most. And in the chaos of it all, there is beauty and there becomes wisdom.

The Packer Lodge Hostel-http://www.thepackerlodge.com/

Once the time was at a normal hour of being awake, the two of us freshened up and braved it outside to seek out some breakfast. Our stomachs were voicing their anger, and delirium would have begun to creep up on us if we didn't get some calories and caffine in us. The sun was blinding and the heat was forceful. Then there was the traffic on the main road as we turned out of the alleyway. My goodness. It was a whole different ballgame compared to the early morning cruise in the taxi a few hours ago. A sea of cars trailed on and on until we couldn't see no more, becoming tiny specs in the distance. Buildings loomed over the roads on either side, which was somewhat refreshing because there hadn't been any architecture like that in Bali. I was reminded of London Town.
We seeked out a Starbucks along the main street so we sat in there

and worked out where we wanted to go whilst we shoveled down a meal. We decided on the National Monument and the main shopping centre.

All caffined up and slightly more alive, we walked to the Monument first which took just over half an hour or so. On the way the majority of the locals left us alone, which we were thankful for. But once we had stepped into the turf of the monument, we were swarmed. Like bees around a honey pot, we had groups of teenagers asking for my picture. We even had to be interviewed and speak on camera for a school project, which was about tourism in Indonesia. I was glad that I wasn't going to be seeing the result of the video, as anyone would have been frightened of the ghastly black rims under my eyes and my matted sweaty hair. The fame continued right until we were inside the grand shopping complex, where even a woman with her two little girls wanted a photo. I masked a smile and as I held the little girls hands, one on the left and one on the right, I thought that the whole concept was just bizarre.
The Monument stood up high, proud and mighty, making the one in London look like a wimp. The grand Indonesia shopping centre was one of the most amiable centres that I had ever walked around (Trust me, I have wandered around many). It consisted of seven spacious floors and had every store that you could possibly need or want, catering for both indonesian and western. The food court was set up in an American style and I had to be aware of leaving a trail of drool behind from ones watering mouth. We ate from one

of the stalls, and for fast Indonesian food it tasted solid. When we were full up and shopped out, we slowly trudged back to the hostel, taking in supermarkets and another centre along the way. Some of the centres were on the verge of collasping, and it was thought provoking to see the crumbling walls and dark, damp corridors that lead to who knew where, compared to the royal Grand Indonesia.
There was another main street that our feet lead us to, and THAT was when the men began to shout and harass. It was only a matter of time. I was slowly getting accustomed to it and when they said something, I simply smiled then looked ahead, to display a sign of polite rejection. The taxi drivers were the worst part of the whole senerio, because of their constant beep beep beep of their horns. Some would even slow down to a measly five miles per hour and cruise next to us as we walked, expecting us to suddenly jump into their car for their service. They could not seem to understand the

word no, and the repetivity of it drove us mad. Ha, get it? It was a struggle to find beer in the supermarkets as the religion was mainly Muslim based. Alcohol was non applicable to them, which didn't agree to my consistent thirst. However, our persistent mentality did not make us give up on the search for the cheap liquid of miracles, and we managed to find some bottles to take back with us to the hostel. We enjoyed them as we were sorting out our clothes in the room. It was a cute little pad, where the wooden bunk bed took up around seventy percent of the space. Because I am a child at heart and always will be, I had the top bunk. My body has obviously changed from my younger years, so it seemed to be more of a struggle to climb up and descend from the ladder. As a child I was obviously smaller and unknown to alcohol...
Before we hit the hay as we were drowsy, we watched a cheesy rom com in the chilled room upstairs, free from chaos for a while.

National Monument-http://www.jakarta.go.id/web/encyclopedia/detail/1989/Nasional-Monumen

Grand Indonesia-http://www.grand-indonesia.com/site/index?x=x

Plaza Indonesia-http://www.plazaindonesia.com

Centro-http://www.centro.co.id

Monday 9th November 2015

The breakfast in the hostel was a simple continental but it did the job. The coffee in Indonesia beat the beans that we get in the UK, and we had grown accustomed to having it always black. Like my soul? Maybe. Black is not just to be worn on a wednesday. Once we had taken fall advantage of all of the breakfast munch available (choco cereal and toast with four different spreads) we put our shoes on and faced madness once more, to start the busy schedule that we had planned out for the day.

First on the agenda was the China town. We didn't stay in it for very long, as it wasn't exactly the most glamorous China town that we had sauntered around in. This particular market spat out narrow streets that were packed out full with stalls, piled dangerously on top of one another. The locals were cooking some unappealing creatures that were being kept in company by small swarms of buzzing flies. This was all based right above the sewer system. The stench was sickening and I tried my best to refrain from upchucking my choco flakes and peanut butter toast. We quickly got ourselves out of the maze before I showed my own rotten display of food.
Still, the friendly attention continued and our status of being celebrities began again. I felt like the meat on the market stall, fighting off the swarms of humans. I understood that it was their way of life and they knew of nothing different. I appreciated to have had my eyes opened but to have had my nostrils opened to the intense drainage systems was quite the opposite. Disgusting.
After China town we walked into the old town, which was pretty much made up of just an old railway station and a square that was dotted with museums. The roads around the area were heaving, and we looked utterly stupid as we attempted to cross them. We must have waited for around ten minutes to cross a few metres over a road that never ever seemed to clear. The locals managed to cross with no thought or hesitation. Dumbfounded, we could only stare at them and wonder how the fuck that they were still alive after stepping foot onto the worn tarmac. However, there was no transport in the square and it was bliss to hear no loud horns or to choke on any gas fumes.
A man approached us as we were photographing the architecture and asked us to fill out a survey about tourism in Jakarta. Thankfully it didn't take too long and I was probably too honest than what I should have been, due to many of the questions being answered in a negative way. I didn't like the negativity...I never like any negativity. There were areas of small beauty but in my opinion, the capital had a lot of work to do. Mum finished her survey slightly after me and we handed the forms back.
"Okay, I am all done."
The guy had a confused expression settled on his face, pausing to process mum's line.
"I do not know what that means," he explained, a little embarrassed, "can you explain?"
And once she had, confusion turned into clarity.
"I am allllll done!! Yes!!"
He roared and produced a mini fist pump, proudly showing his happiness for learning some more of the english volcabuary. I beamed at him as I could see how something that small meant so much.
The last place that we were crossing off of our list was named Ancol. It was a built up holiday resort, that was made up of many attractions such as a theme park, a sea world, hotels, restaurants, and shopping centres. On the way, google lead us through a local village, and the stares that the villagers gave me...well I certainly felt like an alien. Forver to be foreign? I think so. We had to pay 25,000 rupiah to enter Ancol as it was a complex. We didn't know that there was an entrance fee and wondered why we were being stopped to a hault when we attempted to freely stroll in, oblivious. But 25,000 rupiah equaled to one english pound, so it was nothing to trip about. It was worth a visit as the resort was quieter and the beach was another escape from the Jakarta city chaos. We were gasping for a beer after the three hour trek to reach it, and we managed to find a place called Brewworkz to mellow out at. The title suited our needs perfectly. Once we had settled at our table, the owner who was sitting up the bar told us that we could have a free pizza with our purchase. Another wave of relief washed over me, even stronger than the first after my ass had touched the soft, inviting seat. The food went down well; the beer went down well; everything was well.
Once we were fuelled, full up and our heads were buzzed from the beer, we began our trek back to the hostel, which turned out to be a sweaty and startling journey. The most insane part was when we had to walk along the motorway, just inches away from the passing vehicles.
"Mum, how the hell did we manage to survive that walk along the motorway just now?" I questioned, everything slightly unclear. I couldn't keep up with the chaos and let it run away with me.

"I have no idea honey," mother replied, looking back over her shoulder.
"Well, I think we need more booze, you game?"
I didn't even need to hear an answer. "...Of course."
...I fucking love her.

Tuesday 10th November 2015

Bali airport was still having problems and it seemed like there wasn't much more than we wanted to do or could do in Jakarta, so our change of plan and direction had worked out for the best. That is the beauty of life. Misdirection is part of the adventure.
During our breakfast on the second day, we were joined in the kitchen area by a couple of 'hunky' men who were also staying at the hostel, which sent mum into a bout of sweats and giggles. I admit, they were pleasing to look at whilst we ate. But what made me laugh the most was mums reaction to the exhibition of muscle.
We visited the monument again and went to the shopping mall too. There was another mall called the plaza, which was far too fancy for a scruffbag like myself. I looked very out of place in my leopard print bandana, my mud stained white kreator shirt, and my baggy, dodgy hand cut black harem shorts. I wasn't kicked out and that was a miracle.
Mum craved ice cream so she bought a banana split, and I sniffed out a dinky pastry place to satisfy my sugar lust. Then back to the hostel it was, stopping off for yet again more beer and some snacks. As we chilled out in the kitchen, one of the breakfast hunks walked past into the room with nothing on but a towel, which set the giggles off all over again. A pectorial overload. We somehow managed to pack up our things whilst being quite intoxicated. The art of packing was already natural skill for me as I was accustomed to it through my previous travel antics. Mum had began to catch the concept of it. Then we passed out, just like that. I swung my legs up that wooden ladder and around into the bed, my head then crashing into the pillow. Adios.