The group shrank from 6 to 4 with just dancers, the videographer, and the artist left. We took a small plane to the island of Belitung—where our real adventures began. Enter our island hosts: An Indonesian glam team to the fresh faces of the moment in their country. We met our chatty, bubbly makeup artist and our fabulous, funny wardrobe stylist (plus their quiet, giggly young assistants) for the first time. When we first entered Belitung, I spotted a huge statue of a strange fruit. Our native guides told us about this strange fruit—Durian, which was a pungent horned fruit that was famed for causing inebriation upon ingestion; a fruit that gets you drunk! I was very intrigued and promised myself I would give it a try before I left the country. We were starving and in search of our next meal. Because this island was small, we had a choice of authentic food until we checked into our next hotel. We went to eat at a place that reminded me of a garage in a big house; complete with a huge open door and a big screen TV playing Indonesian artists on YouTube covering American songs. Apparently, that’s a good way to become famous there. I guess that’s not so different than the western world. Later, we checked into a modest hotel, which had its own minimalist beauty and views of the ocean/rainforest. The next morning at 6 AM we were to begin hair and makeup for our first day of the video shoot.
Despite being jetlagged beyond belief, I forced myself to get some rest. I had been attempting to stay awake to converse with my BOTM (boyfriend of the moment), but it began to occur to me that he was keeping himself busy and was seemingly unbothered by our sporadic communication schedule. I was passionate about this guy but I had to check myself and my reaction to how he handled our relationship. I figured that he wanted space, but when I inquired about it, he said that he didn’t...yet he kept taking more and more of it. I pushed it to the back of my mind though, because I needed to focus for what was to come. As I watched the sunrise over the water (possibly the most beautiful thing I've ever seen), I thought to myself how grateful I was for the experience, no matter what state my relationship was in.
Our first scene took place on one of the islands in South Sumatra, where there was a small village and lots of rocks to shoot from. After some individual shots of the artist, we took a small raft to a stand-alone rock off of the edge of the island. A little boy literally pulled the raft as he walked through the ocean as we held on to our precious authentic costumes to preserve them from the salt water. He shook us down for ten American dollars. Smart boy; the money conversion worked in our favor and he was hip! We changed right there on the opposite side of the rock and did choreography on top with a slew of onlookers and a drone camera flying around us like a loud buzzing mini-helicopter. It took a few takes to get the shot; in the meantime, I sliced my big toe open while dancing on the sharp jagged rocks. I dipped my toe in the healing salt-water of the sea and kept it moving. That was all for that location and it was already about 2 PM. We had some fresh cut fruit from a fruit stand behind us and ‘twas exotic indeed. I believe I had June Plum (ambarella), drank from a coconut (of course) and a enjoyed a couple of other fruits indigenous to the area with a sweet and spicy peanut sauce popular on the island. I usually have such a problem with fruit because of my allergies, but I waited to my delight as no side effects nor symptoms appeared. As we were leaving, we were stopped by curious locals who were eager to take pictures with us, and I don’t blame them! The traditional costuming and headpieces were simply beautiful.
Next we took a rickety, wooden boat to one of the bigger small islands, Pulau Kelayang, led by a super helpful native who proved to be an asset on set. He led us, through ocean and oil to the best and most aesthetically pleasing island for a dance sequence. Not only did he repair several pair of flip-flops along the way, but he patted down and reset the sand between each dance take and was an overall good person to have around. Sidebar: Dancing in the sand ain’t no hoe. Keeping our balance as our feet dug a million little holes in the sand proved to be the second test of the day (the first was dancing on a 20-foot jagged rock in the middle of the ocean). We danced until sunset, saw some cute ass baby turtles, then made our way back to the mainland.
That night, at the hotel, I had the BEST MARGARITA of my life. Idk what was in it...but after one, we were in a little situation— ”lituation” for short. We enjoyed dinner with our Indonesian glam team as we continued to learn more about them, their culture, languages and the music they liked. I especially bonded with our fab wardrobe stylist, a young, colorful man in his early twenties with a flippable bang and a huge social media following. I was thankful for some “normal” food; they had pasta and pizza, and trust when I say eating in a different country can be hard on your digestive system. I generally don’t even eat pizza/pasta unless there are healthy alternatives but I definitely caved on my diet at that point.
The next morning, we were in hair and makeup at seven am for the second day of the video shoot. We were headed to a nature park and then off to another “hotel” at the next island location. When we arrived at the park, we stayed inside the truck as long as we could to suck up every last bit of AC possible. It was HOT, and the humidity didn’t help. We settled under a stand that had the sweetest, black iced coffee that I had ever tasted. As a coffee/caffeine fiend myself, I was delighted as sugar crystals from the bottom of the cup made their way up the straw, along with some coffee grounds. I know that sounds disgusting; honestly, it was after a little while, but that initial delight and flavor, I'll remember. Underneath the stand, as we were getting final costume touches, a few kids were sitting around us, giggling and looking with curious eyes. Even with a language barrier, we talked and giggled along with the kids. I snapped a few pics of the precious moment and we were on our way.
There is always this sense of urgency during shooting, or at least that’s the way Americans in the industry act. I get it: time = money. It also equals less light when you’re shooting outside, and more chances of sporadic T-storms and showers during the rainy season—of which we faced both. Our glam squad, as amazing as they were, had a more flowy, island-y approach to things. Despite this difference in philosophies, when the camera was on, time seemed to stretch and split itself in half. There were many shots where we would just stand there like statuesque guards with bugs flying around us and heat bearing down on us. For minutes that seemed like hours at a time. It was really a test of focus and breath. There would be more tests like this to come. One of my favorite parts on set were the improvisational moments where we could come up with moves to do on the spot. The artist came up with a few hand gestures and looks for b-roll shots. Next came the individual shots of each dancer walking towards the camera. I thought, “What would Tyra tell me to do?”. I channeled my best ANTM smize and sauntered barefoot across the dock over the water at the scenic park. With barely time for a selfie, we finished the shots and were on to our next destination.
We rode for a while in an SUV; through narrow dirt roads alongside daring motorists double seated on mopeds and motorcycles. It didn’t exactly seem like such dangerous behavior to the locals, who rode mopeds with children in front with no helmets or extra seats, in fact. Blurring past us were small, modest homes, exotic fruit stands, selling everything from Rambutan to the intriguing Duran fruit. We pulled over at some point to get some but apparently you aren’t allowed to drive with it in a car. So, we had to wait.
The SUV pulled up to a wooden gate, seemingly in the middle of the rainforest. We emerged from the vehicle and were greeted by employees holding leis and a tray of flavored sweet tea that rivaled any southern sweet tea that I’ve had—and that’s coming from a Georgia Peach herself. We had arrived at the private, secluded resort. We would be staying in villas, each complete with a pool, an outside and inside shower and a full bathtub. Not to mention we were a short forest path away from the beach (The Java Sea). As we headed to dinner that night, there were so many jungle sounds! Including some very musical bullfrogs, insects, birds and the mysterious unknown.
The next morning it was bright and early after a not-so-silent night of Jungle Noises: Volume 1 and no television, or Wi-Fi. When we had arrived the previous day, they gave us an internet password. After we all connected, sent our perspective business emails and messages to family/friends, the Wi-Fi just crashed— like when you’ve been in the sun all day. The poor thing tuckered out after just a few measly minutes. It was all too much for our villa, for the resort and for the island itself. I had been on a pay per daily use plan aka “What is the Wi-Fi password?!” because I didn’t want to activate another 24-hour period. Throughout our stay at the private resort we would receive many, many passwords. All the same. All 1-minute-men.
After hair and makeup, we walked through the thicket to side of the beach to a steep rock formation with a white, pyramid like structure at the peak of the boulder. Apparently, there was a trail, but we were of course on a mission to save as much time as possible, so we took of our shoes and hiked right on up. I never saw myself as a nature-friendly person, so to be in Indonesia, on an island, hiking up a steep rock was an incredulous experience for me. As we stood as still as British guards on the rock, with sweat dripping down the back of my arms, I really tapped into a focus that was almost trance-like. A meditation in the middle of the island. After we stood there for what felt like forever while the drone flew over us a dozen times, we made our way to the beach to get some drone shots in the water. Being synchronized in the ocean proved to be harder than I expected. The waves move you against your will and the sand moves from out under you. So, whatever we had planned kind of just went by the wayside. Seaside. Whatever. But we made it work and got a good shot in. With the mission accomplished, we were ready to parlay for the rest of the day and enjoy the exclusivity of the postcard we were living in.
We went to the restaurant to order drinks to take out on the beach and into the water. Turns out, they only sold bottles of wine and an Indonesian pilsner style beer. If you know me, you know I hate pilsners. Ick. I’m more of a Belgian Trippel or double stout, craft beer snob type of woman. Eh, what are you going to do? Since I would rather die than drink hundreds of calories for only a slight buzz, I went into the ocean sober. The sun was shining on us— but just on us. On the other side of the island were huge, thunderous purple clouds looming just around the bend. Because we could clearly see the storm area was a “ways away”, we sat in the shallow water near the shore as hundreds of clear fish swam all around us. Everything was all good until someone (that shall remain nameless) got stung by a jellyfish! We rushed to the shore as a local offered an island remedy for the sting—needless to say none of us got back into the water again. Funny enough, the one person that did venture back into the ocean was the same one who got stung. So brave. It didn’t take much for me; I said nature wasn’t my thing. That includes things that live in nature. We had a pool in our villa anyway (I swear it wasn’t redundant).
That night, we all bonded over a bottle of wine and shared stories. Maybe it was forced upon us by the lack of internet; maybe it was the entire 12-day trip that brought us together like a production family. I think it was a little bit of both. During our daily half hour (maybe) of Wi-fi the next morning, I found out, to my dismay, that things at home weren’t going so well. There was a little work drama, a little friend drama, and some boyfriend drama. The drama with my boyfriend was maybe the lack thereof: In the 2 days that I had been on the resort, I didn’t have one message from him. Not a text, a call, a poke, a ping. Nada. When I had talked to him last, he had seemed dismissive about my journey, as if I had not, in fact, been working, but vacationing. That I wasn’t living in the “real world”; he eluded to the fact that being in Indonesia wasn’t real life. But it felt real and it was my life. So many amazing things were happening in this unreal, beautiful place and I wanted more than anything to share it with him. He didn’t seem to want to hear it. He was immersed in his own new world, after dramatically up and moving to NY to pursue a career as a musician. And after not hearing from him but then seeing that he had been posting on IG every few minutes, was a burn. That’s just not how our communication was initially set up. I guess things had changed—I just was in the dark about it.
We rounded off our trip at the not-even-open at the time Intercontinental in Jakarta. It was only open for limited VIPs. We enjoyed fancy breakfasts, lunches and dinners while the Artist did an amazing photoshoot in the hotel. I had cow tongue (when I still ate meat), the fanciest thing on the menu because the food was free. We tried so much and it was all delectable. The service, impeccable. We went to the attached mall to shop for gifts (and ourselves). We walked into the mall, where we heard Christmas music blaring loudly on all levels. It was huge; we actually lost each other in the mall at one point. We found the mall to be very “American”, with an H&M, Zara, and I believe a Forever 21 to boot. One thing that was peculiar, though, was a full grocery inside at the bottom level. We could smell the pungent, flatulence-like aroma of the Durian fruit lingering near the market. As I shopped around with my friend, who was shopping for her boyfriend, I wondered if I should buy my beau something. I verbalized the thought and before I could answer my own question, my friend answered for me. The consensus was no. He had been such a dick as of late. I had learned a while ago not to reward bad behavior.
We left the mall in what we thought was plenty of time and got back to the hotel to relax. About 30 minutes into our relaxing session, we learned that we were leaving for the airport in less than five minutes and neither of us were packed. We were frantically packing when our makeup artist came to our door with a parting gift. The elusive, horny Durian fruit. It was cut into square pieces and wrapped in plastic, foil, and put inside of a container to literally contain the smell. We decided to wait to the last moment to try it because we couldn’t take it on the road with us and we also had to repack —including the haul of slightly cheaper-priced clothes we had just bought. After we finished, we opened the container and smell instantly hit us. I couldn’t even get it to my general mouth area without gagging. I’m not sure how anyone can do it. I felt like I was on fear factor and I had failed. Big time. But I wasn’t mad. We just left it there, reeking, and started the long journey home.
On the first flight back, which was the 12-hour stretch, I decided not to pay for Wi-fi. Fuck it. Why? I had enjoyed the serenity of nature firsthand, without internet. And it was pretty awesome, so I opted for some movies to pass the time. We had a layover in Dubai, where I got a FaceTime call from my BOTM. Compared to the beginning of the trip, where I was waiting with baited breath to hear from him, a jaded version of me answered the phone. I listened as he had told me he had just finished a long conversation with someone about me and his “love for me”. He told me he was getting ready to leave his house but he wanted to give me a “quick call”. Why did I get the quick call? Why couldn’t I have been the long call he had before mine? TF?? I let him know I wasn’t happy about it and he told me I was “acting funny”. Damn were we 12? I let him know I would be on the next plane for 8 hours and I would call him when I landed.
I had gotten better at dismissing him because that’s what he was doing to me. I couldn’t be pining for someone. I still can’t. I need to pine for my damn self. After I landed, I turn on my phone to rude texts from my BOTM, reprimanding me for not answering his messages/calls during the flight. The flight I told him I would be on, without phone communication. Let’s just say the situation dissolved by the time I hopped into my car at the airport. I had ended it, and I wasn’t surprised at the demise of the relationship. Nothing involving that much pain could be a good thing in my life. I learned, also, that when I separated from my passionate lover, I started to realize that a lot of the pain I was carrying was his. And he needed to deal with it on his own; I wouldn't be a part of him dumping it on the closest living organism aka me. After realizing that my energy was better spent, I moved forward into a shiny, brand new year. I was so excited to view the world through a new, fresh lens. Propelled by new experiences, beautiful and vivid memories and a new perspective on love, I had finally, for the first time in a long time, chosen myself.
—SW
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