It was about 3pm when my turbulence-ridden spacecraft blasted into Sumatran airspace. I lugged my gear filled bags to the curb as a small man came up to me- “Megan- you?” “From Hawaii yeah?” “Well no but I live there,” I replied.
“English No, Indonesian Yes,” he said. He grabbed my bags and placed them into a vehicle that would have only passed inspection on Pluto. The walls of the car fluttered in the afternoon breeze and the duct taped stick shift struggled to hold on for dear life. We hopped in the death machine and embarked on an hour long drive to hotel such and such where I was to wait until our boat was ready to leave for Mentawai.