Days in Bed, Sick [The Papua Expedition]

Instead, here’s an excerpt from Chapter 1 of the subsequent book I’m writing

As the subject of this post reads, The Papua Expedition is off to a slow start.

We made it 30 kilometers before being forced to stay-put for 5 long days in Kuta, Lombok.

Somewhere, somehow, I came down with the flu and have been battling migraines, weakness, and brain fog all week.

After a long night hovered over the toilet, I’m feeling much better. We plan to restart the expedition on Wednesday. Hopefully, we can stay healthy.

Though I regret the week’s familiarity with this bathroom, nobody said the expedition would be 5-star comfort.

---

I’ve been laid up in bed all week, but Lola (professional documentary photographer joining me on this expedition) has been exploring the area each day and has surely caught some exciting things through her lens in the meantime.

You can follow her channels to keep up with the visual (non-toilet) content from the expedition.

Instagram — https://instagram.com/loladlbs?igshid=YmMyMTA2M2Y=

Twitter — https://twitter.com/loladlbs?s=21&t=_szAgk5Dl_j0sL-kFkkNpA

Website — https://www.loladelabays.com

As I said, without any updates from the road to send, I figured I would share part of a (very) rough draft of this journey’s subsequent book intro.

Let me know what you think.

— Adam

You can reach me by replying to this email. Words of encouragement warmly accepted.

The Papua Expedition supports the 771 million people in the world without sanitary water. Please consider giving — all it takes is $40 to bring clean water to an individual for life!

For more info: https://www.charitywater.org/adam-cheshier

---

Chapter 1: Lombok, 2020

. . .

By 2020, when I arrived in Lombok, it was a different place. Reformists and development, alike, had brought change to the landscape and ideologies. At the time, though, I was blissfully ignorant of the decades-long religious politics and circumstances of the island. It was the middle of the global COVID-19 pandemic and I was hunkered down in paradise; that’s all that was on my mind. 

News about outbreaks and quarantine in far-off places would arrive late on this side of the world. Lombok was relatively safe from the spread. Here and there, small pockets and communities of the island were being affected, but nothing like what we saw on the global scale.

Life happened pretty normally on the island, especially after the pandemic lingered on worldwide. Still, I’d usually only leave the house once a day out of guilt; guilt that the rest of the world suffered while I soaked in a little personal paradisiacal existence. 

I’d go on my routine sunset scooter ride and take in all the surrounding nature. At sundown in Lombok is when the scene comes alive with local flare and majestic colors. I’d race the sun along the ocean horizon and through the verdant valleys, each evening hoping it would last longer than the previous. The sun disappears quicker on the equator — and that was one of my life’s greatest concerns in those days.

Swerving around loose gravel on the narrow blacktop roads was another concern; South Lombok was in a perpetual state of development. It wouldn’t be long before this paradise would have a completely different look.

I always enjoyed the contrasting nature of the dark, well-paved Mawun Road and the surrounding vibrant fauna. The view was almost too much to process while remaining safe behind the handlebars of a scooter.

Tall hills with mammoth vistas of green as far as the eyes could see. Valleys with spirals of smoke spanning from village wood fires danced at dusk from countless homes, creating a sense of timelessness not experienced in Asian cities; only here in countryside. It gave the scene a sense of nostalgia — a magic, if you will. A yearning for the past.

Calls to prayer sound at the most opportune times; whether at the beach, driving slow through the village, or even the distant call heard while taking shortcuts through the corn fields. Each night, a different mu’adhin calls the villagers to the mosque. Each night, a different prayer. Their deep voices sullen but commanding, echoing off walls, vibrating the body and sending a chill down your spine. 

Water buffalo and cows alike were led in herds along the roadside by aged cowboys, most with straw hats and fewer teeth than hand-rolled cigarettes in their pocket. Each cow with rope tied through its nostrils, allowing farmers to tie them to coconut trees along the way when needed. They’d march in fields, along white sand beaches, or pass through town where the buffalo would outsize a small child 20:1.

No matter, though, the children of South Lombok were fearless. One chilly morning, I witnessed a gang of young boys hoist a 15-foot python on their shoulders and carry it onto the nearby football field. Have no fear, it was killed overnight by a passing truck.

Children are the lifeblood of this island. You are sure to hear a ‘Hello!’ in passing, as you scoot along in the village. Sometimes, it comes from the veranda of a small local home, sometimes from the back of their parents’ scooter, sometimes they’ll even chase behind you as you drive by. One thing is certain, these children are always curious about you.

Their mothers, too, would come out of hiding when the harsh sun started to cool. Some with hijabs, but a surprising amount of Sasak without. Stereotypically with a basket of something balanced on their heads as they strolled the shoulder of the road. Otherwise, you might see them hanging laundry or managing the local fruit cart — with a delicious selection of ripe mango, papaya, bananas, rambutan, pineapple, or other bright and organic seasonal tropical fruits.

There was always a coconut close by — and for those places where you couldn’t find one, there was usually a coconut tree just sprouting from the ground which would have coconuts falling from it within a few years. The landscape breathed fresh air except for when you’d drive through a smoke wall cast from a roadside fire or get stuck behind the occasional supply truck picking up the day’s fruity exports and letting go exhaust as it battled up the hilly terrain. 

One drive through the countryside of Lombok was enough to fill your romantic notions of rural Asia for months. Sasak people lived a comfortable, happy life; one which seemed to glide by without a hitch.

. . .