Photos: http://princeton.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2051072&l=0daf9&id=1101094
We made the four hour trip from Sigli to Banda Aceh in a minibus, and never have I seen my life flash before my eyes so often in such a short time span. Our minibus driver insisted on a) driving approximately 130km/h over windy roads and b) passing on nearly every blind curve. A few times, even the locals groaned as we came around a corner and had to swerve to avoid a head-on collision with oncoming traffic. And when locals groan, you know it’s bad.
Still physically disgusting from our stay in Sigli, we checked into Hotel Oasis, a modern, Wi-Fi equipped hotel full of tsunami aid workers. We even got a 20% Ramadan discount.
Kendyl spent the afternoon interviewing aid workers, and I spent it starving in the hotel, cursing Ramadan. You mean Muslims fast for one month out of every single year? That’s insane, right? Thankfully Kendyl picked up some food at sundown and we inhaled it in the hotel room.
The following day Kendyl conducted more interviews while I attempted to figure out how in the world we could get visas to visit Burma. After trying six different numbers for the Burmese embassies in Kuala Lumpur and Bangkok, I gave up and took a becak (Indonesian rickshaw) downtown to get a shave.
Remember how I once mentioned that getting a shave in a foreign country was a luxurious experience? Apparently that’s not always the case, because this shave scared the hell out of me. The barber started by pushing the razor blade over my face with such speed and carelessness that I was bleeding in several places within minutes. Then, he sliced off part of my lip. Finally, in case I wasn’t already disturbed enough, he put his hands on the sides of my head and snapped my head to one side and then the other, making a tremendous “Pop!” I paid the man and whimpered home, happy to have escaped with my life.
That evening one of Kendyl’s aid worker friends took us around Banda Aceh to see what was left of the tsunami’s destruction. We saw a boat on top of a house (a house that is now occupied), a huge barge that was dragged 3km inland, and entire roads that had been shifted out of line. We also heard stories of the tsunami’s arrival: apparently, the water was first sucked out to sea, leaving fish flopping around on the sand. Just as residents rushed down to collect the fish, the wave hit.
That night we had a genuine Acehnese dinner at the aid worker’s house. The food was fantastic, and it tasted even better given that we hadn’t eaten all day. Thankfully, Ramadan would be over soon.
The following night we ate another genuine Acehnese dinner: Papa Ron’s Pizza. Yes, that’s right, Papa Ron’s. The highlight of the meal was ordering a pitcher of Fanta, confirming that it was orange and not strawberry, and then watching the waitress bring a big pitcher of bright red soda to the table. The look of disgust on Kendyl’s face was enough to keep me laughing for hours.
The next morning we said goodbye to our wonderful hotel and headed down to the ferry launch, where we’d catch a boat to Pulau Weh, an island about 40km off the northern tip of Sumatra. This was the final day of Ramadan, and the holiday of Idul Fitri, also known as Lebaran, would start the following morning. Food during daylight hours, here we come.
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