Parangtritis Beach, Indonesia

The following morning, I went to the friendly woman at the front desk and asked about the easiest beach to access: Parangtritis. It was easier to get to than to remember how to say. Public transportation could get me there. I just needed to know which bus to take. The receptionist wasn't too keen on the bus idea, but I wasn't a security bubble tourist like most.

"It's dangerous. You can hire a motorbike instead."

I still wanted this back up plan instead. I missed independence.

"How dangerous? Will I get hurt?"

"No, but you can be robbed. And the buses are not very nice. Hot and dirty." She frowned and folded her hands.

"It's okay. I've taken public buses in Bangkok a lot."

She advised the best route and sent me off with a worried smile and a warning to be careful. As long as the possibility of being robbed wouldn't turn violent, I figured I'd be fine.

I had attended university in a less than favourable end of town for four years, so had acquired a few street smarts. I wouldn't fall asleep or listen to music. I would keep my bag on my lap and take as few valuables as I could. My friend had given me an item called a 'Safety Cat': a pointed brass knuckled key chain made of the same kind of steel they used for airplanes. So I brought it along to the beach as well.

After prepping for the beach, I put on a strapless, tye-dye dress and shoved my swimming attire in my bag. The dress fell to my ankles, an acceptable length; although, I wasn't sure about having my shoulders uncovered. As I walked down the street and attracted far too many stares, I chose to duck into a corner and throw my swimming t-shirt in over my torso. Much better. Now I could blend.

I caught the right bus on the street, after I had bought some water for the trip. As in Thailand, the woman working on the bus came to me asking for the fare, after I sat down and settled, instead of the Western custom of throwing it in a device when entering. I liked the idea of not being forced to dig for change right off the street, especially at home with six months of winter, making it too cold to fish for tickets.

On the bus, I dug through my green sling bag, careful not to show my wallet or how much money was in it. A few other passengers helped me with the Rupiah amount I needed with hand signals. I had 'Hello' and 'thank you' down pat, but I hadn't retained the numbers in Bahasa Indonesian. As a result much of the locals chatter had been wasted, but the result was the same.

I made a point to sit far enough from the doors to avoid a grab-and-go and slid next to the window to avoid a similar fate as an aisle passenger. My tablet was locked away at the hotel along with my fancier camera. I just had a book on Burma, a towel, sunscreen, a cheap camera and a bit of cash to feed myself and get back.

As I stared out at the passing city, I felt something on my shoulder. I slowly turned around and saw a man's feet were brushing against my arm, hopefully not on purpose. He sat on the bench behind me and had pushed his feet through the crack even more to be in my seat and space. I shifted toward the aisle slightly to avoid further contact.

I had thought feet were considered an extremely dirty part of the body and to touch another person with yours would be a very rude offence. Perhaps that was only in Buddhist quarters like Thailand. His arm began to creep through as well. But if this was the worst of the bus experience, I'd survive.

I got off the bus at a stop where a bunch of boys with towels jumped off. I vaguely heard the name of the beach that I could never pronounce from the driver and figured this could be it. It really wasn't that hard. There were just some words I would perpetually mix up. Parangtritis was one of them. I followed them through the narrow path of vendors and restaurants until the expanse of sand and sea took over.

To the left a large rock formation sheltered the beach from the rest of the ocean. In the other direction, the gray beach spread out as far as the eye could see. My heart jumped. Endless beach, natural beauty, no tourists or photos. The waves crashed into the sand a fair distance away and I knew I needed to be closer. I walked past the ATVs for rent, excited families and a small pool for children with slides.

Coloured umbrellas and mat had been set up by vendor women looking to earn a profit from the lack of natural shade alternatives. I figured it was in my best interest to set up near one of these ladies, pay her and then she'd have some incentive to hopefully watch my things while I went into the water. I wanted to buy some food from her too, but all she had were noodle bowls with meat in them.

The large waves crashed into the shore with such force. I tried to sit in the shade and read for a little but I couldn't resist those playful giants. These were some of the biggest waves I'd even seen. Keep in mind that I had been a landlocked prairie girl for most of my life who considered man-made lakes beaches. I slipped the only pair of swim shorts I owned on under my dress, before folding the garment up to put in my bag. The shorts I wore were not modest. They were those girls shorts that didn't even go halfway down my thigh. I didn't really have another option, other than buying men's shorts, which would likely fall down and be worse.

I walked up to a stretch of unpopulated beach and stood on the wet stand, just waiting for the water. It crashed hard into my shins and knees and my smile grew. Further to my left and right, other boys and men were playing in the water as well, jumping into the waves and letting them crash into their bodies. Few were actually swimming, which was probably due to the strength of the tide and undertow. If the women came near the water, they were fully clothed and wearing their hijabs. Even in a t-shirt and shorts, I stood out like a lighthouse in a storm.

Like a kid in an adult's body, I continued to play and break the waves by jumping, standing, or turning my back at the last second to have them nearly knock me over. Something about the rush thrilled me. The fun continued, even laughing with a few locals doing the same thing and yelling out greetings, until one of the officials came by and kicked us all out of the water. The flags had indicated it wasn't safe to swim and it was the officials' job to enforce it.

I let my clothes dry a little, changing into just my dress and leaving the rest out in the sun. The beachgoers would just have to put up with my bare shoulders for the time being. Eventually hunger called loud enough for me to abandon my umbrella turf, thank the woman who had kept my belongings intact, and venture back to the vendor strip for lunch.

I found a little cafe restaurant with an outdoor patio and a woman who spoke enough English to recommend a meat-free dish.

"Nasi Pecel. Rice, egg, vegetables. No meat," the friendly mother-like figure explained.

The dish she brought was delicious. I had loved Gado-gado the first time I had tried it a few nights ago, but I had to build up my repertoire of vegetarian Indonesian options. The rice and egg dish was covered in peanut sauce. A real dream.

After a meal and water, I still wasn't ready to leave this place. The morning clouds had already rolled by and it was still such a beautiful day. I ventured back and headed in the opposite direction this time, away from the rocky coast. I kept walking until the beach mats and vendors disappeared. Until the large groups of people thinned out and the only sounds were cries of the occasional joy riders on ATVs.

I tucked my bag behind a sand dune so I could watch it from the shore. The wet sand glistened and mirrored the lightly clouded sky with a slight blue tint. The waves felt calmer here, like a yogi's breathing pattern. I let the cool water run through my toes as I admired the long mountain range extending into the island, nearly as endless as the tranquil beach.

Life was a beautiful thing.

On my way back to catch the bus a group of Indonesian people came running up to me.

"Sir, sir!" one guy called out.

His friend smacked him on the shoulder. "Miss," he hissed back and shot his friend a dirty look. "Miss, photo?"

"She is 'Miss'. 'Sir' is man," one of the friends said quietly to the first speaker.

Clearly English was still on their to-do list, but I appreciated the fact that their mistaking me for a man was a language issue and not a comment on my appearance.

Looking at their whole group, there was no way I could refuse their request. Six proud individuals dressed in everything from dark jackets adorned with decorative zippers, to bandanas, earrings and even one man sported a mullet stood before me with their cameras and phones. I was dressed in a tye-dye ensemble and sporting a hat with a straw flower, looking like a bit of a flower child. The contrast was too good to pass up.

"Yeah! On my camera too?" I asked, as I extended my cheap purple point and shoot to a tall man with wide shoulders. Beaches had too much humidity to bring my Olympus baby with me.

We lined up and shot several photos with them displaying everything from gangster signs, to peace signs, sticking out their tongues and lifting up their shirts. I didn't partake in that last one, for good reasons. We all got our cameras back and were pretty pleased with the results.

"Terima Kasih," they shouted out as they took off.

"Thank you!" one added for good measure since my Indonesian was much worse than their English.

I could only smile at how the curiosity over foreigners had broken down any sort of preconceived ideas of who people were. I would have never have expected a group like that to get so excited over a foreign face. Too much attitude or too tough for that would have been my prejudice. But sharing that playful joy was such a fun experience. The photos turned out with so much life that they quickly became some of my favourites to date.

The bus ride back was hot and crowded, but luckily foot man was nowhere to be found. I just barely got off at the right stop when I started to recognize the businesses again. I had to wake up a sleeping Indonesian woman to make it off, but it worked out in the end. My bus to beach mission had been a success and a great way to fall in love with the country.