Solo She Goes

You learn, very quickly I might add, that a trip like ours seldom goes as planned. So when Yas and I found ourselves calling Air Singapore to see how much it was going to cost us to cancel our flight to Seoul we weren't as much surprised as bummed. It took a couple days to come to terms with the fact that after more than a year of plotting, planning, dreaming and saving we would not be walking hand-in-hand across the threshold of an entirely new hemisphere of the globe.

My ankle was still a large, sharp and highly annoying thorn in my foot and forward-progress had all but stopped. It reached a point where doctors would need to get involved. After days, and let me be clear here, full on days, of meticulous badgering, hounding and call backs I re-instated my health insurance and set up an appointment to see someone.

It was during that week, those hours waiting on the phone listening to gawd awful "music" while holding for someone to tell me something I already knew, I realized the great many flaws in the US health care system. The bottom line - if you have a steady job and a company health insurance plan, you're really not in horrible shape. Sure, you may get a quack from time-to-time. Sure, you'll sit in a waiting room during your lunch hour, peeved that this doctor doesn't value your time. For the most part though, you get what you need. Not much more, but enough. However, if you are like one of the millions of sad American souls that lives day-to-day sans health care, look out my friend- because your screwed. I'm sure plenty may disagree, but this was my experience and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. Not even Rachel Ray. Nope.

So off she went, my girlfriend of two years, headed to Bali without me. My mission, I was told by the doc, agressive physical therapy every day for the next week. And if things go well, I'd be able to strap on the 30 lb of backpack and meet Yas a week later. All kidding aside, a miracle happened at some point during those seven days. Divine intervention, hard work, dumb luck - whatever it was, thank you.

I met up with one Michael Slatkin in Los Angeles the following Wednesday, took two very long plane rides, one insane local taxi and there I was, floating in a pool with a Bintang in-hand waiting for Yas and Naz to return from lunch.

Finally, finally, finally, the trip I had been toying with in my head since I was a pimply faced 19 year old, sitting in Physics 101 was actually coming true. I don't mean to boast, but I'm hard pressed to articulate how euphoric that exact moment felt and just how delicious that beer tasted.

I had arrived.

I believe this one is a few Bintangs deep.