From Privilege to Penniless: A Gift of Perspective.

by Kaitlynn Hoffman (Canada)

I didn't expect to find Indonesia

Adversity while traveling overseas is naturally unavoidable, even for those of us sipping margaritas on the beach at Sandals Jamaica. But instead of a few hiccups during my solo trip to Bali, it felt more like an intermittent projectile vomit. I just spent my last cash on a taxi. I start my five kilometer march back to my homestay from the local Western Union, which to my distress, is closed. On the way it starts to pour buckets and I have about 4 more kilometers left. By this point it’s nearly impossible to discern whether the wet drops dripping down my face were my tears or rain. Hours before my Mc Meltdown (™), I approached a bright red ATM machine with shining confidence. My first week in Ubud had sucked my wallet dry and being the naive 21 year old I was, my “anti-credit card” attitude only bode bad luck. The internet told me I could get away with just a debit card. Don’t always trust what the internet tells you. After trying every possible option available on the machine, I realized nothing worked. I tried a few more but still nothing. And I was on this trip to volunteer teaching kindergarten completely alone. I felt a lump in my throat and my face getting red which wasn’t from a sunburn. This was really just the peak mishap of what felt like the week of horrors. I already overcame a three day case of the infamous “Bali Belly” that left me weak and ten pounds lighter. I managed to accept that the 4 star luxury homestay with A/C promised, was really just a dark musty dorm (rooster crowing at 5:30am included). And realized that the volunteer company that required $3000 from me was an absolute sham who hired anyone with the required fee and a face. “Okay, Kaitlynn you’re a natural problem solver, you can figure this out” I reassured myself. Thank God I had the privilege of parents that could bail me out of sticky situations. I forced back my tears and headed back to the homestay where I could access Wi-Fi to send my S.O.S messages. I can only imagine the panic that my “Mom, I ran out of money and my card won’t work to get anymore out. Could you pretty please wire me some money” Facebook message injected into my mother. These were the days before e-transfer was world wide, so I had to wait at least a few hours to receive my money from the nearest Western Union. I’m about half-way back to my homestay, completely soaked in rain, and I encounter a frail, presumably malnourished Balinese woman crouched on the curb with a newborn at her breast. She hands out a container with a few coins in it. I wish I could give her something, but she gives me something instead. The understanding that it definitely could be worse.