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We arrived. The 90-minute boat ride turned into 3.5hrs. I was sunburnt and ready for the next part of the adventure. I never thought much about why there were 4 other people on our boat going to Lombok. All I knew about Lombok is it was like Bali from the 80s. At once, I knew something was different. That difference was Ramadan. This was my first time traveling to a country celebrating Ramadan. I realized my sports bra and yoga pants were not proper attire. I turned the sarong in my purse into a shirt. I looked around. No women anywhere. I saw one in the distance fully covered head to toe. I had to go the bathroom and I don’t know what was worse, that we were American or that I was a woman. When I asked for where the bathroom was the man taunted me saying I had to pay double. I was uncomfortable. As we loaded up the car, our taxi driver wouldn’t help at all, when 2 minutes prior people were grabbing our bags to help for money. We loaded up, and we were alerted by his friend that we would be joined by him. This was a blessing as our driver spoke no English. He was dropping his friend off to the capital. Then I realized we needed to get food and cash. At this point I was feeling sicker and more anxious by the minute. All around you could see rubble from the year priors devastating earthquake. Yes, we are in the ring of fire. Earthquakes happen. Our cab drivers friend could see my unease. Within minutes of his conversation he looked back at us and decided to make an ISIS joke. I decided to blow out my international data plan and spend the next 3 hrs researching the ring of fire, Ramadan practices and extremist groups in Lombok. We stopped at the mall. To get cash and food. If you want to stand out, be 2 tall blondes, he is much taller, and go to the mall for lunch during Ramadan. We got to eat in the food court, behind 10 foot tall curtains. Lunch was over and 2 more hours in the car. It’s moments like this where I realize I have no idea where I am, or how to communicate that if anything were to happen. My partner was cool calm and collected as always. The road turns to rubble. We have an hour to go. We arrive. Yes, it’s still Ramadan. Yes, we are starving again. We regroup in our bedroom. Which seems to be an abandoned property that listed itself as an Airbnb. We were the first guests. The ceilings were 20 ft tall with beetles falling from the ceiling. I felt up to speed on Ramadan based on my research. Be respectful of those celebrating, and be mindful of my dress and eating in public. Tourism fuels the area, so they are thankful for us being there, supposedly. It didn’t feel that way. We were the ones on the property. Connected to the lot was a world-class diving company. I realized these aren’t such uncharted territories. We locked in our dive tour for the next day, 4 hours for $20 USD and a private boat. My fiancé and I swam around private islands. We saw colors I didn’t know existed. One of the islands has a single restaurant. We got to eat the freshest food on a private island after a private dive trip. Each night we set our hammock up outside the room. I could see more stars than I knew existed. We would hear the mosques having their services till in the morning. Each day we looked out our balcony and could see the volcano. There was a dichotomy to the experience that is available every day. Separation and beauty. Fear and love. We chose to love. And ended up having an unexpected dive experience and view of the Gilis I didn’t know existed. Gili T and the frat boys live on. The secret gilis are where it’s going on. Next time, before or after Ramadan.