Ever since Sam and I decided to settle in his hometown, we’d had a compromise: I could live here if we were still able to escape for two or three months over winter and go stay in the tropics again. I’d sacrificed my dream of permanently making a move there, so I thought that was pretty reasonable.
For one reason or another, though, the dream kept getting postponed. We had Kaleia. We built a home. There was uncertainty around the timing of a university program that I was accepted into and took part in. I waited for my citizenship. Then finally, eight years later — which is actually cracking me up right now — we were able to make it happen.
We decided to visit Java, Indonesia, for a few reasons. It was the right surf and weather season, it was fairly close to Australia (considering other options), and our budget would allow us to stay for a couple of months without needing to work, volunteer or set up a home exchange — all things I’d considered in the past, and done in order to stay somewhere long-term, but didn’t want to do with a five-year-old anymore.
So although I knew deep down that I didn’t really want to just go sit on a beach somewhere and make the trip about surfing every day, that’s precisely what we ended up planning for ourselves.
I still had a lot of hopes for the trip. I was curious to see if I’d find that little piece of my heart that I’d left there so long ago — the part of me that had always hoped I’d return and find it again.
I hoped Kaleia would enjoy the warm weather and waves, and have the opportunity to become more confident in the calmer waters and bays you find around Indonesia.
I hoped to slow down. To take a break from the busy lifestyle we live at home, where it often feels like we need to be productive at every available moment — taking advantage of the short windows of time I have to go surfing, sitting down to study, cleaning, working, shopping, cooking, and everything else that fills a day.
I needed a break from feeling constantly overstimulated and switched on. From the notifications on my phone. From the anxiety of needing to accomplish all of the above before Kaleia starts school and I begin working full — or maybe nearly full — time.
I hoped Kaleia would learn about a new culture and see a different way of life. I hoped our experiences together would broaden her perspective at this young age, and have some sort of impact on her, and on us.
And yes, we did get to experience much of what I hoped for.
On Kaleia’s first day surfing on the longboard with Sam, after every wave she told him, “Again! Another!” until they’d caught about thirty waves into shore. At one point she said to him while sitting on the board, “I didn’t know the ocean could be so much fun!”
It was an amazing feeling for all of us, and exactly what I’d hoped for.
After that, we were able to venture beyond the swimming pools, discovering different beaches and beautiful little spots with perfect waves for her, and even for me on the longboard.
Everywhere we went for the first few weeks, people watched us and waved hello. In many places, they wanted photos with us, especially when they had children of their own.
I gather this was because they didn’t see many other bule — what they call white people in Indonesia — in these areas. These weren’t the typical tourist destinations for international travellers. They seemed to be popular spots for Indonesians travelling from Jakarta or Bandung, two of the major cities in Java, to spend a weekend or school holiday at the beach.
Kaleia was bombarded by curious locals.
By the end of the trip, she’d become lightning-fast at jumping behind me to hide and shooting off a sour face in the direction of anyone who got too close. The managers at our last hotel started calling her “Turtle.” And in Australia, where I’d immediately go into protection mode if a stranger overstepped her spacial boundaries, I was trying to be more open to this cultural norm of swarming children.
Though, one time, I did have to grab her bestie — who had come to join us for a couple of weeks — away from the grips of swooning women who appeared to want to kidnap her because of her light skin and gorgeous blue eyes.
So yes, Kaleia definitely experienced a different culture.
And putting my phone down for seven weeks gave me the space I’d hoped for. I relaxed. I was present. I stopped comparing our lives to everyone else’s and just enjoyed where we were.
We had finally made our dream happen.
But I couldn’t help having other expectations for the trip, too.
And many of those didn’t turn out quite the way I’d imagined.
Yes, the ocean was warm and the conditions were often easy. But being in these tourist spots meant you never really knew what the vibe or crowd was going to be like from one session to the next. I’d become accustomed to the excellent etiquette that most people uphold in Australia, so the frustrations of disrespectful surfers — or people who hadn’t learned the unspoken rules of surfing, despite having enough experience that you’d expect them to know better — once again became a regular part of the trip.
I thought I’d be healthier than ever. I’d be surfing every day, I’d have time to do yoga, and I’d eat well. Instead, we barely slept for the full seven weeks. There were terrible mattresses, 4 a.m. prayers over mosque loudspeakers, roosters crowing, and the three of us sharing a bed because it felt like the safest option.
I was more fatigued than I’d been in a long time.
The lack of sleep, combined with my frustrations in the surf, meant I didn’t surf nearly as much as I’d imagined. And somewhere along the way, it lost some of its magic for me.
The mum guilt never really went away either. I wanted to enjoy the experience with Kaleia, with our family. I didn’t want to spend hours surfing while she waited for me on the beach, and then swap for Daddy’s turn.
The point is, there were ups and downs.
Expectations and reality.
And that’s not to say we didn’t have a great time.
We learned. We experienced. We saw stunning landscapes and visited waterfalls and canyons. We were able to truly relax, with nowhere we had to be.
We found joy in literally watching rice grow. We felt the wind in our face as we rode our motorbike up and down steep and winding roads as Kaleia shouted going down “let go of the brakes! Faster!”
We flew kites, built sandcastles, surfed long, peeling waves, met interesting people and listened to their different stories.
It was all the things I love about travelling.
But yes, we still missed home.
We missed our comfortable space. Our kitchen. The uncrowded surf. And, of course, our own beds most of all. You forget how important sleep is until you don’t get it anymore.
So when we walked through the door for the first time after coming home, I felt an immense sense of gratitude for the life we’ve created here.
I’d spent seven weeks with very little to do and nowhere I needed to be. There had been so much time to slow down, reflect and simply exist.
And somewhere in all of that, I started reconsidering what had been a long-time dream — and, almost, a regret.
Had I made the right choice in settling in Newcastle?
Do I still want to be able to live in the tropics — even if just for two or three months every year?
I’m not so sure anymore.
I thought Java might cement my desire for part-time living in paradise.
Instead, it made me appreciate, more than ever, the place I have chosen to call home.
Travel has a funny way of doing that. It gives us perspective just when we think we know what we want.
I still want to travel. I still want adventure. I still want to spend time somewhere warm, salty and unfamiliar.
But maybe I don’t need to live there. Maybe it’s a dream I can let go of, to allow our future to unfold organically as our family evolves and my values change.
The only way I was going to realise that was to go.
To experience it. To remember what I love about traveling. To see what I don’t.
And to come home.
So for now, I’ll be watering the grass right where I’m standing — and feeling just a little more grateful for what’s in front of me.
