The village is one straight shot. It’s built along an old Japanese air strip from WWII, two kilometers of Main Street and not much else.
It’s Sunday afternoon and people sit outside their houses as we walk by; some smiles, some hellos. There’s not much going on here, and we instantly become the focus. It’s like a runway for sure, a catwalk where we are studied and judged as we strut it. I wish I would’ve brought a boom box and a pair of heals.
Pulau Meti is a small island outside the main island of Halmahera in North Maluku. You’ll find it by going pretty much to the end of the world, and then jumping on a boat from there.
I’m here on a day trip to visit the island and the M.E.T.I. Cottages, a small and beautifully built lodging on the beach. Friends Adi and Maxi have used recycled and locally sourced materials to create a little piece of artistic paradise in this paradise. They’re young, adventurous and enterprising, and their fantastic initiative makes me feel like I’ve wasted my whole life.
When will one’s insecurities ever end?
We’re shown around the property, we swim and have lunch. A hot breeze comes in from the ocean. I contemplate never leaving, but instead just staying here indefinitely. When I run out of money, I’ll swim straight out to sea and let nature take its course.
I’ve had a lot of dark thoughts during this trip, post traumatic stress from what I’ve been through the past two years. But coming to Indonesia has also reminded me of all the beauty of life. And to never let the motherfuckers win!
We leave at sunset, and watch tuna fish chase flying fish in the ocean as the sky turns a fiery orange behind a volcano.
Back at the small Kupa Kupa resort on the main island dinner is waiting. Delicious fish, cassava, papaya and rice. As it’s my last night there, the palm wine booze is brought out.
New guests have arrived while we were gone. They’re French, but they don’t drink, nor smoke. What has become of this world? One of them is a teenage boy who likes to fish, and loves to talk about it. His older sister says he’s addicted to fishing.
I tell her, glass of booze in hand, that “-Listen, sister, there are worse things a kid can get addicted to than freaking fishing!”
She laughs, and I realize that I have now become a “character”, one of those older people one tells stories about upon returning from vacation… “-OMG, we met this Swedish guy in Indonesia…!”
They go on talking and I sit there wondering if her laugh was authentic or just polite. I’ll never know.
Well, at least I’m writing my own story. And I can be whatever character I choose.
Adi and Maxi, Owners of M.E.T.I. Cottages
