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As an Indonesian, I realize the variety of tribes and cultures in my country has produced so many delicious It is not surprising because Aceh is one of the provinces in Indonesia that produces the best quality

Pulo Aceh is one of a thousand islands in Indonesia.

As a country with various customs and cultures, Indonesian people can tolerate differences. Indonesian cultures are well-known for their cooperation and mutual help.

exciting experiences, the recurring theme has been her determination to preserve the culture of her native Indonesia teen years in neighboring Lombok, where her skill at interpreting the striking and colorful dances of Indonesia But her suitor certainly seemed serious, and he had gone to the trouble of traveling to Indonesia to and now Davenport, she’s rekindled her artistic passion as co-founder and director of Putri Mandalika Indonesia at all times, from the choreography all the way down to the costumes, which she herself brought from Indonesia

Aceh is one of the most remote provinces of Indonesia.

Bali’s trash problem is no secret. The words ‘Bali’ and ‘trash’ seem to go hand-in-hand; when travelers talk, it seems like one can’t be mentioned without the other, which is really unfortunate. Everything else about Bali is so far from ‘trash’: the people are the kindest, the culture is beautiful and bright, the energy radiates thanks and appreciation, the nature is pristine, and the air is full of incense. It sucks that trash is so closely tied to the idea of Bali, but the truth is, you can’t visit without experiencing it. To be honest, I’m usually too overwhelmed in my daily life to make space for the news and otherworldly happenings. I’m too busy trying to create a safe, personal, live-able space for myself that becoming aware and taking on the world’s problems sounds daunting and hopeless, but I’m trying to be better. While traveling, you completely open yourself up to that outside world. You have no choice. You're immersed in it. And although it's beautiful, you're forced to face bigger-wold challenges and problems. It's difficult to ignore them when they're right in front of you. The first time I got really up close and personal with the trash problem, I was surfing at Old Man's in Canggu. I heard that the trash in the water was bad, but I thought, how bad could it be? I'd seen plastic wrappers floating in the water at home in SoCal, and it was sad but avoidable. When I jumped in the water, my hands brushed objects—of different shapes, sizes, and textures—with every paddle. I had no clue what the things were, but I kept swimming. I denied it all. I thought that maybe, it was just seaweed. Until I sat up on my board and my legs tangled in something, I was no longer able to stand it. My insides started shivering in disgust. I had to find out what was beneath me. I shoved my hand in the water and scooped out a matted, purple sweater. How does this happen?!?! I couldn't fathom it. I couldn't surf. I couldn't ignore it any longer. I headed back to shore, but I was also unsure of what to do. Unsure of how to help. It didn't even make sense to try to pick up the streets and beaches; garbage piles overflowed everywhere, it wasn't clear where the piles began and ended. I wouldn't even know where to put the trash. But one morning, I saw an opportunity. It was Christmas morning, actually, and my friends and I woke up early to catch the sunrise. We sat on the beach in our Christmas stocking caps while the local workers picked up trash. They had quite the job on their hands; the tide had washed all of the plastic and garbage up onto the sand, where the tourists would spend the majority of their time. We watched the local men hustling, hunched backs, trying to clean it all up before the tourists arrived for a day at the beach. My friend Katherine sat up abruptly and said, "I'm helping." Without hesitation, I followed. And the rest of the group followed. We picked up trash for about two hours until the area was spotless. We handed our black plastic garbage bags to the men, and they thanked us, hauling the bags back towards the treeline. They dumped the bags in large holes and buried them in the sand. WHAT THE !@#$. I couldn't believe my eyes. The exact same problem would happen tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day, and it would only get worse. I felt hopeless, but I also became aware of a bigger problem. It's not just about having the manpower to pick up beaches. It's also about having the funds to implement eco-friendly waste management systems and investing in sustainability research. I couldn't, and would never, blame the Balinese. They simply didn't have the resources necessary to take care of their environment. Although the act of picking up trash felt hopeless, the Balinese had to do it; the more trash on the beaches, the fewer tourists. The fewer tourists, the less money. The less money, the fewer funds to implement a better waste management system. Contrary to popular belief, beach cleanups are more than a "bandaid remedy." Through all of the ups and downs of my relationship with trashed beaches, I've learned one thing to be true; although I don't have tons of money to donate or invest, I can tackle the problem at the very root. I can stop those plastic caps from washing up on shore by not buying them. I can stop the plastic bags from littering the treeline by opting out at the grocery. I can stop sweaters from floating around in the water by shopping and disposing of clothes responsibly. And how powerful is that? Whether you're shouting from the rooftops, "I live sustainably!" or you lead quietly, through your actions and example, the change can take off and create a ripple effect, just like Katherine's decision to pitch in on the beach that day. I think we'd all be surprised at the difference we can make. Want to know more? Are you interested in becoming a contributor for Pedacitos? We'd love to hear your stories! Send me a message and I will get back to you!

“Indonesia,” I told them. Then suddenly, their faces looked confused. “Bali, do you know Bali?” So, which part of Bali is Indonesia?” Creak, oh my. It is one of 34 provinces in Indonesia. Maybe that's what makes the people of Indonesia look so diverse. For Tionghoa people in Indonesia, lanterns are like a hope of light.

I rented a surfboard and wandered down to the beach break in Echo Beach, Canggu. The last two times I tried surfing I got pummeled and died, I mean frustrated and cried. Weary from the last couple of days, I thought I’d just walk the beach and look at the waves. I met a local surf instructor who said he saw me the last two days (embarrassing). He told me not to go out (awkward). His name was Andy. He was the one who told me that Echo Beach is not for beginners. Although Canggu was listed as a beginner-friendly place to surf online, I didn’t realize that both easy and expert beaches could exist in the same city. Thank God Andy said something because honestly, I had considered giving it another go. I was going to prance out there like ehhhh the waves aren’t that big. When in actuality, they were expert level. I learned later in life that it can be difficult to judge the height and power of a wave from shore; it’s almost always bigger and stronger than it looks. When I went out a couple of hours later, Andy watched me from the beach. He pointed me in the right direction, cheered, laughed, and everything else from the sidelines. It felt like he believed in me. This guy was the classic, crazy, local surfer dude just full of passion. He’d spent his childhood playing in the Echo Beach waves where he injured his finger pretty badly; he showed me the palm of his hand, where all of the fingers lined up long, perfectly close together, except for his pinky. The tip was bent, protruding almost horizontally, into his ring finger. According to Andy, Canggu was still somewhat new to the world of tourism about 10 years ago; there were no shops, boutiques, or hotels. He’d run out to Echo Beach with his friends and they'd have the whole beach to themselves. When tourists started coming and crowding the lineup, they dropped in and cut off locals. Andy asked for respect but the tourists didn’t seem to care. They continued dropping in and then smacked one of his friends in the face. Andy punched him back. Also, in the face. It made the front page of newspapers. After the fight, he posted signs around the beaches that said “Respect or Go Home”. Ironically, tourism became Andy’s business so he learned to tolerate international people crowding his beaches. He made enough money renting surfboards to fly around Indo and its islands. He didn’t need Echo Beach anymore because he’d discovered divine and untouched spots elsewhere. “They’re better than Canggu anyways,” he smirked. The next day, I came out of the surf with a swollen, bent, protruding pinky finger, just like Andy’s. I ran to him and said, “Look! My finger looks like your finger!” But he responded, “No, it doesn’t.” He flashed his hands and spread his fingers - they were webbed! Thin skin rose to just above the first joint of his fingers. Some fingers were held closer together while others stretched farther apart. His thumb was attached, too. "How did I not see this before?", I thought. I realized I had never seen him separate his fingers. He then showed me his toes, which were also webbed. He explained that his brother, father, everyone (according to him) has this. He said that he was “born in the ocean”, which I interpreted in an ancestral sense, where his family was so connected to the ocean that evolution gifted them with this genetic trait. “I’m a mermaid,” he laughed and smiled at me. I wish I had a picture; as I try to look for a photo of “webbed hands” online, the fingers are usually crumpled and morphed together. They don’t look like Andy’s. I found the whole idea beautiful, honestly, of being so connected to the water. It was like the ocean was a part of him and he was a part of it. Yet there was he was, also able to walk on land. I began to understand why Andy was so upset about the tourists taking his childhood waves; those waves ran in his blood. Almost anywhere in the world, Andy’s webbed hands could’ve been seen as a disfigurement. But his story, and the way he understood his condition, made them beautiful. Coming from the United States, I’d bought into the very specific idea of beauty shown in movies, magazines, billboards, and picture books. Andy taught me that beauty isn’t so black-and-white. Beauty is more than appearance; it includes the stories and meanings attached to what we see. Want to know more? Are you interested in becoming a contributor for Pedacitos? We'd love to hear your stories! Send me a message and I will get back to you!

I drank the water. The water from a plastic dispenser labeled ‘filtered’ at the hostel. While drinking, my throat tickled and my stomach kicked. I thought that was normal; my body wasn’t used to the Canggu bacteria yet. I kept drinking because it was hot and humid and I needed to stay hydrated… I will never make that mistake again. Not in Bali. While I can, actually, afford to spend an extra fifty cents on a liter of bottled water. Apparently, bottled water is different than 'filtered' water. The next morning I woke up nauseous. I didn’t want to believe it, so I pretended it wasn’t there. I found a cute brunch spot, got a pitaya bowl (which is good for gut problems, just in case the nausea was real), and sat on the veranda. But I spent more time in the bathroom than at the table. I left the fruit bowl and money and bolted back to the hostel alone, through blistering heat. It was only a 15-minute walk, but I couldn’t ignore the nausea any longer. I stared at the dirt beneath my feet. I felt sleepy like the world was about to go black… But I made it. I curled up in bed, head over the edge, trying to throw up in a trash can. Six hours later, nothing came up. There was no relief. I wandered into the pharmacy across the street (how lucky is that) and a woman in a white coat gave me painkillers and activated charcoal. I took the medications and passed in and out of deep sleep for a day and a half. If you're suffering from Bali Belly, I definitely advise visiting the pharmacy to see what they'd recommend. The condition is common with tourists and they know how to treat it. Here's what they gave me: painkillers (white pill) activated charcoal lots of good water I shivered, sweat, shook. I was weak. I had vivid dreams. Dreams like I was dying. Where my mom, brother, best friends, sat on the edge of my bed, visiting, and I thought it was real. A man came to my bedside but I didn’t know who he was. He went inside my skin and straightened every vein.. every artery.. every vessel.. it felt so good. I was hazy, confused, and seeing things. Between periods of sleep, I purchased travel insurance although I’d been without it for the last six months. Forty-eight hours later, the suffering conveniently ended on my birthday. So I wandered to the beach club and got a huge, fresh coconut, which is also apparently good for gut problems. Sitting on the beach, coconut in hand, and ocean breeze across my skin, it wasn’t so bad. It was like Bali Belly had never happened at all. Want to know more? Are you interested in becoming a contributor for Pedacitos? We'd love to hear your stories! Send me a message and I will get back to you!

Be Aware of Hot Weather As one of the cities in Indonesia, Banda Aceh is a tropical region.

Coming to Jakarta, the capital city of Indonesia, at least once in a lifetime might be everyone's dream

In countries like Indonesia, Malaysia, and Turkey, streets are adorned with colorful decorations, and