The Lure of the Lake 1

I almost didn't go. 

The airline cancelled our flights twice in a row. And I had that omen-like dream besides--the one which showed me an odd word that Google Translate claimed meant "be careful" in Maori*. Even the number clusters I've been seeing seemed to agree with Google T! They kept jumping out at me from my mobile clock day in and day out--11:55. 11:11. 12:21. 14:14. According to my secret stash of esoteric whatnots, when number clusters stalk you so much that you get paranoid, it's time to pay attention: it may be a portent of meaningful change...or a warning. Was the universe telling me to cancel Lake Toba and just binge on Netflix horror and chocolate chips? I agonised for 24 hours, alternating between fish-eyeing my dwindling bank account and glaring at the spectacular lake photos  on Trip Advisor. Bahala na, the lure of the lake was too strong to resist. Twelve hours before the flight, we managed to rebook the (bloody expensive) tickets and I had equally succeeded in tying myself up in knots.

Three things hit me all at once when we reached North Sumatra: the cold air giving my forehead chilly kisses; the wild yellow and pink sunflowers springing up everywhere (and I mean everywhere); and the vivid, colourful Batak tombs standing conspicuously in the middle of rice paddies and residential houses!

And then it poured. Hard. After a two-hour drive from the airport, our bus made a wet turn and it was just all vast lake and sky. And rain. In fact it was raining so hard that the waters from the sky and below just blurred into each other creating a silver grey panorama. Barely making it, we hopped unto a ferry about to leave for Samosir Island--that island in the middle of the lake. Tourists (mostly Europeans) and a few islanders were already ensconced on the hard wooden benches inside the small ferry, deftly evading the leaks from the roof. They smiled and made room for us. It was lovely--even the sudden downpour was a welcome change from the hot and dry spell in Jakarta. And we were finally on the lake! about to sail to that dreamy island on Trip Advisor! a bit soaked but right on schedule and grinning from ear to ear. The boat engines started and roared and my heart soared in anticipation. We were on our way! And then my friend gasped in horror. 

"Our luggage! We left them on the bus!" 

I felt the blood drain from my face. Horrified, we screamed for the boatman to hold it and scrambled up and out of the ferry right unto the rainstorm again, squawking for our heavy roller bags which, at that moment only God--and a bus driver--knew where!

Goddamn number clusters!

*it wasn't really Maori according to James Baker and the Maori dictionary I found; never trust Google Translate