For my first trip to Indonesia (back in 2010), I covered as much ground as I possibly could during the span my visa would allow. I encountered cock fights, animal sacrifices, tribal funeral rituals, open burial caves, and little doors built into trees housing the remains of infants. At Bromo, I was in a motorcycle crash that should have sent my driver and I careening down a cliff, but we were saved by a tiny embankment. The bike landed on top of us instead. Later, a bus I was riding on struck and killed someone, yet 10 minutes after that I was swept into a family karaoke night at a local guest house. Jungle spider webs stretched 10 feet across, prayer chants on loud speakers at all hours of the night and soul shaking thunder crackling across the sky are all commonplace here. The culture is so different than what I'm familiar with, that I began to realize our comfortable Western lives may be the exception, not the rule. Perhaps that's what keeps me coming back. This was taken on my 4th visit.