We took a grueling nine-hour train journey to Probolinggo, seven of which were without a seat. Sitting on our backpacks near a door, we willed the hours to pass. When we did arrive in the small town, it was after dark.
I can still picture the spacious hotel room’s tiled floor. Every morning we breakfasted on the patio enclosed with greenery. We roamed the shops as my daughter had an eye on a guitar. She’d explored many fads: jazz ballet; then tap dancing. I discovered when she spotted the guitar, this would be her next foray.
We took a quick bus ride from here to the beach so my journal reminds me. We also stayed a week, something else I’d forgotten. I’m sure after the nasty train ride and a quiet clean hotel, we both needed to relax before our next long haul to Bali.