After she left, I went to the living room and saw she had brought in a large bag of bagels, and promptly moved it into the kitchen so that Kody would not have easy access to it.  It was only after returning from Kody’s morning walk, that I saw what Sara had seen earlier: an array of four bags stuffed with a wide variety of bagels and several containers of cream cheese.   Adding to the mystery, there was no note, no invoice, and each of the bags had the word “Omega” written on them in Sharpie.

Perhaps indicative of our upbringing, Sara and I were both too paranoid to try the bagels.  When Sara returned around lunch time, we found one of the cream cheese containers had a label that read “Big Daddy Bagels”.

At this point we had to know what was going on, so Sara tried phoning the number on label, only to get repeated busy signals.  I eventually got through, and found that Sara was getting a busy number because the number printed on the label was (303) 555-0193.  As anyone who has paid attention to phone numbers in TV shows and movies knows, 555 is a phony prefix.  The Internet knows better, and found the number is actually (303) 554-0193.

Upon finding the number, I dialed and was received by a clerk for whom English was not her first language.  The transaction went as follows:

Clerk: Big Daddy Bagels
Me: Someone delivered several bagels to my door that aren’t mine.
Clerk: Where do you want your bagels delivered?
Me: No, no, I have like 50 bagels that aren’t mine.
Clerk: You want 50 bagels delivered where?
Me: No, someone accidentally delivered 50 bagels to my door, and I want to know if you need me to bring these back.
Clerk: Let me check with someone else, I’ll call you back in 5 minutes.

When she called she explained it was delivered to someone else and that we could keep the bagels.  Seeing as there was no way we could finish these ourselves, we limited ourselves to trying one each, and then brought the remainder to the Boulder Homeless Shelter.  At least Big Daddy didn’t leave us with bags of muffin stumps.  I don’t know what I’d do with them.

They don't always look this good

[12:30pm] Come home from class.
Why are there shreds of a Cadbury mini-egg bags and orange peels all over the place?
Oh, it looks like Kodiak got into the mini-eggs that Sara left on the coffee table.
Call Sara,
I think Kody ate a bunch of chocolate
Oh you were almost done with the bag, no big deal.
Hmm…. let me check, the other mini-eggs are in the cupboard.
Nope.
I left them in the grocery bag on the counter.
Nope.
Call Sara
Where is the other bag of mini-eggs?
On the table? No its not.
Oh crap! He just ate an 18oz bag of chocolate.
He’s not acting weird.
Certainly not acting hyper.
You’ll call the vet?
What’d they say?
It shouldn’t be a problem for his weight?
OK, I’ll keep an eye on him.

…

[9:30pm]
Kody, do you need to go outside?
You need to go outside again?
Ok let’s go.
Now Kody, just lie on your soft, soft bed
Again Kody? This is getting old.
Be a good boy and lie down and let me study
Blaaaarg!!
Sara! Kody threw up all over my study.

Today, the skies are blue again, so I forced Kody to come out into the snow with me to take some pictures. Unlike many labs, he is not particularly fond of being wet, and he HATES the snow, but because he’s a very sweet dog, he’ll do whatever is asked of him.

For a few more photos of our snow click here.

Lately Kody has been wearing an big, ugly t-shirt to prevent him from licking a wound he got from having a lump removed. Though the shirt is held on with safety pins and duct tape, he still manages to wriggle much of it off by the time we get home. Hopefully we can take it off in the next day or two, but in the meantime I’m going to laugh at how Eeyore-like this shirt makes him look.

We now have a mooshable lump of labrador in our home. Meet Kodiak aka Kody aka Kode Red aka Kode Warrior. Right now we’re only fostering him, but we may be adopting him in the not too distant future. It’s hard not to fall for a creature as sweet as Kody. He tolerates my strange schedule, my many hugs and my talking to him in a “Mark Wahlberg Talks to Animals” voice.

To see photos of Kody click here or here.

[picture here]
Acquired while taking a road trip to Lake Serangan, this figure was a gem hidden in a field of gawdy t-shirts, ugly jewelry, and cheap toys.  Its appeal is its perfect lack of appeal.  The muscular man isn’t equipped with a gun, sword, or lasso, he has but one simple weapon, a wheeled food cart.  Using Sara’s newly refined bargaining skills (with helpful advice from our friends Eko and Reny), we were able to obtain this treasure for less than $5.
Last night, while showing Mr. Bakso off to our friends, we realized that we had no idea what song is emitted from this device.  Even with careful listening, we could not deduce the exact lyrics.  Fortunately the Internet can provide answer which promptly quickly showed how little I really understood.

  For your enjoyment, I’ve posted the exact lyrics and a rough translation below.

Just across the southern hemisphere line we waited, still full of appreciation for the greatness of the equator of course. And waited. Finally, a van full of schoolchildren and their teachers stopped by us, asking if we needed a ride back. Seemingly they desperately wanted to practice English with *Native Speakers*. Regrettably, as their van was already packed and as there were 4 of us, we had to decline. But consider this scenario, possibly mirrored in the northern hemisphere. Say in the US an elementary school Spanish class is on a field trip and sees a native speaker (employment and character completely unknown) standing by the road. Say they then offer a ride to said person, no questions asked, so that the students may practice their Spanish. Lawsuit!

I think the southern hemisphere just won any contest it and the northern hemisphere were having that day. At least at our tiny section of the equator.

The drizzle turned to rain and we moved to huddle under the massive metal equator land bridge with some of the local staff. Conversation covered the usual chit-chat and then….behold….a bus! Huge and luxurious looking, it approached and we stuck out our hands in the usual waving down a bus motion. As the bus slowed to a stop we moved to alight but…what? What do you mean no space? I don’t see anyone standing! Nobody is standing yet so there must be space! But no, the driver would not budge. Seemed that, despite the promise of receiving an inflated bule rate, the bus had a certain luxurious image to uphold and bedraggled us standing in the aisles wouldn’t cut it.

We were, at this point, noticeably worried about catching a bus, as well as wet, hungry, and sting-itching slightly from the bites of giant equatorial ants. Perhaps sensing our impatience, one of the local staff members changed the topic to questions about whether you spin faster at the equator than at the poles. And which way water would swirl when you flush at the equator. THIS was fascinating stuff! We didn’t come to any earth-shattering conclusions, but it was pretty cool just to be talking about this in Indonesian.

In the distance, a van approached, going absolutely 100% the wrong direction. As it got closer, we could see that its windshield said “Golden Boy” in ridiculously large, view-obstructing letters. I thought that was cool, given that it’s the name of Seinfeld’s favourite t-shirt, but didn’t think much more of it until the van pulled a quick u-turn when it got to us and offered to take us back to town for the same overprice we were charged on the bus. Of course, we agreed.

Once inside the van, we sadly waved farewell to the equator, then laughed and sprawled, thrilled with our luxury. This lasted for 5-10 minutes before we started picking up passengers. Lots of them. The van had seats for 7, plus a little stool to make 8, but we had 11. And then a 12^th wanted to join, but after taking a quick glance inside, he opted to ride hanging off the back instead. In the drizzly rain and (by this time) dark, twisting and bumping over the mountainous roads. Occasionally we would hear him tapping on the top or back of the van, possibly due to an emergency, though the driver seemed to think it was just a reassuring tap and acted accordingly (ie ignored it). It’s hard to say who had the better deal, as we were mashed together on the inside for the whole 2 hour ride, a kind of mashing that makes you think you’re paralyzed, as you go numb from the waist down. During the ride we were informed by the other passengers that we had paid too much. They all laughed, as did the driver, but nobody offered us any money back. I guess that’s the price you pay when you visit the equator, but really, the whole experience is priceless. THE EQUATOR IS AWESOME!

After experimenting with different ways to stand on and around the equator, we decided to visit the equator monument itself, an impressive epcot-esque metal orb obviously meant to evoke images of the earth itself. This was evident not only from the shape (ball!) but also from the rust and dilapidated condition (pollution!). When we nervously crossed the rusting bridge to enter the sphere, we found that it was in fact empty on the inside, save for some rusted, twisted metal pieces that had once formed a staircase to the bottom (the earth has no soul!). After a few documentary photos, we decided to run for our lives before the ball collapsed generously leave the monument so that other visitors could enter and take in the glory.

Next we headed for the under-construction Bonjol museum, located inside the equator complex. None of us had the slightest idea who Bonjol was (turns out he is the important man on the important 5000 rupiah bill here) but the museum had a huge towering statue in front, plus it itself was a whopping two stories tall, plus it had a roof and it was raining, plus the entrance fare was 10 cents. The museum was, we were guessing, avant garde, or whatever it is you call a place that is close to empty (featuring lots of floor space!). Highlights included a story about Bonjol and the 5000 Rupiah bill, and well-labelled relics such as various old rifles, an old dutch hat (safari hat) and an old tube (a native English speaker might choose the word binoculars instead) used by the Dutch. Strangely absent were any references to the equator and its sordid history.

When we emerged from the museum, it was finally time to face the tshirt vendors. We entered heated bargaining with them regarding shirt prices. It seemed that shirts could be all different sorts of prices, depending on quality, but none could be as cheap as tshirts in Yogya. Despite our most valiant efforts, we could not get the prices down to $2 or less per shirt, so we sacrificed and went without. I still tear up just thinking of it. Luckily, salvation came in the form of another souvenir, an even _better_ one, as it will not ever need to have fabric softener used on it. A S-T-I-C-K-E-R! But not just any sticker, a huge circular sticker, as big as my (or maybe Lee’s) head! It was dirty and tattered, but the largest sticker to be had, and the only one of its kind, so we took it.

At this point, we decided that as we were in the middle of the jungle, and as it was getting towards night, we should probably think about catching a bus home. First, though, Lee and I decided to share a special snack with our fortunate friends. When we came to Indonesia, we brought not one but TWO king-sized pina colada almond joy bars. One was sacrificed to ants (sort of a peace offering, though at the time we viewed it as an obscene declaration of war), but the other, mushed and oozing coconut everywhere, was our triumphantly celebratory equatorial snack. Unfortunately, it could only last for so long, maybe half an hour, even including the time needed to lick the melted part off of the wrapper. So why weren’t there any buses yet? (to be continued)

I’d say the average Indonesian has a bed or mattress. It’s not in the same league as a Sealy Posturepedic, but it’s good enough. A step down from there is a foam mattress. This seems to be the workhorse of the Indonesian sleeping world. At least for young, student-types. The kids at the Pesantren sleep on these, often with 12 kids to room. Going a bit lower, there are what are called “kasur tipis” or “thin mattress”. I’m not sure how many people sleep on them, but my guess is by the number I’ve seen being aired out during the day, that there are quite a few. Sara and I have one for our living room (we thought this would be a cheaper than trying to by coaches and chairs for one year) which I often pass out on as I watch TV at night. The old Indonesian standby is a straw mat on hard floor (I have yet to see real carpet in Indonesia). While these mats are most commonly seen in living rooms and restaurants for sitting around, socializing, and eating, they do overtime as a place to sleep. I found it endearing when one of my friends admitted that the sight of a straw mat made him sleepy.

Not that Indonesians do not have their creature comforts. While there are many that sleep nightly on a straw mat, tucking their arms under their heads for use as a pillow, the vast, overwhelming majority of Indonesians use, prefer, and possibly need a hug pillow to sleep. I’m not sure that hug pillow is the proper terminology. It is basically a long cylindrical pillow. The Indonesians term is “buntul guling” which translates as “roll pillow”. When Sara and I first came to Indonesia, we noticed there was a roll pillow on our bed. We thought it was for decoration, and promptly kicked it off our bed when we slept. Then we started noticing that every single bed is equipped with one of these pillow. I did not realize how these were used until October, when during our overnight drive to Surabaya for Idul Fitri, I saw our friend’s sleeping on the floor of the van with their arms cuddled around their hug pillows. It incredibly cute.

When Sara and I went to “Silat Camp” in a very rural village west of Yogya, we were once again reminded of how prominently these hug pillows are used. That weekend we were sleeping in tight quarters on the aforementioned straw mats, but there were no hug pillows. When I woke up in the morning, I saw an absolutely very un-American sight. My silat friends (men in their early to mid-20′s) were using each other as hug pillows. Again I found it very endearing, albeit a bit odd.

So now that we’ve established that Indonesians are a hearty bunch when it comes to sleeping, I wanted to address how open they are about sharing their home for you to sleep in.  It’s not just common, it’s exceedingly common, and I have only recently begun to figure out why.  I feel like we Americans often take house guests begrudgingly.  It’s almost perceived as an invasion of privacy.  As Benjamin Franklin wrote in Poor Richard’s Almanac, “Guests, like fish, begin to stink after three days.”

Indonesians seems to feel quite the opposite.  I recently visited a friend who had moved away from Yogya to Kendal, a regency several hours away.  I had only planned on spending one night at his place, but he and his family urged me to spend two nights because it would be more enjoyable for everyone.  On another occasion, while visiting a friend who only lives 5 minutes (by motorbike) away from our house, she and her family repeatedly insisted that we should spend the night at their house, and if not that night, then some night before we go back to the U.S.  Before Sara and I had spent a night at the pesantren during Lebaran, we were frequently asked when we wanted to spend the night.  On some nights after visiting Silat friends, we are repeatedly urged by people who those who do and do not live at the house to just spend the night instead of riding our bikes home.

This is in direct conflict to a very strong instinct Sara and I have to sleep in our own bed.  Back in the U.S. there was always a designated driver, so that we could be sure to get home.  Spending the night is something for people coming from out of town or college students crashing in a drunken stupor, not grown adults with a place of their own.  But to Indonesians it seems to be that having someone spending the night is a sign of friendship and closeness.  By sleeping in their place you’re saying you are like family.  When I first went to the home of my Silat teacher in Yogya, he pointed to a corner of the living room and said that “Your teacher back home used to sleep there.”  I’ve even heard people talk about me with other guests to the pesantren explaining how Mr. Lee and his wife very much enjoyed it there and that they even spent a night there.

And while I’m sad to be leaving Indonesia in the next week, I’m excited about sleeping on my nice and cushy Denver Mattress Company bed once again.  Also it will be good to see family and friends.