Sara and Lee . com

1)      As it is the rainy season, I went shopping for ponchos today.  There were about a kazillion different kinds, all in little packages.  Luckily the shop girls let me take them out of the packages for inspection; I was all set to buy one that said “Super 21 New!”, but found upon opening it that it had….two heads!  It is like $3.  I did not buy it at the time because I bought an umbrella instead, but I am probably going to go buy it after work today, just because it has….two heads!  Maybe people here like to have 3-legged races in the rain.  Or maybe for women with kids.  Crap.  Well, I still might buy it.

2)      The above-mentioned umbrella that I bought?  It has a hole.  Already.  I have not even used it yet.  It’s just a little hole but…sheesh.

3)      Twice in the past week I have suffered near-accidents on the bus.  Today it was not even the bus driver’s fault; he honked repeatedly to tell the driver of the red car that he was not going to back down, but red car guy just kept turning into our path.  Our driver just continued on his path, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the red car came less than an inch from hitting our bus.  I know this because I was sitting right by the open door hole and could easily have reached out and touched the red car from my seat.  The great thing about near-accidents is that it gets everyone on the bus talking and laughing.  The bad thing is that today, I think they were speaking Javanese instead of Indonesian, or at least I couldn’t understand them.

4)      We went to our new neighbor’s house two nights ago.  They KNOW we are leaving for Sumatra in two days, we have TOLD them this.  But they still gave us a dozen mangoes, and a whole army of tempe fritters, nevermind the fact that if we eat all this before we go, it’s going to be a REALLY long train ride….

5)      Yesterday I accepted a motorbike ride from a guy I don’t know.  It was just for a few blocks to take me to the bus.  Why did I accept it?  Well….it looked like rain.  And he knew my name, so obviously we’ve met before.  It took me a few seconds to decide to go with him, but if he’d had chocolate or invited me to look for his lost puppy, I would have hopped on directly….

6)      We are going on a trip to Sumatra from Dec 15-28 for VIA Conference.  My coworkers asked when I would be back and I said “Oh, the 28^th”  They said “Of January?”  Should have said yes, should have said yes…..

It’s the rainy season here, finally.  Usually the rainy season is supposed to start in October, but it was late last year, and it’s late again this year, only having recently arrived.  The rainy season means many things.  It means mold.  It means I need to buy a poncho, stat.  It means hanging our clothes outside to dry isn’t going so well anymore.  And it means HUMIDITY. 

You would think that having lived four years in Houston, I would be pretty decent at handling humidity, but this is much more extreme.  Walking to the bus in the mornings, I sweat.  Riding the bus, same thing.  Walking from bus to work, more of same.  By the time I get here in the mornings, I am usually half drenched.  Thank goodness for the AC in the office!  But….  There is no AC at home.  When I get home at the end of the day I am drenched.  I take a shower immediately and 5 minutes later am sweating.  Making dinner, eating dinner, watching TV….sweating, sweating, sweating.  And this is at night!  At least when I am sleeping the fan keeps things bearable.

This atmosphere has kept my thoughts pretty far from Christmas, seeing as Christmas is supposed to be cold, if not snowy.  However, the department stores here have geared up for Christmas and though it isn’t quite as obnoxious as in the US, there are fake pine trees (I asked my coworkers, shouldn’t the trees be banana trees or something native?  They said no, everyone likes their fake pines.  Interesting side note, pine is said “pinas” here.  You can imagine how confused I was the first time people asked me if there were Pinas Trees in Colorado), tons of tinsel, and carols playing on the speakers.  I hadn’t imagined this would be the case, as Indonesia’s population is predominately Muslim, but Yogya’s a pretty mixed-religion kind of place….and retailers will capitalize on any holiday they can!

My coworkers are mostly Christian, so they have started playing Christmas songs at work, and singing along to them whenever possible.  For the song versions that do not have lyrics, they simply hum along.  I haven’t been homesick too much since arriving here, but I have a feeling it’s imminent.   

I was going to try and say more about that and be somewhat serious, but one of my coworkers just informed me that I looked too serious and started pretending that his computer mouse was a telephone and “calling” people in the office.  My supervisor “answered” his call using her coffee mug.  Maybe I will pretend that my keychain is a walkie talkie or something.  It’s becoming quite clear to me why Mr Bean is so popular here….

The final installment from my weeks old posts…
Ok, so will admit I’m stealing this observation directly from Sierra (another VIA vol) and her superbly insightful e-mail.  But many of you haven’t seen that e-mail, and I want to relate some anecdotes.

Everything in Indonesia is hooked up to a microphone and output through loud speakers.  At first I thought it was just the call to prayer from the multitude of neighborhood mosques.  Then I started to notice microphones and speakers in more places.  Walking along some busier streets, you’ll see some stores with store MCs trying to coax you into their store by talking to passers-by and extolling the virtues of their products.  I’m not sure what part of singling me out, and publicly asking me to come to the store is supposed to attract my business, but it seems to be an accepted business practice in some parts of town.  Also at religious ceremonies at the pesantren, there are gigantic mega-phone speakers everywhere.

But those seem like normal, perhaps acceptable uses of loud speakers.  I’ve also seen things like gardening seminars and small presentations with audiences of 5-10 people utilizing a mic and gigantic speakers.  A while back, I went to a party at the Indonesian language school I attended.  It was an evening dedicated to singing and performing.  For one performance, a Japanese student played a traditional Japanese guitar and sang.  Even sitting in the back row, I thought she was clearly audible and needed no amplification.  But the staff at the language school quickly became distressed and you could see the concern on their faces.  A crack team began to hook up loud speakers.  One of my teachers was assigned the duty of holding the microphone in front of the singer.  Another team of men scrambled to get the cables hooked up correctly, and the feedback quickly followed.  The look of concern continued.  By now it was obvious the anxiety was not from disturbing the performance but from genuine unease with the un-amplification.

The other day we had a meeting at the pesantren with the head Kyai (religious leader).  There were maybe 30 of us in a small room.  Again, the Kyai was clearly audible, but the need for amplication made it’s way in.  Two mics were provided.  One for the teachers.  One for Kyai Mufid.  My ability to comprehend their words went from 40% to 10%.

And here is the Indonesian listener’s dilemma:

• I need loudspeakers to hear
• The loudspeakers have killed my ability to hear
• I need loudspeakers to hear

Another post in the backlog of posts…

Here in Indonesia there is an ever present sheen of sweat across my brow.  Just under my nose there are frequent bouts of perspiration that I call “sweat-staches”.  This gets even worse when crammed into a crowded mini-bus.  I don’t know how the citizens of Indonesian don’t sweat.  Maybe Indonesians in Colorado wonder how Coloradoans get by with only one jacket.  I typically don’t sport one until the first snowfall of the year.

Meanwhile everyone here wears jackets.  My silat brothers have loaned me a jacked to wear for the “cold” rides home.  Sometimes they will bundle up in a jacket, scarf and gloves.  I don’t think I’ve worn a scarf since I was 8 years old.

A few weeks ago, before moving to our current house, I had a day of stomache aches.  Nothing serious, just some difficulties from over indulging in the wonderful mangoes.  In an effort to make the sickness more bearable, I dressed myself in only a sarung (a piece of batik cloth wrapped around like a skirt), and a thin, white tank-topped undershirt.  I also set up the fan to blow directly on me as I splayed out on the couch.

That same day our neighbor’s two year-old daughter was feeling sick too.  Her mother had decided to combat the illnes she needed to keep warm, so she bundled her in sweats, a jacket, and a knit cap.  She also insisted that her daughter wear socks and shoes everywhere, even indoors which is extremely rare in these parts.

That evening our neighbor heard I was sick, and kindly dropped off some snacks.  She saw me in my sarung-ed glory, and probably thought “No wonder he’s sick, he’s practically wearing nothing.”

Hi everyone,

I haven’t really been stellar at updating the blog, and I’ve done an even worse job of keeping in touch via e-mail.  I’ve pawned much of the official communication duties onto Sara using the excuse that she has more frequent access to e-mail, but really there’s a strong streak of laziness on my part as well.  Sorry.  That said, here goes with a series of posts that I started writing several weeks ago and am just now finishing.  Because of the lapse between starting and finishing, the temporality is probably all wrong.  Today might mean today, but it probably means the day a couple weeks ago that I was actually saying today.  More than anything I’m posting these for my own benefit.

Today (now three weeks ago) was the first day teaching in five weeks.  The pesantren really doesn’t mess around when it comes to Ramadan vacation.  While most of Indonesia gets a week, and most schools have about 2 weeks vacation, the pesantren sets their break from two weeks prior to Idul Fitri to two weeks after.  My math says 2 + 2 = 4, but I’ll give the pesantren the benefit of the doubt on this one.

Having lots of time should be nice, but at times over the break I was going stir crazy.  I haven’t had that much time to myself since I was 18 years old.  And it took a bit of adjustment.  The first week of break was spent doing nearly nothing.  I can’t really recall how I spent the days.  I know I rented a movie one day, and I had some stomache problems another day, but I can’t account for the rest.  Sometime early on in the break, Sara and I moved to a new house.  I’ve already talked enough about housing in the past, so I just want to say it’s nice to finally be settling down after lots of disruptions.

The day we moved into our new house, was a busy one.  Moving anywhere is a hassle.  In the past year we’ve been moving lots.  Last spring, to prepare for this year here, we sold our house and moved stuff to my Mom’s house.  Then two months later right before coming to Indonesia, we moved most of the stuff again into a storage facility.  The Indo-move was much easier, but probably much more unorthodox.

Normally, people in Jogja hire trucks to help them move.  These aren’t big trucks like a U-Haul in the U.S.  These are little pick-up trucks, that are about 3/4 the size of a Ford Ranger.  Unlike in the U.S. you can’t just look in the phone book under “moving companies”; I don’t even think there’s a phone book.  Instead, you just walk around town and look for trucks by the side of the road with a sign that says “Jasa angkot”.  Usually you rent these trucks and the driver for the day. By the time our move came around we didn’t have enough stuff to necessitate one of these trucks, but we had too much to make moving by bicycle or foot practical, so we took an unorthodox approach to moving.  And with everything for us in this country it took two tries.

For our first attempt, I called for a taxi at about 11:00PM.  Using my best Indonesian, I attempted to explain that I did not want to go into the city, but just wanted a taxi to help us move to a new house.  After they finally comprehended what I was saying (I think), they politely told me that there were no more taxis.  Somehow they had all disappared in the two minutes since I first called.  I’m positive they were thinking something illicit was a foot.  I don’t know why.  What’s so unusual about a foreigner requesting a taxi to act like a moving service at an hour when most are sleeping?

Not wanting to repeat the mistakes of the prior night, we wanted to negotiate everything up-front and face-to-face.
So, we got up at six in the morning, and I “boncenged” Sara (rode my bicycle with Sara sitting on the back rack) to the nearby Hyatt Hotel to get a taxi to help with a move.  Given that there were plenty of taxis and no other customers we were able to bargain for a fair price (but still not an Indonesian price).  Sara hopped into the cab and I raced it back to our old place.  We quickly filled the taxi with all our Indonesian possessions, and Sara rode for the three minutes to the new place.  I followed by bicycle, and thanks to speed bumps and short cuts I beat them there.

That same day, our new landlord came from Semarang (three hours away) along with his family to finalize the contract and to fix some outstanding issues with the faucet.  We were expecting the visit to take an hour.  They ended up staying for three hours.

To add to the hecticness, that same day we were going to Surabaya with our friends Mbak Tami, Mas Agus, their kids, and Lisa (the via vol).  Having no idea what is proper Idul Fitri customs, we also spent much of the day looking for gifts of food, making baskets, and trying to buy and pack appropriate clothing.  We were really clueless, and time was short.

Prior to coming here, I would never have imagined I would be traveling in a bright red, white-walled, 1970′s VW van equipped with a wall of speakers, an in-dash CRT TV (not functioning), and tape-deck pre-loaded with Pink Floyd’s “The Wall”.  Mas Agus has some pretty cool friends with pretty cool rides.  The 8-hour ride went fairly quickly since we were travelling at night to avoid the holiday traffic.  Being a man, I was lucky enough to have the front seat, while the women sat three abreast in the back.  The children had a nice little sleeping area on the floor complete with hug pillows (a topic for a future post).  Still being Ramadan nobody was really drinking water, and at 3:00 in the morning it was time to break the fast.  We stopped at a Padang restaurant – basically the Indonesian equivalent of a truck stop, and ate.  I thought my home made Sahur didn’t sit well.

Surabaya was fun, and we got to see how one family spends their holidays.  I came to the realization that it’s just like the U.S. some people take holidays really seriously with all the traditions in place, and others take it more casually.  Really the fun was in hanging out with friends, playing with Ratri and Bayu, and practicing the language.  During those few day I played more hide and seek than I’ve played in 20 years.

Also while in Surabaya, I took the opportunity to visit my silat instructor’s family.  When I had first met Daniel’s father in the U.S., I had no idea I would be coming to Indonesia, and I did almost all my speaking to him through Daniel.  Now, some time later, Sara and I were pretty much able to hold our own for a few hours with only occasional assistance from the dictionary.  I should probably ask Daniel how it went.  His father may have a very different impression.  I really have to thank both families in Surabaya for being excellent hosts.

After Surabaya, Sara, Lisa and I went to see Gunung Bromo.  Really we went to see lots of volcanic peaks, Bromo is just one of several in Bromo-Tengger-Semeru National park.  We stayed at the wonderful Yoschi’s hotel away from the bustle in the more touristy Cemoro-Lawang.  I guess I should say that Yoschi’s became wonderful. At first, the bus driver and the hotel staff tried to tell me that accomodation was not included in the tour package I had bought in Jogja.  Lots of persistence, and lots of phone messaging to the tour operators finally got things straight.  After things were settled, I offered the staff some Bakpia I had brought from Jogja, and everything seemed fine.
I don’t know if it was because we offered Bakpia or because we speak a little Indonesian, but on our second night there the hotel staff invited us to go to the cook’s house to hang out, eat some Ramadan snacks, and eat dinner.  Far from the beaten path, we and about 8 staff members piled into a jeep and headed for a village about 20 minutes away from the hotel.  The cook and her family were kind enough to fill us up with cakes, cookies, soda, tea, crackers, and an excellent meal.  I felt truly honored to be there, and even more honored when they told us we were the first foreigners to come to the house.