Sara and Lee . com

In my former life as a software engineer, dress was casual.  Sandals?  No problem. Shorts? Fine.  Ratty-t-shirt?  Ok, just make sure it doesn’t have too many holes.  Perhaps it was a bit too casual.

The dress code at the pesantren, while not Wall Street strict, is on the opposite end of the spectrum from my cubicle wear.  Being a Muslim institute, modesty is of utmost importance, particularly for the women who wear long sleeved shirts, ankle length skirts, and of course head scarves.  The men are almost equally suited to roast in the humid, AC-free classrooms with their long sleeve button shirt, slacks, tie and dress shoes.

I have no problem wearing this.  For a man, it’s standard teacher wear.  And when Sara visits the pesantren she has no difficulty putting on the full 9 yards of cloth including the head scarf.  But there’s one more part of the uniform, and when it comes to that, I have a rebellious streak.

The peci (pronounced peh-chee) is a black, fez-like, velvet hat that is considered a standard part of the uniform for the teachers and students at the pesantren.  One can hardly imagine a Southeast Asian Muslim man without this cap which has been worn by every Indonesian president from Sukarno to SBY (with the exception of the female Megawati).

I can’t stand wearing it.  I of course don’t tell this to my friends and co-workers at the pesantren.

Months ago, they used to ask me why I didn’t wear a peci.  I would answer with something vague like I didn’t know its symbolism or that I didn’t want to confuse people.  Truth is, I just don’t like wearing hats, and the velvet texture creeps me out a little.  Also, I think it looks pretty silly.

When I was shopping for a peci months ago (on the advice that it might be good to have one on hand if I was going to teach at the pesantren) I noticed there are two styles the regular and the “tinggi” (i.e. tall).  I tried on the tinggi and it looked absolutely ridiculous, so I bought the regular.  Shortly after I started noticing who wore tinggis and who wore regulars.  In all cases the tinggis looked funny and seeing people (including president SBY) wearing them cracks me up.  Not content with just laughing at the tinggi, I resolved to find out more about it.So, I began to ask teachers and students why someone would choose the tinggi over the regular.  The answer was not hilarious like I had hoped.  Everyone said personal preference.  I’m still curious to know what kind of person chooses a tinggi, but I don’t have it in me to fully research that mystery.  But I digress.

Tinggi or not, the peci seems like a goofy little hat.  It doesn’t provide
shade and as far as I can tell, it just makes the head feel hotter.  The only benefit is fitting in which is why I decided to wear it to the National Education Day assembly.

I should have known better.  As a foreigner there is
exactly a 0% chance that I will fit in.  Even my dark hair does not allow
me to be a chameleon.  Within a minute of wearing a peci everyone in the teacher’s office commented on how different I looked.  Everyone asked who’s peci I borrowed, and were astonished to learn that I had owned it for months.

As the assembly started and progressed, I was excited to see how far my Indonesian has come and at how much I was actually comprehending.  Then any hopes of
blending were quickly dashed.  The principal while thanking everyone for coming extended a “special welcome to Mr. Lee Becker who on this day looks particularly handsome, and particularly Indonesian as he is wearing a peci.”  The entire school burst into a large round of applause, and I blushed.

I wore the peci for the rest of the day, and everyone who saw me went out of their way to comment on how handsome I looked in the peci.  The next day everyone asked why I wasn’t wearing it again while adding in a “you look so handsome in the peci.”  These compliments came from men and women, boys and girls, teachers and students.

But, all this flattery doesn’t work so easily on Mr. Lee.  I’m only wearing the peci to assemblies, and graduations, and any other semi-special occasions at the school, and maybe if there is a really special request.  I have to set base standards.

Slowly but surely I’m getting caught up on a backlog of photos from recent trips to exotic locations.

Two weeks ago our friends at the pesantren were kind enough to take us on a trip to the beautiful Dieng Plateau.  Dieng is a kind of mountainous breadbasket of Java.  We did the one day tourist thing and saw Telaga Warna (colored lake) and the caldera’s (the name of which I can’t recall right now) as well as some temples.  The caldera’s are like are sulfur-ey and steamy like the many geysers and caldera in Yellowstone National Park.  The big difference here is that there are no trails or guide rails.  Yellowstone without safety!  Imagine the lawsuits that would ensue in the U.S.

Click here to see the Dieng photo set on flickr

http://www.flickr.com/photos/leebecker/sets/72157600250298258/ 

We also recently took a trip to the world famous Borobudur temple.  This is the largest man made object south of the equator, one of the world’s largest Buddhist temples, and the most frequently visited tourist site in Indonesia.  Most people see this shortly after coming to Indonesia.  Sara and I just got to seeing it a couple weeks ago.

Click here to see the Borodbudur photo set on flickr

http://www.flickr.com/photos/leebecker/sets/72157600249614039/ 

Yogya has a huge traditional market known as Pasar Beringharjo. I’ve been meaning to take and post photos of this place since I first went there last year. When walking around it’s hard not to be impressed with the abundance of food. There just seem to be piles of everything.

The photos can be found at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/leebecker/sets/72157600219933423/

When’s the last time anyone ever heard me sing?  That’s right, never (at least not while sober).  Yesterday my coworkers told me to come downstairs for “singing practice”.  I had no idea what was going on, but I obliged….didn’t have much better to do, and refusing repeated requests to sing is getting a little old.  I asked if I could just go to watch and was told “It’s up to you” which of course meant I would be singing.  Luckily it was a sort of choir practice, so I got to sing in a group….which is KEY if you’re me.  There was free bottled tea, which I like.  Apparently I’m an “alto.”  We’re sang, me just reading the words, not sure what they all meant, pronouncing as best I could while trying not to “sing” too loudly, and it was actually fun.  Not the self-conscious nightmare I expected. , After an hour and a half of practice, conversation turned to singing practice “tomorrow” (ie today)  Well, yes, I could make that, sure.  This is pretty fun, after all, moreso than sitting in the office staring at a computer.

At today’s practice, I finally asked casually “So, what is this for?”  It’s for a singing competition.  I repeatedly mentioned that I can’t sing but nobody seems to care.  It would seem that I’m “in.”  I just got measured for a uniform, which will include some sort of mystery shirt and black pants.  Soon my lucky husband and neighbors will have the privilege of hearing me practice daily.  So will anyone who comes within earshot of me when I’m biking to and from work.   It’s going to be a long couple of weeks!

We’re playing tourists at Borobudur (huge, popular Buddhist temple, for those not in the know), relaxing on a bench, finally out of the sun, away from the postcard and stone paperweight vendors, and in the relatively cool privacy of a covered (yet wall-less) museum area.  But we are not alone.  First there are furtive, embarrassed glances, not unnoticed by Lee.  He tries making faces.  The glances stop and the group of boys leaves the pavilion.  Moments later, they return….with a classload of students, boys and girls this time.  Though they are still far from us, we can feel the energy directed our way.  Lee gets an idea.  “Let’s see what happens if we….leave!”  Ha ha ha.  “Well, Sara, it’s time to go” says Lee in loud Indonesian.  We stand, stretch exaggeratedly, and start towards the door, moving away from the group of students, which has started to gravitate in our direction.  As we walk (quickly, for effect), a rustle starts behind us….then a shuffle….then the somewhat urgent slap of fast-moving flipflops.  We move a bit more quickly, snickering quietly.  A few tentative “Mister!  Mister!”s float our way from behind us.  We keep going, grinning.  The flipflops speed up and there’s a desperate “Excuse me!”  Ah, real English in a polite form!  We turn around.  Mock surprise.  “What?  You want photos with us?  Really?  Are you sure?  OK!”  We laugh and face the crowd of cameras and cell phones.  Click, click, flash, flash, our new friends alternate who gets to stand with us, between us, next to me, next to Lee.  A few adults join the fray too.  Arms are thrown around us, poses are enacted by the more theatrical.  Lee reminds a kid two to be careful, as some of them seemingly like to take pictures with fingers firmly planted on their now-smudged lenses.  We’re beaming, a couple of sweaty, dehydrated bules once ready to go home, but now not quite, because look how happy everyone is.  When it’s over, we shake 20 hands, each of whom’s owner politely gives a thank you.  It’s fun, this game, though we’re not sure what they’re going to do with a million pictures of dishevelled us, or why they would thank unphotogenetic us for what promises to be a horrible batch of photos.  Then it’s just us and one of the building staff members.  He has a bemused smile.  We stagger dramatically in feigned exhaustion.  He laughs.  Is this what it’s like to be a rock star?

Lee and I put a LOT of thought into coming to Indonesia.  It took us years to decide to leave our jobs, and months to decide that Indonesia would be a great place for us to spend a year (no thanks to the state department and their warning that we should postpone travel here if at all possible….I’m glad we decided it wasn’t possible)  Still, when we went to our first orientation weekend in California, there was one little fact that came as a big surprise.

What do you mean no toilet paper?  But then what?  Left hand?  Water?  But no toilet paper?  Everywhere?  Always?  Is this a joke?  Are you SURE?  Oh.

Natural disasters, pollution, terrorists….fine.  Risks worth taking.  But THIS?  An expat website indicated that we should bring Kleenex and/or small money bills with us wherever we went.  The 1000 Rupiah bills, approximately US $0.10, can be money well spent in an emergency.

Lucky for me, we ended up with a house with a western toilet, located near one of the many stores that stocks toilet paper.  My office also has western toilets, one of which usually has TP.   When I’m otherwise out and about, I often have Kleenex with me, but the scary thing is…..when I don’t have a suitable tissue-like substance, I don’t want to waste my precious 10 cent bills, just two of which constitute a bus fare. And it’s not actually a big deal at all.  Who’d have thought it?   

Borrowing the name of a famous and well-loved Denver bookstore….   Books for me to read have been surprisingly easy to come by here.  I had originally thought that I’d have to have some shipped to read, but have found that actually, there are many English language books available here, especially from other volunteers, so I’ve gotten to read some good ones.  Not only that, but there are….books in Indonesian too!

When Lee and I first got to Jogja and were living with our host family, we would sometimes try to read children’s stories suitable for their daughter, age 8.  Sometimes it would take an hour to translate a page or two, even though the prose was pretty simple.  Now I am proud to say that I am reading The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe in Indonesian.  I barely even need a dictionary – though I don’t understand every word, I understand enough to infer things and generally get what’s going on, even if it’s taking me longer to get through than when I read it as a kid.  This doesn’t probably sound like that big a deal, but inexplicably it IS!  I’m going to buy the whole series.  Maybe the Harry Potter books too….

With my newfound love of Indonesian reading, I headed to the nearby bookstore (the chain type, sorta like their version of Borders or something) to buy some books.  Not just any books, books about math and engineering because you see, I seem to have become a bit rusty on all….I mean some…..math and engineering concepts, and I think I’m going to need them in grad school.  I should at least know how to do basic calculus, you know?  But I digress.  I found a calculus review book in Indonesian that seems readable.  It helps that most of the “words” are actually numbers, which are written the same as they are in English.  The engineering books were harder to come by though…..

There are actually quite a few engineering books, even civil engineering books, but alas all of them were in Indonesian.  I found that, to my dismay, ability to read the Chronicles of Narnia does not translate into ability to read about engineering fundamentals.  Far from it.  Finally, in the electrical engineering section, I found a paperback book about mechanical engineering.  Mostly thermodynamics.  In English.  Not quite what I was looking for, but it seems informative, it’s from the 21^st century, and, well, did I mention that it’s in English?

Have you ever bought a book because you felt sorry for it?  That played into my decision to buy this book too.  All the corners are bent and ratty.  It still has a binding and all the pages are attached, but the cover is completely falling apart, with pieces just hanging off of it.  I don’t understand how this book got like this, like a library book ready to be retired, a book fit only to hold up the leg of a coffee table.  Maybe it’s really been in the bookstore for several years as the copyright date suggests?  Maybe it was dropped off one day by an expatriate looking to lose some luggage weight before heading home?  Nobody would want it!  Except, unfortunately….me.  The price on the book was $6.  Too high!  I asked if it could be discounted, and was told I could have 10% off, due to the obvious, obvious poor condition.  This actually surprised me, given my lack of luck negotiating on the dirty, tattered poncho a few weeks ago, but it was great news as that extra 50 cents was enough to buy me lunch.  Tonight I’ll start reading about equilibriums, heat transfer, and who knows what else….I predict I’ll be falling asleep early and sleeping well for the next few months!

Sekaten is an Islamic celebration of the Prophet Muhammad’s birthday that is held in Yogyakarta every year.  There are many official and symbolic parts of it – it starts and ends at certain times on certain days, special instruments are played, there are special rituals, parades, etc.  But our favourite part was that, for an entire month before the afore-mentioned birthday, the lawn of the Kraton (Yogya’s palace) was transformed into a veritable fairground.

Lee and I decided to go there one night (and then again another night because it was so fun, but that’s beside the point) to check it out and see some of his pesantren students and coworkers, who were manning a booth about the pesantren.  Their booth was nice, with a very snazzy computer presentation that puts anything I’ve done with powerpoint to shame, but the rest of Sekaten – wow!  

First, we were struck by how you can find _anything_ for sale at Sekaten.  Perennial favourites like cotton candy?  Of course!  And in the food department, there were also a billion donuts, fried ice cream (with a constant drone from the seller about how great, original, healthy, etc it was), fried tofu, and plenty of other fried things.  There was the usual array of cheap children’s toys, but also tons of clothing and shoes for sale, new and used.  This in addition to whole large stands devoted to plastic flowers, pots and pans, floor rugs, bras and underwear, prayer accessories, and houseplants.  This was the place to be for a month of great shopping deals!

Then we were struck by the rides.  There were the expected small rides for the kids, including haunted houses with loud barking dog sounds (what could be scarier?) and merry-go-rounds with animals that looked like they were made of paper mache.  One of the merry go rounds had motorcycles instead of animals.  I’m sure it wasn’t intentional, but many of them had holes, bent handlebars, and even flat tires.  Very realistic! 

We went on a total of two rides.  Anyone who thinks a small ferris wheel is not scary clearly has never been on one in Indonesia!  It (and all other motorized rides) ran on what looked and sounded like an oversized lawnmower motor, with a smoking barrel of water to serve to keep things “cool” and a “ride operator” sitting close by smoking and flicking ashes in the motor’s general direction.  Between the smoke and the exposed belts, it was enough to scare anyone.  So of course we rode it.  There was also a ride that was sort of like the centerfuge you’d find in a US fair, but rather than being contained in any way, you just sat on a circle of benches suspended in the air, benches which you climbed onto using a ladder that was passed around.  This ride was not motorized, and instead had a whole cadre of staff members who would hold onto it and run to pick up speed, as loud techno and other fast-paced music blasted from giant speakers in the center.  The staff members would periodically hang off various parts of the bench ring as they ran to make it go up and down in waves.  They would also do flips and spins off of it to make it entertaining for the crowd.  In that sense it was absolutely nothing like anything I have ever seen in the US….and it was really cool, amusingly Indonesian as we noticed that the staff members would be smoking cigarettes as they ran and did tricks.

Speaking of cigarettes, we finally made our way over to the cigarette-sponsored center stage to catch a little of the evening’s music concert.  No evening would be complete without a healthy dose of second hand smoke!  It was a large open-air standing room only type of thing, complete with a small, non-violent mosh/dance pit.  The funny thing was that it was all men there, except for a very small number of women who stood way back in the shadows.  Thus, it was essentially a huge crowd of men dancing together, often somewhat suggestively, and trying to get a glimpse of the lone, slightly-scantily-clad female singer.   Could there be any more appropriate way to celebrate a prophet’s birthday?

The last day of Sekaten is the official celebration of the Prophet Muhammad’s birthday.  Before getting there, all we knew was that it was a) Early in the morning and b) there were going to be vegetable mountains.  This last part was enough to get us to go, even though we really didn’t understand what we were going to.

Though we arrived early in the morning, around 8:30AM, the sun was already fierce and Sekaten was packed with people.  Upon entering the gate, I put my hand in my wallet pocket to deter pickpockets, and as it turned out, I kept it there for the next 3 hours or so.  We followed the crowd, making our way toward the Kraton and finally ended up standing in a veritable crush of people.  We made a big point of speaking Indonesian with the people around us, a) to pass the time and be friendly and b) because we wanted them sort of looking out for us should anything bad happen.  They told us that the main event would be happening at some point, but we didn’t really understand what or when so just stood in the hot sun, in a mass of humanity so closely packed together that I could not even take a step (thankfully nobody decided to stampede), and waited.

After a short time, I had managed to sweat through both my shirt and my pants (gross, yes, but it was hot and humid, and standing packed together did not help things)  Worse than that though was that some of the men around me were acting a little creepy.  I debated whether to write about this or not and finally decided that I would, not to say that this is what I think of all Indonesian men, but the ones standing near me at Sekaten were far from polite.  At any given time, they would have their hands on my shoulder, on my hips, on my butt, or yes, trying to pick my pockets (this is why my hand stayed in pocket for 3 hours).  I did not see them doing this so much to other women, just to me…and one of the worst offenders was a man who was there with his wife!  It wasn’t as bad as mardi gras or anything like that, but it was still really, really inappropriate.  Poor Lee, he confessed later that he wanted to hit a lot of them and was thinking about it, but luckily he didn’t.  I realize that white people are not the norm here, and that the only image people have is what they see on TV, namely that white women are quite promiscuous, but still….there’s just no need to be creepy and gross, or for that matter to pick peoples’ pockets.

Eventually, with much fanfare, ceremonial firing of guns, and even elephants, the Sekaten parade started.  There were many groups of men marching in traditional royal costumes and playing music.  Then came the stars of the show, giant beautifully-arranged mountains of vegetables, eggs, and colored rice crackers, so big that it took maybe 10 men to carry each one.  (These were the “Gunungan” – which means mountains)  Luckily most people in Indonesia are around my height, so I could see thing fairly well if I stood on my tiptoes.  Lee was even luckier, as he towers over most everyone, though there were some older women who complained that they should have been in front of him. 

Afterwards, following the crowds away from the Kraton, I noticed a boy just stop and start peeing.  I turned to take a different path and was met with….an older woman vomiting from the heat.  I felt bad for her, but could not help thinking at the same time, would this ever happen, people just celebrating and littering and peeing and vomiting on the white house lawn day and night?  And wouldn’t it be sort of funny if it did?