Heading off to Borneo

I'm leaving tomorrow very early in the morning to go to Borneo, and I was reading the guidebook in excitement and it said that two of the animals found where I am going are crocodiles.... and..... pythons.  I knew there were "large snakes" there, and while I am not the kind of person to voluntarily seek out the company of pythons, the guidebook also said that I "probably would not see them from the boat" which is how we will be traveling, so I hope that I will not find myself singing the "oh gee it's up to my knee, oh heck it's up to my neck" song.

Please keep your fingers crossed that I don't meet any.  Or see any.  Or even pass by any without even knowing it.

Rambutan Season

Rambutans are basically the reason I fell in love with Indonesia in the first place.  These red, spiky fruits are peeled to reveal firm yet juicy flesh, kind of akin to an oversized grape.  And I am not the only one who can eat them by the pound--the locals are also quite susceptible to rambutan fever.

Lucky for me, it is now rambutan season.  And even luckier, there is a gigantic tree that grows right next to Khadir's house.  Luckier still, Khadir loves to climb trees and knows how to wield the gigantic rambutan picker crafted out of bamboo.

The Chubbiest Cheeks in the World

And no, I am not referring to mine.  I met this adorable and fierce six-year-old on a research-related field trip.

Merry Christmas From Indonesia

Here is me with the Indonesian version of Santa.  Just kidding, it's totally not Santa.  It's a Balinese King.  But he has a white mustache!

Tucker wins Third Place

A couple of weekends ago Khadir entered his Holden Tucker into a vintage car expo.  We went to visit Tucker on the grounds of the show, and saw all manner of totally awesome classic vehicles--Fiats, De Soto's, Plymouths, Vespas, and more.

I took a particular liking to a Bel Air from the fifties.  It might have been because the hood ornament looked like an airplane or because the steering wheel could fill up a whole studio apartment. 

Tucker won the prize for "Best Station Wagon," which also meant that he (she?) won third place out of the whole bunch.  Not bad!

My Birthday/Christmas Present

For my birthday, Khadir bought me this classy three-speed bike.  Basically, nothing beats riding this beauty through the surrounding rice fields and past the small old-fashioned villages in the area.  My steering has improved, as I am often dodging deep sinkholes in the asphalt or dirt roads, and my composure has also improved as Indonesian vehicles like to pass VERY CLOSE on the right.  I do not yet have a name for Betty Blue's Indonesian relative.  Maybe it should be Teeny, short for Supartini.

My littlest friends

These girls are part of a gaggle of young children who hang out at one of my favorite food stalls in Yogya.  The one on the right is Mita, and she's the ringleader.  When she sees me coming she rounds up the gang, and they keep me company while I eat, peppering me with questions, showering me with compliments (a cultural practice that I guess I'll never get tired of), filling me in on local neighborhood and elementary school gossip, and practicing their English.  Oh, and of course, engaging in shenanigans and playing with my cell phone.

Village Graffiti

Loose translation according to Khadir: Let's go cut grass in the fields! Live life cutting grass!

Live Cargo

chewing betel

Last night we stopped by Khadir's friends Rinto's house, which he shares with his family including his kindly grandma.  As we chatted, she was also hanging out watching TV and chewing betel nut, which is actually a combination of betel nut and chewing tobacco wrapped into a neat package of a sirih leaf.  I knew that Indonesians liked to chew betel nut, but she explained to me that her mother taught her how to do it and it used to be mandatory for young women because of the benefits of keeping your teeth clean and strong, turning your lips an enchanting red, making your body feel refreshed and strengthening your aura.

I figured that my aura could use some strengthening, so I asked to try some and she made me a little bundle.  I have to say that I enjoyed the taste and my teeth did indeed feel refreshed (and turn orange), but I don't think it will become a habit.

Here is me with this sweet sweet woman, first kneeling down so it appears that we are the same height, and then exhibiting our true height difference.

Merapi in the Distance

I could have been famous!

White people, or bule's are still fairly few and far between in Indonesia, and hence a very hot commodity when say, for example, famous Indonesian film directors need to make a historical film about the first Indonesian bishop (or something like that) who was also key in fighting for independence from the Dutch. 

I was invited to be an extra for this film, directed by Garin Nugroho.  What this meant was I arrived at the film location, an old Dutch sugar factory, at approximately 7 AM in the morning, was dressed in a rather dingy-style '40's dress and hat by 10 AM, sat around chatting with the rag-tag bunch of other white people, including three charming exchange students from Poland, an American traveling all of Southeast Asia, an outgoing Italian from Turin who came to Indonesia for his brother's wedding to an Indonesian and met his own Indonesian wife at the ceremony, and a Spaniard who looked exactly like a pirate (sorry no picture).  At 6 PM we were told that our scene would not be shot, ate an Indonesian dinner, and were sent home $50 richer. Not a horrible way to spend a Sunday.

Here were three of my lovely "co-stars."

Here are some behind the scene shots: a man gets his flesh wound applied on the fly, and the fires of Independence burning in the distance.

 

The Beaches of Gunung Kidul

Sorry guys I have been blog delinquent for almost a month.  I plan to create a barrage of updates in the next hour.  Get ready.  Here are some photos from a recent weekend trip to a series of beaches about two hours away (much closer than Karimun Jawa).  You still couldn't swim, but these beaches were really gorgeous, with coves and caves and right past the sand were little clusters of traditional terraced farm and rice paddies.

Radio Buku

In addition to my dissertation research here, I have become involved in an online Indonesian writers and translators group called Aspas, short for Apresiasi Sastra, or Literature Appreciation.  I am helping them edit a couple of short stories that have already been translated, and translating a few stories myself.  The leader, Sigit Susanto is a writer and translator (he translated Kafka into Indonesian) who currently lives in the Netherlands, but he’s shared his network of friends so I’ve gotten to meet some interesting literary types here in Yogya.

Via Aspas, a couple of weeks ago I was invited to be interviewed for an internet radio show called Radio Buku, or Book Radio.  Ardyan, the guy who interviewed me, is a Westerns fan currently writing his undergraduate thesis on representations of the American border in Cormac McCarthy.  We talked about how I came to be in Indonesia, my top five favorite books (which was a really hard question, and I had to pick kind of arbitrarily except for, of course, The English Patient and The Family of Man), my opinion about the role of public libraries in a democracy, and etc.  You can listen to the interview (in Indonesian!), see a picture of me in the studio, and browse their website here.  To hear my segment, wait for my picture to pop up and then click on it.

The radio show is connected to a wonderful lending library in the cultural heart of Yogya, right near the palace, which specializes in books on literature, language, and nation.  There was a huge woodblock print on the wall proclaiming that you can’t have a democracy without access to books.  Membership costs 100,000 Rupiah (about $10), is valid for 20 years, and means that you can both take out books and hang out there whenever you want.  (This also means, you can nap there whenever you want.  When I arrived a pretty young girl in a yellow jilbab greeted me, and by the time I was done with the interview she was cashed out face down on the rug in the middle of the room and stayed that way until I left.  Public and unabashed napping, just another reason to love this country).

I am totally going to become a member because while printing is much more vibrant than it used to be in Indonesia, it’s still really hard to find copies of literary books, even from just a handful of years ago.  They had a copy of a book I’ve been dying to read by a well-known novelest Eka Kurniawan called Cantik itu Luka (Beauty is a Wound), which starts with the description of an old prostitute rising from the dead twenty years after she has been buried.  

Aerobics

This week I was invited to do aerobics with a group of female teachers from the autism school.  I met them after school hours on campus, we all changed into our exercise clothes, rearranged some furniture in a classroom, an aerobics instructor arrived and we sweated it out for the afternoon.  While the actual aerobics were just okay (I'd take yoga or a walk over aerobics any day) but the whole experience was a total treat for me and I'll tell you why.

The women all wear jilbabs during the work day, as well as their school uniform which consists of very modest button down shirts, slacks, and sensible shoes.  Jilbabs, as controversial as they have been here and abroad, for the most part have struck me as sensible attire in Indonesia.  They prevent your hair from getting all messed up from constantly taking your motorcycle helmet on and off.  While they are hot in the day time, they provide a light layer of warmth in the evening.  And wearing a jilbab definitely signals: I am here as a responsible adult woman, I mean business and I want to be treated with respect.  Which perhaps is to say that it seems quite formal to me.  Formal, modest, and slightly self-effacing (on the whole, although there is this new trend here in fancy jilbabs complete with sparkles and and whole flowers attached to the side, etc.).

So I have only seen these women, who are so friendly and kind, in this formal way.  But seeing them in their aerobics clothes was a whole different story.  We  crowded into another one of the classrooms, giggling and changing, and while they all started in their formal blue school uniforms with hair and ears covered, they emerged into a rainbow of work out gear and hair styles.  I was surprised--Bu Erfie has short hair!  Bu Novie looks totally different in a ponytail!--and delighted by the outfits.  There were plunging necklines.  There were crop tops. There were skintight stretch pants decorated with little bows. Ibu Anis had a unitard with hot neon pink and black stripes and geometric shapes with a built in sports bra.

It felt like a privilege to be invited into this women's realm and see a more relaxed and intimate side to them.... Plus I hadn't done the grapevine in a while!

Bought!

Khadir bought a new car, a 1962 all black Holden (of course).  I love this car and secretly wish that it was mine.  I don't know if you can see in the photo, that it says "Special" on the side in silver script.  It drives like a dream and has awesome all-original interior apolstery.  Apholstery.  Apohlstery.  How the heck do you spell that.

While he is intending to resell it, it arrived just in time for the rainy season, so we have been driving it around a bunch rather than taking the motorcycle.  It's true that on one particular occasion it's gas pedal literally fell off while we were waiting at a stoplight meaning that we spent a lot more time at the stoplight than we intended to while Khadir figured out how to reattach it, but it's so smooth and stylish. Did I mention that I secretly wish it was mine?

Meanwhile, Tucker, the blue Holden station wagon, which is occasionally rented out, had a starring role in tonight's episode of a serial soap opera called Pergi untuk Kerja, Pulang Karena Cinta (Left Home For Work, Came Back Home For Love).

Karimun Jawa

Last weekend I felt like I needed a break, so Khadir and I decided to take a trip to Karimun Jawa, a scattering of small islands off the Northern coast of Central Java.  The trip had its ups and downs; the major down was that due to some miscommunication (and a heavy dose of an Indonesian cultural aversion to things like scheduling and planning and a cultural preference for things like last-minute improvisation and finagleing), a trip that was supposed to take 4.5 hours of comfortable travel each way ended up taking about 12 each way, 6 hours of which were spent on the deck of a ferry in the blazing hot sun and 8 of which were spent in middle-of-the-night travel (which I feel like I am really too old for but Indonesians of all ages seem to enjoy).

In this picture we are feeling really hot, aka, cranky and burned by the sun.

The major ups included the views from our hotel, which was built like a floating raft in the middle of the sea and required a boat to get to.

The water off the Western side of the hotel was so shallow that you could climb down a small ladder and wade all the way out to a small island with a beach rife with mangroves and white firs, one of which Khadir immediately climbed.

We took a day trip traveling around to different islands and beaches and snorkeling.  We shared the boat with some additional Indonesian guests which meant that the other ladies on the boat were wearing modest swimwear, ie, a head to toe unitard complete with socked feet, aquaman hood and/or jilbab head covering and flouncy skirt and life jacket.

The last beach of the day was the best, with aquamarine water approaching it, crystal clear warm shallows and pure white sand.  Khadir and I wandered away from the boat on a shell-hunting mission and met an adorable set of little boys who popped out from between some palm trees.  It turned out they were brothers and lived on the island.  They first helped us find shells to add to our collection and then joined us for a swim.  Khadir taught them how to do backflips, and we left them just as the younger brother had loosened a gigantic beach vine, about 20 feet long, and tied one end of it around his older brother's waist and was grasping the other end, making him pull him along in the water.

On our way home we took a break from endless boat and bus transfers to visit Khadir's friend Erci and her little five month old baby in Semarang.  We were actually rounding a corner on our way to the house when we ran into Erci's mom, who herself had just arrived from an overnight bus journey home from attending a wedding in Bali.  We were showered with friendliness and all kinds of food to eat and bring home with us.

So, I couldn't really call the trip relaxing, but it was worth it.  Indonesia always manages to provide moments of sparkling magic and beauty, as well as experiences of succor and levels of kindness and warmth that you generally only get from your closest friends and family in the States.... but it also sometimes really makes you work for these moments.

Sold!

Khadir has a mild obsession with vintage cars and motorcycles (as you guys might remember from the blue Holden Tucker).  This seves as a hobby business for him, as he is very clever at buying the vehicles at low prices, rehabbing them, and selling them at a significant profit. 

His most recent turn-around was another lovely maroon and white Holden, which secretly I didn’t want him to sell as it is actually a smoother ride than my namesake.  After weeks of telephone negotiations with various potential buyers he sold to a guy in Makassar (which is in Sulawesi, a whole other island, so don’t ask me how it’s getting there) who bought it to celebrate his impending nuptials.

Here are two shots of the car, displayed outside a friend’s house.  I’ll let you guess how much it sold for, but the answer is… not that much more than what Topher got for my dinky (but great!) little Ford Focus.  I think there would be a potential for a really profitable import business buying vintage cars in Indonesia and selling them in the United States, the only problem is the steering wheels are all on the wrong side…?

World's Cutest (and perhaps Shortest) Beatles Fans

Last week I stopped by  a local elementary school, SD Muhammadiyah Bangutapan, that provides inclusion for a number of children that also study and play gamelan at Bina Anggita.  I love this school (you may remember some pictures from when I visited last year).  It is the cleanest, brightest, most welcoming place, led by a great principal Pak Heri.  It is not every public school in Indonesia that accepts kids with special needs (there are some laws in place defending every child's right to education but the implementation is not yet really regulated) yet he has made it one of his priorities. 

Anyway, some of the students were rehearsing for an upcoming performance.  They were practicing a song about national pride, but then one of them asked me if I liked the Beatles.  Turns out the sixth grade girls are in the throes of Beatlemania.  I told them about my mother going to see the Beatles at Carnegie hall, getting lost and accidentally walking into their dressing room and meeting them in person (this story turns out to be mostly untrue, or at least, it happened to my mom's friend and not her herself, but I have been telling as fact for years now) and the girls almost fainted.  We then sang "Yesterday" together.

Here is a picture of them looking at their most composed and self-assured.  I only wish the photo did justice to how truly petite they are.

 

Monggo Monggo!! My Welcoming Neighborhood

I know that you guys wanted to see pictures of the house and where I live.  I’m holding off on pictures of the house because Khadir is currently in a fever of home improvement and decoration, so walls are being painted, furniture is being rearranged, plants and small trees keep rolling in so that the backyard is starting to resemble a tropical jungle,  and yesterday he bought literally 20 or more terra cotta pots to be used as planters and traditional Javanese water receptacles.  I feel like there must be a better English word for “water receptacles.”  Perhaps what I am looking for is, jug?  A pot with a spout?  I’ve only been in Indonesia for a little over a month and my English vocabulary is starting to suffer.

However, I can share with you some pictures that I’ve taken from my afternoon walks.  Despite my beloved yoga studio where I am already a regular, and my occasional dips in hotel pools, I haven’t been getting that much exercise here, which was making me feel kind of sluggish and cranky.  So last week or so I asked Khadir to take me on a neighborhood walk, and it turns out that not that far from the house there is a naturally occurring river, that is diverted into small irrigation channels, that you can follow for a long time until it reaches a larger irrigation river, which was built by the dutch and is called a “slogan.” 

This pathway takes you through acres and acres of cultivated fields, squared off and worked on by villagers, seemingly most of whom are Khadir’s family, neighbors, and friends.  There are ponds for decorative fish and fish for eating, fields of wheat, bushes sprouting hot chili peppers, orange trees, herbs, vegetables, rice, and more.  It’s like a highly organized complex of lush fertility.  And, I’m not sure why, perhaps because of the way they water the fields, the ground is shaped into swells, where sometimes the whole plot of land is slightly depressed by about a foot and a half, surrounded by an elevated footpath, and the plants are set in rows on top of regular, gentle swells of earth.  So walking through it is kind of like walking through waves of land, if that makes sense.  You can jump or sometimes roll from one to the next, depending on the size of the swell.  It would literally be heaven for a young child to roam free in. 

My street:

A Neighbor: Giant Bamboo, Tiny Grandma

Fish ponds

Fields of Food

Now every couple of days I make Khadir escort me on this route.  I like going with him, because as my friend Q once rightfully said, “the Indonesians are so dang welcoming” and they really like to talk to you when you are out for your late afternoon constitutional. Everybody greets you in the friendliest of ways, which means that when I walk by myself I am constantly responding to a stream of questions, “Where are you going?  Where do you live?  Why are you walking so fast?  Where are you from?  Can you speak Indonesian?  Are you in school?  How old are you?”  and, quite often, “Would you like to come over to my house?”

I find it often endearing and often tiring.  I used to think it was just me and my glaring exotic difference that elicited this kind of response, but it’s totally not the case.  When Khadir is out with me he is greeted with a similar chorus, except often in lively teasing and scolding Javanese, and sometimes his conversations quickly turn to local economic transactions and gossip: how’s his fish pond doing?  How is his uncle’s vegetable business?  How’s his mom?  He greets everyone with what seems like genuine pleasure.  Still, I remember last year when my friend Uni would sometimes give me a ride to or from her house, from the driver’s side she would be politely nodding her head, smiling, and greeting every single neighbor she passed on the way so that by the time she got to the main road she would turn to me and say, “I’m exhausted.”

If you’re not up for too much conversation, or if you don’t know who you are passing by, the most simplest exchange in Javanese is this:

“Monggo?”

“Monggo, monggo!”

Which means, loosley, “May I?” or, “Do I have permission to pass you by?” and the answer, “Oh please, go ahead, go ahead!”  “Monggo!” is often also used to invite people to drink, rest, whatever.  It’s often said in what I interpret to be a jubilant tone.

So, until pictures of the house are up, monggo, enjoy a sneak preview of a section of the back wall near the fish pond.

We also have four different frogs that live in that pond, and a family of ducks that visits.