unwrinkled weekends

What time is it?

2009-07-20T06:05:00.000-07:00

“What time do you close today?” I ask one of the guards outside the driver’s license building in west Jakarta. We were shooting the breeze as I stood waiting for my taxi. He said that they close the doors at noon, but don’t lock up until everyone who passed through the doors before then gets taken care of. That was at 11:48 a.m.

As “waiting” is nearly a schedulable activity here, I get to do a lot of people watching. It takes less than a minute to realize the guards enjoy their walkie-talkies like six year olds. My new friend called the front entrance, instructing them to send an arriving Blue Bird taxi straight to our building. That was nice of him. Earlier when I was asking this same guard for directions to an office, that office walkie-talkie-ed down to say they were sending someone to get me. He told them I was at the front door with him, then repeated a couple of times in English into his walkie-talkie, “Ms. Karen is bee-u-ti-fool.” That was unnecessary—but everyone likes to practice their English, however limited it is. A little later he broadcasted something about a fat policeman. And then his friend replied, from three feet away, into his own walkie-talkie. That was plain boredom taking over.

By 12:12 p.m., I was sitting with the guards, still waiting for my taxi. A group of confused young men came up to ask questions about where they needed to go; they were told to see someone inside. I ask the officer again, “What time do you close?” He responded, “Twelve o’clock, noon.” Puzzled, I looked at his watch, said something about it being after noon, and then gestured to the wide open doors. “Well,” he said, “it’s all relative. You know, flexible.” He went on to explain, “If they really did shut the doors at noon, the people who show up after 12:00 will be disappointed that they can’t get in.” Seems to be a reasonable enough explanation. I tried to figure out who has the final say on when to shut the doors, but my Indonesian failed me. This flexibility, however, explains why even though the officers, “don’t let people in after noon, [they] don’t get to go home sometimes until 5 p.m.”

Unlike in the States, my cell phone doesn’t connect with any official world time satellite sync-up system, so I never know what “the real” time is. Nor does anyone else in this country it seems. The clocks in taxis are always 8, 9, 10 minutes behind (even though they show up 10 minutes early when you request a pick up at your house—but not at the driver’s license building). A few nights ago, I met up with friends to go play pool. I sat on the side of the road for nearly twenty minutes, waiting. My friend’s cell phone was 9 minutes behind mine. No one really worries about exact time, or if they do, you just hope your clock is in sync with theirs.

Fish Food

2009-04-26T07:49:00.000-07:00

While in Jakarta, I have been enjoying the nearly surreal life of an expat—like getting my feet exfoliated by fish. Flesh eating fish, that don’t have any teeth. They do, must, have a set (I assume fish have sets) of power lungs because they suck the dead skin right off! It only takes 5 minutes or so to get used to the sensation which I can only explain as either the pricking feeling you have when you feet have fallen asleep, or the feeling of grains of sand from a strong gust of wind striking against your skin. It certainly isn’t painful, but I didn’t find it relaxing. The idea, more than anything—you know, fish actually nibbling on your toes, and ankles and calves—is what takes getting used to. But hey, it only cost like 7 bucks.

Sarting out with a splash

2009-02-25T02:53:00.000-08:00

I arrived in Jakarta Tuesday afternoon and headed directly to the Herstein's where I am staying for the next a couple of weeks. Jon Herstein and I became friends at Harvard in 2000 and I got to know if wife, Briton, too. Jon is currently working in Jakarta for RTI, a US NGO. I got to their beautiful home and within an hour I was in the backyard swimming pool, even though I wasn't dressed for it. Carter (4 years) and Caiden (1.5 years) and Briton went for a little swim. I was going to join, them but it took too long for me to figure out which suitcase my swimsuit was in. When I finally came out of the bathroom dressed for action, Carter informed me that they had finished swimming. So I changed back and then went outside to join them as they ate their snacks. Carter then decided he wanted to swim again. However, he didn't quite get his arm floaties on tightly; one floated off his arm as he started to splash around. Needless to say, he freaked out a little and as he tried to grab it, he took himself into a deeper end where he couldn't touch. When he started yelling for help, I, being the closest adult around, jumped into the pool and waded nearly up to my shoulders to grab him. He hadn't swallowed any water, but he got a good scare. What a start to my year here.

I am happy to be here with Jon and Briton and their family. I will stay with them for two weeks as I run around getting the right visas, research permits, and IDs. Then I will go to Malaysia for a Fulbright conference. Once I return, I'll find a little room for rent in the center of Jakarta for the rest of the month.

Taxi?

2008-08-16T01:46:00.000-07:00

Thought you would enjoy this picture. I rent my 'motor' (a car is called a 'mobil') for a month at a time, and when I headed to Jakarta, it was time to return the motor for a checkup, etc. So I decided to drop the motor off and catch a taxi to the airport from there. Pak Parno, (the one in the photo, also the gatekeeper/security gaurd), Mbak Mifa (one the maids), and I had a good laugh as I tried to figure out the best way to carry everything. They were trying to tell me to put the large bag between my feet. But then that didn't fit. Then we joked about balancing it on the handle bars, or me resting my feet on the handle bars since there wouldn't be any room for them if we did finally get the bag on the floorboard. In the end, I opted for strapping both bags to my body. Please note the 'Sport Center' in the background. A dirt field I sometimes see kids playing soccer in. This is also the space where Pak Parno raises his chickens and has a little open air shed to store his becak (rickshaw Indonesia-style) which you can see behind him to the right.

Sunday Afternoon in the Park

2008-08-16T01:00:00.000-07:00

I have been in Jakarta for a week. Since I’ve already seen just about everything there is to see in the city or care to see (there are countless huge, and I mean huge, pricey malls with Tiffany & Co. and Armani stores—it’s as if the malls are trying to make up for the lack of green space in the city by providing some kind of gathering place for people. I think one of the national pastimes in the large cities here is walking through malls), I headed out of town to Bogor, a small town 45 minutes away by train. Laureen, a graduate student who just arrived to do a 4 month internship with UNESCO, and I headed straight for Bogor’s botanical gardens. The shade and break from street noise was a treat. We were going to sit on a bench and read our books or write in our journals for a few hours, but we ended up talking the entire time instead.

This photo is one of those classic photos where Indonesians like to have their pictures taken with foreigners. It’s a bit blurry, but then again, we got what we paid for. I really enjoy seeing the style of the younger generation--pegged jeans and converse shoes. Perhaps most noticeable in this picture by the guy in the purple sweatshirt, but guys here often have quite stylish haircuts with longer bangs, and shaggy (but controlled) sideburns or spiked (but don't think punker or anything) hair. They definitely take time do something with their hair each morning.

We grabbed the last train home. It was impressive to see how the beggars, musicians, and hawkers had it down to a science. The footage below is of one of several musicians that came into our car as we were waiting for the train to take off. You will notice this is a group effort—a guitarist/lead singer, an electric guitarist (note the portable amplifier), the kid they hired to carry the amplifier from car to car (he is the one on the outside of the train lingering on the left side of the door who hid each time my camera pointed in his direction), and the drummer. Others to notice are a drink and snack vendor who his preparing his bucket of goodies out on the platform before entering the train, the man selling newspapers, and the blind man who slowly made his way down the aisle asking for a donation (his back is to the camera since he had already passed us, the newspaper man walks around him). My favorite was the kid standing on the seat holding on to the rings overhead. I was secretly hoping he would launch himself into the aisle and swing back and forth so I could vicariously fulfill my own urge, but he never did.

As I write this entry for posting later, I am again on a train. But I am heading back to Jogja. This time the ride is 8 hours. After 3 hours, I am already wishing it was over. Not that I can complain; it is clean and I don’t have to stand I the aisle, and it is unlikely I will be robbed if/when I fall asleep. This ride was $23 as opposed to a $60-$90 one hour flight. (Was it worth it? No comment.) We left Jakarta at 8 pm and will arrive in Jogja at 4 am.

A Night on the Beach

2008-08-16T00:12:00.000-07:00

Indonesia does not lack for national holidays. In an effort to be a religious country without an official religion, it celebrates all religious holidays (well at least the 5 recognized religions: Islam, Christianity, Buddhism, Hinduism, and Confucianism--or Confucianism isn't one of them and Christianity is divided into Protestant and Cathlic--it's kind of confusing). For the most recent national holiday, which was on a Wednesday, a group of us spent the night on a beach. Java aint Bali. The beaches around Jogja are known for being rough, unpredictable and consequently dangerous. This is all explained by the local legend of the Sea Goddess who lurks in the surf, waiting for people to come near the water, then launches huge waves to pull them down to her lair, and if they are men, they become her concubines. She is particularly attracted to the color green, so people going to the beach are often told not to wear anything green. There are several cases where people actually have been washed out to sea from the beach and never seen again. Needless to say, I didn’t even bring my swimsuit for this trip.
We had perfect weather. Our rented sleeping bags were quite thin and rightfully so. In the morning around 6, while most of the other Americans continued to sleep, the Indonesians and a few of Americans took a misty walk down the beach.

We passed a fishing village—there may have been more boats than houses. Around 8 am, they were coming in with their morning catch.

By the time we walked back past them, they had had already emptied their boats and were carrying them to higher ground on the beach.

Then we ate breakfast. I took a bite of my apple and dipped it in some peanut butter. I got some strange looks, so I offered them a taste. Suddenly everyone was taking a big bite out the apple, then dipping it in the peanut butter. It was a hit! One friend thought I was genius for coming up with the combination, but then Jake filled them in that it was a common snack for kids.

After breakfast we took a walk along the beach in the opposite direction before heading home. I was concerned that spending the night on the beach was going to turn my sore throat into a cold, but it was the air conditioning blowing in my face during the drive home that did me in. Every time I come to Indonesia, I get at least one cold. The sun and weather wear me out and then combining that with air conditioning, it always does me in.

Rice vs. Wheat

2008-08-05T02:32:00.000-07:00

There is a Javanese saying: “If you didn’t eat rice, you didn’t have a meal.” Vegetables, soup, tofu, eggs, and even fish and other meats are side dishes to rice. Rather than a cake, pie or some extravagant dessert, fried rice is served to celebrate a special occasion. This dish features yellow rice that has been packed into a mold that looks like an upside-down ice cream cone. Chicken or other various foods circle the base of the rice mound/cone. The person being honored cuts off the top of the rice cone and gives it to the most important person in his or her life who is attending (talk about pressure, I mean, do you choose a parent, spouse, or someone else?). McDonalds serves rice with it’s chicken. Orders for hamburgers or chicken sandwiches at McDonalds are rare enough that they are not pre-prepared, but made to order. Last week I group of friends spent the night on the beach. I showed up with bread, jam and peanut butter for dinner. My Indonesian friends brought cooked rice wrapped/packaged in banana leaves.

Breads are not very common. So much so that when I taught Raras and Dimas how to make pancakes, we had to check to see if there was any flour in the house. The driver had to make a run to who knows how many stores to find baking powder.
We used box milk—I don’t think I have ever seen milk sold here in pints, let alone gallons. I guess you don’t need that much milk if you are eating rice instead of cereal for breakfast.

The well-worn wooden spoon was used to flip the pancakes since they didn’t have any spatulas.

We ate our pancakes with a Blue Bonnet margarine knock-off—the color and consistency of really smooth yellow play dough—, some jam, grated cheese or/and chocolate cake sprinkles (a common topping for toast if it is ever made). The pancakes were a success, even without maple syrup.

Mount Merapi

2008-07-06T20:07:00.000-07:00

One of the most amazing hikes of my life. It didn’t start off so well, but I am so glad I pushed through. Laura, a friend I met at the language school (who also happens to be PhD students at Columbia—thank you, Indonesia, for bringing up together!), decided it would be smart to eat a large pasta dinner to sustain us through the 5 plus hour hike up. Little did I know that I would get carsick and lose most of that dinner before the hike even began. By the time we got to base camp, I was still feeling a little queasy. We started hiking at 12:30 a.m. After throwing up again 45 minutes into the hike and then rubbing Chinese oil on my stomach, I started feeling better. We hiked in the light of a full moon. It was perfect weather. Starting at 1700 meters, the hike was around 12 kilometers one way, ending at 2968 meters. Our guides were not the ordinary guides. A teacher at the school helped to arrange the hike. She set us up with her friends, who happen to be professionally trained. They love to hike, but they don't earn their living taking people up the mountain. When I say professionally trained, I mean, one has hiked Mt. Everest and he’s also on an international search and rescue team. He, fortunately, is also a photographer for Reuters. Just as an FYI, non-alkaline batteries don’t last long in the cold. I only got three pictures taken before my newly purchased batteries ran out. The pictures for this entry are all Rio’s (selected from the 500 plus pictures he took).

Given my condition, we weren’t hiking very quickly, but we went steadily. At the base of the last stretch, an hour scramble over often loose, gravely lava rock with no vegetation in sight, we stopped to rest. We had some bread and something hot to drink. It was nice to rest a bit longer than normal, but, of course, it was much colder so we huddled around the small portable stove used to heat the water.

After about 30 minutes, we started again. The sun popped over the horizon just as we were reaching the top of the old crater.
We then went on another 10 minutes to the active one. It was a beautiful sunrise. And to top it off, directly opposite of the sun, the full moon still hung in the crisp morning sky.

It was an amazing site to see. The constant plume of smoke streaming out the top of Mt. Merapi can been seen for miles below if the sky is clear. The sight of the rugged mountain top with smoke coming out of crevices and yellow and light green sulfur deposits caked on to various ridges was pure delight. The vistas were breathtaking. Early in the morning it was clearer and we could see the valley below. Later in the morning, neighboring volcanoes looked like islands in a sea of low clouds.
After taking pictures, they guys fixed us a delicious fried rice and egg breakfast. We hung out on the top for a couple of hours and just goofed around.

A young couple also made the hike that morning. It was the first hike for the wife. And it was the first time I had seen a woman wearing a headscarf and hiking boots. At the top, I was talking with the couple for a bit and then asked if they wanted me to take a picture of them together. They agreed and then it became clear to me that they thought I had suggested they take a picture of me, with their camera. Why would they agree to such an offer, you ask? Well, it's quite common for foreigners to be asked to be in photos with locals. At tourist spots, I've been asked by teenagers and adults alike to pose in pictures with them. I quickly clarified, and then took a few pictures of them.

The decent was 3 hours.

My feet were dead by the time we got back to the base. But it was so amazing I am tempted to go again. Anyone want to come?

Rubber Time and Waiting

2008-07-06T19:43:00.000-07:00

A lot of waiting goes on in Indonesia. Jam karet, or rubber time, sums up the attitude about starting on time. Generally people are not in a hurry and often arriving ‘on time’ has different meanings. So, you often have to wait. Of course, my school starts on time, and businesses generally open and close at the times posted on the door. But for the informal gatherings, you never know when people are going to show up. The word for yesterday can also be used to refer to sometime in the short future. So if someone says, "I'll call you tomorrow," I automatically think literally in one day. So sometime I end up waiting days for a call. On the flip side, since people generally are not rich enough to own multiple scooters, there is a lot of hanging around for family members who are in meetings or who are coming to pick you up from something. There is often friendly chatter during these periods of biding time, but after so long, you inevitably fall into silence. The picture here was taken of women in a lull of silence as they waited for their husbands who were in a leadership meeting after church.

Staying Healthy in Jogja

2008-07-06T19:19:00.000-07:00

“Why do I do this to myself?!” I ask in my mind as I lay face down on my bed, the inside of my heel being deeply kneaded by Ibu Kendah, a middle aged woman with a grip that could rival superman’s. At the time I set up the appointment, I thought it would be worth trying reflexology for my back pain. After two hours of not so pleasant stretches of massaging on my feet, legs, arms, hands, back, neck, head and even ears (even that was a little painful!), my back feels better. Even if this relief lasts, I’m not ready to call in for a follow-up appointment. Pak Pri (the father of the family I live with) as well as Dimas (the 7 year old boy of the family) decided to ‘enjoy’ a message as well before Ibu Kendah returned home. Dimas’ message was just a quick one to help with his bed wetting problems.

While we, Ibu Kendah, Ibu Wati, Pak Pri and I were waiting for Ibu Kendah’s husband to pick her up, we talked about different ailments and treatments. Ibu Kendah is currently giving reflexology treatments to a woman for fertility problems. Pak Pri relayed the story of a friend’s wife successful fertility treatment: 6 administrations of bee stings. The doctor carefully took individual bees and stung the woman in specific places on her body. Following each treatment the woman would have a fever for a few days. Last year while at a friend’s house, I noticed a small plastic sandwich bag with one corner inflated and tied off. After looking closely at the debris in it, I saw a few tiny hard-shelled bugs crawling through the dirt. My friend explained they were to be made into a tea to treat her husband’s diabetes. In the bird market I visited a few weeks ago, there were bats and lizards for sell—not to become pets, but rather to be used for medicinal purposes.

A lizard shish kabob moderates high blood pressure. One of my teachers mentioned that her mother’s rash was healed with a tea made from a lizard.
A bat shish kabob generates quick healing of a wound if you were a diabetic. Drinking the blood and eating the heart of an older bat will solve your liver problems.

Fortunately for me, if do become sick there are great hospitals in town. I visited Dimas a few weeks ago at one of the best. He was there for a week with a lung infection, and I believe all of his food was for nourishment rather than treatment. It is a very clean hospital run by a Catholic organization. The crucifixes in each room seemed a little out of place in this Muslim country; the nurses’ uniforms, slim-fitting, white knee-length dresses topped off with those white hats that look like they are made from crisp folded paper, seemed an anachronism. It seems I am constantly walking seamlessly across a swirled cross section of the last 100 years here.

“Mexico has the most beautiful women in the world.”

2008-06-13T02:11:00.000-07:00

Mexico has the most beautiful women in the world. So goes the opinion of one of my teachers. This is his belief after watching who knows how many Miss Universe Pageants. I don’t even remember the last time I watched a Miss Universe Pageant. My teacher went on to explain that here in Indonesia, a Muslim country, it is a controversial competition since the contestants wear bikinis (and just in case I wasn’t understanding his Indonesian, he cupped his hands and held them over his chest at this point in the conversation). He then apologized in advance and went on to say that he quite enjoyed watching the pageant. I found it humorous when 10 minutes later as we were studying the prefix for “too”, he used the examples, “my pants are too tight” which were adorned with an American Idol belt buckle, and “your shirt is too big."

I am spending 4 to 6 hours a day in private classes studying Bahasa Indonesia at Wisma Bahasa, a small private language school. It is an impressive program. Students vary from World Bank, UN, USAID, AusAID (Australia's USAID type agency) employees, to the European type Peace Corps program participants, to students like me. Last week there was a whole family here, young kids in one class and the parents in another. Students study for 3 days, 2 weeks, 4 months; whatever they need. I'm quite happy with my classes, and the unexpected conversations that come with them.

“You look strange.”

2008-06-13T02:06:00.000-07:00

Raras, the 12 year old girl in the family I live with, said, “You look strange,” when she saw my picture on this blog. When asked why, she said, “ You look different.” It’s true. In this country, I don’t look much like I do in that picture. I have frizzed hair from the humidity, then add the helmet hair factor, and more often than not, I look like a rat dragged out floodwaters. I try to compensate for bad hair with cute outfits, but it’s not a real solution. I could invest in a hairdryer and straightening iron made for this electrical system. A local friend is ordering a straightening iron for herself from a salon (the stuff you get in town isn’t so good apparently), but $100 is a little too much for me even if it has some kind of infrared light feature. Maybe it would be worth it if it would eliminate the daily questions of “Are you tired?” It may sound far-fetched, but I do look less tired with straight hair around my face. Regardless, Raras prefers me looking like a tired, waterlogged rat. Bless her little heart.

Smooth Transitions and Unwrinkled Weekends

2008-06-08T04:57:00.000-07:00

While pulling away form the house Friday morning on my recently rented scooter, I realized: I like smooth transitions. I have no affinity for jerking stops and starts in a vehicle, like the airport shuttle driver whose driving made me car sick as we lurched our way through Manhattan and Brooklyn to JFK last week. I like to give just enough gas to accelerate as I come off a speed bump to smoothly pick up speed and then let off just enough to slow down with precise timing to hit the next speed bump without having to brake noticeably. A fluid ebb and flow of speed. That’s the ideal. I figure after another week I will have it down. And, if I can do it smoothly, I may go unnoticed by the locals. All the better since I don’t like making a spectacle of myself.

If there’s a potentially touchy subject I want to broach, I unusually ease into the topic. Unlike traveling preferences, I am fine if someone else abruptly jumps into a new topic; I’m just not capable of quickly starting a sensitive conversation without a clumsy entrance. I rehearse in my mind different opening lines, vetting the options for most tact and least confrontational tone. The smoother the transition to the topic, the more productive the discussion, I believe.

Seamlessly transporting myself from the life I love in the States to one I will love in Indonesia is the most daunting of transitions at the moment. I’ve yet to find a way to pick up with a full, meaningful life here, especially when my stay is temporary. It’s easy on the weekdays. I head to class early in the morning, study for hours, and enjoy conversations with my teachers and other students. The evenings are short since I’m pretty beat by 9. It’s the weekends that wrinkle the process. I enjoy, need, solitary time; but a weekend of it is too much. There are a few friends around from the last two years, but they are already living full lives. I do live with a family, but there aren’t any heart felt talks or trips to the movie theater together.

When someone leaves, for those left behind, the transition to “life without” isn’t too disruptive because only one of everything that creates a full life has withdrawn. The recovery process is longer for the person who unplugs from nearly all that creates a meaningful life and plugs into a new, undeveloped life. It’s a tricky balancing act: create a meaningful life here, live in the present, and maintain connections to the life that for now is on hold in the States, but in a short while will become my present again.

So, what am I doing to glide over these disruptive weekends (and weeks)? Being more easily mobile via a scooter is one thing. Now I have to get a good map and make myself explore, (which I have never been too inclined to do solo).
Creating a blog. Now I have pressure to do stuff that is post-worthy. Oh yes, I will also be playing hooky Monday mornings, my time, Sunday night your time (time wise, I am 12 hours ahead of Chicago), to be available for instant messaging via yahoo or gmail, skyping (account: kbryner), and taking telephone calls (my cell number: 011 (62) 8180-4255919, if are calling from a cell, you can replace ‘011’ with ‘+’). Also, I am connected to email nearly everyday, so feel free to write anytime! You can call or text message anytime as well if Sunday night doesn’t work for you (I’m in class Mondays 1-5 and Tuesday-Friday 8-3).