I used to think badminton was a game for old ladies. I think that may have something to do with Disney’s Robin Hood. The hen, Clucky, whose famous line is “absence makes the heart go fonder,” is playing badminton and the birdie goes down her shirt. She looks pretty silly hopping around to get it out. Actually, I always identified with her for some reason. But maybe that has something to do with when I was little, and my older brothers and sisters always gave me the undesirable roles to play in our childhood games. Like Clucky, or the ever-eating Chet from the Hardy Boys, or Mr. T from the A-Team. Although, I must admit now that Mr. T is pretty darn awesome. But the point of all these digressions is that badminton is most certainly not a game for old ladies. It is sweet torture.
Now, bear in mind that this is not the first time I’ve ever tried my hand at the sport. Last summer, at the Indonesian language boot camp in Wisconsin, I played every Sunday afternoon. At that time, I thought my comrades were pretty formidable opponents. Not that I think any less of them now, it’s just that those games were all about relaxation and fun. Here, badminton is serious business.
The first day I showed up at the courts, I hit the birdie around a bit with a sympathetic young man. Shortly thereafter, the head trainer came over and told me that if I really wanted to play, I would have to take lessons first. Sadly, I realized the truth of his statement, but was not convinced that this was really the way to go. Did I really want to devote the time to learning the sport properly, given my many other interests at the moment? I mean, shouldn’t I be focusing on Sundanese dance and gamelan? Common sense lost to a passing whim, when the next morning I returned to the badminton courts and asked the cost of lessons. “Let’s play first,” said the trainer, “and then we’ll talk about price.”
Two hours hours, I found myself sitting on a bench, hot, sweaty, and frustrated at my inability to get the proper technique down for the serve. Attempting to replenish my bodily fluids with several bottles of water, I discussed the finer details of life with my teacher. Like, how many more curse words there are in Sundanese than in Indonesian, and why all the English words sound the same, like had, bad, sad and dad. Tentatively, I brought up the question of price again. The teacher only replied that he really wouldn’t feel comfortable charging me for lessons yet, and when I got a lot better, we could attempt the conversation again. I had to laugh; I was so bad, he had to take pity on me and give me lessons for free! So we postponed the question for some unknown day in the future.
That day was today! After three weeks, the instructor told me I have finally reached the beginning of learning how to play badminton. I ran drills for the proper footwork, drills for the serve, and drills for advancing and retreating for three hours, until my arm and legs are ridiculously sore and there is a war wound of a blister on my racket-gripping thumb. In celebration of finally reaching the beginning, I willingly paid my monthly dues, and learned a new Indonesian word, “puas.” In the dictionary, puas means contented, or satisfied, but according to my badminton teacher puas means “lebih daripada perasaan capai” or “even more than the feeling of being tired.” Both seem about right to me.
Friday, December 29, 2006
Iowa Trivia Over Christmas Tales
Congratulations, Iowa, on your 160th anniversary of joining the United States. Unfortunately, I am not up-to-date on Iowa’s main contributions to these fifty states, but I’m sure it’s out-of-this-world wonderful. It probably has to do with corn, not to mention a rather annoying song from the otherwise highly entertaining musical Music Man. Personally, I think the Dar Williams song, Iowa, is much better. I just read that President Hoover was from Iowa, and also Vice President Wallace (Franklin D. Roosevelt). If I’m remembering correctly, I think FDR decide NOT to run with Wallace for his fourth term because he had communist leanings, which eventually led to Truman becoming president. I think I saw that on television though, so don’t quote me on that.
Ok, so on to more recent events…Christmas in Indonesia. Bali was a very nice break from the otherwise bustling city of Bandung. The short story is that I went scuba diving, and spent a couple days on beautiful beaches, listened to my friend’s pop-rock concert, and visited a Hindu temple.
About the trip, I have the following five things to say:
1) Never trust Balinese hawkers when they give you the first 20 prices. The product is really worth about 15% of what they originally say.
2) It’s really easy to meet people in Bali, because everyone either wants you to have a good time because their economy depends on it, or they are on vacation too and want to share in their good time with everyone they meet.
3) Gede is a great name. In the Indonesian language, Gede can mean big, or large, or when in reference to the human body, it is a descriptive term for chunky-shaped. In Balinese, however, it means firstborn. Actually, the Balinese have standardized names for the first five children in the family. Now if you have more than five children, then the sixth child starts the whole cycle all over again. So that means that in my family, we’d have three kids named Gede: Dan, Dalinda, and Desmond. My friend Gede also gave me the nickname Dora, after the cartoon show, which I think I kind of like better than Sinda.
4) I think my favorite part of the trip was the concert. I got to sit on the stage. At first it was amusing to see the friend you remember as being somewhat shy, unabashedly singing in front of tons of people who afterwards want to get his autograph and take their picture with him, and then getting interviewed by the Indonesian Rolling Stone. But the group was great (the name is Letto if you want to find their music online), and it was even nicer catching up afterwards.
5) I love the fact that in Bali, you don’t actually have to know how to swim to learn to scuba dive. Non-swimmers are free to join in, because the vest with the tank also acts as a lifejacket, after all! Hmm…yes, I guess it’s safe enough. The next time I’m in Bali, I really want to go further north up the coast and try scuba diving in a sunken shipwreck site!
So, enough rambling and back to Christmas in Bandung. I exchanged presents with the family I’m living with, even though, as previously stated, they are God-fearing Muslims. For Christmas dinner, we made lasagna and salad and delicious chocolate brownies. Oh, the joys of Western food after a month of rice! Nothing against Indonesian food though. We also watched lots of Christmas movies and went to bed stuffed and exhausted. So, a pretty normal Christmas I think. That is, minus the traditional silly string fight and having tons people around each around two years apart in age. The day after Christmas, I woke up early and called my family in Kingston, where it was still Christmas day due to the easy-to-remember 12 hour time difference, and I actually got to speak to everybody that was there. So, all-in-all, a successful holiday, I think!
Ok, so on to more recent events…Christmas in Indonesia. Bali was a very nice break from the otherwise bustling city of Bandung. The short story is that I went scuba diving, and spent a couple days on beautiful beaches, listened to my friend’s pop-rock concert, and visited a Hindu temple.
About the trip, I have the following five things to say:
1) Never trust Balinese hawkers when they give you the first 20 prices. The product is really worth about 15% of what they originally say.
2) It’s really easy to meet people in Bali, because everyone either wants you to have a good time because their economy depends on it, or they are on vacation too and want to share in their good time with everyone they meet.
3) Gede is a great name. In the Indonesian language, Gede can mean big, or large, or when in reference to the human body, it is a descriptive term for chunky-shaped. In Balinese, however, it means firstborn. Actually, the Balinese have standardized names for the first five children in the family. Now if you have more than five children, then the sixth child starts the whole cycle all over again. So that means that in my family, we’d have three kids named Gede: Dan, Dalinda, and Desmond. My friend Gede also gave me the nickname Dora, after the cartoon show, which I think I kind of like better than Sinda.
4) I think my favorite part of the trip was the concert. I got to sit on the stage. At first it was amusing to see the friend you remember as being somewhat shy, unabashedly singing in front of tons of people who afterwards want to get his autograph and take their picture with him, and then getting interviewed by the Indonesian Rolling Stone. But the group was great (the name is Letto if you want to find their music online), and it was even nicer catching up afterwards.
5) I love the fact that in Bali, you don’t actually have to know how to swim to learn to scuba dive. Non-swimmers are free to join in, because the vest with the tank also acts as a lifejacket, after all! Hmm…yes, I guess it’s safe enough. The next time I’m in Bali, I really want to go further north up the coast and try scuba diving in a sunken shipwreck site!
So, enough rambling and back to Christmas in Bandung. I exchanged presents with the family I’m living with, even though, as previously stated, they are God-fearing Muslims. For Christmas dinner, we made lasagna and salad and delicious chocolate brownies. Oh, the joys of Western food after a month of rice! Nothing against Indonesian food though. We also watched lots of Christmas movies and went to bed stuffed and exhausted. So, a pretty normal Christmas I think. That is, minus the traditional silly string fight and having tons people around each around two years apart in age. The day after Christmas, I woke up early and called my family in Kingston, where it was still Christmas day due to the easy-to-remember 12 hour time difference, and I actually got to speak to everybody that was there. So, all-in-all, a successful holiday, I think!
Monday, December 18, 2006
Shopping
Shopping is sooooo much more fun in Indonesia than America. All you shopaholics…you are missing out if you haven’t been here. I went to the “pasar kaget” (like a farmer’s market, but with tons more stuff) on Sunday. Yes, I skipped church.
But I did to buy krudengs! Sorry Jesus. :) And a krudeng my friend is the easiest kind of jilbab to wear. You just slip it over your head, and wala! Otherwise, with the jilbab you have to mess around with tying it together, and hoping it looks good.
Ok, so back to why shopping in Indonesia is the awesome-possumest, to quote a good friend in Pittsburgh. So, Sunday morning, I left the house a little after 6am, meandered down to the pasar with Ibu Laksmi (my dance teacher). By 8am, I had purchased two stretchy work pants, a long-sleeved shirt, four krudengs of various styles and colors, five socks, and a couple of drinks. How much did I spend for all these goodies? Yes, that’s right, a little under $10. The pants were a little long, and one of the krudengs was a little wide. So this morning I asked the taylor who passes by the house every morning at 9am to hem the pants and sew up the krudeng. How long did that take? 5 minutes. How much did that cost? A dollar. Thank you Indonesia, for showing me the joys of shopping! That it is not always a pain, and boring, and you can never find what you want and when you do find it, you probably can’t afford it.
So, now I am the most fashionable Muslim ever. I have pink, yellow, crème, baby blue, and royal blue krudengs!
Ooh, and on a whim yesterday, I decided to spend the weekend in Bali to see my rock-star friend's performance! I leave on Thursday. :)
But I did to buy krudengs! Sorry Jesus. :) And a krudeng my friend is the easiest kind of jilbab to wear. You just slip it over your head, and wala! Otherwise, with the jilbab you have to mess around with tying it together, and hoping it looks good.
Ok, so back to why shopping in Indonesia is the awesome-possumest, to quote a good friend in Pittsburgh. So, Sunday morning, I left the house a little after 6am, meandered down to the pasar with Ibu Laksmi (my dance teacher). By 8am, I had purchased two stretchy work pants, a long-sleeved shirt, four krudengs of various styles and colors, five socks, and a couple of drinks. How much did I spend for all these goodies? Yes, that’s right, a little under $10. The pants were a little long, and one of the krudengs was a little wide. So this morning I asked the taylor who passes by the house every morning at 9am to hem the pants and sew up the krudeng. How long did that take? 5 minutes. How much did that cost? A dollar. Thank you Indonesia, for showing me the joys of shopping! That it is not always a pain, and boring, and you can never find what you want and when you do find it, you probably can’t afford it.
So, now I am the most fashionable Muslim ever. I have pink, yellow, crème, baby blue, and royal blue krudengs!
Ooh, and on a whim yesterday, I decided to spend the weekend in Bali to see my rock-star friend's performance! I leave on Thursday. :)
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Farewell to Peter/Hello Master of Ceremonies!
Peter, the Australian marketing consultant, returned home today. Apparently, there was a spot of trouble with extending his visa, and rather than paying an exorbitant amount of money, he decided to just leave a few weeks earlier than planned. Before he began his journey though, he passed on a good bit of wisdom to me, such as: the best place to stay when visiting Bali, where to find an oasis of botanical beauty in the center of Bandung, and the schedule of free movie events at the French embassy in Jakarta.
We equivocated over what to buy him as a parting gift, but finally settled upon a Rama-Sinta set of wayang golek (wooden rod puppets used in traditional art/music performances). At the office, they hired caterers, and over the lunchbreak we had a selametan (ceremony) to say goodbye. Now, somehow along the way, I was chosen to be the master of ceremonies! Probably because I’m a native English speaker, although the choice seemed strange, since I had known him the least amount of time. But let the bule speak! (Bule is kind of like gringo, it basically means white person.) Did I mention yet that Indonesian’s love ceremonies? And no ceremony is complete in Indonesia without lots of speeches. Luckily, I’ve been to my fair share of selametans, so I knew what was expected. A lot of thank yous, a couple of jokes, you will be missed, etc. Its all true, but I almost think the ceremony itself is more important than what is said!
Without Peter, the house seems quiet. It’s not that he was even home all that much. But this morning, no one got up at 5:00 to eat breakfast and head to the office. And the office will seem quiet without his constant jokes. Now I am the only bule in Margahayu Raya. The upside of all this, is that I get my old room back, which is lovely, spacious, has a desk for writing, a place for my books, and a clothing rack! Thanks Bila for lending me your room in the meantime!
P.S. Happy Birthday Papa! Happy Birthday Dalinda!
We equivocated over what to buy him as a parting gift, but finally settled upon a Rama-Sinta set of wayang golek (wooden rod puppets used in traditional art/music performances). At the office, they hired caterers, and over the lunchbreak we had a selametan (ceremony) to say goodbye. Now, somehow along the way, I was chosen to be the master of ceremonies! Probably because I’m a native English speaker, although the choice seemed strange, since I had known him the least amount of time. But let the bule speak! (Bule is kind of like gringo, it basically means white person.) Did I mention yet that Indonesian’s love ceremonies? And no ceremony is complete in Indonesia without lots of speeches. Luckily, I’ve been to my fair share of selametans, so I knew what was expected. A lot of thank yous, a couple of jokes, you will be missed, etc. Its all true, but I almost think the ceremony itself is more important than what is said!
Without Peter, the house seems quiet. It’s not that he was even home all that much. But this morning, no one got up at 5:00 to eat breakfast and head to the office. And the office will seem quiet without his constant jokes. Now I am the only bule in Margahayu Raya. The upside of all this, is that I get my old room back, which is lovely, spacious, has a desk for writing, a place for my books, and a clothing rack! Thanks Bila for lending me your room in the meantime!
P.S. Happy Birthday Papa! Happy Birthday Dalinda!
The DT Pesantren
DT (Daarut Tauhiid) is unlike any other pesantren I’ve visited. Instead of a conglomerate of buildings enclosed by four walls, with one entry in and out, Aa Gym built his pesantren one building at a time, buying up land when it became available and when it was needed. The result is that DT reaches into the surrounding neighborhood in northern Bandung like a vine stretching outwards, slowly taking hold of new territory and transforming the adjacent community. I’d been to DT once before, but only got a cursory impression of the pesantren. In 2005, I interviewed a nasyid (Islamic contemporary music) singer and director of the DT radio station. Aside from that, everything I knew about DT is what I had read in books about Aa Gym and “the DT phenomenon.” I’ve since been there twice, and am moving there sometimes this week to be a little closer to my work site.
It’s been just over a week since I met Aa Deda, and got formal permission to begin my work. The angkot (bus/van thing) ride was a terror. It took an hour and a half from my current neighborhood, and let me just tell you, that seat was not comfortable. It’s basically a wooden plank with a bit of plastic covering it. For any trips over an hour, I do not recommend you take an angkot. But the driver told me where to get off and there I was, surrounded by people on a busy main road, with a turnoff into a small alley-like street. My directions were to walk down that road, turn left at the mosque and then ask directions to Aa Deda’s house. Somehow I missed the mosque, and had walked so far I had to take an ojek (motorcyle ride) back, but it really only cost around 30 cents, so I willingly paid my fare. I finally met up with Jim (another anthropological researcher working at the pesantren), after several somewhat frantic calls, each of which went something like this.
“I think I’m here. Where are you?”
“I’m outside the house, and don’t see you. Where exactly are you?”
“Umm, in that case, I have no idea…Let me ask.”
Finally, a nice man who actually knew where Aa Deda lived gave me a motorcycle ride, and Jim walked me into the house. It was extremely casual. Basically, we ate a lot of bakso, and Aa Deda’s wife gave me my first, very own, jilbab, and he gave me my nickname, Teh Sinda, which is short for “Older Sister” Sinda. (Side note: I’ve taken to spelling my name with an S rather than a C, because otherwise, it’s pronounced Dorchinda, which is somehow not the same. It’s a little funny how I feel like this is ok to do in Indonesia, but if someone suggested I respell my last name in the United States to Canout, or Kanout, I would of course flatly refuse. I suppose its because there is no standardized spelling in the US like there is here. A “c” always means “ch.” Or maybe I’m just more flexible in a country where I can barely speak the language!)
After the lunch meeting, Jim accompanied me on a tour around the pesantren, where we met a lot of people and even had a momentary housing search, for when I move closer this week. My first impression was that it was much more conservative than I remembered. It could have had something to do with my attire, but the image portrayed in the media is definitely a modern Islamic community. And it’s true; it is that as well. There are shops lined up between the mosque and it is very much a business center for Aa Gym. But just as in the more conservative pesantren I’ve visited, men will not shake a woman’s hand in greeting. Rather, there is a small bow of acknowledgment with hands clasped together. Women are fully covered, from socks to head, only their face exposed. To some extent, it has a similar feeling as some of the fundamentalist Christian movements on college campuses, where there is a face of modernity, but an even more noticeable undercurrent of religious legalism. Surprisingly, I did notice any reporters, and the atmosphere to me seemed subdued and hushed, rather than the ramai (noisy, crowded) atmosphere I expected, given Aa Gym’s latest foray into the realm of two wives.
It’s been just over a week since I met Aa Deda, and got formal permission to begin my work. The angkot (bus/van thing) ride was a terror. It took an hour and a half from my current neighborhood, and let me just tell you, that seat was not comfortable. It’s basically a wooden plank with a bit of plastic covering it. For any trips over an hour, I do not recommend you take an angkot. But the driver told me where to get off and there I was, surrounded by people on a busy main road, with a turnoff into a small alley-like street. My directions were to walk down that road, turn left at the mosque and then ask directions to Aa Deda’s house. Somehow I missed the mosque, and had walked so far I had to take an ojek (motorcyle ride) back, but it really only cost around 30 cents, so I willingly paid my fare. I finally met up with Jim (another anthropological researcher working at the pesantren), after several somewhat frantic calls, each of which went something like this.
“I think I’m here. Where are you?”
“I’m outside the house, and don’t see you. Where exactly are you?”
“Umm, in that case, I have no idea…Let me ask.”
Finally, a nice man who actually knew where Aa Deda lived gave me a motorcycle ride, and Jim walked me into the house. It was extremely casual. Basically, we ate a lot of bakso, and Aa Deda’s wife gave me my first, very own, jilbab, and he gave me my nickname, Teh Sinda, which is short for “Older Sister” Sinda. (Side note: I’ve taken to spelling my name with an S rather than a C, because otherwise, it’s pronounced Dorchinda, which is somehow not the same. It’s a little funny how I feel like this is ok to do in Indonesia, but if someone suggested I respell my last name in the United States to Canout, or Kanout, I would of course flatly refuse. I suppose its because there is no standardized spelling in the US like there is here. A “c” always means “ch.” Or maybe I’m just more flexible in a country where I can barely speak the language!)
After the lunch meeting, Jim accompanied me on a tour around the pesantren, where we met a lot of people and even had a momentary housing search, for when I move closer this week. My first impression was that it was much more conservative than I remembered. It could have had something to do with my attire, but the image portrayed in the media is definitely a modern Islamic community. And it’s true; it is that as well. There are shops lined up between the mosque and it is very much a business center for Aa Gym. But just as in the more conservative pesantren I’ve visited, men will not shake a woman’s hand in greeting. Rather, there is a small bow of acknowledgment with hands clasped together. Women are fully covered, from socks to head, only their face exposed. To some extent, it has a similar feeling as some of the fundamentalist Christian movements on college campuses, where there is a face of modernity, but an even more noticeable undercurrent of religious legalism. Surprisingly, I did notice any reporters, and the atmosphere to me seemed subdued and hushed, rather than the ramai (noisy, crowded) atmosphere I expected, given Aa Gym’s latest foray into the realm of two wives.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
The best Christmas song ever
I was a little worried about missing Christmas this year. You know, being all Islamic focused and the like. I even made my family listen to Christmas songs before thanksgiving this year. Oh the horrors! But I really thought I’d miss out on all the carols, and I like singing them around the tree every year, especially with the candles all lit up.
But as the lord probably said somewhere in the bible, Fear not, my children! After all, there is nothing to fear but fear itself. If you go to a shopping center, you can still here the same bad versions of Christmas songs here! My personal favorite, which I’ve now heard at least four times, is on Kenny G’s album Wishes (2002). I asked. To quote the famous worst review essay I ever received and had to put a grade on, “I would advice you to go out and buy this album now for soon, it will become too much precious, like a diamond.”
The song you’re looking for is called Auld Lang Syne, (Freedom Mix). It starts out a little freaky, with the chanting of USA! USA! after the two towers fell, followed closely be children’s voices chanting the pledge of allegiance. It is a very eerie effect. I was never creeped out by the pledge before. Trust me, it gets better though, so keep listening. Everybody who ever said anything famous in America gets sampled, from the above FDR quote, to the Martin Luther King Jr., “I have a dream” speech, to Nixon’s resignation. Before the five minutes is over, you even get to hear Clinton say “I did not have sexual relations with that women.” But then turn it off quick after “Al Gore has won the election” followed by Regis saying, “Is that your final answer?”, otherwise you have to hear the creepy children again. And that will just leave you with the heebiegeebies for the rest of the day.
So, the question remains, why is this song popular in Indonesia? I have no idea. Apparently, I was told that December is the Indo-chic month for Muslims to go on hajj. If it weren’t for the endless mirth that fills me every time I hear that song (that is, those times that I am able to go to my special happy place before the return of the pledge), I wouldn’t really blame them.
So, where to spend Christmas this year? I’m not sure yet. It somehow doesn’t feel like it’s really Christmas so far away from my family.
Oh, and if you’re curious about what that other album it is that you should buy, look for Tarkan, German born, Turkish singer. Apparently:
“When you hear him singing, you feel as if you are in a dream which you don’t want to wake up. He is so handsome, attractive and he has got a perfect voice. When young girls see the total of these quality from him they makes him their idol and they sleep with Tarkan and they wake up with Tarkan.”
If only he didn’t have that one pesky problem…. “He didn’t speak well English.” For shame!
But as the lord probably said somewhere in the bible, Fear not, my children! After all, there is nothing to fear but fear itself. If you go to a shopping center, you can still here the same bad versions of Christmas songs here! My personal favorite, which I’ve now heard at least four times, is on Kenny G’s album Wishes (2002). I asked. To quote the famous worst review essay I ever received and had to put a grade on, “I would advice you to go out and buy this album now for soon, it will become too much precious, like a diamond.”
The song you’re looking for is called Auld Lang Syne, (Freedom Mix). It starts out a little freaky, with the chanting of USA! USA! after the two towers fell, followed closely be children’s voices chanting the pledge of allegiance. It is a very eerie effect. I was never creeped out by the pledge before. Trust me, it gets better though, so keep listening. Everybody who ever said anything famous in America gets sampled, from the above FDR quote, to the Martin Luther King Jr., “I have a dream” speech, to Nixon’s resignation. Before the five minutes is over, you even get to hear Clinton say “I did not have sexual relations with that women.” But then turn it off quick after “Al Gore has won the election” followed by Regis saying, “Is that your final answer?”, otherwise you have to hear the creepy children again. And that will just leave you with the heebiegeebies for the rest of the day.
So, the question remains, why is this song popular in Indonesia? I have no idea. Apparently, I was told that December is the Indo-chic month for Muslims to go on hajj. If it weren’t for the endless mirth that fills me every time I hear that song (that is, those times that I am able to go to my special happy place before the return of the pledge), I wouldn’t really blame them.
So, where to spend Christmas this year? I’m not sure yet. It somehow doesn’t feel like it’s really Christmas so far away from my family.
Oh, and if you’re curious about what that other album it is that you should buy, look for Tarkan, German born, Turkish singer. Apparently:
“When you hear him singing, you feel as if you are in a dream which you don’t want to wake up. He is so handsome, attractive and he has got a perfect voice. When young girls see the total of these quality from him they makes him their idol and they sleep with Tarkan and they wake up with Tarkan.”
If only he didn’t have that one pesky problem…. “He didn’t speak well English.” For shame!
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Ulang Tahun's (warning this is not about the land of Indo)
It is now Tuesday, December the 13th. Yesterday was John Jay's birthday! Happy Birthday John Jay! A very important American, that fellow. I was just plain cruddy and didn’t send Deanna any birthday wishes. I meant to write about it last time, but then I got all distracted with snow and jilbabs and such. I kind of suck at this birthday thing. I always remember early in the day, and then do nothing about it, and so am filled with guilt for 365 days, until next year, when I try to rectify it, but then its like I’m trying to make up for something, which gets in the way of the birthday wish in the first place. Unless you’re Dietrich, in which case I call you really early in the morning the day of your birthday and probably wake you up to ask silly D&D questions, but don’t actually remember it’s your birthday until the day is almost over. So, Deanna, my eldest sister, this entry is especially for you. Happy Birthday! May your ears always be clean and your nose never run. I will visit you in Alaska one day. I hope you got lots of presents!
Thursday, December 7, 2006
So, about that research…
My research has taken an interesting turn when the fellow I’m here to work with, Aa Gym, decided to take a second wife, scandalizing the Muslim world in Bandung. What made it so shocking was that he was actually married legally three months ago, and the press only found out when someone in his personal circle leaked the story to the newspapers just a week ago. People’s reactions have been pretty diverse, but I think the majority are very disappointed in him. But on the other hand, everyone wants to talk about him right now. Plus, he’s in all the tabloids! Personally, I figure I’ll give him time to deal with his personal matters before I bother him with my pesky questions about music. Instead, I’m on my way to meet with his brother today, who is the director of his business, Managemen Qolbu. Don’t worry mom, I’ll be wearing jilbab (headscarf). Time is of the essence though, because Aa Gym is leaving on hajj in two weeks. I think for a month. So, I want to make sure I get his blessing before I wander around his pesantren (Islamic boarding school) while he’s gone.
Dunia Salju
So, the question arises, what do you exoticize when you live in a tropical paradise? Snow!!! One of my friends, who used to tutor me in Bahasa Indonesia, Nanik, also just moved to Bandung, so we did what typical Indonesians do and met up at the Bandung Super Mall (BSM). However, the BSM is also the current site of a traveling exhibit called “Dunia Salju” (the world of snow). Curious, we decided to check it out. It was essentially a big room, with ice sculptures and mini igloos. What you’re supposed to do, is go inside and appreciate being freezing. Personally, I think it’s slightly crazy myself. Once I couldn’t feel my face anymore, I was ready to go. But Nanik was really excited about the feeling, which was actually really cute. So we stayed a long, long…long time. It was ok though, once I had resigned myself to frostbite. They had ice-slides to go down. I showed the pictures to Fauzan, the most recent five year old kid I have taken to terrorizing, and he is really excited to go. So, I think I’m in for double-cold duty.
Planetary Orbits
I really like the neighborhood I’m living in. Each of the blocks has a planetary designation. I live on southern Mars. It’s kind of quiet, and the buses stop running by 8pm, but it’s also very friendly. I’m staying with my dance teacher and her family. I’ve appropriated Bila’s room; she’s the 11-year old girl who has already grown taller than me since my last visit. Everyone always tells me that I’ll fit in here because of my size. I bought a pair of house sandals at the market last week, and I still had to choose from the kids selection!
The Bapak (dad) has an office nearby, where he handles the marketing end for his soymilk business. It’s in Jupiter, but only a short walk. He has a wireless connection, but alas, I still can’t upload photos.
Two blocks down from my house, still in South Mars, is a mosque that’s partly under construction. It provides a lovely alarm at 3:50am when the first call to prayer (azan) starts. Trust me, it’s impossible to sleep through. By 4:15 though, I’m all cozy, snuggled up in my dreams again. It’s all over at 5:45. That’s when the first street salesman comes by. Each one has their own unique sound, so you know to leave your house and buy their wares…like hitting two sticks together, or playing a certain melody repeatedly. So the first guy coming around is this bread seller. He’s got this degung melody (5432345232345) and then shouts “roti-roti”. I have chosen him amongst all the others to be my personal alarm, because he also comes by around 6:20. So, it’s kind of like pushing snooze.
In my free time, I joined a gym and a yoga studio. Dude, yoga is hard. I had no idea, and I have newfound respect for all people who can stand on one leg while the other is rotating around their body for ten minutes. The gym though is fun! There are all these other talkative ladies there, and you get to work with a personal trainer, all for under a dollar per visit! They keep telling me that I have to drink a lot of jus alpokat (avocado juice) because apparently I need to gain a lot more weight in certain places to be a good jaipongon dancer. There’s also a badminton court a few blocks away from my house. I’ll be going there later tonight with Om Peter, who’s an Australian consultant for the Bapak’s business. He’s the one who’s sleeping in my room, which I will reclaim once he leaves next month. I haven’t started dance lessons yet, but I figured that could wait till all the bureaucratic nonsense ends.
The Bapak (dad) has an office nearby, where he handles the marketing end for his soymilk business. It’s in Jupiter, but only a short walk. He has a wireless connection, but alas, I still can’t upload photos.
Two blocks down from my house, still in South Mars, is a mosque that’s partly under construction. It provides a lovely alarm at 3:50am when the first call to prayer (azan) starts. Trust me, it’s impossible to sleep through. By 4:15 though, I’m all cozy, snuggled up in my dreams again. It’s all over at 5:45. That’s when the first street salesman comes by. Each one has their own unique sound, so you know to leave your house and buy their wares…like hitting two sticks together, or playing a certain melody repeatedly. So the first guy coming around is this bread seller. He’s got this degung melody (5432345232345) and then shouts “roti-roti”. I have chosen him amongst all the others to be my personal alarm, because he also comes by around 6:20. So, it’s kind of like pushing snooze.
In my free time, I joined a gym and a yoga studio. Dude, yoga is hard. I had no idea, and I have newfound respect for all people who can stand on one leg while the other is rotating around their body for ten minutes. The gym though is fun! There are all these other talkative ladies there, and you get to work with a personal trainer, all for under a dollar per visit! They keep telling me that I have to drink a lot of jus alpokat (avocado juice) because apparently I need to gain a lot more weight in certain places to be a good jaipongon dancer. There’s also a badminton court a few blocks away from my house. I’ll be going there later tonight with Om Peter, who’s an Australian consultant for the Bapak’s business. He’s the one who’s sleeping in my room, which I will reclaim once he leaves next month. I haven’t started dance lessons yet, but I figured that could wait till all the bureaucratic nonsense ends.
Beginnings
My entry into Indonesia was actually a bit troublesome this time around. It all started when I lost my plane ticket, which was most likely either thrown out accidentally, or hidden in some insanely clever place and my mom will find it seven and a half years from now when she’s rearranging the bookshelves. So a hundred dollars lighter, but with a new ticket in hand, I embarked on my journey. It took a total of 36 hours, with stops in Detroit, Tokyo, and Singapore. While I didn’t sleep much, I did meet some interesting people…like an editor of Japanese comic books from New York, a fellow in the merchant marines, and a soils expert from Amherst, Massachusetts. It struck me about halfway there, that I hadn’t actually gotten confirmation from the Fulbright peoples that anybody would meet me when I arrived, and I kind of pondered what I would do since I did have anybody’s address or phone numbers on me. But a car was waiting, and I was immediately taken to a hotel with a lovely hot water shower.
The post-shower Jakarta is where the real craziness begins. Apparently, as soon as you enter the country, your research visa that you worked so hard to get in the United States, is automatically null and void. In order to get it re-instated, you have to visit the immigration office in the city where you’ll be living (in my case, Bandung) and obtain the hallowed kitas, the limited stay permit. But before you can even apply for this much sought after document, you have to meet with and get permission from just about every bureaucratic officer in Jakarta and Bandung, including the department of home affairs, tons of police stations, the governing research center, the mayor, etc. And each one of these gets paid, and each one demands something new, like six copies of some document that you have not yet gotten from some other bureaucrat. But after a week and a half of meandering through the labyrinth of officialdom, only the governor’s office and a final trip to the local police station await me. And I shall leave that exciting little adventure for Monday. So, I’ll close with a little advice for anybody out there reading this, if you ever come to Indonesia, do NOT do it as a researcher. It’s just not worth it. Do it as a tourist. You get the visa in-country, 30 days, no hassle, and you can renew it later. And it’s cheap. But I suppose that this is only one of the many ways that Indonesia chooses to teach us one of the greatest virtues…patience.
The post-shower Jakarta is where the real craziness begins. Apparently, as soon as you enter the country, your research visa that you worked so hard to get in the United States, is automatically null and void. In order to get it re-instated, you have to visit the immigration office in the city where you’ll be living (in my case, Bandung) and obtain the hallowed kitas, the limited stay permit. But before you can even apply for this much sought after document, you have to meet with and get permission from just about every bureaucratic officer in Jakarta and Bandung, including the department of home affairs, tons of police stations, the governing research center, the mayor, etc. And each one of these gets paid, and each one demands something new, like six copies of some document that you have not yet gotten from some other bureaucrat. But after a week and a half of meandering through the labyrinth of officialdom, only the governor’s office and a final trip to the local police station await me. And I shall leave that exciting little adventure for Monday. So, I’ll close with a little advice for anybody out there reading this, if you ever come to Indonesia, do NOT do it as a researcher. It’s just not worth it. Do it as a tourist. You get the visa in-country, 30 days, no hassle, and you can renew it later. And it’s cheap. But I suppose that this is only one of the many ways that Indonesia chooses to teach us one of the greatest virtues…patience.
Preface
When I decided to start this blog, my intentions were for it to be very photo dependant, with minimal written entries. After all, photos are fun to look, and reading can sometimes be a bit cumbersome on the internet. However, I’m quite sure that anyone who has ever waited two hours to load one photo (very patiently I might add), and then have it still not work, and then repeat the silly episode the next day, will understand why I opted to skip the photos altogether, and simply write an on-line journal. That said, this blog is about my trip to Indonesia, starting November 2006.
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