Indonesia: Life In The Islands

Air Tejun di Batu

This past Saturday Layne and I went with Pak Habib to see a waterfall in Batu. We had gone with him our first weekend to buy flowers, but we went higher up the mountain this time. I’ve come to the conclusion that Pak Habib collects expatriates. Among the people he brought to the retreat were: Layne, myself, Max (an Indonesian boy), S. from Uzbekistan, P. from Slovakia, N. from Germany, D. from Poland, and H. from Russia. I refer to them by their initials because their Eastern European accents made their names close to impossible to catch.

I think we were expecting a small hike to the waterfall—but when we got to the camping site it was jammed. There were hundreds, maybe thousands of people camping overnight and milling around the entrance area buying food, chatting, and shielding their faces from the giant clouds of brown dust that were everywhere. We walked a little ways up the mountain and realized that, as usual, we were an English teaching tool. Pak Habib had taken us to the campsite of about 100 first year English students at Universitas Mohammadiyah and put the foreigners into groups to speak with them. They were really sweet, as most people have been, and anxious to learn about America (partially, I think, because he had just assigned them a paper on American culture).

We started hiking toward the waterfall and I became aware of another difference between American and Indonesian cultures. In America, school-sponsored trips usually try to have some modicum of safety involved—whether it’s the location, transportation, or chaperoning. Not here. Pak Habib was the leader, and I think all of the students had camped overnight with no teacher (they’re younger than American freshman—some were as young as sixteen, and most were seventeen). The walk was pretty steep—people (including me) fell repeatedly down the side of the mountain we were trying to descend. The girls were wearing heavy clothing and Muslim head scarves, so it was difficult for them to balance. Most people had also chosen to wear flip flops, which turned out not to be the optimal shoes when crossing a river or climbing up a mountain. Girls were pitching forward down the mountain path as they walked and I would try to catch them, only to fall further down myself. We finally made it to the waterfall in one piece.

It was really beautiful, although smaller than I’d imagined. There was so much dirt around the area that the pool at the base of the waterfall was brown, but the water coming over the edge looked pretty clean. True to form, I slipped as I was going down to the edge to take a picture and almost fell onto the rocks at the bottom. Everyone shrieked at the thought of the boule hurting herself, but I reassured them I fell all the time and it was no big deal. Two brave guys went in and took a shower, complete with shampoo, but the water was freezing and we had to hike half an hour back and then ride two hours home, so I declined.

Walking back the sun began to set, and when we arrived at the entrance of the camp it was pretty cool (for Indonesia). We sat around for a while as some people ate, but Pak Habib strongly warned Layne and I not to eat anything or we would certainly contract parasites. The night before I had eaten a bunch of hamburgers from a street vendor and felt fine, but then I saw some of the plates they were serving food on and reconsidered. S., the Uzbekistani, said that he was in Indonesia to learn the language and work on translation. He said he spoke Uzbekistani, Russian, English, and was now starting Indonesian. Apparently he completed all of his undergraduate and graduate work in translation by the age of 23 and was working on translating English books directly into Uzbekistani, as opposed to English—Russian—Uzbekistani. Since his English wasn’t that great I don’t really know how well that project is working out for him. He also claimed that there’s a big Indonesian population in Uzbekistan, a statement whose truth I seriously doubt. He hit on the seventeen year old freshmen girls from the college and he was pretty sleazy, so I didn’t talk to him too much. He’s staying at Pak Habib’s for a year.

A guy named Curtis was also there. Curtis is from Texas, but he has been living in Indonesia for almost two years. Apparently his family pays for him to be here (which wouldn’t cost too much) and he just wanders around learning Indonesian and talking to people. He doesn’t take classes, just hangs out and visits different places and families. He was slightly odd as well. He asked me if there was a rich, high society contingent that lived in Rhode Island, similar to the one in New York. Then he asked what people did for fun there. In two years he’s been back to the States one time.

He’s not the only strange expat we’ve met. People who stay overseas for an extended period of time away from their home and family have something a little odd about them—whether it’s the questions they ask or the way they behave, it’s just strange to me that they essentially turn their back on their upbringing and spend their future in a place where, like it or not, they will always be a foreigner. Maybe they like the sensation of always being watched and standing out—I don’t know.

Anyway, the waterfall itself was beautiful and the hike was some much-needed exercise! The pictures are of me at the waterfall, and a view of Batu on the way up.

posted by Caitlin @ 4:29 PM