Yes, I'm Available for Hire
I’ve been trying to complete my grad school applications for a few days now and the final push has been the most difficult. Knowing myself, I read all the magazines in my house and hid my DVDs so I wouldn’t be tempted. I eliminated all food so there would be no “snack breaks.” In theory, I should be forced to complete my essays just from a sheer lack of anything better to do.
Instead of funneling my creativity into my writing sample, I’ve been putting it to the evil use of finding more and more unusual ways to procrastinate. I’ve already knocked down spider webs, experimented with the bug poison and the proximity I can put it to my food before I start to get sick, and created several interesting feng shui arrangements with my few pieces of furniture. This afternoon though, I decided to try something new, namely washing my own clothes in my mandi, a.k.a. a pail of water.
I chose my heinous school uniform for the experience and dug out the bag of powdered detergent someone had given me as a gift when I moved in. I filled the mandi up, dumped in about half the bag, and threw my uniform in, waiting expectantly. I sloshed the bubbles around a little, but I wasn’t really sure of proper handwashing techniques. I think I probably should have used one of those laundry boards people cleaned with back in the old days.
Very quickly, I realized I’d used too much soap. The bubbles climbed three feet in a matter of seconds to start pouring over the edge of the mandi. I shut off the water, but they somehow kept getting bigger. I used my little mandi pail to dump the bubbles over the side, trying to convince them to go down the drain. All they did was convince the worms in the drains to pop their heads out into the bathroom and start climbing up my door. I turned the water back on to dilute the bubbles, but they were in control and they knew it. The barrage of bubbles flowed over the ledge of the bathroom and started going into my bedroom and living room floors. I was briefly upset, but then went and borrowed my neighbor’s mop and mopped the floors instead.
There’s only one problem—the bubbles still won’t go down the drain. Now I have a collection of dark brown, ashy bubbles in my bedroom, clouds of white bubbles chest high in my bathroom, and a school uniform that, sadly, doesn’t look any cleaner at all. I guess I’ll just host a foam party tonight and we can have a rager at Mayjen Wiyono. I’ll provide the Bintangs!
Thanksgiving Odyssey
Thanksgiving was a much needed long weekend out of Malang and into the two largest cities in Java—Surabaya, the regional capital of East Java, and then back to our old stomping ground Jakarta, where we stayed for a month when we first arrived in Indonesia.
Before I start this entry, I have to back up and talk a little about lumpur panas, more commonly known as hot/toxic mud. For four months now this mysterious mud has been pouring out of the ground in Sidoarjo, a province near Surabaya. The oil company Lapindo has been accused of causing the mud flow with their drilling, but the company is refusing to take any responsibility for the natural disaster. SBY and the Indonesian government didn’t comment until the third month of the mudflow, and then the decision was made to start dumping the excess mud into the ocean and rivers (?).
Sidoarjo is right in between Malang and Surabaya. There’s a toll road, but you never know when it’s going to be open. Unfortunately for Layne and I, the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving the toll road was definitively closed. The two hour ride ended up taking almost six hours in our horrible little van, which in theory was supposed to pick people up from their houses in Malang and drop them off directly in Surabaya two hours later. In practice, I sat the whole way with my feet the level of my eyes because the only place for my suitcase was right in front of me, we took back village roads, and the driver almost flipped the van using some vertical mud path as a shortcut. Once we arrived in Surabaya, the driver took another two hours to find everyone else’s addresses before finally dropping Layne and I off at the Sheraton. I guess that’s $4 transportation for you.
We were staying with Mary Beth, a government employee who works in P.R. and tries to make sure none of the ETAs in East Java kill themselves or make anti-American comments. She lives in a fabulous apartment in the five star Sheraton, and Layne and I were only too happy to stay there for free. Shortly after we got there, Mary Beth got a call on her “duty phone” that there had been an explosion on the toll road. The pressure from all of the mud had pressed on a gas line until it finally snapped, and I can just see someone throwing a cigarette butt down unwittingly (EVERYONE smokes here) and lighting the whole thing on fire. Eleven people were killed, and the roads were completely shut down. One of the other ETAs, Amanda, was en route from Probolinggo and no one could get in touch with her for about an hour, so they were pretty frantic. Fortunately she had just been asleep while stuck in traffic and was fine.
Thanksgiving morning we went to a home for orphaned and abused children, many of whom had lost their parents to trafficking of some sort. They ranged in age from about 2 until 15 or 16, and they seemed pretty happy that we were there. After Mary Beth spouted some propaganda on the “Thanksgiving story,” we gave them lunches and passed out goody bags. The kids almost killed one another grabbing for the bags, and it was really sad to see how frantic they were to get something of value. They didn’t really want it for the goodies themselves, since most of them probably sold everything in the bags as soon as we left, but they were so scared that they were going to get skipped over and not receive anything. We watched a video and left after about an hour. It was a pretty good trip but distressing at the same time.
After the orphanage we went to Claire the Consular General’s house for a Thanksgiving lunch/early dinner. When she was working in Vietnam she adopted a little boy named Luca, who’s now 4. That kid was adorable, and I don’t like kids. He was very well mannered and polite, and although he started off shy, he had turned into a big flirt by the end of the afternoon.
Claire cooked an absolutely fabulous meal—turkey, real cranberry sauce, stuffing with bacon, gravy—everything you could ask for. I ate as much as I could possibly stuff in and then enjoyed some of the homemade pumpkin pie. One of the guests was the US government worker in charge of the lumpur panas, who told us that the explosion had knocked open the dams holding the mud, which was likely going to take out the train tracks in a few weeks. Great news. There were also some former Peace Corps volunteers and a man who worked for USAID, as well as the Regional Security Officer for Surabaya, who was NOT a man I'd want to mess with. Most of the people there had been working security and P.R. at George Bush's visit earlier that week, so it was really interesting to hear all the behind-the-scenes details.
Right after lunch, Claire offered her car to Layne and I and we headed for the airport. We took off for Jakarta, where there was a driver waiting to take us to the Hotel Dharmawangsa, by far the nicest hotel I’ve ever been in. Layne’s family friend Gary had arranged for us to stay there for the weekend, just relaxing and being girly. We hung around our lavish room in bathrobes, got a half-day spa treatment, and trusted Indonesian hair stylists to put bleach on our heads (which actually didn’t turn out half bad!).
The second night in Jakarta we went to another Thanksgiving dinner, this one at the home of some American expats who were in Indonesia working in oil. Again, great food, great company, and an opportunity to meet some really interesting people. Someone made a deep-fried turkey that was so delicious (and yes, I know that’s white trash of me to say so) and I just ate my little heart out.
Other luxuries we indulged in in Jakarta: Silver Bird luxury taxis, chocolate martinis at the Dharma, Sumatran coffee, and a movie theater with adjustable recliners and blankets where butlers bring you food and drinks. I’m sure the new James Bond movie is good anywhere, but in that setting I would have thought any movie was an Oscar contender.
I left Layne heading to the golf course with Gary on Sunday morning as Nick and I went to the airport. Back to reality: I waited standby for three different flights to Surabaya, where the general rule seemed to be whoever pushed to the counter hardest got the seat. There was no list or ranking. I’m ashamed to say I became a stereotype here: The American Who Gets Frazzled In Airports And Yells At People.
After I missed the second flight after three hours because some Japanese chick elbowed me out of the way and got to the counter first, I was very cranky. By the time another hour had passed and I was standing again in standby, I knew the drill. I cut two Dutch men and demanded the last remaining economy ticket. The two men poked me and complained that I had cheated them, and were treating to me screaming in their face that I was a teacher and had to work in the morning. They talked about me angrily in Dutch for a while, but must of concluded I had a mental illness and it was best not to mess with me. The airline tried to check my bag, but since it was 4:52 and the flight left at 5, I sincerely doubted the Indonesian golf cart would get my luggage into the underbelly of the plane in time. I ran to the plane and got into another fight with the flight attendant, who of course refused to let me take my oversized suitcase on as a carry on:
Flight Attendant: “You must check that.”
Me: “No.”
FA: “Yes, now.”
Me: “No. I don’t trust you to put it under the plane.”
FA: “Give me that bag.”
Me: “I’m not going to let the plane leave until I see you put that under the plane.”
FA: “GIVE ME THE BAG.”
I finally made it to my seat at 5:10 (yes I delayed the whole flight, how important I am!) only to find an Indonesian man there. He very gentlemanly offered me the middle seat between him and his smirking companion, and got a cold glare in return and a barked order to move over. He didn’t talk to me again after that. His companion did tell me that if I took a bus to Malang it would take eight hours because the roads were overrun with mud, and I would be looted and raped numerous times. I paid $30 and took a taxi, which took less than two hours and ended with the cab driver trying to hussle me for 50 more cents at my front gate. God, it’s good to be back in village life.
Never Too Late To Give Thanks
I've been noticing that on a lot of my friend's blogs, they had an entry on what they were thankful for in Indonesia. Well, here's me jumping on the bandwagon:
Things I'm Thankful For in Indonesia:
industrial size cans of bug poison
the Internet
books (in English)
school uniforms (even with their air of Communism)
headbands and hair elastics (for keeping my sweaty hair off my neck and face)
boat shoes
my mandi
the ability to pretend not to understand when someone asks you for a favor in Indonesian
Pocari Sweat (Indonesia's answer to Gatorade)
Isotonik (Indonesia's answer to Pocari Sweat)
literally stumbling across an outdated gossip magazine on the floor of the Malang bookstore
bakpia (cakes from Yogyakarta)
getting really good e-mails
getting to sit in the front of the mikrolet by myself instead of in the back with 15 other people
marble floors
that everyone uses text messages instead of talking on the phone (I'm a bad phone talker)
staying in five star hotels courtesy of Uncle Sam
There was lots to be happy about this Thanksgiving!
Anti-Bush Rally
What's In A Name?
I confessed to one of my grade 11 classes this week that I didn't know any of their names. They're written on their shirts, but some of them have three names and I never know which one to use. Here are some of the most interesting ones:
One of my favorite boys in that class is named Syahreza (Shah-ray-za), which he claims means, "King of the World." I'm not sure I trust that translation, but I like the name anyway.
The words "indah" and "ayu" mean beautiful in Indonesian, and a lot of kids have those words tossed into their names at some point. I have some girls whose names are just "Indah," and then I have chicks like "Christyayu," which literally means "beautiful Christy." I think these are the most beautiful names (lame pun intended!)
Some of the girl's names are just not attractive-sounding to me--like Nindah, Wenty, and Prahiwi.
There are variations on names I know--like Erik, Kristian, Irene, and Diane. But don't be deceived--they're not definitely not pronounced the same. Erik is more like "arrreek" and Diane is "deeahnn." I usually just tell these kids that they're going to get an American pronounciation if they ever want me to know their names.
Then I have the absolutely impossible to pronounce/read/pretend to understand names. Face it kids--you will never hear your name come out of my mouth, Virgonesia Cahya P. Nor will you, Novia Diah Permatasari. And I'm not even sure I could get yours out in one breath, Anak Agung Istri Wulan Permata Sain (I wouldn't believe that was a name, but I'm holding his writing assignment with that name on it, and I looked it up on my roster--she (he?) is real!).
After this illuminating discussion I still had a few minutes to kill, so I asked them if they could have any name in the world, what would it be. I should have known better than to ask them that...although it would be a lot easier if everyone in my classes were named Kobe Bryant or LeBron James.
Caitlin's Corner
This Monday I got suckered into running another teacher's English conversation class after school. Rather than actually teach any kind of lesson, I decided to host "Caitlin's Corner," basically a forum where everyone agreed that they could ask me any question if I could ask them any question. I'm not entirely sure everyone understood the disclaimer, but I forged ahead any way. Some speaking points we covered:
"Do you guys think it's OK to be gay?"
The answer was overwhelmingly no. Some of the more articulate kids actually made some very thoughful comments. Iraky, one of the kids in my class who actually might be gay, said that homosexuality was not allowed in the Qu'ran or Islam. When I asked him what he would do if his brother turned out to be gay, he said he would be very upset because his brother was going to lead a very hard life outside of society. I was impressed with his vocab and his emotion when he talked about it. Maybe it hits close to home...
"Who knows what the Holocaust is?"
Like I wrote earlier, I have a sneaking suspicion that when Suharto censored Indonesian history books, he eliminated any mention of the Holocaust. These kids confirmed it. Not only had they never heard the term "Holocaust," but only three of them had ever heard of Hitler. After I explained what happened during the Holocaust, a few of them denied that it could have occurred. I told them next week we're going to watch "Schindler's List," which probably shouldn't get back to the principal. They listened very intently when I talked and most of them seemed a little shocked that they didn't know about the Holocaust. I moved on to a new topic when they started to ask some pretty gruesome questions about death camps.
"What do you think about abortion?"
We couldn't even discuss this one. Everyone in the class, about fifteen kids, said unequivically that it was wrong and would never, ever be allowed to happen in Indonesia. Although I doubted the truth of that statement, they were pretty adamant about it.
"Euthanasia? Anyone?"
After clearing up the obvious "youth in asia" confusion, there wasn't much more to say. Under absolutely no circumstance would anyone in the room consider the other side of the issue. They said euthanasia was murder (and for the record I agreed with them, just trying to get them to use critical thinking skills), and one girl asked if Americans always murdered their parents like that...so I had to suspend discussion and reassure everyone that no, we don't all kill our parents when they get old. I'm pretty sure no one fully understood what I was talking about.
"Would you ever date or marry someone who wasn't a Muslim?"
Again, no. Not just for religious reasons though--one of the girls in the room who was wearing a jialbab suddenly spoke up and said Islam was like a culture and way of life and it would be difficult to marry someone who didn't share your upbringing and way of doing things. She got an A for the day for that comment. Iraky conceded that he would consider marrying a Christian, but NEVER a Hindu or Buddhist. He didn't really give a reason. The one Christian girl in the room said she wouldn't marry a Muslim because she didn't want her kids raised "that way," and then I hurredly brought the discussion to an end.
"Who can think of an important debate issue in Indonesia?"
I was thinking something political, maybe along the lines of what we had been talking about. Iraky's hand shot up:
"I think it's terrible that Miss Indonesia cannot compete in the Miss Universe pageant because she does not wear a swimsuit. In Islam, you cannot draw attention to your body like that, and the Miss Universe pageant should accept that."
OK....well, I guess that's a valid point. I gave Iraky an A+ for the day.
I think Caitlin's Corner went pretty well. All the kids listened the whole time and contributed. There's always the danger that they're missing key points and misunderstanding a concept (or just chalking it up to the immorality of Western culture) so I tried to make everything clear. I get the feeling they get talked down to a lot, and I know their English is underestimated. I went into the class pissed that I had them unloaded on me, but it ended up being the best class I went to this week.
Just One More
Dear Doctor,
I've problem and I think I should talk it to you. I'm a doctor. I've problem with my patients. I've fallen in love with 9 of 10 patients. The worst thing is, I've got many dating with them. Doc, it's a big problem. It's abnormal. You know why? Because I'm a VET!
xx, somewhere
Dear "xx,"
I'll give you good advice. This place is very suitable for you. That place is in Jakarta. Just take a taxi and to the driver "Grogol Mental Hospital Sir!"
Cast:
doctor: Syifa S.S./x4/35
xx: Rahadini W.H. x4/40
Some Serious Problems
Well...kind of. I had the kids write advice columns today with extra points for being creative. I guess they thought I meant with their English grammar. Here are a few of the most legible exactly as they were submitted:
Dear Oryza,
I have a cat. His name is Nuno Gomez. He is a percian cat. I usually called him "Nunu." His colored is light grey and spotted with dark grey. He is so overweight! His weight is 4.5 kg. Imagine, almost 5 kg for a cat! I want to make him work out, but he is such a lazy cat. Besides, I want to make his colour to be white or orange. How can I make it? By the way, he likes to eat chocolate and chili! Is that something wrong with my cat?
Thanks,
Dizzy
Dear Dizzy,
I think, your cat is an executive cat because he likes chocolate. It's easy to make your cat work out. He is a cat, alright? If he a trully cat, of course he like to catch mouse. To make him work out, you can put a mouse toys in front of him and band it with rope. You can pull the rope to make the 'mouse' move and I think your cat will catch that 'mouse.' But, if your cat just see the 'mouse' doesn't try to catch it, you can pick up your cat to psychiatrist.
And for your second problem, that you want to make your cat to be white or orange, you can bring your cat to the 'Barber shop' for cat. Maybe, there's some steps to make your cat colorful.
Dear Ali,
I have a problem about my body in football. My skill is good but my body is not support me. My body is tin but tall, so I have a problem to control the ball. I know you dislike enough football, but it is my favourite sport. I have organized my food and sport, but I still tin and can't control the ball well.
Yours,
M. Riza V
How! friend
don't think about the body. your body better than me, your skill too. Just reorganized your food,
Two word that important to football player like you
"Don't Sick"
Don't smoke, Don't drunk, Don't Die
Be a vegetarian!
Dearest Go Girls,
Me and my friend have a lot of trouble. A lot of people hate us and want to lay us! Maybe they jealous to us because we're so fabulous! Many people frighten us with scary voices through the phone. Sometimes people try to throw us with disgusting things. So far, we try to be patient, but day to day, they're getting worse. What should we do?
Answer:
Well, that's risk of being popular. You should always bring knife in your bag so you can throw them.
That's some valid advice right there.
Making Friends?
I went out with Rima tonight, a girl I met at Brawaijaya University when I went to visit the law students there. She’s eighteen and really a sweet girl, but she exemplifies one of my biggest problems with making friends here—she’s terrified of me. She’s scared her English isn’t good enough to speak with me (she actually speaks fantastically well), scared that I won’t be happy, and scared that she is irritating/bothering me.
She called the other night to ask me about American Corner (the AMINEF office at Mohammadiyah University) and she could barely speak on the phone. I asked her to go to dinner with me so we could talk face to face and maybe she could calm down.
She sent me two text messages confirming that I was actually going to go to dinner with her (people really see me as a paragon of unreliability, which I think it odd because I have yet to miss a single appointment of any sort) and when she picked me up in her car she couldn’t look at me. The more nervous she is, the worse her English gets, so it was rough going for a while. Eventually she calmed down and stopped referring to her father as “she” and talking about “her work as an architect” (Bahasa Indonesia uses the word “dia” for both he and she, and so the most common mistake people make is arbitrarily using he or she to describe men or women. Some people always use he, some prefer she).
I like Rima because she answers all my questions. She doesn’t wear a jialbab because she feels she isn’t a pious enough Muslim to wear it yet. She has a boyfriend who is older than her that she lies to her mom about. She doesn’t dislike Chinese people, but there is a definite prejudice against them in Java because they’re so wealthy. Her grammar wasn’t always perfect, but she understood everything I said which is better than 99.99% of the people I meet here, including all of my students.
I wonder though if I can ever really have a friend here—like a true friend. One of us would always be speaking a language that isn’t our native tongue, and that makes things difficult since it’s so hard to hold conversations in a language you’re still trying to learn. Rima seemed like she was walking on eggshells with me the whole time—when honestly, I was just happy to have something to talk to and eat dinner with. She asked me very seriously if it would be OK, not a problem, not a burden, if I would go to her house for dinner and meet her mother. Maybe her mother would want to give me presents too? Is that OK? I was like, girl, anytime you want to give me free food and presents that is way more than OK.
We went and had our pictures taken in one of those photo booths (on HER suggestion, I would never do that on my own volition) and that girl was so happy. Is it possible for us to be friends if I’m this exalted figure to her? I know she’s going to flash those pictures around to show people her American buddy, which is fine, but am I really her friend, or am I some kind of status symbol?
By far the most interesting thing Rima said tonight was when we were waiting in line to get ice-cream. I was talking about my favorite movies and I mentioned Schindler’s List. She said, “Oh ya, that was very bad what those Germans did to the Jewish people,” and I was like, “yeah the Holocaust.” Then the girl says, “What was the Holocaust?” I thought she just didn’t know the phrase so I explained the Holocaust, but no—she had never heard of the Holocaust. In fact, she said that Holocaust is not taught in Indonesian high schools or middle schools. I was horrified. I told her it was one of the worst events to occur in the history of humanity, and she just looked at me blankly. This a law student at one of Malang’s largest universities. If that’s true, and they really don’t teach the Holocaust here…then I really don’t know what to say. I know the books were censored in the Sukarto regime, which ended in 1998, so maybe that’s why Rima doesn’t know anything about the Holocaust—but I was so shocked I almost dropped my McFlurry.
Interesting Insects
1. Did you know cockroaches make a high pitched squealing sound when you spray them in the face with poison?
2. You can buy "chalk" in the grocery store to put around your bed so no ants can climb into it...I chalked my whole room yesterday, and then watched as the ants walked right over the line and into my bed. What a waste of nine cents.
3. Speaking of ants in my bed, the other day I was taking a nap after school. I fell asleep at 1 and woke up around 3 because I was itchy. I looked down, and there were about 200 ants crawling all over me. I debated screaming for a minute--but no one would have heard me and even if someone heard, no one would have done anything. So I stumbled to the bathroom, poured buckets of cold water over myself, picked the ants out of my hair and from between my toes, and then ripped the sheets off my bed, shook them off, and put them back on the bed. Less than five minutes after I woke up, I went back asleep for another two hours. Maybe I'm just losing all sense of what personal hygience should be like, but the fact that ants were crawling on me when I was sleeping was more of an annoyance than an earth-shattering problem...
4. In regards to parasites, the smallest insects I do battle with, I have an issue I've been pondering for a while. I used Listerine occasionally in the US, and although it tasted disgusting it wasn't terrible to use. I have Indonesian Listerine here that I use religiously every day--and either I have really bad parasites in my mouth or there is some kind of acid in the mouthwash here. For ten minutes after I wash my mouth out, my tongue and cheeks go completely numb. Maybe they put a special ingredient in to take care of the unseen enemy--either way, my mouth feels pretty clean when the feeling comes back.
Indonesia: +200
I was running late for a meeting today and I was starving, so I ducked into an Indonesian Wendy's to grab lunch. Having already had my heart broken at Indonesian KFC and McDonald's when they didn't have biscuits or sweet n'sour sauce, respectively, I wasn't expecting much. Indonesian Wendy's probably didn't even have Biggie Sizes.
Well I am eating a big slice of humble pie right now. Not only did Indonesian Wendy's have Biggie Sizes (which I pretended to deliberate, then obviously biggied my meal) but they have SPICY CHICKEN SANDWICHES.
Let me back up. Earlier this summer my world was shattered when Wendy's in America took the Spicy Chicken Sandwich off their menu. It was by far the most delicious thing they offered outside of the 99 cent menu, and I boycotted them to show my anguish.
Fortunately, Indonesian Wendy's didn't get the memo about No More Spicy Deliciousness. I sat in the giant, empty, glass walled Wendy's in Plaza Dieng and ate not one, but TWO spicy chicken sandwiches while a crowd of Indonesian men sat on the other side of the wall and stared at me. Let them stare. Indonesian Wendy's, I salute you.
Living on the Edge
AMINEF seems to have forgotten to put our next two month's worth of pay into our bank accounts, so my current operating budget is Rp. 17,000, more commonly known as $1.50. I have to save 20 cents for public transport tomorrow, so I have about a $1 to spend on dinner. Luckily I can get a delicious martabak from the dudes across the street for that much. As for tomorrow, I don't know. Maybe I'll buy some finger cymbals and beg with the other kids on the street.
Sometimes We Need to Filter Our Thoughts...
While on vacation, I enjoyed the usual—good food, some spirits, a general malaise that prohibited exercise. I probably put on about three pounds MAXIMUM, nothing I won’t lose when I contract my next virus from eating the street food.
I walked into the teacher’s room yesterday armed with seaweed candy and the proper vocabulary to discuss my travels. Before I could say a word, however, three or four teachers ran up to me and exclaimed in delight over how incredibly fat I had gotten on vacation.
“So fat, so happy!” One of them said. Another attempted to pinch my “fat” cheek (which she couldn’t do) and said, “yes, very fat now, more beautiful!” The other teachers in the room nodded in contentment at the sight of my fat face.
They warned us in Jakarta that people will use the word “fat” to mean “healthy”—but damn, walking into a room of people who haven’t seen you in three words and being called a fattie is NOT a good way to come off a great vacation. I sat in the corner and sulked for a while, and then these two ridiculous conversations occurred:
1) Continuing the topic of my obesity and its relationship to my beauty, Ibu Dina and Ibu Dia (yes that’s right, almost the same name—there’s also Dino, Dwi, Dito, and Dio) sat down now to me.
Ibu Dia: I think you are much more beautiful now that you are fat.
Ibu Dina: Oh, no, she is not beautiful now, her nose is red (sunburned)
Ibu Dia: But I think because she is fat it is OK.
Ibu Dina: No, I think much less beautiful with the dark skin, even though fatter.
Ibu Dia: Yes maybe when she is white and fat, she will be most beautiful
I was sitting right next to these women as they had this conversation, in English. Disgruntled and fearing my fat fist was about to go into their faces, I turned to my left to talk to Pak Yosuf, one of the other English teachers. He is endlessly fascinated with Americans in general, and often asks questions like, “but I thought Americans hated dark skinned people, how can you like us?” He said he had another question for me.
Pak Yosuf: So Caitlin, if I meet a friend, a very close friend, who I haven’t seen for a long time, would it be polite if I said to him, “I have a very good bitch at home?”
Me: (spitting out water) Like, a very good dog?
PY: No, like my wife. A very good bitch.
Me: Um, you’re not really supposed to refer to your wife as your bitch.
PY: But I see it on TV. Maybe that is how truckers talk?
Me: Yeah, I guess a trucker might say that. Bitch is a bad word, why would you call your wife a bitch?
PY: Just talking to my friend, joking about my bitch.
Me: Yeah…well I guess that’s OK then.
WHERE DO THEY GET THESE IDEAS???
Part I: Enchantment and Disenchantment in Legian
Vacation was pretty epic. I ended up spending four days in Legian and Seminyak (south Bali), one day in Lovina (north Bali), one day in transit to the east of Bali and Lombok, the island to the west, two days in Senggigi, Lombok, and then eight days on Gili Trawangan, the largest of the three Gili Islands off the coast of Lombok. Along the way I had my cell phone stolen (Senggigi), made my first friend who only spoke Indonesian (Legian), and picked up my advanced scuba diving certification (Gili Trawangan). So all in all a successful two and a half weeks.
I procured my Indonesian friend my first night in Legian when I was eating dinner alone near the hotel. Her name was Yuli, and I impressed her by consuming two appetizers, one pizza, and three drinks in a little less than 20 minutes. Her intro was: “Wow, much food for one girl, ya?” It was meant to be. After the usual Indonesian banter (where are you from, what is your job, what is your religion, do you have a boyfriend), we made plans to meet up the next day and go to Tanah Lot, the place where I saw the 5,000 kecek dancers last time I was in Bali.
She picked me up in the morning on her motorbike and we took off. It was a really beautiful ride and Yuli was a safe driver so I could enjoy it. I still ride in back like a dork though—most Indonesians don’t hang onto anything (except maybe a cigarette or a soda) but I clutch onto the back bar to avoid falling off and cracking my skull. They must have exceptional balance.
We reached Tanah Lot after an hour of rice paddies and wrong turns. I liked the temple even better during the day than I had at night. We walked across the tide pools and received blessings and rice on our foreheads as part of a Hindu ritual (for the fee of Rp. 10,000, of course) and then walked around to the back of the temple. There were no other tourists in back, just me, Yuli, and some Indonesians who were preparing offerings as part of a celebration. I asked if I could watch and they didn’t say no, but they didn’t seem too happy about me being there, either. They walked down to the beach, lit incense in a cave by the water, and then took offerings of food down to the water and prayed as they sent them off into the sea. I felt like a terrible tourist for taking pictures, but I really wanted to! I tried to be unobtrusive, but after some less-than-pious looks in my direction, Yuli and I went up the cliff.
Back at the hotel Elena and Ann, the ETAs from Bandung, had arrived, . We ate lunch and then met up with Hillary, Willow, and Lisa, more ETAs who were staying in Denpasar at Hillary’s house. Hillary is the fortunate soul who was plucked from among the mere ETAs to live in Bali for the year. We ate a delicious dinner by the beach and then tried to sit on the sand, but there was some kind of dog-gang warfare going on so no one could really get comfortable.
I really liked Legian the first time I visited, but this time I definitely got to see the shadier side of things. Traveling without male companions definitely opens women up to a lot more abuse and propositions. Elena and I saw a really disgusting sex act on the side of the street at 7 pm one night walking back from the beach, and I kept getting invited to vague “beach parties,” which I’m pretty sure would involve copious amounts of illegal drugs and probably end with me getting raped. Most guys I encountered in Bali really saw foreign women as walking banks with open legs, and they weren’t shy about making that known.
I don’t usually knock the hustle, but in Kuta it’s extreme and pretty offensive. Women on the beach will grab your feet and start massaging them, refuse to let you pull them away, and then charge you when you finally do rip your foot out of their hands. I gave money to one woman’s child, and then she insisted I give her more because she didn’t know the little girl, even though I had seen her holding the girl two minutes before. Beggars scream “MONEY” at the top of their lungs and try to grab your leg; if you refuse to cooperate, they hiss at you. It’s clear that the Balinese resent most tourists and look down on them, and I can’t really blame them—I wouldn’t want a bunch of drunken Australians or other disgusting foreigners running around my town either. HOWEVER, if the Balinese dislike tourists so much, they need to stop whoring themselves out to them. You can’t bitch about how much you hate tourists when you’re the one selling them the liquor and calling them into your stores. It’s a complicated situation, and at times I feel like I can see both sides of it—but at night when I’m being hassled and grabbed and vaguely threatened, I feel a whole lot less sympathy for the plight of the Balinese men.
A Little Humor
The following is a joke I heard over and over and over on my vacation:
Me: terima kasih (thank you)
Indonesian: Osama-sama Bin Laden
(hysterical laughter)
The first premise of the joke is that “sama-sama” means “you’re welcome.” The second is apparently that Osama Bin Laden is a funny name. I would like to say I found it offensive, but that lame joke repeatedly followed by laughter was enough to make me join in every time
