Leaving on a Jet Plane

And by "jet plane," of course, I mean a small Indonesian airline with a questionable safety record.  Interestingly, this describes pretty much all Indonesian airlines.  Actually, it definitely describes all Indonesian airlines.  Also interestingly, there are no alternative means of transport between here and Lombok, except the 20-hour bus that drives from Yogya to the eastern edge of Java, and then boards a ferry (yes, the bus boards a ferry) for the short jaunt to Bali, after which it drives off the ferry and continues to Denpasar, which is where we are flying in.  The safety of this method also strikes me as questionable.  Additionally, I don't really have 20 hours to drop on a bus ride, thrilling as that may have been.

Thus, tomorrow, we're leaving on a (rinky-dink commuter) jet plane.  I'll be off the grid for the next eleven days and since I know how sorely you all will miss my rich and wonderfully funny blog posts, I will leave you with a special treat in the form of prize quotations from my General English classes' essays on their personal heroes, complete with editorials from yours truly:

GENERAL ENGLISH GEMSTONES

"My hero is my mom. She's my super duper mom. She's fussy and very dominating." (Yep, she sounds super-duper...)

"I won't pick batman or superman or even bruce almighty to be my super hero. I already have my own super hero in my life, that precious person is my mother." (Not even Bruce Almighty?  Really?)

"Maybe they aren't heroes for everyone, but one thing that I know, they always be my superman and my catwoman in my heart." (My parents will always be MY superman and catwoman in my heart TOO!  We must be soulmates.)

"They taught me things that I need to know like drugs, free sex, and other important things." (Yes, drugs and free sex are both very important things that everyone should be taught by one's parents.  You sound very well-raised.)

Dude, where do they GET this stuff?  It's incredible.  As my friend Megan says, it's pure gold, worthy of being bottled and sold in mass quantities.

Anyway, that's all I have for now -- stay tuned for pictures and tales of adventures through the archipelago.  The Indian Ocean and I send our love.

Oh, Right -- I Live Here

With my fourth week of teaching winding down (one whole month now! I must be a pro ...) it seems apPROpriate (sorry, I just couldn't help myself) to weigh in on the difference between visiting a place, and actually living there -- particularly in the light of the fact that next Thursday I jet off with Brittany and her friend Alex for 10 days in Lombok, the small island just east of Bali.  We have a week off of work for Lebaran (also known as Idul Fitri), the celebration that concludes the month of Ramadan during which everyone and their dog goes home to be with their family.  Since our families live a little too far away for a week-long visit, Brittany, Alex, and I, along with our proverbial dog, are keeping our chins up and treating ourselves to a beach vacation to ease the pain.

So with my very first vacation coming up, complete with prospects of having a beer or two on the beach and maybe even donning a tank top that -- eek! -- leaves my shoulders bare, naturally I've been considering what exactly it is I'm doing in Yogya that makes me NOT just a tourist.  Besides the obvious fact that tourists don't get jobs in foreign countries and settle down there for twelve-month periods of time, what defines a dweller (as opposed to a visitor) comes down, in my view, to the little things.  For example, I never go out in public with my shoulders exposed (hence the thrilling prospect of my potential vacation wardrobe), I always greet the clerks whose stores I enter, and I try to remember whenever I can never to hand anyone anything with my left hand (since that one's for wiping, dontchaknow).  I'm working really hard on my dead fish handshake.  Oh yeah, and I study Indonesian for four hours a day, five days a week.  I don't think the tourists do that.

Being a dweller, however, doesn't mean that I don't do visitor-y things.  After all, don't New Yorkers check out the Met every once in a while?  I'd like to think so.  In that spirit, I've been trying to have one "tourist" adventure per weekend that gets me out to see a little more of Yogya, so that, at the end, I don't tragically find myself never having visited the city I've been living in for a year.  Admittedly, while I have been having said tourist adventures, I have been a lazy blogger.  I'm going to work harder to post more frequently, but in the meantime, I'll give you a little something I like to call the Drive-By-Blog-Post.  Buckle your seat belts!

JAMU

Jamu is the term that refers to a special type of Indonesian herbal drink that has very specific medicinal healing properties.  For example, there is jamu for migraines, jamu for high cholesterol, jamu for getting pregnant, jamu for not getting pregnant, jamu for helping you find your one true love, etc.  A couple of weeks ago, I went to a jamu restaurant with Emma, Brittany and Patrick, which in itself was pretty spectacular -- besides the full-size models of horse-drawn carriages in the courtyard, string lights hanging from the terraces, and live horses in stalls in the back (WTF?) there were also skinny male waiters with hipster-boy haircuts in muscle shirts and tiny black vests.  Wow.  As for jamu, I decided to cover all my bases and ordered jamu for masuk angin, which literally means "the entering of the wind" and can refer to a whole host of ailments, including but not limited to coughing, sneezing, and other various and sundry bodily ejections of air.

My jamu, which mostly tasted very strongly of ginger, is in the tall glass to the right; the little glass to the left contained some kind of fruity syrup meant to be a chaser, but which was actually kind of gross.  The flower is just for cute points.  I'm not sure if my jamu kicked the wind out or not, but either way I'm not complaining.  I wonder if there's a jamu for breaking off abusive relationships, such as the one I'm currently carrying on with Cokelat Monggo.  (CM being the abuser and I the abused, in case that was not clear).  I'll investigate and get back to you.

KOTA GEDE

Kota Gede is the silver district a little to the southeast of Yogya, where beautiful and renowned silverwork is produced and sold to dwellers and visitors alike.  Two Sundays ago Brittany and I decided to take an excursion down there, which for me was just about checking it out, as I left my gift fund at home.  In the end that was probably a good thing, since after only two workshops-worth of glass cases lined with thousands of intricately designed, ornately decorated rings, earrings, necklace charms, silverware, letter openers, and small figurines, I was pretty overwhelmed.  Maybe all that glitters really is ... erm, silver.

Above you can see the different stages in the process of a small piece of silver that will probably end up being part of a pin, as well as Brittany checking out some potential gifts.  And before you start getting jealous, know that yes, I promise I will go back with my wallet.  There were definitely a couple of things in Kota Gede that had the names of a few main squeezes of mine written alllllll over them.

JOGJA ART FESTIVAL

Downtown at the Taman Budaya (Cultural Center) last month there was the second annual Jogja Art Festival, which showcased a whole slew of paintings, sculptures, and mixed-media artwork done by young contemporary Indonesian artists. Emma and I made it on the very last day of the exhibition, and thank goodness we did, because would we really have wanted to miss any of this?  No, no I don't think so.

Yes, this is a map of the world with bombs floating over the U.S., which gradually morph into hearts floating over Asia.  Also, there is no African continent.  Also, the sculpture in the middle has antlers.  Don't ask.  It's deep.

Yes, this is a sculpture of a big sow painted with the American flag, suckling nine small piglets painted with the flags of other nations and religions, among them Britain, Canada, China, Judaism, and Islam.  Hmm.

Yes, this is a series of phalluses arranged in order of increasing size, painted with the image of Michael Jackson to depict his transformation from black-skinned child superstar to white-skinned tragic king of pop.  If I may digress, in my General English class last week for our "Slang Word of the Day" warm-up, I taught my students the word "baller," as in "to be very cool."  Later in the class, during our discussion of heroes, one of my students brought up Michael Jackson and very aptly referred to him as a baller.  ("Michael Jackson is a baller.")  At the time, I applauded my student's spontaneous employment of a recently-learned vocabulary word.  Suddenly, said employment takes on a whole new meaning.

Anyway, there's JAF for you.  Who ever said art shouldn't be political?  Definitely no one in Indonesia.

So there you have it -- the Drive-By-Blog-Post.  As a visitor, needless to say, I've had the opportunity to experience some pretty astounding things, running the gamut from magic juice that will keep me healthy to MJ à la ... well, I'll keep this PG.  Jealous yet?  If so, you can keep being a little jealous, but don't be TOO jealous because tomorrow, as a dweller, I get to grade 35 General English papers on the topic of "My Personal Hero."  Based on the presentations that were given this week in class, I think it's safe to say that I will be reading mostly about my students' mothers and Jesus Christ.  So actually, maybe you should keep being jealous.  

Visitor or dweller, then?  I guess that's neither here nor there.  What is also neither here nor there is my impending vacation, since that does, in fact, have a precise location.  So it seems that as a dweller in Yogyakarta I get to read papers about how Jesus is a baller, and as a visitor to Lombok I get to sit on the beach (maybe even in a tank top?) soaking up the equatorial sun and lounging by the edge of the Indian Ocean. I think they call that win-win.  Happy Lebaran.

Reflections on the Big Oh-One

A couple of days ago, I celebrated the one month anniversary of my arrival in Yogya.  I had meant to commemorate the occasion by writing a very deep and reflective blog post about the import of said benchmark, but wouldn't ya know -- it just passed me right by.  That's not to say I wasn't aware of the meaning this past Wednesday, September 2nd held for me personally, because I very much was, but more that I was just plain old busy.  This coming week, the last of my classes that haven't yet started will begin, which will put me at about 19 hours of teaching per week, on top of which I now have 13 hours per week of Bahasa Indonesia lessons.  Add to that lesson planning time plus the random hours I just hang around the office in between classes, and you've got a pretty packed work week.  Compared to my first few weeks here, during which the days stretched out before me full of the possibility of adventurous excursions to the grocery store and plenty of free hours to blog, this new schedule is definitely a shift.  Two weeks ago, I could go to yoga class whenever I felt like it.  Now, there's only one class a week my schedule will actually accommodate, and obviously I had to enter it as a weekly event in my iCal under the "Fun Stuff" category in order to be sure I take advantage of my single weekly opportunity to contort my body into strange poses while concentrating hard on calming my mind.  Yes, my schedule has once again succumbed to the need for a "Fun Stuff" category.  Does this sound familiar to anyone?

One month ago, I was feeling dangerously adrift in a totally foreign environment, and all I wanted was a routine to help me feel grounded and purposeful.  So I guess you get what you wish for.  But when I consider the larger scope of my progress since my arrival in Indonesia, it's actually surprising to me how far I've come.  While the padlock on my front gate still gives me occasional trouble, I now have absolutely no problem hailing the bus or directing a taxi to get me home at night.  I have a pretty solid sense of the way the city is laid out, to the point that I've started to pine acutely for my own wheels so that I can get more easily to the places I want to go, with the understanding that at this point I would know how to get there.  I secretly enjoy my mandi almost as much as my hot showers with water pressure at the gym.  (I mean, when it's 88 degrees outside and humid, who really wants a hot shower?)  I know what I want to order when I go out to eat, and the dodge and weave of crossing the street is now second nature.  Yogya doesn't seem nearly as dirty or as busy as it did when I first got here.  Roosters in the road are a regular fixture.  I know how much sambal my taste buds can take.  I've started wearing a jacket at night.

The achievement I'm most proud of, though, is the progress I've made with Bahasa Indonesia.  After just a week and a half of classes, I can now hold a basic conversation covering a wide range of topics, such as what my name is, where I am from, where I live, what the time and date are, daily schedules, and how much things cost.  Before you laugh, keep in mind that just ten days ago, the extent of my knowledge of this language pretty much ended at "Good morning!" and "See you later!"  These two phrases, while quite useful individually, don't afford much opportunity to get to know someone in between their combined use.  Now, on the other hand, between "Selamat pagi!" and "Sampai nanti!", I can find out not only what someone's name is and where they live, but also how much their motorbike cost and what time they wake up in the morning.  Basically, my Indonesian skillz are pretty much off the hook.  I feel new friends coming on fast.  If "Hello!  My name is Fiona.  What's your name?  Today is Sunday.  Are you a student?" isn't a sure-fire platonic pick-up line, then I don't know what is.  

So, in the spirit of both looking back and looking ahead, I've done what I do best and compiled two lists to categorize my current feelings on this whole living in Asia thing.  Silakan!

TEN THINGS I MISS ABOUT LIVING IN THE U.S. OF A.

-- my family and friends

-- being able to call my family and friends whenever I want

-- cheese

-- having a washer & dryer

-- the social unacceptability of littering

-- not having my tastebuds seared off each time I try something new

-- efficiency

-- burgers

-- knowing what the heck is going on around me at any given time

-- wearing tank tops

TEN THINGS I LOVE ABOUT LIVING IN YOGYAKARTA

-- my housemates

-- the friendliness of indonesian people

-- nasi bakar, tempe bakar, roti bakar, anything bakar

-- island time

-- motorbikes

-- having my tastebuds seared off each time I try something new

-- tropical fruit

-- the lack of grammar in Indonesian

-- the view of Gunung Merapi out my window

-- my students

And as nice as the occasional cheeseburger would be, when I really think about it, the only thing I really miss badly is living on the same continent as my loved ones.  I've begun to suspect that I'm really going to love it here, and what will lure me back at the end of the year will probably be largely the deal-breaking distance between me and my kin.  The possibility that I might be a bit of a homebody never really occurred to me before this, but there's still a lot of time to continue debunking that myth -- in the meantime, I'm content with my $1 dinners and motorbike fantasies.

Oh yeah, and don't tell, but I think I might be breaking up with Monggo Jahe.  I met someone new -- Monggo Kurma & Mete (dates & cashews), a limited-time-only Ramadan special.  Monggo Jahe and I had our fling, but people move on, you know?  Just wait till you guys meet Monggo Kurma & Mete.  This chocolate bar is going to blow your minds.