Before
the Beginning
Sometime
ago I stood on the precipice staring out at a vaguely defined path.
It was an intimidating feeling knowing that I would have to plunge
step by step into new territory, a vagabond bereft of the luxuries of a
fixed life, no home to speak of, nothing to be tied down to. But I
was determined to move forward. The question was whether or not I had
it in me to embark on such a journey.
Well,
the answer so far has been a resounding yes.
Having
come to this conclusion, I now realize that there is some truth in
the saying: only
when we have nothing are we free to do anything.
Because looking back there is nothing for me to return to. I put an
end to my Japan life. And the few things I decided to hold onto, I
jammed into a pair of cardboard boxes and shipped to America. I
remember when I went to the post office. My friend Simon who had
helped said it was sad how my possessions amounted
to so little. I thought the opposite. I'd just rid myself of the junk
that had cluttered my life and it'd felt as though a fresh,
liberating breeze had swept through my world.
To
be honest I wouldn't give much a damn if my things never arrived. It
would be more a nuisance than anything--the loss of some clothes, a
few mementos, and what else I can't much remember now. Yet I'd move
on without them because I am who I am, and I've always believed its
not the things we surround ourselves with which define us, but the
passion, the knowledge and the wisdom we carry deep inside our hearts.
That's the fuel of life, the mettle by which we should fight and
die--a blade to cut through the bullshit we so often bury our heads
in.
Anyhow,
back to what I was getting at earlier. Before I could evaluate my time in Japan with clarity I had to distance myself from her. You see, me
and her, we had this relationship where it was no longer working for either of us. I get that now. And I should have ended it
months before. But I kept going because I had separation anxiety. I
didn't want to let go, and yet with each passing day my heart was in it
less and less. It's not that I didn't love Japan. Rather we were not
meant to be and I knew it. So I finally made up my mind to get out. At first it was terrifying. I mean,
I've never taken the big plunge before, but I think I now have an ideal of
what it's like to have a failed marriage. You put in everything
you got, some of the best years of your life included, and then it's
just over and you find yourself wondering how to carry on.
On the brighter side of things, our relationship did not end ugly. And I don't see my time in Japan as a mistake either. I still hold great
fondness for her in my heart, and while our years together were not all sugarplums and gumdrops, it's those sweet memories I choose to
reflect upon most. Oh how enchanting it was. Even now I recall Japan's
warmth against me, enraptured in the moment, my hand sliding up her
soft milky thigh, every breath between us an affirmation that we're
alive and at the center of our own wonderful universe. A shame I'll
never be able to know such intimacy with her again. But it's no
problem. I've already found a new muse to lose myself with--a sultry,
exotic thing I simply can't get enough of. Her name is Indonesia.
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| It starts here |
Jakarta
A
big mess of a city--that is what Jakarta is. I ended up staying in a
poor neighborhood with a divorcee, her parents and the young son. The
woman's name was Heny, and she alone spoke English. Being the
in-your-face type of woman that she was, Heny soon tested the limits of
geniality, but I knew she meant well and I was agreeable as could be.
After all, the woman had been kind enough to let me into her house.
Plus she was taking the time to show me around.
Heny
like all good Muslim women wore the hijab to cover her hair, and she
prayed five times a day, though she was loose with the times. In the
first floor of her parents' simple home, a little cubby hole faced
Mecca and that is where she bent forward and said the words. Her
mother too was devout. As for the men of the family, they never
prayed. Instead grandfather and son seemed content to laze about in
front of the fan and watch TV. In a way I felt I was imposing on the
family, staying three nights. To show my appreciation I treated them
to a BBQ dinner from a local eatery. I made the mistake of getting
duck. While the food was delicious, the bones had hardly any meat on
them, all the contrary to their plump cousin the chicken. I also took
Heny to a nice Japanese restaurant at a mall and let her order
whatever she liked off the menu. She went with a giant sushi roll. I
was happy to see the smile she displayed after her first bite. It was
a rare treat for Heny because she had little money. Out of six
siblings in her family it fell upon Heny to look after her parents,
so she did not have time to work a regular job. That meant no
disposable income on her part.
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| With Heny and her parents |
In
the past Heny had once worked as a masseuse in Bali and elsewhere. At
one point she gave me a massage. It was as thorough and pleasant as
one might expect. When she did it she used a kind of Icy-Hot lotion
that made my skin tingle long after she'd finished, and I had trouble
sleeping afterwards. Not only was the night air thick and humid, but
now the surface of my body burned uncomfortably.
As
for sightseeing in Jakarta I did not do much. I saw the National
Monument, which was a large observation tower with a museum in the
basement. The displays in the museum covered the history of the
country. I learned that Indonesia was under the control of the Dutch for hundreds
of years. They held on to the archipelago until the Japanese came
during World War II and crushed their military presence. After that
an independence movement began and the Dutch were ill prepared to
stop it. Aside from the monument, I also went to a few malls of which
there are no shortage in the city. Every time we set out we took a
taxi and Heny negotiated the fare ferociously, often waving away one
driver to try the next. Since I was paying for everything I
appreciated the effort.
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| Railway cuts through town |
 |
| National Monument |
 |
| Caught in the rain |
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| One of many malls |
Bahasa
Indonesia
Once
Indonesia became independent in 1957 the government made Bahasa
Indonesia (Indonesian) the unifying language which all people must
learn and use in schools. For most Indonesians though, it is not
their first language. On Java island for example, Javanese is spoken
at home my tens of millions of people, and they mix it freely with
Indonesian in their everyday conversations. There are also hundreds of other languages peppered across the many islands and
regions.
Shortly
after I arrived in Jakarta Heny taught me a few phrases in
Indonesian. She began with "Saya
suka
fotografi"--I
like photography. When I repeated the words, something came alive
inside me. I harbored this sudden thirst for more, and it was unusual
because before I'd arrived I had no intention of learning the
language, yet there I was scribbling notes and bombarding poor Heny
with a dozen questions. Then incredibly, the more I learned the easier the language
seemed. The word order was very similar to English and Indonesian did not have temporal tenses or verb inflections so I figured during my
two month stay in the country I might be able to learn enough words
to carry out basic conversation.
Well,
now that I have tried talking to people in various situations I
realize it is not like I'd first thought. For one, learning the huge
amount vocabulary needed to communicate in even the most basic of
situations and then being able to use it instantly--as conversation
often demands--is an extremely difficult undertaking. And even more
challenging is the need to recognize these words when others say
them, especially when they appear in the form of a question. That said, people often ask me the same things at first--Where
are you from? How old are you? Are you married? How long will you
stay in Indonesia? When did you arrive?--so
I
am able to answer accordingly, and in doing so, show that I have some
grasp of the language before the conversation deteriorates into
awkward nods and pauses.
But
I should give myself some credit. It's only been a few weeks and I'm
improving by the day. For example, my pronunciation is becoming more
intelligible. This is one of the more difficult aspects of the
language. The r's
are pronounced with a trill and the k's are often silent. But most
difficult is ng,
which
has a rolling nasal sound somewhere between the English n
and ing.
Leaning
too much in either direction could produce an entirely different
word.
And
unlike in some places where the locals might simply shrug off a
mispronounced word (like Japan), Indonesians have no qualms about
pointing out a mistake and then laughing about it to your face. They
don't mean to be cruel about it. That's just how they are.
At
any rate I'm happy to study a language again. Having gotten a
master's degree in applied linguistics recently it is interesting to
analyze my progress. But more than that I find learning a language fun and stimulating. So I'll continue to thumb through my
pocket dictionary, jot notes and reference my basic grammar book as
long as I'm here. Then, after I leave Indonesia, I'll probably forget
it all in half a year. Oh well. Such is life.
 |
| My study materials |
Kill
'Em With Kindness
The
island of Java is the most populous in the world. With its 130 million people, over half of all Indonesians live there
though it makes up only a small chunk of the country's surface area.
Java is divided into 6 principal regions, the largest of which are West Java, Jakarta, Central
Java and East Java. For my second stop in Indonesia I went to
Yogjakarta, the main city in Central Java. I'd arranged in
advance to stay with a local through couchsurfing.com.
The host, a university student named Yusuf, picked me up at the bus
terminal and we then rode on his motorbike to the smaller town of
Magelang.
Yusuf
lived with his parents and younger sister. The father was a mechanic
with a repair shop attached to the house, and neither he nor the
mother spoke English. The same went for the sister. But since I now
knew a bit of Indonesian I was determined to communicate in whatever
way possible. It was the least I could do--try to be friendly and
talkative--because the family was not only letting me stay in the
house, but the mother cooked for me as well. Yusuf also had a lot of
free time on his hands, so he took me around to see the local sights.
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| Foreign cash |
 |
| Home cooked |
First
up was Borobodur, the largest Buddhist temple in the world. It was
built by a once mighty kingdom that existed before Islam replaced
both Buddhism and Hinduism as the dominant religion in the
archipelago. The structure is more of a pyramid than a building and
it contains 504 Buddha statues crowning the many tiers. Like a six
year-old boy in a candy shop, I raced around madly, taking loads of
pictures in the midday heat. And Borobudur was not the only large
temple to see in Yogjakarta. Prambanan, a Hindu temple sat closer to
the city, and it was definitely the more impressive of the two. The temple was also in a state of repair because an
earthquake had struck years earlier and toppled many of its towers.
The parts that were not yet rebuilt lay scattered as stones around
the perimeter. I preferred it that way. The old, grey stones gave the
temple the look of long forgotten ruins.
Some
other places of interest warranted a stop, and Yusuf took me on his
motorcycle, all smiles and friendly as could be. If he had a worry on
his mind it was for me and my comfort because he did everything he could
to make my visit accommodating. It was almost too much. I'd only met
the man through the Internet, yet he treated me like family and it
was costing him time and money taking me from place to place. But the
man seemed genuinely happy, and what's more, he had the rare opportunity to practice English. He often asked questions about the
pronunciation and grammar. And I too inquired about the Indonesian
language. In this regard we made a good match.
 |
| Borobodur temple |
 |
| Magelang rice terrace |
 |
| Prambanan Temple |
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| Stone relief |
 |
| Underground mosque |
Detox
Alcohol.
I love it. Beer in particular. If I'm in the right mood I can easily
down a dozen bottles in a night. Sad as it sounds, that was pretty
much the story of my life in Japan--a lot of drinking and the bleary
eyed, head pounding mornings that followed. Then I arrived in
Indonesia. It's a Muslim country where alcohol is shunned by most the
people, and though some places do sell it, not one local I've met in
Java indulges. So while I could go buy a beer at any time, I don't drink alone.
To
be honest it's not a big deal. I hardly miss alcohol. And it's
probably doing wonders for my health, not drinking like I used too.
But there are those times when I'd kill for a bottle of cold beer,
like when I went karaoke with Yusuf and his friends. It was the first
time in my life to sing in front of others sober. Talk about feeling
awkward. With every word I became increasingly conscious of my poor
voice which in turn sapped me of confidence. The result was not good.
Yet if I'm drunk and sing, I turn into a Superman at the mic and it
doesn't matter how much talent I lack. Raw power and muscle more than make up for my singing faults.
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| Yusuf sings karaoke |
 |
| Putting in a song |
Another
time I could have used a beer was at a BBQ I attended. The host was
the local chief of police, a battle hardened man who had once been a
member of the Jakarta SWAT team. That's saying something because
Jakarta is a rat's nest rife with drugs, prostitution, robbery,
murder and other unsavory dealings. So I can only imagine the urban
madness the man had seen there. It makes me think of the movie 'The
Raid,' the only Indonesian film I've ever watched. In it, a lone SWAT
member takes on a mafia run apartment building, fighting his way to
the top one floor at a time. Bad ass martial arts, blood and violence
ensue.
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| Movie poster |
Also
present at the BBQ were fellow policemen and officers from a local
battalion camp. These were mostly men in their late twenties to
mid-thirties and they sat around, talking and joking while shoving
fish meat in their faces. Many also smoked, lit cigarette in hand,
wisps of white rising into the air. But not one person drank alcohol.
Instead they had little cups of water with a plastic seal over the
top. They needed to poke a straw through and it looked
ridiculous the way they sipped their water. What the men should have
been doing was chugging beer to the point of drunkenness, their
brotherly camaraderie on full display. But the scene was instead
quiet and subdued, and in my mind all wrong. So very wrong indeed.
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| With the police chief |
 |
| BBQ fish |
 |
| Sitting around with water |
Non-Stop
For
a man on vacation, my days in Indonesia have been anything but
relaxing. After arriving in Jakarta, not once in my first 20 days did
I take it easy. There was no sitting around or sleeping in late. From
the get go, my daily agenda was jammed packed with three, four,
sometimes six things to do. And it only got worse as I moved my way
east. I ended up in Bondowoso, a town where I'd agreed to help a
local English teacher through a website called workaway.info. I had
no idea what to expect. I'd just decided to run with whatever awaited
me.
So
what happened then?
Well,
the day I arrived and every one thereafter, the teacher took me on
the back of his motorbike from home to home. We either visited his
friends/family or taught students, and in the first 5 days alone, I
was taken to over thirty houses. While Bondowoso is not so big, it's
quite spread out and we hit every corner of the place, going in rain,
shine or darkness. The teacher, Zen, seemed to think it normal to
race around in such a way, but for me it was exhausting. Every time
we entered a new home I had to introduce myself and then sit there
while Zen talked and talked, sometimes for as long as two hours.
Mover, the local custom is for Indonesians to serve food and drink to
visitors, and by food, I mean full fledged meals. I was eating five, six times a day, and drinking even more. Tea
and coffee were the beverages of choice. But the locals loaded them
with sugar. This created a problem for me because I'd weened myself
off of sweet drinks while in Japan and did not want to go back to my
old ways. So I had to insist on no sugar each time, and my hosts
thought this very bizarre, especially in the case of coffee.
 |
| Coffee break |
It
was not until after 9 days that I finally had a day free of teaching.
Zen is that crazy. He works everyday and I went along with his
schedule, sucking it up from place to place. It was stupid of me. I
should have asked for a day to rest. But even then, when we finally
didn't have class, we were still busy. We went to the local
pool, and then dropped by a few houses later on. Many 'activities'
Zen had said. And our busyness was in complete contrast to the quiet
laid back lifestyle of the people in Zen's village. His house was
located in the middle of green fields and the neighbors farmed in the
early morning, then relaxed for the rest of the day.
Also
when at home I was able to spend time with Zen's family. He had two
sons and the mother lived there as well. They spoke varying degrees
of English and were very kind to me. I also had my own bedroom which
was nice. In the next house over lived Zen's aunt. She kept many lazy
cats which had loads of fleas. When it was time to feed them she
would call out "puss" and they would go running to her
door. One particularly bad neighborhood cat came and harassed them.
It also tried to bite me, so in anger I pinned it down and rubbed a
crushed chili in its face. After that it never returned.
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| Village path |
 |
| Mr. Zen's house |
 |
| Zen's mother |
 |
| El gato |
The
Way of the Teacher
Sometimes
I think I've been at the teaching game too long. 12 years and going.
Yet every time I sit or stand in front of a new group of students
something inside me clicks and I take charge of the situation,
dispensing vocabulary, grammar and other linguistic knowledge as I
see fit. Here in Indonesia it has been no different. I'm teaching
students from the elementary school to university level. There are as
many as seven or eight in a class, and we sit around a table in their
reception room, which all Indonesian homes seem to have. Some of the
students come from wealthy families--for example the son and daughter
of the man who runs the local sugar processing factory. He also
raises Bonsai trees and sells them in overseas markets such as
Singapore.
The
father of another well to do family owns restaurants in town and breeds pet birds on the side. That's something else I noticed about
the homes here. Many have birds. That or cats. But no dogs because
Islam forbids keeping them as pets. As for the students, I teach them
vocabulary or drill them through question and answer exercises. One
of my most asked questions is, "What do you want to be?"
The boys invariably say "a policeman" while the girls
mostly say "doctor." The English ability of a student
varies from one to the next so I have to make adjustments each
lesson. For the youngest students it is difficult trying to get
through the one hour lesson. I simply go over basic vocabulary, or
try and teach a simple song, neither of which takes up much time. The
kids tend to be shy, and to make matters worse, some of the parents
sit and watch which in turn places more pressure on the child.
 |
| Teaching the kids |
 |
| More students |
Mr.
Zen also volunteers at a public elementary school. He does so to
network with parents and increase his volume of private classes which
are his sole source of income. It requires a lot of hustling and he
has shamelessly paraded me about using me to line up future lessons.
I get that it's important for him to take advantage of the situation,
and in return he has looked after me and not let me pay for anything
during my stay. But at the same time it's tiring going into so many
homes and having to smile and be amicable, when often times I just
want to return to Zen's place and do nothing. As for his elementary
school kids, they are nice and cute and energetic. They circle around and greet me by
taking my hand and raising it to their face, a kind of show of
respect to elders. And I'm soon in the classroom teaching them using
the whiteboard. Sadly, their level of English is very poor, even
worse than what I was used to in Japan. Zen--among others--has told
me that the public education system in Indonesia is quite bad. One of
the biggest problems is the lack of a budget to pay teachers. There's
not enough money, so school ends at 11:00 or 12:00 to keep salaries
low.
On
the other hand, the best student I have taught is Ester. She's a
Junior High School student and comes from a modest Christian family.
She's not in any way brighter than the others, but rather she tries
harder and has more interest in the English language. Then there is
my student Felicia. She's my favorite--a young girl from a Chinese
Indonesian family. They have a store attached to their home, and I go
in the back where I sit down on the floor with her little desk
between us. I taught her often and had to think of different ways to
engage her, and she was a good student--playful and always trying.
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| Dressed for Mohammed's birthday |
 |
| Kissing of the hand |
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| High school kids |
Volcanoes
The
Indonesian archipelago is on the rim of fire and was therefore shaped
largely by volcanic activity. In East Java there are two volcanoes
that are popular tourist sites. The first I visited was Ijen Crater.
It is not so large and can be scaled in about an hour and a half. At
the top is a lake with several sulfur deposits along the shore. Local
workers collect chunks of the sulfur and carry it down the
mountainside in baskets where they can then sell it for $.07 a
kilogram. Considering they carry between 60 to 70kg at a time, they
make around $4.50 a load. An able bodied worker can double that
amount by making two trips a day, but it is very grueling work and I
pitied the men as they marched along the path.
As
for me I took dozens of pictures while marveling at the landscape.
Smoke bellowed up from the lake and carried with it the smell of
boiled eggs. Other tourists were present and snapped pictures of
their own, many of them using a selfie stick. The infernal tool is
now all the rage from Japan to Indonesia, and I can only imagine what
it's like in America, its place of origin. I do not believe in the
selfie and rarely take them. It is better to frame a picture from a
distance and use techniques such as forced perspective to create a
more appealing image.
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| Along the Ijen crater |
 |
| The peak in the distance |
 |
| Blue lake |
After
the crater we went to a nearby hot spring. Though there are many in
the region, people are not in the habit of visiting them regularly.
But I had come from Japan where I'd been to a hot spring more times
than I could possibly count, and when it came time to go in, I was
able to dip into the hottest of the two pools whereas my companions
could only put their feet in. Once we were thoroughly relaxed we ate
bakso, a kind of meatball soup that is typical in Indonesia. It also
happens to be a favorite of many of my students.
The
second volcano I went to was Mount Bromo a little mound in a much
larger caldera. It is a wasteland of dark sand and few plants. When I
went the weather was not favorable. Clouded skies loomed overhead and
a chilly wend blew in from the surrounding mountians. It almost felt
as if I was on an alien planet. Getting there was not easy either. It
was a four hour ride from where I was staying on the back of Zen's
scooter. Plus, we had a flat on the way. When we'd finally arrived, I
was surprised to learn it was Zen's first time to see the place.
 |
| Big steamy crater |
Well, the
first half of my stay in Indonesia draws to an end. I must now head to Bali island in the east. It is only a one hour ferry ride from
Java but it supposedly has an entirely different atmosphere. For one,
it is predominately Hindu as opposed to Muslim. Second, it is far
more touristy. But whatever awaits, I'm excited to see it for myself.
