the sorrows of a wanderlust

It was one of those moments where time freezes and allows you to unabashedly take in the world.

“Miss? What will we do when you’re gone? Who will make English fun for us? Please don’t go.” She asked me these questions with tears swelling in her pleading eyes, their cinnamon color in vivid contrast against the pallor of her skin.

Her words soaked into my pores and solidified themselves—forming a grip on my heart. I took a second to breathe and watched all the students that surrounded me. My students. While I was busy teaching my students and roaming the maze that is Medan, I realized I had unwittingly given parts of myself away. These were secret parts, and no one else knew about their existence besides their keepers and me. At that moment, I felt as if I was dispersed across the whole world. I could see various pieces of me floating in the hymns of the Bostwana delta, resting in the nooks of the Jammie Steps in Cape Town, lounging languidly on Bali’s shoreline, hustling in Mumbai’s markets…and now they would be here too...bouncing in the walls of classrooms and speeding through the bells and honks of Medan. The problem with giving parts of yourself to people and places is that giving requires love. And the problem with falling in love is the inevitable good bye. Whether you are together for ten days, nine months, or fifty years—goodbyes are inescapable and so is their blinding pain.

I have learned a lot in Indonesia.

Life here has taught me inextinguishable patience. I’ve been slapped by the wind and tossed in the rains. When Medan shuts down due to a downpour, I have to pause too. Crouching under a roof, I can’t help but smile at the children that flood the streets as quickly as the water.

Where prayer has dominion, I was taught the benefits of religious assiduity and shown a glimpse of another way of being. Muslims have to pray five times a day. They stop whatever they are doing, wash themselves, and take five minutes to appreciate their life and say thanks to Allah. Taking twenty-five minutes out of everyday to appreciate the gifts of our world doesn’t seem like too much to me. The commitment to a higher power in this country is a beautiful thing. I have visited several mosques and have had open discussions on how the world should be according to the faith of Islam. Whenever I am in the midst of whatever I am doing and hear the azan (call to prayer)—I instantly feel a part of something Greater.

We’ve been together for over eight months and now the breakup is imminent. Ominous clouds grey the horizon and the end looms near. Her uncouth behavior contradicts the beauty of her azure pools, of her flawless peaks and valleys. Despite her many contradictions, I’m still smitten with Indonesia and her people.

And despite all that I have learned, I have not yet learned how to say goodbye.

Dear America: Questions from x-9

The following is a compilation of questions I received from one of my classes after a discussion on stereotypes and American culture. They are really thoughtful good questions! I NEED your help to answer them!!

I promised the students that I would ask my friends from all over America to help me answer these questions. Please answer any that you can. I would love to have some diverse opinions :) I will meet with them again on Monday (May 17th) and hope to have some answers by then. I typed the questions verbatim.

E-mail me if you've got answers. vasanghavi@gmail.com


Questions
*free sex=sex before marriage

1) In America is there discrimination between white skin and black skin?

2) We know that America is a developed country. But what are the less things [the problems] in America?
Is everybody rich and the number of poverty very low?

3) Why do Americans think free sex is ok? Why doesn't the government forbid free sex? Why do Americans like free sex? Do you agree with free sex?

4) Why do the students in high school not use uniform like in Indonesia? Why aren't they use uniform? What is the benefit of no uniform?

5) What is the solution of different religion in America?

6) Why does America support Israel? Why America does not want to help Palestine people?

7) Why America can say what they want to?

8) What does American people look like?

9) Why in New York most of the people don't know their neighbors?

10) Why are the Americans so furious and fight in Afghanistan and Iraq? Why American people like to go to war with Arabian country?

11) What are the religions in America? Is everyone atheist?

12) Do you think abortion is a good solution? Do you think it means kill someone [Do you think abortion is killing a baby]?

13) Does America ever have natural disaster? Like earthquake?

14) What is the meaning of liberty for American people?

15) What kind of ethnicities are in America?

16) What is the night life like in America?

17) What is special American food?

two truths, a lie, and massive failure in the classroom

warning: this post is not a happy one.

i have three weeks left in indonesia and as expected, i am feeling overly emotional and dramatic. the fact that i am leaving soon exacerbates both happy feelings and frustrated ones.

i decided this week we would play a simple game called "two truths and a lie." most of my students had semester exams this week, so i figured an easy game would be received well.

on the board i wrote:

Two Truths and a Lie

1) i can cook fried rice.

2) i played basketball in high school.

3) i have one sister who is 14 years old.

i explained to them that one of these sentences about me was untrue or false. i then explained that two of these sentences about me were true.

after i read each sentence, the students had to stand up if they believed the sentence i had just read was a lie. a lot of students thought that number two was a lie, which i found pretty funny.

(the lie was number 3, by the way. i have a 14 year old brother.) i explained that they would all write their own 3 sentences and come to the board one by one. the class would then guess which sentence the student wrote was a lie.

simple?

apparently not.

here are some of the answers i got from students:

class 10-4

1) i am a student at sman 3

2) i can walk

3) i can fly

-r.c.

i persevered. "guys! you want to write sentences that could be true or false. you want your classmates to guess! otherwise the game isn't really fun, right?"

"oh yeah. yes miss!!!"

class 10-5

1) i am spiderman

2) i have two eyes

3) i hate school

-y.z.

class 10-6

1) i have one father

2) i have one mother

3) i have twenty brother and sister

-k.l.

after the student wrote his/her sentences on the board, he or she would read them to the class. the class would then vote on which one they thought was the lie.

when y.z. disclosed that his first sentence, "i am spiderman," was indeed false, the whole class cheered. they cheered uproariously. i was so confused. didn't they already know he wasn't spiderman? didn't they already know they guessed correctly?

i guess it would be different if i was teaching elementary school? because than i would understand why my students cheer for certain things. like when their classmate reveals that his lie was that he could fly.

how about i tell you about last week.

last week, i had my students write out sentences for charades.

one student wrote, "a man make water for toilet."

really, kiddos?

maybe the smell of fresh cut grass and summer lemonade is clouding my senses. maybe the thought of running into my parents arms at the airport is making these last few weeks particularly hard.

there are no schedules here. my classes are constantly cancelled. teachers get paid for extra-curricular activities they never lead. men get to smoke and judge women who do. cheating in school and on spouses is expected. money that could be going into education is used to buy snacks for meetings. my school has power outages every day, but the glitzy mall Sun Plaza is always air conditioned and glamorous.

im tired of all the stares i receive. i don't really understand why people here stare at me anyways. most indonesians think i am indonesian. im brown. i have black hair. and i dress appropriately for the culture. so why are you STILL glaring at me? if i was white, or pink, or green i would understand.

im also tired of not fitting in --even when i look like i fit in. the other day, on my way home from bandung, i came across a group of americans in the bandung airport. they were on their way to bali. their dress, accents, and navy blue passports gave them away. i was excited to meet some americans so i walked up and said hello.

me: * unusually bubbly for 5 a.m.* "hi! are you guys from america?"

some lady in a gold print VEGAS t-shirt: "yeah"

me: "awesome, im from the states too. what are you guys doing here?"

VEGAS lady: "we are going to bali. what are you doing here?"

me: "oh, i'm an english teacher on sumatra."

VEGAS lady's husband: "where are you from?"

me: "im from the states. indiana."

VEGAS husband: "from india?"

me: "no, indiana. my parents are from india."

VEGAS husband: "that's it! you didn't look...well you looked a little different."

me: "awesome. have a nice trip."

my fellow indonesians aren't the only ones that need a lesson on u.s. diversity. p.s. wtf arizona?

anyways.

im sure i will look back on all of this in a few weeks and lightheartedly laugh. its just been a rough few weeks. memories are always fonder as time drudges on. the past has a tendency to become romanticized.

but for now, i am not feeling any romance. i am very much looking forward to peeing in my bathroom at home and not have a rat crawl out of the drain.

Motorcycle Musings

Top Three Life Lessons Gleaned from Riding my Motorbike

1) Go fast or go slow…but don’t fluctuate. It seems that when I am feeling particularly lax and drive leisurely, the other moving vehicles on the road don’t really bother me. They do their thing, and I do mine. When I am aggressive and swerve around others, as long as I’m confident, all is well. It’s the days when I am bipolar in my speed…hesitant in whether that becak driver really IS worth cutting off or not…when I get into trouble. I guess we should be content with however speed we’re going in life and know that we’re in control. If we’re too busy deciding, we lose the joy of the drive (and lose balance and skid).

2) Be in the present moment…or you’ll get rammed by a minibus. One typically hot and humid day, I was driving along Jalan Karya engrossed in some fantasy involving jalapeno bagels and garden vegetable cream cheese. I would share more details but that would be inappropriate in this public arena. [[side note: bagels don’t exist here]] Drooling over thoughts of philly cream chease, I kind of went on autopilot. It happens so easily when you’re driving a car. You get from point A to point B and don’t even remember what roads you just took. Unfortunately, a motorbike requires a much more heightened state of awareness. Just as the chunk of bagel was dangling from my fingers about to drop into my mouth, a frenzied HONKKKKK snapped me out of my dream. I was mere inches away from running into a dull orange minibus that happened to be driving on the wrong side of the road. The drivers frustrated glare met mine. Anyways, I learned that regardless of where your mind leads you, sometimes its important to stay in the present...To live in that moment and absorb all the sounds and colors of the world that surround you. Its no fun to live passively in daydreams. And its definitely no fun to get run over by a minibus.

3) The paths are unlimited…adventure awaits. While some friends and I were driving around Lake Toba (Hells Angels style, YEAH WE’RE HARDCORE), we went through some pretty rough terrain and witnessed some spectacular views. It was empowering to be able to drive myself around (a lot of women here would never attempt to try to ride one), and it was suddenly so clear to me that I could go anywhere I wanted. Literally. If I wanted to drive from northern Sumatra to the south and then take a ferry to Singapore and then backpack through Asia living off the land and people's kindness…I COULD! Nothing was stopping me except me. I think I forget sometimes that I can create my reality and shape my world the way I want. Unbound by responsibilities and obligations of debt, children, a job...I own my days. And freedom IS *oh* so sweet.

More updates and pics to come. Its been a very very busy past few months. I've been reminded how blessed I am to be alive and for this experience...sans bagels and all.

Indonesian Cheek Kisses.

gone local

for the context of this picture refer to the paragraph entitled :THURSDAY

“There came a time, (s)he realized, when the strangeness of everything made it increasingly difficult to realize the strangeness of anything.” –James Hilton, Lost Horizon

Many of you have inquired about what a typical day is like for me here. I, unfortunately, have to respond by saying that there really is no such thing as a “typical day.” But I can tell you how last week went and maybe it will help elucidate life in Medan.

MONDAY: I woke up Monday groggy and pining for another hour in bed as usual. I clumsily put on my black pin-striped trousers and long-sleeve sweater (to cover my arms) and cursed the five mosquitoes that ate a fabulous meal from my face. I proceeded to rush to school on my motorbike; instead of passively riding on the sides of the road, terrified of what type of fast moving vehicle was moving my way, I sped. I snaked in and out of the slower folks and skillfully dodged the motorcycle drivers that were coming in my direction (since people like to drive on both sides of the road here). I think the only way the Indonesian survive being a polite and stoic people is by"letting it all go" behind the steering wheel. Their true rage reigns forth in the form of intermittent HONKS.

I flew over a few sleeping police (speed bumps,) cutoff a truck or two, snarled at a driver that nearly ran me over, and arrived at school in record time. 10 minutes. I took off my helmet and gleefully smiled to myself. Take THAT you ANAK-ANAK MEDAN. Driving here should be considered an extreme sport. I have to say, I think I would make a pretty decent competitor. I took off my helmet, untwisted my ponytail, and vigorously raked my fingers through my hair to evenly distribute the sweat that had collected at the nape of my neck and the top of my forehead.

Students here are incredibly polite and bow when you walk past them. They also love to say hello—most of them only knowing the phrase “hello miss” or “good morning” in English. My walk down the main walkway usually elicits at least 15 to 20 “HELLO MISS!” except that miss doesn’t sound like “miss” that rhymes with “kiss.” It instead rhymes with “geese.” (the long /i/ for all my fellow phoneticians). Their smiles soften the shell of the misanthrope I resemble in the mornings, and I cant help but laugh. “GOOD MORNING!!!!!” I yell back. I make my way to the teacher’s lounge. Ibu S.H., a boisterous and puerile 47-year old woman, accosts me with another, “Good Morning FIDIIIIIIII.” (v’s are often changed to f’)

“Pagi ya bu.”

“Hai, Vidhi! Do you like SEX?”

Lady, I just woke up. I am not ready for this.*face frozen in consternation* “Uh, apa? What?”

“Do you like sex? Sex is like making looooove. You know it?” *dancing and indonesian song about love and sex ensue*

“Hm. Ngak tahu bilang apa.” ‘Hm. Dunno what youre saying.’

I look over to the rest of the teachers, and they snicker. I am speechless. I smile and say I have to run to class. The first bell already rang five minutes ago. No one moves. I nudge the teacher I am supposed to be working with for the morning and she sighs. She grudgingly gets up from her seat, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I escape the teacher’s lounge. I timidly walk into my first class, 10-7, and they erupt in hoorays.

“Good morning class!! What’s up?”

“Not much, just chillin Miss.” Nice. At least they’ll remember one thing I taught them.

I laugh and we proceed to the present-perfect…

***

TUESDAY: Hail the rain gods for they have heard my prayer. My alarm goes off at 7:00 a.m. and I smile a secret smile to myself: it's raining. Indonesia has two seasons, rainy and not-rainy. Regardless of the annual rainy season that inevitably arrives (oh my goodness!!) EVERY year, the Medanites still do not know how to handle coexisting with the rain. Motorbikes pull over to the side of the road, the street children crouch under whatever shelter they can find, and the men immediately stop their work to flip open a cigarette box for a quick smoke. A few months ago, when it rained really hard one morning, I left my house 10 minutes early to get to work. This is what the average American would do to get to work in the midst unfavorable weather. I got to work a little damp but exactly on time. To my dismay, no one else had arrived! When students and teachers started pouring in a half-hour to fourty-five minutes later, I asked what any American would ask.

“Kenapa?” ‘Why?’

The answer was unanimous and told frankly: “Hujan.” ‘rain.’

Thus, this rainy Tuesday morning of January 26^th 2010, I would not react like a rude time-obsessed foreigner. I reset my alarm for thirty minutes later and then leisurely headed to the school with just a drizzle misting me from above. When I got to the teachers lounge, I noticed Ibu T.T. (the woman I was supposed to working with that morning) giggling and gossiping with another teacher. I glanced at the clock; it was 8:00 a.m. School starts at 7:30. I asked her why she wasn’t in class, and she casually replied, “rain.” It wasnt raining into the roofed classrooms was it? Didnt think so...

“But its 8:00 am!!”

“Oh yes yes, lets go now.”

We arrive to class and all of the students are in their seats waiting. She begins her lesson and finishes at promptly at 8:15. (I am supposed to start teaching at 8:15). A few months ago, I would have gotten up and started. I told her no, that she was really late and she should finish her lesson. She got the hint.

On Tuesdays I have a full plate of teaching. 6 periods. By the time I got to 10-2 (my last class), I was exhausted. Most of my classes are lower level on Tuesdays so teaching them is a bit rough. They don’t say much and generally don’t ask very many questions. Sometimes I have to go student to student asking if they have understood me. Usually I get a handful of “ngak mengerti, Miss.” ‘don’t understand.’

So after using large hand gestures and explaining what a “favorite childhood memory” is to my students for fifteen minutes, I continued my lesson. We had been working on descriptions, so I asked the students to draw their favorite childhood memory. As I started walking around the room checking pictures, a group of guys called for my attention. I walked over and saw that they all had blank pieces of paper. “Ayo, cepat la. Favorite childhood memory.” ‘Lets go, quickly now. Favorite memory.’ Jovi had a question.

“Can we draw your body, Miss Vidhi.” *peals of pubescent laughter*

“Uh, no,” I stammered. Was I dressed too provocatively? I then realized that I was fully covered in loose material from head to toe. Maybe my hair was in a sexy, flirty hairstyle? Nope, it was in its usual taut bun. I rolled my eyes, but the damage was done. I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks and wanted to die right then and there. I don’t know how this sixteen-year old kid got the best of me, but I had no idea how to react. The other teacher that was in the room didn’t speak good enough English to even catch what Jovi had said. I told him to get to work and walked from the snickering corner feeling awful. The girls are usually the brightest in most of my classes and they hardly ever misbehave. But the boys… Its really tough teaching the boys sometimes. You want to be friendly and approachable so they listen and respect you-but you want to be stern and unyielding to those who misbehave. Unfortunately the ones who misbehave are the ones who need to most help. I wrapped up the class feeling off-kilter, but hey you cant win em all.

***

THURSDAY: We had just finished the part of the activity where the students try to match a picture of a memory with its description. During this activity, the girls usually shriek when they find a match and awkwardly jump up and down due to their constricting long skirts. The guys get excited too, but they calmly fist-pump the air. I had just settled the students into their seats when the other teacher walked in. I took my seat and let her continue with her portion of teaching. She finished ten minutes early, and asked the students if they had completed their verb-list homework . Groans rippled through the air. “Have you done it? When will it be done?” asked Bu Leli, who always assigns homework but forgets to mention the day it is due. Someone snickered and snidely replied, “Next year aja, Mam.” The class burst out laughing (myself included). Ibu Leli was peeved. She narrowed her oval eyes to mere slits and pointed straight to Beni.

“Di Depan, sekarang.” ‘To the front, now.’

Beni, head hung in obvious shame, slowly plodded his way to the front. He held his breath waiting for the punishment. Would he have to recite 100 verbs in the past tense? Would he have to write 50 more verb lists for homework? Or worse yet, would he have to write a five page paper on why it is impolite to disrupt a class with a snide remark?

Ibu Leli swiftly walked to the back of the room and grabbed the polka-dotted umbrella that was lying prostrate on the floor. She quickly pushed a red button which breathed life into the polka-dotted rain guard. Determined with alive umbrella in hand, she walked back to the front of the room and stuck the open umbrella in front of Beni’s plump face. His punishment had nothing to do with English or discipline. His punishment was to hold the umbrella for five minutes in front of the class. Beni was embarrassed but could not hide his smile. The girls, laughing, immediately grabbed their cellphones and started taking pictures. The guys started chanting, “nyani, nyani”. ‘sing, sing’

It was confirmed. Ibu Leli said that Beni had to sing a song and dance to complete his punishment. Beni laughed and willingly obliged. I quickly had a flashback to my first month of teaching. I remember being appalled when the tardy student had to sing as a punishment for being late to class. Today, I cracked up. Who was I kidding? Watching a smug sixteen-year old sing and dance with a polka-dotted umbrella was too hilarious. I laughed so hard my eyes started tearing. This kid was that good. After the bell rang, I didn’t rush out as I usually do after my last class of the day. I hung out with the students that were still taking pictures; I wont lie to you, if I had a camera on my phone, I would have taken a picture too.

***

I promised my English Club students we would watch the Pursuit of Happyness on Friday. I also promised them popcorn and soda. I do not own the movie nor do I know where I am going to find popcorn for 50 students…true to the Indo style, I promised something I don’t know how to accomplish. But also true to Indo style, I am sure Ill figure it out by Friday.

Either you sway to the direction of the wind or spend your energy fighting the undeniable course of nature. I finally feel I’ve earned the right to call this city mine. Some days it frustrates the hell out of me and some days I never ever want to leave. One day when I was feeling particularly homesick, I updated my facebook status asking the question: “Why does Indo not have cough drops, Greys Anatomy, or Granola bars?”

One of my precocious students wisely commented, “Because Miss, this is Indonesia. Things are Different here.”

an epic december

it is almost february, and i assure you, i am not sure how that happened. two days ago was my five month anniversary here in medan. WOW. SNAP. CRACKLE. POP. SPICY. NASI GORENG. THAT. IS. A. LONG. TIME. rewind?

december was an epic month. i had six weeks of vacation starting december 4th-january 11th. i utilized this travel time to its full potential. i started off by visiting tana toraja in sulawesi where death seems to be a larger celebration than life. i then went to yogyakarta--"the heart of java." borobudur (the largest buddhist temple in the world) was a hop, skip away so we went and saw that too. one day we caught a sunset at a beach an hour south of yogya which was incredible. jimmy, akin to a five-year old child, was playing with sticks and stones and floated away in the ocean current for a while. good thing hes twice the size of the ocean. after lots of medicinal laughs and prawn jokes, i continued on my journey to flores. i met up with seb, ashley, and aaron in bali and we were off for our "remote" adventure. in flores, the beauty was dramatic and magnificent. the people were friendly but not overbearing. i learned that in the flores dialect of indonesian, i am considered "manis" but not "cantik." i will never be "cantik." in indonesian, "cantik" means pretty and "manis" also means pretty but i am yet to figure out the different connotations. in flores however, "manis" is only reserved for women who are darker. "cantik" is only for the whiter, pure, angel-skinned women. interesting. i saw many black sand beaches, indescribable sunsets, and serpentine switchbacks. in flores, like much of indonesia, nature commanded the people to obey to its whims and ways. in indonesia it seems nature refuses to be manicured.

after my trip to flores, i spent two days in jakarta (aka sebs house where i took over) where i met up with raj (pre usa departure for his 2 weeks) and hung out with angie and kerry. kerry met me up in jakarta before our two weeks in thailand and vietnam. on the night of raj's flight, we all went out to some fancy club and the doorman made raj change because he was wearing khaki shorts and BOAT shoes. pants were necessary to enter. CONVENIENTLY, a pant-rental place was just downstairs. raj, exalted by his new style, showed up five minutes later in black adidas sweatpants splattered with white paint stains. peeking out from under his sweatpants were his tan boat shoes. now he was dressed well enough to enter the pulsing halls of club X2. oh indonesia, how i adore thee. we laughed and danced the night away to bad house music.

the next morning kerry and i departed for vietnam. as the plane was descending into HoChiMinhCity, i realized i was going to vietnam. 5 minutes later i realized i was in vietnam. I WAS IN VIETNAM. saigon (or HCMC) is a throbbing, compact city filled with enough motorbikes to pollute the entire universe. i thought traffic in medan or jakarta was bad. stoplights in saigon literally had 7 rows of motorbikes impatiently waiting to step on the accelerator. french baguettes lined the sidewalks next to stands of dried squid fluttering in the breeze. the vietnamese (generalization coming up) are vociferous when angry and are not shy to invade your personal space; they gave a hearty smack on the leg when they felt wronged. after living in a country where outbursts of emotion is hardly ever seen--even when someone is furious--vietnam was quite a shock. we visited a few sites in saigon, among them the vietnam war remnants war museum (which used to be named the us war crimes museum). after overhearing a british couple snickering about the war in afghanistan, kerry and i couldnt help feeling that there would be a similarly named museum in afghanistan one day. to say the museum was depressing would be a gross understatement. we also met up with a friend of a friend, trang, who took us out at night and introduced us to all her friends. she was one of the nicest people i have ever met. from saigon we flew to bangkok and saw many temples, floating markets, and buddhas. we spent five days in a swanky hotel (for free courtesy of kerrys moms friend) and our last night ended with a spectacular new years. we were caught in the middle of an asian times square where we were in the midst of an asian mosh pit. after we escaped the moshing folks, we found our way back to our hotel and watched the fireworks burst over bangkok from the 32nd floor. being a place where temples spotted the landscape more often than churches left me feeling more spiritual than i had felt in a while. from bangkok we headed to hanoi, the capital city of vietnam. from hanoi we tookoff to ha long bay. (i remember randomly sending wyatt an email about wanting to go there one afternoon when i was looking up interesting places in the world while procrastinating writing my thesis senior year) i couldnt believe i was actually there. jagged rock formations with lush green life jut out from the placid water. the vietnamese call the bay "descending dragon." it was cloudy and grey when we arrived there but the beauty refused to be cloaked by the clouds. it was stunning.

i arrived back in medan on january third with a renewed appreciation for indonesia. medan is starting to feel like my own; its not just some foreign city i am living in. four more months left...time is running faster than me. i should probably start sprinting...

cheers to an incredible beginning of a new year. as my penpal jonthon coined, "twenty-ten, so damn zen."

love.

life in pictures...words to follow

pak dedicating a song to me during the school's annual bazaar on nov.21st...something about my smile, haha.

students advertising their bazaar table to raise money for their extracurricular groups.

our team competing in the poco poco competition at the bazaar with the entire school watching.

me with some students at the school.

me and k in bali on october 24th.

(kerry is my best girlfriend here--she teaches in jepara (on java) and is my travel buddy for the next few weeks...i don't know what i would do without her).

john, me, cici, and rez(a) at the top of gunung sibayak, after a long hike on november 7th . it was their (ci and za) first real hike, and they were exhausted. we found a teal sulfur lake.

me. i was really excited to find the lake.

with the kids on the way up to the top.

i acquired bamboochuck fighing skills on the climb up. indo ninja style.

dont believe me? come visit.

"John, should I wear my fleece pants or jeans to go swimming in the sulfer pools?"

I apologize for being lame and not updating.

I am so busy its unreal. Well, actually its very real/apparent because I am tired and sleepy and slowly becoming fat. I am going to share some pics and then tell y'all about teaching and a local NGO I have become infatuated with.

Here are some pics from hiking in the Sumatran jungle / Lake Toba. I also have pictures from Bali but cannot currently locate that camera...will post those later.

hello.

Yogi making tea in the morning

Sumatran jungle crew in Sibolangit (village of the sky).

traditional Batak house from Samosir Island.

a really large banyan tree on Samosir, the island in Lake Toba.

the largest lake, Lake Toba, in Southeast Asia! (its the size of Singapore)

the quintessential Indonesian man (notice the cig in his left hand).

Teaching: I love it. I teach at my school, SMAN3, Tuesday through Friday and on Mondays I teach art and English at a KKSP (a local NGO that works with street children). Most of my classes at the school are around 40-50 students. That’s double a normal U.S. high school classroom. Also, my official job is “English teaching assistant.” In Indonesian, this translates as “qualified high school English teacher” because out of the 7 teachers I work with, 6 leave the classroom when I enter. Here, instead of the students changing classes after each period, the teachers change classrooms. This leads to restless students that are eager to learn anything that I have to say because I make them move around. This also leads to a very sweaty me because unlike most of the teachers, I like to get to class on time. I am also usually wearing a sweater and long pants. Did I happen to mention the trivial fact that I AM BASICALLY ON THE EQUATOR?? Each class I teach is about 45 minutes, but sometimes the teachers “forget” to come back and I end up making something up for the remainder of the time until the teacher returns. Teachers at my school (and apparently in Indonesia as the ETA meet up in Bali revealed) are notorious for being late and frequently leaving class. Most teachers also just stand at the front of the classroom and talk for 45-90 minutes. Students are basically in zombie mode by the time I get to them and cheer and clap when I enter the classroom because I don’t stand at the front and talk at them for 45 minutes. (I feel a little bit famous at school, its really strange) They are also very…uh…high school. They giggle constantly in class and there is clandestine handholding in the hallways. And most of them love to learn and readily soak up what I have to say. A power like that is both exciting and exhausting since I have to carefully craft my words all day, even when I’m not in the classroom. A few students have sent me messages after classes and have told me that they learned x, y, or z and/or are excited for the next class. Or they tell me that I made them wonder about x, y, or z. Knowing that at least one person has learned something from my constantly perspiring, confused 23-year-old self is enough fuel to keep me going for the next 6.5 months. (yes, its already been 2.5 months here!! )

At the NGO (KKSP) that I am volunteering/interning at (http://www.kksp.or.id/en/), I have decided to work with a group of 20 boys ranging from the age of 7-23. They all live in a shelter called Rumah Musik (House of Music), and they work on the street playing music for money. Most of them do not have schooling background and live, sleep, and chill at the shelter. Each person usually earns around 50,000 Rp. ($5 US) in a week.

They also smoke. Constantly. When I asked why they all smoke like chimneys, Y (age 23) told me that having an addiction is cheaper than buying his dinner every day.

Last Monday I hung out with them on my own. The first few times I met with them, Ali (their main coordinator from KKSP) was with me, so he could translate the difficult stuff. Ali is also the guy I went camping in the jungle with. He's a very chill laid back 30-year-old guy with a big heart and a passion for justice. This past Monday, Ali was still kickin it in the jungle, so I went to with Rumah Musik on my own. I was really nervous since my Indonesian is decent but shaky and I would be attempting to connect with 20 boys/men. At first it was awkward, and we just languidly stared at each other for a while. I asked myself who I thought I was and what on earth possessed me to come to Indonesia. Just as the butterflies in my stomach were starting to crawl up my throat, one of the guys picked up his guitar and started strumming. I have had a long-running love affair with the sound of an acoustic guitar and our romance continued in the dark open room of Rumah Musik. I started to hum and soon, everyone was playing either the drums or guitar and we had a drum/guitar circle going. They taught me one of their songs they wrote and I sung. I then translated it into English, and we created an English version of the song and harmonized. We did a quick English lesson, and I promised them next time we would do an art lesson. As I left, they walked me out to my motorbike and laughed as I forgot to put my kickstand up before I started the gas.

Heres part of the song:

seuma orang itu guru

alam raya sekolahtu

sejatralah bangsaku

'all the people are teachers'

'great experience is my school'

'in prosperous solidarity is my nation'

I'm surprised at how much I enjoy teaching. The high schoolers and the kids at Rumah Musik have reminded me of the simplicity of life--despite the seeming complications.

While we were camping, I was sitting staring at the mountains that surrounded us and Ali asked me why I was always smiling. I was taken aback by his question and didn't even realize this was the case. I laughed and all I could spit out was, "I'm so lucky."

During my fourth period class today, another one of my students asked me why I was always smiling. I had no idea that I have a smile glued to my face...but apparently the fact that I love it here and am learning so much shows.

This weekend I am going to the hills with some of my students. They have been excited about it for weeks, and I am looking forward to hanging out with them outside of school.

Thanks for all the love you have sent me. All the e-mails and messages really help ground me when I am having my lonely moments.

peace from the southeast.

random pics

with a bunch of students at a housewarming party afterschool

i spoke in indonesian and they in english

big, hearty belly laughs at miscommunication and lots of high school gossip

my bathroom. i have no sink, but i have clean water. bonus.

my room! [notice my motorcycle helmet on the bed] :)

the head master, his wife, me, science teacher, and ibu zulfah (my counterpart/awesome english teacher) at halal bihalal [big lunch to ask mutual forgiveness week after eid]

halal sprite.

color conscious

after two weeks of observation (october 9, 2009):

the first few days i walked around in the school, i received many double takes.

let me share a conversation i had at least fifty times in my first week at SMAN 3.

Random teacher (to Ibu Zulfah): *nodding at me* siapa? ('who is that?')

Ibu Z: Oh! that is vidhi! she is our new english teacher from america. dari america, ya.

*Random teacher cautiously steps towards me and examines me from head to toe.*

Random teacher: cantik, ya. tapi hitam. orang india. ('very pretty. but black. she is from india)

Ibu Z: No, no she is from America. She can speak fluent American English.

Random teacher: *stares suspiciously* nga. orang india! lihat! ('no. shes indian. look!')

Me: saya dari america tapi orang tua dari india. saya tinggal america. ('i am from america, but my parents are from india. i live in america')

Random teacher: Ah. Tahu BOLLYWOOD? DANCE, YA? wooo, dance! show dance! bisa bahasa indonesia, seperti 0rang indonesia, bagus! (' can you dance like a bollywood? dance! you can speak indonesian! you are like indonesian! great!)

Me: sorry, i cant dance like a bollywood star. yes, i am learning to speak indonesian. *slightly amused smile*

end scene 1.

i am not exaggerating. this very scenario happened fifty times. the first time, i laughed and was very amused. by the 49th time, i was over it. in the end, when i divulge that my parents are from india and i was, indeed, born in india, the teacher's eyes light up and they point at me as if they have figured me out. puzzle solved. boxed, packaged, and sold. they were "right" all along. i always smile and try to explain that i am of both worlds but my sharp nose and slightly slanted eyes seem to speak louder than my words. and then the bell rings and i must go to class to answer more questions for "observation."

its very frustrating to never quite fit into a place. in india, i would never be considered indian enough. my walk is too western, my dress too modern. my ideas drenched in "corrupted american ideology." in the states, i am initially identified by my cultural background. my skin and face giving me away before i am ready to share. i find myself, especially here, reevauating my identity and what components are relative in creating an identity. sure ethnicity is one part--a genetic piece of the puzzle. but i dont think i even know what race is anymore. however, i love blending in whenever i walk down the road.

regardless of the frustrations, i feel that i am fulfilling my duties in being a cultural ambassador. many of my students have asked why i am not white, and this gives me a great platform where i can start talking about cultural diversity in the u.s. and although the teachers give me a hard time about being non-white, they have accepted me as a sister and "one of them." they love that i am darker and tell me i could be indonesian. they tell me i am "hitam-manis" ('black-sweet'), which means i am pretty and sweet even though i am black and tell me that they think i am much nicer than other bules 'foreigners' they have met.

no one knows very much english at all. the men at school love to tell me i am beautiful and ask me to go to the movies with them. (they are all married and innocent, so it is just funny and flattering). i randomly hear "i love you, miss vidhi" in the halls from the boys and the girls. sometimes i feel like i am teaching in a middle school as opposed to a high school. the women always compliment me on my figure, hair, and face. and everyone, EVERYONE, will always go up and over and around the corner out of their way to help me.

i have learned that a smile, even when youre really pissed off or tired or cold, can go a long way. talk about universal language =D the best thing about the indonesian smile is its genuine nature. you can tell that when they smile back, they really mean it. its the best.

smiling is great, even by myself.

the other day i was taking a shower at four in the afternoon when the power went out. this meant the water also stopped dripping (to say 'stopped flowing' would be a horrible misrepresentation of how fast the water comes out of the nozzle). i was all soaped up in my cockroach infested bathroom with nowhere to go. now i could have gotten really upset, but i decided to start laughing, just as my fellow indonesians have taught me to do, and the situation rectified itself in ten minutes or so.

i would really like to be fluent in indonesian. now. it is a slow and arduous process. i am learning but there are just so many words, haha!

today was my first day of actually teaching on my own in the classroom! i will write about the students and afterschool life next time.

til then, be proud of whatever color you are..purple, blue, brown, yellow, orange, red, black, or green. and yes. even white.

no more big yellow school buses

first day of school (september 28, 2009):

i woke up for my first day of school like every other first day of school: ridiculously groggy and disgusted by the chirping alarm being emitted from my cell phone at 5:30 am. i took a shower and put on my very best first day of school outfit. long black dress pants and a navy blue longsleeved button-up dress shirt. ibu zulfah was supposed to pick me up at 7:00 am. she arrived promptly at 6:45 am. i quickly gathered my things and we were off on her motorbike to the high school.

my very first day at SMAN3, was the first day back for all the students and staff; they were off for Ramadan, a month long religious holiday and the school's state appropriately reflected that it had been vacant for a some time. so it was a pseudo first day for everyone. to begin the week, every week, there is a flag ceremony. during this ceremony all 1400 students stand, grouped by grade level in the courtyard and face the flag. the teachers stand in front, next to the flag. this week was obviously no exception.

after some student leaders recited the national anthem, the headmaster started speaking. during his speech, a teacher nudged me and said, "five minute speech, ya? you new. some indonesia some english, ya? ok. ya. it will be ok, ya?"

uh...sure id love to speak in front of 1400 students and 100 teachers on my very first hour in my very first day at your school.

so not like any other first day of school.

the headmaster finished his speech, and i was shoved towards the podium. i stepped over the chords and squinted into the sunlight to see a wave of fresh young (profusely sweating) faces. i gave a short speech half in indonesian and half in english. everyone cheered after each indonesian sentence. i felt like a rockstar. a really really sweaty rockstar. after i finished, the students and teachers applauded and whistled. i walked backed to my former position under the shade and then waited in line with the other teachers as each one of the 1400 students came up to shake our hands.

except the handshake isnt a typical handshake. it is like the following:

in order to show respect to teachers/elders/those in authority, the students take the teacher's right hand with both of their hands and put it up to their forehead or cheek and bow.

this takes a while since there are 1400 students.

did i mention it was only 8am?

after the greetings and the handshaking, i went to my first observation. for the first two weeks at our school, we were only supposed to observe the teachers and their interactions with the students. only in the third week were we to start teaching. this idea sounded great when AMINEF told us about it back at the Novotel in bandung...except it didnt really happen.

definition in english of observation: sitting and watching to receive knowledge of how something or some task occurs or is performed

definition of observation in indonesian english: giving a speech about yourself to each class and every class and subsequently answering the barrage of questions that follow...giving a speech about yourself and then praying for your time to be up because no one is asking questions because no one can speak english and no one has understood a single word you said.

so... i spent the whole day running from 45 minute class to 45 minute class (the teachers here switch classrooms, not the students) answering questions and telling the students about myself. after about midday, the heat really started to get to me. there is no air conditioning and most classrooms don't have fans. some classes were really alert and asked many questions. others stared blankly and giggled after every word i spoke. while i was in the classroom, many teachers would walk out or zone out into indonesian teacher dreamland. it was frustrating because i know many of the students just didnt understand what i was saying, and i could have used some translation help. although about half of the english teachers cant really speak english either...so i guess it would not have helped so much. between 7th and 8th period i realized how hard my job was going to be...but how excited i was to be here.

i finished my day at about 2:00 pm and ibu zulfah dropped me off back at my home. i was exhausted (who knew talking about yourself for 7 hours straight could be so tiring). i took a mini nap and went to explore the city on my own in the evening.

definitely the most unique first day of school. ever. and i didnt get picked on (in english, anyway...). score.

quote i love to live

"I will not be just a tourist in the world of images, just watching images passing by which I cannot live in, make love to, possess as permanent sources of joy and ecstasy."

-anais nin.

hell yeah anais. i have had my first week in medan! so much to share...i will update sometime this weekend. also, there was a tragic earthquake in padang, sumatra as most of you know. over 1000 people have died and many are still crushed beneath the rubble. please send your love and prayers to those suffering. there was a fulbrighter in padang, but he is ok. everyone i know is safe and well. thank you for all your e-mails and messages. love.

the second wind: first night in medan

the silver rain came down in torrents, wounding the ground as it bled its dirty blood. i stared out my window from my one-room home in disbelief. the doors were rattling from the weather's anger and the constant thunder seemed to numb my senses. i opened the door and sat on my tiny makeshift stoop to watch the rain of medan. my counterpart (ibu zulfah) and her husband had just dropped me off after spending my first evening in medan with her family. at her house, i met much of her extended family and played with her four children. my favorite was irfahn, the stubborn nine year old who kept poking me and laughing at his own ingeniousness. his chubby belly was too tempting to not tickle. i spoke to people in broken indonesian as they tried to reply in broken english. the former english teacher that was here before did not speak any indonesian at all, so they were very happy that i could speak any. i felt like a four year old, pointing to things and racking my brain to label them in indonesian. they humored me and were delighted when i was right. i was asked to sing a michael jackson song and when i started singing black or white, irfahn started to grab his pant crotch and squealed "yeeaaa." i had been up since 5 am and wanted to get to my house to sleep the first real night's rest i would have gotten in 4 days. so we left for my house and i said bye to everyone, promising to see them again soon.

ibu zulfah asked if i was sure i wanted to stay the night by myself. she said i could spend the night with her family if i wanted to. i said "no thanks, i would be alright alone"--i was really looking forward to just passing out. the second they left the driveway, the rain came and my tears came. it was like god teasing me.

god: so you think you can be on your own , like for real? without any of your american friends (like you had at the novotel) or family for 8 months?

me: yes.

god: good. heres a mindblowingly ridiculous downpour mixed with some thunder just in case you werent anxious enough already.

so there i am, on this mini-stoop in my new city; a city that was a mere dot on an abstract map just a few weeks ago. the feeling of being completely on my own in a new country settled in, and it was invigorating. it seems to be an essential element of life--mastering the art of independence. with independence, fresh innocence resurfaces. watching the rain reminded me i have to take in the new culture through fresh eyes...uncolored by western ideologies and my american upbringing. we all have a lens through which we see the world...i hoped to clean my lenses from american debris as much as possible before taking in the new culture i was about to immerse myself into.

its funny how quickly we begin to call the places we occupy our home, even though those who help make it our home are scattered throughout that place and oftentimes even across the world.

i am one lucky bastard.

getting lost is not a waste of time

tonight we met out counterparts (the teacher that we will be mainly working in collaboration with at our school). we were all so ridiculously nervous. our relationship with our counterpart seems to determine a huge amount of the freedom we have at our site and ultimately our experience here. we all wanted to make a good impression.

tonight we performed skits in indonesian for our counterparts and some of the AMINEF board. Our skit was Indonesian Idol. We also had one about Durian Attacking Novotel and Jeopardy.

tonight we are going to celebrate me and grahams birthday, and i am so excited to be around amazing people that can have a good time :)

past two weeks in bandung

disclaimer: if i have not already mentioned, the views on this blogsite are those of my own and my only. they do not represent Fulbright nor AMINEF. :)

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i am going to break up this entry into multiple parts because a lot has happened in the past few weeks.

first will be orientation stuff, then some cultural insight revealed through the indonesian language, then angklung show, local flea market visit, eid al-fitr then the dutch and japanese bunkers /waterfall.

orientation:

the past two weeks we have had a continuation of orientation in bandung. each morning we have breakfast from 7am to 8am and then class starts at 8am. 8am to 10am is spent diligently studying bahasa (bahasa means language in indonesian. it means language in hindi, too. cool) indonesia. by diligently studying, i mean writing ridiculous stories in indonesian, singing songs, and feeling as if we were all in fifth grade again.

10am to noon is spent learning about various teaching methods, styles, teaching english as a second language theory, and practicing playing the role of teacher.

noon to 1 is lunch.

1pm to 2 pm is more bahasa indonesia. this part tends to have more of a cultural focus. 2pm to 4:30 pm is more teaching methods.

our bahasa indonesia teachers try to be dynamic and are very good at creating an energetic learning atmosphere. i have really enjoyed trying to learn the language and really try to use indonesian as often as i can. our english teaching teachers are a little less dynami

c and the class tends to drag on at times. for example, today, our table (kerry, raj, jimmy, and paul) drew pictures of prawns from district 9, informed me i was a prawn, and quarantined my desk with paper.

by the time class is done around 4:30, everyone is slap-happy and slightly drunk from the artificial indoor lighting we have been absorbing throughout the day. sometimes we go out to explore markets or the many malls that are in this city. sometimes we just kick it at the novotel.

bahasa indonesia:

indonesian became the official language of indonesia after the archipelago achieved independence in 1945; however, it has been spoken in this area for centuries. it has malay origin but i have been finding borrowings from portugese, sanskrit, and arabic--which is really cool.

indonesian is agglutinating like many of the bantu languages spoken in africa. this means that it the language puts many morphemes together to form words. an example of a morpheme in

english is -s. a morpheme is the smallest unit of meaning in a language. so for instance, the morpheme -s in english means plural when you add it to the end of a noun.

verbs in indonesian are not marked for tense (which is one reason why it is so easy to pick up indonesian) nor are they inflected for person or number. indonesian marks tense by using adverbs such as 'kemarin' which = 'yesterday.'

indonesian did not have a word for privacy until it was recently borrowed from english; they use the word 'pribadi'. this one finding offers very interesting cultural insight. indonesians are very community orientated; independence does not seem to be a cultural value, but more a western

phenomenon. the whole concept of needing "a room of one's own" doesnt really translate here.

there is also a different word for love when it comes to a significant other-- and it can only be used for a lover.

'cinta' is the verb that is used for a lover.

'sayang' is the verb that is used to indicate love for parents, things, or any other person.

i wonder if that means that the kind of love you have with a lover can never be synonymous to the kind of love you can have for icecream. maybe, but i have tasted some amazing icecream in my life.

angklung show!:

two saturdays ago, the 12th of september, around twenty of us boarded a bus to a center that was dedicated to the teaching of angklung. the center was surrounded by bamboo, reeds, and other sprightly plants. an angklung is an indonesian instrument made of two bamboo tubes attached to a bamboo frame. it is held by one hand and shaken with another to create a resonant pitch.

so we all went into the seating area and got ready for the show to begin

. michael and i went to sit in the front row. at the back of the stage was a gamelan, a traditional indonesian ensemble that consisted of drums and gongs and xylophones. in front of the gamelan was a puppet show stage where good fought evil. the puppets moved to the music created by the gamelan.

after the initial puppet show, children stated filing in the center stage and started to dance. each had his or her own anklung. two older kids came out with a throne held high above them. on the throne, a boy of seven or eight waved to us and smiled shyly.

we then saw a traditional dance from two ten year old beauties. here is one of them.

at the end, some children ran out and a particularly bubbly girl grabbed my fingers. her name was lia. i was in heaven. we danced to the music that the gamelan played and she taught me a few steps. she asked if i was 'orang indian' (a person from india) and i said i told her 'tidak, orang american.' she giggled infectiously, as if i was trying to trick her and asked again where i was from. we then danced around in a train formation and i got to tickle her back. hearing her laugh made me feel like i was the luckiest person in the world.

local flea market/ explorations in the city on sunday:

on sunday the thirteenth, a few of us went on an expedition of sorts to check out a local flea market that we had seen. we were also on a mission to find manggis, a delicious delectable exotic fruit with the texture of peace and the taste of fabulous.

the flea market appeared to be a controlled form of chaos. there were bright colors of shirts, hats, underwear, and various plastic items strewn across the makeshift stalls. it seemed to be a sunday market targeted towards the locals. trash littered the grass and the hum of bargaining and negotiating in indonesian buzzed around us. i wasnt as much of an excitement to people as john, katie, or aaron were (since they are white and i am not). i still did get stared at, but the looks i received werent quite as quizzical.

after a while of walking through the stalls, we ventured off to find a fruit and vegetable market. after a twenty minute walk in the afternoon sun, we found the market on the kiri (left) side of the road. we crossed the street in typical indonesian fashion. how does this occur?

1) you put your palm facing the car coming towards you

2)you try to stare the driver down and then move on towards the next motorbikes or cars

3)shuffle across the road frogger style while continuously holding your palm out

4)run to safety when youre almost to the other side

anyways, so this next market was a little overwhelming.

not only were there fresh vegetables and fruits, but there were fresh whole fish swimming in buckets that you could choose to kill, fresh cow thighs hanging from the ceilings, and a variety of chicken legs and fish eggs on display. if the visual itself wasnt harsh enough, the acrid smell of rotting meat was heavy in the air. raj and i couldnt make it all the way through and had to run out half way. it was a cultural experience since many people here don't buy meat in prepackaged containers, but it was definitely hard to come face to face with death dangling from the ceiling.

we then went to super giant, a huge supermarket to look for manggis since we couldnt find any at the outdoor market. here, they were chopping the heads off of living fish and then scaling them. katie was astonished and equally horrified that this is the way fish are killed. i told her it was probably one of the most humane ways to do it. it always surprises me when people that eat meat remove death and killing from their construction of how their food exists. we then spent a good twenty minutes in the coffee section looking for kopi luwar, the coveted fancy shamancy coffee that one must buy whilst here. its supposed to be like $100 u.s. dollars a pound and grown on java and sumatra. we found some stuff that said luwar on it that was two u.s. bucks...but we couldnt translate the indonesian on the package to see whether it was legit or not. we bought it anyway, figuring, why not?

we got back to the hotel in an ankot, which is the indonesian version of a mini bus, where we happily tried our kopi luar and snake fruit.

eid al fitri:

saturday night, the 19th of september was the night before eid al-fitri. graham, kerry, and i decided to spend the saturday afternoon walking around by chiwalk. this road has bigger than life statues of rambo, alladin, and other superheros looming from the stores. i also had a coffee from starbucks that i guiltily enjoyed and bought a baller hat.

international starbucks.

we found a cute hut-like restaurant to eat in and ricky met up with us. when we got back to the hotel, it was about seven p.m. and already fireworks had started flashing in the sky. we walked into the circle k, which is located directly across from our hotel and were thrilled to find that the glass encasing the beer section was no longer covered up with brown paper. we grabbed a few bintangs and headed to out hangout on the second floor balcony. at around eight o clock, the takbir started.the moon lit up the city as the prayer of praising allah was echoed throughout the city on loudspeakers. bursts of red, green, and yellow instantaneously decorated the sky and instantaneously faded throughout the night. the energy in the city was palpable, and it felt sacred simply to be alive.

we headed to bed around 1 am or so but the takbir continued until the first azan of eid at four a.m.

the next morning in the hotel at breakfast, there were SO many more people there..haha. everyone was dressed in their finest celebrating with their families.

Dutch and Japanese bunkers from WWII:

besides outlet shopping in bandung, there are dutch and japanese bunkers from world war II that were just dying to be explored. so, after breakfast on eid, some of us headed towards the hills.

goa belanda (dutch cave) and goa jepang (japanese cave) are hidden in the hills of bandung. left over from world war II, these caves are living testaments of history. the japanese cave was used as a defense shelter from the attacks of the allied forces during the war. it was built using forced indonesian labor; hundreds of indonesians died digging into the hills to construct the caves.

walking around in the caves with a flashlight was intense. touching the walls, smelling the musty rocks, and climbing around in the bunkers briefly arrested my thoughts. i couldnt believe actual soldiers were seeking protection within the walls of this very enclave less than a hundred years ago.

we then hiked from the mysterious caves to a waterfall where local food was being sold. here, i had the best corn on the cob of my life. i sprawled out on the grass and stared up at the sky while the sound of the waterfall overtook my senses.

we found a praying mantis and had fun with him for a while and then on the way back down, kerry and i rented a motorcycle and got a ride down the hill. it was beautiful to ride down the hills on the back of a motorcycle watching the rices paddies fly by. i hope i have many more of those trips.

air terjun. (waterfall)

clearly pondering the meaning of rice paddies.

in the japanese cave.

come visit me.

seriously.

sayang dan senang. (love and happiness)

wanderlusting and bandung life

lets see...

so my last post was about the earthquake...even though i've only been here about two weeks, it feels like ages.

we left jakarta on friday and arrived in bandung around noon at the novotel hotel. we were greeted by cold guava juice, fulbright backpacks, and smiling indonesian faces.

the view from my 6th floor hotel room is amazing. the blue shade of the mountains that surround the city can be seen from my huge window facing east. bandung is the fourth largest city in indonesia and is WAY better than jakarta in my unimportant opinion.

the air is cooler here and the blue mountains remind you how majestic life can be.

on sunday (our day off) we rented a car and drove about an hour out of the city to see Tangkuban Parahu--an active volcano about 30 km outside of bandung which last erupted in '83. kudos to kerry for organizing the cars.

the four girls were squeezed in the front seat as raj, michael, and ricky chilled out in the back of the van in their aviators. the car ride up to the site was scattered with bunnies trapped in cages in stands (yes to be killed), fruits stands, and strawberry farms. when we arrived, there was a huge caldera in front of us where, unfortunately, we could not hike down into because of the poisonous gas it emits. so we stared in awe on the rim as the locals stared at us.

we hired a guide after some haggling and bargaining and hiked down to kawah domas (domas crater). the smell of sulfur permeated the air as bubbling mud, boliling hot water, and gas wafting from the broken ground very clearly confirmed to us that we were on a volcano.

yes. on a volcano.

sulfer gas. and excitement.

boiling eggs in the water.

caldera.

after hiking and sweating and picturing and all that jazz, we went to a hotsprings resort and grabbed some lunch.

ab and i decided to get some icecream for dessert. turns out, by vanilla they mean durian flavor.

expecting vanilla and tasting durian is a bit like a slap in the face when one is expecting a warm smile. takes you back a few steps.

durian icecream is disgusting.

but the hotsprings were relaxing :)

i did try durian with a few others the other night for the first time and found it not bad. cheers for exotic fruit that smells like rotting skin.

i have more to share:

bahasa and teaching training

school visits

beirut

erlas mexican cafe

iftar (breaking puasa--fast)

baller muslim fellow "superwoman"

more later.

hope you all are flippin some pages

hahaha

cheers to dinners, new friends that can make you smile when you need it, and the beauty of sacrifice.

huggie.