Facebook and Peace Dot Bypass Borders

In the past twenty-four hours 5,185 connections were made between Palestinians and Israelis using Facebook. Oh. You thought Facebook was just a way to show off your spring break pictures? Think again.

Earlier tonight Peace Innovation, a project out of Stanford University led by Professor BJ Fogg and the Persuasive Technology Lab, launched Peace Dot – a project to promote world peace through persuasive technology. Peace Dot is encouraging companies and organizations around the world to create subdomains within their existing websites that will be devoted to innovative solutions that lead to peace. Peace Innovation lists nineteen domains that have already been created, and Facebook is leading the way with peace.facebook.com.

Facebook’s page features statistics of social networking connections between historically conflicting groups, subdivided into geographic, religious, and political categories. In addition to the connections made between Israelis and Palestinians, 7,339 connections were made between Indians and Pakistanis, 8,431 between Albanians and Serbians, and 13,790 between Greeks and Turks. Connections are also listed between Christians, Muslims, Jews, Atheists, and more specifically, between Sunnis and Shiites.

Admittedly, this site isn’t necessarily promoting specific actions to foster peace yet, but for me, it was uplifting just to see real numbers of those who are reaching out to their brothers and sisters on the other side of the struggle. It can be far too easy to slip into apathy or skepticism about the goal of peace in the Middle East or the larger goal of world peace. Just look at the other graph that shows the percentage per country of people who believe world peace is an attainable goal in the next fifty years. Only 7 percent of Americans agree with this statement. But knowing that these new connections are being made every minute reminds me, and will hopefully remind the other 93 percent of Americans, that we will not always be stuck in grid-locked negotiations. With every passing moment there is a growing movement of people, young and old, who are taking matters into their own hands, and making the effort to connect on a personal level with those they might otherwise be fighting.

Government and military cooperation is certainly a necessary part of peace-building, but real, lasting peace requires cooperation on an individual level. Peace Innovation seems to be about bringing the peace movement to and from the individual, using technology as the impetus for change. Peace Dot is only in its first few hours of operation, and there’s no way of telling whether or not the movement will catch on, but there’s no reason why it shouldn’t change the world. One of the hardest parts of creating peace is getting past the “other” mentality and moving towards a “we” mentality.

Throughout the course of human history, meeting face-to-face with someone on the other side of a political, religious, ethnic, or cultural conflict has been dangerous and difficult if not impossible. By using social networking tools, those borders should dissolve wherever there is an internet connection.

Check out the other domains that are already promoting world peace and Peace Dot:

• peace.artofliving.org
• peace.bjfogg.com
• peace.care2.com
• peace.castilleja.org
• peace.cityofmanor.org
• peace.couchsurfing.org
• peace.dalailamafoundation.org
• peace.facebook.com
• peace.khanacademy.org
• peace.iftf.org
• peace.imvu.com
• peace.kaisersantarosa.org
• peace.kissmetrics.com
• peace.learning.com
• peace.pbworks.com
• peace.safeway.com
• peacedot.sourceforge.net
• peace.stanford.edu
  
• peace.whitelotusdesign.com

Check out this post at on Tikkun Magazine's Daily Blog. http://www.tikkun.org/tikkundaily/2009/10/28/facebook-and-peace-dot-bypass-borders/

Raving at LovEvolution

As one of the newest interns at Tikkun I was pretty eager to prove my dedication to the magazine as we were nearing our print deadline, so I was a little more than irritated when my boyfriend asked me to take off to attend LovEvolution with him in San Francisco last Saturday. “I don’t think they’d appreciate it if I took off to go to a rave,” I said with a little more than a hint of impatience.

“Erin, it’s not just a rave. It’s LovEvolution!” He proceeded to explain how, for the nonreligious like himself, festivals like LovEvolution are the closest he ever gets to an opportunity for congregationalism. Now I’ll admit, I was skeptical, but come on. Techno music, drug use, and half-naked girls in furry boots are a far cry from the congregationalism I experienced in small, country Methodist churches in rural Maryland. “You just wanna party.” But trying to be open-minded and supportive, I agreed to go. Let me just say, I was not prepared.

Roughly 100,000 people rolled into San Francisco’s Civic Plaza for the festival, originally adapted from Berlin’s Love Parade. LovEvolution (formerly known as Lovefest) is a parade that features electronic DJs from around the world and provides an opportunity for people of all ages to enjoy an atmosphere of community, music, and dance for the country’s largest day rave. It was more than a little overwhelming for someone who’s never been to a rave, but as it turns out, it is very much a form of congregationalism … just replace all those old church ladies with twenty-somethings in body paint.

Like Woodstock and Burning Man and so many other music festivals around the world drug use and drunkenness run rampant, but LovEvolution is more than just an excuse for debauchery. Behind the scantily clad raver chicks and beer-guzzling frat boys stands a genuine desire to build a community, however temporary, based on a common respect for humanity. Even for someone like me who chooses to abstain from drugs like ecstasy, the raver drug of choice, you can’t help but feel connected to the thousands of others in attendance. Ravers stand shoulder-to-shoulder attempting to dance, or drink, or get to the next stage, but there’s no animosity when someone bumps into your arm and spills your drink¾only apologies, and hugs, and more than a few exclamations of “I love you, man.”

The congregation that is LovEvolution is a chance for individuals from all walks of life to be a part of something bigger than themselves¾to be something other than ordinary. As DJs spin their most popular tracks, members of the audience rejoice in dance and song as one, in the same way that a religious congregation rejoices in singing praises to their higher power. In both cases we are free to lose ourselves in something that seems so much better, so much more beautiful than we could ever be on our own. How is that not like church? Do we, as religious communities, not run to our congregations to feel a part of something? To seek comfort in the love of our brothers and sisters?

In both forms of congregationalism there is the opportunity to shed our skin as ordinary people and don the costume of something extraordinary. There’s no shortage of people in outrageous outfits at LovEvolution (just check out the pictures). Like any rave, dressing up is a large part of the fun, but it is also a way to help us step out of our routines and let go of what is normal. In business suits we are confined to our roles as upstanding citizens of mainstream society, but dressed as pink rabbits and fairies we are free to hug strangers and scale streetlights. Within a church context, Christians are allowed to let go of their identities as mail clerks and financial analysts and simply be children of God. In both cases, being part of a group means being able to say that we are not of this world and the rules of this world do not apply to us. It is escapism, but it is escapism from the self into the community. And it is an opportunity to have this feeling of community with no prerequisites.

As unifying as religion, or culture, or nationality can be, it can also be terribly divisive. As a cultural Christian I have had so many opportunities to engage in a congregation with other Christians and experience the joys of being a part of such a community¾of letting go of this world and being a part of something better, but what if that’s not enough? How many opportunities do I have to connect with all of my fellow human beings simply because we have our humanity in common? In every country, in every culture, there are such celebrations that grant the opportunity to celebrate being together, but what I find so refreshing about LovEvolution is how inclusive the festival is. We are not celebrating a holiday, or a common heritage, or a particular theology. We simply proclaim that we love, and we ask to be loved in return.

Everyone loves an excuse for a party, but we don’t always need an excuse. LovEvolution is proof that wanting to be together should be more than enough to bring us together as a community and a congregation.

So yes, Sergey, you were right.

Check out this post at www.tikkun.org/tikkundaily/

Letters to America

In place of a mid-term examination, I had my students write letters to America, the American government and President Obama. Thought you might be interested in what they had to say.


Peace be upon you. Before I continue my letter I want introduce myself. My name is Novy, I come from Indonesia. I’m here wanna ask something about culture in America, because maybe someday I will go to America and I will enter to university in America. I think America is a big country and it have many technology and some knowledge which there isn’t in Indonesia and I will study it because I will improve my country to be a good country and I think the condition of my country now is broke. Many crisis, criminal, free sex, drugs and so on. Maybe I will ask to you, how do you America serve a criminal from their country? And what do you think about free sex, lesbian, homosexual? Because maybe most of them get AIDS, and that will of course make a public very afraid. And how to serve AIDS from your country? Because I see in many country now many people get AIDS. May be until here my letter. That’s very nice to meet you and I ask sorry if you found some mistake from me, and the last I say to you.


Handed to all my friends in America,
Hello all my friends! I won’t write this letter if my English teacher, Miss Erin, have not said.
I write this letter to talk of all of American people. And I have some questions after telling who am I. I am an Indonesian student, my old is 16 years old and I am a Moslem (Moslem girl). Maybe we can exchange our mind from this letter.
I know from many medias that your country is a great country. Most of you are educated people, you are modern in technology and so on. Friends, my country is a big country. We have many beautiful destination place to visit. But, after all, until nowadays my country still being country with most of people still live in moneyless, and also not educated. We ask your solution, how can we be a great country like you are?
Thanks,
Farisa


To all my friends at America Country:
Hello all. How are you? I hope you fine. I’m here always fine. How your examination? How much did you get your points and what class are you now? Do you want to Indonesia country? If me, I’m so very very want to go to America country. I so miss you friend. Do you miss me? Now I sit at 1st class of high school. I’m get the beautiful point. If we meet tomorrow I will bring you to Borobudur temple, parangtritis beach and we will take walk. But I hope it not just dream. I want to see you but when? I don’t know, but if God Allah want maybe we will meet tomorrow, next week, next month, next years. Important if God Allah want it will be! Oh…yes do you have a boyfriend? I hope you don’t but just friend usual. Because we as young generation we must concentration in our study. Yes maybe until here my letter. Some time I will send letter to you again and I hope we will meet friend. And goodbye.


Here I am Indonesian Moslem. I am 17 years old and I am Javanese. I have some idea in my mind about America. And I not really understand about America’s government. America’s culture, the youth of America, the education of America, etc.
First, I wanna ask to the new president of America. Most of Indonesian or maybe most of people in this world, they support you to be a American President. I don’t know what it caused. But Indonesian, they think you are the good person, the honest person and I really hope it is a truth. I hope you to not make all people sad. Thanks you.
Second, for all the Moslem there, are you feel easy to pray to God anywhere? Do our obligation. And do the best for all, make this world to be calm, there is no war? I really hope to you all to make it. Because America is the superpower country, who has a super power like his name, the super power country. And last peace be on to you.
Third, for all youth in America. How the culture of youth life? I just wanna ask it. Thanks.
And I hope to all, maybe we can to be friends. Our country will cooperate always.
Me. Indonesian youth.


Hi…I’m in Indonesian Moslem. Are there Moslems in USA? I hope it there. I wanna ask to you the youth in USA…why do you like to do making love with your girlfriend or boyfriend? Because all Indonesian say that’s a habit in your country. I’m sorry if my speaking is very impolite. But I’m so angered with this problem. But, I’m sure that not all people in USA do like that. I’m honest that I don’t know about the America culture, custom, government, etc. And what about studying in America? Is teaching in America use the book and write when the teacher teaches? Or use the laptop every going to school? In my mind that’s in America is the modern country. I think at there there is now rite in book and bringing the many books every go to school. Isn’t it? Please tell me about America custom. Because, sometimes I wish for continuing my study in some country in America. But I think that only insane!!! About American government. I’m very interested about new president in America that’s Barack Obama. Isn’t it? Because I think that can make all people in the world interested with him and all people in this world support that he will be a good president and make increasing the development in America country. And I hope that America and Indonesia will make a good relationship, won’t you?


Hallo…How are you? I hope you are fine. I am from student of Al-Mawaddah want ask to you are. Why in America the people not friendly? In Indonesia, all the people is very friendly. So, why you are speak we are terrorist? I always see in the internet or newspaper you are always speak we are (people Moslem) is terrorist. I want all people in this world be peace. I do not want we are fighting. And I ask one a question again. How to be a super power country? Coz I am very like with your country. Please, give a solution for this. Maybe only this letter I ask sorry if you found some mistake from my write. And the last I say…Peace be on to you.


Hai…Hello Americans…How are you all over there??? I hope you are fine and enjoy with your new president. Here I am a student of Al-Mawaddah boarding school. I sit at fifth grade (senior high school). I want ask some question to Americans. 1. Why you are didn’t like Moslem? Maybe it’s not all of you but I think many people is like that. I hope we can make a good relation. And make sure this world in peace. You are is the super power country. You have influence for this world. So, to Mr. Barack Obama! I hope you can make united for this world. Less the fight and make new relation. I have question. Why America want control this world? Sorry, maybe this letter not be nice letter.


To American (especially to youth people). He…how are you American? What are you doing? I hope you in the fine day! Here, I am Indonesian. I student at boarding school of girl and I Moslem! Are you know about Moslem? Moslem is religion I believe that you know. Cause I know that in American there are many Moslems there. Is it right? And I hope we are Moslems can be friend with you other religion. And I hope we don’t think about our differences in our religion. We can be friend and not be enemy or more! I hope between our religion can peace! I want cry if I see our religion fighting its too much! We are as young generation we must can make us be friend okay! We must show that differences is nothing if differences cannot make us be enemy! I know that our religion never teach us to fight with other religion. I believe it. Lets be friend. Lets be family! Won’t you? I Indonesian I hope between our country can be example to other that we can make our cooperation is fine. And I want ask help to you all we need many science and experience. We hope you can divide your science to us and to Barack Obama and the government at America. You are the big country. And I hope you are can make among country with country other be peace! I hope it please! Maybe you can respond my letter.


Dear the people of America…Sometime, I feel bored with many things I see around me. The young generation of Indonesia who don’t care to the condition of their country. I’m really really bored to see it. But suddenly I’ll realize that my country is my life. I’ve to receive the positive and negative sides of our condition. Because no thing is perfect in this world. Is it right? Then, sometime I feel proud to my country because it has the different culture from other countries. It has many languages and many kinds of foods, etc. Unfortunately, the people of Indonesia was careless to the condition of the country. So, we will correct and straighten it. And how is your opinion for solving this problem? I know that America is a big country. And it has big power to do everything in business, works, monetary, style, fashion or leadership. I’m admiring the leadership system of America, because the leader able to manage his members/public well. I suppose enough here my letter and I hope to see America, the real America in the future. Thank you.
The student of Indonesia.


Peace be upon you…
America
- They aren’t afraid with sin. That many free sex still much.
- Someone not keep the peace, and more like the war. Like in Palestine.
- Love peace, Please! We all family.


To: American girl
From: Me “veiled girl”
Sweet great on your happy today! Hello…how are you all? I hope you are all in the fine condition. Be following or by sending this letter. I here just want asking some question for you are all. And I hope this question only be unburden heart between us. My question: “did you think a veiled girl is the terrorist?”


I’m a student at Al-Mawaddah. I want give some opinion about American country. I know that America is big country. Why America country fight with Iraq country? We know that peace is beautiful! I see in television in Iraq country every body has cry and sad. And every place there is fight between soldier America and soldier Iraq.
And I just wanna say to President Obama “Peace is Paradise to Us.”


(And finally my favorite, because sometimes mistakes are brilliant.)

How are you America? From come this letter I want know about America and I want asking about America. So I want to come to America for know about something about the school in America and about the season in America. So anything in America the beautiful contrary. So America is the biggest contrary in the words.

Finding the Oppressed

I’m not sure how much attention this is getting in the American media right now, but Al Jazeera has been doing extensive coverage of the celebration of the 30th anniversary of the revolution in Iran. There have been documentaries, interviews and live coverage from all over the country, with the purpose of trying to understand the real political and social climate in Iran. Are the people of Iran being stifled by an oppressive government, or is Iran just being demonized by the west? Are the people actually happy?

Coverage from a mall in Tehran showed wealthy, modern women shopping at boutique and designer stores in tight jeans, high-heeled boots and, of course, the obligatory pashmina wrapped around their heads. Except that, their pashminas weren’t really doing anything. Their hair was clearly teased and styled and the pashmina was draped only over the back half of their heads, serving basically no purpose but to meet the requirement that women veil.
I’m almost positive that if I had watched this last year I would have been glad for these women. Despite the current regime in power, Iranian women are still finding ways to express their beauty, femininity, and yes, even to be sexy. It’s the women who are dressed in shapeless burlap bags with only their faces showing that are to be pitied – those girls who aren’t allowed to show even a wisp of hair. But that’s not how I felt last week.

I showed one of my friends the sad excuse for a jilbab that I wear, and she laughed at me, because it’s so scandalous. I drape it over my head, toss one end over my shoulder and let my hair hang out as much as it wants. Oh, and it’s kind of see-through. No one at the pesantren has had any complaints about it. I wear it, because I want to show respect to my community, and that’s all. And I know that they know that.

For girls in the pesantren, covering their hair is a big deal. It’s an outward display of their religious discipline and their modesty. They are taught that their hair is their crown, a gift from God that should only be enjoyed by their future husband. I know for a fact that many of them will continue to wear a jilbab for the rest of their lives, and even if they went to a non-Muslim country where no one else wore one, they would still choose to wear it.

The reality of the situation is that Indonesia is a tropical country. Wearing long-sleeves, long skirts and a jilbab is freaking hot. Like, dripping with sweat hot. Wearing Muslim clothing is not a fun experience, but do I think these girls are oppressed because of their clothing? No more than American women are oppressed, because they have to wear bathing suit tops while men only have to wear shorts. No more than kids who have to wear ugly, outdated school uniforms.

It’s the already “liberated” women that I feel bad for. There were plenty of women shown in Iran dressed similarly to the girls at my school. They wore a full head covering and more modest clothing. I fully support their choice to dress in that way as a symbol of their religion and lifestyle choices, but the women who wear sheer pashminas just for the sake of law clearly don’t care whether or not their hair is showing. And you can bet that if it means nothing to them, they probably don’t want to do it. As breezy and light as some of my pashminas are, I hate all of them. Every single one. I want to cover them with lighter fluid and light a match and watch them burn. They don’t mean a thing to me, and the fact that I still have to wear them, still have to think about them, still have to sweat under them, makes me loathe getting dressed in the morning. Being forced to take part in a cultural/religious tradition that has no meaning to me - that is oppression.

To take a step back, I don’t really know that those women in Iran hate having to cover their heads, but as is the case with me, I think that if they really cared, if they really believed that it was an issue of modesty, then they would actually cover their heads, instead of just doing enough to stay out of trouble. Having to adhere to rules that contradict or are irrelevant to your own feelings and beliefs is oppression. Not being able to fully express yourself, because of someone else’s moral agenda is oppression.

I also can’t say that all of the women who do wear full Muslim dress do so willingly. Patriarchy, which is the real culprit behind this so-called oppression, (religion is only ever a tool) is another issue that I’ll hopefully get to later. Still, I find there to be a striking difference between the social rules that a family or community might enforce and laws that turn rebellious teenagers into criminals. There are plenty of American parents who won’t allow their daughters to leave the house in clothing that they deem to be too revealing, but a miniskirt and a tube-top alone won’t get them 30 lashes from the police.

Because I don’t share the conservative, Muslim idea of modesty, I like to run away from the pesantren on weekends to more liberal (and sometimes Christian) cities to escape my oppression. This weekend I ran away to Salatiga, bought a sundress and wore it around the city. It was a truly liberating experience. It was a pretty hot day, and I enjoyed knowing how much less miserable I was because I wasn’t wearing something on my head or arms or legs. Thank God I have ways to escape.

Only moments ago there was a news report from the Malakand and Swat Valley regions of Pakistan, where local governments have agreed to enforce Shari’a law in accordance with Taliban demands. The report showed clips of celebrating Muslim men, and I wanted to punch every single one of them in the face. Even as I’m typing this I feel so enraged that it’s making me nauseous. I’m tired of dressing like a nun, but at least I’m here by choice. At least I can get away.
What choice do those Pakistani women have? I’ve found that the only choice I have, if I don’t want to sweat under a scarf, is to stay inside and away from the public eye. This only plays further into the hands of the oppressor. They want their women in the kitchen and the bedroom, slaving away to make their lives more comfortable. She finds herself further separated from other discontented women. Should they be allowed to interact, they might find that they have the strength to move together to throw off their oppressors. Instead they find themselves further isolated. And that sucks. It’s almost enough to make you want to pick up an AK-47 and fire back at the bastards. Or start an NGO….something like that.

I’m trying not to project my frustration with Muslim culture onto entire nations. That wouldn’t exactly be fair, but I’m probably doing a poor job of it. I concede that, although I may feel a new connection with and understanding of women in conservative Muslim culture, it is not my place to go pointing out the oppressed and the empowered. That is something that the individual must do for herself (or himself). The most that I can do is to support those who do feel that they are in need of liberation, or take it upon myself to educate those in need of education. For those downtrodden, who live in closed communities, it may not ever occur to them that there is another possible way of life. For there to exist a choice, there must first be options, and the knowledge of options comes with education.

At some point in human history, clothing stopped being about protection from the forces of nature and this silly idea of modesty evolved. A woman with dignity and self-respect would never wear (fill in the blank.) Except that what gets me labeled as a prude in one country gives men the right to jeer at me in another country. Modesty is a social construction to begin with, and the idea that clothing is necessary at all is rather silly. Or for that matter, believing that a few inches of hemline is the difference between a businesswoman and a prostitute.

One of the many reasons I’ve heard for veiling is that men would just not be able to control themselves sexually if women walked around with their hair flowing freely. Except that they can and do. And anyway, if men are the stronger and more intelligent sex, I’d think they would be able to control themselves without women having to suffer. But to go further, I’ve heard young girls in Christian youth groups being told that they should help their struggling Christian brothers by dressing “appropriately” and not tempting them with impure thoughts – so basically, don’t dress like a skank. Is this any more or less ludicrous than the idea that hair would be a distraction? Either way, men and women can learn to control themselves and should be held responsible for their own actions. Sorry Adam. Eve may have tempted you, but in the end, it’s your own damn fault. If you really can’t control yourself, get a blindfold.

A Last Minute Trip to Borneo

How did I end up in Borneo? You might wonder. Well, it is simple. I got on a plane, and I arrived. Was it that simple? Yes.

You see, there was a group of four girls, who were part of the Sulawesi trip who were planning on visiting Kalimantan right after we left Makassar. Kalimantan is the Indonesian side of the island of Borneo. There are two ETAs who live just outside Banjarmasin, and the plan was for all six of them to fly from Makassar to Banjarmasin via Surabaya, spend a couple days together at their sites in Martapura, and then the four girls were going to the nearby town of Loksado to do some jungle adventuring. Then one of them decided she couldn’t go, I forget why. I needed a ticket from Makassar to Surabaya anyway, so I offered to buy part of her ticket from her, since she couldn’t get a refund from the airline. Of course, the other five tried to persuade me to come with them to Kalimantan for a few days, since I had the ticket anyway. But I was trying to be responsible. I should go back to the pesantren for a few days since I’ve been traveling for such a long time. And I should do some laundry and pick up some nice clothes before the mid-year conference. If I did decide to go to Kalimantan, I’d have to go directly from there to the conference.

So I was pretty much set on going back to Java, but on the plane ride to Surabaya, about five minutes before we landed I remembered that going to Borneo was one of my life goals. I don’t remember why, but at some point I had decided that Borneo was one of those places that I just had to go. I was planning on going anyway, later in the year, but what if there was a series of terrorist bombings in Indonesia and all the Fulbrighters were sent home before I got the chance to go? What if I was fired for something silly (AMINEF would do that) and missed my chance. I turned to Dan, who was sitting next to me and asked him if Kalimantan was a good idea. Yes, he said. Well then I’ll go. Five minutes later, when we landed, I grabbed my bag and walked right onto the next plane with the other five. And that’s how I ended up in Borneo. Life goal: CHECK!

So what did we do in Kalimantan? The first day, we all went to the Martapura market to buy some fresh fruits, vegetables, spices, herbs, tofu and tempe for a delicious family dinner. Somehow I kind of ended up in charge of cooking, which is silly right? I think Dan got stressed out, so I took over. We started chopping, slicing and generally preparing all the ingredients for a number of dishes I decided on, and then realized the stove didn’t work. So we ended up stowing the food away until we could get the stove fixed and got some take-out chicken. We ended up sitting around watching The Prince and Me which is just the type of movie that I love watching in this country. I’m not sure why, but chick-flicks have major appeal to me in Indonesia. I’ve consulted with other female ETAs and for some reason, we all really enjoy sappy, corny love stories much more than usual.

The next morning, Emmy, the one who lives in Martapura, took the other three girls to visit her school, which is also a pesantren. Emmy and I are the only girls who teach in pesantrens. I decided not to go 1. because I was tired and wanted to sleep in, and 2. because I didn’t want to put on a jilbab while on vacation. I think Emmy understood. We were supposed to leave for Loksado that afternoon, but Maria got really sick, so we postponed our departure for the next day. None of us minded another day of hanging around Emmy’s house eating chicken and watching movies. We watched the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2, which I thought was even better than the first one, and The Prince and Me 2. That one was not so great. Emmy also got the stove fixed so we were able to make dinner. It was another lazy, wonderful day.

The next morning, no one wanted to go to school with Emmy, so I did, even though I didn’t want to put on a jilbab. It turned out she didn’t teach that day anyway, so I just walked around with her quickly, to compare pesantrens, and then we went back to her house. Maria was feeling better so we loaded up our stuff and caught a “cab” to the city of Kandangan.

“Cab” gets quotation marks, because it’s not a cab in the American sense. It’s more like a shared ride van, but more cramped and without air conditioning. We took that to the city of Kandangan (about three hours away) and then transferred to another “cab” to the town of Loksado. The second cab was even better. It was a truck with a tarp over the truck bed and some benches and a lot of cargo in the back. That was a fun ride, and we got to travel with some cute old ladies.

Loksado isn’t really a town so much as a fork in the road with some food stands and a hotel. The hotel is cool though because its on a little island in the middle of a tiny little river. We didn’t get in until kind of late in the afternoon, but we had time for a quick hike before sunset. Our guide was just some random guy who didn’t talk to us, but he took us to a Dayak village nearby and then to a couple of waterfalls. The Dayak village included a pretty big longhouse, which I guess was kind of cool, but after Tana Toraja it was kind of boring. The waterfalls were fun though. We decided to do some cliff-jumping and swimming in our clothes. For dinner we had some decent food at a warung and then spent the rest of the night hanging out in our hotel room.

The next morning we were psyched for some bamboo rafting. Check out the pictures for these. The rafts are great because they float (obviously), but on rapids they just sort of cut through the water. A couple times I was in rapids up to my chest. It was really fun, and we had a great river guide. Watching him pole down the river was like watching a pole-vaulter. We rafted by some pretty remote village and some beautiful scenery…rice paddies and mountains, the usual. My favorite part was seeing these super remote bamboo huts in the middle of nowhere with gigantic satellites in their front yard. You have to wonder how they got there when there’s no road access.

The whole rafting trip took about two hours, and it was exciting, but also super relaxing. There were long, quiet stretches where we could just zone out and think. Not that I don’t already have too much time to think in this country.

Because of the mid-year conference and our delay in getting there, we only got to spend one night in Loksado, but I think we would’ve run out of things to do there anyway, had we stayed longer. We headed back to Martapura a little after noon that day, but instead of a “cab” we took ojeks back to Kandangan. This was, by far, the best ojek ride I’ve had in Indonesia. Riding through the mountains of Kalimantan has to be done by ojek. A car just doesn’t do it justice. Everything was so green and the sky was so blue. It was perfect. By the end of the hour and a half ride, though, my butt hurt and I was glad to hop back into a “cab.”

We got back to Martapura in the evening and had one more evening of take-out chicken and bad movies before leaving. We started to watch The Prince and Me 3. Isn’t that awful? What’s even worse is that Emmy actually owns all three of them. Ha. We didn’t finish it though. It was that bad. The next day, Caitlin and I headed back to Surabaya together to spend the night before we flew to Jakarta for our conference. Since I didn’t go back to my pesantren before the conference, I ended up wearing a combination of smelly clothes I’d bought and worn during my travels and some stuff that Dre let me borrow. But, being smelly in a nice hotel in Jakarta is a small price to pay for a trip to Kalimantan.

Grave-Hopping with the Mak-Pak

The last you’d heard, it was January 3rd, and I was heading to Makassar, Sulawesi. From what we had heard, there were about fourteen other ETAs heading into South Sulawesi on the same day as us or the day after, but we miscalculated by a day. There are two ETAs who live in Makassar, but neither of them was in, so we had to crash at a hotel for the night. Makassar isn’t a very interesting city, but it’s on the ocean and is known throughout Indonesia as having the best seafood in the entire country. Long story short, Makassar is not a bad place to spend 24 hours. We spend most of that time eating amazing seafood and sleeping.

The next day, two ETAs, Chris and Jonthon, flew into the Mak along with Jonthon’s friend Angad, who was visiting from the states. Chris is one of the guys who lives in Makassar, so we chilled at his house for a few hours in sarongs playing board games. Then we headed back into the city to watch the sunset over the water with some drinks and calamari. The calamari was possibly the best I’ve ever had, and it’s still haunting my dreams. The sunset wasn’t bad either.

After a few sundowners, we headed to Lae-Lae for a fish feast. The LP claims that Lae-Lae is one of the top five restaurants in all of Indonesia, and I don’t know that I would go that far, but I wouldn’t ever turn down a Lae-Lae meal. We shared an enormous dinner of ikan rica-rica and kangkung, before heading to the bus station. There were four more ETAs coming in from Java, who were planning on grabbing a night bus to Tana Toraja. Dre and I were going to follow, but at the last minute, Jonthon and Angad invited us to go to Majene for a couple days. Jonthon is stationed in Majene, and he promised we’d have a good time. I was never one to turn down a last minute invitation to a seaside fishing village, so we took that nightbus instead.

Jonthon was a great host, and Majene, although a little out of the way (a 10 hour bus-ride to the middle of nowhere), is as quaint and picturesque as one could imagine. I would be extremely jealous of Jonthon if he wasn’t so far from an airport.

We arrived in Majene at about five o’clock in the morning and passed out. We were supposed to visit Jonthon’s school that day, but none of us wanted to, so we didn’t. We bummed around until lunchtime. Jonthon took us to one of his favorite warungs, and then we did a quick tour of the town. We sat at the town harbour for a little while, and of course, attracted dozens of local kids, who were content to stare at us for an hour. For dinner that night, some of Jonthon’s friends took us north along the coach to the village of Somba for another fish feast. Those Sulawesians love their fish feasts. This time, we were in a shack right in the sand and got to try flying fish – the local specialty. The sunset was beautiful, the fish was good, and we were stuffed on the ride home. It was already a pretty perfect day, but we stopped on the way home to buy some ice cream and coconut biscuits for dessert. Angad passed out, but Jonthon, Dre and I stayed up dipping biscuits in ice cream and singing Rent.

We spent the second day visiting Jonthon’s school, which is so different from my school it’s laughable. There were very few teachers to be seen, no classes in session, and the students were just sort of milling around and hanging out or climbing coconut palms and then drinking coconut milk in the back. I didn’t mind this last part, since I love coconut, and I got more than my fill.

The school is an SMK, which is kind of like a vocational school. This particular SMK specializes in computers and cosmetology, so Dre and I got free facials and then spoke to the girls about beauty. I spent a good twenty minutes explaining why I was brown, and why I’m glad to be brown, and how brown is beautiful in the states. After we left school, Jonthon took us to a beach where we worked on getting even more brown.

We were obligated to go to Jonthon’s headmasters house that evening for dinner – his headmaster was celebrating the birth of his granddaughter. It was as awkward as these things always are. We sat there and let everyone gawk at us, and then we had an absolutely brilliant meal, which always makes up for the freak show they put us through. Almost always. After dinner, Angad caught a bus back to Makassar so he could fly home, and Dre, Jonthon and I slept for a few hours before waking up to catch a bus to Pare-Pare.

Pare-Pare is about halfway between Majene and the city of Rantepao and falls right along the route from Makassar to Rantepao. There were ten more ETAs heading up from Makassar that morning to Tana Toraja. They had rented some cars and agreed to pick us up on their way. It was great to see everyone again, and even better to switch from an unairconditioned commuter bus to a brand new Kijang. It took just short of twelve hours to make the entire trip, but it was well worth it.

Tana Toraja is one of the most interesting places I’ve ever been in the entire world, and is probably my third favorite place in Indonesia. The Torajan people are known for their elaborate funeral ceremonies, and they are more than willing to let tourists come and watch, as long as they bring gifts of sugar and cigarettes.

Wherever you go in Indonesia, you can see really great reenactments or performances of ceremonies and traditional dances, but this is just about the only place where the ceremony is legitimate. They’re not reenacting a funeral or even making the funeral more exciting for tourists. This is a beautiful tradition that is still alive and thriving in Tana Toraja. I can’t really describe just how amazing it was, so check out my pictures to see for yourself. The outfits are beautiful and there were enough animal sacrifices to last me many years.

We spent most of our first day at the funeral and then the second day was spent white-water rafting. For some reason, the best way to get to the river was to drive to the top of a mountain, and then hike down the mountain in lifevests and helmets with paddles in our hands. It was a beautiful hike, past waterfalls and through rice paddies (it sort of looked like Rivendell), but I thought that there had to have been a way that would lead to fewer blisters.

Rafting was great. There were some pretty big rapids and tons of iguanas. I was kind of grumpy for the first ten minutes, because I tried to sit in the front of the raft, but the guide told me that the men had to sit in the front. This made no sense, especially because there were girls sitting in the front of other rafts. I was tempted to break his nose with my paddle, but I didn’t.

We spent our final morning in Toraja visiting cave graves outside the city. After elaborate funeral ceremonies, the dead are laid to rest in family graves in man-made or natural caves. We crawled through some pretty tiny tunnels to visit some of the sites. In one of the tunnels we had to slide through on our stomachs, and there were giant spiders everywhere.

Caves, tunnels and spiders don’t freak me out, even when there are skulls lying everywhere, but the tau-tau that are out in front of the graves are super creepy. To mark the graves, life-size replicas of the deceased are placed outside of the caves. In the case of a large family grave, there may be up to thirty of these tau-tau hanging out in the clothes of the dead. Actually, during the day they look pretty stupid, but I’d imagine at night they would be terrifying.

After the cave sites, we jumped back in our cars and headed back to Makassar. This time it only took about ten hours. We arrived back at Chris and Samson’s house at about one o’clock in the morning, but don’t think we went to bed. Most of us had flights to catch in the morning, so almost everyone just stayed up to hang out. Most of us had been traveling almost constantly for December and January, and we were all pretty reluctant to leave each other’s company. In fact, I was so reluctant, that instead of going back to my school, I went to Borneo.

There's No Place like Yogya for the Holidays

It’s been a pretty long time since a lot of you have heard from me, but no, I haven’t fallen off the face of the earth. I’ve just been traveling. Like most schools in Indonesia, mine had an entire month of exams starting on December 25th, so I’ve had a lot of time to wander around.

Christmas was pretty great, despite the fact that I was away from everything that one normally experiences on Christmas. More than half of the ETAs got together in Yogyakarta for the holidays. Yogya is a wonderful city. It’s the cultural capitol of Indonesia, and it’s also a sultanate. Since the Sultan of Yogya doesn’t really have any political power, he puts all his energy into preserving Javanese culture. People come to Yogya to take classes in language, batik-making, silversmithing, dancing, singing, traditional medicine and lots of other stuff that appeals to tourists.

I arrived in Yogya on Christmas Eve, and met up with some other ETAs at a nice, Western, vegetarian restaurant. Yogya has a pretty big community of hippie expats, so the food is healthy and delicious. After dinner (which consisted of about four courses, including salad, guacamole!, and tempe burgers) we headed to Ben’s house for a Christmas party. Ben isn’t an ETA; he’s an ELF, which was very fitting for the occasion. ELFs (English Language Fellows) have Masters Degrees in English language or something and get paid three times what an ETA does.

Ben was nice enough to open his house to all the ETAs and ELFs for some Christmas cheer. There was turkey, wine and even a Christmas tree. We all sat around, eating, drinking and singing Christmas carols. We even had a gift exchange. I got Balto, Beauty and the Beast and a season of Pinky and the Brain. We all had a wonderful time and agreed that it really did feel like Christmas for the few hours we were there.

All the ETAs who were in town were staying in different hotels and houses, but we all ended up at the same café each morning. We’d sit around and read and talk about stuff that Americans like to talk about. Around noon we’d eventually break up and go see and do stuff, but usually meet up again for dinner. We’re all very lucky to have such a great community.

On Christmas Day, I went with a couple other girls to a silversmithing class. I made a pendant that says “jalan-jalan” on it. It’s a phrase that can be translated in several different ways. It can mean ‘streets,’ ‘traveling,’ ‘wandering about aimlessly,’ or ‘sight-seeing.’ I prefer the ‘wandering about aimlessly’ translation.

The day after Christmas, Dre and I got fed up with the city and went to spend the night in Borobudur. As cool as Yogya is, it’s still a sprawling, noisy, dusty Indonesian city, and it made me cough. Borobudur is freaking amazing! It’s called the Angkor Wat of Indonesia. I can’t even begin to describe it. You should just check out the pictures. It’s a Buddhist temple-monument that rocks – that’s all you need to know. So anyway, after several nights of not enough sleep, we went to the city of Borobudur and found a quiet hotel overlooking some mountains and rice paddies and fell asleep at 8 o’clock. The next morning, we got up super early to see the sunrise at the temple, but weren’t allowed in until 6 o’clock. We missed the sunrise, but the light was still beautiful and made for some great pictures. It also wasn’t super hot yet, and the droves of tourists didn’t come out to play until eight. So we mostly had the place to ourselves, with the exception of maybe ten other people.

We headed back to Yogya for another night of fun with the ETAs, before Dre and I headed back to my pesantren. She was my first visitor, and I really enjoyed showing off my school and my village; although there’s not much to show off. We spent three and a half days being fed, taking walks around the sawah, taking naps and watching Harry Potter. Doesn’t that just sound lovely? It was lovely. By the time the 31st rolled around we were completely rested and ready for some New Year’s festivities, so we headed back to Yogya to ring in the New Year.

All the streets were crowded with people celebrating, but we couldn’t find a suitable place to count down. We were kind of torn between staying in the street or finding a bar, so we ended up walking through the doors of a discotheque just as the clock struck midnight. We spent a couple hours there, before grabbing some food at a warung at 3 o’clock in the morning. Not a very eventful New Year’s, but it was good to spend it with good friends.

Ben was nice enough to leave us the key to his house (having left for Bali), so we crashed there for the next three days. Ben’s “houseboy” was also around to make our beds and clean up after us. It was kind of awkward, but we couldn’t make him stop. We didn’t do anything, except sleep, eat good food and read. We did manage to drag ourselves to see the Kraton (the sultan’s palace) the day before we were supposed to leave, but it was closed for three days for a New Year’s cleaning. We were wandering around outside the gate, not sure what to do, when a man who lives within the Kraton approached us and offered to show us around Taman Sari (old bathing pools, previously used by the Sultan and his wives) and one of the Princess’s houses, which was still open. We thought maybe he wanted us to pay him, but he quickly explained that he wouldn’t take our money. He just wanted to show us around.

This sounds a little sketchy, except that people who live inside of the Kraton are extremely proud of where they live. They’re citizens of Indonesia, but they’re also citizens of the Sultanate. All of the people who live within the Kraton are from families who have lived there for eleven generations. They all work in the palace and get to live in the Kraton for free. It was great having a local tour guide. Of course, at the end he took us to his family's Wayan Kulit shop (there's the catch) but it was pretty cheap and beautifully crafted, so we didn't mind buying some.

To finish out our time in Yogya, we spent the last two nights at a movie theatre in the mall watching Madagascar 2 and Twilight. The movie theatre is one of those places that transcends time and place. We all love going to the movies, because it makes us feel like we’re at home. We’ve all seen some really bad movies (Step Up 2) just so we can experience that feeling.

Also, we’re all losing our minds. As absolute proof that we’re all losing our minds, well, we went a little crazy at the mall. You know those places at the mall where you can dress your kid up in cheesy costumes with cheesy backdrops and have pictures taken….well, we did it. There we were – six Fulbright scholars in a mall in Indonesia, and the only thing we could think to do was dress up in bright, polyester princess gowns with those conical hats and have pictures taken. Why? Well, we’re still not sure. Maybe there was crack in the popcorn? Maybe because we all want to be princesses and this only cost $3?

The following day we flew to Sulawesi, but I’ll tell you all about that in the next note.

Chika What?

Another month, another update. Last Monday was my birthday, but that went largely overlooked for most of the day, because it was also Idul Aadha. There are about a million different ways to spell this. This is the way it’s spelled on my schedule. Idul Aadha is a Muslim day of sacrifice that commemorates the day that Abraham sacrificed a goat instead of his son Ishmael. In the Qur’an, Abraham has to sacrifice Ishmael, because he’s the real first son. So anyway, Idul Aadha coincides with the last day of the Hajj, and all of those Muslims who are able, sacrifice goats, cows and sheep and distribute the meat to the local poor. Those Muslims are so nice.

Lucky girl that I am, the sacrifices took place right outside my door. I had the pleasure of seeing and smelling the sacrifice of two bulls and four goats. I’m not an overly squeamish person, but I did feel sorry for them. I don’t think it would be nice to have your throat slit. I did manage to take pictures though. It seemed like something worth taking pictures of.

After each animal was killed, the men butchered it, and then the women weighed out chunks of meat to take to the neighbors. I went to my room and watched Al Jazeera for six hours, because I don’t quite enjoy the smell of freshly butchered cow.

Later that night I went into Ponorogo with some of my friends for a nice birthday dinner. Nasya wanted a steak hot-plate so that’s what we had. It was a good meal, but the nicest part was just being out with friends for my birthday. It was almost like I was a real person. Then I really did feel like a real person when they pulled out a birthday cake. They had even bought two ‘2’ candles. They tried to sing “Happy Birthday” which was hilarious. They didn’t quite know the tune or the words so it just sort of faded out after about five seconds. Then they sang an Indonesian birthday song, which went a lot better. You get a song before and after you blow out your candles. I knew I should’ve taken my camera, but I didn’t.

After all the singing, they told me that I had to let Nasya feed me my slice of cake. I knew if I let her, she was going to smash it in my face, but they all insisted that she wouldn’t. It was Indonesian tradition, and I had to let her feed me. So, knowing that I was going to end up with cake on my face, I let her “feed me.” And of course, she smashed it all over my face, and everyone laughed, because they had “tricked me.” Then they all started screaming “makeup”. They dipped their fingers in the icing and started smearing it all over my face. Then I had to cut the cake into tiny little pieces and offer it to everyone in the restaurant. With icing on my face. All the while, my friends were screaming, “bule gila, bule gila.” Which means “crazy white person.” They’re so sweet. I kept asking them if it this was normal birthday behavior, and I was assured that it was. I had to ride all the way back to the village with icing all over my face, then offer cake to all my students and the teachers. Luckily, we ran out of cake before too long.

I asked someone later, if they treat their Indonesian friends this way on their birthdays too. Apparently Indonesians get it much worse. One of my students explained that, in Indonesia, it is very important that your birthday is a memorable experience. They make it memorable by being very mean to you and, hopefully, making you cry. They usually wake their friends up in the middle of the night, try to scare them, smash eggs in their faces or dump flour over their heads. I consider myself rather lucky to have gotten away with only cake in my face. So that was my birthday. It was memorable for sure.

That whole week went pretty well. I had been planning on going to the beach for the weekend, but when Friday came around, I was pretty content to just stay at the pesantren. I try to plan a trip every couple weekends, so I don’t go too stir-crazy, but I figured there was no point in leaving if I was happy. I decided that I would still go, but I’d leave Saturday around mid-day, and just stay in Pacitan for the night. It’s only a 2½ hour bus ride to the closest beach town, so it’s a great place to get away for a few hours. It was my first time going to Pacitan, but there’s a bus that goes directly from Ponorogo to the beach. It was easy enough.

I found a cute little hotel with bungalows looking out over the water for $7 a night. I was pretty pleased with the whole situation and spent the afternoon eating rambutan and reading on the beach. For dinner, I was really in the mood for some tempe goreng, so I went looking for some. There was a whole line of warung and rumah makan along the street, but none of them had tempe. At the very last place in the line, there was a family (obviously the owners) sitting at the front table, drinking coffee and talking. They saw I was alone and waved me over to sit with them. I think I’ve explained before that Indonesians don’t understand the concept of being alone, so they invited me to belong to their family for a few hours.

They asked what I wanted to eat, and I told them I was in the food for tempe. They didn’t have any, but one of the sons jumped on his motorcycle and was back in five minutes with a bag of tempe just for me. In addition, they cooked me some fried fish, vegetables and rice. It was really enough for four people, but I hadn’t eaten in ten hours, so I finished it – much to the delight of the mother.

While I was waiting for my food, they told me I could move to the back of the restaurant to one of the tables overlooking the canal that ran through the backyard. It was a nice spot, under a tree, and I did want to move there. I also assumed that this was their friendly, Javanese way of letting me know that they were tired of me sitting with the family. They didn’t want to entertain me anymore, so I should go away. I didn’t take it personally and moved to the back, but then they followed me. So they didn’t want to get rid of me, they just thought I’d like a nice view. I ate my meal, while the mother and father asked me questions about myself, my job and the U.S. They were both incredibly insightful and intelligent for Indonesians. The father, Pak Indra, asked me, “Isn’t it true that all Americans are immigrants from other countries? Aren’t the only real Americans the Indians?” I kind of wanted to hug him for this, but I didn’t.

After I finished eating, I paid and told them I wanted to go back to my hotel. The mother, Bu Harini, asked me if I would come back for coffee later that night to spend time with them. Pak Indra insisted that I come back. He said, “You don’t have to eat or drink anything. We don’t want you to buy anything. Just come back. We like talking to you.” So after a shower and a little nap, I did go back. They gave me lots of sweet tea and salak, and we sat around and talked for two hours. We talked about all sorts of things. Religion, languages (Pak Indra speaks at least six), welfare, poverty. They told me about their family, and I told them about mine. It was the nicest conversation I’ve ever had in Bahasa Indonesia. I was completely comfortable and happy. I went to bed that night feeling absolutely delighted with Indonesia.

I woke up the next morning hating Indonesia with every ounce of my being. The previous day, some of my joints had started to get pretty sore. Nothing alarming, but definitely sore. When I woke up Sunday morning, every inch of my body hurt to move, and my arms and legs were covered with a rash. I was pretty freaked out, so I called Dre, because I knew she’d convince me that I wasn’t dying. My first thought was Dengue. She calmed me down, just like I had hoped, and convinced me that I probably just had a vitamin deficiency (sore joints), and the rash could either be bedbugs or an allergic reaction. I decided that this was probable, but decided to go home early anyway.

By the time I got back to Ponorogo, my joints were so sore that I looked like an old lady walking down the street. It was pretty pathetic. I spent the rest of the day in bed. Being the wonderful woman that she is, my cook started delivering my meals to my room again. She was very worried about me, and kept offering to give me something, but I couldn’t understand her, and knowing that it was probably some herbal remedy that tasted terrible, I didn’t make an effort to figure it out.

By Monday, my joints had started to feel a lot better and the rash had faded a bit, so I figured it was just bedbugs and a vitamin deficiency and set off for the pharmacy to get some vitamins. I figured I could even teach the next day. Then when I got back to the pesantren, there was an announcement about being careful about mosquitoes and some disease that I didn’t understand. I went to ask some teachers what they were talking about. Well, they were talking about Chikungunya Fever. To which I replied, “chika what?” I’m glad I actually got to say that in real life and in context.

Apparently the symptoms of Chikungunya are joint pain and a rash. Huh, I thought to myself. Maybe this is what I have. I asked my counterpart, somewhat sarcastically if maybe she thought I had this, since my symptoms were exactly like the symptoms of Chikungunya. She said she didn’t think so, because I didn’t have a fever. When I told her that I had had a fever the day before she did this little nervous chuckle and said, “maybe you will go to the doctor tomorrow.”

Well, luckily for me, my aunt is a doctor and works at Georgetown. She consulted the Head of Infectious Diseases, and we all decided that I did have Chikungunya Fever. This actually wouldn’t have been so bad, since the worst would have been over, and it would go away on it’s own. When I went to the doctor the next day, a blood test showed that I didn’t have Chikungunya Fever, but no one was really telling me what exactly the test said. I finally dragged it out of them that I either had Typhus or Dengue, but they were being so evasive about it. I was getting pretty mad at everyone. Then they tried to give me some sort of medicine. They wouldn’t tell me what the medicine was for except that it would “make me get better.” Well how the hell are you supposed to give me medicine if you don’t know what I have?

At that point, I called the director of AMINEF to ask her if she would kindly speak to the doctor, so she could tell me what might be wrong with me and what this medicine was for. But she wasn’t hearing it. She wouldn’t speak to the doctor and basically told me that I had to come to Jakarta. Gosh darnit! Why couldn’t I just have Chikungunya Fever? It sounds cool, and it’s not serious.

Eight hours later, I was on a freezing-cold night train to Jakarta. The doctor here wanted to do a blood test again. So we did. From the previous blood test, she was able to tell me that I either had Measles, Rubella or Dengue, all of which sound extremely pleasant. So, I got to wait in a hotel room by myself for 24 hours worrying about whether or not I had Dengue, also known as break-bone fever. They call it that, because it makes you feel like your bones are breaking. At one point I had a panic attack, because I thought I was losing feeling in my hands. Thank goodness I had access to HBO, room service and a hot bath. Otherwise I would’ve really lost it.

I just got back from the doctor. Get this. It’s Chikungunya Fever. The test came back negative for Rubella and Dengue, so I was told it was probably Measles or there was a slight chance it was some other virus very similar to Dengue. I asked her what that was called, and she said, “Chikungunya Fever.” I told her that the clinic in Ponorogo said I didn’t have it, but that’s what we had initially thought it was, because there had been an outbreak in my area. She said, “Oh there was an outbreak? You have Chikungunya Fever.”

I have to ask: What was the point of the last three days? My aunt and I and the staff of Georgetown University were pretty sure I had Chikungunya on Monday morning. It’s now Thursday night. What a waste of time.

Apparently my symptoms could last up to a month, which is pretty lame. Headaches and joint pain are no fun. You know when your little old grandmother is trying to open a bag of peanuts or something like that, and she can’t do it, cause her hands are all old and fragile. That’s me. I’m an old woman.

But maybe this will make a cool story someday. "Yes, once when I was in Indonesia, I had Chikungunya Fever." I hope you’ve all been saying “Chikungunya” a lot as you’ve been reading this. Every time I say it I feel like I’m making words up. It would be very silly if you could die from something that sounds as ridiculous as Chikungunya.

Sultry South Sumatera

I made my first trip to Sumatera last week for Thanksgiving. It was really fun and so different from the atmosphere on the other islands. The fun started in Jakarta where I boarded my second plane without having to use a boarding pass or going through any type of security. My first plane from Solo had been delayed three hours, and when everyone deboarded in Jakarta, there was no one to direct us to the correct entrance to the airport. Everyone just kind of picked a direction and went for it. I ended up wandering down some long hallway that was glass on both sides. I could see the passenger waiting rooms, and I could see planes, but I couldn’t get to either one of them. Finally a guy chased me down and asked me where I was going, to which I replied, “Palembang.” He then escorted me to the door of the plane. No lines, no boarding pass, nothing. “Here’s your plane. Have a good flight.” So I got on the plane and found that my seat had been double-booked, but since I’m a girl, the guy had to get up, even though he had gotten there first. He may or may not have had to stand at the back of the plane the entire flight. I realized that I might actually not be on the correct flight, but it turned out that I was, which was kind of lucky.

When I arrived in Palembang, Dre had arranged to have me picked up by her ojek-driving friend Alem. Right when I walked out of the airport there he was waiting for me at the front with a sign that said something along the lines of, “Her Royal Majesty – Princess Erin.” Or something ridiculous like that. It was very fun. Alem took me directly to Dre’s house.

I got in Thursday night and we bummed around Palembang until Sunday night. On Friday, we got up kind of early and Dre had to take me to her school and show off her American friend so she’d be allowed to have the week off too. Her school is an enormous building that looks like a hotel and obviously has a lot more money than my school. Her headmistress took us out for lunch at this really expensive outdoorsy restaurant to try pindang and some other local food. It was really good and not all that irritating. Dre has a really awesome counterpart, Agus, who takes amazing care of her and makes sure people don’t irritate her too much. Agus also takes care of me when I’m around.

That night we met up with Eric, another ETA, and had dinner on the Musi River. They’re favorite restaurant is kind of on a boat on the river and overlooks this enormous bridge that’s all lit up with pretty colored lights. I guess usually things are pretty quiet, but I happened to come on the night of some enormous celebration that was supposed to draw tourists. The otherwise empty restaurant was packed, as was the city. There was a big stage set up within view of our table and one of Indonesia’s most famous bands was playing. At the end of the concert there were fireworks over the bridge and the river. It was a nice little free show. I wish I had had my camera, but I didn’t. It would be the first of many times on this trip.

The next day, we were supposed to see Dre’s school’s marching band perform at a mall, but we found out when we got there that every person in Palembang had thought the competition was on Saturday, but really, it was on Sunday. So we had Pizza Hut with Eric instead. We bummed around downtown (Palembang is not a pretty city) and then went back to Dre’s house to chill with the neighbors. Her neighbors are really sweet, awesome people who cook amazing food from Bengkulu. Java is a nice place to live, but they’re food is worthless compared to Sumateran food. Sunday was another day to lay around and that was also the day that I got to try Pempek. Pempek is made of sago and fish and compressed into balls and fried. Pempek is the biggest deal in Palembang, and everyone said that if I didn’t try it, I hadn’t really been to Palembang. I ate two pieces and decided that it was a tasty little snack, but should not be consumed in large quantities or too frequently. Which is exactly the way that Dre and Eric are forced to eat it.

Sunday night we caught a night train down to the city of Bandarlampung, which is the provincial capital of Lampung. This isn’t EuroRail night train stuff, this is about twenty steps below that, but we both took a Panadol night and knocked out. We woke up in Bandarlampung and got a shared car to the coastal town of Kalianda. Kalianda is the usual jumping off point for tours to Krakatau. There’s not much going on there, and the beach was disgusting, but it was a nice break from the congested air and rude people in Palembang.

We both really wanted to go to Krakatau, so we started scoping out prices and options. The hotel wanted $60 bucks a person, which is ridiculously expensive for Indonesia, so we thought we’d hop on over to Canti, a smaller fishing village just down the coast. We went down the next morning and went straight to the dock. A big, burly Indonesian police officer decided he’d help us arrange with some of the boat owners, but really, all he did was comment repeatedly on how we were traveling without a man. One guy offered to take us for about $150 for a charter boat that could hold up to 15 people, but since there was only two of us, it wasn’t exactly worth it. Frustrated and irritated, we walked down the road and went looking for a prettier place to hang out.

A couple men were standing on the street and started waving us over. They asked us where we wanted to go so we told them we wanted to go to the beach. Two women came out of the house and basically said, “here come through our yard, the beach is right here.” We were wondering if there was a catch, but there wasn’t. Just a beach. And a very nice beach at that. It overlooked a bunch of islands and had clear water and white sand. We sat around talking to the family for awhile, and when they excused themselves we went swimming and climbed some rocks. There were some men nearby and we didn’t want to be too scandalous, so we kept our rainjackets on over our bathing suits while we were playing. That’s why I’m not wearing pants in any of the pictures.

We had to head back to the dock afterwards to catch a ride back to Kalianda, and while we were there, one of the men said, “Oh yeah, I forgot. If you take a ferry to that island over there for ten cents, you can go to Krakatau from there for $50 for both of you.” Yes, I’m sure you forgot. The catch was that the ferry was leaving in a few minutes, so we had to rush back to Kalianda and grab our bags and rush back to Canti to catch the ferry. The ferry doesn’t go that often, so we were going to have to spend two nights on Pulau Sebesi, which is in between Sumatera and Krakatau.

On the ferry ride over, we found out that Sebesi has a population of about 2,000 people, and one of the sailors informed me that there was an expensive hotel, but a home-stay was a better option. Sebesi is kind of what I imagined Indonesia would be like. A couple tiny fishing villages spread out over an island with rattan huts in between, connected by dirt paths. One of the men took us to the home-stay, which ended up being the nicest part of our trip. A family of five cleared out a room for us, cooked us three meals a day, plus endless snacks of fried bananas, mango and sweet tea. We spent most of our time either reading in bed, or drinking hot tea on the front porch and watching the rain. It was like spending a recuperative weekend with your parents, only your parents don’t talk to you or bother you and only try to make you happy. Doesn’t that sound nice? The house didn’t have running water, and only had electricity after sunset until midnight. Did I mention the food was incredible? The mother and grandmother were such good cooks.

Wednesday morning, we got up bright and early to find our boat to Krakatau, but when we got to the dock, our guy was not there. What a schmuck. We wandered the village, looking for someone to take us, and ran into the owner of our ferry from the previous day. Turns out, he lived across the street from our home-stay. Once again, he offered to take us for $150, or said that a small boat could take us for $20, or we could wait for another ferry to come in which could take us for about $40. We said the small boat would be fine, but then we were told that the wind was too strong, for that, so we’d just have to wait until 2. So we waited until 2, but in the time that we were waiting we went swimming in a cove of mangroves (a mangrove cove) and walked around the island.

At 2 o’clock, the ferry hadn’t arrived yet, so we waited some more. When it finally arrived around 3:30, and we finally found the owner, he told us that he couldn’t take us because the sea was too rough. We begged and pleaded, but he wouldn’t take us. He showed me pictures of Krakatau on his phone and thought that should be enough to satisfy me. We sat there for a little while just hoping that he’d change his mind. He didn’t, but he ‘suddenly remembered’ that if you take an ojek to the other side of the island you have a beautiful clear view of Krakatau, weather permitting. We so said we’d do that. I’d come all that way and I needed to see it, even if it was from a distance. So the boat-owner, Chandra, and his friend, took us on their motorcycles to the other side of the island. Which ended up being an adventure all its own.

The tiny dirt paths that zigzag around the island had turned to mud paths from all the rain. Part of the way we were riding through water a couple inches deep. It was a rough and slippery ride, but it was so beautiful. The whole ride was right along the coast with palm trees on one side and the ocean on the other. We were mostly just riding through the jungle, but every once in awhile we’d pass a little rattan hut on stilts. We rounded on corner and there was Krakatau. It was enormous and beautiful and we had a perfect view, but we didn’t stop, because, according to the guys, there was an even better spot further on. So we kept riding, and it kept getting closer, and the view kept getting more beautiful. And then came a torrential downpour that obscured our view of Kraktau and made the roads almost completely impassable. We stopped for a couple minutes under an enormous tree that grew out over the sea. It was a fun spot to stop and would have made for great pictures if we hadn’t been afraid to ruin our cameras.

When the rain didn’t let up after fifteen minutes or so, we made a mad dash to a nearby hut. We sat in the front room of this old man’s house for about an hour, maybe more, drinking coffee and watching the rain come down. The sun set and all hope was lost of taking pictures of Krakatau. But at least we got to see it. The rain continued to pour, and by that time, it was completely dark out. The guys decided it was better to head back even though my driver wasn’t wearing a jacket, and it was going to be a wicked ride. The whole ride back, I kept thinking we were gonna wipe out, but we didn’t, although my driver shivered the entire time. Dre’s driver had to stop, cause a puddle splashed up and drenched his sparkplug. That took a while to fix. We finally made it back, and paid the guys way more than we’d promised them and then had dinner and went to bed.

We got up early the next morning (Thanksgiving!) to catch a ferry back to Sumatera. When we got our stuff packed and ready to leave, we asked our Ibu how much we owed her. She looked at us and laughed and said, “I don’t know, you’re our first guests.” She didn’t make a suggestion and didn’t count the money when we handed her what we thought was appropriate, so I hope it was ok.

The ferry ride back to Kalianda was rough, but not too bad. We caught a car back to Bandarlampung where Eric was waiting for us. He had stayed behind to teach that week, since he’d already been to Krakatau, but wanted to meet up with us to go to Way Kambas National Park, better known as the Elephant Place. We spent the night in Bandarlampung and had a humble dinner of chicken and French fries in a cafe for Thanksgiving. We did, however, go around the table and tell each other what we were thankful for, and we all got pretty sad, because we all missed our families.

The next day we headed to Way Kambas. Eric had arranged a tour package for us, which was nice, cause we didn’t have to deal with anything. A car took us directly to the park, minus an hour waiting while the car was being fixed. I had been feeling kind of headachey all day, but decided it was just dehydration. Our first stop was the Elephant Training Center. This place rescues elephants from circuses all over the world and gives them a nice place to live in the Sumateran jungle. They don’t get any funding from the government, so they train the elephants to do silly tricks and play soccer to help support the center. We were going to take an elephant trek through the jungle, but as soon as I got on the elephant I started feeling really, really sick. I made it about five minutes into the trek before I spiked a fever and my stomach exploded in five directions. I had to drag myself back to the office. Eric and Dre continued the trek, while I was drinking ginger tea and sleeping in the back of our car. It was really, really lame, but Dre bought me a cool Way Kambas shirt for my birthday to cheer me up.

After elephant trekking, we were taken to a guesthouse in the middle of the park where I slept, while Eric and Dre went on a hike. I basically slept the rest of the day and the entire night. I woke up Saturday morning feeling a lot better. My fever had gone away at least. We took a boat ride part-way through the jungle and then did a 2-hour hike. We were hoping to see elephants and rhinos, but we didn’t. We did, however, see tiger tracks, which was so exciting and cool. Sumateran tigers are super rare and are hardly ever seen, but seeing their paw prints in the mud was thrilling. We saw some gross leeches, got leeched, saw some birds and butterflies and then packed our stuff and headed back to Bandarlampung.

At nine that night, Dre and Eric caught the train back to Palembang, and I started my journey back to Ponorogo. This journey started at nine that night also. I had a seven hour bus ride (which included a ferry ride) from Bandarlampung back to Jakarta. I arrived in central Jakarta at 3:45 in the morning, and got a cab to the airport. I was at the airport from 4:30 until 11:30, during which time I slept for two hours in the middle of a crowd of people going on the Hajj. Then I had McDonald’s for breakfast and a Starbuck’s Toffee Nut Latte to kick off the holiday season. The flight from Jakarta to Solo was only about an hour. Then I caught an ojek from the airport to the bus station, rode a two-hour, unairconditioned, packed bus from Solo to Madiun, another one-hour bus from Madiun to Ponorogo, and then got an ojek from Ponorogo to the pesantren. It was exhausting, but it made me really glad to be back, especially because I came in right before sunset and the sun was reflecting very nicely off the rice paddies.

So, my birthday is in 6 days, which is very exciting for me. My birthday happens to fall on the Muslim holiday Idul Aadha. It’s a day of slaughtering goats and cows. I’m not sure why. No one will tell me. But it should be interesting.