Stephen in Salatiga

Selamat Datang Ayah!!

2009-11-25T13:11:00.005+10:00

Three very tired people greeted each other. Leonie and Delaney sprawled in the lounge, having been at the airport for three hours, their sense of excitement and expectation spiked by non-arrival. By the time they'd been informed of the flight I was on, they'd already sat through two planes from Sydney disembarking. For the original 10.20am arrival time, they were giddy with excitement, at the doors, waiting for me to walk by. Only when the room was emptied of people did it set in that I must be on the next plane. I wasn't. Same thing happened with Greta, a few years back, when she had to transfer at Sydney.

Girls had made a sign for me, as they'd done in 2005 when I returned from Indonesia. This year's sign said: Selamat Datang Ayah! Welcome Home, Dad! Managed to stay awake. Picked up Tallulah from school; when she saw me, she burst into a run! No waiting around at the airport for her.

The family unit is back together. Including Kucing, who hasn't changed much. That afternoon, unpacked. Gift time. Sorted out shirts. Books. Magazines. Opened all the packages of stuff sent from Salatiga and Solo. A few more to come from Jakarta.

Chips for tea, one of the items on my food list that I maintained in Indonesia, which includes bread, muffin, coffee, yoghurt, blue cheese, pasta, Tim Tams, and Cherry Ripe. Crashed at 6pm.

Tuesday - Sydney airport

2009-11-25T12:40:00.004+10:00

Forced to switch on the mobile, something else to hold against QANTAS. "Hi, missed my connecting flight. Indonesia is a model of efficiency compared to what I'm going through at the Domestic Transfer."

Livid with the delay. Got through Customs quickly, once I'd filled in my form properly. Advised that I hadn't declared my nationality. If I wasn't so tired, would have retorted: "Disowned it during the Howard years and haven't bothered to collect it and,based on current political behaviour, not really interested." Current Labor attitude towards refugees makes me think the term "unAustralian" will be in vogue for some time. From Toltz: "I wondered if they [the refugees] had the slightest clue what to expect in Australia. I supposed they knew they'd be living an underground existence, exploited in brothels, factories, building sites, restaurant kitchens, and by the fashion industry, who would get them sewing their fingers to the bone. But I doubted they were aware of the adolescent competition among political leaders to see who had the toughest immigration policies, the kind you wouldn't want to meet down a dark alley. Or that public opinion was already set against them, because even if you're running for your life, you still have to wait in line, or that Australia, like everywhere, excelled in making arbitrary distinctions between people seem important." Filled in my form: Australian. Some things simply cannot be denied or wished away. On a more positive note, Customs showed no interest in the Acehnese coffee.

Expecting to be with Leonie and Delaney soon. But the crush of people at Domestic Transfer had me worried. A call come out: "Passengers travelling to Canberra at 10.20 and to . . . please proceed to the . . .". By the time I had proceeded to the right line, the flight had closed. Advised to join the end of the queue. At which point I use the mobile phone. Fifty minutes of tedium, enlivened by sharp evil thoughts directed at QANTAS and the idiot who booked this connection for me. Damn their optimism in the national carrier's efficiency. Chaos. More announcements, probably not meaningful, but done to create the effect that human cargo was being processed: "Could passengers who are going to miss their flight to Perth, please let themselves be known the service desk so we can have a really good laugh." iPodded with Cambodian Cassette Archives. Which calmed me down. Not completely, but enough. After an age shuffling, I reach the end of the line, and am processed, bumped to a 11.55am flight.

In the airport, get some Australian money - so compact compared to the bulky rupiahs I've been carrying. Coffee, large. See Rhys Muldoon. Coffee not having much impact: tired and woozy. Kerry O'Brien is on the same flight to Canberra. He ends up getting a seat in the first row. No walking the aisles for Kezza. Time to head home.

Senin di Jakarta - last day in Indonesia

2009-11-25T12:10:00.002+10:00

Hard to believe that this day has arrived. In AFL terms, here in time for the grand final, home in time for the draft.

For breakfast, vegemite on toast. As I'm transitioning to Australia, I find that I'm writing less in my notebooks, talking less Indonesian. Though I am staying with friends who are very fluent in English.

Midday, taxi out to RuangRupa, an art gallery located somewhere in South Jakarta. Impossible to find, due to street numbering system which does not adhere to the street numbering concepts used, say, in Watson. Looking for number 6. Can find 3, 4, 5, and 7. Driver, as per usual, stops to discuss gallery's whereabouts with locals. Follow their instructions, but end up confused. Find number 6, but it's a school. More stops, more discussions with locals. Lots of handpointing. Looks authoritative enough. Still can't find the gallery. Is my pretentiousness going to be foiled? I'm sure I see 56 next to 73. Another street, more confusion. Try more one local. The numbers seem to have a system - 16, 14, 12, 10, 8 and, yes, 6: RuangRupa. Inside, one room, filled with comics drawn by artists from Bandung, Yogjakarta and Jakarta. Manager comes out and explains each work and a bit about the artist. Mentions that this is the headquarters of White Shoes and the Couples Company. Which is why I'm there. A huge fan of their music. Learn that the new album is out next January, with a comic to follow. Maybe a tour to Adelaide.

Return to Dianita and Arief's place, frittering away my last couple of hours here reading short stories from by Indonesian sensation Djenar Maesa Ayu. Arief at work, Dianita at Universitas Indonesia, the kids have returned from school, looked after by the live-in servants. Called just before 5pm, Dianita saying she can't be there to say goodbye.

Driven to airport by her father's driver. Dream run. Left Kebayoran Baru at 4.55pm, arrive at Soekarno-Hatta International Airport at 5.25pm. No queue at the check-in. Bag weighs in at 21.9 kilograms!!

Plenty of time to kill. Saunter around the various tourist shops. Hungry, so look for food. Request noodles with vegies. Really helpful staff explain that the food has been prepared with chicken stock, but if I've got time they can cook up some vegetables and rice.

No more need of the mobile. Switch it off. For the duration of the trip, my pockets have been encumbered by travel tools. Empty pockets, can't wait. Meanwhile, unable to help myself, I buy a couple of books, all with an Islamic theme. Listen to Jens Lekman in the waiting lounge. At a later date I will have to investigate how much Australian music made its way onto the iPod. Offhand, I know that I had two albums by the Go-Betweens.

All aboard, leave about 9pm. QANTAS meal comes with pepper - haven't had pepper in ages! Scrappy sleep. Preparing to land. Pilot announces that we've been requested to hold. Eerie stillness of holding pattern. Five minutes of floating, drift.

As we break through the clouds, I look across to the window, past the two Indonesians marvelling at the view, and see the streets of Sydney. Nearly home.

Weeks, days, hours

2009-11-22T12:17:00.002+10:00

Arrived at that point in the trip where I'm counting down in terms of hours, rather than days, and, before that, weeks. Past three weeks have flown by, due to constant busyness, preparing for talks, and hectic travelling around. Strange to be in Jakarta of all places, with its energy, restlessness, heat, pace (or, if in traffic, lack of pace), and I'm here catching my breath, recuperating, slowing down, getting ready for the trip home - pulang.

Kebayoran Baru - Saturday

2009-11-22T12:03:00.003+10:00

Heard car alarm in the middle of the night. Other than that, sleep through. Up at 7.30am. Read in bed. Pleasure to do nothing. No work, no lecture, no study. Will rest today.

The Go-Betweens - The Wrong Road ("If you want to live here, learn the language.")
The Reels - Forever Now (lounge version of Chiz classic)
The Heavy Blinkers - Say There Honey (what principles of selection are at work, my iPod friend? This is the 3rd or 4th time this one has been randomed. Not that I mind.)
This Heat - S.P.Q.R.
Junior Boys - When I'm Not Around (listen to this one, Tallulah, for an example of a beautiful and understated sax solo. As well as some great humming as the song fades.)
The Go-Betweens - The Clarke Sisters ("They had problems with their father's law/They sleep in the back of a feminist bookstore, the Clarke sisters" - Arise, Sir Robert, for your services to literate pop).

Day spent reading a graphic novel of Coraline, had an afternoon nap (proof, if needed, of how tired I am), and watched a bit of TV. Mum and dad called, updating me on the great Australian heat. Dianita and Arief busy today (work, study), but also keen to take me places. Advise them to relax, that besok (tomorrow) we can do something. In bed by 8pm.

Friday night - hit Pacific Place Mall

2009-11-22T11:42:00.004+10:00

Taxied from BINUS to Pacific Place Mall, one of the newest in Jakarta, catering to Jakarta's rich and to Westerners. It would be Greta's first visit. Entering an exclusive mall is much like checking into the departure lounge of an airport. Bags are x-rayed, we walk through the metal detector, and, if we set off the beeper, repeat the process. Pacific Place is huge, near impossible to crane my neck for a view upwards as this cathedral of consumption seems to go on forever, dizzying, sublime. All the namebrand sects are here: you can trust the labels. Elsewhere, the same namebrands can be found, but they're pirated. Like Grand Indonesia, its spaciousness makes it delightful to walk around, to have my own sense of space, one premised on the exclusion of the majority of the population. Comfort and pleasure - always interrogate. Here ostensibly to go to aksara, a local bookshop, where we met Priscilla. Very trendy. Stocks mainly English books, specialising in literature, art, design, business, and magazines. Had a small CD section, so indulged myself. Many restaurants. As we rubbernecked, Greta spotted a celebrity, an actress from one of the local soap operas. An embarrassing admission, for who wants to own up to recognising a soapstar!

Dined at a Balinese restaurant. Background music was excellent, a modern version of gamelan, which allowed me to rant some more about the appalling music at the hotel. Priscilla lives near Kebayoran Baru, so after the meal, we made our way to Dianita and Arief's place. No trouble finding it, though we did have to stop twice for directions. A pleasant change from my first trip to this part of town. I've been well looked after by Greta, Priscilla, and other BINUS colleagues.

From 9.30 to 11pm, chatted with Dianita and Arief. Great to see them again. Recounted my adventures, impressions, what it was like in Aceh, Javanese culture, and my worklife in Salatiga. Dianita, who was my tutor, impressed by my fluency. Eight weeks here has made a difference!

Tools of travel

2009-11-20T18:13:00.001+10:00

Jakarta - BINUS - Jumat 20 Nov

2009-11-20T18:00:00.005+10:00

Into the bin! My last shave with lathering cream. Looking forward to shaving with foam when I get home. Joining the tube of lather, a tube of dencorub half-used. Into the sink! Shampoo and conditioner. Toiletries bag weighs too much and I've got to get rid of excess baggage (of the material, not emotional, kind) to make way (nearly typed "weigh"!) for DVDs, CDs, books, lollies, shirts, and other bits and pieces. Two packages (old shirts, books, magazines) are ready to be sent.

Body clock is preparing for Australia. That's the only reason I can think of for waking at 4am. Or I have a need to pray. Downstairs, at 6am, I'm less critical of the morning coffee.

Final lecture today: "Critical Thinking." Requested by the Lecturer Resource Centre. Have enjoyed my time at BINUS because I've been hanging around a centre similar to ASLC and I haven't had to meet with the rectors, who, thankfully, are unaware of my existence. The lecture and question time went really well. Active learning has been in the news. Recently, Presiden SBY urged that changes be made to the methods and culture of teaching and learning in Indonesia, as the country is not producing students who are active, creative, and willing to take risks, qualities, it has been argued in the press, common to entrepeneurs. Lecturers at BINUS talked about the difficulty of teaching students who embraced passive learning. They were interested to hear about the Introductory Academic Program that we run at ANU for international students. All the lectures I've done have involved microphones.

At the end of proceedings I was given a present: a corporate statue. This morning's culling has been for nought.

Qantas, really, 23 kilos! I've been away for 2 months! Collecting stuff!

Jakarta - BINUS - Kamis 19 Nov

2009-11-19T19:44:00.006+10:00

Lecture 2: to the English faculty. Singing for my supper, as they say. Afterwards, photos with the faculty and then the students. Rest of the day free. Blogging frenzy. Time off only for lunch. Will be hitting a mall, a shopping one not a university one, this evening.

At 5.30pm, Priscilla, Greta and I leave, with Priscilla driving us to Grand Indonesia, a mall for Jakarta's elites. "Selalu macet," said Greta (Always traffic jams), as there was a bit of a bottleneck in the carpark. Absolutely gridlocked in front of the campus, yet the traffic yields as Priscilla edges her way against the flow to make a righthand turn towards Jakarta. Earlier that morning, waiting to be picked up, Greta texted to say that they were running late because it was macet. As we crawled along, Priscilla piped up, "Sometimes it can take an hour to get from here to the city, sometimes an hour and twenty minutes." Jakartans love their traffic jams. They submit to the flow (or the non-flow), Zenlike in acceptance. Nearer the city, jockies beside the road raised their arm, attempting to hail customers. A jockey is someone who offers to be a passenger, for around 10.000 rupiah, thus allowing the driver to use the special lane reserved for cars with three or more passengers. Some jockies had a child with them - good value for those driving alone to get a family of jockies. Sluggish progress, then we reached a point where we went against the flow of workers leaving the city, thus increasing our speed. Took less than an hour to arrive.

At the mall, which has an East and West wing, and at least 6 levels, there's a pameran batik (Batik exhibition). President SBY's wife has loaned her collection, while President Obama has loaned his mother's collection. Barack, as I like to call him, has an amazing signature - a letter from him was on view, framed. Then, jalan-jalan - walking around. Ended up in Gramedia, a mistake really as I find it difficult to resist bookbuying. Tomorrow I'm going to have to send more packets home. Got another handful of graphic novels. Thought I'd finished, but as I was walking away from the cashier I spied an Indonesian thesaurus, which I couldn't resist. Heavy, though. Tersesat di Mal (Lost in the mall). But great being here because it's empty, so can walk without feeling hemmed in, as I am when walking around the streets near BINUS. Dined, eating some classic gado-gado, the sauce made from cashews. Followed by homemade icecream - tiramisu. Was shopped out, conscious that my suitcase cannot keep on gorging. Encouraged by Greta to try one more shop, for CDs. Left it with 8 items, mostly Indonesian films with subtitles. The Watson Indonesian film festival will run all summer.

Jakarta - BINUS - Rabu 18 Nov

2009-11-19T14:57:00.004+10:00

Would my meal have been cheaper if fewer staff had served it? This thought was leftover from last night, as I watched three staff approach my table, delivering my salad and mie (noodles). Cost of the meal equivalent to 10 lunches at UKSW. Noodles not a patch on what I was eating in Aceh. Such are the rigours of hotel living.

Breakfast: toast and Berenberg jam, fresh fruit, some croissanty-style pastries, and kopi instan, the usual industrial swill. Against the advice of my dentist, I add some gula (sugar) to make the impossible vaguely palatable. Aceh has spoilt me, resurrecting my inner coffee snobbiness. Sugar sachets here seem to contain 2 and a half teaspoons of the stuff. Required for the industrial slop kickstarting my first day at Bina Nusantara University, known as BINUS, and its employees and students/clients, known as BINUSIANS. Located in West Jakarta, hence my stay at a hotel reasonably close by.

So many hotel staff. One spending endless time and energy micromanaging the cereal and pastry section of the buffet, shifting containers a centimetre at a time, getting things perfect. Another, while I'm at the buffet choosing some more pastries, whisking away the dirty plates, so that I'm momentarily unable to recognise where I'd been sitting. Then I sight the scrappy tatter of my notebook. Piped music puts me in mind of Richard Clayerdam, neutered Librace. Standards of Western songbook. Lite, sterile, sexless jazz. No grit. Pointless lingering over breakfast. iPod's upstairs - need a fix.

Yes, I'm bule, but does that mean I want a complimentary copy of The Jakarta Post delivered to my room? Give me Kompas, you ethnocentricists! Spare me the stereotype! I'm looking forward to filling out the guest feedback sheet.

Arthur Russell - Nobody Wants a Lonely Heart
Alemayehu Eshete - Teantena Zare
Efterklang - Playing Butterfly
ESG - Come Away
Anon - Unknown (on Cambodian Cassette Archives there are more than 10 songs credited this way)
Talk Talk - Desire

Picked up at 8am by Greta and her colleague/friend Priscilla. Drive past the shiny new BINUS campus, heading to its original site. Staff sign in electronically. There's a shared academic staffroom, for all academics, not just by faculty. At 9am, my first presentation: "How to write a research proposal." Not going to clog the blog with ANU work stuff. Tour. Head to the newer campus, Kampus Anggrek, named after the road it's on. A fan of the main building, mainly because of its use of orange.

The interior is like a luxurious shopping mall. Sound richocets and bounces around, students talking in the hall.

Tour of library. BINUS considered wealthy because of student laptop use. 25,000 students. Meetings. Mentoring program. Student Advisory Centre. Writing tomorrow's lecture. Leave office at 5.30.

To Greta's kos, like a studio apartment. A house refitted into 6 small apartments. Got to naik angkota lagi (ride the angkota again). Took two to get to a shopping area so I could hunt for a couple of DVDs. Lucked out with Janji Joni, but found a couple of good substitutes, though they lack subtitles. Returned by angkota to Greta's part of town; she said it's pretty unusual for foreigners to use this mode of transport, they prefer the safety and airconditioning of private cars. Hairy travelling, with a near-miss sideswipe of motorbike. Pretty sure the woman I'm sitting next to is a man - waria or off to a pretty good party. Headed to a Manado restaurant (north Sulawesi). Ordered perkedel jagung (deep fried corn) and tumis kangkung bunga pepaya (a green vegetable dish, with pepaya flowers), as well as avocado juice. Dinner by candlelight. Relax, Leonie, Greta requested the candle to keep the flies away from the food. Other tables had them also, so it was no big deal! And the candle was really small. And the lights were on. And . . . And . . . And . . .

Banda Aceh ke Jakarta Selasa 17 Nov

2009-11-17T19:53:00.005+10:00

Another milestone: 1 week to go until pulang (return home). Each night from now on in will the last of its kind in Indonesia. Tonight's my last Selasa.

Got a backlog of blogging to do. Firmed up with some strong coffee and apple cake. Internet rates at the hotel border on extortion - 100.000 rupiah per hour versus the 6.000 rupiah per hour at the internet cafe, but if it means there'll be no blackouts, then it's worth it.

Last night, Iskandar offered to show me how to make nasi goreng (fried rice) for tomorrow's breakfast. Haven't had roti for a week, having given in to rice for breakfast.

Ingredients:

garlic (1)
scallions (2)
spring onion (1)
coriander (1 TS)
tomato (1)
egg (2, beaten)
chili (to taste)
oil (2-3 TS)
curry laksa paste (2-3 TS)
Precooked rice (enough to feed 4 people)
Soy sauce
Salt

Heat the oil.
Add garlic and scallions (30 secs)
Add tomato and curry paste (mix thoroughly, about 1 min.)
Add telur (egg) and mix.
Add rice.
Add some soy sauce and a pinch of salt. Stir a lot.
Top with coriander.
Add spring onions.

Quick and easy. Iskandar's a wizard in the kitchen and, given the gender division, a little unusual in that he knows his way around the dapur. Yet to get a family photo. On the verandah, but took a while to convince Raffa (4) that this was a fun activity. Most shots involved the back of his head. Eventually, encouraged to look my way.

Dropped Ella off at ARTI, a research teaching institute, and then, following Iskandar's suggestion, used my last 40 minutes in Banda Aceh to visit the Aceh Museum, which was closed yesterday. Nyakni, our driver, dropped Iskandar off at his office, so he could do a little work, and then we sped into the city centre for a quick tour of the traditional Acehnese house in front of the museum. A good exhibit and, surprisingly, gratis (free).

Love driving through the streets of Banda Aceh. Main roads are wide, tree-lined, and clean. Median strips create a sense of order. Ah, this city appeals to my Canberran values! A clear day, so can see the mountains that surround the city. Truly beautiful. If I could forget the heat, it reminds me of Vancouver, though not as sublime. Near the airport, a mass grave (kuburan massal) for tsunami victims, thousands bulldozed into this area.

Had my last coffee in Aceh at the airport. Said goodbyes and expressed the hope that Suatu hari kita akan bertemu lagi (One day, we will meet again). Iskandar had confirmed my booking and arranged for a window seat. He gets things done in style: my window seat, near the emergency exit, had no seat in front - luxury. A fantastic host. Suitcase is over the limit: 24.3 kilos. Garuda staff advised me that I would have to pay, but then they decided against it. Tonight will cull paper and see if anything else can be sent via post.

Views sensational as I leave Banda Aceh. Ballbearings sparkle in the sun - the domes of the many mosques, I assume.

Nearly finished on Toltz, about 30 pages to go. One of the benefits of spending three hours in the air: reading time. Two books in two months. A bit sluggish.

Nearing the airport, the sea seeps into the land, boundaries porous. Cubist grids of sawah (rice fields). Global warming will devastate Jakarta.

At Jakarta, approached, as expected, by a swarm of taxi touts, eager for bule trade. Impossible to exit the baggage claim area without passing their clamour. Made it clear that I didn't need their assistance, but like an unwanted melanoma, one attached himself to me. Useful, as he showed me where to find the ATM, which was a source of anxiety because as I was exiting the plane I could not recall my PIN. Various permutations percolated to the surface, none of them convincing. Rolled the same four numbers around and around. Wondered would Commonwealth give me the number over the phone. First attempt at using the card failed. Thought a bit, and then the right sequence materialised. My tout was still hanging around. Berapa harga, I asked. Dua ratus ribu rupiah (200.000) he replied. Where's your taxi ID card, I asked. He showed me. Next, to prove how long I've been in Indonesia, I said: "Wait a minute. I want to compare your price with another company's." Went to the taxi stand, one recommended by Greta. Asked for the price. Given three options. Looked at the cheapest - 190.000. Turned to the tout, looked at the new guy, mumbled something about how the price was not really different to the other price. In response, the new guy dropped the price! I haggled, successfully. 150.000 rupiah. Take that, taxi touts of Jakarta! Catching a taxi the official way, however, also commits one to paperwork and a bit of a wait, but worth it for the peace of mind. Now that I can haggle, my education here feels complete.

Monday Banda Aceh 16 Nov

2009-11-16T11:39:00.006+10:00

Mie Iskandar (Iskandar's noodles)

2009-11-16T11:39:00.005+10:00

Ingredients

Scallions (2)
Tomato (1)
Chili (2)
Mie noodles
Laksa spice/Curry spice
Water (2 cups)
Oil (2 TS)
Green onions (2)
Garlic (2)
Bean sprouts (handful)

Heat oil.
Add scallions/garlic/chili. Cook for a minute.
Add tomato. Cook for a minute.
Add laksa spice.
Add water and bean sprouts. Bring to boil.
Add noodles. Cook until ready.
Add soy sauce, tomato sauce to taste.
Add juice of one lemon.
Top with coriander.

Enjoy.

Tsunami tour - Sunday

2009-11-16T11:38:00.009+10:00

Morning, began with iPod, which, sensing that we're in Sumatra, found two songs from one of the Sublime Frequencies CDs cluttering up the collection back home, Folk and Pop Sounds of Sumartra Vol 2:

Fetty - Pariaman
Ekkehard Ehlers - Hubert Fichte (1)
Elly Kasim - Ayam Den Lapeh
Brian Eno and David Byrne - The Jezebel Spirit
Pavement - In the Mouth A Desert

First time in days that I've been able to shuffle around. Cool morning, sitting on the verandah, watching the odd sepada motor whiz by. Trip to the beach planned. "Like Hawaii," according to Iskandar. Flight times for this Tuesday have been confirmed, with Iskandar booking a window seat, so that I can see Aceh from the air. On the flight in I had an aisle seat. Fabulous not to have to travel to another university today. Been a wearying 4 days, sitting for prolonged periods on my fat one, getting from A to B. Travel tally: Weds - 11 and a half hours, Solo to Banda Aceh; Thurs - 7 hours, Banda Aceh to Lhokseumawe; Sat - 7 and a half hours, the return to Banda Aceh. Too old for this! Lost track of time and the date. A blur. Always tired, especially after lunch.

Waiting for the day to start, I read Toltz, a terrific read, jotting down some pearls, luxuriating in its Australian flavour. Here, I get to hear English, but not the Australian version of it. At UKSW, Duncan was usually around, and we could converse for a bit of refuge and respite, for a sense of cultural togetherness. In Banda Aceh, I've got Toltz. Conversation's onesided, but I don't mind. Halfway through. Flight to Jakarta should give me time to devour another decent slab. Lost keys delay our departure to the beach. Raffa and Raziq have a thing for keys.

Before the beach, the "Tsunami Tour," as narrated by Iskandar. Over 130,000 people died on Boxing Day 2004. Five years later, no matter where you drive in Banda Aceh, you'll be participating in a tsunami tour, as the urban landscape as it presently exists is there because of the tsunami. Even the sections of the city untouched by the 2004 tsunami are, in their untouchedness, shaped by the tsunami, its wreckage, and the narratives that have followed. Narratives still being formed and, unlike the city itself, which was rebuilt within a couple of years, in development. Everyone who was here has a story. Even those who were not here. Dotted throughout the city, official mass graves, some big, like the one near the airport, some small, like the one on the way to the port area; by small, I mean only 1000s are buried there. Yet, to me, the dead are commemorated elsewhere and everywhere. The city is like a cemetery, but instead of tombstones, modern buildings funded by the international co

mmunity: schools, hospitals, government offices, a tsunami museum, a tsunami research institute. As we drive around the ground zero area, the city centre, Iskandar's narration revolves around two phrases: Semuanya hancur (Everything was destroyed) and Semuanya baru (Everything is new). Iskandar, who worked with the Reconstruction and Rehabilitation Agency, has much information to convey. 150,000 homes have been rebuilt. We visit the port area, which was completely destroyed, though the mosque on the sea survived. Then to a ship that was dumped about 5 kilometres inland. Houses have been rebuilt around this popular tourist site.

From there, to Pantai Lampuuk, the beach that rivals those of Hawaii. As we head through the city, another common phrase is uttered, as Iskandar points out various buildings and areas: Meninggal semuanya (Everyone died). A day of two halves, first looking at the areas affected by the tsunami, the sea as destruction, second visiting a tourist beach, the sea as pleasure.

The beach is a national park, popular with tourists, families, and young couples. Didn't see any signs prohibiting couples from being, well, couples. Light rain. Never seen so much clothing on a beach, at least not when it was in the high 20s. Stunning scenery. Like the west coast of North America. Mountains meet the sea. Establish our base at the front of the pondok, the covered series of huts that extend along the length of the beach, but the increasing heaviness of the rain, combined with a strong wind, force us into its interior. Real jilbab (headscarf) territory, so whenever a woman walks by not wearing one I find it hard not to look. Cannot get over the locals, fully clothed, swimming. Not really swimming, but hugging the 5 or so metres from the water's edge, splashing around with their friends. Invited in by Iskandar, but decline. I am, at times, a person of principle.

Proof that I've been in Indonesia too long: a bule family arrives. While I'm walking around, the bloke approaches me and the following dialogue ensues:

"Parlez-vouz Francais?"

"Maaf, hanya bisa berbahasa Indonesia dan Inggris. I mean, I can speak English."

"English? That's fine."

Pouring with rain, so we leave. Drive by many beautiful beaches. On the return home, Iskandar decides a shortcut is in order. Road running with water. Some years ago he camped in the mountains. The road devolves into something approaching a road, then a narrow path, then a torrent, then an approximation of a mud track. Slush. We're terserat (lost). Find a space where Iskandar can do a 25 point turn, with Ella's brother outside, getting drenched, given advice. Finally, we turnaround. Smell of eucalyptus in the car, applied to warm up Ella's brother. As we make our way back, we pass a logging hut, three men sitting inside smoking. Iskandar stops for directions. He returns, smiles, and says Salah! (I was wrong!)

Lhokseumawe ke Banda Aceh 14 Nov

2009-11-16T11:38:00.007+10:00

Visit what's known as negera lain, another country. Lhokseumawe is famous for its natural gas and its fertiliser industry. A common complaint among the locals is that these resources have been exploited, with all the money funnelling its way back to Jakarta/Java, while the community gets nothing. "The Conflict," as it is called, much the same way as in Ireland they talk about "The Troubles," is connected to this sense of grievance. Over 30 years, 1000s were killed as Acehnese sought independence. The Indonesian military response to any challenge to the integrity of Indonesia as a country is, as they've demonstrated in other areas, brutal. The peace process was underway prior to the tsunami, but the situation was very dodgy. Education institutions were targetted/razed. Two rectors were murdered. The tsunami brought peace. But some of the old inequalities persist. Within Lhokseumawe is a compound complex, where employees of the natural gas industry live, work, pray, and play. Hospital, mosque, country club, golf club, school, shops, market - it's all there. Roads are wide, streets are tree-lined and clean. Traffic is almost non-existent. Views magnificent. Locals, though, are not allowed. When our 30 minute tour was over we returned to the real world, Indonesia.

Islamic unversities are open on Saturdays, so I'm off there to meet the rector. Not sure why I'm meeting him, but I put in an appearance. Sometimes I feel as though I'm the trophy academic, the trophy bule, for display purposes only. Ironically, the newer campus we visit is housed in an appropriated compound complex once onwed by Exxon, I think. When the company abandoned the city, the compound sat empty. Then Iskandar's university petitioned the local government for its use. Houses that were once for the elite workers are now offices.

A terrible thing to forget to carry your own stash of toilet paper.

1.50pm. Leaving for Banda Aceh. 15 minutes after we leave we stop for lunch. Arrive at 9.30pm.
Highlights: seeing Iskandar in his village, where we stopped to visit his parents, completely at home; the phrase "margin for error" constantly invading my thoughts as we overtook or were overtaken; beautiful scenery, with stretches of green, palms, ricefields, mountains; the best roads in Indonesia, thanks to post-tsunami reconstruction; stopping for tea at the warung of one of Iskandar's mates, watching how to make Acehnese noodles, and, on eating them, learning the Acehnese way of saying "delicious" - mangat that.

Biggest highlight: crashing into bed.

Lhokseumawe Friday 13 Nov

2009-11-13T19:37:00.005+10:00

3 hr presentation this morning. Raining now (5pm). Net access limited. Tomorrow return to Banda Aceh. Later today will go to the beach, but I'm not allowed to wear shorts.

Iskandar and Raziq.

[Added 19/11 - overcast in Jakarta] ANU work today. Visiting Universitas Malikussaleh. Will talk on ANU and academic expectations. Will talk in bahasa. "Not many of the academics here can speak English," Iskandar lets me know as we approach the campus. The inequalities in the Indonesian education system are plain to see here; I suppose I should be happy that in the state versus religion divide, more resources are going to the Indonesian state system. Travel on a mud road that justifies the use of a 4-wheel drive, cows and goats wandering around the grounds/paddock. Meet the deans and vice-rectors. Asked, at the last minute, to do another talk. Fossick around the memory stick for something that might do. If I was asked to talk about astrophysics, I'm sure I could come up with something. Some of the universities here are so starved of international visitors that, when they do get them, they make all sorts of requests, most of which are difficult to refuse. Call it the pity lecture.

Mentally shot after three hours of presenting and talking. Iskandar helped me out when I couldn't translate a slide from English into bahasa, as well as clarifying any of the lecturers's questions. Main problems here: no money, no access to international journals, limited access to internet. One lecturer said he was more familiar with SMSing than the using the internet.

Afternoon, to the beach. With trousers. Collect Rizwan, another lecturer who had spent a year at ANU. Arrived at his house and he's wearing his ANU baseball cap. Go to a Pondok, a cottage or hut facing the sea. Drink fresh coconut juice and eat fried banana: Iskandar, Rizwan, Yuli, me.

Later that night, learn that azan is the term used to describe the morning call to prayers. That Aceh has syariah law. That thieves' hands can be cut off; this, I'm told, is in the law, but is never used. That gender issues only became a problem with the arrival of NGOs after the tsunami. That it's impossible to have a conversation without the tsunami as its subtext. That at dinner men tend to eat first. That my ability to hold my tongue is better than I thought.

Tired. Heat. Humidity. Going from one place to another. No control over the agenda. Agenda always changing. Fielding more requests. Afternoon naps.

Banda Aceh - Lhokseumawe Thursday 12 Nov

2009-11-13T19:36:00.006+10:00

No time to blog, as access is limited here. Will fill in details later. Took 7 hours to get here.

[Added 19/11, while at BINUS - hujan lebat di Jakarta - my shoes!] My as well stayed at home, seeing that all I did today was bump into ANU types. Did the ANU stuff in the morning at The Australian Corner. Unbelievably, an ANU PhD student, Citra, was there, doing research on trauma, comparing how communities in Canberra and Banda Aceh dealt with it. Small world. Presented and fielded questions for over 2 hours. Then went to the Aceh Research Teaching Institute. Greg Fealy, ANU Indonesian specialist, was also there! Sign on a tree: "Dilarang pacaran di sini" - Boyfriend and girlfriend activity is banned. No public displays of affection allowed.

Driven around by Samsul, the coordinator of Australian Corner. As we made our way to the city centre, he recounted his tsunami experience. "Here, the water was two metres." Later, "Here it was three metres. Semuanya dirusak, meninggal (Everything was destroyed, dead)." After the earthquake, confusion, people in the streets, then vehicles driving toward the city saying the water was coming, the water coming. And people not understanding what was meant by that, as it hadn't been wet. Then official vehicles came along and spread the word. The water was coming. Get to high ground. From what Samsul said, the tsunami lasted about 15 minutes, and then there was 30 minutes of backwash. For 3-4 days, nothing could be done. City empty. Bridges became like dams, blocked with bodies, furniture, building debris. Mostly women and children. Imagine a bridge, spanning 100s of metres, clogged with bodies, acting as a dam.

"Kota Aceh ini terkenal untuk tiga hal: kopi, mie, dan ganja. Aceh is famous for three things: coffee, noodles, and ganja." Given my healthy respect for Indonesian law, I would limit myself to trying the coffee and the noodles. Two out of three ain't bad. Word has it that sometimes ganja seeds are included with the coffee, but mine weren't. Coffee the best I've had since I've been in Indonesia.
The noodles were hot and spicy, as I expected. Three plates of different sweets were brought to the table.

Noting my enthusiasm for the coffee, Samsul suggested we go to where the Chek Yuke franchise started. Just as Australia is known for its plethora of pubs, Aceh is known for its coffee shops - kedai kopi. They're everywhere. Blokes sit for hours, sipping coffee, and chatting.

The barista at these places needs to be seen in action. Buckets of hot water are scooped into a cloth net device and then held aloft over some cups, as the water strains through.
I hope Australian customs lets me bring the coffee that I bought into the country. My friends better be hoping, too!

At 4pm, head to Lhokseumawe. Yuli, Iskandar's friend, is driving. 300 kilometres on a map. Three hours if wer're in Australia, but we're not. Monkeys on the side of the road, which means, of course, that there will be monkey roadkill. And there was. A couple of stops so that the lads could buy oleh-oleh, small gifts (mainly food) for family and friends. Bananas. Dried fruit. Chips made from sweet potatoes.
At 10pm, stopped at a "greasy spoon." Floor like your local garage, walls fit for a student squat, and indifferent service. Iskandar oversighted the preparation of my vegetarian food! Arrived at 11pm. Exhausted.

Solo ke Jakarta ke Banda Aceh 11 Nov

2009-11-11T21:11:00.004+10:00

Up at 4am. If you want to see corpses, watch Indonesian news. Bodies - from disasters, drowning, poisonings, or overdoses - are fair game, always displayed to the camera. Bodybags are opened so that reporters can get a better view.

Hungry at 5.20, so head down to see if the cafe is open. It's being set up, so I make some toast, flipflopping around in my thongs, relaxed. One of the staff approaches, "Mr Stephen you have to go to the airport." "Are you sure? My flight's at 7.45am, but a car has been arranged to take me there at 6.15am." "No, no, that's the Garuda captain over there. The flight leave's at 6.15am." Now I'm really awake. The moral: when checking departure times, don't leave it to the front reception to do. Countercheck and clarify the information. The day previously I'd discussed the flight with reception, giving my flight number and requesting the shuttle. At the end of the discussion, the reception person wrote "6.15"on a card. "So, I get the shuttle at 6.15?" "6.15," he replied. Obviously his "6.15" was different to my "6.15". Energised by the prospect of missing my flight, I raced to the elavator and got to the eighth floor. Thankfully all was packed. Downstairs, the car was ready.

One of the advantages of being late at 5.30 in the morning is the lightness of the traffic. Reach 60 kms an hour through the Solo streets. Another advantage of arriving at the airport late is that the majority of the passengers and their luggage have been processed. Fortunately, the Solo airport is the same size as Canberra's, which means I breeze through the check-in procedure. Five minutes to spare. Reminds me of Sydney. Not my preferred way of departing. The earlier departure means I have 4 hours to kill in Jakarta's airport.

Context is everything: Starbucks may be history in Australia, but thank whoever that it's still operational in the airport. Coffee is reasonable and the croissants, and the cold butter, delicious.

In the bookshop, browsing for some trifle in English, crime fiction, to read on the plane. Fittingly, after Freud, whose Interpreting Dreams is an extended mediation on his father's death, I find an Australian novel, Steve Totlz's A Fraction of the Whole, which is about a son reflecting on his dead father. Amongst the constant announcements and the sound from one of the many televisions in the lobby, I read.

Boarding my flight to Banda Aceh, I'm met by Iskandar, who spent a year at ANU. He's been busy in Jakarta for the past week and even got to met SBY - Indonesia's president.

Got through a lot of Toltz - a riot of a read.

Stop at Medan. All passengers to Banda Aceh disboard, head into the airport, and reboard after a 10 minute wait. Acehnese want this system changed, but unlikely to happen.

Banda Aceh's airport if brand new, as, I later discover, is much of Banda Aceh. Iskandar organises a private car, as taxis are not really available. Pass the Tsunami memorial, a mass grave, with a sculptured wave as its backdrop. Bodies bulldozed into resting place. Arrive at Iskandar's place at 5pm. Long day. Cup of tea and a donut, wolfed down, before heading off to The Australian Corner, an IELTS centre and the centre for information about Australian universities. Just down the road, so no big deal, but I'm buggered. Meet a group of students doing English training. Answer their questions about ANU and life in Australia. Will be presenting a session there tomorrow morning.

Before tea, I deal with emails, do a single blog, conscious that I'm falling behind and that this situation will not be able to be reversed until I return to Jakarta, and prepare a powerpoint presentation.

Mosquitoes here are fierce.

Tuesday night at the internet cafe

2009-11-11T21:01:00.002+10:00

Thirty minutes into blogging, 5 or so photos uploaded, on a roll, when, bang, there's a power failure. Classic Indonesia, I think to myself. "Don't get me started on internet cafes," says Philippe Miserre in the Phaic Tan guidebook. Three times I've used them here, and twice there have been power failures. Paid by candlelight. As it turned out, sitting in the hotel's cafe an hour later, waiting for my tea, it teemed down - hujan lebat (heavy rain).

None of the English speaking channels were available. Early night.

Tuesday in Solo - Universitas Sebelas Maret - 10 Nov

2009-11-10T21:23:00.005+10:00

Lousy night's sleep. Bed early (8.30pm), awake at 3am. Tossed, turned, drifted. Breakfast at 7am. Iskandar, my Acehnese contact, called to say he was in Jakarta for some meetings and would be on the same flight with me to Banda Aceh. Industrial instant coffee.

Checked with reception: catch shuttle bus to the airprot at 6.15am. Ismail and Fajar pick me and we head to her campus, Universitas Sebelas Maret, established in 1976. 20.000 students. Before getting in the car, they hand me some gifts. A ring for me, a broach for Leonie, and bracelets for the girls. Amazingly, the ring fits. "I'd never buy a ring for someone, Ismail, because how would I know what size to get?" "I had a feeling," he replied, "that this ring was for you." Very touched by this unexpected gift.

Its grounds, buildings, facilities demonstrate the gulf between state universities and Islamic. Meet with Dean of English, the Vice Rector of the Faculty of Arts, and the International Office. Ismail, in a quiet moment, apologises for yesterday's lack of organisation, saying that STAIN has little experience with Westerners. He said that all of the people I'd met today were good people. Indeed, they wanted me to give some lectures and to return for a conference next year.

Returned to the hotel mid-afternoon, as Ismail had to catch the train to Jakarta at 6pm. Got a family shot, Affan at ease in front of the camera, Aya Sofya going through a phase of not enjoying being photographed. Throuhgout the trip I've felt really at ease with Ismail. Mixing the languages together, we communicate freely, laughing often. I think he enjoys my secular way of thinking.

Solo iPod and internet cafe Monday arvo

2009-11-09T19:22:00.004+10:00

Business Centre at the Hotel is being renovated, so have to use internet cafe. At Ismail's university Ismail let me use his laptop, but the connection was slow and then the screen froze. Hence the flurry of posts, mainly to upload images.

One side of the cafe has lights, but not mine. The letters on the keyboard have vanished due to overuse, the only visible keys being Q, W, P, J, F, Z, X and V. I'm a reasonable touch typer, but the lack of light, combined with sticky keys, means that there's no way I can type with speed. Phew, you sigh, he can't write as much as he usually does!

Panas sekali di kota Solo. Should a hotel be judged by the quality of its towels or by the time it takes them to make a lime juice? This is what I reflected on in the hotel's cafe, mid-afternoon.

Upstairs, my first iPod session for two days. My right ear has a slight throb, so have given it a rest. Still there, faintly.

Prefab Sprout - Carnival 2000. Their newest CD is out now, after a long wait, and it's on its way to Watson. So you can open the package of CDs, girls.
The Free Design - Stay Another Season.
. . . a song repeated from a couple of days ago. Skipped to
Orange Juice - (To put it in a) Nutshell. Few popstars have the sartorial wit to try and popularise the racoonskin hat. Well done, Edwyn Collins (one day to be Sir Edwin).
Ryan Driver - Oh the World Between us.
Spunk - Ute (Norwegians, so likely to be pronounced differently).

My hour in the cafe is nearly up. More text will follow. Batik heaven.

Finished Freud! Time to repeat.

Solo Monday STAIN

2009-11-09T19:10:00.004+10:00

Picked up at 9am and headed off to Ismail's ostensible place of work - Sekolah Tinggi Agama Institut Negeri (State Islamic Institute). Four years ago, Ismail and a group of other lecturers from the Islamic education system received a scholarship to study for one year in Australia, either at ANU or University of Melbourne. The program was sponsored by Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade and Departeman Agama. Which is where I come in, as I was approached to arrange and teach on an introductory academic program for the incoming lecturers.

About 4000 students attend STAIN, and it has six departments. Today I would be meeting various vice-rectors, deans, and staff. Before arriving, Ismail mentioned that because he'd been spending less time on campus due to study commitments in Jakarta he had no control over the meetings that had been or, as it turned out, had not been arranged.

After two hours chatting with staff, learng how the institute fulfils local needs and focuses on Islamic character building, had a tour of the campus. Invited into see a English class. Held in a room that adjoined an open-air class. 18 students bewildered by the unannounced presence of bule. Difficult to hear the teacher, as the class next door was chanting in Arabic. Requested by various staff to do a guest lecture; explained that my schedule was out of my hands. Politely declined to mention that this visit had been organised months ago. Frustrated, though, at the ad hocness of the day.

"I'll take a photo of you in front of the building," said Ismail. I was going to have to get used to this.

Solo Sunday 8 Nov

2009-11-09T18:56:00.006+10:00

Bliss! Hot shower. Felt like a Tasmanian logger as I clearcut the thick undergrowth on the back of my foresty neck. Nearly called for two razors. Washed hair. Feel fresh, cleansed, all pores punished. Downstairs for breakfast. Ask about the whereabouts of the hotel's Business Centre. It's being renovated, but I'm told there is an internet cafe down the road. Frustrated that I can't blog here, as this form of communicating with family and friends is central to my daily routine. But now that I'm on the road, the routine I've established is no more. Ismail will arrive at 10am. Allows me to get through some more Freud. Reflect on my Yogya dream - the idea of wish-fulfilment being pretty obvious in the shift from the Indonesian to the Australian context. The day prior to the dream I'd been teaching Aboriginal poetry to the class. Asked what they knew of Australia's indigenous population. "They're black," was the first response. Which I then clarified.

From the information pack:
"Surakarta, or better known as Solo, is famous as a stronghold and centre of Javanese culture and tradition. There are two royal houses (kraton) not far away from each other (Kasunanan and Mangkunegaran Palace) which still hold majestic ceremonies and royal festivals with great affection nowadays. Performing arts and other cultural events outside the palaces are also thriving, mixing old traditions and contemporary experimentation.

With a population of about 600,000 people, Solo is a small but dynamic city of administration, business and cultural activities. It is one of the centres of batik production which goes back to 1920s when the suburb Laweyan transformed itself into an elite suburb from batik enterprise." And it's where Malaysian terrorist Noordin Top was based until the late September shootout with the police. Holed up, incidentally, a few kilometres from Ismail's place.

Today Ismail acted as my tour guide, telling me that he was at my service. First up, the local palaces, kraton, where the sultans live. Visited the museum. By Indonesian standards, this was okay, as it had some signs that explained what the exhibits were.

Tandu - used to ferry around the royal family.

Lovely images of Javanese life adorned the walls. Focused on the music making ones.

Gamelan lengkap (full orchestra).

Spot the wax figures.
Went into the more formal meeting area. Sandals are dilarang, so Ismail had to take his off. Needless to say, the ground was very hot.

Then, to Pasar Klewer, one of the biggest batik markets in Indonesia. First, some fruit.

Inside the market, which is two levels, are hundreds, maybe thousands, of batik stall holders, each in a space that would accommodate a VW bug. Quality of the batik fairly average. A real squeeze to get through. Hands, mine, constantly touching my wallet, as I'd been warned that this was a real pickpocket zone.

The second kraton: Kraton Maugkunegaran. A massive open air building. Had our own guide, and it was up to us what she was paid. On the roof of the pendopo, the largest in Indonesia, a symbolic design, with each colour preventing sleep (yellow), bad thinking (purple), hunger (black), stress (green), Satan (red), fear (orange), and desire (white). Beneath the ceiling, three huge gamelan. Disappointed to hear that they would be performing there on the day I was leaving Solo. Next time. We were allowed to take photos in this area, but once we got to the third part of the palace, near the sultan's residence, no camera work was allowed. Which means the royal badong (penis and vagina covering) will have to be described rather than shown. The male badong was threatening to look at as it had barbs on the outside, golden barbs at that. Looked uncomfortable to wear. The female badong was impenetrable, shall we say.

Lunch at Warung Makan But Wit. Nasi pecil and lime juice. Mum and dad called, and the connection was crystal clear. Fantastic to hear from them, as we traded stories about the weather.
Solo hasn't embraced verticality - buildings are squat, flat. Only hotels go upwards. On our way to Batik Keris for a bit of shopping. A huge building, complete with prayer room, so I started shopping alone while Ismail went off to pray. Here for an hour. Went a little crazy on the shirt front, and got pressies for family and friends. So much choice and so little bag space.

That night, tea at Ismail's place, his rector tagging along. When a guest bule is around, the leaders of the university want some part of the action, particularly as the Islamic university system doesn't get too many visitors. Ismail has known the rector for a long time, but it was the first time he'd ever been to his house. I wonder if an invitation was extended or whether it was a self-invitation. The internal politics of educational system here are too tricky for me to fathom. Some conversation dwelt on the possibility of how to get a visit to Australia, even a short one. People here don't realise that I'm a very small fish. Anyway, we three blokes ate first, as seems to be the custom.

Solo Saturday 7 Nov

2009-11-09T18:45:00.003+10:00

Last day in Salatiga. Amazing to have lasted so long, and to have gone so quickly. The last week sped by. Packed my stuff. Rechecked my cupboard. Took a photo of my fan (FDPO). At least it had a nice smile and, through its whirring, created the impression that it was functional.

Car arrived at 11am. Much to my surprise, Ibu Wewien and Priscilla were going to accompany me to Solo, as Pak Agna was there. Amazingly, on the way out of Salatiga, a cloudless day, so I had my first real views of Gunung Merbabu, Telomoyo, Gajah Mungkur and, incredibly, Merapi. If Merapi erupts, the road from Salatiga to Solo would be a great place to watch, as Merapi erupts away from this area. Also noted that moshallas tend to have 2 speakers, whereas mosques tend to have 4, based on a random survey I was doing as we made our way to Solo.

Arrived at lunch. Given a traditional Javanese farewell, which involves shaking hands and putting the side of your face against the side of the other person's face. Next, hotel boredom. Worked on my buku harian (daily diary). Read two magazines that will be left here: Linda's Scientific American (food security, DNA, computer piracy) and the Jakarta version of Time Out - in English - what a rip off! But it did list the addresses of Jakarta's trendy bookstores and art galleries. Watched under 19 Asia Football Cup: Indonesia (0) versus Singapore (1). Ismail and family meet me for dinner. Head to a local restaurant, navigate the issue of my vegetarianism and settle down to eat. Ismail's youngest, Aya Sofya (3), was asleep for the duration, held by Fajar.

The view from my room.

In bed late-ish. Right ear has a slight throbbing. No iPod tonight. Will buy earbuds.

Mister Gang Enam Has Left The Building

2009-11-07T12:22:00.011+10:00

Saturday morning, borrowing Priscilla's laptop to record a few thoughts before I leave. Car's scheduled to pick me up at 11am. Should take an hour to get to Solo.

Pak is away, so last night just Ibu and I initially, as Priscilla masuk ingin (feeling sick). Relaxed conversation. Enjoyable because conversation down mostly in bahasa. Ibu can speakEnglish, but prefers to speak in bahasa, whereas when Pak's here he likes to speak English. Last week he was in Taiwan for a work trip, which meant at home it was bahasa and the topics more general. With Pak, our conversations focus on education, pedagogy, policy, and what is done at ANU. For some of these topics I have the vocabulary, but some I don't, which means we default to English.

Weighed my luggage: 21 kilos for the suitcase, 8 kilos for the backpack. If I wear my Docs, the suitcase goes to under 20 kilos. My Qantas limit, I think, is 23 kilos. Which means when I'm in Solo I can buy 2 kilos worth of batik! Likely to send documents, books, and batik from Solo.

IPod world (Jumat)

Lau Nau (Finland)
Adrian Klumpes (Australia)
September Collective (Germany)
Gang Gang Dance (USA)
Sultana Youssef (Iraq)

Here's Pak Agna's house.
My bedroom window.

The moshalla behind the house. A moshalla is a small mosque or prayer room.

All mosques, no matter their size, are equipped with a soundsystem.

Another moshalla, about 200 metres away.

Its soundsystem. Hence the waves of the call to prayer. We're in the centre of at least 4 moshallas.
One hour to go. Time for Mister Gang Enam to quit blogging, quit Salatiga, and leave the building. Thangyuverymush.

Travelling with Freud

2009-11-06T17:26:00.003+10:00

Naturally one of my hardest jobs prior to leaving for Indonesia was choosing something to read, other than my dictionaries, of course. Needed something weighty that would last eight weeks, not a junkread that could be disposed of on the flight from Canberra to Jakarta. Days before departure the three candidates were Fredric Jameson's Ideologies of Theory, a collection of Jameson's Marxist interventions; Sigmund Freud's Interpreting Dreams, Freud's celebrated birthing of the the 20th century and beyond; and David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest, an American writer equal to Pynchon and who, one day, will be immortalised by the phrase "Wallacesque." As in, "That's a very Wallacesque sentence."

If it weren't for Qantas' frugal baggage requirement, I would have opted for all three. Thanks, Qantas, though, for forcing me to be selective. Jameson was first to go, for a couple of reasons: the thinness of the paper would not survive the mugginess of Indonesia's weather, for starters, and I doubted my ability to hold together his magisterial and occasionally long-winded sentences together in a sultry climate. Next to go, a critic of Jameson's famous writing style, was Wallace, his 900+ pages (I think) of literary fireworks too long to manage, given I would be spending weekends rubbernecking around. A novel of that length needs 3-4 days of solid sitting. If I hadn't read Brief Interviews with Hideous Men, a short story collection that, in an ideal world, would encourage the majority of writers to simply give up, then that would have been packed. Sigmund, in contrast, was a Penguin, light and transportable, and his sentences are so accessible. Classic 19th century prose.

I've been surprised at how often Freud and I have come into contact outside of Interpreting Dreams. In the "Women and Literature" class, two of the texts studied by the students referenced Freud: Allegra Maud Goodman's "Growing Up," in which the boy character, who builds ships and then sinks them in the bath, is described as trying to kill his father. The narrator then says she wasn't aware at that time of Freud's Oedipus complex or other complexes. Then in Aishe Berger's "Nose is a Country . . . I am the Second Generation" is written for a former patient of Freud's who, diagnosed as a hysteric, had her nose operated on to inhibit her sexual desire. The operation was a failure and Emma Eckstein was left an invalid. Interesting to be in an Islamic country and read these stories and poems, with Jewish characters, reflecting on Freud. Did the students, I wonder, have sufficient background knowledge to understand Freud's theories and his significance for the intellectual climate of the 20th century?

Of course, it's in Interpreting Dreams where we find one of his earliest meditations on the Oedipal theory. But there's more to Freud than boys wanting to kill their fathers and desiring their mothers, daughters desiring their father and the death of a rival . . . but not much more (on the back of a postcard, please, the musical allusion). In another class, a student gave a presentation on how to interpret dreams, based on a discussion she had with a friend. On her list of dreams - the dead father. According to her, this mean good fortune!

"The writer lives in fear of censorship, so he moderates what he says and distorts his meaning" (p.155). I'm not living in fear, but the blog, along with the daily diary I have to keep for the ANU (part of my assessment is that I record what I do), is moderated and distorted. I'm aware of audience. ANU staff have close connections with UKSW, so at times I've worn Converse rather than the Doc's.

I've had a dream experience that was sense of by Freud. In reading how the "somatic element controls the dream content" (p.251) and how internal or external corporeal stimulus can affect the content of what we dream, I was reminded of a dream I had in Yogyakarta: I was in a bus, that was being driven by two Indonesians. Everyone was saying panas sekali, panas sekali. Suddenly, we were in Australia, the drivers Aborigines. Everyone kept saying panas sekali, panas sekali. The desert was really hot, unbearably hot. I woke up. My sunburnt neck was throbbing.

Aside from the ease of reading his sentences, I really enjoy the prodigiousness of his intellect, his ability to refer to poetry, drama, novels, archaeology, science, botany, whatever is at hand to develop his theory. Interpret that "whatever" as you like!

Two-thirds of the way through the trip, about two-thirds of the way through Freud. Pleased with the choice I made.

Jumat @ UKSW 6 Nov - final day

2009-11-06T13:36:00.002+10:00

Hard to believe that this day has arrived and, as the cliche goes, arrived so quickly. Have been saying goodbye to different classes all week. Today, mostly saying goodbye to staff: Selamat jalan, they'd say to me, as I'm the one leaving, to which I reply, Selamat tinggal, because the are the ones staying.

I've valued the time I've had here and the friendships that I've made. It was great to have another Aussie to talk to, here, and to debrief. From the moment I said "G'day" to Duncan, as he was walking down the corridor, to his automatic response to it, it was obvious that we'd spend time together. I really enjoyed being in his class, especially when we demonstrated to the students how Aussies speak. One demonstration sentence was "Put that in the refrigerator." I said to him, pointing at the long word, "What's that?" We'd only ever use "fridge". When we did that sentence in the class, we cracked up because it's such an unusual thing to say. So we told the class to ignore that word and use "fridge." Great to hear a class say, "Put that in the fridge." Duncan's signed on for another year, which gives him certainty, as well as challenges. If you're ever in Canberra, Duncan, drop by. Frances, Rudi, Joseph, and Grace have been wonderful colleagues - all young lecturers, all with experience of graduate study in the West, and some with ambitions to return. But the entire faculty have made me feel welcomed. Ibu Ina was really keen to learn.

Most of the day spent in the office next door working on a Critical Thinking talk that I have to give at BINUS in Jakarta.

Duncan and I lunched at the warung tahu campur out the front of campus. Food excellent of course. Pak Hendro also arrived, independently - he eats there once a week. Duncan taught me that Javanese way of saying "thanks" (marta nuwan). So pleased was I with saying this to Pak Min and so surprised were they that I said it (much laughter), that I walked out without paying! Duncan reminded me that 12.000 rupiah was required!

My pronunciation of bahasa has improved, according to Duncan. For the first three weeks, I kept mentioning a place called "Georgia," as if I were referring to the US state. Now, I say "Yogya." My mouth and tongue feel comfortable rolling the syllables around, clipping the "k" sound at the end of words.

Offices are empty - it's 3.30pm. Out in the corridor the Drama class is rehearsing its version of Midsummer Night's Dream - in English, not Shakespearean English. Better sign off from here. Clean my desk. Return keys to the office. Catch the angkota for the last time. Besok, ke Solo. Tomorrow, to Solo.

Selamat Hari Ulang Tahun Ruud!

2009-11-06T13:29:00.000+10:00

Selamat hari ulang tahun Ruud! Does this need to be translated? Ruud, have a great 5oth at the coast with family and friends. I'm there in spirit.

Thursday night's plans - washed out

2009-11-06T13:17:00.002+10:00

My second to last night in Salatiga. Planned to go to a restaurant in the city centre, to thank the family for their hospitality and kindess. Arrived home at 5.30pm and, after some water and fruit, headed upstairs for iPod ritual:

Department of Eagles - Waves of Rye
Nico - Julius Caesar (Memento Hodie) alternate version
Destroyer - What Road
The Heavy Blinkers - Rise and Glide
Tujiko Noriko - Gift
and a range of other sounds.

Waiting for Priscilla to return from kampus. Everyone ready by 6.30pm. Head to the garage area and the sound of rain hitting the roof can be heard. "It's a typhoon," said Pak Agna. I headed outside, and, yes, it was raining heavily. Seconds later it dumped down. My plans to treat the family foiled by hujan lebat. The rainy season, as reported in the media, has been delayed, not due to start in Salatiga until late November. Meanwhile, Jakarta is bracing for floods. But tonight the clouds opened up and created an almighty din.

Housebound. Ibu and Priscilla prepared dinner. An hour later, the usual 5 or so dishes to choose from. Don't know how they do it! Rain drowns out the suara masjid. After dinner, which began with a delicious corn soup and finished with a plate of fresh fruit, the family (minus Aaron, who's been in Bandung the last three weeks studying) gave me presents - oleh-oleh (souveniers) for the Tallulah and Delaney and another baju batik, specially chosen by Pak, to add to the collection. It's been a big week for saying goodbye.

If weather permits, tomorrow night we will hit the town.

Soup Jagung Ibu Wewien (Ibu's corn soup)

2009-11-06T13:12:00.001+10:00

Sederhana, cepat, dan enak sekali - simple, quick, and delicious.

3-4 corn, fresh, slightly crushed
2 pieces of garlic
1/4 ts salt
1/4 ts sugar
stock - sedikit (a little)
Chinese green vegetable, sliced thinly
16 cups of water

Put ingredients into a pot, boil, simmer for 15-20 minutes.

Kamis @ UKSW 5 Nov

2009-11-05T16:59:00.006+10:00

Arrived at work and, once in my office, Ibu Ina at the door, asking if I had any free time today to visit a rubber plantation. "Persiapan Kuliah BINUS" (Bina Nusantara University lecture preparation) it said in my diary, for the first couple of hours for the day. A drive in the country beats preparing for a lecture on critical thinking! Took the main road out of Salatiga and headed towards Semarang, where Ibu lives. All her work is concentrated into three days, which makes the commute more bearable. About 15 or so minutes of driving, we turned off the jalan utama and headed down a minor road, less busy, narrower of course. Ibu takes this route to work to avoid the traffic, mainly trucks and buses, that congest the road early morning. Wind our way through hills, sparsely populated, and hit ricefields (sawah), so intensely green and so relaxing to look at.

Scarecrows could be seen, as could labourers chasing birds away.

Headed to Perkebunan Karet Afdeling Tembir, the village of Tembir's rubber plantation. There's a Dutch word in there - "Afdeling" - answers on the back of a postcard. Hard to imagine that this plantation is only a few kilometres behind UKSW campus. Shaded, quiet, and with a cool breeze, it was a sanctuary. On weekends, groups of teenagers and young adults motorbike here and sit in the cool, talking, hanging out. We were there at the perfect time of day, 10am, because, bar the odd motorbike, it was calm and still, and the plantation work was ongoing. The trees are scarred or dripped at 3am, allowed to produce their sap until the morning, and then it's collected and harvested around 9-10am.

We parked near a collection shed, which stank to high heaven, and chatted with an overseer, while labourers carried 40 litres of rubber liquid on bamboo poles to be readied for factory processing.

Hanging on nails were examples of rubber, grouped according to quality. Below is some grade 2 rubber. From March to August, this collection station would produce 8 tonnes of rubber a day, 2 tonnes a day for the rest of the year. From here it goes to a factory and processed, before being sent to Semarang, where it is then exported.

Seeds of the rubber tree.

On the way back, we went though desa Sembir, the red-light district. There, beer advertising and some dubious looking karaoke sheds/bars. And a masjid. The Indonesian term for "red-light district" is lokalisasi, a euphemism that alludes to the fact that a special area has been set aside for special activities. Then passed a Chinese cemetery.

Lunch, with Rudi, after my last Pronunciation class with Duncan. Rudi and I had talked about where we could eat; said it was his call, so long as it had vego options. Naik motor, he said. I've travelled various ways in Indonesia, but I've been avoiding the motorbike option as it looks a little hairy. Agreed, after I confirmed he knew the meaning of Berhenti!!!! (Stop!!!), and that I would strangle him if he refused to stop. Fortunately for me, Rudi did graduate study in Sydney and when he returned to Indonesia, he couldn't drive his motorbike because he was too scared! He assured me he was a good, safe driver.

Helmeted, off we went. Had a ball! Because it is rare, in built up areas, for the speed to get more than 40 km/hr, the trip went without incident. Great to get this view of the street, the activity of the cars, the darting in and out.

Ate at Gado-GAdo "Eco" (Javanese for "delicious") and had, as the warung's name would suggest, gado-gado, of which there were 4 varieties to choose from. Lime juice, too. Satay sauce was pedas (hot), but easily tolerated. Great way to spend the hour, chatting away, with Rudi reminiscing about Australian wine, his trip to the Hunter Valley, and his desire to do a PhD in Australia. Cruised back to campus. Motorbike park quite full.

iPod week 6 update - information only

2009-11-05T16:59:00.002+10:00

Senin: Brian Eno - Spirits Drifting; Daniel Paddon - Sponge Shipwreck; Tujiko Noriko - Spot; The Go-Betweens - Spring Rain; Anon - Srey No (Lady named No).

Selasa: Stereolab, Triosk, Igloo, Food, Gang Gang Dance.

Rabu: Archer Prewitt - You Walk By; Ellen Allien - Augenblick; Elly Kasim - Ayam den Lapeh; Department of Eagles - Phantom Other; Jeremy Jay - Will You Dance with Me?

Rabu @ UKSW 4 Nov

2009-11-05T16:58:00.003+10:00

My final presentation at Salatiga, talking on the topic: "Why Teach Literature and How to Support Students in their Learning." The seminar was open to staff and students. In the talk, I suggested as diplomatically as possible that FBS needs to clarify why it teaches literature and how it assesses the topic. If students are being assessed/examined on whether they have read and comprehended the content, then non-literary texts could be used. Don't use literature to punish the students! If the purpose of teaching literature is so that the students know how to teach literature to school students, then include a pedagogical component to the course. If you want to study literature, then focus on form, language, context, not just content. Also suggested that the marking regime, whereby in some classes teachers are marking something each week, be reviewed.

At the end of the seminar, I was given an official farewell. Thanked by Pak Hendro and given a shirt to add to my collection and a pen holder, whose engraving focuses on an epistemological issue: "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge" - Proverbs 1:7. Then, lunch in the staffroom.

Ibu Ina, whose "Prose" class I was involved in, gave me a gift at the end of the seminar. She really enjoyed having someone with a background in literature teach the students.

Selasa @ UKSW 3 Nov

2009-11-03T19:13:00.008+10:00

Last "Prose" today, my favourite class of the week, as I get to teach literary concepts and engage in some in-depth analysis of short stories. Though I work in the Faculty of Language and Literature, Language (or Linguistics) is the main focus, with Literature a bit of an add-on. The staff who teach literature are not formally trained to do so. Most "Prose" classes begin with a test to see if the students have read and comprehended the short story. Thereafter, there's a lot of content analysis, and very little discussion of how language is used to create a world. So the faculty was pleased to have me, and I was pleased to introduce them to some intensive literary analysis, some of it basic (What is the significance of the title?), some of it narrow (Why is the first sentence of the story significant?). All of it fun.

Today, collage day. Assessment here is different from ANU. Literature is essay-based; here, it's presentations, weekly journal, and collages. I think that this assessment regime creates problems for students who choose to write a literature thesis, as they've had no prior experience of writing an extended piece of academic writing. All students in their final year must write a thesis (30-35 pages). I

So groups of 3 and 4 got out in front of the class and explained how their collage related to the text they chose. At the end of this process, which took over an hour to get through 6 groups, all the posters were stuck up on the wall, and the class wandered around to each group, asking questions about the poster's significance.

A group of students using the Javanese thumb gesture! During one of my other classes, I was frustrated with the student passivity and not wanting to be impolite and indulge in some Australian pointing and "Hey you"-ing, I asked one of the students how would a Javanese request that someone do something. They demonstrated a thumb gesture. I took to using this to force students to speak spontaneously. Much laughter, of course, from the students when I used this gesture, but it encouraged them to talk! So Ninez, left, closest to the poster, who was in that other class, got her friends to pose with the the Javanese thumb.

Stevan, a student prepared to talk without being "thumbed," discussing a poster.

Next week, another 6 collage presentations will be done.

At the end of the class, Ibu Ina thanked me for the teaching I'd done and for introducing the students and her to new approaches to teaching literature. Followed by me thanking the students for the opportunity to be their guest teacher and for their willingness to engage with an Australian way of teaching and learning. Then two student representatives gave speeches of thanks. Quiet a moving end to the lesson.

Senin @ UKSW 2 Nov

2009-11-02T19:33:00.003+10:00

Phew, November already! This is the third month I've spent here, having arrived at the tail end of finals mad September, my plan to, through my absence, somehow wish the Crows into the grand final a complete failure (if I'd been successful, we'd most likely have lost to Geelong - take some consolation from that Phil and Annie), and now, with October done and dusted, I'm cruising.

Sad to report, my body clock is nearly in tune with suara mesjid. For the last week, 5.30am is becoming my regular wakeup time. Which is 8.30am Oz-time, so maybe I'm in the process of preparing for when I return home. A lousy way to prepare, but. This morning, though, I used the time productively and marked student work. One of the courses I'm teaching has as an assessment requirement that the students write a report each week. Each week, 40 or more pages to comment on.

My last Kebaktian Senin (Monday Service), hosted by the Faculty of Performing Arts. Had high expectations for this one, as I often hear then rehearsing next door. Word had got around, because it was a big crowd. Expectations met, music-wise, with the first tune "On This Day Earth Shall Ring," performed by the Handbells Fakulatas Seni Pertunjukan, a handbells ensemble, 13 members dressed in black, 11 of whom played handbells of varying sizes. Brilliant vibraphone vibe, worthy of the minimalism one would associate with Steve Reich. Towards the end, churchbell sounds, a return to the insistent repetition and nimble slight changes, building to a crescendo when they all began to ring their bells wildly. A lovely cacophony, then an abrupt end. Magic. Deservedly applauded.

Thereafter, the music never reached the same heights. One of the strengths of the faculty, its artistic talent, became its weakness. 30 in one chorus. 2 main vocalists, supported by 15 backup singers. At least 20 musicians on stage. Great harmonies overwhelmed by excessive drumming and, dare I say it, saxophone solos of the kind that were outlawed at some point in the '80s. The 2 vocalists were great, if I were to focus on technique, but the exhortions for the audience (parishioners) to clap hands and sway to the music were a bit excessive. Toothy, wholesome, happy, giddy, uninhibited and unselfconscious (if students enrolled in the performing arts can be said to be unselfconscious) joy in the Lord, complete with another sax solo. Overwrought and overcooked with talent.

Moments for prayer were never silent, as the pianist trilled and the percussionist indulged himself on the cymbals. Then a guitar solo that reminded me of Dire Straits. A relief to have the sermon and reading because the musicians downed instruments. All other prayers soundtracked by noodling. The final song began promisingly enough, beautiful male and female harmonies, getting into sunshine pop territory, the singers swaying, grooving, looking like coolest Christians on the block, only to be overpowered and overwhelmed by the drums and other unfortunate rockist tropes tendencies. Less is more. Maximalism, though, had its way. Anyway, I've a newfound respect for handbell ensembles, for which I'm amazed and grateful.

Later in the day I gave a seminar on how to write a thesis to staff and students. Filmed. For posterity.

Another presentation is scheduled for Wednesday. Must choose a baju batik.

Sunday - 1 November

2009-11-01T18:41:00.014+10:00

Had some ideas for a presentation I'm doing, so had to go to work on a Sunday to change some powerpoints. Caught the angkota and got dropped off near a road that's always attracted my attention because of the wall murals. With less than a week left in Salatiga, I've got to make good use of my time (though working on powerpoint slides on a Sunday hardly qualified as good use of time. I did sleep in, though).

The mural has been done by various crews, including one from Semarang. Environmental theme dominates.

Ronald "Murder" MacDonald is my favourite. The message says, "Love our oceans."

Sign indicating the main part of town.

Local police. They called me over and asked where I was going. Four against one, so naturally told the truth: "Ke kampus. Saya bekerja di sana sebagai dosen tamu" (To campus. I work there as a guest lecturer." Other questions followed. Police posts like these can be found everywhere in Indonesia.

Statue on campus, near the soccer field.

A path to the faculty building, the building impossible to see due to luxuriant growth.

The Language Teaching Centre, famous for its air-conditioning. And where Frances works.

Powerpoint slides done!

Salatiga - the final countdown

2009-10-31T17:33:00.002+10:00

Usually, on a Friday, I begin with a post that marks the passing of a week. Decided against that yesterday; thought it more appropriate to do that today, as from now on, every night will be the last night of its kind in Salatiga. Yesterday, I would have had two more Friday nights here. I like the symmetry of what I'm about to face. Tonight will be my last Saturday night. Sunday will be my last Sunday night. And so on. Seven more nights.

On the phone earlier with Leonie, who caught me at work (on a Saturday - I've got a couple of powerpoints to organise for next week), and she reminded me that I've got 24 more nights. We're all counting down, in our own ways. I'm focused on the shorter term! This time next week, the next stage of the journey will have begun: I'll be in Solo, only an hour away. Four nights there, then Banda Aceh. Then Jakarta. Then home.

Surat datang! Mail arrives!

2009-10-31T17:17:00.005+10:00

Phew, a big week for mail and, I expect, my last! After this week, I'm going to be hopping from one city to another, never in one place long enough to get mail. So if you got something to say, put it in an email! Returned home from work on Kamis (Thursday) and there was a package for me from 71 Higinbotham Street. Perfect contents: a Crows poster by Tallulah, with the Crow holding a Stephen rather than a Sherrin, and the latest issue of Wire. my monthly guide to all that's new in music. With the other magazine, I rationed it out. Not Wire. Sad to say, I gorged myself on articles and reviews, noting what to get. Look out, Leonie, for some CDs in the mail!

Then today, Sabtu (Saturday), another package, this time from 39 Cullen Street, Upper Watson. Letter from Linda, drawing of a game from Willem and assorted reading. Grabbed "Forum" first, avid for local news, then depressed to see that Rudd's sense of Christianity is paper thin and that, when it comes to refugees, he aspires to be like John Howard. Started to read The Big Issue instead of the news. Thanks for the package, Lin.

Comment added 1 Nov: forgot to mention that Wire had an article, quite timely, on "the new form of Javanese gamelan taking shape amid the big city din of Surakarta," aka Solo. I hope I get a chance to go to the Institute of Arts Indonesia and have a look around, maybe hear some students playing.

iPod weekl 5 roundup

2009-10-31T16:26:00.016+10:00

Senin (Monday): Monolake, "Mass Transit Railway," Ennio Morricone, "Fumeria D'Opprio," Tesri, Winter," Mountains, "Sheets Two," and Gang Gang Dance, "Princes."

Selasa: Fabulous Diamonds, "Track 1," Nisennenmondai, "Ikkkyokume," Nisennenmondai, "Sonic Youth" (can't complain about the iPod fetching up two in a row of this beautiful racket), June and the Exit Wounds, "I Shouldn't be Surprised," . . . and Belong, "All Equal Now."

Rabu: Tibetan Buddhist Rites, "Petition to Chakchen," Nico, "No One is There," The Pastels, "Leaving this Island" (how many classic albums have I found in the remainder bins? Lost count. This one I got at Impact, on holidays in Canberra, a year of two before we moved there), Autistic Daughters, "Hotel Exeter Dining Room" (yes, that Hotel Exeter, ex-Adelaideans), and Do Make Say Think, "The Apartment Song."

Kamis: This Heat - Health and Efficiency; New Order - All the Way; The Pastels - Fragile Gang; James Blackshaw - The Mirror Speaks; and Atlas Sound - After Class.

Jumat: a fitful start to the end of the iPod week. After beginning with the brilliant ESG, I kept getting repeats. Flicked around, dissatisfied with the selections. Decided to listen to songs beginning with D: Food - Daddycation; Animal Collective - Daily Routine; Emeralds - Damaged Kid; ESG - Dance (groovy funky feminist stuff); To Roccoco Rot - Das Blac Und Der Morgan.

To make an adjective into a noun - pasif

2009-10-30T18:04:00.004+10:00

Indonesian's a great language to learn as it has some nice rules to follow. For instance, to make an adjective into a noun, simply add "ke-" and "-an" to the base word. My example is pasif (passive). Why make this adjective into a noun? Because I'm teaching Indonesian students.

Another excruciating attempt to encourage students to talk spontaneously, having to resort to a Javanese hand gesture that is more polite than Australian pointing to indicate which student is to speak. Once again defeated when confronted with a class of 40 students, none of whom wished to voice an opinion. Assumed, wrongly, that the students would come to the lesson prepared. Well, not prepared in the way we expect students to be prepared in Australia. They come prepared to duduk berdiam, mendengarkan, menulis catatan, dan meperlakukan guru sebagai Tuhan (to sit quietly, listen, write notes, and to treat the teacher as a God). Pleasant as it is to have my every utterance treated as something God-like and to have whatever I scrawl on the whiteboard hastily copied as it if were commandments 11, 12, and 13, it would be more pleasant if the students could answer a question like, say, What is the newspaper article about? Silence. (Okay, rephrase the question) What is the main topic of the article? Silence. (Okay, restate in another way). What does the writer of the article focus on in the article? Has anyone read the article that I'm talking about? 40 heads looking down. Minutes pass. I explain that the lesson will be much shorter if they participate. 40 students find something fascinating to do with their shoelaces. Eventually, one student replies. Somewhere, a glacier moves a millimetre.

Ironically, as the students worked on an exercise, I had to chance to read the Education section in Kompas, a national newspaper, which reported that President SBY called on the Ministry of Education to change teaching and learning methods. Timely, but more is needed to instil a culture of active learning. A class of 40, which is common at UKSW, makes it difficult to create that culture. Better if the class was split in two and I ran two 1-hour tutorials. Other articles earlier this week focused on the lack of initiative and creativity shown by Indonesian students and the implications that has on the economy. Developing an educational culture that values creativity, independence, initiative, and critical thinking will require considerable resourcing. Other news in today's paper: Indonesia can not yet make 12 years of schooling compulsory.

After the class, feeling exhausted and frustrated, checked with Grace next door, asking if pasif had become a noun - kepasifan. Yes, she said, it had. "So I can use kepasifan mahasiswa Indonesia." She laughed, yes.

Stephen's blogging station @ UKSW

2009-10-29T19:04:00.003+10:00

Each day I blog, usually in the afternoon, around 3 or 4pm, for an hour or so, depending on what's happened and how many photos I've got to upload. As was established in my first week here, the computer in my room is rusak (broken) or FDPO. The screen was taken away and has not been returned.

So I use the machine next door, in the office shared by Duncan, Grace, Raema, and Irene. Better to use it late in the afternoon when they're not here, as the computer, like the office itself, is shared. This is my office away from the office.

Mornings, I was mainly using the computer in the front office, incredibly slow as it was. Last week, that computer was replaced with a machine that's even slower and with a keyboard whose keys are stuck and clunky. Impossible to type with speed. That, with the slow connection, means I can often spend 10 minutes trying to start up the machine, access Mozilla, and deal with one email. The computer in this office, though, is much quicker. So there's a good chance I'll deal with email from here.

Blogged from the Business Centre at Hotel Santika in Yogya. Charged by 15 minute blocks of time. Their connection was fast, but it took ages to upload photos. To put up 20 photos took nearly two hours, and exhausted the camera batteries. Good luck finding lithium batteries here.

Makan siang - restoran lokal

2009-10-28T17:00:00.005+10:00

Most days I lunch (makan siang) at the my local restaurant, the student cafe, open at the front, but roofed to keep the smoke in. In Indonesia, no choice but to take up passive smoking. The sign on the angkota door - Terima kasih Anda tidak merokok di dalam Angkot ini (Thank you, You cannot smoke inside this angkota) is, like other things here, FDPO (for display purposes only).

Inside, six different eateries can be chosen from. Up to eight students can sit at the small number of tables, 14 or so, most with their protective plate glass cover broken, the glass itself sticky. Ashtrays are mandatory, but if not, one of the advantages of a tiled floor is that cigarettes can be stubbed anywhere. My favourite cafe is Cafe Satya, the one I was first introduced to, is where I learnt to say my stock phrase "Buah-buahan saja!" (Just fruit!). Sometimes I drop by in the morning, when it's especially warm, to grab a couple of bottles of water. At the front counter is Bu (Mrs) Yapie, always with a friendly face.

I order my fruit (mango, honeydew, guava, sometimes bananas if they have any), which is dipotong (cut up) out the back of the shop. Bu Yapie adds it up, shows me the sum on the calculator, which, because I'm a creature of habit, generally comes to 13.000 rupiah. Usually while I wait at the counter and engage in small talk, students come up and buy their cigarettes, either by packet or by the small handful.

Compared to the other ones, this cafe seems quite professional , because on three days of the week the staff wear a uniform (this is Wednesday's outfit, the one on Tuesday was blue). Here are Bu Yapie and Bu Supri.

Yesterday I lunched at the warung outside the campus, taking Duncan with me and introducing him to tahu campur (mixed tofu). As I've mentioned previously, the warung is a shed, a very old shed, one you might find on a heritage farm. Health inspectors would have a field day here; it'd take weeks to do the paperwork, as so many by-laws are breached. Pak Min, for instance, wasn't there when we arrived. On a smoko. Returned, cigarette in hand, took his seat behind his cutting and preparation board, and then stubbed on his ciggie on the side of the bench. Meanwhile, Duncan pointed out a plump rat scurrying overhead. Rats, here, are fatter than the cats. But if I refused to eat in an establishment that had the odd rat or two, then I'd most likely starve! Or so it seems. Food, however, was excellent, as was the lime juice with ice.

Kantor pos

2009-10-27T18:14:00.004+10:00

The post office on campus is nothing like the post office at ANU. Here, its main purpose is selling stamps, sending money via Western union, and providing wall space for portraits of President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono and, I assume, the vice-president.

To buy an envelope, I have to go to a shop nearby. Padded envelopes, big envelopes, boxes, packets, etc, the type of post office paraphrenalia you'd expect to get at a local post office in Australia, are not sold in the kantor pos. To affix the stamps, the teller uses glue. To stamp the envelope, she grabs an instrument that looks like a hammer and proceeds to hit the stamps, usually 4-5 times, as sending something to Australia requires many stamps.

Starting to use the post office to send stuff home. Qantas excess is $35 per kilo. By post, about $10-15 a kilo. The backpack, post-Jalan Marliobro, was bursting with batik. Time to lighten the load.

31 Okt: took these photos at a later date, hence the he-ness of the "she." There are two staff at the office, male and female. Usually the woman serves me.

Yogyakarta ke UKSW - Senin 26 Okt

2009-10-26T19:52:00.003+10:00

Today, a new travel experience - naik travel. Naik is used whenever you refer to the way you have travelled. For example, naik bis, naik mobil, naik sepeda motor (motorbike), naik pesawat (plane), naik kuda (horse), and so on. I've naik angkota, mobil pribadi, taksi. Naik travel is travelling in a minivan. Today's trip would take three hours. No airconditioning, other than the windows. Picked up at the hotel at 8.30am, and, after the driver picked up other customers, dropped at their main office, to transfer to another vehicle. The minivan is roomier than an angkota, so don't have to crouch. Lucked out, though, and have the middle seat; the fate of the newcomer, I suppose, because sitting in the middle means I'm not near the breeze and I have nothing to lean against.

The ubiquity of single-lane traffic on this island of 130 million people never fails to surprise. Speed varies between 20-60 kms an hour. Often have jagged bursts of speed, darting in and out of traffic, overtaking on both sides of the lanes, the driver alert to the any opportunity to claw ahead. Lovely, clear run, when we hit 80 kms on a rare stretch of a dual highway, near Magelang. Not long, though, before we're back to the clog, the scurry forward, the drift back when confronted by a truck or a bus.

Near Salatiga, we take a backroad, winding out way down through the immense ricefields, the green relaxing on the eyes after the visual clutter of the main road, with all the space taken over to advertise or promote something. Pass a local commando unit on a training run. Rice everywhere, in different stages of production. Some listing with grain. Feeling dehydrated and, with the constant turning, queasy. Finally see a Salatiga angkota. Arrive at campus at noon. Outside, refreshing, dingin even, compared to the blunt heat of Yogyakarta. To work.

Yogyakarta - Sunday

2009-10-25T17:32:00.005+10:00

Last night, excellent food at the hotel: salad (haven't had one in ages), gado gado, and avocado juice. One of the vegetables on the plate was lontong, a form of rice that is pressed and wrapped in banana leaves, as Usman, the head waiter, explained. Sat alone at a table for 8, in a room that held 3 tables of eight, the others empty, while a private function was held in the main dining area. Bit of a dismal solitary figure. But conversation with Usman more than made up for it. He ended up going out into the kitchen to show me what lontong looks like, before it is served.

Worked my way through the 60 channels on cable, nothing to my liking and so tired. What a pleasure to sleep beneath a blanket! Out like a light.

Second shower in twenty four hours. Bliss. Ready to head to the dining room just before 8. Usman is there to greet me. Don't understand how he could have been serving me last night, and also serving me this morning. Actually, I do understand: he's doing a very long shift, as is the woman in the Business Centre. Service, as always, impeccable. Gorge on fruit. There's a toaster! At Salatiga, Ibu somehow fries the bread to toast it. Here, I could approximate a version of Australian toast. Fresh juice. Some sweet small pancakes.

Headed to Kota Gede (almost pronounced as "G'day"), famous for its silver. Taxied there with a driver who, in bahasa, warned that prices there would be mahal sekali. True, I said, and my information from the Rough Guide to Indonesia confirmed that it was very expensive place to shop, but it said it's a good place to start the search for silver - necklaces, bracelets, rings, etc. First, though, we had to find a shoe store; the Converse were on the balconey, drying. Driver spotted a place, well-stocked with thongs. Lots of beautiful thongs (35-40.000 rupiah), none my size, other than a single Rip Curl. No price marked on it. Chose it. The salesperson then disappeared to the shoe store on the other side of the road to get its pair. Big feet, big money: 58.000 rupiah. Not a worry, as I now have something to wear that'll be functional in a downpour. Dud of a morning after that purchase.

At Tom's, negotiated with the driver how much it would cost if he waited. Price sorted, in I went. Silversmiths are at the front of the store, making all types of jewellery.

In the store itself, very big, I spent 30 minutes or so looking at some wonderful and also hideously ornate necklaces and rings. After much searching, the shopping was done: a necklace for Leonie, matching bracelets for Tallulah and Delaney, and a ring similar to the one I already wear, made while I was browsing (the ones on display didn't fit). All up, 2.4 juta (million). All settled. Produce the credit card. "Maaf, mesin kartu kredit dirusak." (The credit card machine is broken). Do you have cash? No. Can you use the ATM machine out the front? No. Why not? Because the amount of money I can withdraw each day is limited. Can you get Australian cash? No. Can you come back tomorrow, when the machine might be fixed? No, I'm going back to Salatiga tomorrow morning. Sebentar (Wait a moment). Thereafter, a series of phone calls were made to banks, I assume, to see what could be done. To no avail. They asked, repeatedly, was it all possible for me to get cash and I explained, repeatedly, no. Was it possible to go to the ATM and get enough to buy only the necklace? No. Walked out empty-handed. In situations like that, I'm uncertain as to what's really going on. Was it a ruse, was I being conned, was it really a broken machine? Sometimes transactions here are more complicated than they need be. The biggest silver shop in Yogya, promoted to tourists as the place to go, but you can't use a credit card there.

Taxied back to the city, dropped off at Gramedia, a bookstore, where, using my credit card, finally, I got music and style magazines, comics, and books (including, Tallulah, one from the Lemony Snickett series). Walked the 500 metres or so to the hotel.

Fruit for lunch. Followed by a discussion with staff about gamelan.

Small worldism. Got into a conversation with Liah, who works in the reception area, who said she has met some Australians. Kota yang mana? I asked. Sydney, Melbourne, Adelaide? No, she said, a small city. Ah, kota Canberra. The girl's name is Nikki. And her father is . . . At which point I finished the sentence: "Her father is Greg and her mum is Annie. I work with Annie." I'm staying at the same hotel as the Fry/Bartlett crew, who were here earlier this month.

If the morning's effort to dispose of credit was a bit of a dud, the afternoon was a blinder of an experience. Taxied to Jalan Marlioboro, famous for its batik shops. Traffic blocked for part of the trip. Found the place that I'd been to earlier in the week: Mirota Batik. Waria were singing and dancing out the front, attracting a crowd, making entry into the shop difficult. Conscious of the signs warning customers that pickpockets are pretty common, I keep touching my pockets. Inside, a swarm, local and international. If you think the aisles at the Dickson Woolies are narrow, think again. Between masses of displays, barely enough run for one Indonesian to be in an aisle of shirts, let alone a bulky Aussie. Batik enthusiasts are spoilt for choice. How many shirts can one hold at one time? Dave will be happy. Outside, backpack heavy with my consumption, I walked the street. Again, it was a crush of people, a narrow lane through which we passed, shops and stalls on either side, plastic above shading us from the sun. Looked in a few other shops, being a bit picky. Batik Sekar Arum was my next place of custom. Got four more, telling myself that two of them were for the girls. Only so much batik can be taken in in one afternoon. Out into the street, hailed a taxi, and had a garralous driver. Conversation completely in bahasa, but we laughed our way to the hotel as I recounted my day. Had to find an ATM on the way there. Tried Bank Mandiri - card not accepted. Found BNI up the road.

Bonus: stopped at an ATM to get some cash and got 50.000 notes! Usually, at the ATM at UKSW, I get 100.000 notes, what's known in these parts as "big money." For most transactions, people prefer uang kecil (small money). Great being a rupiah millionaire, not so great feeling defensive about flooding the economy with 100.000 notes. When taking the angkota, I the biggest sum I tend to use is 5.000 rupiah. Once, I only had a 10.000 rupiah note and when I gave it to the driver, he handed it back to me and said uang kecil. I ferreted around and found a solitary 1.000 rupiah, half the usual cost, and, embarrassed, handed it him. On campus, whenever I use a 50.000 note at the cafe, I always make sure it's after 1pm and that, before I order any food, I explain rather apologetically that I only have uang besar. Even at Hotel Santika, when I used a 100.000 note to pay for the 50.000 rupiah of internet use, I was asked if I had anything smaller. I didn't, so they had to go to the main office to get my change. So whenever I get 100.000 notes from an ATM, I have to strategise how I can break them down into smaller units. Sending parcels to Australia is one way. Paying the weekly rent to Ibu Wewien is another. I 've taken to hoarding 1.000 notes, as they're the most important currency of all here.

Inside, a three-piece band was playing: Gamelan Siteran. One played siter (like a zither), another played kendang (a drum), and a woman sang. Love it. Asked, with the help of one of the friendly staff, if the band knew "Suwe Ora Jamu," a song I'd heard earlier that week at Universitas Negeri Yogyakarta. They did, and they began to play it for an audience of two. We applauded.

The staff member explained some more about the music, and chose another song for me to hear, "Yen Ing Tawang." I sat, listened, mesmerised. Someone brought me a drink. An audience of one, in the foyer. Between songs I asked questions. At the end songs, the singer told me the titles of what she'd sung. Fabulous. Close to an hour sitting in front as they played, unperturbed by the hotel patrons walking past, the front door opening, the sound of a tray being dropped. As time passed, the singer cleared her throat more heartily at the start of each song, quickly downing water, joking suara habis (My voice is finished!). Mid song, she would cough, strain, sometimes laugh with the difficulty of singing. The songs had fake endings, reaching a point of silence, allowing the gong to reverberate, before she would swoop again. Hard to describe the sound, but it vocally it put me in mind of The Cocteau Twins, Les Mystere Des Voix Bulgare. A real treat to hear it. Now that I have the song titles, CD shopping is next on my list. The woman had only been singing for two years.

After that, tea and blogtime. Great being in Yogya as I got to do the street things, relax at the hotel, and have time to keep the blog going. Still got to catch up on the conference. That'll be done tomorrow. 9.30pm here. Leave at 9am. Took a disastrous phone call to arrange. Talking bahasa on the phone is much harder than face-to-face. Had to resort to English. Once in Salatiga, marking assignments, teaching a class about "Culture Shock," and sort through the batik.

Drenched at Candi Prambanan

2009-10-24T21:14:00.012+10:00

From Borobudor, to Candi Mendut, a couple of kilometres away. In Australia, the stereotype holds that men, when lost, would prefer to stay lost rather than ask directions. In Indonesia, with a private driver, the opposite holds. Each time I've been with a driver, they've stopped and sought locals for directions to wherever I'm going. Candi Mendut is one small structure and, after Borobudur, unimposing. Only looked at it from the carpark, as I was hot and tired from the previous few hours. Suggested we head to the hotel. Roni suggested we go via Prambanan Temple, located on the outskirts of Yogya.

Arrived here at 3pm. Usual rigmarole, having to skirt the touts to find the ticket area. Go there and, as at Borobudur, directed to the special ticket area for International Guests. Pay the international price (120.000 rupiah) and then ask for a local ticket for Roni. Redirected back to the original ticket area, where we pay the local price (15.000 rupiah). Toilets for the International Guests, though, are worth the mark-up.

As we approached the temple, the clouds darkened. Maybe the rain would hold off, I said to Roni. "Ya, kita beruntung," he replied (Yes, we're lucky).

Prambanan Temple was severely affected by the earthquake. Large sections of the temple are under reconstruction and off limits to the public. Scaffolding shrouded two of the main structures. Outside the temple, displaced stones were arrayed. Signs warned, Dilarang masuk - Forbidden to enter.

Here we can see one of kucing's ancestors.

Spit. Heavier spit. Rain. By now, forced to hire umbrellas, which, in the downpour that followed, were for display purposes only. Had been here for 5 or so minutes. A rushed tour. Not so lucky after all. Above the neck was dry, everything else was saturated. Pointless running. Either seek shelter and wait it our or, if wet, submit to the inevitable drenching. Converse not the best footwear option. Waded through rivers of water. Rain so heavy that the pesky touts disappeared, only the hardiest of stallholders remained to do business.

What a contrast: Borobudor for an hour of solid looking (and being interviewed) and sunburn, Prambanan for 5 minutes of looking and 10 minutes of slow walking back to the car, rain thundering on the brolly, feet sopping, jeans soaked. Next time, I'll do Borobudor early in the morning, with family of course.

Mentally fatigued, having spent the day conversing in and listening to bahasa. Arrived at Hotel Santika at 4pm, not the prettiest of sights. Shoeless, drenched, the typical wetfish look. Staff very helpful at the desk. Got my room. Swish, very. Joy of joys - a bath and a shower! Thankfully I'd brought an extra pair of pants, ostensibly along for the ride so they could be drycleaned - the '70s ones I picked up at the Majura Primary School fete. Tomorrow will nheed to look for new shoes or thongs. Showered, shaved, feel clean. Flicked through the 50 or so TV channels. Still raining. Off to the Business Centre to upload photos. It's taken me nearly 2 hours to do that task.

Sunburnt at Borobodur

2009-10-24T20:00:00.017+10:00

Big day today, the trip to Yogyakarta (Jogjakarta, or plain Jogja) to see its world famous and heritage listed Borobudor temple, located about40 kilometres west of the city, itself known as the centre of Javanese culture. The trip marks the halfway point of my stay in Indonesia, so will spoil myself. Tossed up whether to take the iPod - chose to leave it home. Thought about a long-sleeve shirt - decided against it, much to my regret later on in the day. Was using sopir pribadi, a private driver, who would pick me up at Salatiga at 9am and drop me off in Yogya late in the afternoon. To get to Borobudor, we'd be passing through Ketep Pass, a tourist stop situated near Gunung Merapi, which has a history of exploding, the most recent being in 2006.

Roni, my driver, arrived on time. Established that he could speak bahasa Inggris sedikit (a little), so I knew I was in for a day of bahasa. Off we went, through Salatiga, Kopeng (the area where Pak Agna has his farm), and up and around the mountains. Market day, according to the Javanese calendar, lots of activity on the side of the road. Workers were harvesting bamboo. Lots of vegetable farms (corn, cauliflower, strawberry). No rice fields, as it was too high up the mountain. Families of four on their motorbikes. Children live on them. Felt a bit carsick, with the windy roads, abrupt turns, and offhand overtaking. Mount Merapi is hard to see at this time of year, clouds, mist and smoke shielding it from view.

At Ketep Pass, many tourist buses were offloading their human cargo. Inside the tourist centre, the history of Mount Merapi was explained. Above, I'm pointing to Salatiga (at the top), and Mount Merapi. We'd skirted the local volcano, Mount Merbabu, to get here. This was one of the better tourist displays I've seen: informative and spectactular images, reasonable text, and a large model of the mountain itself.

This is a map of how the lava and explosions have flowed this last century. Salatiga sits above this activity, and there's its own volcano offers some form of protection from Merapi.

The model mountain was the only way to see Merapi today!

Outside, panas sekali. Time for water and then onto the main destination: Borobudur. Tree-lined streets, beautifully maintained, greeted us, when we arrived just after midday. In Salatiga, locals continually warn, "Yogya panas sekali," much as everyone outside of Canberra says, "It's cold in Canberra." It's true. Blistering, sulky, sultry heat. Once outside, it hits you.

A sea of markets are arrayed before the main entrance. Hassled by touts from the outset, their relentless quite amazing given the intensity of the heat and my indifference to their shouts to buy some trinket murah sekali - really cheap. All visitors here have to deal with touts, but we bule seem to have to deal with more than our fair share! Great to get to the ticket area, fewer touts, crowded with visitors. Joined the queue. Informed with a hand gesture to move to the queue on the right. Did so. The next teller also declined to serve me, pointing towards another building, a special ticketing area for international tourists. Special because the price was in US dollars. Unlike the other ticketing area for locals, this area is indoors and cool. Got Roni's ticket, much cheaper. Mine was about 120.000 rupiah, his 15.000! Entered the park, walked some way, dragged down by the heat. Other than those hiring out umbrellas or offering to take your photograph, the park itself is almost tout-free. Paradise, a hot one at that.

A popular tourist destination, as can be seen by the number of people. Haven't seen anything like this type of architecture in Indonesia. Truly magnificent, and deserving of its status as a must-see for tourists. The temple faces north, south, east, and west, and we entered through the east and exited through the west. On all sides, a monumental narrative carved into stone is there to be read. Images and symbols are richly detailed, the narrative too vast to take in in one day, let alone an hour or so. Giddy from looking up and around at the story. Each level represents something different, at the base of the temple the story concentrates more on human desires, while at the other levels, the higher you go, the more spiritual the narrative.

On the second level, approached by students from Universitas Sebelas Maret, Solo, for an interview. English language students, they were on an excursion and had to do an assignment: interview a foreign tourist and ask them questions about their views on Indonesian culture. Fielded their 5-6 questions (Where are you from? What do you know about Indonesia? Do you like Indonesian culture? How long have you been in Indonesia? etc.) and accepted their compliments about the fluency of my bahasa. Very pleasant.

But as I kept going up to a higher level, I kept getting requests from other groups of students for an interview! The closer to the top, as space shrank, I was being approached constantly - educational touts! I agreed to a number of interviews, each one progressively shorter, and to being photographed, but in the end, as I neared the final level, I had to refuse, "Maaf, sudah empat kali" (Sorry, but I've already done four!). As one of the more obvious tourists, I was a populer target. Did a quick circuit of the top, but it was like Jawa itself - crowded, full, a sprawl of bodies. Beautiful views. Retreated to the lower levels. Still breathtakingly hot, but on the eastern side a breeze provided relief. Fewer people at the lower levels, could walk as if on a boulevard.

Roni.

Oblivious to the sunburn that was to come.
Left after an hour. Water finished. Braved the touts. Haggled over some postcards. Got what he called harga lokal ("local price"). Has the time of the postcard come? Seems such a quaint way to communicate, given the ease of email and blogs. Relieved to have the shade of the warung. Fruit and more water for lunch. That I was eating did not stop the touts and beggars from approaching.

Shuffle update Selasa/Rabu/Kamis

2009-10-23T18:00:00.003+10:00

Selasa - music that has yet to be shuffled my way: Do Make Say Think, ESG, Gastr Del Sol, Islaja, Jim O'Rourke, Miles Davis, The Necks.

Rabu - music listened to at the end of conference day one and before heading out to dinner: Triosk's The Headlight Seranade, followed by shuffle heaven - Magic I. D., "Loopstruck," I Am Robot and Proud, "The Electricity in Your House Wants to Sing," Khonnor, "Man from the Anthill," The Sundays, "I Kicked a Boy" (2.18 minutes - more pop of this length, please), Jeremy Jay, "Will You Dance with Me?", Nico Muhly, "Quiet Music," Fetty, "Pariaman" (more Sublime Frequencies), and Steve Reich, "Pulses."

Kamis - carried the iPod around with me today and I accidentally pressed play, which meant when I arrived in Salatiga and in desperate need of some relaxation, the battery was dead! My first shuffle-free day. A Conradian moment.

Jumat @ UKSW 23 Okt

2009-10-23T13:48:00.004+10:00

Week 4. Downhill skiing from here on in, folks.

Headed to Reflexology this morning, as last night's three hour trip back to Salatiga left me cramped up. Each person there has thier own technique, today's guy preferring a pinching the neck method, usually in a surprise attack mode. Would that he perfected the method, rather than preferred using it.

Will be a busy day at work, as the two unexpected days in Yogyakarta have put me behind with my marking and lesson preparation. Tomorrow I head there again, as a tourist; no chance that I'll be taking any marking with me to Borobudor temple. Done some lesson prep for next week's classes. This afternoon, before my Literary Appreciation class, I've got 40 papers to assess. Argh. Need time also to upload photos and gather my thoughts about the last two days in Yogya.

From outside, the sound of the student gamelan obliterated by amplified Indonesian pop.

UKSW @ UNY Kamis 22 Okt

2009-10-23T13:24:00.003+10:00

Awake at 6am, good night's sleep. Rudi spent most of the night in the lobby, watching Milan versus Real Madrid, 4-3 Milan's way. Game finished at 4am, minimising the time we could bond together. Crept to the bathroom and enjoyed my first shower in a month. A simple pleasure. Hot. Felt as though my hair was finally getting a decent soak. Rudi still asleep, grinding.

Breakfasted alone, then Lauren found me. Joined by Rudi. Butter, bread, fruit. Rudi's grandfather is Dutch, so he likes to eat butter and toast. Hard to find good butter in Indonesia. At the hotel, they had sachets of New Zealand butter, which Rudi pocketed. Then, for Rudi, upacara rokek (his morning cigarette).

More keynotes at the conference. We left the hotel late, hoping to avoid the morning session. Sadly, the keynotes started late, so we got to sit through them all. Disappointingly, the instruments were no longer next to the stage. Would have to make my own entertainment.

After the morning keynotes, parallel sessions, up to 6 I think, which meant most sessions would attract 5-10 people. Papers focused on multiculturalism. Not sure how this concept, used in settler/immigrant countries like Canada, Australia, and, to a much lesser extent, the US, can be used in the Indonesian context. Lots of disquiet from the speakers about the threat of globalisation, Indonesian youth's ignorance of Indonesian history, the problem of sinetron (soap operas), as well as confusion about what constitutes Indonesianness. For many speakers, Java is Indonesia.

Highlight of the day was getting a phone call just as the conference ended: mum, Leonie, Tallulah and Delaney! Surreal to be on a balconey, looking at a mesjid, and chatting away.

Tersesat di Yogya - Lost in Yogyakarta

2009-10-23T13:23:00.007+10:00

Rested, it was time to hit the streets of Yogyakarta, with Frances, Rudi, and Lauren, an Arizonan who is here doing linguistics research. Taxied to Jalan Marlioboro, the main shopping drag, stopping en route to let Rudi out at another shopping centre. First port of call, Mirota Batik, at Frances' suggestion. Crowded inside, but batik heaven. Cotton, silk, cheap, expensive - whatever your fancy, it was bound to be here. Frances showed me the quality silk stuff first, but cotton was on my mind. Aisles of it. Very narrow aisles. A scrum of people, all trying to politely squeeze through in search of batik. So many choices, I could barely think what to choose. Approached by two school students who said, "Maaf, can we disturb you, mister?" They wanted to do an interview. Agreed. Responded in bahasa, but they wanted English! More aisles. Dazed and confused. Lost sight of Frances and Lauren.

For a break, headed upstairs to check out the carvings and other oleh-oleh (trinkets, souvenirs). Returned downstairs. Saw Lauren being interviewed. Walked on over to see what was happening, and then Frances suggested that the film crew interview me! Interviewed by Trans 7, an Indonesian news network. Fortunately, they wanted me to speak in bahasa. Complied. Said things like: "Baju batik Indonesia terkenal di seluruh dunia. Dan di Australia, banyak orang memakai baju batik" (Indonesian batik shirts are famous throughout the world. In Australia, many people wear batik). Not sure when it will be shown or if it has already been shown. I suspect the look I've been cultivating may be too confronting for primetime Indonesia news. The cultural references informing my facial growth may not translate.

In the shop, a woman was demonstrating the batik method. Despite my status as a rupiah millionaire, I don't think I could afford the cloth she is working on.

In the end, I only bought some Indonesian chocolate and two t-shirts for Tallulah and Delaney. Tallulah's shirt read "Tersesat di Yogya" and Delaney's read "Jangan membantuh" (Don't argue with me). Too tired and hungry to make a decision. Lauren, though, credit card splurged on all sorts of material. I knew that I'd be returning here on the weekend, so no need to be hasty.

Out front, Rudi was waiting. On foot, we went in search of a place to eat. Got lost on the way there, but as is the custom, when lost, ask a local. Made our way to Pendopo nDalem Resto, located near the Sultan's palace. A pendopo is a tradition Indonesian style of meeting place, essentially an open building.

Massive table full of different dishes. Frances and the head waiter explained which was vegetarian and which was not. Went for rice dishes, sambal, tempe, vegetables, and lime juice. Food was superb, the lime juice outstanding. Dining mood spoiled slightly by a group next to use who were having a meeting and had brought along their portable soundsystem and microphone, along with the fog of smoke.

On the way out, Frances led the way. Kanan atau kiri? Right or left? Left, she said. And we followed. The further we walked, the more deserted it became. And quiet. So unlike Indonesia. Suddenly we were wandering through the palace area, Kraton. Few people around. Made sure we didn't draw too much attention to ourselves. Lost in Watson? Like Tallulah's t-shirt, we were lost in Kraton. We followed the palace walls, going down curving streets that, by Indonesian standards, were dead quiet. Eerily peaceful. No motorbikes. Kept walking. Ahead, a T-junction, with motorbike action. Followed that road. Still couldn't see the alun alun, the main park area that we were using to orient ourselves. More walking. Traffic was intensifying. Finally, the park.

Stumbled into the city. Waited here for a while, hailing taxis and being ignored. Eventually we walked back toward Jalan Marlioboro, found a taxi stand, slumped our way to the hotel. 10.30pm.

UKSW goes to UNY on Rabu 21 Okt

2009-10-23T13:22:00.004+10:00

4.15am - suara masjid. Pointless trying to return to sleep. Listen to Gastr Del Sol, having discovered last night they have yet to be shuffled. Alarm goes off: 5am. Bath. A shocker. Waking up at this time is, as I tell my colleagues later, to much laughter, geger budaya, a culture shock. For them, as they often have to begin teaching at 7am, the 5am wake-up is no stranger to them. Ibu Wewien is up, breakfast ready. Car arrives at 6am. Lots of activity at this hour, schoolkids by the side of the road, workers, traffic. Pick up Frances, Lauren (who leaves the house with her roti), Rudi, and Puri. Why was Rudi standing butler-like in front of his house, holding a tray with a cup of tea on it? Because Frances had texted ahead! A classic sight.

White lines on the road - for display purposes only. Fluidity is the norm.

Nick Cave, courtesy of Rudi, who studied in Australia, is on the stereo.

Agricultural country: corn and tobacco.

Entering a township, a sign with an image of a masjid and "75 m" beneath it. Redundant, really, because it seems as if you walk 100 metres anywhere you're bound to find a masjid or a gereja. Indonesia really does religion.

Arrive 3 hours later at Universitas Negeri Yogyakarta (Yogya State Uni). Listen to the tailend of the keynote address for an international seminar on "Multiculturalism and (Language and Arts) Education: Unity and Harmony and Diversity." In English, except for the representative from the French Embassy, who read his text word for word, which we could follow from the printed copy given to us, while a translator rendered it into bahasa. In the process, he confirmed certain stereotypes associated with the French. Most memorable was his view, expressed in question time, "There are no ghettos in Paris. We have no Chinatown." Since when is Chinatown a ghetto? Since when is its absence from a major city seen as a triumph?

At the coffee and lunch breaks, entertained by a student gamelan. A real highlight to sit up close and listen to the exquisite percussion, to watch the light-handedness of it all, the skitter and bounce of the percussionists.

Sat through more of the keynote speakers - the first day was devoted to keynotes. Two hours each session: three speakers, followed by question time. By 3pm, mind suitably numbed, listening to an academic basically describe the twelve themes to be found in a traditional Javanese text. At this point, the UKSW team reached consensus and returned to the hotel to rest and then, later, to head out.

The hotel is for students. Quite a few bule in the foyer and in the corridor, laptopping away. Best to avoid them, it might be catching. Told I'd be sharing with Rudi. No problem. Room has a shower! A hot shower! This once, I decline to judge a hotel by its towels, which are on the bleached and threadbare side of things. The thought of hot water and washing my hair properly render insignificant my usual attitude about towel quality. Only one queensize bed in the room. Been a while since I've shared a bed with a bloke. Mentioned my sleep apnea to Rudi; he mentioned his teethgrinding. Time to rest. Flopped onto my side of the bed. Rudi, meanwhile, was setting himself up to sleep on the floor. "It's cooler," he said. He dozed, while I iPodded myself into a state of calm. On the floor, Rudi was sleeping, grinding his teeth.

Mister Gang Enam

2009-10-20T19:11:00.003+10:00

Not the first time, I've been called "Mr Gang Enam" (enam is pronounced nam) or a variation on it. Was walking near campus, an angkota went past, I hopped on. The angkota driver's helper said, "Gang Enam!" To which I replied, "Betul."

Monday iPodzone . . .

2009-10-20T19:02:00.001+10:00

. . . Bonnie 'Prince' Billy . . . Boards of Canada, Colleen, Umni Nadra, Animal Collective . . . Mice Parade, Tussle, Robert Wyatt.

Had to skip a few selections tonight, either songs I've heard before or bands I've heard recently. Don't tell me my iPod capacity is too small!

Selasa @ UKSW 20 Okt

2009-10-20T18:35:00.003+10:00

Only missed the bus by a hand's width, maybe two hands' width, so no need to worry excessively, that would be too Western. Thankfully, the near miss didn't have any impact on the way the angkota driver approached his task, as he used his regular job as way of putting into practice what he's learnt from spending many hours watching formula one, tailgating the bus until an opportunity arose to overtake. Inside lane overtaking left me a little speechless, but the most aggressive beeping I've heard since I've been an angkota passenger helped clear the way, thus enabling the quickest trip home from work I've endured. Reassured by the other passengers' complete indifference. And only 2.000 rupiah. To think, some go to Gold Coast for a bit of excitement.

That was last night. This morning's trip somewhat sedate.

Morning spent observing Frances' "Speaking" class, where the students speak when they have to give a presentation but assiduously avoid talking at any other time. Frances' frustration with the passivity palpable. I gave feedback on some of the presentations. At their conclusion, students had to work on an activity for next week's class; none had done the required homework.

From there, to teach "Prose," with today's lesson focusing on an Amy Tan story, "Two Kinds." Class had to an activity prior to the lesson - to write 2 reflections on the meaning of the title and the significance of the first sentence. Here, this intensive literary analysis is not done often. Comprehension of content and meaning are the main priorities, usually. But Ibu Ina is keen to learn how to analyse a text, so she was taking a lot of notes as I talked about the development of narrative momentum, the importance of conflict as a means of creating momentum, and how stories are resolved or not resolved, and so on. Had the class work in groups, the only way to work effectively with 40 students, and focus on particular conflicts and whether or not they were resolved. For the next two weeks students were supposed to present an assignment, but Ibu Ina has changed the course timetable so that the students get to have me teach them how to analyse short stories. I'm only here for a couple of more classes, and she'd rather me teach than sit through two weeks of student presentations (each student has to produce a collage related to one of the short stories they've read).

Makan siang - the usual, with a Coke as well as water. Spent my time talking pop culture and pop music with a group of students from South Sulawesi.

Doesn't rain, but it pours. Last night I booked my hotel for this weekend in Yogyakarta, with Dyah sorting out the car. Frances dropped into my office and invited me to attend a seminar in Yogyakarta on multiculturalism. When? Tomorrow and Thursday! Back to work on Friday, then return for Saturday and Sunday. Duncan was destined to go, but he's crook. Accommodation and fees have been paid, so a ring-in was needed. Only drawback is that we're leaving at 6am tomorrow. I usually get up at 7am. Waking at 5am will be a struggle. Tonight is one night that I'll be looking forward to hearing suara mesjid! Better than an alarm clock!

Senin @ UKSW - batik day 19 Okt

2009-10-19T19:17:00.005+10:00

On Monday, staff wear the UKSW shirt, a nice batik effort with the UKSW logo in the middle. Maybe we could get the designers to help Qantas out. And if ANU is thinking of a staff shirt, then please use this as a model. Here are Dyah and Tri, the administrative staff who have been incredibly helpful, particularly with matters related to computers and printing. Dyah, on the left, is also sorting out the travel for my weekend trip to Yogakarta.

Unfortunately, Leonie, it's not possible to buy these shirts. At the start of the year, orders are put in for new staff. According to Pak Hendro, this is the second design they've had. Will see if Pak Agna has any influence - I'll swap him an ANU tie for a UKSW shirt! (Comment added 20/10/09)

And here they are in their regular togs.

Today's Kebaktian Senin was, on the singing front, a little disappointing. One woman, five men. Not much harmonising, though the first hymn and its chorus put me in mind of White Shoes and the Couples Company. As with last week, the sermon seemed to make a literal connection with the reading from the Bible and with the faculty hosting the service. A lot of talk today, then, about information sytems. Service hosted by Biro Teknologi dan Sistem Informasi and Campus Ministry. My bahasa is reasonable for smalltalk but not sophisticated enough to hear a biblical reading and then attend to the sermon, particularly one informed by the discourse of informatino systems. Imagine ANU's Division of Information facilitating a sermon.

Not much else on today. Took time out to get my buku harian up to date and to prepare for three lessons. And upload photos.

Sunday arvo in Salatiga

2009-10-19T18:03:00.003+10:00

My first weekend in Salatiga was a dud, spent monitoring my neck pain, the Saturday seeking massage, the Sunday sitting still. A wasted weekend. Second weekend, Semarang. Took my third weekend to get a sense of Salatiga in terms of space. My usual view of the city is the main rain from Pak Agna's place to campus, quite narrow. Today we went upwards.

Pak was going to check on his farm, located in the foothills of the mountain, quite imposing, but difficult to photograph due to the haze, cloud, and smoke common at this time of year. Frances assures me that if I get up early, I'd get a clear shot of up. But I'm reluctant to get up at that time - some teachers here have classes that start at 7am. I'm not one of those teachers. By the time I head off to work, between 8 and 9, the view is compromised.

Winded our way out of Salatiga, stopping at its most exclusive hotel, Laras Asli Resort and Spa, which is the place favoured by Westerners and affluent Indonesians. Very opulent, beautifully landscaped. Magnificant pool, which had a bule family or two in it. Pleased to note, though, the sound of the mosque carried this far.

From there, up to higher ground. Stopped at Pondok Remaja, a property owned by the church Pak Agna and family attend, set up to teach young people how to farm. It overlooks Salatiga and gave me a sense of how the city is organised. Lots of agricultural produce is grown in this area: corn, tobacco, cabbage, coffee.

From the pool, the city of Salatiga in the distance.

Pak Agna and Ibu Wewien in front of some plant. At home, these two are always smiling and laughing, but get them in front of a camera, and its Javanese style. Arief, my Jakarta friend, is not from Java, and he's a funny bloke, but in front of a camera, he becomes very serious. Will discuss this with Arief, later.

Away from the city, the roads become quite narrow even though the volume of traffic is pretty constant. It seems that the width of the road was made in the expectation that no traffic would ever be coming from the opposite direction. I'm used to the hairiness of the driving around, because most drivers only go about 40km per hour. Which isn't too fast when you're overtaking someone on a corner while going uphill. As long as there's a beep involved, accidents are avoided. If not, then something will be voided. Lots of speed humps down some of the narrow lanes; these are called polisi tidur (sleeping police).

Pak runs a small dairy operation, 30 or so cows. A family of three look after it. The cows are fed the lush grass that has been imported to this area to stop the soil erosion. Within 6 weeks, he's grown enough to fed the cows. The farm is about 1000 metres above the sea. At this level, it's quite cool, the breeze pleasant.

The road here, made from rocks which jolt the spine, is designed to stop cattle rustling from occuring. This road, I'm told, will never be bitumenised. Taken to see a bigger operation up the road that has about 500 cows and also farms pigs. Pigs can only be farmed in special areas; in an Islamic country, pigfarming is a political issue.
Late afternoon, after a cup of tea with Pak's farmhands, headed back to Salatiga. Stopped at Mie Asli Bangka for dinner. Had nasi cap cay (vegetables with rice). Whatever Pak had, it made him sweat! Usually, at home, I'm the source of much laughter when I miscalculate with the sambal! While we ate, street musicians (beggars) entered the warung and sang their songs. In the 20 or so minutes we were there, about 3 different duos serenaded the customers.

Saturday iPodding

2009-10-19T17:50:00.003+10:00

1) Destroyer, "Certain Things You Ought to Know", one of them being that we don't have enough Destroyer in the household. A situation to be rectified on my return. 2) June & The Exit Wounds, "Let's Shack Up Together," from an album by a bedroom pop genius who has internalised all that needs to be internalised from the Beach Boys (and a little Bacharach, I'm sure). His only album. 3) Machinefabriek, "Somerset." 4) Gudrun Gut, "Sweet." 5) Junior Boys, "More Than Real," crisp, razor-like beats, wiggles of bass and synth, airy, hollowed-out and desperate vocals. Proof that a life spent listening to New Order's "Blue Monday" is a life put to good use. 6) The Sundays, "Can't Be Sure," actually, when the guitars start, we can be sure that we're in for 3 and half minutes of exquisite pure pop perfection that, for some, will return us to '89 or '90 when Harriet Wheeler's voice ruled our living rooms. "And did you know desire's a terrible thing, the worst that I could find, but I rely on mine." 7) Tujiko Noriko, "In a Chinese Restaurant." 8) New Order, "Vanishing Point," my '80s. The Smiths, The Cure, or The Jesus and Mary Chain? No, NO owned the '80s, as well as the first few years of the '90s.

iPod Jumat

2009-10-18T13:28:00.003+10:00

White Shoes and the Couples Company - breezy and lite-jazz sounding Indonesian pop, easy listening, lovely vocals that could be put to use by Burt Bacarach.

Pavement - something from the first album; should have uploaded the second.

Hair Police - tests the threshold of listenability. Not one for general consumption at Higinbotham Street. Sounds like some drunks trapped inside a shipping container, using steel poles to bash their way out. Against this rhythm, an oxywelding splart, bells, sirens, and muzzled vocalising.

H. J. Zahara - a track from a wonderful Sublime Frequencies compilation of old Sumatran pop. Arabic in flavour, ululations, superb light-fingered drumming.

Stereolab - my nineties.

Supersilent - Norwegian improv jazz.

Jumat @ UKSW 16 Okt

2009-10-18T13:15:00.002+10:00

Last class for the day started at 4pm, to finish at 6pm. "Literary Appreciation" is usually taught by Pur, but she's not around and I've got to get through her materials which, coincidentally, focus on indigenous poetry. The poems, though, don't really represent the range of work available, so I found some mainstream ones by Oodgeroo Noonuccal - "Municipal Gum" and "Dreamtime."

A tough afternoon of work. The class is later-year, but the preferred mode of learning here is to listen to everything the teacher says and to notetake it. Extremely passive. Tried various ways to get students to engage in discussion and share their ideas, but it was getting blood from a stone stuff. In the end, resorted to the dreaded line by line analysis for a couple of the poems. For the last part of the lesson, groups had to discuss "Dreamtime" and report their findings back to the class. This worked okay. Next week's class I'll approach differently. Good teachers shouldn't have to do much talking. The two hours of lecture, one of tutorial approach isn't used here. It's a two-hour class, usually with the teacher talking for the first hour and then students working in groups in the second hour. The format makes the tutorial way of teaching difficult, because there are 40 students in the room. Needless to say, I was exhausted by the end of the class.

Saturday in Salatiga - lunch and Skype at Duncan's

2009-10-18T12:49:00.007+10:00

Morning spent with Freud, watching the emergence of the Oedipus complex in his theoretical framework, as he interprets Greek myth and does a little something with Hamlet.

Mail arrived - The Monthly, with Julia Gillard on the cover. Two magazines in the one week.

Arranged to meet Duncan mid-morning in the city centre, then catch angkota 9 to his place. Got to see another part of Salatiga. Eleven people in the angkota - a record! Every available centimetre taken up with shopping, huge bundles of produce. Very squeezy. Duncan up front with the driver, me in the back with the shoppers and schoolkids. Despite the numbers, the driver still stopped and beeped for extra passengers. Where they'd fit, I don't know. Today's experience was much like the episode from Happy Days where Ralph, Potsie and Richie get involved in a how many people can be in a phone booth competition.

Duncan's place is up an incline, the exercise good for uncramping the muscles. Lives opposite an Islamic education institution. Met his family - Allison, and two daughters, Evie (5) and baby Ella. They're here for a three-year posting as part of a Christian organisation placement. Evie, a livewire, excited to have an Aussie visitor. Most of their English-speaking visitors are American. After a refreshing glass of water, Duncan invited me to use Skype and call home.

Absolutely fantastic to see the family. Felt a surge of love as their images came up. Each day I scroll through the 100 or so photos that Tallulah and Delaney uploaded onto the iPod, but it's not the same as being face to face. Being able to see them and chat in real time - what a treat! Caught up on their going-ons, explained about life here, the food, my plans to go to Yorgakarta next weekend, work, and how I'm coping. Tallulah updated me on her Mighty Boosh fixation and Delaney, a little quiet, talked some too. Had 22 precious minutes.

Great lunch. Overdid the sambal! Rice, green beans, and fruit soup. Enak sekali. Spent the arvo chatting about life in Indonesia, the impact of being here on Evie, teaching, Brisbane, Canberra, what the future will hold for Duncan and his family, and, of course, our struggles and triumphs learning and using bahasa. Had my first coffee in three weeks! Been off it, my ascetic streak surfacing, again. A lot of instant here. And, given the heat, water is my preferred beverage, followed by teh hijau (green tea, lukewarm). It was a really relaxing conversation, one where I didn't feel as though I was a representative Australian and had to backfill context and history all the time. No need to feel like an authority on all things Australian, which sometimes happens here when I'm having conversations with my host family or with students. If I say something about Australia, it must be true because I'm an Australian.

Home by 4.30pm. Returned to Freud and some of the contentious elements of his theory. Pak and Ibu away, which means Priscilla has to do the cooking tonight. Worked on buku harian.

Kamis @ UKSW 15 Okt - Interpersonal Speaking

2009-10-16T18:38:00.004+10:00

Each Thursday at 11am I join Duncan's "Interpersonal Speaking" class, a group of 16 students. The focus of the lesson is on pronunciation practice. Perhaps not the sort of class to be taught by two Australians! Duncan speaks slowly, clearly, and loudly, when giving examples of correct practice. Which is what you want from a teacher. Today we were looking at what's known as "reduced and", that is, our tendency to reduce "and" to "an'" or, in most instances, 'n'. For instance, "tea and sugar" (Duncan says, the class repeats), becomes "tea an' sugar" (Duncan says, class repeats), which becomes "tea'n'sugar". Love the way we compress language! Then we did the "reduced can", where we eliminate the vowel sound so that it sounds like "ken."

Duncan then got me to read through some examples of common expressions, short sentences that the students had to repeat. For example, "How're you doing?" and "How's it going?" and "What'll you have?" As I explained to the students, in Australia we'd do some damage to the "you" in those sentences, making it into "ya." So off I went, saying the sentences, the students repeating them. I'd do the formal/English version ("How're you doing?"), and follow it with the Australian version ("How're ya doing?"). After about 4-5 sentences, Duncan commented, "Notice something else Stephen is doing with contractions. When he says the '-ing' sound, it's contracted to 'en.' Instead of saying 'going,' he says 'goen'"! What a great moment! I really had to concentrate to read as formally as possible, but the Australian way took over. Fantastic to be in an Indonesian pronunciation class and to learn just how difficult and different Australian English is!

And the we got onto "wanna" and "gonna"! Students' heads must have been spinning!

Friday - postlunch thoughts

2009-10-16T17:01:00.007+10:00

Got to change my habits. So predictable. Walked into the student cafe on campus and as soon as one of the women sighted me, they started cutting the fruit (usually mango, guava, and honeydew melon, though yesterday banana was added to that threesome). Just like when I walk into Street Theatre Cafe or Gods, they know that all I want is a long black, to go. so they can, with 99% certainty, start preparing the coffee even before I've ordered it. Today, though, I'd already eaten, and I was only there to get some water and a wafer bar. I felt a bit sheepish as I saw the guava, cut in half, being put back on the shelf.

Arranged to meet Pak Agna for lunch. He was going to take me to one of his favourite eating spots, a warung out in front of the campus. On the street, warungs don't take up much space. Often they consist of some rudimentary stove and preparation area, a thin table, thin bench, and a bit of plastic to give the diners some privacy from the pedestrian and some protection from the road. At the end of the day, they're packed up. Each morning, if I'm early, I see them being set up again, these makeshift restaurants. The one we were going to, Warung Tahu Campur, was more permanent, like a shed, dark inside, but away from the traffic.

In the centre of the room was the oven, on the top of which tempe and tofu were being fried. In front, Pak Min, who's operated this wayung for more than 30 years (and Pak Agna has been coming here for 25 years), sat with his basic implements, the most important of which was his mortar and pestle.

In it, he put a big handful of peanuts, two cloves of garlic, a little salt, some special mixture (soy sauce, palm sugar, cinnamon, and other spices), and, in consultation with the customer, chilies. Pak Agna ordered for me, the one chili special. Other customers have 4-5 chilies. Pak Min said that he's had customers who've wanted 20 or more chilies. Pleased to note that later, a new customer ordered the one chili special, making me feel much less alone! If a local only wants one chili, then it's okay for me to have just one.

This ground mixture is topped with his secret sauce. A bowl laden with mixed tofu and tempe (hence the name of this wayung) and some fresh vegetables is then dowsed in the sauce/sambal mixture, with swigs from the soy bottle to add some saltiness. Enak sekali! Really delicious.

Really grateful to Pak Agna for showing me this little hideaway. I'll be going back. And I'll be explaining to Pak the concept of "It's my shout!". Naturally I was as full as a goog, which meant I could say kenyang (full, satisfied, sated). Which is why there's a guava rotting on the shelf.

Friday - morning thoughts 16 Oct

2009-10-16T13:04:00.003+10:00

Delaney, it's week 3, only another 5 weeks of sleeping with mum! From Leonie's email: "Lane is sleeping with me every night now. Man she's a kicker and shover. Amazing how much space a little body takes up!" In an earlier email, Leonie mentioned that Delaney was feeling sad because the old man wasn't around, and so took to sleeping in our bed. To be expected, I suppose, because of the way relationships in our family are sorted. A long time ago, I said to Leonie that Tallulah seemed to bond more strongly with me, and that Delaney seemed to bond more strongly with her. Leonie corrected me: it's Leonie/Tallulah and Stephen/Delaney. And she was right, of course, not for the first time. In a sense, the current Leonie/Delaney configuration is similar to the usual Leonie/Stephen configuration, displaced. By many kilometres.

Friday Freud
(1) "The dominion of the jest knows no bounds" (for Peter).
(2) "Forgetting is very often the execution of an intention of the unconscious." I have yet to explore why I forgot my vegemite in Jakarta. What did I intend by leaving it there? Forgoing Australian taste and symbolism? A desire for full immersion in the Indonesia experience? Suggestions on the back of a postcard.

Sambal Terung - Chili Eggplant

2009-10-15T20:11:00.002+10:00

Wednesday night Ibu Wewein cooked sambal terung. Fantastic dish. Requested the recipe.

Ingredients

2-3 eggplant (Japanese)
10 chilies (5 for Australians! These are thin, short, and curly chilies, known here as cabe kerting)
1 red onion
3 cloves garlic
1-2 TS olive oil
Palm sugar - sedikit (a little)

Cooking

BBQ the eggplant.

Ground the spices together.

Fry the grounded up mixture.

Pour 1/2 glass of water into the mixture. Bring to the boil.

When boiling, add the sliced eggplant.

Cook until tender (about 10 minutes) and water is reduced.

Serve with rice.

Batik

2009-10-15T20:06:00.004+10:00

From Toko Batik Keris.

From Batik Danar Hadi.

The Heavy Blinkers, Suarasama, The Free Design, Uusitalo, 23 Skidoo, Mount Eerie with Julie Doiron and Fred Squire

2009-10-15T20:02:00.001+10:00

That's what I listened to last night.

Spending like a millionaire - audit of week 2

2009-10-15T19:55:00.002+10:00

In week 1, I just managed to spend a million rupiah. If I hadn't have been conned at the airport, it would have been impossible to achieve this target!

Week 2's spending, I'm happy to report, nearly broke the 2 million mark. For your consideration, here's where the money went:

Rent 450.000
Kebaktian Senin 20.000
Makan siang (lunch) 53.000
Angkota 24.000
Kartu indeks 3.500
Kartu SIM 51.000
Majalah Rolling Stone 35.000
Becak 10.000
Reflexology 20.000
Surat kabar (newspapers) 6.500
Lollies and water (di Semarang) 30.000
Baju batik (di Semarang) 1.174.000

Over a million rupiah on shirts - that's the type of guy I am.

Week 3 @ UKSW (Senin, Selasa, Rabu) 12-14 Okt

2009-10-15T19:18:00.002+10:00

Been so busy getting the Semarang weekend up that I've fallen behind with the posts on what I've been doing at work. Will combine three days, highlights only.

Senin
Judging by the crowd, smaller than last week's, Kebaktian Senin may be obligatory in theory and optional in practice. Seems to have been hosted by Faculty of Economics, given the powerpoint slides that were titled Aktivitas Manajemen dalam Organisasi and Kepemimpinan dan Manajemen (Leadership and . . .). Despite these titles, difficult to follow the sermon. As for the music, the voices were very good; choice of material, though, was too traditional, either something with a real gospel inflection (complete with choreography matching the words. For example, the line "trumpets sound out, bells ring out" was accompanied by literal gestures, the song concluding with the choir swaying and handclapping) or something that, if eyes were closed, you'd think you were in an English cathedral listening to a choir doing something in Latin.

"Cross-cultural Understanding" is a class I look forward to. Petrus is a nice bloke, funny, and a good teacher. Students did a presentation on direct (Oz, US) and indirect (Indonesia, Japan) communication. The issues that cropped up were relevant to my experience here. Learnt, too, that Indonesians/Javanese rarely use "Apa kabar?" ("What news?" - a greeting equivalent to "How're ya goin'?") when they meet someone. Yet this, I told the class, is one of the first things students studying Indonesian at ANU are taught to say! I've been asked "Apa kabar?" by Indonesians, but maybe they ask out of politeness because they know that Westerners, for whatever reason, are taught to ask this when they meet someone. Frpm now on, I'll be using "Mau ke mana" (we were also taught this in Indonesian 1A) as a greeting.

My reputation precedes me: catching the angkota home, the driver and his assistant referred to me as "Mister Gang Enam" (Mr Lane no.6). Word gets around!

Selasa
Joined Frances' "Speaking" class, over in the Language Teaching Centre. Played a card game with students, picking cards at random then looking at a matrix filled with quotes that lined up with each card. Had to figure out when would be the most appropriate time to use the quote in a formal setting (funeral, birthday, sales meeting, graduation ceremony, etc). Great fun. And the room was air-conditioned!

From there, I had to go to the oldest building on campus, sans air-conditioning and teach "Literary Appreciation." Today's story - "The Management of Grief" by Bharati Mukherjee - allowed me to flex dormat literary critical analysis muscles. First, though, the ten minute test to make sure that the story had been read. Then, extended discussion on the significance of the title, group work on character analysis, and, at the end, a discussion of the story's first sentence. Homework for next week was set also. Enjoyed the classroom experience.

Lunch with Duncan. Timing was off, because by the time we arrived at the cafe, just after 1pm, all the mushrooms were habis (sold out) and, horror of horrors, there was no nasi (rice). Which was a pity, as eggplant sambal was on the menu. Settled for fruit and a blue Pepsi.

Rabu
Went to a Thesis Proposal session, the first time one has been held at FBS. Students had 5 minutes to talk about their topic, their method, their research question. Lecturers gave feedback, sometimes extensively. Often students were asked to repeat sentences loudly, clearly and slowly, though I didn't really experience any difficulty following what was being said. Mandatory sweet tea and snacks were served. After listening to this (2 hours), it became clear that the faculty really is a linguistics program. Not one proposal had literature as its focus. Which is fair enough, I suppose, given that the faculty's main purpose is to train English language teachers (rather than English teachers).

Pleased to be involved in "Drama" in the afternoon, with today's focus being interpretation and intonation. Acted out a short scene with Annita, the teacher. Then moved onto subtext analysis of a scene. More my style! Students had 10-15 lines of minimalist dialogue, and from that they had to create a scene and the subtext. Wonderful to watch the students work on this task, as it was a difficult one. Spent a lot of the lesson walking around the class and talking with groups about the play they were developing. Next week:blocking.

Blogged for an hour and a bit. Poured (as it is now as I type - a thick torrent making it difficult to see the landscape beyond 200 metres). Didn't have a brolly. The one I've been given is a long one, inconvenient to pack. Waited for a break. When it came, hoofed it to the angkota.

Panas, panas sekali - talkin' bout the weather

2009-10-14T19:16:00.002+10:00

Sticky and steamy on the way to my stop this morning, late because I spent time after breakfast studying new words. One of the benefits, though, of heading to work after 9am is that fewer people are travelling, increasing my chances of being the only passenger in the angkota. So it was this morning. Sitting opposite the open door, windows open, I could feel a nice breeze, cooling. A pleasant start to the day. Just me and the driver, I thought, and then I saw some hair on the seat next to the driver. Sprawled asleep, a child, no more than 2 years old. Dropped off at UKSW, I returned to the mugginess of the day.

It set me thinking about how, in Australia, we have many ways to describe the heat of the day: hot, really hot, brutal, punishing, a scorcher, blazing, sticky, humid, sweltering, muggy, foul, and so on. Here, there is not as much variety. Usually two terms are used: panas (hot) and its superlative panas sekali (really hot); the other is lembab (humid). When I got to my building, I went and talked with Dyah and Tri about other possible terms I could use. To describe a "sticky" day, Dyah said I can combine panas dan lembab. If it's really hot, I can say that it's as hot as hell: panas sekali seperti neraka. There's also gerah (Javanese, I think, for sticky, stifling). Other than that, there seems to be few ways to describe the heat. Don't the Inuit have 47 ways (number invented at random) to describe the snow? Why don't Indonesians have 34 ways to describe the heat? Maybe the weather in Indonesia is more constant, and the lack of variation between the wet and the hot/dry means that a small number of words will suffice to describe the heat.

Shuffling through songs 8-13 October

2009-10-14T18:49:00.002+10:00

Last few times I've iPodded myself out of the world the shuffle function wasn't working to satisfaction, throwing up songs I've heard before. Orange Juice's "Holiday Hymn," for instance, has been selected at least 4 times. A great song, sure, but there are 1400 to choose from. Shuffled on the 8th, first up came Animal Collective's "No More Ruin" and followed by another song by Nico. Decided a new strategy was called for. Went to the Songs section, found "No More Ruin" and listened to songs organised alphabetically, which meant the next tune I heard was Inch-Time's "No Need to Sign Your Name" and so on.

Did the same on Friday, listening to songs beginning with "S". Came unstuck though, because all the songs on Keith Fullerton Whitman's Multiples begin with "Stereo Music for . . . ". For example, "Stereo Music for Acoustic Guitar, Buchla Music Box 100, Hewlett Packard" and "Stereo Music for Hi-Hat." Which meant I wasn't getting the variation I needed. Friday is the day I crash, exhausted from a week of bahasa. Using the shuffle function, the surprises and juxtapositions it throws up, allows me to ease into the weekend. The sequence of "Stereo Music for . . ." songs meant that I spent the early evening desultorily choosing songs for myself.

With Greta, I was in longplay mode, as the variation, excitement, fun and busyness of the day were enough, and I craved some consistency of sound.

Back at work, where my days have a routine, I've shuffled about.

Senin (12 Okt): Fabulous Diamonds, "Track 7"; Ennio Morricone, "Un Uomo Da Rispettare (Titoli)"; Mulia Abdussahab, "Ya Yumma Weya Baba"; Animal Collective, "Daily Routine"; Brian Eno and David Byrne, "Regiment"; Fennesz, "Happy Audio"; Pavement, "Nothing Ever Happens"; Boards of Canada, "Triangles and Rhombuses" (check out BoC, Tallulah. The album title is one of my favourites of all time - Music Has the Right to Children - and so is the cover).

Selasa (13 Okt): Judee Sill, Atlas Sound, Tindersticks, Tibetan Buddhist Rites from the Monasteries of Bhutan, Thahoun Gessesse, Belong, and Tape.

Mail arrives - Senin 12 Okt

2009-10-13T17:59:00.003+10:00

Home from work, an envelope for me on the dining room table. Head upstairs to open it - it's a copy of Signal to Noise, a music magazine I get 4 times a year. What a gift! The Post Office has already had a peak inside. The envelope is re-stapled, a message stamped onto the back, saying that the package was damaged in transit. More likely that it was checked to make sure that (1) Leonie wasn't trying to smuggle money via the mail or (2) that the magazine wasn't pornographic. No, postie, it's just full of articles and reviews of experimental and improvised music. Thankfully the magazine cover is enough to dispel the idea that the magazine houses porn content.

Called Leonie to let her know that it had arrived - great connection. Another package is on its way, sent before the one that arrived today. It's a food package, which may be why it's taking longer. Will try to read the magazine slowly rather than, as I'd do at home, devour its contents in a sitting.

Semarang - Salatiga (Sunday 11 Oct)

2009-10-12T14:11:00.012+10:00

After the hectic pace of yesterday, today was more relaxed. Fantastic night's sleep. Woke refreshed. Listened to James Blackshaw, whose music chimes, peals, and shimmers, giving me a sublime start to the day. For breakfast, traditional Javanese food - rice, fried egg mixed with tofu, vegetables and noodles. Ibu and Pak had to go to an official brunch at Universitas Negeri Semarang, so Greta and I had a chance to catch up and chat. Sat outside for the first part of the morning, then shifted indoors once it became too hot (panas sekali). Watched a little TV and checked the emails - a gigantic one from Tallulah about her Circus Oz experience.

For lunch, Ibu made a tomato sambal which proved very hot! After the savoury food we had a plate of fresh fruit, including a papaya that Ibu knocked from one of the fruit trees in her garden while Greta and I were talking away. We had the fruit with rujak, which is basically sambal with palm sugar. Dipped my papaya into the sauce and wolfed it down; initially sweet, then very hot! On learning this, Ibu came over and added more palm sugar to the mix. Greata, meanwhile, had spooned a lot of the original mix onto a separate plate so she could eat the hot stuff. I had the very sweet with an undertow of heat version.

Lunch over, we got ready to head to Semarang. Stopped at an ATM on the way; once again a millionaire. Bapak drove us through his university campus (UNNES), which has 27,000 students. Peaceful on Sunday. From there, to kota lama (the old city); this phrase is used to refer to the original Dutch buildings. Jakarta also has an area called kota lama. Some of the colonial buildings, dating from 1800, are still in use. The old Dutch post office, for instance, is currently being used by Indonesia Post. Some buildings are derelict and are like squats.

We stopped at Gereja Balenduk, a church still in operation. Next to the church is a small park, where couples go for their pre-wedding photo-shoot. No idea if this is the done thing in Australia, but it is the new trend here. The photos will be used on the wedding invitations. Maybe one day Greta will be doing the pre-wed photo op! Not sure if Neil and Olive have gone through this procedure; they have, though, sent out 800 invitations. Weddings are a serious business in Java. Family is important, but so is the social network.

Then, the moment I'd been waiting for. Two weeks in Indonesia and I hadn't used my Mastercard and I hadn't bought any batik. That was about to change. Dyah, from the front office, recommended two places. First, we headed to Toko Batik Keris, where there was a plethora to choose from, mostly reds, browns, and earthy colours. While there, the phone rang - Tallulah! Connection not that great, but still managed to be updated with the news and goings on. Had to talk loudly, so made myself the centre of attention in the shop. The timing of the call was incredible because I'd just been saying to Greta that I wasn't sure what sizes I should buy for the girls. Maybe I'd be better off getter silver bracelets. The collars on the female shirts were too girly for the girls' taste (not to mention mine). Will wait for Solo. Anyway, finished the call, and returned to the shopping. Used cash (which means I only bought 2). Second, to Batik Danar Hadi, a little more stylish and up market. Immediately I saw some purple batik - filed that away. Looked at handmade silk batik - very expensive. Settled on two that were purple; this colour, according to Greta, is the widow's colour. Finally got to use the plastic!

On the way out of the city centre, Pak decided we should try the local cuisine - tahu kapong. Literally: empty tofu. The tofu is deep-fried and there's not much in the middle. Stopped at one of the oldest restoran (the kitchen at ground level, upstairs four tables) in Semarang.

The food is very plain looking. Usually it is served with shrimp or the meat of your choice. Greta ordered mine. I also had a deep-fried egg. Pickled radish comes with the meal, as does a bowl of soy sauce, to which you can add sambal. I did. Enak sekali! (Really delicious). Wolfed it down.

Delaney, I was drinking iced tea, without sugar, not beer! Sugared tea here is really sweet, and a month before I came to Indonesia I had to have a couple of fillings due to my fondness for long black, one sugar. After the meal, Ibu did a big burp, to which I said, "Anda orang Batak," as the Batak are said to show their appreciation of a good meal by burping at the meal's conclusion. Ibu replied, "Saya sopan" (I'm rude!). Laughter, lots of.

Drove throught the rich part of town - candi baru - which is located in the hills of Semarang. Even though Semarang is on the beach, it floods regularly and the soil is not steady. The rich prefer to have flood-free life, away from the beach, whereas in Australia the rich tend to cling to the coast.

Starting to get dark by the time we were leaving the city for Salatiga. Police were pulling over motorcyclists en masse, checking that their bikes were registered. Traffic very busy into Semarang, a little less busy on the way out. Had to refill, which gave me a chance to see three uniforms, each colour designating a particular role: black (security/guide), green (cleaner), and red (petrol pourer). Indonesia has this thing for uniforms.

While being driven through the dark, passed and surrounded by motorbikes of all types, it occurred to me that travelling by bike is one way that Indonesians can be intimate. Families of four (child at the front, dad controlling the handlebars, child, mother at the rear) and three returning home by motorbike, all squashed up. Couples ride by, some holding onto their partners, others not. Some text, some smoke. But everywhere I look, couples on bikes are touching, making physical contact. Lovely.

Arrived in Salatiga about 7pm. Tired, of course. Had a fantastic two days: thanks Pak, Ibu, Neil, Greta, and Olive. Will be seeing Greta again in Jakarta. She enjoyed showing me around because she got to be a tourist and visit the places of her hometown that she had taken for granted and never visited! Greta, if any of the details in here are wrong or I've spelled something wrong, send me an email.

Salad for my second dinner of the everning, unpack, bed.

Salatiga - Ambawara - Semerang (Saturday 10 Oct)

2009-10-12T11:43:00.006+10:00

An important milestone today! To break up the 8 weeks into a more manageable size, I've got some key dates to look foward to. When I first arrived in Salatiga, I had one milestone locked in: Pak Amrih's visit to UKSW. The next important date was organised: Greta Vidya Paramita and I arranged to meet on 10 Oct and go to Semarang, where I'd stay overnight. Flying into Semarang from Jakarta early that morning, Greta would then, along with her brother Niel/Neil, his fiancee Olive, and her mum Ani, drive to Salatiga and pick me up around 10am. Then I'd be shown the sights.

Neil had studied at UKSW, so was familiar with Salatiga. But the backstreets were proving a problem. A bit of SMSing and a phone call got them here at 10.30am. Great to see Greta again; she was at ANU late 2007 (October-November, I think) and it was a bit surreal to see her in Salatiga. Her dad, Nathan, did his PhD in Perth. For a couple of years Greta and her brothers were immersed in English. Neil is very fluent in English, as is Greta, and he was ready to be the guide. First, though, a short stop at the Salatiga market - Ibu wanted to buy some desserts that were unavailable in Semarang.

Early makan siang was next on the agenda. Neil took us to one of his old haunts, Warung Pecel, a small eating place off one of the backstreets of Salatiga. We ate nasi pecel - rice and vegetables topped with a sauce. Very nice. Food prepared by Mbak Madya.

Sated (kenyang), we hit the road, ostensibly heading for Semarang. When it became apparent that I hadn't visited certain sites around Salatiga, Neil did a u-turn and headed to Rawa Pening, a natural spring/lake located outside of the city. Very hot outside. On the lake we could see dwellings, where fishers lived, growing stock for the market. Weeds that had invaded the lake were being harvested, dried, and used for local handicrafts, like sandals, bags, and other tourist bits and pieces. Fabulous to get such a lovely tour of some of Salatiga's highlights, as my view of the town has been shaped by my journey from Pak Agna's house to UKSW (which involves travelling on the main road), and my brief forays into the centre of the city (and twice when I did this I was in search of neck relief, so in no mood to take in the sights).

Bought some keripik bayam, a deep-fried spinach snack - crunchy as chips!

From there, to the Museum Kerata Api Ambarawa, an old railway station that, judging by the number of bis parawista (tourist buses), is a popular destination. It's a big station and has some good exhibits. Before we looked around, we caught a small train that would take us to Stasiun Toentang, near Salatiga.

Naturally, once we got past the station and the small shanty town that lines the railway, and the washing lines full of the underclasses' clothing, we had beautiful views of rice fields, labour and poverty temporarily out of sight. The green so intense to Canberran eyes, yet also relaxing. Yet labour was never far away. Farmers could be seen in the fields, doing all sorts of tasks associated with the production of rice. Near a lake men were making/harvesting compost - hard, hot and filthy work. No Gang of Four or The Sex Pistols on the iPod, with their songs about holidaying in other people's misery.

When we arrived at Toentang, the exhaust had to be fixed. Walked around the station, which was built in 1823. On the return trip, closed my eyes and let my ears become absorbed in the industrial techno noise made by the train. Brakes scrape, wheels chug, and the cabins lurch, creating a sluggish, basic rhythm that is topped by other acoustic skee. Drunken clatter chug groove propulsion - a bit too dirty for Kraftwerk, but equally danceable. Two children in front of me are asleep. A lovely way to drift, thinking of the possibility of dance.

The Ambarawa Station was built by the Dutch, as is obvious from some of the photos below. Linda, Ruud, and Ingrid, translation please of the display sign below.

From Ambarawa, to Semarang. As usual, the roads were lined with shops of all kinds, making it difficult to see where one city or suburb began and one ended.

First stop, Pagoda Avalokitesvara, a Buddhist temple outside of Semarang. Seven stories og intricate carving. There was a Buddha statue outside, a sign next to saying that it was forbidden to stand next to it and take a photo. Also a sign at the base of the temple advising us to take off our shoes. Fine in theory, but we had to walk up some marble or granite steps, and it was mid-afternoon. Let me say that an egg could have been fried on those steps. We raced up them, avoiding excessive blistering. Beautiful carved doors. Incense. Huge candles. Statues.

The photo of the Buddha should not have been taken! We went inside the temple, took a few shots, and then walked to the entrance to get a group shot. An attendant raced over and said it was not permitted to take a photo. Whoops. Insensitive Aussie tourist at it again! Then we had to brave the steps again. Blazing.

Next up, Sam Pookong Temple. It's a massive complex, a series of three different temples. A gate separates the tourists from those who want to prayer. Candles taller than me were out in front, usually costing tens of millions of rupiah, paid for by the wealthy locals, and they burn for a year.

We tried to enter the temples themselves, but a guard said only people who want to pray can go inside. I obviously didn't look like a practising Buddhist. However, he said, if we were willing to go to the area opposite, get dressed in Buddhist gear, and have our photo taken for 70.000 rupiah, then we would be eligible to enter. When I was in Padang a few years back I did the "get dressed in silk clothes and have your photo taken" thing. Wasn't that desperate to repeat the experience, so we left.

In the heart of Semarang is Lawang Sewu, which translates as the buidling with a 1000 doors. Originally the Dutch main office for the railways, it was taken over by the Japanese and used for other, less benign purposes. After WW2, it has been unused. One of the Suharto family had a plan to renovate the building, turning it into a luxury hotel. Nothing came of that. Since then it's been ageing. Recently, the city has started to renovate the building, recognising its tourist potential. No timeframe for when the renovations are complete.

Paid to get in, had our own guide, and went through a truly majestic building. Incredibly high ceilings. Granite imported from Europe. Most stone fittings imported from the Netherlands. Stained glass windows. Our guide recounted a history of the building, Greta translating for me. Most of the story focused on its history as a gedung hantu, a haunted building. Haunted with the victims of the Japanese. In their fight against the Dutch, the Japanese took over the building and then took to imprisoning and dispatching the prisoners in rather inventive ways. Apparently, people with supernatural powers can see where the murders took place in the top floor, said the guide.

Donning gumboots, we joined another group for the downstairs tour, in the basement. We all carried flashlights. Once down there, we switched them off for optimal darkness. Pitch. Then our new guide began the horror stories. Five prisoners confined to a cell 1 x 1 metre. Prisoners kept in tanks of water, forced to squat, always threatened with drowning. Guillotining. Mass guillotining. Horror tourism.

At the end of the tour, we were shown the one toilet for this facility. Impeccable urinals. Made for Belanda, said Greta.

Near tea time. Neil had done some research and found Ha Ha Vegetarian Resto. They specialised in fake meats. Ordered some sensational curry rice, broccoli, dumplings, and noodles. Still can't believe how much Indonesians order when they eat out! Greta's father, Nathan, arrived, and ate with us. Neil and Olive had other commitments, so Nathan would be taking over as the tour guide. Thanks, Neil, for the great tour of Salatiga and Semarang!

It was market night in Chinatown, so we headed there and walked around. Lots of food places, some markets selling jade and other Chinese bracelets. A karaoke stand. Light rain forced the eateries to move to the margins of the pavement.

Getting tired now. Greta, too, as she'd had to get up at 4am to catch the plane from Jakarta to Semarang. Headed to Greta's parents' home in Ungaran, about 20 minutes out of Semarang. Great to arrive. A really full day, but I was ready for bed.

iPod at night: Koen Holtcamp.

Reflexology - part 2

2009-10-09T18:28:00.003+10:00

The left side of my neck is playing up. Knowing that I'm going to Semarang tomorrow, I thought I'd take some preventative action and have a massage. Prepared for it by practising punggung (back) and leher (neck), so that when I got there I could specify that I only wanted a back/neck massage, not the toes/feet total experience.

Not a problem. Would cost 20.000 rupiah for 30 minutes. When I'm in the cubicle, I'm asked by the bloke: "Anda ingin perempuan?" (Do you want a woman?"). My response: "Tidak peduli, tetapi hanya ingin pijat punggung dan leher" (I don't care, but I only want a neck and back massage). He goes away, then a woman comes in. Luckily, it doesn't get all Larry David! My back and neck were given a good going over. Not sure if it did any good in terms of my health, as my neck is still a bit iffy as I type (and typing only compounds the iffiness), but, as last week's massage reminded me (and that was with a bloke, so please don't get caught up in the heterosexual matrix), but it did me good in terms of being touched. Travelling alone means I can't hug others or be hugged by others. Javanese culture is not a touchy-feely culture in the same sense as our culture in Canberra.

Back home, each day, we hug at home, we hug before school, we hug at Chip Night, we hug while watching the footy, and so on. Every time we Watsonians meet socially, there's a hug involved. Warmth is exchanged. Can't wait to see you all again and have a group hug.

My room

2009-10-09T18:12:00.007+10:00

My room is on the second floor. Like most rooms here, or at least the rooms of those who make a living in the sense that we make a living, the ceiling is very high.

The fan is on the dresser table next to the bed. Tiny, with little power, but it creates an ambient hum that helps filter out other sounds.

After work, I usually lie down and enter my iPod world, particularly if I've been on campus all day. Only on a couple of occasions have I had the energy to read. Earlier this week I bought a copy of the Indonesian version of Rolling Stone, which is completely in bahasa. The major articles are lifted straight from the US/global edition (Wilco, Pink, Ginger Baker - why on earth would Indonesians want to read about Ginger Baker?), but these are complemented by large articles that focus on Indonesian musicians and the music biz here. So I've been tucking into that, keeping up my old habit of reading a music magazine and listing potential purchases!

On one side of the room I've got a TV and a study area. Most nights I use the latter and avoid the former. Indonesia has a very generous ad to content ratio, some sometimes I seem to spend all my time watching skin, teeth, cigarette, hair and chemist commercials. If I somehow avoid the commercials, then I get my fill of Indonesian soap opera or, more likely, some vaudeville type performance. Slapstick is huge here, if going by what's on TV.

My desk is tiny, always cluttered. At night I revise new words that I've learnt, either from conversations earlier in the day or through reading the newspaper (surat kabar).

In the morning, I've got my picture on the wall.

Two weeks in Salatiga

2009-10-09T12:25:00.002+10:00

Friday morning and another milestone reached. Two weeks in Salatiga, which means I'm a third of my way through my stay here, and nearly a quarter of the way through my time in Indonesia. Time's flying! Keep those emails coming, though, as the past two days have been a drought!

Tomorrow, Greta, who once interned at ANU, and her father and brother will pick me up and take me to their hometown Semarang, 50 kms north of Salatiga.

iPod Rabu (7/10/09)

2009-10-08T19:38:00.002+10:00

Got home, locked out. Thankfully Aaron turned up. Then it rained. Felt reasonably fresh, so indulged in some Freud - dreams, distortions, disguises.

Then relaxed some more with the trusty iPod, a song each from:

Steve Reich, Music for 18 Musicians
The Heavy Blinkers, The Night and I Are Still So Young
Menelik Wesnatchew, The Very Best of Ethiopiques
The Reels, Reel to Reel 1978-1992
Adrian Klumpes, Be Still
Arthur Russell, Love is Overtaking Me
The Reels (again?! - what's happening to the shuffle mechanism?)
Nico, The Frozen Borderline 1968-1970
Judee Sill, Heart Food

Kamis @ UKSW 8 Okt - angkota update & new brolly

2009-10-08T19:17:00.002+10:00

Dallied this morning, trying to get my work diary up-to-date. Part of the assessment regime.

Love catching the angkota to work. Great way to travel, as it involves no waiting, either where I catch it at the end of the lane or, at the end of the day, in front of UKSW. As I walk down the lane to the sign Gang Enam (lane 6), one invariably passes. Even if I'm 50 metres away, they'll slow down or, if they've gone past, reverse back. If only Canberra buses were so accommodating. Today, I was basically the only passenger. Luxury. Got to stretch out. Usually 7-9 people can cram in the back, with 1 next to the driver. Most days the driver is alone; on occasion they can have a helper, much like a tram conductor (which seems excessive, given the number of passengers), whose job is to collect the money. A couple of times, when I've thanks them in English, they ask: "Orang Australia?" (AUS-tra-lee). "Ya, betul," I reply.

Today, because the driver was short of passengers, it took longer than usual to arrive at UKSW. On constant look-out for passengers, the driver kept backing up, pausing, beckoning likely customers. Standing still on the sidewalk? Expect to be approached by a driver or at least beeped and tootled at in the friendliest way possible. A short wave of the hand is signal enough for them to realise that you're not interested; this morning, quite a few pedestrians simply ignored the driver's queries. So it was a stop-start-backwards journey. At one stage he reversed 40 metres and then continued to reverse into a lane on the off chance of seeing whether some people he'd seen walking would prefer to ride with him. Eventualyl he stopped at spot on the main road, waiting for a larger bus to arrive so he pick up some extras. Two more got in. Off then to UKSW.

At the kantor FBS I was given an umbrella (payung), which was a timely gift because we're heading into rainy season. Rained yesterday arvo, really heavy, the type of rain that Canberrans would dream of.

Work: two classes - "Interpersonal Speaking" and "Critical Pedagogies and Literacy."

Situated on the top floor, so can really experience the percussive thrum of the rain as it torrents. Not overcast, yet the tattoo continues, drowning out the students in the hall. Bucketing, pummeling. Great weather to wear the Docs.

Sambal - Wednesday night

2009-10-08T13:16:00.005+10:00

At last, the cooking demonstration. It didn't happen in the kitchen, but at the dinner table. I'd love to get one of the locally made mortar and pestles as they have so much character, but they weigh a ton and I'm already at my baggage limit. Will see if it's possible to ditch stuff or send it home, as this would be a great addition to the kitchen. What do you think, Leonie?

Ibu's recipe:

tomato (1)
chili (8)
onion (small amount)
salt (a little)
palm sugar (2 ts)

The first 4 ingredients are pulped a bit, and then the palm sugar is added. Sambal is pretty easy to make and it tastes better than the stuff we buy at home. Still tastes hot, but the palm sugar gives it a gloss of sweetness.

For dinner tonight we had omlet telur, capcay kuah (like stir-fried vegies), bakwan jagung (corn fritters - enak sekali - delicious), tempe Mendoan, and sambal tomat. Another magnificent feast.

While eating fruit, Aaron and Priscilla taught me some Javanese words: emoh (no), hooh (yes), and apik (OK).

Makan malam - Dinner on Tuesday

2009-10-08T13:06:00.004+10:00

Dinner, Javanese style. Lots of plates. Lots of rice. Fresh fruit. Each night at least 3 dishes are served up with the rice. For dessert, fresh fruit. The dish next to the rice is sayur lodeh, a Javanese specialty according to Pak Agna. On the left, rice noodles (mie). That's my seat lowerleft foreground, with Pak opposite.

The full spread. Each night I get to say kenyang - full. Ibu is a great cook and is doing everything possible to ensure that, other than rice, I eat something different each day. Dinner is served around 7pm. What the chatting, we usually finish around 8.30-9pm.

Rabu @ UKSW 7 Okt - Judicium

2009-10-08T12:55:00.002+10:00

Headed to the admin office to find out if there was a staff meeting today, as last week one was held at 11am on Wednesday. No, there wasn't, Tri replied, as she was stripping roses of their leaves, because today would be a special ceremony - the Judicium, which is FBS's special farewell to the students who will be graduating formally next month. And I was invited to attend.

Voice ED, the FBS student choir, was there, the same one as at the Kebaktian Senin. They could be heard practising. Food was being delivered in the hallway, and students milled around. Everyone was rushing around in a state of excitement. Representatives from three private schools were in attendance also; later in the afternoon they would interview students for jobs in Jakarta, Semarang, and Sumatra.

Proceedings began with the UKSW song (does ANU have its own song?), followed by speeches from student representatives and faculty members. Then the students thanked the lecturers, and they in turn presented roses to the students (I was roped into this). Then a prayer, and the final song. As previously, the choir did a song that was sunshine pop sadness and gladness. A really special event.

Selasa @ UKSW 6 Okt

2009-10-08T12:24:00.005+10:00

Taught "Prose" today, in Building A, the oldest building on campus according to Ina, who teaches the class. Class text: a fragment from a novel about education in India. After a 5-10 minute comprehension test, done to ensure that the students had read the text, Ina handed over to me. All lessons are in English, but I can get away with sedikit bahasa (a little Indonesian). Although the course is focusing on literature, its main purpose is to train students how to teach literature. UKSW is a university in the sense that, post-Dawkins, all higher teaching institutions in Australia are now universities rather than, say, teaching colleges.

Got the class to examine character formation, the main themes, and how language is used to represent India's transition to modernity and the role played by education in that transition and the role played by culture in obstructing that transition. While teaching, Ina filmed me, as ANU wants to have some video footage of its students in Salatiga. I joked to Ina, if I'd known about the filming, I would have combed my hair (the humidity makes it pretty much uncontrollable). She replied, "I will be filming you next week, so no matter." Near the end of the lesson I asked the students to reflect on why they were forced to read the text or, to put it politely, why the text was chosen for them to read. What lessons were they to take away from the text? What relevance did it have to life in Indonesia? Good discussion ensued.

Lunched with Duncan, who took me to another cafe on campus. For the first time since I've been here, I had rice for lunch because there was chili eggplant on the menu. Hot and delicious. Also got some fruit cut up. Plus Pepsi, following Duncan's lead.

After work, headed to pusat (town centre), in search of index cards. Couldn't find them, so walked back to campus. Saw a great mural, which is where I took these snaps.

Senin @ UKSW - Teaching 5 Okt

2009-10-07T13:07:00.002+10:00

After the Kebaktian Senin, I met with Pur, whose 2 classes I was going to be taking. However, due to other commitments, she was going to cancel Literary Appreciation and Women and Literature, rescheduling for next week. If a class is cancelled, it must be held at another time, even on a Saturday if need be.

In the afternoon, I was involved in Petru's Cross-Cultural Understanding class. We discussed issues related to cultural differences and values. Four students did a presentation, highlighting differences between orang Batak (Batakese) and orang Jawa (Javanese). Then Petrus went through some slides that focused on individualism and collectivism. I was called on to discuss where Australia fitted; I suggested that while we are in individualistic culture, we're nothing like the US or UK and that collectivism, particularly unionism, has played a strong part in our history and in the development of our community values.

Then we read a short article on how the Japanese view garbage and recycling, which lead into a discussion as to how Indonesia, Japan and Australia deal with garbage. This discussion solved a mystery for me. Each afternoon, as I've headed home around 4-5pm, I've smelt smoke everywhere. I had no idea where it was coming from. That is the time, I was informed by the class, that Indonesians burn all the rubbish that has accumulated during the day. In Australia, we sort the rubbish into two groups: waste and recyclables. In Jepang, they have a two-page handout for foreigners that explains the intricacies of recycling and waste disposal. In Indonesia, waste is burnt. No sorting, no recycling. Though on the streets there are bins that are for different types of waste. Whether they are used, I don't know.

iPod world - Senin dan Selasa (5-6 Oct)

2009-10-07T12:44:00.004+10:00

Senin: after work, the iPod retrieved Khonnor, Nico, Greg Haines, Gudrun Gut, snd, This Heat, Heavy Blinkers, and James Blackshaw. I was so tired from the afternoon's teaching, that I felt the need to listen to an album, so chose Jeremy Jay who, though too young to really have lived through the '80s, has learnt its lessons well. As the cover suggests, the complete pop package. People nowadays haven't the style or self-assurance to carry their thumbs as he does. Look at the fringe! The belt! Coolness personified. Only a few CD covers have forced me to grab them and not let them go. When I saw this at Landspeed, I could not help myself. As for the music, he's obviously heard The Modern Lovers, lots of '80s synth and inorganic Casio sounds, and the funk of ESG, which he, naturally, does in a desiccated way. When he stops singing (about horses, ice-creams, dancing, winter), he starts to croon, situating himself in a long tradition of vocalists whose moans, sighs, groans, exhalations, and inarticulate regressions have more significance than the content. Think Elvis, Mozzabell, even the Brothers Gibb (though JJ is much more restrained, less lush).

Selasa: this afternoon, the iPod seemed to be fixated on Canada: The Sundays (UK), Gang Gang Dance (US), Destroyer (Vancouver), The Go-Betweens (interestingly, on random, the iPod has only thrown up songs by Robert, one day to be Sir Robert - "The House that Jack Kerouac Built"; maybe tomorrow will bring something from Grant), Lau Nay (Finland), Junior Boys (Toronto), David Byrne and Brian Eno (US, UK), and Glissandro 70 (Montreal, I think).

Student life

2009-10-06T12:55:00.005+10:00

Protest signs outside the student centre. Protesting against corruption. Had a chat at lunchtime with one of the student representatives, who explained that the public are angry and want corruption to be dealt with.

Graffiti on a wooden chair. Taken while in Petrus' class on Cross-Cultural Understanding. 30 or more students in a small room, no fans, and three hours of class to get through. Watched a student presentation and participated in discussions on differences between cultures, often being called on to give the Australian perspective. We are, it seems, a low context culture (direct, to the point, explicit), whereas Javanese are a high context culture (indirect, circular, difficult to read). I learnt as much as the students!

Cooking

2009-10-06T12:43:00.002+10:00

I haven't cooked anything since I left home! Usually, on the weekend, I cook. On Saturday morning Leonie and I go through the cookbooks and choose a week's worth of meals. Then off to the Famer's Market to source ingredients. Home for coffee, cook/prepare lunch, and then later in the afternoon get a salad happening. Here, there hasn't been an opportunity. At Dianita and Arief's, there's a cook onsite. One thing Dianita didn't enjoy about being in Australia was she had to cook and she is, she says, a bad cook! At Pak Agna's place, Ibu does all the cooking, with Priscilla helping out. Pak cannot cook.

Ibu's kitchen (dapur) is located away from the main dining area, spatially separated from communal areas, sort of behind the garage area in an annexe area. Only she and Priscilla use it. I've asked if I can watch Ibu prepare sambal; yet to happen, but I'm hopeful. Ibu's a great cook. Ibu shops locally for fresh tempe, which is wrapped in banana leaves, and tofu. Fruit, too, is sourced from local sellers. Had a Javanese green apple - its flesh white, softer than a mango, and sweeter. Delicious - enak sekali. Last night she prepared gado-gado - my plate was piled high, but I got through it all - sensational.

Senin @ UKSW - Kebaktian Senin 5 Okt

2009-10-06T12:19:00.004+10:00

On the duty statement for all academic staff is a requirement that you attend Monday Service (Kebaktian Senin) at 9am each Monday, the same day that staff are required to wear their UKSW shirt - imagine what Qantas stewards wear, but groovier and batik-like. The service is held in a new auditorium, funded by Americans, I think. This week's service, as it happens, was hosted by Faculty of Language and Literature. Staff read the prayers, students sang in the choir, performed a drama about idolatorous leaders, and there was small game, where we got in groups and cooperated on an actvity. A collection was taken - that's 20.000 rupiah I won't see again.

I've learnt lots of Indonesian words over the past few years, but not many words that are associated with a religious service. During the service I scribbled down as many words as I could: firman (word of God, sermon), doa pembukaan (opening prayer), pengakuan doa (confession), and so on.
The student choir, content aside, were amazing. They did the traditional evangelical stuff - Morning has broken - but then took centre stage and performed a song with intricate, soaring harmonies that reminded me of the gorgeous stuff produced by The Free Design in the late 1960s. Groovy as. Following that there were more traditional hymns, the student play, a reading, and more songs (with Frances, in a duet, doing some great vocal work). Then group prayer. At the end, the student choir, unknowingly influenced by The Beach Boys, Sagitarrius, The Free Design, Association, and other groups of that ilk, practitioners of that genre known as sunshine pop, soared again.

For someone from a Catholic background, it was quite an exuberant, evangelical entertainmant. Next week's service is being hosted by the Faculty of Engineering or Computer Science. Should be as interesting as this week's service, I hope.

Komputer Duncan

2009-10-05T14:09:00.001+10:00

Last Friday, my computer was working, this Monday morning it is not - rusak. So, once again, I'm in Duncan's office, next door to mine, using the computer shared by four staff. Beneath a plate of coffeetable smoked glass, the screen is positioned at an angle that has undoubtedly contributed to my neck problems. Each time I blog, I do damage! So be grateful out there! The mouse cannot be shifted to the lefthand side, which means I am condemned to overusing my righthand side. I wonder what ANU's Division of Information would make of this?

Bathing - Mandi

2009-10-05T13:51:00.005+10:00

Each morning I bathe Javanese style, which means pouring cold water over myself. After a week of doing it, having a bath is still a confronting part of the day! Soap myself up and then begin the manic pouring, usually 6 or more ladles of the small scoop (gayung). The first ladle is the worst. Plunge my head into the tub - that gets the circulation going.

A makeshift gas heater shower is set up in this room, but its temperature is either cold or boiling, with nothing inbetween. Also, as water pressure is very "iffy," the system rarely works. Water trickles out. If I want a shower, I may have to go to the local Western-style hotel, use their pool, and then shower after.

By the way, you stand next to the tub, not sit in it!

SABTU/MINGGU 3-4 Oktober

2009-10-04T21:13:00.003+10:00

Slept in, awake at 8am. A bit tender around the neck - not a good sign. Two hours reading Freud didn't resolve the problem. Jagging pain in my neck and right shoulder. Difficult to move. Doubled-over if I made the wrong step. Pak gave me directions to the massage therapist he uses. Difficult to talk and think in bahasa. Caught angkota to city centre, then a becak (tricycle) to the Reflexicology place, not before much discussion in the city about how to get there. At one stage 5 blokes were surrounding my becak, trying to figure out the map drawn by Pak Agna. Directions looked simple to me.

My driver was very old, spoke more Javanese than bahasa, but was keen to take me. We had to go up a slight incline, giving me a bit of colonial feeling, the bule being driven by an someone poised to take their pension, but I was in too much pain to care and the potholes reminded me that my situation was dire. Took in some of the street views.

Arrived, arranged for the driver to return in one hour. Explained my condition to the reflexologist, who nodded, and then took me inside. Despite me saying "Leher saya sakit sekali," the first phase of the massage concentrated on my feet, legs, and arms. After that, he got down to my neck and back. Pain eased a little. Said I would return. Driver outside. Of course, getting into the becak not easy because they are not made for tall bule. In fact, that's been the problem all week: in the angkota I have to crouch down, in my office I sit at a table and chair fine for Indonesians, not so fine for me.

Sunday I spent sitting, laying, reading, watching television. On repeat mode. Minimising movement. Applying deep heat.

JUMAT @ UKSW 2 Oktober

2009-10-04T20:50:00.006+10:00

Various odd jobs, administrative matters to deal with, lessons to observe, next week's schedule to arrange, and so in.

Computer in my office finally fixed, hence the frenzy of entries on Friday afternoon.

Home by 5.15pm. Knackered. Upstairs to enter my iPod world, which consisted of songs by Orange Juice, Sun Kil Moon, Luomo, XTC, Nico, Nico Muhly (what are the chances of two artists named Nico being sequenced together?), Fabulous Diamonds (sleeve below - avert your eyes), and The Go-Betweens (Robert doing "Twin Layers of Lightning"). Dozed and drifted. Looked at the clock: 7.45pm! Raced downstairs. Food on the table, but no-one around. "Maaf, saya tidur" I apologised. They'd come up 3 times to get me, but I was asleep. Eventually, they ate without me. I ate, then, exhausted, went back to my room.

The state of exhaustion was due to the struggle of keeping on top of bahasa day in, day out. It's an enriching experience, this exhaustion, because I think it will increase the empathy I feel for international NESB students studying at ANU. At the end of the day, those students can't simply do as I did: drop down exhausted. They've got reading to do or part-time jobs to get to.

Jumat (Fri) SMS from Nova: translation exercise

2009-10-04T20:44:00.002+10:00

On the mobile this morning (Fri), this message from Nova:

"Selamat pagi. Please mampir ke kantor saya untuk tanda tangan (sign) formulir (form) malapor kepolisian. Terimakasih."

A packet of smarties for the best translation!

More iPod, relaxing after work Kamis

2009-10-02T19:42:00.003+10:00

The mesjid has started up, so I'm heading into my world of sound.

Bonnie "Prince" Billy - "Strange form of life", with its opening line "A strange form of life kicking through windows"

Ellen Allien - "Wish"

Heavy Blinkers - "Say there Honey" (42 seconds! We need more 42 second pop songs)

Sim Sisamouth - "Don't my girlfriend tickle me"

Judee Sill - "Down where the valleys are low"

Badria Anwar - "Ahis ras eddelil" - timely, as this is in Arabic, a beautiful song from a wonderful compilation of songs from Baghdad in the late 1920s.

Later that night, I listened to all of the Heavy Blinkers. Leonie, get it out of the cabinet and fall around to its glee-club giddiness! Impossible to resist an album whose final song, a homage to the Beach Boys and their wonderful singalong around the campfire artful studio "live" constructions, has the immortal lines: "I wanna hula hula hula hula with you, pretty darling . . ."

Phew, I wanna . . . but will have to wait until late November!

KAMIS (Thursday) 1 Oct

2009-10-02T19:12:00.013+10:00

Pharmaceutical option resulted in a good night's sleep. Didn't hear the mesjid.

Fixed a hole in my pants, much to Ibu's amusement.

Today's jobs:

meet Nova and give her a copy of the passport so it can be passed onto the police.
observe some lessons.
meet Pak Amrih, ANU coordinator of the program I'm doing.
catch up on blogging.

Duncan was fine with me observing his interpersonal speaking class, which today was going to focus on how to pronounce vowels (Canada, Oklahoma, economy, etc.). Classroom is the size of Tallulah's bedroom, with 22 chairs in 2 rows, with space for the teacher to move a metre or so backwards. Today's class had 16 students. Introduced to class. Then did a bit of teaching, not much, because my Adelaide accent contradicted the principles of pronunciation being taught!

After the teaching, back to my office to get my daily journal uptodate. Today, Pak Amrih Widodo, who taught me in INDN 3A at ANU, was dropping by and we were going to have lunch, together with Frances Sinanu, who teaches at the UKSW Language Teaching Centre and also coordinates the Practical Assignment course I'm doing. At 2pm we headed off campus to a restoran recommended by France - a traditional Javanese place called Joblo Bu Rini. Once I'd explained that I was vegetarian, Amrih went through the menu and identified the best dishes. Food was sensational, the view stunningly lush and green, and the conversation switched between bahasa and English. Caught up on some ANU gossip, heard a bit about Amrih's education at the hands of the Jesuits, and talked briefly about the essay I've got to write. Fanastic to unwind here. Amrih was only here for a day, as he's conducting research into Indonoesian appropriations of hiphop music.

After lunch, office time and blogged myself senseless (as I'm doing now! Falling behind is a terrible thing). Outside the office, students are dancing hiphop style. Good thing I'm not working!

Post-work iPod serendipity

2009-10-02T18:58:00.002+10:00

Haba Haba Group - Kijon Kijon

Sun Ra - UFO

Tindersticks - Don't ever get tired

To Rococco Rot - Greenwich

Anon - Unknown (instrumental) - From Cambodian Cassette Archives, one of my favourite CDs, certainly in my top 10 of the noughties if I was ever to construct such a list

White Shoes and the Couples Company - Subda Alan

What a selection! Random? I don't think so. The first track is Indonesian, from a compilation of Sumatran music, the last track an Indonesian indie-retro pop band from Jakarta, nice'n'breezy.

RABU (Wednesday) 30 Sept

2009-10-02T18:48:00.002+10:00

Staff meetings the world over are essentially the same. This one went for 2 hours. I was introduced, then I spoke about myself. During the meeting I was asked for my opinion on various issues: should the faculty have an Open Day? Well, ANU has one blah blah blah. Should the faculty have a pre-test for language studenets. Well, at ANU, placement tests are pretty standard blah blah blah. More pressing issues were canvassed. UKSW is seeking reaccreditation and is therefore under pressure to make sure it meets the national quality assurance standards. Lots of discussion about the issues (student retention, academic staff qualifications, administrative staff qualifications, student grades, etc), but not much in terms of a concrete plan for how to deal with the problem areas identified in the 55 page report (all in bahasa).

Lunch: for lunch, my one sentence is: "Buah-buahan saja dan air dingin, terimakasih." Which translates as "Just fruit and cold water, thanks." Cost: 11,000 rupiah.

Invited to observe a drama class. Very entertaining, as the students had to do a mime and the audience had to critique the performance. Roped in to comment, which was fun. FBS is actually a teacher's college, that is preparing the new generation of English language teachers in Indonesia. So the students, all of whom are 19-21 years young (no such thing as a mature-age student here), learn drama, poetry, literature, grammar, speaking, listening, etc.

Wednesday morning, 4.30-6.30am

2009-10-02T18:20:00.003+10:00

Mesjid's soundsystem penetrates the house, the call to prayer public, communal, and, where I live, loud. To Western ears, possibly intrusive. After being awakened by our neighbuorly soundsystem, I thought I'd soak it in, listening to a wave of religious sound, a quadraphonic mash-up. There are numerous mesjids in Salatiga, each with their own stereo. The one in the centre of town, I assume, starts things off, and then other mesjids join in. Nearby, the sound is invasive; if it happened in Watson at that hour, police would be called! Once that sound finishes, its message of "God is Great" fading, I can hear the same message, but from soundsystems located elsewhere, further away, and on all sides.

Call to prayer over, over sounds seep in: roosters, the fart'n'blart of motorbikes, and, coming from the main road, the churn of traffic, much like the muffled din we in Watson experience during Summernats. By 6am, the house is up and about - Aaron starts school at 7am. Traffic has intensified.

At this point, an hour before I usually get up, I need a rest from the sounds. Fumbling for the iPod, I select something lo-fi, introverted, quiet, something lovely and spare, where I can hear the hiss of tape, the intake of breath, the squeak of a chair, the grain in the voice: Lost Wisdom by Mount Eerie with Julie Doiron and Fred Squire.

"You Swan, Go On" - transcribed

as good as I could possibly imagine my life getting
it did, after I met you.
the way you reached inside my chest & pulled out things
& sent them on in breath's blue.
as good as it goes with the layers peeling off
& though I writhed, it did not upset you
with your hand down my throat
you held onto my heart & pumped the blood through.
& then it's time to go, you said
it's time to go out, you little grey goose
get out from under my wings, you said
go you swan out & go you're turned loose.
oh, so it's over, oh, so we die
oh, so your hand on my heart pumping blood went limp
& oh, i fly, oh swan inside.

Now my day can begin.

Bule, bulek, bulai

2009-10-02T18:15:00.002+10:00

bulai 1 albino. 2 (Derog.) white person, Caucasian.

Source: John M. Echols and Hassan Shadily, Kamus Indonesia Inggris: An Indonesian-English Dictionary

Get used to it, white boy! Often heard when I'm walking home, not so much on campus. All part of the local, how shall I put it, colour.

International Batik Day - Hari Batik Internasional

2009-10-02T18:12:00.001+10:00

Dropped in to see Petrus, a colleague, to see whether I could observe his class on Cross-Cultural Understanding. Once we'd arranged a time, I complimented him on his amazing shirt. He replied that today was Hari Batik Internasional, which was why he and other staff members were wearing batik. Fantastic that my first week in Indonesia coincides with such a groovy day. And what was I wearing? A white shirt. On this of all days, a white shirt. Perhaps to emphasise my bule status! Not all staff were wearing batik - Christian Rudi, whose lesson I observed later that day, lupa (forgot). 4 of 37 students in his class marked the day. Otherwise, one would have thought it was International T-Shirt Day.