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.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Surat datang! Mail arrives!
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.
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
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.
Friday, October 30, 2009
To make an adjective into a noun - pasif
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.
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.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Stephen's blogging station @ UKSW
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Makan siang - restoran lokal
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Kantor pos
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.
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.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Yogyakarta ke UKSW - Senin 26 Okt
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.
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.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Yogyakarta - Sunday
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.
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.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Drenched at Candi Prambanan
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.
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
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.
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.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Shuffle update Selasa/Rabu/Kamis
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.
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
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.
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
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.
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
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
