America is really weird, and that's not just because the sun is lower and colder in the sky right now. I've been home for about 48 hours now, and culture shock is getting a bit more melancholy. It started out as a really subtle thing, surprising after the repeated slaps to the face that I was receiving last September in Bali. But home will always be home, even if you've been chilling in Indonesia for almost four months, and that was the scary part: how easy it was to come home. Parents smiling at the airport, familiar banter on the ride home, same old house smell, same dogs, same food, same room, same bed. Apart from odd jolts (like first thing the next morning, waking up to a new room), it was almost like Bali was just a dream. The next day proceeded in a similar vein, just kind of letting my day wander me around town, sort of confused and sort of mistrustful, all the while occasionally stopping to remember the Bali analogue of this or that. It was just so weird because this was the promised moment, the end result of all the daydreams and fantasies that kept me afloat during the dark times. Now... I don't even know. It's not like I'm sobbing in a corner every five minutes wishing to go back, but I'm definitely remorseful.
What it is, I'm guessing, is the challenge of moving on. I've unpacked all my stuff and am trying to assemble the Bali things in my room. I no longer immediately reach for my Bahasa when I meet a stranger. It just seems so final, and I don't really want to move on and become an American yet. The people on the street won't say hi to me when I smile (let alone the fact that my hair is long and my beard scruffy), fine. I actually almost don't want to say hi to them either, because they seem so conceited and self-absorbed. Who cares what you're doing? Is it really more important that the communal act of living? Where are the people for me to sit and talk to? Why must we all be busy all the time? Thus the reverse culture shock (probably with a hint of jetlag) takes a turn for the nasty today.
But I can't spend the rest of my days grumbling and castigating my fellow men, just because they don't conform to my Bali values. There were plenty of things that I was happy to get away from in Bali- leering young men and their catcalls, burning trash, casual violence, all those ills and evils. I've just got to find a way to take my Bali learnin' and somehow turn it into a new brand of Americanism. Because I was pumped to be an American at points on the trip- reading The Oxford Book of American Short Stories, Cold Mountain, even old New Yorker articles really jazzed me up. I was living the dream all those expat writers and artists discovered way back when, that when you leave home you get a totally new perspective. From the porch in Bedulu, America seemed kind of flawed, but oh so exciting and interesting. The people! The possibilities! Our own national heritage! I was so proud to be a part of it, it made me kind of feel like sharing with my host family: "We can be pretty great too! It's not all chickenhawks and overconsumption out our way!" And then I came home.
I suppose it's just a matter of time. But this seems like kind of a downer final final post for such a rollicking good adventure. I think, and probably can predict with some accuracy, that in time I will come to ignore the various minor cultural evils of my country. I will stop thinking that everyone is putting on a show of stupidity to be cool, and I will be re-enamored by the wonders of American camaraderie. I should hope, though, to continue to rail against vast societal evils, too many to name here, and to do so with Balinese practicality. But above all, I hope to retain one of the things that I learned in Bali that touched the deepest, namely the basic principals of human decency. I jokingly mentioned to my friends there that I had realized that "girls are people too" (ha, because I had to spend the entire trip with them! Oh the wit), but it's true. Girls are people, as are boys and morons and launchpieces and all the other detestable elements of this world. So it's important to recognize their humanity, and maybe smile a bit, but most importantly to, for lack of a better phrase, be real. Bali was a real place- people spoke their minds when upset, but without offending others. They lived for the sake of living, took breaks, solved problems in a no-nonsense manner. And that's admirable, in any culture. It's time to start living life with a bit more reality, and maybe (by the next time I post some more post-Bali thoughts) that'll lead to a less crotchety and happier me. We'll see.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Hampir Habis
Which is Bahasa for almost finished. And it's true-- this little adventure has just about come to an end. I wrote the big paper, we presented and had a little oral exam, then spent a few days relaxing at a beach in East Bali (possibly my favorite geographic region of this island, a perfect combination of lush and arid, with huge mountain views and black- to gray-sand volcanic beaches, all drenched in golden sunlight and with a vibe of pre-modern times). Continuing with my digression, beach is a bit generous. Locals destroyed the reef dynamite fishing in the past, so now there are big breakwaters set up to capture some sand. But it's all good, as the breakwater was great to walk along and there were lots of crabs, not to mention great for stargazing.
But enough about my time unwinding in the east. It's time to reflect a bit, about lessons learned and expectations reversed. Basically, I knew that all my trepidation and unease in the beginning was just a symptom of anticipation; I knew that I was about to be thrown so far out of my comfort zone and routine that those very words would soon become meaningless. But I also knew that I'd end up having a good time in the end, like finishing a trying backpacking trip. What I wasn't prepared for were the friends I'd make, the epiphanies I'd have, and general awareness of how the rest of the world lives. It's going to be exceedingly difficult, coming back home, to try and explain everything I've seen and done here, the fact that I've sort of lived and began to understand how a completely different culture lives, new values and new approaches to everything, while still integrating to western life.
See, it's already impossible for me to explain myself coherently. I think what I'm saying is that I'll miss Bali. I'll miss the sounds, the smells, the heat. I'll miss all the delicious foods, martabak and nasi goreng, rambutan and manggis. I'll miss living life this way, where you spend your free time with family and friends, just sitting and living. I'll even miss the aspects that were kind of shocking in the beginning, the bemos and the bucket baths. Most of all though, I'll miss the people. I'll miss it when little kids run up to you and say hi, I'll miss how everyone smiles, I'll miss having strangers ask me if I've showered or eaten, and I'll miss the friends and family I've made here. Living in Bali was the cliched study abroad experience. I came because I have this nutty adventure complex, I grew and made some realizations about life and humanity, I developed a supreme hatred for tourists and expats (like the woman next to me yelling at the staff here because her internet is slow), and I think that I've grown up a bit. Just a little though, as my continual fascination with the geckos and crabs proves to me. We'll see how I manage to channel all of these overstimulating experiences when I get back home, and we'll see if I can manage to use them for some good. But what I do know is that it's been a grand old time, and that I'm already making plans to head back some day.
So here's to you, Bali, in all your splendor and squalor. I'll miss it all, the good and the bad, as it's all just a part of living life with joy, something that you manage quite well. Untuk semua, terima kasih banyak (dan suksemoa), sampai jumpa. Here's till next time.
But enough about my time unwinding in the east. It's time to reflect a bit, about lessons learned and expectations reversed. Basically, I knew that all my trepidation and unease in the beginning was just a symptom of anticipation; I knew that I was about to be thrown so far out of my comfort zone and routine that those very words would soon become meaningless. But I also knew that I'd end up having a good time in the end, like finishing a trying backpacking trip. What I wasn't prepared for were the friends I'd make, the epiphanies I'd have, and general awareness of how the rest of the world lives. It's going to be exceedingly difficult, coming back home, to try and explain everything I've seen and done here, the fact that I've sort of lived and began to understand how a completely different culture lives, new values and new approaches to everything, while still integrating to western life.
See, it's already impossible for me to explain myself coherently. I think what I'm saying is that I'll miss Bali. I'll miss the sounds, the smells, the heat. I'll miss all the delicious foods, martabak and nasi goreng, rambutan and manggis. I'll miss living life this way, where you spend your free time with family and friends, just sitting and living. I'll even miss the aspects that were kind of shocking in the beginning, the bemos and the bucket baths. Most of all though, I'll miss the people. I'll miss it when little kids run up to you and say hi, I'll miss how everyone smiles, I'll miss having strangers ask me if I've showered or eaten, and I'll miss the friends and family I've made here. Living in Bali was the cliched study abroad experience. I came because I have this nutty adventure complex, I grew and made some realizations about life and humanity, I developed a supreme hatred for tourists and expats (like the woman next to me yelling at the staff here because her internet is slow), and I think that I've grown up a bit. Just a little though, as my continual fascination with the geckos and crabs proves to me. We'll see how I manage to channel all of these overstimulating experiences when I get back home, and we'll see if I can manage to use them for some good. But what I do know is that it's been a grand old time, and that I'm already making plans to head back some day.
So here's to you, Bali, in all your splendor and squalor. I'll miss it all, the good and the bad, as it's all just a part of living life with joy, something that you manage quite well. Untuk semua, terima kasih banyak (dan suksemoa), sampai jumpa. Here's till next time.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
A Not-So-Strange Episode. Or Two.
Sometimes this little Bali jaunt really does feel like an episode straight from Fear and Loathing. Like when we have to flee Nusa Lembongan after a nasty altercation with the ferry tickets guy. Or when my teacher and I screech off as an old woman demands money from us. Or when, thwarted by bus schedules, I have to abandon a morning trip to Sanur and slink through the blissfully cool and empty streets of morning Ubud to regroup and lick my figurative wounds at Bali Buddha. But then again, it really isn't like anything the good doctor did in the American Southwest, and that's not just because I'm in the Indonesian Southeast.
Actually, I just did a little something I like to call "withholding information for dramatic effect," which is another way of taking my low-key adventures and making them sound vastly more exciting for you guys when in fact they were simply fun. From the top: Nusa Lembongan is a little island, still part of Bali, off the Southeast coast. Some of us went out on the oh-so-fun ferry (kind of rickety, but also great, especially when you ride on the roof)to relax on pristine beaches for a couple of days. Catch was, most of the people we met were in the tourism industry and therefore jaded towards all Westerners, even if we're nice students with a grasp of Bahasa trying to understand the culture. So they weren't so friendly, especially not this ferry tickets dude. The morning we were trying to head out, there was an exact change issue between us (plus a couple of Canadian friends we made- it's nice to meet pleasant travelers), and Marissa ended up being shorted 40,000 rupiah. It's four bucks American, but still not okay, so she asked for her change and the guy looked confused and gave her his money to count- exactly the amount he should have had. But it didn't make sense, so she persisted and he eventually gave in, but made us all feel bad. But why would he give in if he was really right? And what happened to the four 10,000 rupiah bills that we had paid him, not present in his wad of cash? And why didn't he show us what was in his pockets, nasty Bagginses? Victorious but rattled, we fled the island feeling righteous. First story down.
The second relates to work, but work is boring, but this is relevant: remember Nongan, the village that extracted blood tribute when I last visited? I returned on Thanksgiving to finish what I had started, namely interviewing people about active worship of Pan Balang Tamak, the trickster. I was driving with my teacher, Pak Yudi, and we had to turn around in the narrow country road. So he was backing into a driveway, but one of our wheels ended up in the little ditch by the side of the road. We hopped out, and a woman (whose driveway is was) came up and smiled and started saying no worries, we'll help. Then her grandson and husband came and pushed with me and the car popped right out. It was so easy I probably could have done it myself. But then the woman came up to me, no longer smiling, and started saying speaking in Balinese. I also heard "uang," which means money in Bahasa Indonesia, so I feigned ignorance and told her to talk with Pak Yudi. I hopped in and she came to the window and started in again, so Pak Yudi just waved and sped off into Nongan, laughing. I asked what was up, and he said that she was trying to ask for money (probably because I was a whitey), which was absurd. His rationale was that she shouldn't get used to being paid just to help a stranger in need, so he had decided to stylishly avoid the situation. It was a fun moment.
So that's two counts of us getting the better of avaricious people, something that delights me and makes all the other incidences of swindling a bit better. And those are the kinds of adventures I've been having (that word gets thrown around about five times a post)- business-related but still fun. On to the not-so-fun, I've realized that my time here has almost come to an end. Two weeks from Tuesday and I'll be on a plane heading home. Thoughts of home have sustained me through all the dark times (and the boring and even the not-dark times; I like daydreaming), but now I realize how hard it's going to be to leave this new way of life behind. We've all met some really cool people, and become a small, fifth-business-y part of this world. It's kind of cruel that study abroad has to end so soon. So that's some irony for you; I've gone full circle from relative indifference to dread to growing adaptation and excitement to now acceptance and actual regret that I'll be leaving. On the positive side, it's not like Bali's going anywhere (physically, yet), so I could always come back. And keep in touch with friends and family here. And be, you know, forevermore culturally sensitive and worldly and stuff. It's been real, but now I've got to start appreciating the end of the journey. And doing that work thing too; I'm technically still a student. But that sounds like a job for later.
Actually, I just did a little something I like to call "withholding information for dramatic effect," which is another way of taking my low-key adventures and making them sound vastly more exciting for you guys when in fact they were simply fun. From the top: Nusa Lembongan is a little island, still part of Bali, off the Southeast coast. Some of us went out on the oh-so-fun ferry (kind of rickety, but also great, especially when you ride on the roof)to relax on pristine beaches for a couple of days. Catch was, most of the people we met were in the tourism industry and therefore jaded towards all Westerners, even if we're nice students with a grasp of Bahasa trying to understand the culture. So they weren't so friendly, especially not this ferry tickets dude. The morning we were trying to head out, there was an exact change issue between us (plus a couple of Canadian friends we made- it's nice to meet pleasant travelers), and Marissa ended up being shorted 40,000 rupiah. It's four bucks American, but still not okay, so she asked for her change and the guy looked confused and gave her his money to count- exactly the amount he should have had. But it didn't make sense, so she persisted and he eventually gave in, but made us all feel bad. But why would he give in if he was really right? And what happened to the four 10,000 rupiah bills that we had paid him, not present in his wad of cash? And why didn't he show us what was in his pockets, nasty Bagginses? Victorious but rattled, we fled the island feeling righteous. First story down.
The second relates to work, but work is boring, but this is relevant: remember Nongan, the village that extracted blood tribute when I last visited? I returned on Thanksgiving to finish what I had started, namely interviewing people about active worship of Pan Balang Tamak, the trickster. I was driving with my teacher, Pak Yudi, and we had to turn around in the narrow country road. So he was backing into a driveway, but one of our wheels ended up in the little ditch by the side of the road. We hopped out, and a woman (whose driveway is was) came up and smiled and started saying no worries, we'll help. Then her grandson and husband came and pushed with me and the car popped right out. It was so easy I probably could have done it myself. But then the woman came up to me, no longer smiling, and started saying speaking in Balinese. I also heard "uang," which means money in Bahasa Indonesia, so I feigned ignorance and told her to talk with Pak Yudi. I hopped in and she came to the window and started in again, so Pak Yudi just waved and sped off into Nongan, laughing. I asked what was up, and he said that she was trying to ask for money (probably because I was a whitey), which was absurd. His rationale was that she shouldn't get used to being paid just to help a stranger in need, so he had decided to stylishly avoid the situation. It was a fun moment.
So that's two counts of us getting the better of avaricious people, something that delights me and makes all the other incidences of swindling a bit better. And those are the kinds of adventures I've been having (that word gets thrown around about five times a post)- business-related but still fun. On to the not-so-fun, I've realized that my time here has almost come to an end. Two weeks from Tuesday and I'll be on a plane heading home. Thoughts of home have sustained me through all the dark times (and the boring and even the not-dark times; I like daydreaming), but now I realize how hard it's going to be to leave this new way of life behind. We've all met some really cool people, and become a small, fifth-business-y part of this world. It's kind of cruel that study abroad has to end so soon. So that's some irony for you; I've gone full circle from relative indifference to dread to growing adaptation and excitement to now acceptance and actual regret that I'll be leaving. On the positive side, it's not like Bali's going anywhere (physically, yet), so I could always come back. And keep in touch with friends and family here. And be, you know, forevermore culturally sensitive and worldly and stuff. It's been real, but now I've got to start appreciating the end of the journey. And doing that work thing too; I'm technically still a student. But that sounds like a job for later.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
So Much For ISP
Also entitled, why is there a marching band outside my internet cafe right now? Although that has nothing to do with the post at hand. So remember way back when, when I mentioned that I'd be off to magical-sounding Nongan to study the Balinese trickster archetype? Change of plans. My original plan was to go play in East Bali for a day on the beach, then head up and start studying, and be in Singaraja about now (up in the hot and dry north). But instead I got food poisoning from some bad warung food (presumably) and spend a day or two recovering from a sleepless and generally unrestful night. Okay, that's manageable. So two days late I head out to the far east, make the long drive up through the hills (covered in rice fields, as you might have guessed, but even more beautiful due to the alternating mountain and ocean views) to Nongan. Nongan isn't actually that rural, but it's pretty far away from everything. This becomes important later.
Things were building to be a nice little adventure: I was in a far place, my teacher had spoken with the head of the village, and he was going to let me stay in his house, and I was going to meet with a bunch of people about tricksters and religion the next day. Of course I was a bit nervous, what with all these strangers and being far away from the routine and not knowing what to do for my project, not to mention recovering from gastronomic distress, but that's all part of the routine. Everything was going to be fine. Catch was, the head of the village (kapala desa) couldn't feed me in his compound, so I had to go with some relation of his to get dinner at the night market. This was the first warning sign: I know I shouldn't be upset with him, but he was awkward, mumbled, spoke Bahasa with a vocab I'd never heard before, didn't really want to explain himself, and was generally off. Just a strange kid about my age who wasn't my favorite out of all the kids I'd met here. As these things work out, he was to be my transport, and I should have listened to my instinctual aversions this time.
Dinner was at a night market up the road, and we zipped up on his motorbike, as people do in a place where cars are a bit too expensive. I was feeling a bit off appetite-wise, but ate anyways to keep my energy up, and planned on going home and sleeping until morning. We got back on the bike and set off back home, five minutes down a sleepy country road into the gathering cool of dusk in the mountains. I was mentally debating the merits of something or other when I saw something coming up in the road. I registered it was a rock, a little bit larger than a brick. I had enough time to simultaneously think "Hmm, what's that?" and "Is he going over it?" Then we went right over it.
It was largely quiet as far as collisions go. I remember the feeling of the bike bucking under me, then an image of me, on my back, sliding down the road. Then another confused image of me in the ditch by the side of the road, pulling myself up. I also remember thinking "oh, this is actually happening," and trying to figure out how to stop moving. Then the sound came back on and people started materializing out of the dusk to ask if we were okay. The kid was rattled, but still fine and moving. Taking stock of my own wounds, I noticed that my left leg and elbows were scraped up. Thankfully I was wearing my helmet- natural caution and stern warnings from SIT left me impervious to the bemused skepticism of the Balinese, who didn't think I needed a helmet for such a short distance (the kid wasn't wearing a helmet, but seemed fine. I don't know how he managed). Then I asked someone to look at my back, which was stinging. This elicited a loud "oh my god," and they insisted I go to the hospital. The hospital proved to be a rickety building with blood on the floor from another patient in the waiting room, so I declined their offers of treatment and made further calls to make sure the cavalry was on the way. Then I had the pleasure of treating my own shock.
After a bit, as my wait would end up being a few hours, I went back to the head of the village's house, and waited with about thirty family members and friends, eventually letting them wipe my back with some antiseptic things from my huge first aid kid (more good foresight!) Then the cavalry showed, one of our teachers, Marissa and three of the girls for moral support. We zipped off to Denpasar, where I had the pleasure of getting all the road grit scrubbed out of my stinging wounds, and then enjoyed the benefits of codeine-based pain meds as I finally got to sleep.
So, exciting story but not much for ISP work. I spent the rest of the week recovering, and now I'm much more healthy: bandage off the vertical scrape on my back, leg and other minor scrapes healing. Finished the last of my antibiotics today, hopefully won't have to apply new bandages tomorrow. Healing is progressing rapidly, and I'll hopefully be able to enjoy full water immersion by the end of my time in Bali. But right now, I'm happy it wasn't much worse than it could have been, and am no longer fretting about ISP. After all, I've got a pretty legit excuse. Only downside is that my adventure is probably going to be a bit tame from here on out, but I'll still keep y'all posted if anything new happens. But that's about it for me.
Things were building to be a nice little adventure: I was in a far place, my teacher had spoken with the head of the village, and he was going to let me stay in his house, and I was going to meet with a bunch of people about tricksters and religion the next day. Of course I was a bit nervous, what with all these strangers and being far away from the routine and not knowing what to do for my project, not to mention recovering from gastronomic distress, but that's all part of the routine. Everything was going to be fine. Catch was, the head of the village (kapala desa) couldn't feed me in his compound, so I had to go with some relation of his to get dinner at the night market. This was the first warning sign: I know I shouldn't be upset with him, but he was awkward, mumbled, spoke Bahasa with a vocab I'd never heard before, didn't really want to explain himself, and was generally off. Just a strange kid about my age who wasn't my favorite out of all the kids I'd met here. As these things work out, he was to be my transport, and I should have listened to my instinctual aversions this time.
Dinner was at a night market up the road, and we zipped up on his motorbike, as people do in a place where cars are a bit too expensive. I was feeling a bit off appetite-wise, but ate anyways to keep my energy up, and planned on going home and sleeping until morning. We got back on the bike and set off back home, five minutes down a sleepy country road into the gathering cool of dusk in the mountains. I was mentally debating the merits of something or other when I saw something coming up in the road. I registered it was a rock, a little bit larger than a brick. I had enough time to simultaneously think "Hmm, what's that?" and "Is he going over it?" Then we went right over it.
It was largely quiet as far as collisions go. I remember the feeling of the bike bucking under me, then an image of me, on my back, sliding down the road. Then another confused image of me in the ditch by the side of the road, pulling myself up. I also remember thinking "oh, this is actually happening," and trying to figure out how to stop moving. Then the sound came back on and people started materializing out of the dusk to ask if we were okay. The kid was rattled, but still fine and moving. Taking stock of my own wounds, I noticed that my left leg and elbows were scraped up. Thankfully I was wearing my helmet- natural caution and stern warnings from SIT left me impervious to the bemused skepticism of the Balinese, who didn't think I needed a helmet for such a short distance (the kid wasn't wearing a helmet, but seemed fine. I don't know how he managed). Then I asked someone to look at my back, which was stinging. This elicited a loud "oh my god," and they insisted I go to the hospital. The hospital proved to be a rickety building with blood on the floor from another patient in the waiting room, so I declined their offers of treatment and made further calls to make sure the cavalry was on the way. Then I had the pleasure of treating my own shock.
After a bit, as my wait would end up being a few hours, I went back to the head of the village's house, and waited with about thirty family members and friends, eventually letting them wipe my back with some antiseptic things from my huge first aid kid (more good foresight!) Then the cavalry showed, one of our teachers, Marissa and three of the girls for moral support. We zipped off to Denpasar, where I had the pleasure of getting all the road grit scrubbed out of my stinging wounds, and then enjoyed the benefits of codeine-based pain meds as I finally got to sleep.
So, exciting story but not much for ISP work. I spent the rest of the week recovering, and now I'm much more healthy: bandage off the vertical scrape on my back, leg and other minor scrapes healing. Finished the last of my antibiotics today, hopefully won't have to apply new bandages tomorrow. Healing is progressing rapidly, and I'll hopefully be able to enjoy full water immersion by the end of my time in Bali. But right now, I'm happy it wasn't much worse than it could have been, and am no longer fretting about ISP. After all, I've got a pretty legit excuse. Only downside is that my adventure is probably going to be a bit tame from here on out, but I'll still keep y'all posted if anything new happens. But that's about it for me.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
No News 'Till Nongan
So it's been kind of a light couple of weeks for wild tales of life in Bali, but that's what happens when everything normalizes and you don't go on any big excursions. We did see a kind of cool performance on Halloween, a modern interpretation of lots of different art forms done for, as far as I could tell, the Balinese intellectual/artistic elite. Wild stuff.
And then I'll be off into the darkness of ISP, which is my independent study project, an SIT institution. I'll be off for the month of November, starting now, spending three weeks in the field (mostly on my own among the locals) studying and one week writing. It's not as hardcore as I make it out to be, but right now it seems intimidating. This is because I'll be studying Pan Balang Tamak, the Balinese trickster character, and an interesting figure in folklore because of the reactive nature of his tricks. I'll report more later, but the really cool part is that he's worshiped as a minor deity in certain villages. One of these is Nongan, a tiny village in the East of Bali, and a Bali Aga village (these are the dudes who resisted Javanese influence when they fled Java as Islam started to take over, and still kind of maintain their old traditions). They're supposed to kind of be a bit intense, and I get to attempt to stay with the head of the village for a little less than a week to question their religious practices. Cool. Between that and a journey around Bali, I'll probably be out of internet contact for a while. But on the plus side, I'll have interesting stuff to say upon my return.
And then I'll be off into the darkness of ISP, which is my independent study project, an SIT institution. I'll be off for the month of November, starting now, spending three weeks in the field (mostly on my own among the locals) studying and one week writing. It's not as hardcore as I make it out to be, but right now it seems intimidating. This is because I'll be studying Pan Balang Tamak, the Balinese trickster character, and an interesting figure in folklore because of the reactive nature of his tricks. I'll report more later, but the really cool part is that he's worshiped as a minor deity in certain villages. One of these is Nongan, a tiny village in the East of Bali, and a Bali Aga village (these are the dudes who resisted Javanese influence when they fled Java as Islam started to take over, and still kind of maintain their old traditions). They're supposed to kind of be a bit intense, and I get to attempt to stay with the head of the village for a little less than a week to question their religious practices. Cool. Between that and a journey around Bali, I'll probably be out of internet contact for a while. But on the plus side, I'll have interesting stuff to say upon my return.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Haro
Haro is a Balinese word that I've grown quite fond of these days, largely due to Bu Ary's bad influence. It's kind of the equivalent of "meh" or "blah" in English; the textbook definition is an expression of disapproval/upsetness with one's self. I think I'll try and bring it back to the states with me.
Anyhow, I've been getting some feedback about that last post, namely that it's apparently bad to disparage one's own work in a public forum, especially if it's one's own public forum. But either way, I was less than satisfied with that post, and decided to let you all know. As I was writing. It probably had something to do with the fact that I was feeling neglected by compatriots in the western world, and the fact that I was stuck dealing with a persistent tropical cold (how do cold viruses survive in this heat?). For the record, the cold remains, but should be gone tomorrow.
Back to topic, this mood kind of persisted and grew as we went to Denpasar, capital of Bali, for what amounted to a working vacation in a nice hotel. Nothing spectacular, save for some interesting thoughts brought about by my ill humor and impending worry about ISP. What I'm building to is that I had a cool realization: I was standing at the window of my hotel room, looking out at the attractive skyline of Denpasar in the late afternoon, when I realized that I don't belong here. This isn't my island. Bali is a magical place, true, and quite appealing for tourism due to culture and natural beauty, but it's for the Balinese. Us westerners, we really only serve to mess things up here. The island is increasingly abandoning traditional ways in favor of the easy and lucrative life that supporting tourism promises. One lecturer pointed out (and I don't know the facts on this) that almost eighty percent of the island's income derives from tourism now. This is no longer an agricultural society, and it's having an impact on culture as people now turn what were formerly "extracurricular" pursuits (like art and music) into a profession, as tourists will come and pay good money for bits of foreign culture. So the culture gradually becomes commercialized, and loses its soul. This is fine, because Balinese culture is so strongly tied to religion, and religion can't be commercialized, right? Wrong. The influx of money leads to more and more ornate ceremonies, which could be considered a good thing as far as physical manifestation of devotion goes, but some people believe (and this is the gut feeling I get, even though I've only been here for about eight weeks) that this is leading to a kind of soullessness, a going-though-the-motions regarding what was formerly earnest expression of faith. I'd be skeptical if certain parties in Ubud a few years ago hadn't sold the TV rights to a big cremation to the European networks and actually turned a profit on what's supposed to be a sacrifice of time and money. Haro.
But it wasn't just me getting riled up about the evils of tourism (economic imperialism) that was getting me down. As a student, I really have no place on this island. As I watched the traffic, I realized that as much as I try to learn Balinese culture and live that life, I will always be a foreigner. Even Pak Tom, Bu Ary's American husband, isn't sure whether or not he'll be staying here for the rest of his life, and he's the closest thing I've seen to a westerner who's managed to become a part of the society here. But I'm not even a foreigner. I'm fifth business to this island. There are the locals, the people who live on this island literally and culturally. There are the tourists, of differing species (spiritual, surfer, European, Australian, family or party), who are here to have a good time and leave. There are the expats, also of differing species but really more on a spectrum of earnestness vs. obnoxiousness, who have decided to live here for profit or pleasure. And then there's me. I'm not quite a tourist, certainly not an expat, but never will be a local. Fifth business. And, at that moment in Denpasar, it seemed like I was really just a glorified tourist, abroad under the auspices of education.
And then I remembered the adventure, something that I think made all the difference. It didn't really solve any of these quandaries, but it helped me rationalize them. These doubts, this worry and wonder, all of this is part of the process of being a poor little mahasiswa (college student) lost in a strange land, feeling like he's been there for so long but really not yet a week over the halfway point of the journey. Everyone doubts, and the doubts will eventually become part of the story. In the meantime, I'm here on a journey (to the heart of the Balinese dream), and that alone sets me apart from all the other whitey on this island who think they belong here. I know I don't belong. My time is finite, but while I'm here I'm gonna get me some knowledge, and maybe some good will come of it later. Maybe I'll help the island. Maybe it'll be a selfish pursuit. But no matter how I look at it, I'm still better than the tourists. Haro.
Another great thing about haro is that you can misuse it all the time because it sounds so cool. That turned out to be a little more inspiring than I'd originally planned, so here's the short Balinese adventure of the week, a visit to our local temple's odalan, which is a yearly ceremony for those of you who don't remember. There's a big temple in Bedulu, Pura Samuan Tiga, that all the host families go to worship at because it's local, as well as a few people from elsewhere nearby. Because we got back in the afternoon, I got to go with my host uncle and pray at night, which ended up being so much cooler than daytime. We rode over and joined the throngs of happy worshipers walking into the temple, which was all lit up with floodlights. But not in the ugly parking lot-style that we'd use. Instead, they lit only the various temples and shrines, which served to highlight all the shiny and brightly colored offerings and statues within, while spilling enough residual light to illuminate all the worshipers sitting on the lawn praying (yes, there's a lawn at Samuan Tiga). Prayer done, we got to wander around and see the different gamelans that had come to play, pretend to listen to a guy reading the Ramayana in some language I don't understand, and watched some mask dancing, including the dancer making fun of one of the girls because he's related to her host father (so it's okay!). What set this one apart, though, was the neighborly feel: I ran into a few other students who came to pray with their families, and my Uncle saw lots of friends and family to banter with. There were only a few whiteys in the audience, but apparently they were local, and they wore proper formal clothes, so it was less of a "ugh, whiteys" thing than "oh, what are you doing her?" Good fun indeed.
Well, that's about all that there is to say I guess. I'll probably finish my art project tomorrow, and there aren't any other excursions planned before ISP, so that's the next big adventure for me. Apart from the usual big adventure of everyday living here, I guess.
Anyhow, I've been getting some feedback about that last post, namely that it's apparently bad to disparage one's own work in a public forum, especially if it's one's own public forum. But either way, I was less than satisfied with that post, and decided to let you all know. As I was writing. It probably had something to do with the fact that I was feeling neglected by compatriots in the western world, and the fact that I was stuck dealing with a persistent tropical cold (how do cold viruses survive in this heat?). For the record, the cold remains, but should be gone tomorrow.
Back to topic, this mood kind of persisted and grew as we went to Denpasar, capital of Bali, for what amounted to a working vacation in a nice hotel. Nothing spectacular, save for some interesting thoughts brought about by my ill humor and impending worry about ISP. What I'm building to is that I had a cool realization: I was standing at the window of my hotel room, looking out at the attractive skyline of Denpasar in the late afternoon, when I realized that I don't belong here. This isn't my island. Bali is a magical place, true, and quite appealing for tourism due to culture and natural beauty, but it's for the Balinese. Us westerners, we really only serve to mess things up here. The island is increasingly abandoning traditional ways in favor of the easy and lucrative life that supporting tourism promises. One lecturer pointed out (and I don't know the facts on this) that almost eighty percent of the island's income derives from tourism now. This is no longer an agricultural society, and it's having an impact on culture as people now turn what were formerly "extracurricular" pursuits (like art and music) into a profession, as tourists will come and pay good money for bits of foreign culture. So the culture gradually becomes commercialized, and loses its soul. This is fine, because Balinese culture is so strongly tied to religion, and religion can't be commercialized, right? Wrong. The influx of money leads to more and more ornate ceremonies, which could be considered a good thing as far as physical manifestation of devotion goes, but some people believe (and this is the gut feeling I get, even though I've only been here for about eight weeks) that this is leading to a kind of soullessness, a going-though-the-motions regarding what was formerly earnest expression of faith. I'd be skeptical if certain parties in Ubud a few years ago hadn't sold the TV rights to a big cremation to the European networks and actually turned a profit on what's supposed to be a sacrifice of time and money. Haro.
But it wasn't just me getting riled up about the evils of tourism (economic imperialism) that was getting me down. As a student, I really have no place on this island. As I watched the traffic, I realized that as much as I try to learn Balinese culture and live that life, I will always be a foreigner. Even Pak Tom, Bu Ary's American husband, isn't sure whether or not he'll be staying here for the rest of his life, and he's the closest thing I've seen to a westerner who's managed to become a part of the society here. But I'm not even a foreigner. I'm fifth business to this island. There are the locals, the people who live on this island literally and culturally. There are the tourists, of differing species (spiritual, surfer, European, Australian, family or party), who are here to have a good time and leave. There are the expats, also of differing species but really more on a spectrum of earnestness vs. obnoxiousness, who have decided to live here for profit or pleasure. And then there's me. I'm not quite a tourist, certainly not an expat, but never will be a local. Fifth business. And, at that moment in Denpasar, it seemed like I was really just a glorified tourist, abroad under the auspices of education.
And then I remembered the adventure, something that I think made all the difference. It didn't really solve any of these quandaries, but it helped me rationalize them. These doubts, this worry and wonder, all of this is part of the process of being a poor little mahasiswa (college student) lost in a strange land, feeling like he's been there for so long but really not yet a week over the halfway point of the journey. Everyone doubts, and the doubts will eventually become part of the story. In the meantime, I'm here on a journey (to the heart of the Balinese dream), and that alone sets me apart from all the other whitey on this island who think they belong here. I know I don't belong. My time is finite, but while I'm here I'm gonna get me some knowledge, and maybe some good will come of it later. Maybe I'll help the island. Maybe it'll be a selfish pursuit. But no matter how I look at it, I'm still better than the tourists. Haro.
Another great thing about haro is that you can misuse it all the time because it sounds so cool. That turned out to be a little more inspiring than I'd originally planned, so here's the short Balinese adventure of the week, a visit to our local temple's odalan, which is a yearly ceremony for those of you who don't remember. There's a big temple in Bedulu, Pura Samuan Tiga, that all the host families go to worship at because it's local, as well as a few people from elsewhere nearby. Because we got back in the afternoon, I got to go with my host uncle and pray at night, which ended up being so much cooler than daytime. We rode over and joined the throngs of happy worshipers walking into the temple, which was all lit up with floodlights. But not in the ugly parking lot-style that we'd use. Instead, they lit only the various temples and shrines, which served to highlight all the shiny and brightly colored offerings and statues within, while spilling enough residual light to illuminate all the worshipers sitting on the lawn praying (yes, there's a lawn at Samuan Tiga). Prayer done, we got to wander around and see the different gamelans that had come to play, pretend to listen to a guy reading the Ramayana in some language I don't understand, and watched some mask dancing, including the dancer making fun of one of the girls because he's related to her host father (so it's okay!). What set this one apart, though, was the neighborly feel: I ran into a few other students who came to pray with their families, and my Uncle saw lots of friends and family to banter with. There were only a few whiteys in the audience, but apparently they were local, and they wore proper formal clothes, so it was less of a "ugh, whiteys" thing than "oh, what are you doing her?" Good fun indeed.
Well, that's about all that there is to say I guess. I'll probably finish my art project tomorrow, and there aren't any other excursions planned before ISP, so that's the next big adventure for me. Apart from the usual big adventure of everyday living here, I guess.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Galungan Days/Slight Adventure
I think I've reached the point on this trip (conveniently about halfway through my time here in Bali) when things that would probably sound really super exciting, exotic and wild to me three months ago don't really stand out in memory anymore. Like in our latest excursion, we stopped by a Muslim fishing village (cool because Bali is both massively Hindu and land-oriented instead of sea-oriented) and were coerced into dancing to the local orchestra, a group of dudes playing what I'd interpret as Sulawesian gamelan (again, memory fails; I think I remember it described as being from Sulawesi, which is another island in Indonesia, but I'm not sure where the Bugis are from. I probably should have called it a Bugis fishing village, as that's the ethnicity of the people who live there. They so happen to be Muslim. Fun fact: the word bugis is where we get the term "boogey man" from, as the Bugis were feared pirates hired by various people to do dirty work, so bugis man became boogey man. Now back to your original programming). I don't remember where I was before that long paranthetical, so new sentence: the aforementioned dancing was for the amusement of local children, who turned out in droves to gaze at the silly westerners before joining in the dancing. Then we saw their mosque and rolled back out. And right now, looking back, it doesn't really register that these sorts of things don't happen to everyone every day. Adventure has become my middle name. Well, not really at all, but who's counting?
In continuing with the plan of not being able to relate everything that's gone on, maybe I could at least explain the title of this post. Galungan is one of the big Hindu festivals in Bali (it has an Indian counterpart by a different name relating to Durga's defeat of some demon), a time when the ancestral spirits come back to hang out at the family shrine and be honored. It also celebrates the victory of good over evil (only temporarily though, as there must always be evil with the good), but I couldn't really understand my family on that theological point, so let's stick with the rituals. It's kind of like Christmas, but with a heavy dose of Thanksgiving. The entire family starts preparations a good week in advance, but the real madness starts a few days before. Kids get out of school and many people have time off from work so as to be at home and help with the offerings, of which there are many. Most offerings are little palm or banana leaf basket-like objects, filled with flowers and food, but many are really huge, like the piles of fruit for temple ceremonies or baskets with roasted animals. Penjors, however, top all. These are giant bamboo poles, curved at the top, that people decorate and put out in front of their house along the road. A simple one I made with my father for the local temple basically just involved affixing curved palm leaf shapes to the pole, tying a big palm leaf mane around the bottom, and putting a young coconut on it (the penjor is symbolic of life and the universe and a giant snake, all sorts of things that my Indonesian isn't good enough to understand yet). It took us under an hour, and probably didn't cost that much. But the one the family made took three days, involved a few huge store-bought ornaments (intricately cut out of palm leaf, dyed and painted bright colors), felt balls, precisely folded palm leaf shapes, black fabric, a huge bamboo pole, and finally a flag with the "Om" symbol on it. It cost 450,000 rupiah (lots for an offering) and took three days of communal labor. Admittedly, they were showing off a bit, but the process isn't that far removed from decorating a Christmas tree.
Apart from the offerings, there's lots of cooking and family gemutleicheit (did I spell that right? Not many Germans here, only a vague Dutch feeling from their colonial presence). Everyone gets together to help out (even homestay students) and the time after the religious ceremonies (which involve visiting and praying at lots of temples) for visiting with family members. It was cool, and I'm spending way too much time on this, but as a last thought it really made me wish that we had more festivities in the states that involved this much tradition and ritual. I guess that's one challenge of a mostly secular society, but we can't really pull of religion in as low-key a way as the Balinese do, so we might just have to create some traditions of our own. I'm just saying, it's rare that there's ever that much of a good vibe surrounding anything holiday-oriented back home.
As I drone on about random things, I might want to include a summary of the excursion that took us to this fishing village. We were up to the hot and arid North Coast of Bali, a more diverse area in that there are many different religions represented. We saw some cool Buddhist temples and met with a fun group of kids from the university up there. The area really reminded me of home, home being Los Angeles, but that might be because I've been away for a long time. And then we went to try and climb a mountain (a sign near the bottom said "Slight Adventure," which described the excursion perfectly), but some of us happened to get sick the day before and didn't want to climb a mountain to see the sunrise. So instead I skulked and bemoaned my bad luck and resolved to climb it later, and then basked in scenery that legitimately looked like the Eastern Sierras.
In case my readers can't tell, I'm losing coherence, so apologies for what feels like a couple of weak posts. It's hot here. People don't think well when it's hot. People also don't like writing blog posts when there's absolutely zero feedback. So, friends, if you like what you read, say something so I don't feel like I'm all the way on the other side of the world. Which I am. But still, ground me, let me know if I'm actually having an experience or if I need to step my game up. ISP's a-coming, so hopefully I'll have a better experience for y'all next time.
In continuing with the plan of not being able to relate everything that's gone on, maybe I could at least explain the title of this post. Galungan is one of the big Hindu festivals in Bali (it has an Indian counterpart by a different name relating to Durga's defeat of some demon), a time when the ancestral spirits come back to hang out at the family shrine and be honored. It also celebrates the victory of good over evil (only temporarily though, as there must always be evil with the good), but I couldn't really understand my family on that theological point, so let's stick with the rituals. It's kind of like Christmas, but with a heavy dose of Thanksgiving. The entire family starts preparations a good week in advance, but the real madness starts a few days before. Kids get out of school and many people have time off from work so as to be at home and help with the offerings, of which there are many. Most offerings are little palm or banana leaf basket-like objects, filled with flowers and food, but many are really huge, like the piles of fruit for temple ceremonies or baskets with roasted animals. Penjors, however, top all. These are giant bamboo poles, curved at the top, that people decorate and put out in front of their house along the road. A simple one I made with my father for the local temple basically just involved affixing curved palm leaf shapes to the pole, tying a big palm leaf mane around the bottom, and putting a young coconut on it (the penjor is symbolic of life and the universe and a giant snake, all sorts of things that my Indonesian isn't good enough to understand yet). It took us under an hour, and probably didn't cost that much. But the one the family made took three days, involved a few huge store-bought ornaments (intricately cut out of palm leaf, dyed and painted bright colors), felt balls, precisely folded palm leaf shapes, black fabric, a huge bamboo pole, and finally a flag with the "Om" symbol on it. It cost 450,000 rupiah (lots for an offering) and took three days of communal labor. Admittedly, they were showing off a bit, but the process isn't that far removed from decorating a Christmas tree.
Apart from the offerings, there's lots of cooking and family gemutleicheit (did I spell that right? Not many Germans here, only a vague Dutch feeling from their colonial presence). Everyone gets together to help out (even homestay students) and the time after the religious ceremonies (which involve visiting and praying at lots of temples) for visiting with family members. It was cool, and I'm spending way too much time on this, but as a last thought it really made me wish that we had more festivities in the states that involved this much tradition and ritual. I guess that's one challenge of a mostly secular society, but we can't really pull of religion in as low-key a way as the Balinese do, so we might just have to create some traditions of our own. I'm just saying, it's rare that there's ever that much of a good vibe surrounding anything holiday-oriented back home.
As I drone on about random things, I might want to include a summary of the excursion that took us to this fishing village. We were up to the hot and arid North Coast of Bali, a more diverse area in that there are many different religions represented. We saw some cool Buddhist temples and met with a fun group of kids from the university up there. The area really reminded me of home, home being Los Angeles, but that might be because I've been away for a long time. And then we went to try and climb a mountain (a sign near the bottom said "Slight Adventure," which described the excursion perfectly), but some of us happened to get sick the day before and didn't want to climb a mountain to see the sunrise. So instead I skulked and bemoaned my bad luck and resolved to climb it later, and then basked in scenery that legitimately looked like the Eastern Sierras.
In case my readers can't tell, I'm losing coherence, so apologies for what feels like a couple of weak posts. It's hot here. People don't think well when it's hot. People also don't like writing blog posts when there's absolutely zero feedback. So, friends, if you like what you read, say something so I don't feel like I'm all the way on the other side of the world. Which I am. But still, ground me, let me know if I'm actually having an experience or if I need to step my game up. ISP's a-coming, so hopefully I'll have a better experience for y'all next time.
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