Roadtrip to Chicago

When friends call up and want to take a roadtrip, how can you not accept? Pak Johan (L of photo) and Pak Chairy (R of photo), two Indonesian friends who have lived in Kansas City since January, offered to pay for all my gas and food if I'd drive them to Chicago. How can you refuse an offer like that? The steel rainbow in St. Louis was our first destination, as well as the Mississippi River across the street (see first photo).Pak Johan and Pak Chairy had some business to take care of at the Indonesian Consulate. I tried to vote in the Indonesian elections (read red and white sign), but two years in a country doesn't qualify you for voting rights. Walking around the Windy City, we had to guard ourselves against "masuk angin," an Indonesian disease that literally translates "enter wind." Americans tend to be resistant.Giordano's Pizza, a famous Chicago pizza place, was great -even better than fried rice.

Even "boring stretches" of the road were interesting to my two Indonesian friends. They snapped pictures continuously, amazed by such incredible scenery and long, straight, smooth roads. It didn't seem all that photo-worthy to me... but that's probably what they thought when I was taking pictures of rice paddies in their country.

No American experience is complete without a trip to Famous Dave's for some BBQ, corn-bread biscuits, corn on the cob, and potatoes. Too bad Famous Dave's hasn't made it to Indonesia yet...

Friends and Good Food

Friends and food - they just seem to go together. These friends from Vietnam and Myanmar treated me well, serving delicious dishes from their home countries. Not exactly a steak and fries with a shake, but if I had a choice between that and this, I might chose this.

I miss those days of sitting around and talking as if there wasn't anything else in the world more important.

Team Fishing

When walking through an Indonesian coastal village, I came across this odd site. Were the villagers taking a break, playing a good ole' friendly competition of tug of war? Nope. They were actually working hard, fishing together for their livelihood.
The word "fishing" has always conjured up pictures of rods and reels, jigs and plugs, bobbers and swivels, hooks and sinkers, and a stringer full of largemouth bass. But not so in Indonesia. While they do have that style of fishing, commercial fishermen usually use nets. In one style of net-fishing, a boat is used to drag a net out from the coast. A rope runs from the net the shore. Once the net is in place, the "fishermen" start pulling the rope. They pull and pull and pull, steadily leaning and stepping backward, as the back "puller" moves toward the front periodically.
A rope-person coils the rope as it comes in. After an hour or two of pulling, the net finally nears the shore.

Hear you can start to see the size of the net as it circles out toward the boat.

As the net is brought in, the fish are dumped into a large basket that is dragged up farther on shore.

Fishermen (actually fisherwomen) pick through the catch, sorting the fish by type.

The squid from the catch are separated out and weighed.

Other types of fish are sorted out and sold as well.

Profits are divided between those fishermen who participated. Each day the nets are sent out and pulled in 2-4 times. And after hours of tugging every day, tug-of-war is probably not among a fisherman's hobbies. Neither is fishing.

My Wheels

Since returning to America, I've missed the joy and freedom of cruising on two wheels. However, as much as I loved my 145 cc Honda GL Pro, it was good riddance. After all the troubles it had caused me, I had revengeful desires to drive up a mountain, stick the throttle, release the clutch, and let my motorcycle go full-speed off of a cliff. I would have watched it bounce into smithereens, and then just walked away, gotten on a plane, and gone home. But instead I did the more civilized thing, selling it to the language school I attended. Speaking of language, they never did teach me the Indonesian words that would have inappropriately expressed my frustration each time my motorcycle broke down.

Host Family

In my final month in Indonesia, I was brought full circle in many different ways, including a visit to the host family where I spent my first 4 weeks in Indonesia in 2004. This family has been very gracious, generous, and hospitable toward me, and continue to consider and call me "our son Bayu." Bayu was the Indonesian name given to me, and the name of their child who died in infancy. Some of the first phrases I learned in 2004 were "Terima kasih untuk memasak untuk saya" and "Terima kasih untuk mencuci pakaian saya." Translation: "Thank you for cooking for me" and "Thank you for washing my clothes." These two phrases were used repeated, as this dear house-maid cooked for me and washed my clothes daily. It was a joy to return several years later and speak to her in Bahasa Indonesia.

Men I Miss

Pak Asep owns a little cart on the side of the street where he sells two kinds of breakfast food: nasi kuning (yellow rice) and longtong (rice cooked in a banana leaf along with a curry-like soup). These dishes cost less than 40 cents each, and were the best-tasting in the area. I miss Pak Asep's friendliness, the conversations we had, and his delicious food.
Pak Yaya not only cut my hair monthly, but also gave me a neck and back massage - and all for about a dollar. He's a kind and meticulous man, and despite an unwanted military-style haircut my first visit, he quickly caught on and gave me some of the best haircuts of my life. After he realized that I didn't want my neck popped (common practice for Indonesian barbers), the massages were wonderful. I miss his soft-spoken friendliness and thoroughness, and the massages.

This was the man who I bought bananas from each week. I forgot his name, and then was too embarrassed to ask him again after that. I could buy a sisir (literally "comb" or bunch) of bananas for about 50 cents. Out of each bunch, I could usually eat 2-3 bananas before my roommates had snatched them all up. Fruit, considered too expensive by most Indonesians, was something I was more than willing to let my roommates enjoy. I miss this man's friendliness, the unique relationship we enjoyed, and cheap bananas.

Track

The effects of Christmas candy and Mama's good home-cooking have caused me to remember one of my favorite places in Bandung - the local track. Under the influence of an American couple that ran 6 days a week and were healthy 60+ year-olds, I began jogging 3-4 mornings per week. Not only did it help me stay in good shape, but also became a great place to meet people and make several of my best friends. In Indonesia, tracks are places for improving social as well as physical health. Not everyone runs, but just about everyone talks. On Saturdays and Sundays, there can be more than 500 people on the track at one time.... But now I'm back in Kansas, where the local track collects snow while my stomach collects something else that doesn't melt and disappear so quickly.