Indonesian Luge

On a recent trip an mountainous area of East Java, while traversing a rocky, forest path, I discovered a new mode of transportation . It's called the Indonesian mountain luge - at least that's what I called it. But this is no sport, no attempt to add a new event to the 2008 Summer Olympics. Instead this is matter of survival. Poor families without jobs hike up into the government-owned, mountain forest areas to gather sticks and small logs to sell as firewood, necessary for cooking when you're too poor to buy propane or other kinds of gas. Lawfully, only already fallen sticks and fallen logs can be gathered, although when people are desperate to make a living, sometimes they "help" the sticks and logs fall. To bring this wood into the small city below, low-tech luge-carts are hand-built, complete with hand-breaks. The ride down-hill is exhilarating, but not so smooth. Rocky paths, a wood seat, and the absence of suspension systems make the ride a tail-bone-buster.

Indonesian Food

The Indonesian diet is based upon rice. As my Indonesian friends say, "if there's no rice, there's no meal." Rain or shine, we eat rice three times a day. Sometimes its fried, sometimes its yellow, sometimes is wrapped in banana leaves, and sometimes is just steamed - but its always there, the essential foundation of every meal. The above plate is topped off with a mixture of cooked veggies to the right, and beef with potatoes on the left. Due to economic constraints, beef appears on our plate just about as often as the full moon appears in the night sky. Instead, we are usually nourished with protein from fish, chicken, or soybean products such as tofu.
The white swirly thing is called kerupuk, a crispy crackerish creation made from cassava. Mixed in with the green beans is tempe, a fermented soybean product.

The yellow sauce is called gule, which adds flavor and spice to the otherwise bland rice. Another option to flavor rice is sambal, a red chili sauce with a good kick to it. Food is usually eaten in one of two manners. 1) with a spoon in the right hand as the main "scooping" utensil and simultaneously a fork in the left as a "mixing" utensil. 2) with the right hand.

Institut Pertanian Bogor

I recently had the opportunity to spend 3 days in Bogor - hanging out with a family I know there, touring the famous botanical gardens, and meeting with professors and other government officials in agricultural and community development. Institut Pertanian Bogor (Bogor Agricultural Institute) is the top ag school in Indonesia, boasting more than 25,000 students.

Afif (above), my personal tour guide for the trip through the botanical gardens, is the son of an Indonesian man, Pak Firdaus, who studied his Ph.D. in Plant Breeding at Kansas State University from 1985-1989. When I first met Pak Firdaus, who is now the director of a national vegetable research center, we felt an immediate bond as fellow KSU Alumni. He's since been a great help as I pursue experience and opportunities to understand Indonesian agricultural development better. He and his wife dusted off their photo album to show me their memories of living in Jardine Hall, driving through corn fields, and protesting in front of the Union.

Don't let anyone fool you. Bamboo trees are not small.

Views of a Nepali Village

Electrical Mess

I'm sure glad I don't work as an electrician in Nepal.

Lions Club Proud

With my father functioning as the current President of the Lions Club Holton, Kansas Chapter, I was filled with pride to see this sign for the Lions Club, Kathmandu Chapter. I thought about stopping by and telling them that my dad was the President, but thought they might treat me too much like a celebrity.

Holi Day

Holi Day. The Holi Day holiday might just be one of the greatest inventions of mankind. The main idea: in the name of celebrating good's victory over evil, you hold a day-long, nation-wide waterfight, throw in a few bright colors, and have a heck of a time. This was a highlight of my time in Nepal, leaving me with a desire to return annually for this water-color fest. The water flights are waged from strategic positions on walk-out housetops and balconies. Lucky are those whose housetop is 5 stories high while their neighbor's is only 3. No one is excluded... men, women, children, the elderly... they all take position to give and receive fire. The top picture shows a small child with his water gun, one of the least effective of weapons. The second pictures shows the culprit of a water balloon that came whizzing by as I tried to take pictures. She had quite an arm...

The agony of a direct hit. We were in the process of filling water balloons while trying to dodge artillery fire coming from about 5 different directions. There's something about wearing a white t-shirt and being the only white guy in the neighborhood that says, "Hit Me!"

The ground littered with broken balloons around me, I returned fire on a father and two children who were giving a volley of balloons up from a 3rd story rooftop toward my 4th story position. My military instincts told me that the bucket approach would work quite nicely, as it did.Part of the event is smearing colors all over your friends faces and in their hair. I'm not sure why, but with my back already stained by a direct hit from a color-laced water balloon, I figured I might as well add some other colors.In the process of standing in front of the house putting colors on each other faces, we were surprised by a neighbor's sneak attack with a bucket full of water. I chased after him with another bucket, only to run into an ambush where they threw red powder on my already soaked face. It was all in good fun, enough fun that we took a picture together while getting pelted by more water balloons. After several hours of fun in our community, we decided to walk around the city for a few hours and see what we could find. Nepalis lined their walk-out rooftops along the streets, waiting for passersby like us to dump water on. We did our best to fire back, but struggled from our lower and more vulnerable position. Jokingly, ever direct hit was replied to with, "Thank you, thank you! Happy Holi!"We stopped by this friend's house (the lady in the middle) and when she stepped out the door, my Nepali friends nailed her with the green powder. She in turn decorated us with some green. Before we left we made sure we hit her dog with some green powder as well. The End.
This actually wasn't the end. After literally having a "red neck" for a couple days, the powder/paint finally wore and washed off. The t-shirt, once bright white, was unsalvageable.