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.

Transition

I'm back in Kansas again, much to the shock of my system. On Sunday, Jakarta was around 90 degrees F, rainy, and humid, not to mention very green because of the rainy season. On Monday, Kansas was around 5 degrees F, snowy, and very brown (and white). On Sunday, I sweat just sitting around with a T-shirt and shorts on. On Monday, I wore an undershirt, a shirt, a light jacket, a fleece, and a winter jacket, and still shivered. The view out our front door this morning.
The view from one of my favorite places in Bandung last week. The view out my bedroom window this morning.

View on the way to a restaurant where I ate with a friend on Thursday last week.

Thanksgiving Indo-Style

What do you do when you can't be home for Thanksgiving? You make Thanksgiving right where you're at. That's what my friend Jordan and I did this past week. We happened to be the only two foreigners in the whole city that day. In some ways we are like the first Pilgrims, coming to a far land and being helped by the "natives" that surround us. Here's a glimpse of our memorable day. For Christmas some families have the tradition of going out to buy the tree together. Jordan and I decided to start a new tradition - going out to buy the turkey together. This wasn't as easy as it sounds. We went to the city's bird market, found the only turkey among a million other birds, bargained for 40 minutes, and finally walked away with the gobbler.
Here is our fine-looking gobbler the night before Thanksgiving...

'Twas the night before Thanksgiving and all through the coop,
the turkey was gobbling so afraid that it pooped.
The butcher knife was hung on the post with great care,
knowing tomorrow turkey meat we will share...'

Our Thanksgiving dinner received a great boost from Jordan's mom who sent a care package ("long distance hug," as I like to call them) filled with ready-mix boxes of stuffing, pie crust, and pie filling. This, however, did not assure success for two bachelors with no cooking experience. We still had to do the hard things like add eggs, butter, and milk and mix it together.

Cooking utensils were hard to come by, so substitutes had to do. A rolling pin was replaced by a round glass with a little extra flour on it.

The Pilgrim and Indian worked together cooking throughout the afternoon, starting at 1pm and finishing by around 6pm.

A metal box over a burner substituted as our oven. Preheating to 350F was a little tricky. The turkey didn't fit, so we helped make it fit with a knife.

The absence of a can-opener required us to resort to primitive tools (just like the original Pilgrims) to open up our cranberry sauce.

The final spray of food. For the most part it was traditional foods - stuffing, turkey, cranberry sauce, bread rolls, pumpkin pie, pecan pie, mashed potatoes (not pictured) and gravy. But a few elements of Indonesia snuck their way into our meal, including the red fruit "rambutan" as well as a hot chili sauce called "sambal" (in the middle).

Just like the original Pilgrims, we celebrated our Thanksgiving with the natives.

...but some of the natives didn't like our food, choosing instead to eat a plate full of rice, a little bit of turkey, and some chili sauce to top it off. I didn't complain. It meant more food for me!

Instead of sitting around a table, we ate Indonesian-style, sitting on mats on the floor. I tend to like this idea, because after stuffing yourself with delicious food, you don't even have to get out of your chair to sprawl out and take your nap!

Most of the Indonesians enjoyed these new foods, as evidenced by the empty bowls and bulging stomachs.

After eating, Pilgrims and Indians alike posed for a few good pictures. That's why we have pictures in books right? All in all we had a great time. Jordan and I have been warmly received by our native hosts, and are more than thankful for the ways they have helped us. Eating Thanksgiving dinner together was our little way to say thanks to them and to God who has blessed us richly!

Lampung Panoramas

These are panoramas in opposite directions as I stood on a hill in Lampung, a city I recently visited in Southern Sumatra. Notice the classic red-tiled roof tops that are common throughout Indonesia. The red comes from the natural color of the clay used to make the tiles. Notice also that there are mountains in one direction (above) and the ocean in the other (below), a common scene in this archipelago of 17000 islands.