Sharing Stories of Home: Andrea Comes to Indonesia!

20161121_112334

Borobudor was still just as magical the second time around.

It’s been three years now since I first learned that I had been privileged with the chance to teach English abroad as a Fulbright ETA.  Through a surprising series of doors of opportunity that somehow opened for me, I am still here.  I still wonder at how lucky I am, to have been able to live in Southeast Asia for so long.

Living abroad does have its challenges, and one which has only become harder to deal with the longer I am gone is trying to share my experiences with folks at home.  I did blog fairly regularly when I was an ETA, and as someone who loves snapping photos of everything I tend to share visuals of my adventures across all sorts of social media platforms.  But my stumbling sentences and blurry selfies can’t really capture all that life in Indonesia has been for me, but it is hard to really share it in all of its intricacies unless someone can actually come and visit me.  And when you live on the other side of the world from family and friends, it’s not an easy task for people to plan that kind of a trip.

20161119_110532

Andrea tries her hand at Batik.

So I was bouncing-off-the-wall excited when I learned that one my roommates from college and closest friends needed to spend a few months in South Korea, and was able to swing a week to come down and visit me.  I had a blast figuring out where it would be best to take Andrea (I wasn’t about to have her spend that week in Jakarta), eventually deciding, based on her time frame and the time of year, that Yogyakarta was our best option.  (Though I would have loved to have taken her to Malang or to Gorontalo, one of the places I had actually lived as an ETA, both were a little too far given the short time she would be here.)

20161121_093307

From a visit to a monastery, a new stop for me.

I had visited Yogya once before, as a first-year ETA, but very, very fleetingly.  Still, as I had visited while one of my close friends from my first ETA cohort was teaching there, there was something familiar about Yogya, and it held so many significant and lovely memories that I still felt as though I was showing her a little piece of home.  We stopped by my favorite places again, and saw a few my ETA friend had loved but I had not had time to see.  We met up with a Fulbright researcher who had just started her grant, and well as the two ETAs currently teaching in Magelang (a town next-door to Yogya), giving Andrea some idea about the folks I have been working alongside in my program over the past few years.  We were also able to meet up for supper with my Guru Bahasa Indonesia from my first orientation and her family, giving Andrea a taste of the incomparable Indonesian hospitality I have been blessed to experience over the past two.

20161120_103025

Getting whiplash in a jeep has never been so much fun.

We took selfies with Indonesian tourists. We rode motorcycles taxies through the crowded streets of Jakarta.  We ate at warungs. We rode the train from Jakarta to Yogya through towering mountains, rolling hills, and rice paddies that seemed to have no end.  We bartered at markets.  We stood in awe of temples and mosques and rice paddies.  We got a little bit ill when we ate too much spicy food, but kept trying different dishes anyway.  We went to bed exhausted by the heat, but woke up ready for more incredible adventures.

20161121_100934

When the “tourism police” give you a heart attack by stopping you outside a candi, but then just want a foto. 

I might not have been able to take Andrea to either of my previous homes in Indonesia, and we might have only spent one day in the city where I now live, but I was able to take her to a place that was familiar nonetheless.  I might not have been able to bring her to one of my classrooms, but I was able to bring her to the sorts of markets and food stalls that I might have frequented at either site when I wasn’t on my school’s campus working with my kiddos.  I was able to give her a taste of what Indonesia feels like: the constant barrage of different noises and smells that once overwhelmed me, but now provides the comfort of home.

20161119_113043

The Water Palace, which I had passed before but never entered.

I was so happy to have the opportunity to act as Andrea’s tour guide while she was in Indonesia, and so grateful that she took the time to come to see me.  She was the perfect travel companion every step of the way.

So, if anyone else from home is headed my way and needs a tour guide, hit me up.  This experience is far richer if shared.

Advertisements

The Streets of Yogya

A wrinkled ibu sells traditional sate to a group of teenagers taking selfies on their smart phones.  A young woman leaves the traditional market, her bags full of batik, and crosses the street to one of the city’s several malls to finish her shopping.  A horse-drawn cart, its bells twinkling, gives way to a sepeda motor, as young boys in ripped jeans and tee shirts carry wayang kulit (shadow puppets) into a building to prepare for that night’s performance.

Yogyakarta (sometimes spelled Jogjakarta) is often referred to as the center of Javanese culture, and it is a city rich in traditions and history.  At the same time, it is a growing, modern university city.  This dichotomy can be seen everywhere, and it was a constant source of interest for me during my recent, too-brief visit.

Yogya, as the city is often fondly called, has a remarkable history.  There were once many kingdoms which dotted the landscape of Java, but the only place which still clings to some remnants of that era is Yogyakarta. During Dutch colonialism, the sultan refused to submit to the invaders, choosing instead to lock himself within the compound of his kratan (palace).  The Dutch dared not touch him, as the Javanese in the area looked to him almost as a god, and this allowed Yogyakarta to become an important place of refuge for Indonesia rebels during their fight for independence from the Netherlands.  In fact, it even acted as a temporary capital for the nation throughout the struggle, from 1946 until 1948.  Even though it is no longer the capital, kota (city) Yogyakarta and the surrounding areas have become a special provinsi (province), and they are still, in some ways, ruled by their sultan.

I was only in Yogyakarta for a few days, and as I also took advantage of my time there to visit the nearby temples of Borobudur and Prambanan (to which I will be dedicating an entire blog), I was not able to explore all of the historical sites for which the city is so famous.  I did do a fair amount of wandering up and down Jalan Malioboro, which is the center of the tourist section of town.  I admired the sculptures that were in abundance along the sidewalks; I was overwhelmed by the crowds in Pasar Beringharjo; and I stood outside of the gates of the kraton itself, though I did not enter the actual complex. It was the sort of fly-by tourism I generally do not enjoy, but I made the most of the time I had.

An historical site I actually did spend some time exploring was the Water Palace.  Children play, musicians sing, and couples pose for wedding photographs in the echoing halls that belong to the same complex where the king’s concubines once bathed.  The ruins are sprinkled along a fairly large part of the city.  One portion of it has been restored, and requires an entrance fee (I shamelessly ignored this part), but much of it is simply tucked in between homes and businesses.  The purpose of some of the ruins is not fully understood, but there is an underground mosque that I now consider one of the most interesting pieces of architecture I have ever come across.  We went to the Water Castle mostly on an impulse, but I could not be more glad that we did.

If there was one part of being in Yogyakarta I really, truly enjoyed, it was the overwhelming presence of batik. Batik is a fabric-dying method which originated on Java; in fact, the word batik comes from Javanese, and literally means “painted.”  The beautiful colors and patterns are made by tracing wax onto the fabric, then submersing the fabric into various dyes, and repeating the process as many times as is needed to create some of the most beautiful patterns I have ever seen.  The markets in Yogya were overflowing with batik, and everywhere I saw cloth hanging out to dry, already gorgeous in its unfinished state.

Not too far from Jalan Malioboro was a small batik art shop, where artists employ the traditional fabric dying technique to create masterpieces in both traditional and very modern styles, and which quickly became one of my favorite parts of my visit.  We were able to watch the process of the dying up close, and the friendly manager of the place happily babbled about the different methods various batik artists prefer, and showed us the difference between natural and chemical dyes. Seeing surrealist-style artwork created by a very traditional dying technique was a perfect representation, in my mind, of the way in which Yogyakarta, and Indonesia as a whole, is constantly trying to balance traditions and modernity, and creating the greatest beauty out of the mess that invariably results.

Because I explored Yogya with the help of one of my fellow ETAs, who is currently placed there, I was able to enjoy tiny places off the beaten track, and explore parts of Yogya’s culture which I never would have found, or expected to find, on my own.  She knew all the best little cafes and warungs, and introduced me to the incredible but also potentially problematic Yogya reggae scene.  The opportunity to see Yogya through the filter of her experiences, having lived and worked there for seven months, rather than through pages of a guidebook, was more than I deserved.

With one foot planted firmly in the past, and the other searching for stability in the present, Yogyakarta is dancing its way into the future to a re-mix of Bob Marley and gamelon, with the a sort of grace and energy that is seems only it can.  I cannot boast to understand this place, having only visited for a short time, but I cannot but be thankful that I was given the opportunity to pass through.