Imagining Indonesia

November 2009

"Tell the taxi driver to take you to MOI- it's the Mall of Indonesia. We live there." My friend wasn't kidding. They actually did live in the same complex as the mall! I was visiting her and her boyfriend who I had done my teaching course with in Chiang Mai. They received me warmly, showed me my own bedroom (!) where I would be staying, and we commemorated my arrival with a bottle of Cuban rum I had picked up at the duty free store in Bangkok. During my travels, I have been very lucky to be consistently accepted into homes whose owners have never acknowledged the idiom "to overstay one's welcome." One week with them turned into three. I would tag along with them during the day to their school. (Little did I know then that this same international institution would be responsible for bringing me back to Thailand less than a year later!)

On the weekends we found one interesting excursion to do after another. We did a day-trip to Taman Mini-Indonesia, of which I was told beforehand nothing more than "it's a theme park" (the sly look on their faces told me I was in for a surprise). When we reached our destination I thought I had been tricked into going urban exploring- the park appeared abandoned, no amusement seemed to have been had in a long time. However, on closer inspection I could see that it was actually still functioning. We bought incredibly cheap tickets to enter, and then wandered around the near-deserted place, the theme of which I was now informed was a tribute to the many islands and corresponding cultures of Actual-Sized- Indonesia. We rode on the most rickety cable car ever (I very nearly kissed the ground when we exited), visited the different displays, and attempted unsuccessfully to sneak into the zoo since we didn't make it there during the one hour it was open. Overall, it was a quirky experience to say the least.

We later went to a functioning amusement park in Jakarta, which was considerably more lively. It was my first time at such at this type of entertainment venue outside of the US (complete with roller-coasters!) and I was not disappointed. Oh developed countries, why do you inhibit our fun with your concerns over safety and whatnot? If I want to get zipped into a giant plastic bubble filled with air and float on a pond then that is my prerogative, psh...

We also made a weekend journey to Yogyakarta, Jakarta's calmer relative, a culturally-oriented city 7 hours away by train. I was unpleasantly surprised that the overnight trains in Indonesia are not as nice as Thailand's (though I feel certain that nothing could ever be as bad as a third-class sleeper in India). No bunk, no pillows, no blankets- just a seat. We tried to make ourselves as comfortable as possible but when we arrived early in the morning we immediately needed to sleep until noon. In the afternoon we leisurely tooled around the city, visiting the old sultan's palace and then asking directions to the sultan's famous baths, which led to a man showing us around via many footpaths weaving all over the district that we would have never found by ourselves. In addition to the baths, we visited a street where many artisans were at work applying batik designs to paintings and fabrics. We were also eventually led to the bird market we had been looking for, which actually had every kind of animal imaginable, not just birds- pet monkey/owl/bat/lizard anyone? Except it's not recommended that you buy any animals from there because the conditions in which they're kept are pretty bad =/ We took a carriage ride back to our hotel, as we were concerned that the horses also seemed to not have been fed enough.

The next day, my friends were content to relax in the city and explore a bit by motorbike, but I wanted to make the most of my time there to see two famous monuments nearby. I bought a seat in a van that would take me to one and then another. I was taken first to Borobudur, the largest Buddhist monument in the world, dating back to the 9th century. It was indeed very large, and standing atop it I was never unimpressed by the view from any angle. A group of sweet, polite school children approached me to ask me some questions to practice their English. I was happy to oblige them... at first. It turns out that a veritable ant colony of students had swarmed all over the monument, hunting me down every two minutes and cornering me to answer the same questions. After the fourth time, I was well over it. After the twenty-seventh time I felt like I was losing my mind. Luckily we were soon on our way to the next stop, Prambanan, a Hindu temple built around the same time as the Buddhist one (yes, they are both located in an almost exclusively Muslim country). Mentally exhausted from the last monument, I walked briskly through the temple grounds and basked in the fact that I was alone. Then it was back to Yogya to meet my friends and get on the train back to Jakarta. On the train journey back I sat next to a woman who was from Aceh, the province on the Northern tip of Sumatra that was devastated in the 2004 tsunami. More than a third of the deaths from that event (over 100,000 people) occurred there. The woman explained that she had been in Jakarta at the time but she had lost over 15 family members that day. I can't imagine the sorrow she still faces on a daily basis, just shy of five years later...

My last getaway in Indonesia was undertaken alone. There was only a week left in my Asian adventure before I would return to America... exactly 5 months later! Hadn't I planned to be away for 2 months, 3 at the max? It was all worth it. And it would also be worth it to surprise my family in time for Thanksgiving =) But I still had a week to cap off my trip and I wanted to do something awesome, so I booked a short flight... to Bali!!! I landed and set about finding a hostel. The first night I was unlucky to have picked one very near a club and thus got almost no sleep (when backpacking, you win some, you lose some). But for the next few nights I found a very peaceful cluster of rooms near the beach. I spent the next few days laying on the sand and playing in the very high waves. I was tempted to take a surfing lesson but I had a minimal amount of money to last me the next few days. I wasn't bothered though because I told myself I would learn to surf eventually (promise kept!) Instead, I took a day-trip to Ubud, a small town in the interior of Bali. I met a girl from Guatemala and together we had a nice lunch, did some souvenir shopping crowded-Asian-market-style (my last time!), and then visited one of the main sights the town has to offer- the Monkey Forest!

A sign advised would-be wayfarers that under absolutely NO circumstances whatsoever should they bring any food into the grove, so I made sure that I had nothing edible in the small backpack I was carrying. I was surprised by how big the place was, trails winding all around, leading to sculptures, structures, a tiny waterfall in a river, and of course, monkeys! The macaques were not the most beautiful of simians, but their antics endeared them to observers. I made  the mistake of passing too close to a place where a larger one was perched; it jumped on my shoulder, a strategic position from which to attempt a robbery. I remained calm (a trip to Gibraltar had given me experience with surprise primate passengers) as it tried and tried to open my backpack, to no avail. However it refused to give up, and I began to worry whether this determined fellow would ever disembark. Furthermore, he was heavy! I sat down near a tree and waited until he finally bailed. I later discovered the reason why he was so bent on getting into my bag- I had left a pack of gum in there!

Bali was very beautiful. I wished I didn't have to leave. For that matter, I wished I wasn't leaving Asia at all. But it was time to go. I had come to know myself in ways I never expected. I had stayed away from my home for the longest period in my life! And ultimately, I was prepared to deal with the uncertainty of the future, only knowing that it would most certainly take me abroad again!

Tales from Thailand- Bus Journey Backfire Part I

November 2009

I boarded the "Friendship Bus" from Vientiane, Laos to Udon Thani, Thailand (final destination: Chiang Mai) and immediately realized that I was the only non-Lao, non-Thai person on board. My friend who also stayed in Chiang Mai had done this exact same trip two days prior and assured me that it was a cheaper, better way to get back to that city than taking one of the chartered tourist buses. I secured my luggage in the cargo area underneath the bus and we were on our way. The bus stopped at Laotian border, which happened to be directly in front of the Mekong River. Everyone disembarked, paid the "exit fee," got stamped through, and climbed back on the bus to cross the long "Friendship Bridge." On this side, all Lao and Thai people crossed easily through immigration, flashing some form of ID and practically walking right through. On the other hand, I was stuck waiting in line behind several other "farang" (foreigners). One couple up ahead was taking a very long time due to some problem with their paperwork. I gazed nervously at my bus waiting up ahead and wondered how long the driver would care to stay.

After about 10 minutes the couple had still not resolved their problem and the line had moved no further. I signaled to an immigration "un-official" (I'm guessing this was his job title seeing as he had a walkie-talkie but was also wearing what appeared to be a Star Wars T-shit); I gestured and said "Will my  bus wait for me?" He smiled and said "no problem," translated from "mai pen rai" which Thais use for so many everyday situations. I had been making conversation with the French family in front of me, 4 people total, and now began to voice my worries aloud to them in the hopes that maybe they would be understanding of my predicament and allow me to skip them in line. No such luck. The family waited and then presented all of their passports to the official. While he was carefully examining the first child's passport, I watched in horror as my bus pulled away. My large backpack- containing all of the minimal personal possessions I had to my name on this side of the world- was on that bus without me!

The plain-clothes immigration guy came to my aid. He could see my stress (I was in tears) and decided to take it upon himself to help me, possibly because not two minutes earlier he had said "no problem." Not speaking much English, he gestured to me to follow him to what appeared to be his personal vehicle. Trusting my instincts, I got in and we started to drive. He made calls on his cell phone (so the radio was for ?) and tried to talk to me to assure me things would be resolved, "No worry!" We slowed down at a police outpost along the highway because he expected the bus to pull over there (explained mostly through charades). However, there was no bus to speak of, so he sped back up and we kept driving... right into Udon Thani, over 60 kilometers away (nearly an hour's drive!)

Luckily, I remembered the bus number and told him in Thai (been practicing numbers to score bargins in the market). When we reached the bus station there, he pulled up to my bus and got out to speak to the driver. He then got back in the car with a confused look on his face. I asked what happened and conveyed that my bag had been dropped off... back at the highway patrol post! So we drove alllllll the way back, until we arrived again at the post, just shy of Nong Khai where I had crossed the border. By now several hours had passed and it was starting to get dark. The immigration guy talked to the officer at the post, who then showed me my bag. Then my hero said "bye!" and started walking back to his car. I was immediately startled. I called after him "Wait!" and asked where he was going and why he was leaving me. He pointed to the highway officer "he... you... bus... English!" He smiled and took his leave. I thanked him profusely, realizing very sadly that I didn't have enough money to pay him for all his trouble.

I now turned to the other police officer (for the purpose of the rest of the story, we will refer to him as Officer Creepy). He asked me to sit down and started talking to me. Although his speech was quite broken in English, I could tell that he had quite a good understanding of the language. He asked me the usual questions of acquaintance, "What's your name? Where are you from? etc." but then started to throw in some that made me uncomfortable, mostly because of the look he had when he asked them- "You have boyfriend? What hotel you stay? How much money have?" My uneasiness intensified as he suddenly decided he should search my bag (after I had already been there for at least half an hour!) If I was a cat, my hair would have stood straight up. I was hypervigilant now, worried that he would find the US dollars I had lied about not having. Something had warned me early on to pocket those, along with my pepper spray and knife, so luckily he didn't ask me to turn out my pockets.

He concluded his search with a smile on his face, nodding over at the clock and saying "bus no come."While I had been busy paying attention to him sifting through my bag, the time of 7pm had come and gone, and with it the bus he was supposed to have flagged down for me. After phoning my friend in Chiang Mai (the same one that recommended the Friendship Bus in the first place), I grabbed my guidebook and began to search for hotels nearby, realizing I wouldn't make it to Udon Thani anymore tonight. He said "No worry, I know hotel, I take you." I insisted that I wanted to choose my own, thanks. He pointed to the office and said "No worry, you can stay. Has a bed, door has lock." This is the point where I really started to panic. I grabbed my things and headed out to the road.

What was I going to do? I had no idea, but I started to wave at passing buses, realizing that hitch-hiking was just as dangerous of an option as the current situation. Officer Creepy followed me, "Where you go? That bus go Pattaya. That bus go Bangkok." "Fine then I'll go to Bangkok!!!" I was nearly shouting now. My hysteria must have un-nerved him because finally he said "Ok ok, we go see a police officer." There's been another police officer here the whole time?!?! 

To be continued...

Lingering in Laos- On a Slow Boat to... Nowhere in Particular

It had sounded like a good idea: a leisurely ride down the scenic Mekong River, two days soaking up the pristine natural beauty of the remote wilderness from the relaxing vantage point of an aptly named “slow boat.” The journey came highly recommended by many others I had met so far in my travels. The first time I heard someone speak of it, a picture of serene vistas and uninhibited relaxation etched itself into my mind and refused to leave. The only solution to appease the desire was to actually attempt the passage.

The opportunity presented itself when it became apparent that I would have to do a border run to get a new Thai visa. Myanmar was closer but I had a friend in Laos who was teaching in the capital, and this fact, coupled with the chance to take the slow boat, easily persuaded me to venture into this country to the east. Getting to and across the border was relatively hassle-free. When I set foot on the opposite bank of the Mekong, I was sure I knew what to expect. It turned out (as it so often has while I’ve been in on this trip) that I had been quite mistaken in my presumptions. I saw the boat and experienced yet another moment of horror/hilarity as I realized, “This is what I’ll be traveling in?!”

I now understood that the next 48 hours would probably not be the most comfortable of my life. I could not even begin to imagine how more than 100 passengers would a) fit on the boat and b) stay that way for two days without deteriorating into insanity. I had guessed that the chairs would be wooden and accordingly had brought a cushion. Only I had also thought that the seats would be the size of a normal chair or bench; instead, the pitiful perch was a 2”x 4”! I opted for floor space instead, and was very glad I did. Although I was crammed between another person and the side of the boat, I was certain that having a flat surface that could actually accommodate a sitting position for more than 5 minutes was very much preferable to one that couldn’t. Over the next two days, in an endeavor to avoid both boredom and stiffness, I found more ways to maneuver my body to fit into that tiny area than I could have imagined possible (maybe I should try out for cirque du soliel!)

After only about 20 minutes, I had already tired of the scenery and started reading the 50-pound book I had been loaned by a friend who knew it would keep me well occupied on such a lengthy excursion. I also met several other travelers to pass the time with talking, as per usual on any transport longer than a few minutes from A to B. One girl, Naoko, was from Japan, and we decided we would share a room in the small village of Pak Beng, where we would be stopping overnight. Touts (another given of Asian tourism) immediately converged on us, impeding our progress up the steep, sandy river bank until we finagled a deal with one who led us to our hotel. Naoko and I settled in for the night. Our progress towards sleep was only momentarily delayed as we formed a spontaneous drum corps after taking note that our “beds” appeared to be made out of plywood.

The next morning we grabbed our pre-ordered lunches and reluctantly boarded the boat for the second leg of the grueling journey. I think this time I just tried to sleep as much as possible to forget about the heat, discomfort, and boredom. Eventually, and not a moment too soon, our destination emerged slowly out of the forested mountains. Luang Prabang is a small, quiet town on the Mekong River which is Southeast Asian in most of its essentials, but exudes a touch of quaint provincial France. Colonialism left behind permanent markers here, from the architecture of the houses and shops to the art of baking the perfect baguettes, painstakingly passed-down and refined over the generations. Naoko and I wandered this beautiful town together, eating in open-air cafes on the river, exploring the many Buddhist temples, visiting a handicrafts market, hiking up a hill in the center of town to watch the sunset from yet another temple, and waking up at 4am to witness the daily procession of young Buddhist monks with marigold-colored robes and shaven heads collecting food from villagers as alms. 

After a few days, I parted ways with Naoko and took a bus to Vientiane, the capital. Other than lots of construction, nothing much seemed to be going on here. I walked to a public fountain, only to find it not functioning. I moved on to a temple, where a Western tourist couple seemed to be the only other souls in the place. I took a cab to Pha That Luang, the great golden stupa that is the national symbol of Laos, and there were about fifty times more people in the paved lot buying and selling T-shirts than there were in the whole of the grounds. As one of the poorest countries in Southeast Asia, Laos lacks much of an infrastructure; therefore, development has been slow.

(Sidebar: Of course, it doesn’t help that the American War in Vietnam has had such long-lasting effects for this country. Some areas are still being cleared of land-mines, craters puncture the countryside where our military pilots indiscriminately dropped their bombs to avoid the humiliation of returning to home base without having gotten rid of them, and Hmong people are still fleeing for their lives from persecution by the government after the Americans secured their assistance… and then left them to fend for themselves, hunted down as traitors to Laos.) Surely there will be exponential growth for the country in the next few years, and if this happens in a similar way as it has for other countries in the area, Laos might soon face similar problems of culture and tradition being pitted against Western “progress” and “comforts”. With such fundamental changes in way of life, Laos may find itself losing what makes it Laos. 

But not right now. The Laotians I met through my English teacher friend very much brought to mind the lighthearted spirit that Laos is known for. They were all perfectly happy to kick back, practice English with me, and drink BeerLao, a beverage this nation prides itself in having invented. One girl, who couldn’t have been more than 20, also bashfully told me that she had had an American boyfriend before… who was 70! I’m afraid that sort of thing is an epidemic all over Southeast Asia. It’s a pretty lucrative arrangement for both the women there and the elderly Western men who seek them out, but in a lot of ways a detriment to the community as a whole, not to mention repulsive in how the unequal distribution of power between these two groups ends up playing out in real life =/

The day before I left Vientiane to go back to Thailand, I happened to walk into an internet café and find Naoko there! We decided we would go to a sculpture park about 30 minutes outside the city the next day before I left. The ride there definitely took longer but it was worth it. We walked around the cement sculptures, which the artist had created using the influences of not only Buddhism but also Hinduism and other native spiritual beliefs. The result was an eclectic and at times eccentric mix of statues. You could even climb through a monster’s mouth, up into a hollow structure filled with labyrinthian passages, and walk along until you came out into the sun at the top, to look out over the entire park and the Mekong River, in the shadow of a towering, abstract cement tree (which can actually be seen from Thailand- more on that in a later edition). Overall, my time in Laos passed very well and I highly recommend going there… however, I will never be able to recommend that slow boat excursion to anyone, except as a joke!