Friday evening I bought a ‘hand phone’ aka. cell phone. Not an easy task for a non-Indonesian speaker. Thought it best to have one for communicating prior to the weekend thus decided to do a bit of shopping on the walk home. Cell phone shops are plentiful. Luckily.
Shop one.
Couldn’t understand my Indonesian nor I theirs. No English.
Shop two.
Couldn’t understand my Indonesian nor I theirs. No English
Shop three.
Couldn’t understand my Indonesian nor I theirs. No English
I sat on the stool along the glass case displaying the phones. Contemplating how to communicate my needs. No doubt looking completely lost as I just stared at the sales guy (who was no older than 15). A group of guys happened by who I recognized from the language school. Did they speak English? No, but were learning and I wanted to help! From Papua on scholarships to study in Bali before heading to Australia, they proved great liaisons! A phone and study help… bonus!
Thus, if you get the urge to make a call I have digits. +62 81 353 189 559
And FYI… My address for the next couple of months:
Jl Tukad Ayung No. 36
Renon-Denpasar 80226
Bali
Indonesia
Four of us escaped north from Denpasar to Ubud for the weekend. A tourist hotspot. Nevertheless, a bit of ‘western’ food and ‘luxuries’ where indeed welcomed! A hot shower. Western ** flush ** toilets. Toilet paper… most places.
Saturday we wondered along one of the Lonely Planet’s suggested walks. It led us through local villages and green rice fields. Children and adults alike wanted to chat. To try out their English. A portion of the walk looped though the Sacred Monkey Sanctuary. I was expecting a few monkeys in the trees… but these were copious and aggressive! Happy for my rabies vaccination! People brought bananas and fruits for the monkeys… which the monkeys seemingly have learned to anticipate as they would prey at pockets, bags, and purses if your hand went in the general area. Some even leapt onto people’s shoulders. Seemingly playful and family centered. They lied about like lazy dogs or pampered cats.
A lotus pond behind us. A temple in front. The dancers and musicians close enough to touch. The Balinese dance is lavish. Expressing a story through music, dance, and costumes. No talking. Beautiful and colorful. Shimmering. Slightly creepy. The performers eyes bulge and roll. Their fingers quiver and shake.
explore
Monday, February 25, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
The Art of Questioning
Nama saya Mikal. Saya berasal dari Amerika. Saya tinggal di Denpasar, Bali. Umur saya dua puluh enam tahun. Saya Belum Menikah.
A bombardment of questions. Walk alone. Forget it. The Balinese seemingly have an art of rapid fire questions.
What’s your name?
Where are you from?
How long are you in Bali?
Where do you stay?
Are you on honeymoon?
Are you married?
Would you like to see my shop?
Would you like a message, manicure?
I have a motorbike/taxi, can I take you somewhere?
They survive on us. Tourist. A tourist industry that has only been on the decline since the Bali bombs and ‘Boxing Day’ Tsunami. We have only just arrived thus have yet to properly begin to explore the Bali, one of 17,508 islands (although a mere 6,000 are inhabited). Nevertheless, do indeed plan to traverse the sprawling country in the ‘ring of fire’. To intake the lush greenery, hidden underwater world, smoking volcanoes, and glimpse the unrivalled Komodo dragon. Thus a tourist.
Yet, not forgetting my purpose.
Much like the Peace Corps, VSO is dedicated to strengthening development initiatives. However, they work with local partners to build (in my opinion) more sustainable projects. Rather than being part of a government, the volunteers are employed by the local organizations with VSO providing support and training. It’s funny to think that I work in the hopes of not being need in the future. That the local people will be able to fulfill my place.
This is rainy season. The tourist crowds are not plentiful here, now. Just a handful of expats lie glutinously on the pale sandy beaches. They wear their tiny swimsuits. Indonesians wear their clothes into the turquoise tie-dye of the Indian Ocean. By contrast the locals are copious. Indonesia has a mounting population of over 234,000,000. The islands range from overpopulated to not. Bali is booming. The streets are a constant traffic jam of motorbikes and ‘Bemos’ (the local public transport vans). The motorbikes zip in. zip out. no cares. Children and babies ride along. Sometimes two. Sometimes the whole family. The roads are a bit of a free for all. The whistles and horns endless. Traffic patterns seemingly sporadic. Median and edge lines erratic.
Perhaps just as treacherous are the sidewalks. Rumpled like the clothes pulled from my overstuffed suitcase, lost in transit for two days. The brick walks uneven and jagged. Missing. Holes that look as if they would swallow me. Seemingly bottomless. On my walk home today I saw a rat dart into one of the holes. Moments later another. No, my mistake. A monkey tethered to a posted plays in. out. in. out.
The street is perfumed with the exotic mix of exhaust fumes and incense. My lungs strain to find the oxygen amongst the overabundant carbon monoxide. High heat and humidity adds weight to the air. North. South. East. West. In each direction my eyes rest upon a temple or shrine. A plethora of spiritual symbols. Each home, each place of business, pays homage. Offerings are placed outside of homes and at shrines. Mini woven baskets of leaves filled with various gifts of flowers and food. They are underfoot before you even have time to dodge them in the path. This is the ‘Island of Gods’. The people in Bali are predominately Hindu. Unlike the islands to the west, Muslim, and the islands to the east, Christian. The religious mix translates into loads of public holidays!
The toilets and shower situation will take a bit of getting used to. No doubt after 2 years, I will welcome flush western style commodes and a shower. Most toilets are squats. A bucket and water source near by to ‘flush’… the same to bath. I carry my supply of toilet paper and hand sanitizer without shame!
These past few days have been spent mainly in the VSO office with yesterday and today at the language school. Difficult to grasp the newness of the language. Nothing familiar. Still find myself wanting to toss out Spanish words from my last trip to Ecuador and Peru! Nevertheless, VSO keeps emphasizing the importance, as I will be working with many farmers who don’t speak English. The pressure is on!
A bombardment of questions. Walk alone. Forget it. The Balinese seemingly have an art of rapid fire questions.
What’s your name?
Where are you from?
How long are you in Bali?
Where do you stay?
Are you on honeymoon?
Are you married?
Would you like to see my shop?
Would you like a message, manicure?
I have a motorbike/taxi, can I take you somewhere?
They survive on us. Tourist. A tourist industry that has only been on the decline since the Bali bombs and ‘Boxing Day’ Tsunami. We have only just arrived thus have yet to properly begin to explore the Bali, one of 17,508 islands (although a mere 6,000 are inhabited). Nevertheless, do indeed plan to traverse the sprawling country in the ‘ring of fire’. To intake the lush greenery, hidden underwater world, smoking volcanoes, and glimpse the unrivalled Komodo dragon. Thus a tourist.
Yet, not forgetting my purpose.
Much like the Peace Corps, VSO is dedicated to strengthening development initiatives. However, they work with local partners to build (in my opinion) more sustainable projects. Rather than being part of a government, the volunteers are employed by the local organizations with VSO providing support and training. It’s funny to think that I work in the hopes of not being need in the future. That the local people will be able to fulfill my place.
This is rainy season. The tourist crowds are not plentiful here, now. Just a handful of expats lie glutinously on the pale sandy beaches. They wear their tiny swimsuits. Indonesians wear their clothes into the turquoise tie-dye of the Indian Ocean. By contrast the locals are copious. Indonesia has a mounting population of over 234,000,000. The islands range from overpopulated to not. Bali is booming. The streets are a constant traffic jam of motorbikes and ‘Bemos’ (the local public transport vans). The motorbikes zip in. zip out. no cares. Children and babies ride along. Sometimes two. Sometimes the whole family. The roads are a bit of a free for all. The whistles and horns endless. Traffic patterns seemingly sporadic. Median and edge lines erratic.
Perhaps just as treacherous are the sidewalks. Rumpled like the clothes pulled from my overstuffed suitcase, lost in transit for two days. The brick walks uneven and jagged. Missing. Holes that look as if they would swallow me. Seemingly bottomless. On my walk home today I saw a rat dart into one of the holes. Moments later another. No, my mistake. A monkey tethered to a posted plays in. out. in. out.
The street is perfumed with the exotic mix of exhaust fumes and incense. My lungs strain to find the oxygen amongst the overabundant carbon monoxide. High heat and humidity adds weight to the air. North. South. East. West. In each direction my eyes rest upon a temple or shrine. A plethora of spiritual symbols. Each home, each place of business, pays homage. Offerings are placed outside of homes and at shrines. Mini woven baskets of leaves filled with various gifts of flowers and food. They are underfoot before you even have time to dodge them in the path. This is the ‘Island of Gods’. The people in Bali are predominately Hindu. Unlike the islands to the west, Muslim, and the islands to the east, Christian. The religious mix translates into loads of public holidays!
The toilets and shower situation will take a bit of getting used to. No doubt after 2 years, I will welcome flush western style commodes and a shower. Most toilets are squats. A bucket and water source near by to ‘flush’… the same to bath. I carry my supply of toilet paper and hand sanitizer without shame!
These past few days have been spent mainly in the VSO office with yesterday and today at the language school. Difficult to grasp the newness of the language. Nothing familiar. Still find myself wanting to toss out Spanish words from my last trip to Ecuador and Peru! Nevertheless, VSO keeps emphasizing the importance, as I will be working with many farmers who don’t speak English. The pressure is on!
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Check
Snow, ice, and the winter wind. When will be the next time I experience an Ohio winter? To admire and loathe the frostiness. Soak it in.
Indonesia is imminent. Yet still a mere apparition.
Am I ready for the jet plane? Physically or mentally? Neither.
Passport and visa... check
VSO training completed in Canada... check
Watching superfluous TMZ, Entertainment Tonight, Access Hollywood... check
Family festivities... check
Catching up with friends, in person as well as via phone and email... check
Goodbyes... difficult and never complete
Logistics worked out for 2 years abroad... no
Bags packed... of course not
Details.
February 14, Valentine’s Day, Take off. Ready or not.
Indonesia is imminent. Yet still a mere apparition.
Am I ready for the jet plane? Physically or mentally? Neither.
Passport and visa... check
VSO training completed in Canada... check
Watching superfluous TMZ, Entertainment Tonight, Access Hollywood... check
Family festivities... check
Catching up with friends, in person as well as via phone and email... check
Goodbyes... difficult and never complete
Logistics worked out for 2 years abroad... no
Bags packed... of course not
Details.
February 14, Valentine’s Day, Take off. Ready or not.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)