9 Lessons

As a teacher in Indonesia I prepared many lessons for my students; but, I have also learned a few lessons of my own. Here I have made a list of the top 9 lessons I have learned in as many months.

9. Rely on the kindness of strangers- this lesson from Scarlett O'Hara could not have been any more relevant when living and traveling in a country where your circle of close friends and acquaintances can be counted on one hand and your command of the language is basic due to sheer laziness. There have been numerous times when I have had to rely on strangers using only my basic bahasa and crude sign language to communicate. On the reverse side of this I have also gained a healthy distrust of people and have learned to keep a wary eye on anyone who offers their "help".

8. People are a reflection- One of my Ibus once told me that Indonesian people are like mirrors. Not only could my students tell when I was tired or in a bad mood but they responded differently as a result- not as willing to participate, not as focused on my lessons. Ibus and Bapaks that I met on the street were the same- they would often leer at me with a look of distrust until I smiled at them at which time they reflected my smile back at me. I've never known my mood and outward appearance to have such an effect on people.

7. Appreciate your food- in a country where everything and anything is eaten (dog, bat, rat, chicken feet...and all of the other parts of the chicken), and your food is often looking at you, I have come to appreciate all that I eat. Not only have I begun to eat meat with bones in it (gasp!); but I have learned to eat entire fish with my hands...although I was never brave enough to eat the head.

6. Friends are a lifeline- Never in my life have my friendships been so important. The friends that I made here in Indonesia were essential in sometimes just making it through the day and my friends at home have kept me anticipating my return. I cannot wait to be reunited with all of you!

5. Family is irreplaceable- No one can choose their family- but I like to think that I made out extremely well. A Mom who sent cards almost weekly, a Dad who kept a daily journal for me so I wouldn't feel out of the loop, and siblings who sent me care packages and accepted my calls at all hours. My family is a large part of my success and I realize now what a gret support system I have.

4. Don't sweat the small stuff- In Indonesia there was  so much "small stuff" (lack of electricity or water for hours/days, choking traffic, language barriers, sometimes sheer incompetence) that if I let it all get to me I would have been running a long time ago. Indonesia has taught me that I have control over very little; a revelation to a girl who likes to be in control of everything. I have learned to take deep breaths, let it go, and relax... usually while laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

3. Adapt to your surroundings- The girl who used to cringe at the thought of a motel is now sleeping in hostels and guest houses that don't even fall on the star rating system- riding on the backs of broken down motorcycles- eating from street stalls that the health department would shut down in the blink of an eye. I can't say that I'm more tolerant or appreciative of different cultures and religions; but, I have definitely learned to adapt myself to them.

2. It's ok to be alone- Learning to be alone has been a large part of my experience living abroad. When you only work 20 hours a week and your friends and family don't live nearby; you have plenty of time alone. Coming from a large family this is not something I was ever very good at; but, I have learned to savor my alone time with good books, pirated DVD's, and music(essential to provide background noise when the house is too quiet).

1. Patience- I thought that I was a patient person before coming to Indonesia, but living in this country has tested and perfected that patience. Patience was essential when my students sometimes looked at me blankly during lessons; when I had to repeat my bahasa Indonesia incessantly because my accent wasn't correct and the person couldn't understand what I was saying even though I was sure I had the right word; when a meeting, class, flight, seminar, dinner would start an hour or more late because of jam karet (rubber time); anytime I had to tell my Ibus "no" over and over and over; when ceremonies lasted much longer than necessary in the hot sun in a language that I didn't understand; when I was asked to sing in public for the hundredth time; when fending off strange men who thought it was ok to ask where I lived and if I was alone; when I was being yelled at, beeped at, and sometimes followed on my daily jogs around the city; when forced to wear uncomfortable traditional clothing. Patience.

Preserving Tradition

The culture of Indonesia is as vast and diverse as the archipelago itself. Each specific region has it's own traditions when it comes to food, dance, dress, language, and ceremonies. The Indonesian people are very proud of their culture- traditional dance and songs are incorporated into most events, traditional clothes are worn every Friday in my school, traditional food pervades every aspect of life here, most people speak several languages (bahasa Indonesia plus their hometown dialect) and the majority of weddings and other ceremonies follow the traditional customs. The traditional culture of Pekanbaru is Melayu; however, this is highly influenced by the traditions of the Minang people of West Sumatra. To try and describe the intricacies of such a culture would be doing a disservice to the people and their traditions- so hopefully photos and videos will give you a better understanding.

This video shows a traditional Malayu dance performed by my students. Click on this link to view it.

Examples of traditional Malayu clothing- obviously not adapted to tropical weather.

Brian and I both hate Melayu Fridays for obvious reasons...

Traditional Padang food is from West Sumatra. At Padang restaurants all the food is prepared in the morning and then  is kept in bowls behind glass all day. They bring out a small dish of everything they have- usually an assortment of meat, fish and vegetables curried, grilled, and fried along with a big bowl of rice and you pay for what you eat. As is customary you wash your right hand in a small bowl of water on the table and eat with your hands. 

When you order food dibungkus (to go) it is usually packaged in wax paper or some kind of banana leaf and newspaper. Gado-gado (above) is my favorite Indonesian dish- steamed green beans, cabbage and bean sprouts, lettuce, tofu, and lontong (rice that has been boiled for several hours in a banana leaf so it is condensed) covered in a spicy peanut sauce. On top are crupuk or Indonesian chips- flour disks that are fried until crunchy and provide texture to almost any dish. Pretty much flavorless, they come in an assortment of colors.

The Word on W.O.R.D.S

About three years ago a group of ETA's decided that it would be a good idea to hold an English competition for their students and thus the W.O.R.D.S competition was born. In the intervening years the meaning of the title has been lost; but, what remains is a creative writing and performing arts competition focused on spoken English and creativity in relation to a theme. Each ETA held a school competition in March to decide which student would compete in the national competition which was held this past weekend in Jakarta. This year the competition centered on the theme of "What is My Generation's Vision for Indonesia?," and while the answers to this question were sometimes similar in nature the modes of performance were diverse. All of the performances were extraordinary examples of the immense talent and dedication that many of our students possess which made the six plus hours of performances enjoyable for all of us.

Lala, an eleventh-grade student, was chosen from SMK 1 for her talent in traditional story telling. Her vision for the future of Indonesia is to preserve the rich culture of this country, and she enacted a traditional story as an example of one way to do this.  Lala is a sweet girl, small for her age and sometimes quiet; but, her confidence on stage and her abilities in acting and story telling impressed everyone. I played the role of Mom; feeling nervous while we were waiting for her turn to perform and beaming proudly while snapping pictures during her performance. Four winners were chosen from the 43 participants; Eric's student was chosen for best use of the theme, Brian's student was chosen for most creative, Mary's student was chosen for best use of English, and the final category was for best overall. When they called Lala's name we were both shocked and ever the proud Mom I immediately began crying and continued to cry through most of her acceptance and the photo shoot that followed.

Coming from an extremely poor family, I can only imagine the struggles that Lala has had to overcome in order to be where she is today. I could not have chosen a more deserving candidate, not only does she have an immense talent but she also has an immense need and the scholarship that she will receive as a result of winning the competition will lift a great burden from her family. She is resilient and determined, and the pride and happiness I feel for her can only be compared to that of a Mother and her child. Our triumphant return was greeted with celebration and I received many thanks and congratulations, but the real credit goes to Lala. So, congratulations Lala, you are truly talented and I wish you all the best.

                               

Dishing on Durian

You can smell it for miles. There are signs on hotels that forbid it on the premises. Most cities in Indonesia have a street named after it. It is one of the things I am asked if I like whenever I say I love Indonesian food. It is obviously famous in Indonesia, and it is the weirdest fruit I have ever seen- durian.

The off-white stuff on the bottom right is what you eat.

 In the Indonesia language duri means thorn which is a perfectly fitting name for a fruit about the size of a football that is covered in thick, yellow-green spikes. Durian looks more like a medieval torture device than a fruit- and believe me, if put in a bind it would make a great weapon (the spikes are actually quite sharp).  The smell of durian is very distinct- not distinct in a pleasant- honey-suckle- way, but distinct in an o god- what is that smell-way. Long story short you can smell it long before you lay eyes on it- hence the aversion of hotels to have it on the premises. The smell alone was always reason enough for me to politely avoid tasting this Indonesian specialty; however, with my time here dwindling I decided it wouldn't kill me to try it just once. So, when a few of my students asked if I would like to eat durian with them I hesitantly agreed.

Indonesian culture is a culture of ghosts and superstitions and eating durian is laden with unfounded beliefs. Before we could eat durian we had to have dinner, and it had to be rice because if you don't have rice before eating durian you could die. While stuffing ourselves with nasi (rice) the girls filled me in on some other durian superstitions- eating durian will make you feel hot, but if you drink water out of the durian husk the heat will dissipate- if you eat too much durian you can get sick or feel drunk-if you eat durian followed by mangosteen (another local fruit) you could get cancer or die (they cited several cases to prove their point). I was reminded several times to be careful since this was my first time- like someone who has never had alcohol before on their twenty-first birthday.

The durian hawkers attending the stand we stopped at chose a few good ones for us and hacked them open with a machete before plopping them on our table. I hesitantly pried one of the mushy, white pieces of fruit from the outer husk and took a bite. The only way I can describe the taste is to say that it tastes like it smells- a little sweet at first and then...I can't describe it. The texture is somewhere between mashed potatoes and warm pudding- not smooth or juicy or in anyway delicious like fruit is supposed to be. After eating several pieces and starting to feel very hot (the power of suggestion?) I began to wonder about durian's appeal. In this hot climate it is in no way refreshing, and it doesn't even taste good- yet, Indonesians love the stuff. I pondered this later that evening while gulping water and chomping tums to try and rid myself of the cottonmouth and indigestion that I was left with. Eating durian was like an Indonesian rite of passage, and I guess I succeeded since I didn't die in the process.

After my success the durian hawkers wanted a photo...

Tackling the Togeans

Whoever said "getting there is half the fun" must have made the journey to the Togean islands. Three days of travel were required for me to reach the islands- including three flights (beginning from my site in Sumatra), a very nauseating 6-hour ride in a van, a 4-hour ferry, and finally a private speed boat to our resort. What awaited us was well worth the effort; rugged wilderness, deserted white sand beaches, turquoise waters fading into royal blue, diverse coral reefs, sunsets that looked as though they had been painted, and night skies glittering with stars. We read to our heart's content in seaside hammocks, snorkeled in coves around the island, explored the wilds of the jungle (although "got our butts kicked by the jungle" might be more appropriate), and went to sleep at night to the sound of the waves crashing quite literally outside of our open french doors. While all of this would be enough to make the mouth water of even the most cosmopolitan island-hopper, it was made even more perfect by the company. As our last vacation together in Indonesia I couldn't have asked for more. The friends I have made this year are truly amazing and without them this experience would not have been the same. To the Togeans, and to my friends, without whom this would have been possible...but much less enjoyable.

Since my words can only begin to describe the beauty of the Togean Islands, check out the pictures from my trip.

                   

Gravity

Six weeks. The realization of this short amount of time is starting to weigh on me, much like my luggage will after I have packed what is left of my life in Indonesia in order to return to the states. The doubts that accompany that realization are also starting to weigh on me. As I listened to some of my students struggle through their verbal mid term exam, questions began filling my head. What could I have done better? How could I have helped them to learn more? O God...have they learned anything!?! It's evident from their willingness to please and their apparent happiness that they enjoy my classes- but have they actually improved their English? Sure, this year has helped me to lengthen my resumes-my professional resume with all of the spare time I have had to volunteer, guest lecture, and speak at various events, not to mention that I get to add "Fulbright Recipient" under scholarships and awards- and my travel resume with all of the time I have spent on vacation- but, have my personal gains contributed to my student's understanding of English?

A few weeks ago I held an English competition at my school- the WORDS competition was started by past ETA's to showcase their student's talents and promote English- and fifteen of my students were brave enough to come out and compete. For most of them it was their first competition and as such their performances were a little rough; but, they still left me beaming like a soccer Mom at her kid's first game. Several of the students who signed up to participate did not come to compete, and a little curious, I asked one of the students what had happened. "There was no information Miss" was the reply I was given. The sinking feeling in my stomach accompanied the realization that I had forgotten two of my students. I distinctly remembered telling this student when and where the competition would be held; but, had she misunderstood me? Obviously. In my obsessive planning of the event I had made the ultimate mistake- I had forgotten my kid's first soccer game, I hadn't even given them a shot at victory. My profound apologies were met with a sweet "it's okay Miss," but I still felt like a horrible teacher.

All I can hope is that after I'm gone my mistakes will be forgotten and I will be immortalized as the beautiful, sometimes crazy teacher from America. I must realize that I am not going to change the world, but that maybe... just maybe I will impact some of my students positively. I must learn to forgive myself and leave the extra baggage of guilt and doubt behind- my luggage will inevitably be heavy enough as it is.

All of the participants minus the winner of the competition, along with Ibu Hadijah and Pak John.

Participants and judges- Lala, the winner (in all white-center), performed traditional story telling.

ar·chi·pel·a·go

[ahr-kuh-pel-uh-goh] –noun: a large group or chain of islands: the Malay Archipelago. Indonesia is made up of more than 17,500 islands. 17,500 seems like an impossibly large number- maybe not in terms of the number of times I've heard "hey mister!" while in Indonesia; but, when speaking in terms of land masses, it seems infeasible. On my most recent vacation I witnessed the feasibility of that large number during a ten day tour through Lombok, Komodo, Rinca, Flores, Gili Trawangan, and a plethora of nameless islands in between.Our trip began in Lombok, Bali's less exploited but far more beautiful neighbor. After a much-too-short reunion with some of my favorite ETA's who had been on vacation the previous week, we booked a 5-day boat trip to hunt the infamous Komodo dragon. Our boat, about the size of the S.S. Minnow, was a United Nations of sorts with people from Mexico, New Zealand, the Netherlands, England,  and Sweden among others. Accommodations aboard our luxury liner included a small (6X5) cabin with bunk beds, four shared bathrooms with showers, an indoor dining area, plenty of deck space, three meals a day, snacks, and beer- unfortunately the captain's gala and on board theater were not included. 

The main attractions of this trip were the islands of Komodo and Rinca-and with nothing but a guide wielding a forked stick for protection, we braved the possibility of fatal Komodo bites for a glimpse at these rare dinosaurs. About ten minutes into our trek on Komodo we were stopped in our tracks by a large male sunning in the path. I had seen Komodos on the Discovery channel but that was no preparation for the massive size of this lizard. After time for photos, the guide used his stick to nudge the Komodo out of the way- he retaliated by angrily swinging his powerful tail as he lumbered into the brush. We saw three more dragons that day, two sunning on rocks and one walking along the beach. After stopping in Flores we continued to the island of Rinca, which is also home to Komodos. Unfortunately it was overcast, so while this island looked like a scene from Jurassic Park, the only dinosaurs we saw were those hanging out around the ranger's station lured by the smell of the kitchen. As scavengers Komodos have an innate sense of smell- women on their period are warned against visiting these islands. 

Our five days on the boat were punctuated by snorkeling in the coral reefs, visiting a red sand beach, stopping to explore uninhabited islands, jumping off the boat into clear blue water, and visiting a small village with a turquoise waterfall and rope swing. I swam with graceful turtles, countless fish I can't even name, and even a 4 foot black tip shark! I also faced the possibility of being stranded on an island when I returned to the beach from snorkeling to find everyone else already aboard the boat (Eric claims to have had this under control, but I'm doubtful). Throughout the trip we were never far from land, and we watched the sun rise and set in brilliant orange and pink over uninhabited islands and volcanoes- dark masses looming out of the water at night and picturesque green hillsides during the day. 

When our five-day tour came to an end we headed to the island of Gili Trawangan or Gili T- the largest (4-5 miles around) in a set of three small islands skirting Lombok. Like Lombok, the Gili islands are on the cusp of being the next big thing so resorts and other Western commodities have sprung up all along the coast. Needless to say the last three days of our vacation were spent indulging not only in the white sand beaches and the vibrant waters, but in the Illy cappuccinos, baked goods, sandwiches, Mexican food, artisan beers, and cocktails made with local palm liquor. We were thoroughly spoiled before returning back to the harsh realities of high school. My Picassa web albums contain all of my photos from the trip, so take a look: https://picasaweb.google.com/117936917829784254576/March?authkey=Gv1sRgCIubr9-f4PLm8wE&feat=directlink

Sekolah Luar Biasa

Everyday I ride my bicycle past Sekolah Luar Biasa on my way to teach at SMK 1. Often some of the students are outside in front of the school and we exchange excited waves as I pass by. This is not an elementary school, nor a middle or high school; rather, Sekolah Luar Biasa or SLB is for students who are, as the name suggests, "outside the ordinary" (sekolah-school, luar-outside, biasa-normal/ordinary).

As a Special Educator I was quite interested to see how students with disabilities would be treated in Indonesia. My interest was further piqued when I noticed that there were no exceptional students in my placement school, nor had I seen any during my interactions around the city. Where were the Indonesians with disabilities? Sitting with two of my fellow teachers one day I asked this question and was met with a less than satisfactory "I don't know, why?" When I answered that I taught those students in America and that my Masters degree was in Special Education I was met with a look of shock and a "why?" as in "why would you want to do that?." After bewildering them by saying that working with those children was my passion, I was told that "o yes, we have a special school for people like that." Aha! I knew it! There were people with disabilities in Indonesia, they were just being hidden. I immediately pictured 1800's style asylums full of dark rooms crowded with stagnating children of different disabilities lumped together under the umbrella of "defective". I immediately asked if I could visit and possibly volunteer there, only to be given a very vague answer. After months of advocating for my right to visit the special school I was finally granted permission and arranged a visit this past Saturday.

We were ushered into the cluttered office of the headmaster, a round, spectacled Ibu with a kind smile who cleared some space for us to sit down and chat. I knew I was in the right place when I told her that I was a Special Educator in America and her face lit up as she eagerly asked "why?"- although this time it was not an accusatory why. When I answered her question with "I love it" she smiled broadly and emphatically agreed. She took us on a tour of the school herself, holding my hand as we went through the building. She showed us the various rooms where students learn practical skills like sewing, woodworking, cooking, and salon skills. The first classroom we visited contained three students and one teacher, and to my amazement the students were reading and writing in braille! After talking with those students we were taken to the next room where eight deaf students sat in two neat rows learning sign language. As soon as my face appeared in the doorway one the the girls in the back row gasped and started making a pedaling sign with her hands- she knew me from riding past each day on my bicycle. We practiced the alphabet together in sign and they sang a song for us using sign. Before we knew it we were surrounded by other students and teachers who had been drawn by the commotion, and subjected to the photos customary of Indonesia.

Needless to say I was thrilled that my vision of Indonesia's asylums was far from the truth, but I was even more thrilled that, for the first time since teaching in Indonesia, I saw teachers who were truly passionate about their job and loved their students. Never have I had such an affirming and impassioning experience- I was reminded of all of the reasons why I had become a Special Educator. The headmaster invited me to come back as often as possible and I promised to take her up on her offer. I regret that I waited so long to venture into SLB; but, I hope in the months to come that I can keep my promise to this school that is truly outside of the ordinary.

Jeepers Creepers

Living in Indonesia is often like being an albino goldfish in a crowded tank of my amber-hued brethren...bottom line, I stick out like a prostitute in a convent. Often referred to as my "celebrity status" my ability to be recognized as a foreigner can be both a curse and an honor. In just the past week I have guest taught at three different English courses, one for high school, one for a mix of elementary and middle school, and one for teachers. The grapevine here in Pekanbaru is strong and while I was asked to teach two of the courses for fellow teachers, the last was an invitation by a woman I had never met. Along with these English courses, my voice was also immortalized for a listening section of an examination to be given in all of the vocational high schools in Pekanbaru. I felt more than a little cool as I was ushered into a sound booth (albeit an Indonesian sound booth that looked like it had been built in 1982 and smelled of stale cigarettes even though a large sign pronounced "No Smoking") and seated in front of a microphone behind a large glass window. Slowly and clearly I read a  sometimes-grammatically-incorrect script while my fellow teacher nodded in approval from the other side each time I repeated "mark your answer on your answer sheet." Afterward I was praised for my accent and what could I say? I'm a natural.

Along with the honors of being a foreigner come the curses...or should I say creepers. For a reason unknown to me Indonesians do not understand creepiness, and I constantly find myself disregarding all of the "stranger danger" training I had as a child to make excuses for the men who ask for my phone number or stop me to chat- it's cultural right? Last Monday was one of my favorite encounters of this kind. While on my daily run a small red sedan slowed next to me and the open window revealed a beaming Muslim couple. Usually when this sort of thing happens (and it's happened before) I can answer the simple "Where are you from?" and be on my way; but, the man behind the wheel of this car was a little more curious than the average Indonesian. After about a ten minute interrogation session on the side of a busy road which revealed my height, weight, and that yes I do like bakso (meatball soup), but not for breakfast-he was satisfied and left me with a "Happy Valentine's Day" as they pulled away. Yesterday while running I heard something over my music and turned to find a teenage boy keeping pace with me. The adrenaline that the scare of this new addition to my run pumped through me elicited a "Jesus f*%!ing Christ!" (so much for that whole ambassador thing) while he laughed and continued to keep pace. This boy, a twelfth-grade student at a local high school, had started running with me in January but I hadn't seen him since returning from my mid-year conference. After recovering from my shock he told me in his halting English that he had been following me and then promptly asked if he could come to my home. After giving him the vague answer of maybe sometime in the future, he told me that he would wait for me everyday and asked if I would like a ride home. After refusing twice and telling him that I needed to go home he left me to retrieve his motorcycle, but no sooner had I rounded a corner than he was there waiting for me and drove along side me for a few minutes before speeding off. A similar situation occurred during a bike ride in which a guy, with his girlfriend on the back, drove his motorcycle in pace with my bicycle in order to talk to me. When faced with these situations I have learned to laugh, it's one of those things that is truly Indonesia and I don't think I could avoid it if I tried. I just hope that I remember my "stranger danger" training upon my return to the states- I doubt that strange men at home will want nothing more than to practice their English.

A Sure Thing

 Most things in Indonesia are uncertain- electricity and running water are often mati (off/not working), classes are often cancelled on a whim, and flights are more often than not, late- but the one sure thing in Indonesia is that behind every corner lurks an eager Indonesian with a camera phone ready to shoot the unsuspecting buleh. I've been photographed in the most unimaginable places- on the side of the road while running, on a gangway into an airplane, while waiting in the airport, in front of a monument in Bali, and yes, even while I've been teaching. My most favorite photo shoot occurred while visiting Bukit Tinggi in West Sumatra- a young mother thrust her baby into my arms and then proceeded to photograph us with various members of her family. I sometimes wonder just how many photos I've been in since arriving in Indonesia and I can only imagine that numerous family albums contain photographs of an unidentified female buleh. It makes me laugh to think of all of the children who have been shoved at me for a photo, like the baby in Bukit Tinggi, who will look back on their childhood photographs only to ask "Mom, who's this white lady in the picture with me?." So it was no surprise that after only three days in Indonesia grainy photographs of my Mom and sister appeared on facebook compliments of my students and their ever ready camera phones.

My Mom and sister's Indonesian adventure was the fastest ten days of my experience thus far and filled with a plethora of emotions. They arrived exhausted and overwhelmed by the stark contrast between the first and third worlds. Those first few days were stressful to say the least as they tried to assimilate into Indonesian culture and recover from their 24 hour flight, and I tried to make them as comfortable as possible while protecting them from some of the rawness of this country. They were troopers though and happily (at least on the outside) endured a day at my school where they had various foods pushed at them and were photographed at least a hundred times, a lunch at the home of one of my Ibus, and a bumpy flight to Bali. Our time spent in Bali was much more relaxing since the westernization of the island as a tourist destination allowed them such comforts as a gorgeous beach side resort with pristine pools and a western breakfast buffet; restaurants that served food sans chile; and a little anonymity with other white-skinned, pointy-nosed people abounding. We lounged by the beach and pools; perfected the art of bargain shopping; took in some cultural dances and art; played cards; caught up; and overall just enjoyed being together. Our parting on Thursday was tearful and left me feeling a little empty; but, I am more than grateful that they braved the long journey and distant lands. As I write they are probably picking up their luggage from the carousel in BWI airport- happy to be home. Like being photographed in Indonesia my family is always a sure thing and I hope that they are as glad as I am that they made the long trek for such a short visit.

The three of us inside a 1,000 year old Hindu Temple.

  

An Indonesian Welcome

After returning home from the conference I had one of those weeks that required an "oh, Indonesia" while shaking my head in defeat. My first night home the plastic chair off of my front porch was stolen- not while I was gone for an entire week- but the night after I returned. After missing it for the day I walked down to my neighbor's house to find it comfortably situated on his front porch (note: we've had issues with chair ownership since I moved in). The next morning I woke to find a rat's head and entrails on my front porch next to the chair that I had stolen back- (I'm taking this as a sign that I've been accepted by the cat community). When trying to clean up the entrails I realized that my water pump had stopped working and thus, I had no water. With an hour before I needed to be to school and sweaty from my morning run, I unabashedly took my plastic mop bucket to the spigot on the building in front of mine and stole a bucket of water to shower with. The next day I received  a call from AMINEF to say that the head of the Asian Fulbright commission was coming to Pekanbaru to visit on the same weekend that my Mom and sister were to arrive, and would I mind changing my plans to show him around? On top of it all monsoons descended upon Pekanbaru and it rained unceasingly all week.

Today my Mom and sister are scheduled to arrive in Pekanbaru in one hour. My chair has stayed in place, my water pump has decided to work again, and I wrote to AMINEF that there was no way I would miss time with my family no matter who was coming to visit. Brian has good naturedly agreed to rubbing elbows without me. Unfortunately with all of the rain the laundry that I dropped off on Friday with all of my towels and sheets was not dry when I went to pick it up today. I sure hope that my Mom and sister don't mind sharing for awhile. Having experienced life here it seems too fitting- welcome to Indonesia Mom and Cybbie!

I swear that I'm here to teach...

I'm sure that you're all getting tired of my blog posts highlighting some gorgeous island in Indonesia where I hung out with my friends and thinking to yourselves "Didn't she go there to teach English?" and I swear I've been teaching... a little anyway.

A week and a half after returning from my month long teaching hiatus, I found myself once more walking across the tarmac of the Pekanbaru airport, suitcase trailing behind me. This time however I was with Brian and neither of us had paid for our flights- we were headed to the ETA mid-year conference and this trip was on AMINEF. The ETA reunion began in the Jakarta airport, where our inevitable lay over made our paths cross with those of about ten other ETA's all bound for Surabaya. Once in Surabaya AMINEF spared no expense, putting us up in a five-star hotel for our two day outreach program with local schools. After successful programs with schools around Surabaya and sufficient discussions on teaching and practices with the English Language Fellows (the big brother to the ETA program), all forty-four of us were once again loaded onto coach buses bound for the airport. After taking over the Starbucks during our routine flight delay, we finally boarded a plane to the island of Lombok- Bali's more beautiful and less hyped neighbor. Here we continued our mid-year conference at the Sheraton resort- discussing the ETA handbook for future ETA's, changes AMINEF could make to improve the program, the WORDS competition, an English competition for our students, and generally trying to finish before lunch so that we could enjoy the lavish pool and dual happy hours offered by the Sheraton.

By Friday our mid-year duties were completed and most of us opted to stay in Lombok for a weekend in Kuta- a two hour drive to the south. The white sand beaches, turquoise water, and breathtaking rock formations made this small town look like something out of Avatar- it's the most beautiful place I have seen thus far. I went surfing with some of the other ETA's- we took a boat out to a break in the middle of the ocean- and while the waves were awesome I opted to sit on my board and take in the gorgeous scenery around me after getting thoroughly abused by the somewhat scary swells. We rented motor bikes and it seemed like we could go no where without coming across a stretch of undisturbed white sand beach- deserted except for a few local kids.

This Tuesday my Mom and sister will come to Pekanbaru, and after spending a few days showing them my school and the sights of the city we will head to Bali. I have been teaching for a week and I swear that I will begin teaching again after this one last vacation...as the Indonesians say "satu lage"- just once more...

Bali Hai: Part Two of My Three Week Vacation

One of the most frequently asked questions I have encountered when talking to Indonesians about traveling is "have you been to Bali?"- even mentioning Bali in my classes inevitably brings up a chorus of "ooooohs." While no one I talked to had ever been to Bali themselves, they all insisted that it was a beautiful place, paradise even. It is with these high hopes and pictures of white sand beaches in my head that I boarded the ferry from Banuywangi to Bali. From the ferry we drove through picturesque rice fields backed by mountains; by crumbling Hindu temples; and along the coast where the ocean seemed to call my name. Driving into Ubud was like driving into a small artsy town on the east coast- not only was there was a Starbucks on the cute main street, but the place was crawling with bulehs (white people)! Starved from our trip we chose a restaurant for dinner and were greeted by a menu that contained not only salads but a variety of western food and alcohol- we could only hope that we had somehow taken the boat back to America. Our three days in Ubud were spent relaxing in Starbucks, spending way too much money at the bookstores which sold English books, learning about the rich Hindu culture of the area, and eating all of the cuisines we had missed so much. Even though we could have easily have stayed in Ubud we booked tickets to take us to Kuta where we would meet a group of friends to celebrate the new year. Unfortunately, somehow in the three days that we were there, none of us realized that there was an hour time difference, so we missed our bus (don't ask me how the three of us were granted Fulbrights). Luckily we were able to get on another bus about an hour later and make the two hour drive to Kuta.

While Ubud surprised us with it's charm and small town America feel, Kuta surprised us with shirtless Australians, crass souvenirs, pushy salespeople, and offers of ephedrine on the street. It reminded me of the Jersey shore during senior week. From that time on our group of three began expanding as more of our ETA friends made it to Kuta to ring in the New Year. We spent a lot of our time on the beach- which was sadly far from white sand- appreciating the fantastic restaurants and bars, and just enjoying each others company. New Year's Eve was a blast in one of the many clubs in downtown Kuta which turned into an ETA reunion as the night wore on. I was supposed to leave the next day to return to Pekanbaru, but due to a flight miscommunication I couldn't leave until Tuesday which I happily endured. All in all it was an excellent trip and I returned to Pekanbaru a little tanner, a little poorer, and a whole lot happier.

My Trip in Pictures

Please visit my Picassa web albums link to view all of the pictures from my vacation.

December and January

Trek Swim Climb: Part One of my Three Week Vacation

 My month long holiday has sadly come to an end, but oh! the places I've been! My travels began in the city of Medan which is about twelve hours north of Pekanbaru. Eric and I kicked off our trip with three days in the small village of Bukit Lawang, home to an orangutan conservatory in Gunug Leuser National Park. An all day trek with our guide Dharma was wildly successful and we not only encountered orangutans at the conservatory's feeding stations; but, we were chased through the jungle by an orangutan named Minah with a record for biting tourists. It was more than a bit disconcerting when Dharma, who has trekked the jungle for years and knows most of the orangutans, told us to run. Needless to say we did not hesitate. 

Our next stop was Lake Toba,  the largest volcanic crater lake in the world created by a super volcanic eruption. We stayed on Samosir Island which stands in the middle of Lake Toba and is about the size of Singapore. The relaxed island  attitude seemed to seep out of Samosir and we were surprised by the many signs advertising "magic mushrooms". We hiked to a gorgeous waterfall, rented a sweet pink motorbike and toured the many small villages on the island, swam in the lake, ate huge lake fish, and just relaxed in true island style. The last stop on our Sumatra tour was Berastagi, famous for its fruit market and the two volcanoes that shadow the small town.  We climbed Mt. Sibayak, the smaller of the two at 7, 257 feet. Although its last eruption was in 1881, the volcano still has many active steam vents and the smell of sulfur was over powering at times. Standing at the mouth of the volcano truly made me feel insignificant.

The crater of Mt. Sibayak

The next day we flew to Surabaya on the island of Java where we traveled to Malang, Eric's hometown, to spend a few days relaxing with some of our best friends. In Malang we added Polly and Brandon to our duo and together we spent Christmas on a bus (4 actually) bound for Banuywangi where we visited a National Park and ultimately boarded a ferry that would take us to Bali. Bali, however is a horse of a different color and therefore deserves its own post...