After I got back, it took a couple of weeks to get together with the other ALTs on the island. Mitch, Mike, and Joey spent their Golden Week in a bungalow on the beach in Vietnam, and their trip started just before mine ended. Aaron and Evelyn went to Korea, and they didn't get back until after I did. The readjustment to Tsushima was especially hard on Joey and Mitch. Going from a tropical paradise to still-just-a-little-too-cold-for-shorts Tsushima was rough for them. Mitch had for a long time commented that he wasn't happy with his placement. His Japanese, though much improved, still wasn't enough to communicate with his teachers, and he was living in the most remote part of Tsushima. Suffice it to say, loneliness hit him very hard.
Readjusting to Tsushima myself, I didn't take the time to hang out with the guys like we'd been doing in the winter, so I didn't get to see Mitch until about halfway into the month. By then he had more or less decided to go back home. He had been thinking on it for a few months, and had finally reached his breaking point. He broke the news to his schools. Instead of being offended or angry, they took it in stride, and helped him make preparations for going home. Mitch told me that as he was leaving school after telling his supervisor, she met him at his car, crying, and apologized for letting him down.
We all got together for a send-off party and said our farewells, something I wasn't remotely prepared for. After he left, I felt the urge to get away on my own somewhere to think. I immediately booked a trip to Fukuoka. I tried to take the first flight out on a Saturday morning, but it was cancelled on account of fog. The next flight didn't leave until noon, so I had a solid four hours to kill. Normally that would be fine, but I had already prepared myself for going on a trip. More than a little cranky, I headed back to my apartment. As I got out of the car, I noticed that I had a flat tire. I sighed, kicked it, and headed to the car dealership.
Taking your car to the shop in America is usually an ordeal. The best I've learned to look forward to is no initial wait--walk right in, explain the problem, hand over the keys, they drive it right in and get to work. Even in that best case, though, getting a flat tire fixed has taken me no less than half an hour. If there's a wait, well, don't plan on getting the car back until around suppertime. That's what was going through my head as I sped along to the dealership--skipping my trip to Fukuoka all on account of a crummy flat tire.
The owner and his wife had taken the day off, so only the actual garage was open. There were two on-duty mechanics, and they were tinkering with two cars whose driver didn't seem to be around. I pulled up and explained the problem. (Well, actually, I pointed to the tire; these things tend to explain themselves.) The mechanic didn't miss a beat: he had me pull up to the garage while he ran in to get the tools. He came right out, jacked up the car, popped off the tire, took a look at it, rolled out a new one, popped it on, lowered the car, and bowed. The whole thing took about eight minutes.
Why can't we have it this way back home?
Stunned, my mood salvaged, I caught the noon flight for Fukuoka, and spent the weekend processing everything. I asked myself whether I had the same desire to leave that Mitch did--if I was unsatisfied, if I would be better off at home--acknowledging the possibility that I had been ignoring it or concealing it. After a day or two of dwelling on it, I determined that I'm right where I need to be. I love my job, I'm learning tons about Japanese culture, Japanese language, and even about me and life in general. This remains what it was when I signed on last year--just something I need to do.
While I was in Fukuoka, I also finished War and Peace. I started it sometime in November, and I'm usually a bedtime reader. That means I read just before bed to put myself to sleep, and Tolstoy, bless his heart, can put me to sleep sometimes with five pages. The Penguin edition I borrowed is about 1,500 pages long, so you can imagine my progress. I recommend the book to everyone. It's an epic in every sense of the term: it takes a long, long time to grasp the scope of the narrative, but once you get up to speed, it's great. I agree with what Aaron told me when he lent it to me: I can understand why it's still so highly recommended even after 140 years.
I also finished Brave New World, which I had started in Indonesia. I loved it, especially because I've spent almost as much time thinking about it as I did reading it.
I finished both of them while sitting at the McDonald's at the Hakata subway station in Fukuoka. I'm so easy to please these days that an underground fast food chain is close enough to a coffee shop setting for me to enjoy reading.
I took full advantage of all the creature comforts of the big city: Mountain Dew, Mexican food, and movie theaters. I went to the theater in the mood to just see a movie, without having much preference as to which one. On days like that, back home I would just close my eyes and pick one, but in Japan, only a few of the movies are offered in English. So I chose Prince Caspian, having neither read nor seen any of the books or movies. I thoroughly enjoyed it, especially Eddie Izzard's role.
After that, I took the bus over to Sasebo to visit the girls. Rachel was busy, but Mutia came to town to hang out with me for the afternoon. We caught up on things, reminisced about the trip, and went to an arcade. She loves one particular kind of stuffed toy that can only be found in the little crane games, so she tried to win more of them. I've only played a crane game once or twice in my life, but I gave it a try. In two tries I managed to win her three of those little toys, and all three were ones she didn't already have. I think I was sort of her hero for the day.
All in all, the weekend helped me cope with Mitch leaving and reaffirm my desire to be here.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Friday, May 16, 2008
Eating outside
After I got back from Indonesia, the weather had gotten a little warmer, though it was almost too chilly to wear shorts. The nights are still cool, which makes me happy, since I like being covered up. Slowly but surely, the temperatures have crept up as May rolls on. It's pretty in its own right, but when compared to the bitter cold of February (which is still fresh on my mind), it's downright beautiful now. I've been sitting out on my balcony reading, and I've had my windows open for about two weeks now. I had a little party when I put away my space heater and officially disconnected my kotatsu for the season.
My smaller high school, in Toyotama, is pretty laid back about most things. That in mind, I asked my supervisor there if it'd be okay for me to eat lunch outside. She asked a few people, and they agreed that there was no problem. (Notice that she didn't make the call on her own--the often-amusing-and-sometimes-frustrating institutional reliance on the command structure that shows itself every day or two.) I usually sit at my desk and chow down, as most of the teachers do. There's a break room where some of the teachers eat, but it's a tatami room with cushions. Experiencing traditional Japanese culture is fine, but sitting on the floor with no back to my chair isn't my idea of a lunch break.
Anyway, I usually sit at my desk and simply admire the scenery. Lately, though, I've been sitting on the steps in front of the building. (I only have the stair behind me to lean against, but it's neat how much discomfort you'll forgive when you get to drink in the fresh air and the scenery.) It's been simply perfect: highs right around 20 (70), blue skies, and what was a bitterly cold winter wind is now a refreshing spring breeze. Wanting a change from the tasty yet repetitive lunches I usually order, I've been packing a lunch: ham sandwich, chips, and an apple.
I'm the only teacher who eats outside; everyone else seems amused by it. None of them make fun of me or anything (at least not when I'm within earshot), but they clearly don't share my enthusiasm over the weather. A few students eat outside, but not many. After eating, though, several of the boys come out to the field and throw the baseball around. Since the weather changed, I've had my frisbees and baseball glove in my car, to be prepared for just such an occasion. I toss the ball with them when I can. They get a kick out of it (I'm the only lefty out there), and one of the kids loves throwing me his knuckleball. I've never seen a knuckleball actually dance until now. Man, those things are hard to catch.
Incidentally, my main high school doesn't allow anyone to eat outside of the classroom and teachers' room--students and faculty alike. The students are allowed to go outside and play afterwards, but nobody does.
My smaller high school, in Toyotama, is pretty laid back about most things. That in mind, I asked my supervisor there if it'd be okay for me to eat lunch outside. She asked a few people, and they agreed that there was no problem. (Notice that she didn't make the call on her own--the often-amusing-and-sometimes-frustrating institutional reliance on the command structure that shows itself every day or two.) I usually sit at my desk and chow down, as most of the teachers do. There's a break room where some of the teachers eat, but it's a tatami room with cushions. Experiencing traditional Japanese culture is fine, but sitting on the floor with no back to my chair isn't my idea of a lunch break.
Anyway, I usually sit at my desk and simply admire the scenery. Lately, though, I've been sitting on the steps in front of the building. (I only have the stair behind me to lean against, but it's neat how much discomfort you'll forgive when you get to drink in the fresh air and the scenery.) It's been simply perfect: highs right around 20 (70), blue skies, and what was a bitterly cold winter wind is now a refreshing spring breeze. Wanting a change from the tasty yet repetitive lunches I usually order, I've been packing a lunch: ham sandwich, chips, and an apple.
I'm the only teacher who eats outside; everyone else seems amused by it. None of them make fun of me or anything (at least not when I'm within earshot), but they clearly don't share my enthusiasm over the weather. A few students eat outside, but not many. After eating, though, several of the boys come out to the field and throw the baseball around. Since the weather changed, I've had my frisbees and baseball glove in my car, to be prepared for just such an occasion. I toss the ball with them when I can. They get a kick out of it (I'm the only lefty out there), and one of the kids loves throwing me his knuckleball. I've never seen a knuckleball actually dance until now. Man, those things are hard to catch.
Incidentally, my main high school doesn't allow anyone to eat outside of the classroom and teachers' room--students and faculty alike. The students are allowed to go outside and play afterwards, but nobody does.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Commuting to Toyotama
Meanwhile, my smaller high school, Toyotama, went right into business as usual. The four-person third-year composition class is going great. One of the girls, Misa, is easily the best English student I've found at the school, and the format of the class suits her brilliantly so far. The other girl, Erika, is good as well, and what she lacks in English knowledge she makes up for in diligence and enthusiasm. One of the boys, Koji, is a lot of fun, and his English is pretty good, but he's lazy. The other boy, Takashi, isn't a very good student, but I can't figure whether it has more to do with a lack of knowledge or a lack of motivation. Despite being the worst in the class, he's still better than most of my other students.
The second-year students are fun just like they were last year. One group of first-year students is just fine, with enough English superstars to keep things afloat. The other group, though, is abysmal. There isn't a single enthusiastic, knowledgeable student in the class. They're all nice, but they completely shut down when class starts.
I also started commuting to Toyotama, which runs about an hour each way. The road is only two lanes the whole way, with the occasional turnout or passing lane. The top speed limit is 50, and I quickly learned that going 70 is the norm. It took me a few days to actually stop and think about it: I'm going 43.5 miles per hour, when the highest speed limit on the island is 31 miles per hour. That sort of takes the thrill out of commuting. The drive is beautiful, though, with plenty of wildflowers and birds. My car gets a full 40 miles per gallon with this "highway" driving, which isn't bad, considering it's 15 years old. I have to fill up every two weeks or so, and gas has shot up from ￥160 ($1.48) per liter to ￥220 ($2.04). In gallons, though, that's $5.50 to $7.75. The school reimburses me, though, so it all works out.
The second-year students are fun just like they were last year. One group of first-year students is just fine, with enough English superstars to keep things afloat. The other group, though, is abysmal. There isn't a single enthusiastic, knowledgeable student in the class. They're all nice, but they completely shut down when class starts.
I also started commuting to Toyotama, which runs about an hour each way. The road is only two lanes the whole way, with the occasional turnout or passing lane. The top speed limit is 50, and I quickly learned that going 70 is the norm. It took me a few days to actually stop and think about it: I'm going 43.5 miles per hour, when the highest speed limit on the island is 31 miles per hour. That sort of takes the thrill out of commuting. The drive is beautiful, though, with plenty of wildflowers and birds. My car gets a full 40 miles per gallon with this "highway" driving, which isn't bad, considering it's 15 years old. I have to fill up every two weeks or so, and gas has shot up from ￥160 ($1.48) per liter to ￥220 ($2.04). In gallons, though, that's $5.50 to $7.75. The school reimburses me, though, so it all works out.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Back in the swing of things
As I got back to Tsushima from the trip, I was bracing myself to dive headlong into a full schedule of lessons at school. This only happened at one of my two high schools, though. Tsushima High, the main and academic high school on the island, had scheduled exams for the first-year students. I never got a full description of what kind of exams, but they were a big enough deal for them to cancel all of my oral communication lessons until after the exams. This meant I had no first-year lessons to plan for until the end of May. Mind you, these students had just started high school at the beginning of April, yet they were already being tested. My OC classes got bumped so they could double up on English grammar courses, which leads me to believe the school was having to make the students suffer because of the faculty's poor planning.
At any rate, I only had to worry about my second- and third-year classes at Tsushima. The second-years are in the Korean program, a pretty rare feature for a Japanese high school. There are only nine of them in the program, and in addition to the general-ed that all students take--math, science, history--they take classes in Korean language and culture. They also get the required English grammar lesson, and I get to teach them an oral communication class once a week. You can imagine how little most of them care about learning English. I totally empathize with them--they're already struggling with one foreign language; isn't that enough? Thankfully, the teacher who's teamed with me understands this, so we've decided to give them the same lessons I use for the first-years, and with a bigger emphasis on games. Despite the general "meh" attitude toward English, the kids are still energetic and willing to play along.
Yuki and Miyuki--the two girls I've mentioned before who talked to me a lot last year--are very good students. They're cut-ups, which is exactly what I'd expect out of high-school teenage girls, and they're not from Tsushima. They came here from Nagasaki and Kumamoto just for the Korean program. For me, that explains why they're so outgoing--they didn't know anybody when they got here--and why they're so unusually gifted compared to the other students here--they chose to come here from much bigger cities.
One day, Miyuki (the one who spent all of last year introducing herself to me every time she saw me) approached me with a devious grin on her face and called me Adam Smith. This caught me completely offguard. I'm accustomed to students not remembering my last name, and instead guessing that it's "Charlie." (The two sound almost identical when pronounced in Japanese.) Smith, though, indicates she isn't even in the right ballpark. I laughed about it and asked her where she learned that from. She and Yuki (though I know they could have articulated it on their own) got help from one of the other English teachers, and explained they'd learned about him in history class. The only Adam Smith of any historical importance is the Scottish economist and champion of free trade. I found that amusing, and tried to correct Miyuki. My curiosity and reaction must have seemed to her like I was taking offense and making a big deal about it, though, so she wouldn't let it go. Now, every time I pass her in the hall, she gives the same introduction, only she adds "Smith"--"Hello, Adam Smith, my name is Miyuki M---, nice to meet you." I play along, pretending to sternly correct her. For some reason, she and all the other girls in the class find it hilarious.
The third-years are every bit the challenge last year's class was. I know for a fact that I can't push them as hard as the first-years, because by definition none of these students are advancing to university. That means they have no need for a scholarly understanding of English. So I try to include as many activities and games as possible, but we still need to teach them something substantive. That presents me the unique challenge of creating lessons specifically for them. I know this makes for a valuable learning opportunity for me, since one of the core challenges of teaching is presenting material in ways that reach as many students as possible. It just gets a little frustrating sometimes, especially with 40 students in the room.
At any rate, I only had to worry about my second- and third-year classes at Tsushima. The second-years are in the Korean program, a pretty rare feature for a Japanese high school. There are only nine of them in the program, and in addition to the general-ed that all students take--math, science, history--they take classes in Korean language and culture. They also get the required English grammar lesson, and I get to teach them an oral communication class once a week. You can imagine how little most of them care about learning English. I totally empathize with them--they're already struggling with one foreign language; isn't that enough? Thankfully, the teacher who's teamed with me understands this, so we've decided to give them the same lessons I use for the first-years, and with a bigger emphasis on games. Despite the general "meh" attitude toward English, the kids are still energetic and willing to play along.
Yuki and Miyuki--the two girls I've mentioned before who talked to me a lot last year--are very good students. They're cut-ups, which is exactly what I'd expect out of high-school teenage girls, and they're not from Tsushima. They came here from Nagasaki and Kumamoto just for the Korean program. For me, that explains why they're so outgoing--they didn't know anybody when they got here--and why they're so unusually gifted compared to the other students here--they chose to come here from much bigger cities.
One day, Miyuki (the one who spent all of last year introducing herself to me every time she saw me) approached me with a devious grin on her face and called me Adam Smith. This caught me completely offguard. I'm accustomed to students not remembering my last name, and instead guessing that it's "Charlie." (The two sound almost identical when pronounced in Japanese.) Smith, though, indicates she isn't even in the right ballpark. I laughed about it and asked her where she learned that from. She and Yuki (though I know they could have articulated it on their own) got help from one of the other English teachers, and explained they'd learned about him in history class. The only Adam Smith of any historical importance is the Scottish economist and champion of free trade. I found that amusing, and tried to correct Miyuki. My curiosity and reaction must have seemed to her like I was taking offense and making a big deal about it, though, so she wouldn't let it go. Now, every time I pass her in the hall, she gives the same introduction, only she adds "Smith"--"Hello, Adam Smith, my name is Miyuki M---, nice to meet you." I play along, pretending to sternly correct her. For some reason, she and all the other girls in the class find it hilarious.
The third-years are every bit the challenge last year's class was. I know for a fact that I can't push them as hard as the first-years, because by definition none of these students are advancing to university. That means they have no need for a scholarly understanding of English. So I try to include as many activities and games as possible, but we still need to teach them something substantive. That presents me the unique challenge of creating lessons specifically for them. I know this makes for a valuable learning opportunity for me, since one of the core challenges of teaching is presenting material in ways that reach as many students as possible. It just gets a little frustrating sometimes, especially with 40 students in the room.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Thoughts: Borneo
The destruction of rain forest in Borneo is driven by two industries: logging and palm farming. The uses of felled trees are the obvious timber and paper pulp. Palm farming supports the palm oil industry. Palm oil has been used mainly for used for things like cooking and cosmetics, but is also the most productive biofuel crop in the world. The demands of those two industries have resulted in an estimated 20% of all Bornean rain forest being destroyed from 1985 to 2005.
The felling of those forests has dramatically reduced the habitats of many of the island's indigenous life, including humans. The Penan, the tribe that Dr. Brosius lived with, have been truly nomadic hunter-gatherers for as long as anyone in the tribe can remember. However, with the reduction in range, more and more of the Penan are being forced to settle. They face cultural extinction in precisely the same way that orangutans face biological extinction.
The solution most often proposed is to stop the destruction of the Bornean rain forest: protest, rally, demonstrate, and get laws enacted that once and for all prevent logging in Borneo. While this technically does help save those Bornean species that are endangered by the destruction, it's not enough. Criminalizing the deforestation of Borneo will simply increase deforestation in Java, Sumatra, Malaysia, and other nearby forests. The threat to biodiversity in Borneo is not the disease. It's merely a symptom: what we see on the surface.
Another proposed solution is to invest more in criminalizing illegal logging: encourage legislation on stricter boundaries and more stringent enforcement of existing laws. This would then guarantee the safety of protected areas such as Tanjung Puting. While a large portion of the logging done in Borneo is illegal, eliminating this would not fully solve the problem. Making it more difficult to illegally fell trees in Borneo would result in, for example, more lobbying by the timber and palm oil industries for concessions of protected land. Illegal logging is merely another symptom.
The only way to truly solve the problem is to address the disease itself: consumption. Demand for timber products and palm oil is ultimately responsible for the destruction of the Bornean rain forest. If the world's demand for timber and palm oil could economically and profitably be met without logging illegally in Borneo, you can rest assured there would be no illegal logging. If the world's demand could be met without logging in Borneo at all, then there wouldn't be any timber or palm oil companies there.
The destruction of rain forests and other habitats in the world occurs because you and I consume products that require the destruction of those habitats. Because you and I want to use cheap paper plates to avoid doing the dishes, there is an ever-increasing global demand for paper. Because you and I drive instead of walk, keep our entire house at 75 degrees in the summer when we're not home, and buy things that must be shipped from all over the world, there is an ever-increasing global demand for biofuels like palm oil.
Corporations are not to blame for the problem. There is no person sitting at the head of a multinational corporation, tapping his fingers together, Mr. Burns-like, who is bent on exterminating the orangutan. Businesses exist for one reason: to produce a profit by meeting demand. Were we, the consumers, to stop demanding their product, businesses that produce that product would cease to turn a profit, and would very quickly disappear.
No amount of legislation will save the world's rain forests, if the collective demand for paper and palm oil exceeds the amount of available non-forested land. We ought not feel helpless and look dumbly to government to save us, while we continue feeding the system that has wrought this destruction.
Changing the system doesn't require a catastrophe. It doesn't require anarchy, or bloodshed, or a return to stone age civilization. All it requires is reducing our consumption. If each of us individually takes the initiative and consumes less, worldwide demand for goods and services will go down. The newly-diminished demand will then no longer require the expansion of industries like logging and palm oil plantations.
I'm trying not to sound preachy, though I've probably failed. Reading over this, it looks the same as most of what you can find online about this. That's because most of it is the same. Go to sites like this, this, this, and this to see where I got most of my information.
Seeing the habitat destruction up-close, though, makes me look at it entirely differently. I used to feel the way most people do: the problems of deforestation and extinction of species are global, and we as individuals can't do anything about it. That's what makes the problem so sinister--the very people who are responsible for the problem are and are kept ignorant of their importance.
I've written this primarily to remind me how I felt after visiting Borneo, but also in the hopes that it makes someone else--anyone else--stop and think about it. The most common fate for people who dwell on global problems like these is depression ("there's nothing I can do") and frustration ("nobody else understands"). Those two can combine to stamp out any desire to change things. We need to stop waiting for someone else to do something for all of us, while we just keep going along with things the way they are. You must be the change you wish to see in the world. Find ways to consume less. I don't mean we should skip meals and stop showering. The overwhelming majority of consumption involves things that we don't need to survive.
Walk more, drive less, cook more, use less, recycle more, waste less--none of these are new ideas. In addition to these, try thinking of your own ways to consume less. It doesn't need to be an overnight change. In fact, it would probably do more harm than good to cut out every possible extra form of consumption all at once. Think of it as a diet. Not an I-need-to-look-good-in-my-bathing-suit or chicks-dig-a-sixpack diet, but a sensible diet. Remove aspects of the lifestyle you're getting away from, but do it slowly. Ease into the new lifestyle, allowing yourself time to adjust to each change. That way you're less likely to give it all up and go back to junk food.
This video makes some good points about the hidden costs of consumption. It's been around for a while, so a lot of folks have already seen it. If you haven't, give it a look.
I would love to discuss this with anyone who wants to--as you might have guessed, I've done a lot of thinking on the matter.
The felling of those forests has dramatically reduced the habitats of many of the island's indigenous life, including humans. The Penan, the tribe that Dr. Brosius lived with, have been truly nomadic hunter-gatherers for as long as anyone in the tribe can remember. However, with the reduction in range, more and more of the Penan are being forced to settle. They face cultural extinction in precisely the same way that orangutans face biological extinction.
The solution most often proposed is to stop the destruction of the Bornean rain forest: protest, rally, demonstrate, and get laws enacted that once and for all prevent logging in Borneo. While this technically does help save those Bornean species that are endangered by the destruction, it's not enough. Criminalizing the deforestation of Borneo will simply increase deforestation in Java, Sumatra, Malaysia, and other nearby forests. The threat to biodiversity in Borneo is not the disease. It's merely a symptom: what we see on the surface.
Another proposed solution is to invest more in criminalizing illegal logging: encourage legislation on stricter boundaries and more stringent enforcement of existing laws. This would then guarantee the safety of protected areas such as Tanjung Puting. While a large portion of the logging done in Borneo is illegal, eliminating this would not fully solve the problem. Making it more difficult to illegally fell trees in Borneo would result in, for example, more lobbying by the timber and palm oil industries for concessions of protected land. Illegal logging is merely another symptom.
The only way to truly solve the problem is to address the disease itself: consumption. Demand for timber products and palm oil is ultimately responsible for the destruction of the Bornean rain forest. If the world's demand for timber and palm oil could economically and profitably be met without logging illegally in Borneo, you can rest assured there would be no illegal logging. If the world's demand could be met without logging in Borneo at all, then there wouldn't be any timber or palm oil companies there.
The destruction of rain forests and other habitats in the world occurs because you and I consume products that require the destruction of those habitats. Because you and I want to use cheap paper plates to avoid doing the dishes, there is an ever-increasing global demand for paper. Because you and I drive instead of walk, keep our entire house at 75 degrees in the summer when we're not home, and buy things that must be shipped from all over the world, there is an ever-increasing global demand for biofuels like palm oil.
Corporations are not to blame for the problem. There is no person sitting at the head of a multinational corporation, tapping his fingers together, Mr. Burns-like, who is bent on exterminating the orangutan. Businesses exist for one reason: to produce a profit by meeting demand. Were we, the consumers, to stop demanding their product, businesses that produce that product would cease to turn a profit, and would very quickly disappear.
No amount of legislation will save the world's rain forests, if the collective demand for paper and palm oil exceeds the amount of available non-forested land. We ought not feel helpless and look dumbly to government to save us, while we continue feeding the system that has wrought this destruction.
Changing the system doesn't require a catastrophe. It doesn't require anarchy, or bloodshed, or a return to stone age civilization. All it requires is reducing our consumption. If each of us individually takes the initiative and consumes less, worldwide demand for goods and services will go down. The newly-diminished demand will then no longer require the expansion of industries like logging and palm oil plantations.
I'm trying not to sound preachy, though I've probably failed. Reading over this, it looks the same as most of what you can find online about this. That's because most of it is the same. Go to sites like this, this, this, and this to see where I got most of my information.
Seeing the habitat destruction up-close, though, makes me look at it entirely differently. I used to feel the way most people do: the problems of deforestation and extinction of species are global, and we as individuals can't do anything about it. That's what makes the problem so sinister--the very people who are responsible for the problem are and are kept ignorant of their importance.
I've written this primarily to remind me how I felt after visiting Borneo, but also in the hopes that it makes someone else--anyone else--stop and think about it. The most common fate for people who dwell on global problems like these is depression ("there's nothing I can do") and frustration ("nobody else understands"). Those two can combine to stamp out any desire to change things. We need to stop waiting for someone else to do something for all of us, while we just keep going along with things the way they are. You must be the change you wish to see in the world. Find ways to consume less. I don't mean we should skip meals and stop showering. The overwhelming majority of consumption involves things that we don't need to survive.
Walk more, drive less, cook more, use less, recycle more, waste less--none of these are new ideas. In addition to these, try thinking of your own ways to consume less. It doesn't need to be an overnight change. In fact, it would probably do more harm than good to cut out every possible extra form of consumption all at once. Think of it as a diet. Not an I-need-to-look-good-in-my-bathing-suit or chicks-dig-a-sixpack diet, but a sensible diet. Remove aspects of the lifestyle you're getting away from, but do it slowly. Ease into the new lifestyle, allowing yourself time to adjust to each change. That way you're less likely to give it all up and go back to junk food.
This video makes some good points about the hidden costs of consumption. It's been around for a while, so a lot of folks have already seen it. If you haven't, give it a look.
I would love to discuss this with anyone who wants to--as you might have guessed, I've done a lot of thinking on the matter.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Thoughts: Ecotourism
Throughout the trip, I often thought about the impact of the tourism industry on the things we were seeing. Most of the Balinese economy seemed geared toward some form of tourism: hotels, souvenirs, transportation, guides, restaurants, and night clubs all owe their existence to the consistent influx of tourist dollars. The elephant safari park we visited is supported by private donors and tourists who visit the park; there is no public funding. The same was true in Jogjakarta and Jakarta, though to a lesser extent: private companies own and manage the sites of Borobudur and Prambanan. The upkeep of the monuments is therefore funded not by any public tax or maintenance effort, but by the dollars spent by tourists. (I could be wrong, but I can't find anything detailing governmental funding for them.)
I also thought a lot about the harm ecotourism does to the area. As I said, the vast majority of what we saw in Bali was geared toward tourists. I've read that the modern incarnation of the Kecak dance, which we saw, is not in fact an actual Balinese dance. Rather, it is a combination of characteristics from different dances that impressed a European visitor to the island a long time ago. Wanting to help produce a representation of Balinese culture that would impress outsiders, he helped engineer a new dance--the version we saw--incorporating all of those characteristics.
With so many things to see around Bali, hiring a car and driver is almost required to save time. That demand has greatly increased automobile traffic, which requires more extensive infrastructure to accommodate it. Developing those long, twisty roads to remote locations like the elephant park, eventually you'll run up on the local villagers' property, producing scenes like this one. Should demand continue to grow, more than likely plans will be made to widen the road still further, which will require destroying some of their homes. Local villagers, minding their own business, will be displaced because we foreigners want so desperately to see that remote elephant safari park. We're trying to help--we want to help save those endangered elephants by learning about them firsthand--but that help costs those locals their livelihood.
Also, as an anthropologist, I want to learn firsthand as much as I can about other cultures. Being in places like Bali and Borneo, I especially wanted to observe indigenous people living traditionally. It's a simple, silly, yet powerful fantasy, meeting people who live with almost no concern for the trappings of urban civilization. However, to get me there, I consume the services of a guide, a driver, a car, and its gasoline. The fact that tourists like me will buy trinkets and little bits of material culture from these indigenous people means that those people are more likely to produce more of those trinkets, just to meet that demand. That alters their lifestyle, making it less authentic--the very desire to interact with such distinct and so-called pristine culture dilutes and cheapens it.
This hit me the hardest when I visited Borneo. In response to one foreigner wanting to visit the orangutan rehabilitation center in Tanjung Puting, the tour company arranged a 60-foot-long boat, five workers, and a mixture of both local and western food to support us for four days. Granted they'd planned on three of us showing up, but Coke and Sprite at every meal plus three meals and two snacks a day is wasteful no matter how many people pool together.
Do the benefits--the thrill of sightseeing, the deeper understanding of the urgent need for change, firsthand experience with one-of-a-kind wildlife--outweigh the costs--labor, fuel, food, garbage?
I also thought a lot about the harm ecotourism does to the area. As I said, the vast majority of what we saw in Bali was geared toward tourists. I've read that the modern incarnation of the Kecak dance, which we saw, is not in fact an actual Balinese dance. Rather, it is a combination of characteristics from different dances that impressed a European visitor to the island a long time ago. Wanting to help produce a representation of Balinese culture that would impress outsiders, he helped engineer a new dance--the version we saw--incorporating all of those characteristics.
With so many things to see around Bali, hiring a car and driver is almost required to save time. That demand has greatly increased automobile traffic, which requires more extensive infrastructure to accommodate it. Developing those long, twisty roads to remote locations like the elephant park, eventually you'll run up on the local villagers' property, producing scenes like this one. Should demand continue to grow, more than likely plans will be made to widen the road still further, which will require destroying some of their homes. Local villagers, minding their own business, will be displaced because we foreigners want so desperately to see that remote elephant safari park. We're trying to help--we want to help save those endangered elephants by learning about them firsthand--but that help costs those locals their livelihood.
Also, as an anthropologist, I want to learn firsthand as much as I can about other cultures. Being in places like Bali and Borneo, I especially wanted to observe indigenous people living traditionally. It's a simple, silly, yet powerful fantasy, meeting people who live with almost no concern for the trappings of urban civilization. However, to get me there, I consume the services of a guide, a driver, a car, and its gasoline. The fact that tourists like me will buy trinkets and little bits of material culture from these indigenous people means that those people are more likely to produce more of those trinkets, just to meet that demand. That alters their lifestyle, making it less authentic--the very desire to interact with such distinct and so-called pristine culture dilutes and cheapens it.
This hit me the hardest when I visited Borneo. In response to one foreigner wanting to visit the orangutan rehabilitation center in Tanjung Puting, the tour company arranged a 60-foot-long boat, five workers, and a mixture of both local and western food to support us for four days. Granted they'd planned on three of us showing up, but Coke and Sprite at every meal plus three meals and two snacks a day is wasteful no matter how many people pool together.
Do the benefits--the thrill of sightseeing, the deeper understanding of the urgent need for change, firsthand experience with one-of-a-kind wildlife--outweigh the costs--labor, fuel, food, garbage?
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Golden Week 2008
Four Japanese national holidays fall around the beginning of May: April 29 and May 3-5. They usually line up such that a few vacation days can combine to create ten days or two full weeks off. That period of time is called Golden Week. This year, the timing was sort of crummy: the days fell such that we had a Tuesday and the following Saturday through Monday off. That effectively wasted two perfectly good holidays--the Saturday and Sunday--but oh well.
I went to Indonesia for Golden Week. Three friends of mine--Mutia, Zoe, and Rachel--live in Sasebo, which is a port city between Fukuoka and Nagasaki. We met up in Fukuoka, and took off from there.
I'm going to try using this page as a sort of portal for the trip blogs. Hopefully the post date system will work. That in mind, here's the lineup:
I also put down some of my thoughts on different things about the trip: the different attitudes toward foreigners, ecotourism, and Borneo.
I went to Indonesia for Golden Week. Three friends of mine--Mutia, Zoe, and Rachel--live in Sasebo, which is a port city between Fukuoka and Nagasaki. We met up in Fukuoka, and took off from there.
I'm going to try using this page as a sort of portal for the trip blogs. Hopefully the post date system will work. That in mind, here's the lineup:
| I. | GETTING THERE: Taiwan |
| II. | DAY ONE: Bali! |
| III. | DAY TWO, part 1: Elephants! |
| IV. | DAY TWO, part 2: Dancing! |
| V. | DAY THREE: Macaques! |
| VI. | DAY FOUR, part 1: Prambanan! |
| VII | DAY FOUR, part 2: Sultan's palace! |
| VIII. | DAY FOUR, part 3: Borobudur! |
| IX. | DAY FIVE: Semarang! |
| X. | DAY SIX: Orangutans! |
| XI. | DAY SEVEN: More orangutans! |
| XII. | DAY SEVEN, part 2: Jakarta! |
| XIII. | DAY EIGHT: My best friend's (cousin's) wedding (reception) |
| XIV. | DAY NINE: Taiwan again! |
| XV. | DAY TEN: Back home |
I also put down some of my thoughts on different things about the trip: the different attitudes toward foreigners, ecotourism, and Borneo.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Thoughts: Attitudes toward foreigners
I repeatedly mentioned how well Indonesians spoke English. This impressed us because of how drastically different that is from Japan. All four of us have experienced the same reluctance to speak English from almost all the Japanese we've met. Granted, the Japanese seem shy in general, and are slow to open up to newcomers, even when they're fellow Japanese. (I witnessed this firsthand with the arrival of new teachers in April.) But when it comes to English, very few will ever let on that they understand or speak the language.
This is strange, because English is part of the curriculum beginning in junior high schools. Even though native-speaker teaching programs like JET have only been around since the 80s, I'm almost positive English education has been around much longer than that. So the overwhelming majority of people you pass in the street in Japan know a lot more English than they're letting on.
I don't fault them for being shy. I also don't fault anybody for not speaking English--I don't think everyone should speak my language. I just find it peculiar that a society that features English in its school curriculum isn't more outgoing with it.
In Indonesia, the impression was entirely different. Everyone we met seemed eager to speak English. While several spoke excellently, many of them weren't anywhere near fluent. That didn't stop them, though: almost everyone would strike up conversation with us in English. In fact, I think it's for that very reason--that they practice the language without hesitation--that their accent and speaking ability were so much higher on average than among Japanese. Again, I'm not saying everyone should speak English. I entered Indonesia fully expecting to rely on Mutia for help, and to have to learn as much of their language as I could.
Of course, that openness to English probably has a lot to do with the culture's openness to foreigners in general. Japan was never colonized, and throughout most of its history seems to have remained largely in control of its dealings with outsiders. Indonesia, on the other hand, has a history of contact with foreigners stretching back at least to 200 BC. Beginning with Hinduism, and followed by Buddhism and, later, Islam, Indonesian culture represented a diverse mixture of several outside influences, long before contact with Europe. The forced opening of the country to foreigners by the Portuguese, Dutch, and British isn't worth celebrating, though one of its side effects has been the culture's welcoming attitude toward outsiders.
This is strange, because English is part of the curriculum beginning in junior high schools. Even though native-speaker teaching programs like JET have only been around since the 80s, I'm almost positive English education has been around much longer than that. So the overwhelming majority of people you pass in the street in Japan know a lot more English than they're letting on.
I don't fault them for being shy. I also don't fault anybody for not speaking English--I don't think everyone should speak my language. I just find it peculiar that a society that features English in its school curriculum isn't more outgoing with it.
In Indonesia, the impression was entirely different. Everyone we met seemed eager to speak English. While several spoke excellently, many of them weren't anywhere near fluent. That didn't stop them, though: almost everyone would strike up conversation with us in English. In fact, I think it's for that very reason--that they practice the language without hesitation--that their accent and speaking ability were so much higher on average than among Japanese. Again, I'm not saying everyone should speak English. I entered Indonesia fully expecting to rely on Mutia for help, and to have to learn as much of their language as I could.
Of course, that openness to English probably has a lot to do with the culture's openness to foreigners in general. Japan was never colonized, and throughout most of its history seems to have remained largely in control of its dealings with outsiders. Indonesia, on the other hand, has a history of contact with foreigners stretching back at least to 200 BC. Beginning with Hinduism, and followed by Buddhism and, later, Islam, Indonesian culture represented a diverse mixture of several outside influences, long before contact with Europe. The forced opening of the country to foreigners by the Portuguese, Dutch, and British isn't worth celebrating, though one of its side effects has been the culture's welcoming attitude toward outsiders.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
DAY TEN: Back home
There was no rush getting up in the morning, since our flight wasn't leaving until 1. We all started stirring at about 11, and headed out to find something to eat. Not finding anything that struck our fancy, we decided to be crazy: we went to Haagen-Dazs.
We didn't just stop in for a scoop. Oh no. We found a full Haagen-Dazs ice cream parlor, and went for a full meal. Zoe and Rachel each got Belgian waffles adorned with fresh fruit and a few scoops of ice cream. Mutia and I got what can only be described as a mountain of dairy: here she is attacking it, and here I am in awe of it. We each had six scoops of ice cream on top of a waffle cone, garnished with whipped cream and chocolate syrup, and crowned with chocolate swirly things. I don't think I've had that much dairy in years.
Thoroughly satisfied (and disgusted with ourselves), we waddled out of Haagen-Dazs and made our way back to the hostel. We'd arranged for last night's taxi driver to pick us up again, and he was ten minutes early. He even brought us all bubble tea! Normally we would've loved getting a treat like that, but this was after we'd each consumed what felt like half a gallon of milk. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, we accepted and politely drank some. I felt like I was taking the gallon challenge, but we all survived.
The flight back to Fukuoka was uneventful. We had access to movies again, but the flight only lasted 80 minutes. Factoring in the delay from announcements (given first in Mandarin, then in English, then in Japanese), that gave us about an hour of movie watching time. I made it through most of The Bucket List, which was amusing.
Losing another hour to the time change, we arrived at about 8pm. The girls had to catch a bus to their town, leaving me to spend the night before flying back to Tsushima the next day.
We didn't just stop in for a scoop. Oh no. We found a full Haagen-Dazs ice cream parlor, and went for a full meal. Zoe and Rachel each got Belgian waffles adorned with fresh fruit and a few scoops of ice cream. Mutia and I got what can only be described as a mountain of dairy: here she is attacking it, and here I am in awe of it. We each had six scoops of ice cream on top of a waffle cone, garnished with whipped cream and chocolate syrup, and crowned with chocolate swirly things. I don't think I've had that much dairy in years.
Thoroughly satisfied (and disgusted with ourselves), we waddled out of Haagen-Dazs and made our way back to the hostel. We'd arranged for last night's taxi driver to pick us up again, and he was ten minutes early. He even brought us all bubble tea! Normally we would've loved getting a treat like that, but this was after we'd each consumed what felt like half a gallon of milk. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, we accepted and politely drank some. I felt like I was taking the gallon challenge, but we all survived.
The flight back to Fukuoka was uneventful. We had access to movies again, but the flight only lasted 80 minutes. Factoring in the delay from announcements (given first in Mandarin, then in English, then in Japanese), that gave us about an hour of movie watching time. I made it through most of The Bucket List, which was amusing.
Losing another hour to the time change, we arrived at about 8pm. The girls had to catch a bus to their town, leaving me to spend the night before flying back to Tsushima the next day.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
DAY NINE: Back to Taiwan
We all dragged ourselves out of bed and got ready to go. I relished Pizza Hut for breakfast one last time, though someone had put it in the refrigerator, forcing me to microwave it. We went to Mutia's parents' house to rendezvous. While we waited for everyone to get ready, we relaxed in their sitting room, and hung out with her brother, Ari, and their dad. I only got to talk to him for a total of half an hour the whole trip, but I can tell he's a really cool guy. I wish I'd had more time to get to know him. Mutia had told me that he loves golf, and I'd been secretly hoping for a chance to play. I guess I'll try that the next time I'm in Jakarta.
After everyone got together, we all set off for the airport. The trek was every bit as arduous as when I'd arrived, and I renewed my vow never to drive in Jakarta. Mutia also told us that getting a driver's license in Indonesia involves basically sending in your information and some money, then waiting for them to print you a license: no written test, no vision test, no road test. And yet none of us had seen any accidents the whole time we'd been in the country.
We got to the airport without incident, checked in without any problems, and said our goodbyes. Mutia hadn't seen her parents in about a year, and I think it'd been two years since she'd visited Indonesia. Her mom held it together okay, which, just like with my family, kept everyone else from losing it. We did some souvenir shopping, first scoffing at the ludicrous prices, then eventually giving in and buying some. It's not that we're cheapskates--I think anyone would agree that $30 for a box of 24 small generic sugar cookies in a box colorfully labeled "Indonesia" is a bit unreasonable. We were especially blown away because we'd gotten so used to things being so cheap everywhere. That, and it's kind of hard to haggle with a department store.
The airport was a lot prettier in the daytime, and our departure lobby looked pretty new. There were no problems with the flight, and we had our own little TV screens with on-demand movies this time. I managed to watch Dan in Real Life, Rambo, and part of Charlie Wilson's War. We also passed over a thunderstorm, and the four of us tried in vain to get a good picture of it.
We got to Taipei without any problem. Mutia had worked out the same overnight layover as we had the first time. We hailed a cab, noticing once again that all the cabs in Taipei seem to be new Toyota Camrys, and headed back to the Eight Elephants Hostel again. We spent most of the hour-long ride doing a crossword I'd snagged from the newspaper on the plane, then we discovered our driver spoke really good English. He insisted on taking us right to the door of the hostel, which was kind of tricky on account of all the tiny side streets.
The hostel was a lot more full than the first time, and we spent a little while listening to the awesome stories of the folks there. There were two girls who reminded all four of us of all the bad stereotypes of sorority girls. Zoe was exhausted, so she turned in for the night, while Rachel, Mutia, and I set out in search of food. We gave up on finding a tasty noodle shop and settled for McDonald's. Avoiding the same chicken thigh sandwich we'd seen at Burger King, we settled for more ordinary McDonald's fare. We were all tired, so we went to bed early.
After everyone got together, we all set off for the airport. The trek was every bit as arduous as when I'd arrived, and I renewed my vow never to drive in Jakarta. Mutia also told us that getting a driver's license in Indonesia involves basically sending in your information and some money, then waiting for them to print you a license: no written test, no vision test, no road test. And yet none of us had seen any accidents the whole time we'd been in the country.
We got to the airport without incident, checked in without any problems, and said our goodbyes. Mutia hadn't seen her parents in about a year, and I think it'd been two years since she'd visited Indonesia. Her mom held it together okay, which, just like with my family, kept everyone else from losing it. We did some souvenir shopping, first scoffing at the ludicrous prices, then eventually giving in and buying some. It's not that we're cheapskates--I think anyone would agree that $30 for a box of 24 small generic sugar cookies in a box colorfully labeled "Indonesia" is a bit unreasonable. We were especially blown away because we'd gotten so used to things being so cheap everywhere. That, and it's kind of hard to haggle with a department store.
The airport was a lot prettier in the daytime, and our departure lobby looked pretty new. There were no problems with the flight, and we had our own little TV screens with on-demand movies this time. I managed to watch Dan in Real Life, Rambo, and part of Charlie Wilson's War. We also passed over a thunderstorm, and the four of us tried in vain to get a good picture of it.
We got to Taipei without any problem. Mutia had worked out the same overnight layover as we had the first time. We hailed a cab, noticing once again that all the cabs in Taipei seem to be new Toyota Camrys, and headed back to the Eight Elephants Hostel again. We spent most of the hour-long ride doing a crossword I'd snagged from the newspaper on the plane, then we discovered our driver spoke really good English. He insisted on taking us right to the door of the hostel, which was kind of tricky on account of all the tiny side streets.
The hostel was a lot more full than the first time, and we spent a little while listening to the awesome stories of the folks there. There were two girls who reminded all four of us of all the bad stereotypes of sorority girls. Zoe was exhausted, so she turned in for the night, while Rachel, Mutia, and I set out in search of food. We gave up on finding a tasty noodle shop and settled for McDonald's. Avoiding the same chicken thigh sandwich we'd seen at Burger King, we settled for more ordinary McDonald's fare. We were all tired, so we went to bed early.
Friday, May 2, 2008
DAY EIGHT: Jakarta
Mutia had timed this trip so that we would be in the country for her cousin's wedding. Her cousin invited all of us to the reception afterwards, which made for yet another once-in-a-lifetime opportunity on this trip. The original plan for the day was this: since the house we were staying in was about an hour away from everything else in Jakarta, we would be dropped off at a shopping mall and meet up with Mutia. We'd all get to putz around the mall for a while, and then we'd go with Mutia when she got ready for the reception. The plan immediately changed a little bit: we'd swing by the place where the wedding was held, to pick up Mutia right after the ceremony.
Along the way, our driver took all kinds of narrow back roads, many of which had more potholes than actual pavement. There also weren't many traffic lights at intersections. An unofficial traffic directing business had emerged to fill the niche: most intersections had a man who would walk out into the main flow of traffic and have them pause while drivers from small intersecting streets pulled out. In exchange, these drivers would give the man a tip of something around half a dollar.
After about an hour, we got to an upscale-looking neighborhood, and weaved around the mass of parked cars around the house. We passed a shiny black BMW--the newlyweds' chariot. Mutia came out to see us, and invited us in to meet the bride and groom. The ceremony had just finished a few minutes earlier.
Mutia's cousin, Kirana, is Javanese. Her husband, Mugi, is Sumatran. Each island has different traditions for marriage, so they decided to incorporate both: the wedding ceremony was done in Kirana's Javanese style, while the reception would be done in Mugi's Sumatran style.
We got to see them while they were still decked out in wedding regalia. They were very nice, but I felt a little weird talking to them--I'm pretty sure talking to three foreigners, even if they're friends of my cousin, won't be high on my list of things to do right after I get married. Mutia had already changed, but still had her hair done up from the ceremony.
After piling back into the car, we rode to the mall. Along the way, Mutia filled us all in on the plan for the rest of the day. We got dropped off at the mall and agreed on a meeting time with the driver.
The mall itself was massive--I'd put it on the same level as the Mall of Georgia. We milled around together at first, the girls did some clothes shopping, and we finally found a nice gift for Rachel's mom. We ate lunch at an awesome noodle shop in the food court, with the whole meal setting us each back about $3. Zoe and Rachel wanted to get their hair done for the reception, so they went off and did that while Mutia and I talked. I filled her in on Borneo, and she filled me in on the wedding and all the preparations.
We found an Internet cafe for me, and Mutia went off to do some shopping. I checked my email and suchlike, then just poked around the mall on my own. I first went to the movie theater to check out showtimes. When I found nothing was playing at the right time, I stood in line at the concession stand, intent on at least getting a Mountain Dew. They were sold out, though, so I pressed on. I discovered a restaurant called Chicken Story, a KFC, an A&W, and a Krispy Kreme. Those last two shocked me. Unable to resist, I got a rootbeer and two glazed donuts. Having eaten cold Pizza Hut for breakfast, and root beer and Krispy Kreme for a snack, I felt closer to home than I had since Christmas.
After rendezvousing, we caught a ride to the salon where Mutia would get ready for the reception. Her mother and sister were already there, and Rachel, Zoe, and I chilled out while they got beautified. This is how Mutia looked after getting all dolled up. The three of us also got changed into our reception duds, and we all piled into our cars and headed for the event. I grabbed a quick shot of traffic at an intersection, but it's nowhere near a fair representation of the chaos.
We arrived and, not wanting to do anything wrong, the three whities planted themselves firmly behind Mutia and her family. We saw the pretty welcome sign, then headed in. The corridor leading to the hall was nice, and had people dressed in full regalia distributing programs.
The ballroom itself, though, was simply spectacular. There was a red carpet leading from the corridor all the way to the stage, where three pairs of seats had been arranged. Branching off the carpet at the entrance was another red carpet running along the left side of the ballroom, with large gate frames arching over it. There was a small dining area on the right of the ballroom, and the rest of the floorspace was devoted to food.
Mutia's family gave us a tour of the place, explaining the significance of different parts, and also telling us about the foods that would be served. There was sushi, a full roasted lamb, and all kinds of Indonesian rice and noodle dishes. About 1/3 of the tables were dedicated to desserts. As Java is mostly Muslim, there was no alcohol or pork.
The guests began piling in, with almost all the men clad in batik. The women were wearing various traditional gowns and draperies, reflecting what part of Indonesia they were from. There were soon about two or three hundred people filling the ballroom. Zoe, Rachel, and I did our best to fit in. I should have brought khakis instead of black slacks, and I should've untucked my shirt--nobody else tucked in their batik shirt. Better than nothing, I guess.
When the bride and groom arrived, everyone gathered around the center red carpet. They entered, clad in Sumatran attire, preceded by a small band of musicians, and made their way toward the stage. They stopped in front of the stage, and a troupe of dancers performed for them. After they finished, Kirana and Mugi made their way to the center of the stage.
The pair of seats on either side of the newlyweds was for their parents, who joined them on stage. Mutia explained that all the guests would greet and congratulate the bride, groom, and parents individually. Everyone began lining up along the red carpet on the left side of the ballroom. Each in turn took the stage and shook hands with each member of the wedding party. After doing this, the guests could eat.
Before we could get in line, there was a mild commotion in the crowd. Mutia's dad had mentioned that the turnout would be huge, and also that some members of the government might show up. Since he said the second part with a bit of a laugh, I assumed he was joking. Sure enough, though, security officers and official-looking people entered the hall. A distinguished-looking man then entered, and made his way to the stage to congratulate the newlyweds. I soon found out that this was the vice president of Indonesia, Jusuf Kalla. In my excitement, all my up-close pictures of him came out blurry. After congratulating the wedding party, he made his way to the small dining area, where he sat down with other members of the family. Apparently one of the uncles or grandfathers had been a prominent figure in the legislature; this is how he knew the vice president. I tried to get in close to take a picture, but a security officer politely blocked me. Apparently, they don't take kindly to foreigners pointing electronic devices at their politicians. I did manage to get a dim but clear picture of him; he's the one seated to the right of the grey-haired man.
The scenery, the fashion, the food, and the arrival of the second most powerful politician in the country were enough to make my head spin, so I sat down for a while. There was a huge projection screen on the left side of the stage, and video from the wedding ceremony was playing. The ceremony itself lasted for about five days, and Mutia was there for the last three. She explained there were all kinds of rituals involved, such as the bride being carried by her father to be bathed in rose water. (The carrying symbolized the last time he would provide for and protect her before her husband assumed that role.) The video also included the groom being fed by his mother, symbolizing the last meal she'd ever have to provide for him. These are only two of the whole slew of customs that Mutia mentioned; I forgot most of the others.
As things started to wind down, we decided to call it a night. We made the trek back to the house, packed up for the return to Taiwan, and went to bed at around 10.
Along the way, our driver took all kinds of narrow back roads, many of which had more potholes than actual pavement. There also weren't many traffic lights at intersections. An unofficial traffic directing business had emerged to fill the niche: most intersections had a man who would walk out into the main flow of traffic and have them pause while drivers from small intersecting streets pulled out. In exchange, these drivers would give the man a tip of something around half a dollar.
After about an hour, we got to an upscale-looking neighborhood, and weaved around the mass of parked cars around the house. We passed a shiny black BMW--the newlyweds' chariot. Mutia came out to see us, and invited us in to meet the bride and groom. The ceremony had just finished a few minutes earlier.
Mutia's cousin, Kirana, is Javanese. Her husband, Mugi, is Sumatran. Each island has different traditions for marriage, so they decided to incorporate both: the wedding ceremony was done in Kirana's Javanese style, while the reception would be done in Mugi's Sumatran style.
We got to see them while they were still decked out in wedding regalia. They were very nice, but I felt a little weird talking to them--I'm pretty sure talking to three foreigners, even if they're friends of my cousin, won't be high on my list of things to do right after I get married. Mutia had already changed, but still had her hair done up from the ceremony.
After piling back into the car, we rode to the mall. Along the way, Mutia filled us all in on the plan for the rest of the day. We got dropped off at the mall and agreed on a meeting time with the driver.
The mall itself was massive--I'd put it on the same level as the Mall of Georgia. We milled around together at first, the girls did some clothes shopping, and we finally found a nice gift for Rachel's mom. We ate lunch at an awesome noodle shop in the food court, with the whole meal setting us each back about $3. Zoe and Rachel wanted to get their hair done for the reception, so they went off and did that while Mutia and I talked. I filled her in on Borneo, and she filled me in on the wedding and all the preparations.
We found an Internet cafe for me, and Mutia went off to do some shopping. I checked my email and suchlike, then just poked around the mall on my own. I first went to the movie theater to check out showtimes. When I found nothing was playing at the right time, I stood in line at the concession stand, intent on at least getting a Mountain Dew. They were sold out, though, so I pressed on. I discovered a restaurant called Chicken Story, a KFC, an A&W, and a Krispy Kreme. Those last two shocked me. Unable to resist, I got a rootbeer and two glazed donuts. Having eaten cold Pizza Hut for breakfast, and root beer and Krispy Kreme for a snack, I felt closer to home than I had since Christmas.
After rendezvousing, we caught a ride to the salon where Mutia would get ready for the reception. Her mother and sister were already there, and Rachel, Zoe, and I chilled out while they got beautified. This is how Mutia looked after getting all dolled up. The three of us also got changed into our reception duds, and we all piled into our cars and headed for the event. I grabbed a quick shot of traffic at an intersection, but it's nowhere near a fair representation of the chaos.
We arrived and, not wanting to do anything wrong, the three whities planted themselves firmly behind Mutia and her family. We saw the pretty welcome sign, then headed in. The corridor leading to the hall was nice, and had people dressed in full regalia distributing programs.
The ballroom itself, though, was simply spectacular. There was a red carpet leading from the corridor all the way to the stage, where three pairs of seats had been arranged. Branching off the carpet at the entrance was another red carpet running along the left side of the ballroom, with large gate frames arching over it. There was a small dining area on the right of the ballroom, and the rest of the floorspace was devoted to food.
Mutia's family gave us a tour of the place, explaining the significance of different parts, and also telling us about the foods that would be served. There was sushi, a full roasted lamb, and all kinds of Indonesian rice and noodle dishes. About 1/3 of the tables were dedicated to desserts. As Java is mostly Muslim, there was no alcohol or pork.
The guests began piling in, with almost all the men clad in batik. The women were wearing various traditional gowns and draperies, reflecting what part of Indonesia they were from. There were soon about two or three hundred people filling the ballroom. Zoe, Rachel, and I did our best to fit in. I should have brought khakis instead of black slacks, and I should've untucked my shirt--nobody else tucked in their batik shirt. Better than nothing, I guess.
When the bride and groom arrived, everyone gathered around the center red carpet. They entered, clad in Sumatran attire, preceded by a small band of musicians, and made their way toward the stage. They stopped in front of the stage, and a troupe of dancers performed for them. After they finished, Kirana and Mugi made their way to the center of the stage.
The pair of seats on either side of the newlyweds was for their parents, who joined them on stage. Mutia explained that all the guests would greet and congratulate the bride, groom, and parents individually. Everyone began lining up along the red carpet on the left side of the ballroom. Each in turn took the stage and shook hands with each member of the wedding party. After doing this, the guests could eat.
Before we could get in line, there was a mild commotion in the crowd. Mutia's dad had mentioned that the turnout would be huge, and also that some members of the government might show up. Since he said the second part with a bit of a laugh, I assumed he was joking. Sure enough, though, security officers and official-looking people entered the hall. A distinguished-looking man then entered, and made his way to the stage to congratulate the newlyweds. I soon found out that this was the vice president of Indonesia, Jusuf Kalla. In my excitement, all my up-close pictures of him came out blurry. After congratulating the wedding party, he made his way to the small dining area, where he sat down with other members of the family. Apparently one of the uncles or grandfathers had been a prominent figure in the legislature; this is how he knew the vice president. I tried to get in close to take a picture, but a security officer politely blocked me. Apparently, they don't take kindly to foreigners pointing electronic devices at their politicians. I did manage to get a dim but clear picture of him; he's the one seated to the right of the grey-haired man.
The scenery, the fashion, the food, and the arrival of the second most powerful politician in the country were enough to make my head spin, so I sat down for a while. There was a huge projection screen on the left side of the stage, and video from the wedding ceremony was playing. The ceremony itself lasted for about five days, and Mutia was there for the last three. She explained there were all kinds of rituals involved, such as the bride being carried by her father to be bathed in rose water. (The carrying symbolized the last time he would provide for and protect her before her husband assumed that role.) The video also included the groom being fed by his mother, symbolizing the last meal she'd ever have to provide for him. These are only two of the whole slew of customs that Mutia mentioned; I forgot most of the others.
As things started to wind down, we decided to call it a night. We made the trek back to the house, packed up for the return to Taiwan, and went to bed at around 10.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
DAY SEVEN, part 2: Jakarta
My flight from Pangkalan Bun stopped at Semarang to pick up more passengers, so I darted off the plane to run inside and use the bathroom. I also ran by the KalStar desk, in the hopes of finding out the name of the worker who had screwed us over on Tuesday. (Nanang wanted to know the guy's name, so he knew who to report to the company.) They had already closed for the day, though, so I made a mad dash back to the plane. The flight to Jakarta took about half an hour.
Jakarta's airport felt almost empty as I got off the plane, which made the place look even more enormous. There are pretty tropical gardens between terminals, which distracted me from the run-down look of the interior. While waiting at baggage claim, I was amused by a local.
I was picked up by one of Mutia's father's workers. Though he was very nice, he spoke more or less zero English, which made the ride a little awkward. The two-hour ride through Jakarta was absolutely miserable. If anyone reading this ever goes to Jakarta, do not drive. In fact, stay off the roads as much as possible. There are buses, but that seems to be the acme of the city's mass transit system. We were on two-lane roads most of the way, but Jakarta's motorbike riders swarm around everywhere, weaving in and out of traffic. At one point, the road split into four lanes (two lanes each direction), and there were motorbikes six abreast in front of us. For all the craziness, though, I didn't see a single traffic accident.
We eventually reached the house I'd be staying at. Mutia's family is building a second house in a developing subdivision, and offered to let Zoe, Rachel, and me stay there while we were in town. The neighborhood and house are amazing. My camera's battery died from all the excitement in Kalimantan, though, so this is the only picture I have from the house.
We pulled in at about 8:30, and I saw Zoe and Rachel for the first time since they ran off in Semarang. There wasn't any awkwardness or anything, which was good. We caught up on what everyone had been doing: they had been mostly chilling out at the house. Mutia's younger sister, Astrini, was there, too, along with some of her friends. We all hung out and played cards some, and they pointed me toward some food. I discovered that teenage girls in Indonesia have a lot in common with those in America: the girls had ordered three large pizzas from Pizza Hut, and had stocked the pantry with chips, salsa, two cakes, fresh fruit (apparently to put on the cakes), and enough Coke and Sprite to survive for a week. I helped myself to Pizza Hut, which tasted even better than in Semarang, since this time it was lukewarm.
Astrini and her friends left after a while, and the three of us watched a little TV. The house wasn't quite finished yet--some of the windows still hadn't been installed, among other things--so one of Mutia's dad's workers stayed at the house to guard the door. It was very nice, but a little strange at the same time. I took my first non-jungle shower in days, and was so thrilled to sleep in a bed that I wasn't even bothered by the lack of air conditioning.
Jakarta's airport felt almost empty as I got off the plane, which made the place look even more enormous. There are pretty tropical gardens between terminals, which distracted me from the run-down look of the interior. While waiting at baggage claim, I was amused by a local.
I was picked up by one of Mutia's father's workers. Though he was very nice, he spoke more or less zero English, which made the ride a little awkward. The two-hour ride through Jakarta was absolutely miserable. If anyone reading this ever goes to Jakarta, do not drive. In fact, stay off the roads as much as possible. There are buses, but that seems to be the acme of the city's mass transit system. We were on two-lane roads most of the way, but Jakarta's motorbike riders swarm around everywhere, weaving in and out of traffic. At one point, the road split into four lanes (two lanes each direction), and there were motorbikes six abreast in front of us. For all the craziness, though, I didn't see a single traffic accident.
We eventually reached the house I'd be staying at. Mutia's family is building a second house in a developing subdivision, and offered to let Zoe, Rachel, and me stay there while we were in town. The neighborhood and house are amazing. My camera's battery died from all the excitement in Kalimantan, though, so this is the only picture I have from the house.
We pulled in at about 8:30, and I saw Zoe and Rachel for the first time since they ran off in Semarang. There wasn't any awkwardness or anything, which was good. We caught up on what everyone had been doing: they had been mostly chilling out at the house. Mutia's younger sister, Astrini, was there, too, along with some of her friends. We all hung out and played cards some, and they pointed me toward some food. I discovered that teenage girls in Indonesia have a lot in common with those in America: the girls had ordered three large pizzas from Pizza Hut, and had stocked the pantry with chips, salsa, two cakes, fresh fruit (apparently to put on the cakes), and enough Coke and Sprite to survive for a week. I helped myself to Pizza Hut, which tasted even better than in Semarang, since this time it was lukewarm.
Astrini and her friends left after a while, and the three of us watched a little TV. The house wasn't quite finished yet--some of the windows still hadn't been installed, among other things--so one of Mutia's dad's workers stayed at the house to guard the door. It was very nice, but a little strange at the same time. I took my first non-jungle shower in days, and was so thrilled to sleep in a bed that I wasn't even bothered by the lack of air conditioning.
DAY SEVEN: Borneo, part 2
We woke up some time after dawn--I didn't bother looking at my watch for a while. Considering our latitude, though (about 2 degrees south of the equator), and only being one month removed from an equinox, sunrise couldn't have been much later than twelve hours after sunset. For breakfast, we had omelets, toast with butter and jelly, and bananas. We then headed up the river a little more, to another feeding area.
This one had the same type of platform, but had no fencing or seating area laid out for tourists. That was fine with me; we just stood. To try to ward off mosquitoes, I had brought a thin track suit I found for $20 on Tsushima. Knowing absolutely nothing about the outdoors, I chose black, which Anang told me attracts mosquitoes. He was right--though the repellent kept me from being bitten, they swarmed around my legs the whole time.
The worker put out the bananas, and began calling the orangutans. This went on for about fifteen minutes, with first Anang and then me joining in the calling. It wasn't anything fancy: just a simple "ey!" yell. Anang explained that they had put these bananas out earlier than the usual time. He said that they do this to try and break the rehabilitated orangutans' dependence on the provided meals. Eventually, we could hear rustling in the distance. After a few minutes, the local male emerged.
He was almost as big as Tom, and seeing him in motion made him more impressive. He made his way to the platform, alternately swinging and climbing across the trees. He moved deftly, but hurried no more than anyone does for breakfast. Once on the platform, he held on to a nearby branch and enjoyed his breakfast.
After about ten minutes, two females appeared. One, holding a baby, was identified as Anang as wild. This means she was born and raised in the park, with no interaction with the workers. This explained her markedly different behavior: she approached the platform much more slowly than any others we'd seen, clearly wary of us. She began making the kinds of mouth noises you see chimps make on funny videos--the lips-together, flatulent-sounding noise everyone makes as kids (and that some of us still make). The other solitary female, apparently a rehabilitated one, joined in making the noises. Anang explained that they were trying to scare us off. After a few minutes of this, obviously not succeeding, the smell of the bananas must have overwhelmed their fear of us, and they joined the male for breakfast. Anang had me line up for this picture.
Eventually the male let go of the branch, but kept standing upright. While the mother didn't seem too concerned with the male, the solitary one kept her distance. Sure enough, the male made advances at her each time she came in for some bananas. He began grunting at her, and eventually she headed off. He then began pursuing the mother, despite her baby clinging to her--Anang explained that doesn't make a difference to the males. She avoided him, though, and eventually headed off. The male stuck around for a few more minutes, serenading us with some post-breakfast gas, then excused himself.
In the aftermath, we sat around talking. Anang and the worker talked about various things, and I listened to the sounds of the forest in the early morning. Not long after the orangutans left, several butterflies descended on the platform to pick up the leftovers. There wasn't much left--the orangutans devour the fruit, then slowly chew on the peel--but the small tidbits count as a free meal too. I got some pictures of the butterflies (here and, more impressively, here), and stood next to the platform and watched the scene unfold.
As the butterflies nibbled on the platform, there were ants scurrying around the bits on the ground. I also noticed some faintly-familiar beetles scurrying around, though I couldn't place them at first. A few seconds later, though, I figured it out: they were dung beetles, and I recognized them from all those Discovery Channel specials about the rainforest. Just like I'd seen on TV, they were rolling the bits of orangutan poo into balls. I saw two of them around the same ball, which, based on what I've read, indicates one was trying to steal the ball from the other, or they were mates preparing a nest for their babies. Either way, it was amazing to watch. In fifteen minutes, there was nothing left that resembled either banana or poo.
While I was watching all this, I noticed a strong smell. It seemed familiar, but it wasn't urine, which I would have expected from a feeding ground. After a few minutes, I realized it smelled like vinegar, which must have been from bits of rotting banana.
The three of us headed back, and Anang told me about the other wildlife in the park. There are plenty of reptiles, like snakes and monitor lizards, which was the main reason I didn't want to sleep in the lodge: I figured snakes would have a harder time getting onto a boat than they would getting into a house.
Oh, and those crocodiles Anang told me about? He also told me that a few years back a tourist was eaten by one while he was swimming in the river. Turns out he wasn't lying.
On the way back we passed a sandy clearing full of huge flies just buzzing around. We found a lot of them swarming around what looked like a big ball of flies. We also stopped at an old wooden house set up as a museum for the park. I walked through it, reading about the different flora and fauna of the park, signed the guestbook, and met one of the locals beating the heat.
We had to start heading back to Kumai, since the big boat would take about twice as long to make the trip as the speedboat had. On the trip back, I snapped a picture of what Anang said were proboscis monkeys, but I still can't find any. That's the closest I came to seeing any of them.
I dozed on the way back, noticing the change in water as we rejoined the Sekonyer. The weather was just as sunny and gorgeous as it had been since we got to Bali. The highs all week had been up around 95, though we had spent most of our time in different forms of shade. Out in the full sun on the river, though, it was scorching. We slowly puttered our way back to the dock, where we waited a few minutes for our ride back to the airport.
Back in Pangkalan Bun, Nanang met us. He had my plane ticket, and the refund. Thanks to all the booking and cancelling of flights he had to do the day before, the refund came out to about $20 for each of the three of us. I found that a little hard to believe at first, but he had itemized all the expenses in a receipt for me. I still don't know whether he blew the numbers out of proportion, but I figure that, after all the headaches we caused him, he can have the extra. I thanked him again and again, telling him how much I loved the tour. Before they left, he let me use his phone to call Mutia in Jakarta to arrange picking me up.
That done, we said goodbye, and I headed into the airport. As I waited for the plane, which wound up being twenty minutes late, I noticed that Pangkalan Bun's airport is named Iskandar. That makes it my new favorite airport, despite all the trouble I had getting there.
This one had the same type of platform, but had no fencing or seating area laid out for tourists. That was fine with me; we just stood. To try to ward off mosquitoes, I had brought a thin track suit I found for $20 on Tsushima. Knowing absolutely nothing about the outdoors, I chose black, which Anang told me attracts mosquitoes. He was right--though the repellent kept me from being bitten, they swarmed around my legs the whole time.
The worker put out the bananas, and began calling the orangutans. This went on for about fifteen minutes, with first Anang and then me joining in the calling. It wasn't anything fancy: just a simple "ey!" yell. Anang explained that they had put these bananas out earlier than the usual time. He said that they do this to try and break the rehabilitated orangutans' dependence on the provided meals. Eventually, we could hear rustling in the distance. After a few minutes, the local male emerged.
He was almost as big as Tom, and seeing him in motion made him more impressive. He made his way to the platform, alternately swinging and climbing across the trees. He moved deftly, but hurried no more than anyone does for breakfast. Once on the platform, he held on to a nearby branch and enjoyed his breakfast.
After about ten minutes, two females appeared. One, holding a baby, was identified as Anang as wild. This means she was born and raised in the park, with no interaction with the workers. This explained her markedly different behavior: she approached the platform much more slowly than any others we'd seen, clearly wary of us. She began making the kinds of mouth noises you see chimps make on funny videos--the lips-together, flatulent-sounding noise everyone makes as kids (and that some of us still make). The other solitary female, apparently a rehabilitated one, joined in making the noises. Anang explained that they were trying to scare us off. After a few minutes of this, obviously not succeeding, the smell of the bananas must have overwhelmed their fear of us, and they joined the male for breakfast. Anang had me line up for this picture.
Eventually the male let go of the branch, but kept standing upright. While the mother didn't seem too concerned with the male, the solitary one kept her distance. Sure enough, the male made advances at her each time she came in for some bananas. He began grunting at her, and eventually she headed off. He then began pursuing the mother, despite her baby clinging to her--Anang explained that doesn't make a difference to the males. She avoided him, though, and eventually headed off. The male stuck around for a few more minutes, serenading us with some post-breakfast gas, then excused himself.
In the aftermath, we sat around talking. Anang and the worker talked about various things, and I listened to the sounds of the forest in the early morning. Not long after the orangutans left, several butterflies descended on the platform to pick up the leftovers. There wasn't much left--the orangutans devour the fruit, then slowly chew on the peel--but the small tidbits count as a free meal too. I got some pictures of the butterflies (here and, more impressively, here), and stood next to the platform and watched the scene unfold.
As the butterflies nibbled on the platform, there were ants scurrying around the bits on the ground. I also noticed some faintly-familiar beetles scurrying around, though I couldn't place them at first. A few seconds later, though, I figured it out: they were dung beetles, and I recognized them from all those Discovery Channel specials about the rainforest. Just like I'd seen on TV, they were rolling the bits of orangutan poo into balls. I saw two of them around the same ball, which, based on what I've read, indicates one was trying to steal the ball from the other, or they were mates preparing a nest for their babies. Either way, it was amazing to watch. In fifteen minutes, there was nothing left that resembled either banana or poo.
While I was watching all this, I noticed a strong smell. It seemed familiar, but it wasn't urine, which I would have expected from a feeding ground. After a few minutes, I realized it smelled like vinegar, which must have been from bits of rotting banana.
The three of us headed back, and Anang told me about the other wildlife in the park. There are plenty of reptiles, like snakes and monitor lizards, which was the main reason I didn't want to sleep in the lodge: I figured snakes would have a harder time getting onto a boat than they would getting into a house.
Oh, and those crocodiles Anang told me about? He also told me that a few years back a tourist was eaten by one while he was swimming in the river. Turns out he wasn't lying.
On the way back we passed a sandy clearing full of huge flies just buzzing around. We found a lot of them swarming around what looked like a big ball of flies. We also stopped at an old wooden house set up as a museum for the park. I walked through it, reading about the different flora and fauna of the park, signed the guestbook, and met one of the locals beating the heat.
We had to start heading back to Kumai, since the big boat would take about twice as long to make the trip as the speedboat had. On the trip back, I snapped a picture of what Anang said were proboscis monkeys, but I still can't find any. That's the closest I came to seeing any of them.
I dozed on the way back, noticing the change in water as we rejoined the Sekonyer. The weather was just as sunny and gorgeous as it had been since we got to Bali. The highs all week had been up around 95, though we had spent most of our time in different forms of shade. Out in the full sun on the river, though, it was scorching. We slowly puttered our way back to the dock, where we waited a few minutes for our ride back to the airport.
Back in Pangkalan Bun, Nanang met us. He had my plane ticket, and the refund. Thanks to all the booking and cancelling of flights he had to do the day before, the refund came out to about $20 for each of the three of us. I found that a little hard to believe at first, but he had itemized all the expenses in a receipt for me. I still don't know whether he blew the numbers out of proportion, but I figure that, after all the headaches we caused him, he can have the extra. I thanked him again and again, telling him how much I loved the tour. Before they left, he let me use his phone to call Mutia in Jakarta to arrange picking me up.
That done, we said goodbye, and I headed into the airport. As I waited for the plane, which wound up being twenty minutes late, I noticed that Pangkalan Bun's airport is named Iskandar. That makes it my new favorite airport, despite all the trouble I had getting there.
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