A quick lesson on cultural sensitivity

Well, actually, two lessons learned.

First, people are "mean" to dogs and cats for some reasons, possibly "good" reasons.

There is a dog tied up under the brunga in our garden; nobody ever pets that dog; children seem curious about it enough, but when the dog tries to approach them, they run away screaming and crying. Even adults have tumbled away in fear, as if this small, skinny, young puppy has rabbies.

It turns out, according to the Koran, dogs are "kotor" (dirty) and if someone so much as touches a hair of the creature, s/he is not allowed to "sorat" (sp?) (i.e. worship in a mosque) for a week; even if you disinfect your hands with bleach. I thought that was pretty ridiculous at first, but coming to think about it, they probably think I am ridiculous when I flinch and run and sometimes scream when a big bug flies within a ft of my face.

As with the cat... well, I have yet another story to tell. After I trained the kids to be more "humane" to these kittens, one day, I was sitting on the floor watching TV with them (kids and kittens), Raisa was eating ayam-kaki (chicken feet) when she suddenly stands up and screams for her dad, something about "dimakan kucing" (eaten by cats). I look and thought she gave the kitten some chicken bones and thought to myself, "that's nice." Turns out she was mad that the kittens were eating the bones on the floor... so she gave the kitten a half-ass kick, not hard, definitely with some restrains this time, and she looks at me guiltily and gave me a tentative smile. I frowned right away. I scolded her, "kalau tak mau dimakan kucing, jangan kasih kucing." (If you don't want your food eaten by the cats, don't give it to them!) Raisa looks at me with a very troubled face, like she wasn't sure what to say or do, but then her brother says, "tidak kasih, kicing ambil" (not give, the cat just took it.) I was speechless. If you put your food on the floor, obviously you mean to give it to the cat, yeah???

It took a minite or so for me to realize that Indonesian always eat on the floor, and at that point, I felt like a complete ass, scolding a little girl when *my child* (the kitten) has behaved badly. I am probably known as the crazy cat-lady from HK by now. (yes, I actually pick up those stinky, smelly, fleas-infected creatures and kiss them every day. I even let them snuggle up to my face when we sleep.)

That's the first lesson. The second lesson isn't so specific to cultural sensitivity, but rather, it reminds me of something L-sensei (karate sensei) once said to me,

"Opinion is like an asshole -- everyone has one, and usually it stinks."

Thats right, I feel like an a-hole. After making a self-righteous post about my "mission" to "reeducate" the children to be nice to animals, I realize I am the ignorant one. But then, the real lesson here is that cultural sensitivity is easy on paper, but not so easy in practice. You usually don't know find out you are being an ass until after the fact. So, I think, I will probably be a little less cynical and critical about the missionaries and the anthropologists, and a little less racist towards the Americans.

Speaking of racism... I bought three dictionaries by now, each being progressively more expensive, and none is all that good. Well, actually, the third one seemed really good to me until one night, when Dedy and I were chatting, and he asks me why I don't have "mata sipit," naturally, I didn't know what a sipit is, so I told him to look it up in the dictionary. He did, and I was shocked. In the dictionary, it says, "CHINK-eyes."

No, I kid you not, the word CHINK was casually used in a dictionary, w/o so much as a quote/end-quote, as if it's a very normal part of English dictionary, Maybe *I* am wrong, but as far as I understand, the word "chink" is a very racist word against Chinese, kind of like the word (pardon me) "nigger" or "cracker" or "parky." (ahem.)

Deddy didn't understand why I was so surprised (I actually found it pretty funny), so I tried to tell him that it's a racist word, but I didn't know how to say racist, so I look it up in the dictionary, and apparently, the word "racist" is not in any of my three dictionaries.

I guess, in a country where racism is not an issue, there is no reason for the word to show up in any dictionary. BTW, when I say racism is "not an issue," I don't mean that there is no racism here and people of all ethnicity cohabit peacefully, what I mean is that racism, the discrimination of people base on their race or ethnicity, is not considered immoral in this country. If you look at Indonesian's history, and its current transmigration policies, you can probably appreciate that discrimination based on race is common place. Is red not really red if you don't call it red? According to my friends, the Irianese and people of Kalimantan are "still pretty primative," they are also quite judgemental about their wardrobes ... filled with penis gourd, each for a different mood and occasion. I guess these are honest comments, and I don't know if I like them any less just because of their perception of the Irianese, but I think, these are classic expression of racism.



So for now, chatting at a brunga, visiting relatives, playing with children, cooking/ baking and memorizing the dictionary makes up the bulk majority of my life; don't I sound SO domesticated? That said, I think I am having a bit of a better understanding of the third wave feminism. I once said that I think my neighbour's hubby is "hot," because he is not afraid to take over the women's chore and stay home to look after the garden, the chickens and the children, well, I was wrong, maafkanlah.

Ibu Uni has been sick for 7 days now and she didn't go to worshipping with the rest of her family after dinner, so I stayed home with her to help her apply the "traditinal Lombok medication for headache" (which freaks me out, but that's another story). We have chatted a lot and she told me about her family, herself, and most amusingly, her opinion of her husband.

She told me her little sister is not yet married, and I told her I DON'T EVER want to get married. Micaela had warned me not to say that to any Indonesian, as they won't understand and it would be a huge scandal... but what the hell, I said it anyways. And to my surprise, Ibu Uni said in response, "I told my little sister don't even think about getting married, and the same to you now. Next time you think about getting married, just take a look at me." She told me how poor they are since her husband quit his job, how life was good when she still lived with her parents, how well off her siblings are when they aren't married, and how life would be "enak" (nice) if only Dedy was gone. Uni told me that Dedy is really lazy, which he himself admits. He "can't do anything except eat and play and sleep," I ask, since he doesn't work, why not take over the domestic chores and do the cooking and shopping? Uni says he can't cook and he doesn't want to learn. Apparently, he can find jobs if he goes to Jakarta, but he doesn't want to leave the children in Lombok and Jakarta isn't a good place to raise children. Ibu Uni appear to be a really strong super woman to me, in the sense that she is not afraid to tell her husband off and she has the economic power in the family. But even so, she says she is shy (malu) to ask for financial help, "because she has a husband." She says, if she was a man, she won't be shy about asking her parents or siblings for help, since they are quite well off (they are all teachers, doctors, and dentists). But apparently, it is not proper for a woman to borrow money when she has a husband, even though she is the only source of income for the family.

And, despite all that, Dedy still wants to move to a bigger house... currently, they stay in one of the rooms in the family compound here, it's owned by his brother in law (a Dutch man who now conducts research in Ache) and they are allowed to stay here for free. It's almost funny, looking at Dedy asking for money for petrol and getting yelled at by his wife. I find it a little baffling that a woman as powerful as Ibu Uni even have to summit to the cultural normalization of submissive, domesticated women, who have to do all the cookings and shopping and child-caring, and who have to be shy to ask for help out of "respect" for her husband, even though in my eyes, in daily interaction, she seems to be the leader of the family.

Theories aside... if there is a god, allow me to say this:

DEAR GOD, DO NOT PUT ME TO THE TEST, BUY DELIVER ME FROM THE CHILDREN!


Most of you already know that I hate kids and I fear kids, to the point where I would cross the road if I see one coming. But fate has it that I always live with kids ever since I left HK for Canada, and currently, in Lombok.

I can no longer tell you about my life without introducing the children... I have already talked about Raisa, so this time, lets take a look at Raihan.

Raihan is a toddler who is not quite two yet. She is still breast feeding and if there is only one thing I can tell you about it, then I would say, she likes to cry. Even children younger than Raihan don't cry nearly as much as Raihan; she cries WHENEVER she wakes up, or when she isn't getting what she wants, or even if you so much as say "jangan" (don't) or "tidak boleh" (not allowed) to her.

I can't really tell whether Raihan likes me or not. Ever since I got mad at her for hitting the kitten, she has been quite nice to them, and she won't stop bringing me the kittens... That's cute, and she knows crying doesn't work on me, just because she cries doesn't mean I will relent, UNLIKE everybody else. (yes, my heart is made of rocks.) So she tends to try other strategy, for example...

One day, I was diligently sitting on a bamboo mat on the floor, trying to memorize the dictionary. Raihan comes running to me, which she does often. I beamed her a smile and continue to stare at the dictionary, ignoring her. Out of the cornor of my eyes, I see that she is pulling her pants down... no problem, kids here aren't exactly shy about nudity, I am used to having naked kids running around me by now. But what I didn't expect, is for her to squat down next to me and pee on the bamboo mat.

Any child=psychologist here can tell me what she is trying to say to me? I just don't get it. I was shocked, grossed out, traumatised. I swear, I will die before I will have a kid. God-bless abortion.



But, human are adaptable. Even I get adapted to life here, including the heat and the children. I am basically back to good health; I no longer feed the kids the meat on my plate (and instead, I give it to the cats) and got the doxycycline figured out. Ramadan will be over in 4 days, and I have only fasted for 7 days so far... my habit of taking medications first thing in the morning makes it impossible for me to skip breakfast, I have already blogged about what happened to me the last time I tried to take my anti-malaria pill on empty stomach. I have also gotten used to having to constantly apply mosquito repellents, I forgot it once and within an hour, I got 6 mosquito bites. I have also developed something of a killer reflex against mosquito... it is now dangerous to put anything breakable in my hands, because I will drop ANYTHING, including MD player, food, children, kittens, book, money... ANYTHING at once, when I see anything flying out of the corner of my eyes, so I can give it a quick slap; I firmly believe mosquito-killing is a noble sport.

As with music, Radja is definitely "king of K-songs," For some reasons, there are a lot of TV programmes showing people's weddings, and on many occasions, they played Radja's Jujur in the background, which, I think, is kind of trippy. Maybe I misunderstood the lyrics, but I think, the song is about a guy telling a girl to F'off, "get away from me, forget about me... forever." Why would you play it in a wedding... except that it's a K-song that EVERY indonesian can sing? I still like the Radja, though I also enjoy PADI and Peterpan now. I can't handle musics by the female singers though, they sound too ... waif, and there are too many "air-mata" "mimpi" "sendiri" etc in the lyric, it's driving me crazy.

Watching anime dubbed Indonesian is even more trippy, especially old animes that I watched when I was a kid, such as Doraemon and Captain Tsubasa.

In a few days, after puasa is over, I am going to start TaeKwanDo (sp?) training with the teenage son next door. Apparently there is a school near the airport. Thanks to my lucky star, I always wear my karate pants, and I even bought it along with me, so hopefully I won't have to buy the TKD uniform. I aml feeling more and more out of shape and I seriously miss Aikido and Karate trainings. I am really looking forwards to it.

Update: cultural colonization begins

It's nice and good that I got educated in the oriental-studies (!) department in Canada, and learn all there is to know about cultural-sensitivity... which I then dump into the drain as soon as I get here.

I have been whinning and moaning about the mistreatment of dogs and cats in here for long enough, so let me give some specific details. First of all, I assure you I am no PETA member, I even eat cute little bunnies with big black blameless eyes. Even so, I am hitting my limit for "cultural tolerance."

The teenage boy next door bought home one fine morning two very tiny kittens from the street. They are very tiny, miserable, and mangy. The little boy has bald spots on his back and is losing more hair everyday. Both of hte kittens have fleas crawling around visibly.

Even I was taken aback by their state of health at first. I picked the little boy-kitten up, he cried for his life. I have raised enough kittens from birth that I know how to soothe a tiny kitten, so I set him on my lap and start petting him in ways similar to a mother cat would lick her kittens. Instantly, I got him tamed. He start purring with his eyes closed. And from that moment on, I have became the kitten's surrogated mother.

My neighbout find it very ridiculous that I spend so much money on cat kibbles, which is ridiculous enough, it's over twice the price for the same brand of Kibble in Canada; I guess only foreigner buy cat food in lombok. This has to be done; at first I bought milk and baby food for the kittens, which was quickly robbed and consumed by the toddler. I kid you not. The almost-2-yr-old kid actually ate the whole bowl of cat food as soon as I turn my back, and her brother/ parents seem to find it funny.

I don't blame a kid if she is hungry and takes the kitten's food, but... that evening, the four year old little girl was sitting on the top of a flight of stairs when one of the two kittens happily runs up to her, and the innocent little girl agilely give the tiny kitten a kick so that it tumbles all the way back down, and as the kitten is tumbling, she looks at me and gave me a very innocent, sincerely happy laugh as if to say, "look what I did to it, isn't it so funny?" I yelled "jangan," then I said to her, with an angry face, "that was REALLY nasty!" Of course she doesn't understand English, but she understands enough that I am angry, and that's good enough.

Then comes meal time for the toddler, the kitten walks up to the toddler, and to my horror, the toddler raises the big metal spoon up above her head and hammers down on the very tiny kitten repeatedly.

When I shoult "jangan" (don't!), the parents would look at see what's going on. If the kids are ruining my books or pens, the parents will tell the kids it's bad. But if the kids are abusing the kitten, the parents will do nothing about it. In fact, I have caught the adults kicking the kittens around a few times.

Sorry for not being more "culturally sensitive" but as far as I know, this is plain and raw cruelty. For a moment, I thought about grabbing the spoon and show that kid what it feels like to be hammered, or to push the girl down the stairs to show her it's not that funny afterall. But instead, I told them it's not good, it hurts the kitten, and they give me a puzzled look.

I was getting pretty desperate, I thought it's not getting through to them, and I am ready to serve "justice the american way" (i.e. withdrawing all medical and financial aids until they treat the kittens the way I want them to). But a few night later, the kids were watching me pet the kittens and the four year old says something about the kitten likes it. Then both of the kids imitated. The toddler petted the kitten gently then looks at me for approval, I was so happy! (mission-successful!)

This morning, I fed the kitten wet food from a can, little Raisa (4 yr old little girl) even took the spoon to spoon feed them, I am pretty happy about it. I suddenly have so much more empathy for all the missionaries; to hell with cultural sensitivity.

These kittens are very affection by now, they don't have much fear for human anymore, which, I don't know whether it's good or bad for them. In 2 months, I will be on the road again, and chances are, they will be mistreated (by my standard of course) by every human they run into. Maybe I am harming them by imposing my western way of interacting with animals; but I can't just sit around and do nothing when I see these two very affectionate, waif kittens being abused.

But I am learning about their culture too... for example, I can now sing all of Radja's songs by heart(!), and I can even cook some of the local dishes.

If there is one thing I absolutely hate, and that would be being told what to do, especially by a man, and especially if he is telling me to go work in the kitchen. Ogi has the gut to tell me to go help out in the kitchen when I first arrived here, and for that reason alone, I avoided going into the kitchen for a good long time. But I also love cooking, so I have finally got over my resentment for domestication and started learning to cook lombok dish. Grinding chili peppers and garlic with stones makes me feel like I am in the "stone age" already... kiss the food processor good bye! (and I am trying hard to remember not to rub my eyes.) I have also learn to make some sort of sticky-rice dessert, you wrap them with banana leave and boil till the rice is tender, then you put shredded coconut and caramel on it... mmmmMMmm. On the other hand, I still haven't got used to the saltiness of the food. Dedy told his friends that if the food has "sedikit sedikit asin" (just a little bit of salt) and "dia tidak suka," (she won't like it), well, his idea of "little bit of salt" is not my idea of "little bit." I thought Canadian eat REALLY salty food, but Sasak food is even more salty.

I also made the mistake of falling in love with Jakarta rock music, which means I suddenly have a very large set of vocabulary on gaudy love and break up and heart breaks and "get lost" etc. I can't seem to find *one* song without some conjugation of the word "cinta" (the fishy, "koi" kind of love) in it >_< However, I still enjoy playing guitar and singing with my neighbour's teenage son.

I have to wait now, Dedy is waiting for me outside (jamput ^_^;;). I hope to have time to write about Raisa a bit more next time... stay tuned!

-C

Please, my pubic hair!

I have only been in Indonesia for about 10 days or so and apparently, I have already made an announcement about my pubic hair!

I have been spending a lot of time chatting with my neighbour, her husband, and his friends, as we pass the kammus (dictionary) along. I now pay my neighbour's husband 300,000rp a month to be my motorcycle-taxi driver.

So he explains to me, when I am out somewhere and I want to come home, I should call him to say "jamput saya." (lit: pick-up me)

So I said, "silakan, jamput saya," (please, pick-up me) Or so I thought I did.

I knew I have trouble with the indonesian p/b pronounciation, but I didn't thought it was a big deal, until I called myself pubic hair.

Deddy (neighbour's hubby) started laughing, and says, "jamput, tidak jambut. Jambut ini," then he points his finger to his groin and make a circle around. I HONESTLY cannot tell the difference when he contrasts jambut vs jamput, and I didn't understand at the time what he was trying to tell me. Later, his friends arrive, some speak some English. Deddy made me say jamput again, which I tried, which apparently sounded more like jambut, and they all laughed. I asked his friends what it means, they just point to their groin and say "this here".

Next day, I went to see Deddy's huge family -- his parents, his brothers and sisters, his brother and sister in law, and their children. And as soon as I got there, Deddy told them I can't say "jamput." Then he pointed at me and tell them "coba" ("try to get her to say it.") I was too embarrassed (in front of strangers that I don't know!) to say it, but they all had a good laugh anyways.

One of Deddy's sisters married a Dutch man and speaks a bit more English, so I asked her again, "what is jambut?" (trust me, I already looked it up in 3 dictionaries and it's not there.) When she managed to stop giggling, she finally pointed to her groin and told me, "hair in here, what in English?" That's when I found out, instead of saying "please pick me up," I said "please, my pubic hair." >_< @_@ u_u .......


Other than some occasional embarrassment, life has been good and mellow. I have decided travelling isn't for me, at least the tourist package type travelling isn't. The best thing ever happened to me in my life is probably going to Canada, the second best being coming here to Lombok. Despite a pretty rough time, I am having the time of my life in here now. Life is quiet, the loudest noise here in our muslim village is the geckos and the muslim's prayers. (which is kind of funny... my neighbour's teenage son, after dinner, wears the best dress in the family and kneel down in front of the PlayStation2 and bow his head down on the ground a few times. Since the rest of the family also does that, I figure that's the direction they are supposed to pray to. But, in all seriousness, it looks like they are bowing and preying to the PlayStation!)

I am lucky in that everywhere I go, I seem to get adopted by nice people. In Canada, Crystal's family and Ryan's family both adopted me and took me in for many family holidays and camping trips etc. And now, my nice neighbour have taken me into their huge family, and already made me promise to keep in touch with e-mail if (when) I go back to Hong Kong (even though they don't have e-mail yet).

Speaking of my neighbour -- you might notice I said "my neighbour's husband." Of course, he lives next door as well, but I think that's the only way I can demonstrate my respects for the lady (Ibu Uni) next door. Ibu Uni is truly an amazing superwoman. She is a breast feeding mother who is also a teacher at elementary school; so she takes the youngest child to school with her everyday so she can both work and breast feed and care for the child. And in the mean time, she makes some money by making me food, and also making muslim clothing to sell to friends and family. Her husband Deddy, on the other hand, stays home to take care of the other children and the chicken. He used to be a Blue Bird driver, which apparently works the driver to death (from 6am-11:00pm, which is extrodinary work hours in Lombok,) but he only made 5000-7000rp a day -- less than what we tip our taxi driver! So after the children are born, he quit his job and stay home to take care of the chicken and the children... and to chat with friends. His wife Uni takes care of all the money matter, and everytime he wants some money, such as money for tobacco, or for food for chicken, or some snack, he has to ask his wife.

You are probably thinking, "what a loser." At least two of my university-educated, progressive girlfriends in Canada have confessed in girl talks, that despite being feminists, they just personally cannot handle a boyfriend that 1) makes less money than they do, or that 2) is shorter in height. I can more or less understand, but let me tell you, I have nothing but affections and respects for Deddy. I am kidophobic, but he is really great with his kids, the little one cries all the time, and their 4 year old occasionally cries as well, which their mom is helpless to stop, but as soon as dad talks to them and cuddle them, they stop crying. To me, THAT'S what hot guys are made of. I have always said I don't want to get married; but if I can find a guy who will stay home to take care of my kids and my cats, I might reconsider!


The less great side of my current life is my health. I've got the run for two days now. I stopped counting the number of flies I swallow through my drinks now. Ever since I went to the market to buy groceries with Ibu Uni, I (put things into perspective and stop being mad about being ripped off, because I found out everything I pay for in the tourist area has been marked up for about 10x.) I am surprised I can eat at all. Everywhere we go in the market, every item is covered in flies. For example, we went to buy the dried coconut for shredding. The coconut is already covered in flies, then the teenage boy puts it through the shredder, more flies landed in the shredded coconuts, but the boy just scoops the product -- coconut mixed with flies -- into a plastic bag, and Ibu Uni didn't even flinch. It used to be that after a fly or two land in my drink, I will just dump it in the toilet. But, I have to eat eventually, so I swallowed my squirmishness (and a lot of flies) and currently, I rely on fruit flies as my major source of protein.

No, I kid you not. I pay enough money for food that Ibu Uni [used to] give me some meat every meal. But Mr. Ogi has a habbit of rubbing between his toes with his finger then play with the meat on my plate, then ask me "you don't eat meat?" And before I can answer no (because he touched it with his filthy fingers!), he already took it and ate it! Now that I have successfully established my hierarchy and trained Ogi well,(no more touching, no more kissing, and no more borrowing money,) the kids get in the way. They will stare at me while I eat. To be more specific, they will stare at the meat on the plate. I ask them, "mau makan?" And the little one will just shake her head and continue to stare. I will ask again, and she will just stare, and finally, I ask for the thrid time, she will nod her head and consume the meat. Ibu Uni must have notice I don't eat much of the meat, because she no longer give me meat.

In Canada, I can buy a slap of low grade steak, or at least grounded beef, cheaper than I can buy a bell pepper or a large tomato (I kid you not, veggies is THAT expensive in BC, and even more so in Alberta.), so I more or less turned into a meat-getarian. Now that I share meal with my Sasak neighbour (we eat dinner together; but they serve me meals on a try during the day because I am not fasting.), I cannot remember the last time I eat meat. They did offer me some "koroppo" the other day, which is deep fried cow-skin, with hair still stuck on it, I took one bite out of politeness and quickly decided it's not for me. It tastes slightly better than cat kibbles...

They also fed me a Lombok dish called "plarcyng", which I remember because the whole time I ate the dish, my hand was "clutching" my water bottle. It was so spicy it burned my lips off, but it's GOOD.

But, to add more stress to my body, I had to take my doxacycline (anti-malaria meds) on empty stomach. My advice is, DON'T DO IT. It burns so badly for a few hours I thought my stomach might be bleeding; I actually had goosebumps on my skin from the pain.

Other than ingesting large amount of insects, constantly second-hand smoking, a drastic change in diet (what I call insectivorous vegetarian), and the doxacycline side effect, I am generally healthy. In fact, I am surprised I have't got diarrhea until yesterday, because frankly, I have ate more fruit flies in a week than most people would ever ingest in their entire life time.

So that's my life for now. I am in love with the Jakarta band, the Radja already, and even though I have no idea what I am singing, I love to sing "Tulus" and "Jujur." I can also converse a little and body language makes up for the rest. Most importantly, I am alive and happy.

You all take care, and say hi to Kira for me!

-C

So we arrived Bangsal, thinking hell is over because we managed to convince the Anjani guys to leave us alone. We called the resort to inform them that we were going that day, they are supposed to arrange transportation for us from Mataram airport, but when we call the resort, they told us to just take a taxi to bangsal and the girl claims she will meet me in the "RCI booth" in Bangsal. We got there (with the anjani rats), but no girl, no RCI booth.

Then a bunch of boys chased us down. They ask us if we are going to Gili Meno, I said yes, and ask them if they are with the RCI. They said "yes, yes, we are RCI," but knowing people here will lie to get you to use their service, I got more careful this time, "do you know what hotel we are staying at?" They can't tell me, they started randomly guessing, I was about to told them off when I look ahead and realize they are already carrying my dad onto the boat, four guys actually picked him up by his armpit and his knees! I chased to follow and shouted at them, and they just keep saying "don't worry, we are going to gili meno" I told them, "no, somebody else is waiting for us here, we have transportation arranged."

They forcefully picked me up and put me on the boat anyways, I kept trying to jump back down, and my dad followed suit. Finally, one of the guys passed me a cell phone, a girl on the other end of the phone spoke to me. She sounded like the girl in RCI I spoke to earlier, but i thought I would be careful. "Okay, if you work for RCI, do you know my name? I called you an hour ago and gave you my name. Can you tell me my name, or where I am from?" Like the porters, she randomly guessed our names and guessed that we are from Taiwan, I was desperate. Here I am, being carried by money hungry people into a tiny boat in a very rough sea, on the phone with a girl who claim to work for the RCI but apparently have no idea who we are or any of our resort booking informations.

Finally, we went along. Of course the porters want an arm and a leg for their "services" that we didn't ask for, my nice, rich dad docilely paid them, I wanted to bite his head off. Whatever, we got going.

I thought the sea was rough by the harbor; I started to seriously regret not taking the water safety trainings in Tofino more seriously. I sat at the front of the "charter boat," which is no more than a 30 ft long (and very narrow) dingy with a humble motor at the back. The wave was so violent, my dad puked three times. Having some experiences at rough sea, I was on hyper vigilance. I look down on the piece of paper I was holding and realize my hands were trembling. I was dranged from head to toes, I looked at the two local women on board with their baskets of big fishes, they were speaking in Sasak, which I don't understand. What I do understand, was that even they were freaked out. Their face were distorted into a grimace that told me they too were extremely worried for their safety. I faced the front of the boat with my elbow resting on the side of the boat, it actually touched the water a few times, and a lot of water spilled into the boat. The motor stopped many times during our 20 minutes trip to Gili Meno. At that point, I suddenly realize none of us have life jacket. Bronze Medallion holder or not, I don't think I can survive it if the boat flip. But, determined to survive, I kept watching for the waves, the direction of the current, where are the waves forming and merging, where is the closest landing point etc.

Finally, we got close enough to the Gili Meno beach that I knew I could swim there if I have to... and at the end, we got to the shore safely. For the first time since we got on the boat, I looked back at my dad, I didn't want him to see how worried I was. He gave me a strange expression of embarrasment and maybe fear, and told me, "I puked three times, I don't even have any bile left." At least he wasn't freaked out like I was.

After this was a series of communication breakdown between the resort and RCI, I won't bore you with the details, but needless to say, it was less-than-pleasant. The most unpleasant of all, is that the resort staff "forget to tell us" there is no electricity between 2 to 6; innocently, I went in for a shower, noticed the water pressure was weak but did not pay much attention. I lathed myself with soap and turn on the tap again, only to realize there is no water to wash it off until 6...

Later that night, we got some dinner, took a brief stroll down the beach and retired early. We reported the bundence of insects, dust, and most importantly, the leaky faucet to the resort staff 7 times that night, with nothing done to remedy it. By 2am, my dad was on all four on the floor soaking up the water flooding the entire room with a towel.

So next morning, when we reported the severity of the leak again and they still didn't do anything, I decided to ask for a different room. They told us the other twin-beds room A/C is broken, they only have rooms with double bed. I said I don't care, and the staffs exchanged glance and sly grins. At that point, I really didn't care what the local think of us, I just want to live in a human condition.

Probably because we shared the room for so many days, it almost became a habit. It was so hot in Gili Meno we ended up spending a lot of time in our room, and we chatted a lot. Dad told me a lot about his childhood, and a lot of other very personal issues, such as issues he has with his parents, moral issues he has with some extended family members, etc. For the first time in my life, I feel like dad is taking me seriously, as an adult, who can think and speak for myself. Even though the things dad told me make me cry, it felt good to know dad respects me enough to share with me.

Of what little time I spend at the beach, with my dad, I was constantly pestered by beach cowboys, children who pull extremely dramatic sad face who ask us to buy their merchandises, and more adults who all sell the same thing who all want us to buy from them. One of the Sasak boys kept showering me with compliments at our first meeting. He was patient enough to speak with me in Indonesian, naturally, I didn't understand when he asks me where is my boyfriend, and when he finally translate into english for me, I was so unprepared for it, I blurted out that I don't have one. Second grave mistake.

For the rest of my stay in Gili Meno, I was fighting the dilemma of staying in hotel to enjoy A/C and avoid beach cowboy, or to enjoy the pristeen water, corals, and endless beack. By that evening, he already told me "aku suka kamu." Taught to be a nice asian wall flower, I just knew it's not okay to hurt people's feelings (!), so I told him "I like you too, but I don't want a boyfriend." In Canada, boys usually respond with a brief goodbye, followed by a long period of disappearing in front of me. But here, boys don't seem to know when to quit, or how to quit. No amout of I don't want a boyfriend deters him. When I use the phone to make reservation at a losmen in Mataram at the watel that he works at (the only watel on the island), he copied my number down and told me he will look for me in Mataram. Then he started kissing up to my dad, he even send regards for my mom!

Later, Dad and I went to a more remote beach on Gili Meno, where there is no hawker, or anyone else ... except for my Gili Meno Romeo. The ocean floor is covered with beautiful corals that are extremely painful to step on; I walked gingerly into deep water for some swim, but my "Romeo" kept trying to molest me in the water, and I was so startled that I struggled to get away at once... and got my feet all cut up. Even as I limp back to my hotel with my bleeding feet, the guy kept touching me when my dad is not watching, or to hold my hand. How do local women deal with these? DO local women even have to deal with these?

That night, dad and I went out for dinner again. I had to repeatedly refuse to go to the pub, or to play pool, with "Romeo" that night; we also had to guard our food from the watchful cats. Actually, ever since we arrived in Gili Meno, every meal we take was surrounded by cats and kittens. So far, they have been shy or even afraid of human; it took some perseverence for the kitten to take food from my hand. But this time, the kitten actually jumped onto our table to eat with us.

My little Kirara will never eat salad, tomato soup and rice, or so I think. But, by the time dad and I had enough to eat, there was no meat left on the plate, and the hungry kitten ate the rice, vegetables and extremely salty tomato soup greedily, as if it was going to be his last meal.

On our way back to the resort after dinner, (Romeo tries to invite me to the pub again, which I again turned down), I failed to resist a group of Sasak boys who invited me to join their music group. I told dad I will just spend a few minutes with them to enjoy the music; but I think I ended up spending an hour there. I think, this has been the most enjoyable experience of the whole trip. Two of the boys were actually quite good, they sang both English and Indonesian songs, they played guitar, drums (with empty water bottles) and sang; they sounded really good. They passed the two guitars along and I tried to play the few songs that I can play, which is embarrassing compared to these amazing musicians. They even took English song and improvised lyrics on the spot with a mix of Indonesian and English words, it was great.

Early that morning, we went to the ferry ticket office to inquire about public boat ticket to go back to Bangsal. On my way here, the resort staffs charged us 155 000rp for the charter boat service that they orally agreed to arrange for us for free when we booked the resort. But it turns out, public boat is only 7500 rp/person (about $1 Canadian Dollars). At the ticket office, we ran into Ogi, one of the musicians from the night before. He says he is also leaving next morning for Mataram and offered to be our guide. For the first time, I let my guard down when people come offering services to us in here. I guess I am really weak against good music, I just can't resist.

We made it to Mataram in one piece, the negotiation with the University was unsuccessful, they refused my registration as a student when I entered with a VOA visa. So instead, I spend the rest of the day looking for a place to stay for the next little while -- alone. Ogi seems to have a lot of connections, he knows lots of places with room for rent etc. I finally chose an upscale place ... more expensive, less local, true, but I thought, this way, I will not be constantly surrounded by beggers and hawkers thinking I am a rich tourist with lots of fortunes to disperse.


Ogi also wanted me to open a joint-name bank account with him, which I turned down flat. Do I really look that stupid?

After I found a place to stay, Ogi and I send my dad off at the airport. As soon as my dad got off the car, Ogi got really aggressive with me. I sat in the front seat with him and he grabbed me from the driver's side, and kissed me really roughly. I was so shocked I didn't know how to respond. Here is a man, friend to my neighbours, civil for the last 3 days to me, and as soon as my dad disappears, he turns into a lusting hound. It took a LOT of time and patience and efforts and a few "cultural difference" cards to convince him that 1) I am not interested in him and 2) his actions are not okay, without being rude or offensive. In fact, I was ready to tell him that "I am a Christian and it's sinful to kiss before I marry."

The place I stay in is very nice; it's a little housing compound with walls surrounding a garden and many individual small bungalows. My bungalow has two levels, a double bed, a dresser, A/C, and western bathroom, though no hot water. The garden is filled with fruit trees, such as rambutan, mangoes, jackfruits, and coconuts. I have already enjoyed a lot of the fruit and even my neighbour's cuisins ... even though they want a small sum of cash for their hospitality.

The money issue is starting to get to me; everywhere I go, people want money from me. I think paying my neighbour for the fruits they "gave" me is fair, but it sucks that every little things you do, or everywhere you go, you have to negotiate money.

I am used to being "different" in Canada; my host family used to bring guests to the house to look at/ talk to this girl from Hong Kong; and even in University, from time to time, people come talk to me and ask me strange questions, just because I am Asian. But it was all in good nature. But here, I am visibly different, and people are interested in me .. and the money they can make out of me. It's really wearing me down. So this morning, when I walk out of my bungalow and sat in a pagoda to make conversations with the neighbours and friends... I got really frustrated.

One of the friends of my neighbour was there, alone with me, and he asked me,

"mau ke mana?" (where do you want to go?)
"mau ke buku kotor," (I want to go to the book store)
"dengan Deddy?" (With Deddy?[my neighbout's name])
"ya" (yes)
"ada uang?" (do you have money?)

Here, I thought he meant whether I bring money with me to buy dictionary, but it turns out...

"ya"
"??????????????????????"
"tidak mengarti!" (I don't understand!)

I can't remember what he says, but it turns out, he speaks some English.

"give me money! Give me money! Lima-ribu saja, saya tidak ada uang!

then he pulls out his pockets to show me he has no money. I looked at him with an expression of increduality. He repeats himself a few more times, in Indonesian and in English.

"uang untuk apa?" (money for what?)

I am so used to people asking me to buy from them, I thought he was trying to sell me something. But apparently not. He just repeats that he doesn't has money,

"I want money, you have lots of money, give me money."

I notice he has been smoking non stop, which seems to be generally true with local men, so I said to him,

"tidak ada uang tetapi ada uang untuk rocco?"
(you don't have money but you have money for cigarettes?)

"ini rocco Deddy, Deddy ada banyak uang, saya tidak ada uang. I want money, give me money, lima ribu juga, give me money, I want money." (I am smoking Deddy's ciggarettes, Deddy has a lot of money, I have no money. ... the rest is Eng)

I am used to people wanting some money out of me, but I am not quite prepared for a begger right at my door step, who was introduced to me as my neighbour's family friend. I told him no in English and Indonesian a few times, and proceed to ignore him for the rest of the morning and pretend to read, even though his persistent begging is really disturbing and hard to ignore.

Finally, Deddy comes back, I left with him; I almost wanted to cry. How do I tell him the friend he brings home to meet me is pestering and begging me for money behind his back? But, conveniently, I don't have to. I don't even have the vocabularies to retell to him what just happened.

Deddy took me to see his brother's family, I met his wife and their children. Their children were still shy, I asked the older child some questions in simple indonesian and she answered, but then she start running for her mom. I hope I didn't say anything strange or stupid. I was then introduced to Deddy's parents, they speak more English than everyone else I have met in Mataram so far (except for my guide and the University professor), which is still not a lot. They lent me dictionaries, children's book, and English text books for Indonesian schools for me to learn on my own. We make simple conversations, making frequent consultation with the dictionary, it was great.

Right now, I am trying to decide whether to buy a bicycle, because I live just outside of Mataram and it's quite far to the University. It's probably faster (because of traffic jam) and eventually, cheaper, to get a bike instead of riding bemos, but the traffic conditions here seriously scares me. I tried out a few bikes today, but the roads are so narrow and traffic so hectic, I was too scared to make a U-turn. Deddy offers to be my limitless taxi driver (with motor cycle) for $300 000 rp a month ... more money dealings with my neighbour, true, but i will probably feel a little safer.

I enjoy the kids in the compound a lot. Because the place I am staying at is a bit upscale, most of the people aren't so poor, so at least the kids aren't constantly begging for money. The neighbour's 3rd daughter likes to draw and color with me. She keeps bringing fruit to me and knocks on my room as soon as she comes back from school. She talks a lot considering that I can't really answer or understand her! I am trying to talk to the people who hang out in the pagoda in the garden, so in a way, I am learning Indonesian.

So that's my life for now. I hope things are well in Hong Kong and Canada for you all, take care, and take care of my cat!

-C

Sudah satu minggu!

I have been in this steaming pot called Indonesia for about a week now!

My dad left me for home last night; I lived in Canada alone for so long, I didn't thought I would miss him. But I miss him seriously, partly because we shared many heart-to-heart talks as adult during this trip; but mostly because my would-be guide/ driver/ beach cow boy suddenly turned lecherous as soon as my dad get in the airport.

Get ready for a long story!

We arrived late at night in DPS airport. Since dad and I hold different passport, the staff at custom asked my dad to line up in a different queue.

As soon as dad left me, the staff at custom whispered to me that he can help me extend my "non-extendable" visa, he then proceed to give me his number and his name. This country is just so magical, everything is possible!

Then I took a cab with my dad. Taking a friend's advice, we hired a blue taxi to Sanur and paid at the counter, this way, we don't have to barter with the cab driver. So far, so good.

We stayed at a midrange losmen/hotel; its decoration was artsy, but the facility is very rudimentary. There is no hot water for shower -- not that you need it here, and, the dranage sucks. The bathroom floods everytime someone takes a shower. Doing enough researches ahead, we knew there is no toilet paper provided and we brought our own. Thanks god, because true to the loonely planet guide, there is no TP provided.

Next day, we walked around the street, I was expecting it to be a small town, but it still seems kind of busy. We keep getting serviced offered, they are extremely polite about it, but it still gets to my nerve. Most of these tourism-industry workers speak enough English, but I still try to respond to them with what little Indonesian I speak. I must speak terribly, for example, no amount of "tidak, makasih" or "tidak tidak, sudah beli," will deter them from following and hornking behind us. Every warung and batik shop also call to us to invite us to eat or shop at their place. I felt a bit like a prey, a target, needless to say, our jalan-jalan (walk around leisurely in town) wasn't exactly leisurely.

My first mistake, I took something of an enthusiastic attitude towards the first polite indonesian who would have the patience to slowly speak back to me in Indonesian. I ended up hiring him as my guide in Bali, and he put us through the tourist package. First stop, he wants us to pay US $100 to see the Balinese dance, I politely tell him that he must be kidding us and we left. I noticed, through the corner of my eyes, he was exchanging glances with the staff at the balinese dance ticket office.

The rest of the day was like this. Whenever we pass through local looking shops, he tells us its expensive and poor quality in here. Then he took us to places where we are constantly required to spend money and on top of that, harassed by hawkers and beggers. In one of the scams, I bought a set of chess; the hawker show me a nice chess set. But the set he pushed into our car turns out to be a different set than the one I examined and decided to buy.

I asked the guide, in Indonesian no-less, how come there are so many (mangy) dogs in Bali but no cats, and he says, because dogs and cats fight. In towns where there are lots of dogs, there is no cat. And vica versa. I find out this is generally true.

They say, "an american dog has no idea what a dog's life is like." I say, those who use "a dog's life" to describe those who live a sub-humane life have no idea what a cat's life is like... in Indonesia. I saw so many mangy, begging, scared cats and tiny kittens in this week, I am completely heart broken. I grew up thinking cats are dignified animals, I am proven wrong. At least, they are not always dignified.

Then I found out I came to Indonesia at the worst time possible, it's ramadan (sp?), and when I asked to go to the language centers in Ubud and Denpasar, the guide says I will be wasting my time because all schools are closed. That was disappointing.

That night, I had a nice time at the beach with my dad. We just sat there and walk around a bit. It was the first quiet time I experienced since I arrived Sanur, so it was quite precious.

The next day, out guide took us to the ferry at Padangbai. En route, he told us " boys at padangbai are very aggressive, so go into office and buy ticket at once, elsewhere, its more expensive and sometimes they are not real ticket." I even thanked him.

He dropped us off in front of a "tourist info center," ASA we got off the car, we got chased into a "tourist info center" that swears left, right, up down and center that those ferry only run at 6am and 7:30, we already missed it, and the only way to get to lombok is to buy their $250/person "delux charter boat." I pulled out my two travel guides in two languages, published recently, both says ferry runs all day and ticket for one adult is $15 000rp. to show him, and he says, "no time, ferry leave in 5 minutes." I insisted to argue with the guy, but my dad insists to pay and catch the ferry. So we did.

We then got herded to a machine room and we were the only two waiting for the "Delux, airconditioned ferry" that costs $250 000 per person. We walked on, and later, more tourists came up. It turns out the ferry is not equiped with A/C, and everybody else paid $18 000rp. The touts (Anjani) gave me the "transfer" ticket.

Then comes time to get of the ferry, I asked a staff how to get off, because there is obviously no walk way. He says "tourist bus tourist bus." I asked which bus, he said something in Indonesian, he obviously didn't speak english. So I show him the Anjani ticket and he says, "tidak ada!" (there is no Anjani!)

We squeezed between the very tightly packed cars on board and walked off with all the locals, with the cars hornking behind us. I asked the police at the ferry is there such thing as "Anjani travel," and they pointed us to a few local guys with a shabby sign (cardboard with Anjani written on it with red ink). I asked the "company owner" if it is true that it costs $500 000rp to get us across, he says "that's right, because we have no other customer and we have to come pick you two up specially." Well, I told him all along, we only wanted to take the ferry, the hotel can arrange transportation for us. But instead of responding to that, he tries to sell us another transportation package for our trip back to padangbai.

We got on their "shuttle bus" and head for Bangsal from Lembar. The "shuttle bus" is a run down van with broken seat and no a/c. Three rough looking "staffs" were driving us, or rather, driving us crazy. One of them insists to squeeze onto the seat besides my dad and continue to try to talk us into hiring them again on our way back. They asked us who is expecting us at the hotel, my dad naively told them that nobody knows we are here yet in broken english. I snapped at him and told him don't offer too much details.

The trip was intense, we sped through rough mountains full of monkeys having sex in the middle of the road, there are many corners to turn, I was motion sick, and I still have to look at the road signs and also the map to make sure we are being taken to where we have been promised. I picked the seats closest to the doors, in case we need to jump off the car.


We finally got dropped off at Bangsal, thanks god. Near the ferry, one of the Anjani guys says to us (again!), "the boys are harbor are very aggressive, it's better if you go to Gili Meno with us, we have charter boats." I told him off for the 10th time of the day.

I thought, that was the end of the most scary experience in my trip, what I didn't know, is that the climax is coming.

Just a quick c&p

"1 October 2005 - Several near-simultaneous explosions occurred Saturday in tourist areas of Bali island, killing at least 19 and injuring at least 40. At least three blasts occurred along Jimbaran beach, which is lined with seafood restaurants commonly frequented by tourists, El Shinta radio reported."

(http://indahnesia.com/event.php?event=34)


"The first two explosions occurred around 19:20 local time in the Jimbaran area, while the third blast hit Raja's Bar and Restaurant in Kuta Town Square at 19:42 local time."

(http://news.indahnesia.com/item.php?code=200510016)

I had a nice day. It'S the first day of the golden week; a Saturday in HK, I spend most of the day in Discovery Bay, with relatives visiting. I went to the beach and played with some foreigner kids, chatted with my cousins, then I had a nice dinner socializing with relatives I haven't seen for years.

I was ready to turn in for a good night sleep. I was showered and ready to retire when, god damn, I heard the news talking about yet another bombing in Bali.

Racial discriminations, bird flu, riots on gas price, tropical deseases, and now, terrorists killing foreigners and little children. Why on earth am I going there? I am so angry I am seeing white rage. It's not just a matter of making things inconvenient for me; it's a matter of ignorant people making a bad situation absolutely devastating for so many.

I don't know what to think, I am sleep deprived and socially exhausted and I don't need to read mind to tell my parents aren't thrilled about my trip. My dad is sitting right besides me biting his lip and I don't know what to say to him.