Sundanese Weddings

A small, quiet wedding is not something known to Indonesians. Weddings are a packed, glittering, and colorful. In Sunda, West Java, The Bride dresses in a Kebaya (a tight sheer-shirt covered in appliqués), and an elaborate headdress made of jewels. Everyone in the wedding party wears a batik sarungs. The Bride and groom walk out under an umbrella and sit at the front along with their parents. The parents then feed their children as a the last act as parents before they give up their children to their spouses. Next, an old, wise man leads the ceremony, and out comes a procession of fairies, peacocks, and warriors to help the new couple. The ceremony ends with photographs and the reception starts with guests lining up to thank and shake hands with the bride, groom and parents.

Sometimes, Western elements are added to the ceremony: the bride tosses a bouquet, a band plays "Fly me to the Moon" and of course there is a big, white wedding cake. At one ceremony, I was one of these western additions. One of my friends and his family were hired as the entertainment and they invited me along. When I arrived, I was shuffled into the dressing room where women in peacock and fairy costumes dressed me in a kebaya and the wedding singer did my hair. A little while later, I found myself sitting on a small stage singing in Sundanese. Some how they had convinced a girl known for her off-key, incomplete rendition of "the Star-spangled Banner" to sing in a language she knew 5 phrases in.

Later, the actual ceremony began. Our old, wise man was about 13 years old, yet his bent-over, wide stance and arm behind his back made him a believeable 70. By the end of the ceremony, I found my self getting a photo with the whole wedding party.

Idul Adha: It's No Petting Zoo

A few months back, I was skyping my good friend and informant on Islamic culture, Zohaib. Zohaib, who lived in both Pakistan and the US, gives me some of the best advice on cultural difference. Today's warning: The second Eid. Zohaib warns me of a strange and sometimes vomit-inducing holiday where animals are slaughtered on the street and in mosques. "I don't know how it is in Indonesia," Zohaib warns, "but it makes a lot of foreigners sick in Pakistan." Curious, I asked a few Indonesian friends and they confirmed what Zohaib told me. "Makes foreigners sick! It makes me sick! Too much blood," one friend mentioned. I guess its a good thing I don't have an uneasy stomach.

As the day approached, livestock pins popped up every few miles. A lot of times children were looking at the animals with their parents, which made them seem like petting zoos--petting zoos with an ending fit for Ted Nugent.

Then came the day--I was surprised at how little blood I actually saw (The fact I woke up around 2 pm, after the sacrifice had happened, might have had something to do with it) I ended up going over to my friend Agung's house to make sate (the national dish) from the meat slaughtered that morning. At fist, I was given the job of cutting the meat into grillable cubes. Clumsy me, I knocked over a piece of liver into a bag on the floor and Agung's mom had to fish it out. While Agung's mom had washed the meat earlier, no one washed it after. I'm pretty sure this is a cultural difference and not me not realizing I was supposed to wash something (I hope at least haha). Next, I put the flavored cubes onto skewers. This, I was able to do without a hitch.

Then came the Grilling. If you are American, you've probably been to a few summer barbeques. Remember that large charcoal grill? You or one of your parents would light it, close the top until the charcoal glows red, then watch your steak, ribs, or tin-foiled veggies until they are done. Indonesian grilling is a bit more labor intensive: you crouch over tiny floor grills and fan the charcoal until it turns red. When I mean fan, I MEAN FAN: you vigorously flap around whatever piece of plywood or cardboard you have at your disposal and you don't stop until you think its done, realize its not, and then start fanning again. That process is a whole lot more exhausting compared to the American grills with lids that do the same thing. Next, you put the raw sate on, cook it until it's brown on the outside, cover it in more sauce and repeat. After an hour or so of preparing this meal, you finally get to eat it! It was a quite tasty treat and I was able to make some new friends even if it gave me horrible food poisoning the next day.

Indonesia Hurts My Back

Hmm. I haven't written a blog post in a while, not that I haven't been doing anything, but because I haven't thought of anything interesting to say. I still can't think of much to say, but I shall talk about a cultural difference of Indonesia that has been causing my back some problems: sitting. The Sundanese love to sit, and when I say they like to sit, I mean they like to sit on the floor. Americans, however, like to stand. If they have to wait for something, they stand. If they are chatting, they stand. As some of you may already know, I have back problems, and while standing may hurt my back, sitting is worse. Unfortunately, sitting is inescapable. Indonesians often have meeting in places that don't have chairs. I sit on the floor at gym class, for assemblies, special school events, while studying, while I am waiting for someone and every occasion in between. What seems the most peculiar is that I sometimes see people sitting on the floor when there is an open couch or bench next to them. Isn't it more comfortable to sit here? I often think, until I am invited off the bench and on the floor with them...then I know for sure it was more comfortable on the bench. It seems to be more polite to sit on the floor when others are as well. So as soon as someone sits on the floor, I usually end up sitting on the floor as well. Its a bit frustrating for me and my back. In addition to sitting on the floor, there are other aspects of Indonesian sitting that are a tad frustrating. Because Java is so crowded, traffic jams are common. Because Bandung is sprawled out like LA, it has horrible, and sometimes nonexistent sidewalks. You must take a vehicle to get anywhere. This means you are likely to sit in Angkot and car seats for hours on end waiting in a traffic jam. I've been taking motor cycles lately, which are much nicer since they zip through traffic much quicker, and I end up spending a lot less time on them, but motor cycles are just as uncomfortable, if not more than cars or buses. Class is probably what causes me the most pain: we sit on very uncomfortable wooden seats for classes that last about 1.5-2 hours long. The only plus is that massages here cost about $2 for 30 minutes...I anticipate a lot of massages in my future haha.

I got jumped by a Gecko

Indonesia has different ideas about "pests" in the home than Americans. Because Indonesians often leave doors open, ants crawl over everything, flies buzz around food, and the occasional cockroach pops out. Most Indonesians just ignore these pests rather than kill them. Another Indonesian pest: Geckos that stick to the walls. Many Indonesians seem a little afraid of them, most just don't understand my facisnation with them. I guess its kind of like a foreigner coming to Michigan with a fascination with squirrels. Anyway, geckos normally come out when lights are off. When you turn the lights back on and they realize that you see them, they will scurry to the nearest dark. One day, I found a gecko on our kitchen table. I saw it quickly shuffle under our serving plate and alerted my host mom. We lifted the serving plate as the gecko scurried some place else on the table. My host mother proceeds to bang on the table causing the gecko to jump away from the sound onto my shoes. I squeel in surprise and My mom and I both laugh. I'd been attacked by a gecko.

Indonesian Time

Yesterday was an adventure of epic proportions--filled with rolling rocks and arrows along the way. My quest: get to my Indonesian Lesson. The day started out with an impending Indonesian lesson. Part way through the day, I learned that my host brother could not give me a ride to my lesson, and that I would have to get a ride with Ricarda, the German exchange stundent. As it turns out, my phone was out of money, so I couldn't send text messages to anyone. I ended up using another student's phone. As it turns out, Ricarda was getting a ride from our teacher and wasn't sure if he would be able to give me a ride too because he might be taking his motor cycle. I still needed a ride and I didn't know where our teacher's house was, so I asked if I could ride with her to meet him anyway. Confusion ensues. Ricarda gives me the address of our teacher's office, and I assume that I am supposed to get there by myself. My problem: I have no idea where it is and I don't have a map. So, after a long session of phone tag (I put more money on my phone) with Ricarda, my teacher and one of my Indonesian friends, I ended up getting a ride with a schoolmate on a motorcycle. He assured me he could get me there by five o'clock. At 4:50 I get a call from Ricarda saying I should be at her house. I tell her I'm already on my way to the office, and that it was no problem because I already had a ride. After the phone conversation, my ride admits he was going back to the school because he needed to get me a helmet and that I was going to be late. If he had told me that earlier, I could have hitched a ride with Ricarda haha. Back at school, I also learn that my ride who didn't know where he was going, so I rode with someone else. She had difficulty getting me there as well and we ended up 45 minutes late. The punchline of this story? It was no problem, Ricarda's driver had problems as well, so we ended up coming to the office together. And our teacher was okay with it because it gave him extra time. So I thanked everyone for the rides and the help, and I'm glad I didn't end up messing someone up.

one month down......

Well I've been here for a month now and I'm back from mudik (the trip you take to visit family around idul fitri). I visited the villages of Cianjur, and Tegal. While the drive was incredibly long, complete with infamous Javanese traffic, I did get to see iconic Indonesian rice paddies, mountains and Tropical plants. The iconic scenery didn't stop when I arrived in Cianjur: Chickens ran loose, ceilings were made out of woven bamboo, sheep stood in wooden sheds with stilts. Of course the Indonesian country side has a few not-so-nice icons: cloudy, grey bath water, and squat toilets. Later that night, I discovered another part of Indonesian Islamic culture, unfortunately, it was one that kept me up until I found my earplugs: the night before Idul Fitri, nearby mosques chant “allahu akbar” for hours until midnight. I wish I could give you an explanation as to why they do this, or why they don't just recite a big chunk of the Koran instead of saying the same thing over and over again, but I'm just as lost as you. The next day my family trekked around the village to shake hands, chat, and drink tea with everyone living there. We had quite a bit of free time after that, so we watched a show called “the adventures of suparman” (yes, spelled that way) and had my first conversation entirely in Bahasa Indonesia with a great aunt and tried a delicious Tamarind drink called “Asam Jawa”

hhmmm. So I guess I should talk more about life in Bandung. Bandung is starting to feel like home: I've made some good friends who have taken me out to watch movies, eat pizza and steak, they are really cool guys. I'm not sure when I start up school again, but when I do, I think I will join the badminton club (that is if I'm not too bad).

I bet you all want to hear about some crazy aspects of Indonesia, like one crazy scene that happened after eating my steak: My friends drove me to see the American family of an Indonesian returnee. Due to the heavy rains and excessive litter, the drains clogged up and the street flooded. Bandung turned into Venice, and a motorcyclist even started to fall over and had to be lifted out of the water by the people around him.

Then there are the naked people: Not too long ago I saw a naked man walking down the street very strange. Stranger still, no one around really seemed to react. This made me kind of mad, because a naked Indonesian doesn't even get a stare, but a fully-clothed bule can't walk down the street without someone staring, yelling bule (albino), or taking pictures.

Should I tell you about some more cultural differences? Or more aptly, cultural confusion. I can't seem to figure out who pays for what here. I've only paid for myself once when out with my friends so far: is that normal, or am I the jerk that doesn't pay? I think it's been ok that I haven't been paying so far, since it seems a lot of the time one person pays for all, but I'm not sure when I should be that person. Arg, isn't it easier just to go dutch?! Haha.

Settling Down in Bandung

Since my last blog post (which I originally wrote about a week before I posted it haha), some things have changed: I've started school, registered for my KITAS card (resident alien card), went to a couple fast-breaking parties, met the other exchange student in Bandung, rode Angkot (public transit) and Ojeg/Ojek (motor cycle taxi), met with a representative from the US Embassy, said good bye to Dhimas' (my host brother) host family, etc.


Early on, I rode Angkot and Ojeg after shopping with my host sister at a few of Bandung's factory outlets. Angkot are small, multicolored (but usually green) vans with benches. They are MUCH smaller than subways, light-rail, or buses in the US. In fact, they are made to seat about ten people (in reality you can squeeze about sixteen people in one) and make you feel as if you've been packed tightly in a suitcase. Soon, I hope I can ride Angkot on my own so I can have a little more freedom to move around Bandung :). Ojeg is terrifying for someone new to motorcycles and Indonesian traffic: the driver swerves to avoid cars, hits bumps that make feel as if you are slipping off, and makes quick turns on wet pavement. Not my idea of safe, but if it will take me from point A to point B, I think it's worth it.



I also met Ricarda, the exchange student from Germany, recently. She goes to SMAN 5, a high school that shares a building with my school, SMAN 3. we met at the oh-so-entertaining Immigration Office, although her visit there was a lot smoother than mine (as it turns out, I was missing my Departure Card which meant yet another visit to Bandung's scenic Immigration before I could get fingerprinted and photographed).

As for the the fast-breaking parties, I've been to two--both of which were a little overwhelming. The first one, for AFS, was also kind of a welcoming party for Ricarda and me....which meant public speaking!! Ah! As nervous as I was speaking about myself (part of which was in Bahasa Indonesia) in front of the returnees (former exchange students) and volunteers, all went well. I guess it pays off to always keep a few American gifts (rubber animal bracelets, some Burts Bee's chapstick and t-shirts with american slogans) on hand to throw out too the crowd haha. The other fast-breaking event was at my school. It was my first time visiting my school and I was able to meet some of my future classmates and make some more friends. Later on, I encountered another strange cultural difference: a group of high school students leave the crowd at night, go through a kind of seedy-looking alley and enter a dimly-lit room. Are they...

A. Doing something illegal
B. Selling something illegal
C. Buying something illegal
D. Praying

If you answered “D” you would be correct. As it turns out the dimly-lit room is a musholla (prayer house), something you can find all over the city including Mcdonald's. I found this funny since I can imagine a American parent seeing something like this and starting up a neighborhood watch program.

Now, I officially attend the prestigious SMAN 3, major in social sciences, and wear an oh-so-stylish uniform that consists of a blue-grey, floor-length skirt and a white, long sleeve shirt with a name patch, “SMAN 3” and the iconic OSIS patch seen on all Indonesian school uniforms. Indonesians don't have moving classes, so monday through friday I sit in the same classroom with sixteen other social science majors and struggle to understand some of what the teachers are saying. I take classes like computer programming, German, Bahasa Indonesia, Sundanese (the local language here in Bandung), and music. I'm not so keen on music so far because it means the other students get to hear my oh-so-lovely singing voice. Right now, I am on break for Idul Fitri (the celebration after Ramadhan), so I don't get to go back to school until mid-september.

The home-sickness is getting much better, although every once in a while a painful memory pops up. Otherwise, life is pretty ordinary in Bandung. I hope I can make more friends and ultimately visit more fun places. Anyway, that's it for now, hope this wasn't too long for you.