Last night was my second Indonesian Bro Out. For my those readers who are unfamiliar with the therm, a Bro Out is when a bunch of guys get together and chill. Although my kitchen supplies are largely inadequate for more than 2 or 3 guests, and although I didn't understand most of what was said, the evening was still a success. However, you all, my readers, have missed my first Bro Out due to my hiatus. Let's start with that.
Baluran: My First Indonesian Bro Out
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| There are mangrove trees all over Baluran. |
Two weekends ago, about 10 teachers from my school and I went to Baluran beach for an overnight stay. This was during midsemester testing at my school, so I'm betting that the teachers needed it more than I did. We rented a little beachside cabin and brought a cooler of fish and a heaps of rice, Indomie, water, and coffee. We got there around nightfall and set up to grill some fish: we gathered fire wood, got out the requisite equipment, unpacked the rice and sambel, and did plenty of sitting around. I was discouraged from exploring because there were plenty of monkeys around, but no telling if they were in the tree right above you. (Note to the reader: in most places, monkeys are not cute little creatures that scamper around, sit on your shoulder, and nibble on whatever snacks you give them. They quickly become aggressive when they feel threatened, and they often carry rabies.) I was still adjusting to Indonesia at this point and was prone to stomach aches. Predictably, I started feeling ill on the way to Baluran.
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| Cooking fish over an open flame: noms. |
The fish was delicious, and there was plenty of it, but I wasn't up to the task of gorging myself on the delicious meal. Instead, I told everyone that I was feeling ill, skipped after-dinner coffee, and tried to get some sleep. Indonesia, however, is still fertile ground for home remedies, and so I learned (read experienced) a few before I was left to fall asleep.
First, one of the teachers sprayed my stomach with some spray-on liquid that smelled like Vix or Icy-Hot and rubbed it in. Soon after, my counterpart said that I probably had air in my stomach, which needed to be released. The method for releasing air involves taking a coin and scraping it back and forth in small patches up and down one's back. Somehow, this is supposed to induce vomiting. My counterpart, Pak Gugi, said his wife uses this treatment on him all the time. He also told me that when he used this home remedy on the ETA from two years ago, he vomited and felt better immediately afterwards. The coin-scraping was incredibly discomfiting, and I felt like I was going to hurl, but nothing came of it.In contrast, the last home remedy that the teachers decided to try was actually quite pleasant: a massage. Pak Mu'at, who is also the coach of my tapak suci class, worked on my back, legs, neck, and arms for about half an hour before it became apparent that I was falling asleep.
On touch in Indonesia
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| Monkeys: also very touchy |
Indonesians are very touchy people; they touch eachother quite often, even as adults. Personal space isn't really a concept that exists here. Therefore, it's not uncommon for people to walk arm in arm around the school, give unsolicited massages, sit very close together, lean against eachother/use eachother as headrests when they're tired, fall all over eachother in fits of laughter, get someone's attention by putting a hand on the person's knee, etc. Of course, this does not apply to people of different genders. In Indonesia, like many muslim countries, touch between men and women is discouraged in public. I mean, if you're in public and you hand something to someone or you brush against them in a crowd, nobody gives it a second thought (or even a first thought for that matter), but on occasion, I meet females who will not shake hands with me because I am male. It's also common to see females riding motorbikes with both legs over the same side (i.e. side-saddle). Sometimes this is because they're wearing a skirt, but oftentimes they're trying to avoid "getting too close" with a male who is not in their family. Couples almost never touch in public, especially if they're not married.
I for the most part am not a touchy person. It took me a while to get used to having hands on my knees and arms around my shoulders, and at first I was a little off put by acquaintances man-handling me like I was their best friend. I've gotten used to it, and in the spirit of adopting cultural norms, I'm trying to touch my male friends more often. It's starting to feel more natural now, but I'm still unpracticed when it comes to casual touching. By the time I get back to America, you're probably going to have to forgive me for invading your personal space. My bad in advance.
Anyway, back to the Bro Out
When morning came my stomach was still a bit off-kilter, but I was at the beach damn it, and I wanted to join in the exploring. A few teachers revived the fire from the previous evening and set some water to boil for coffee. They prepared me a cup so I drank it. It would have been rude to refuse it since they made it especially for me, but it immediately upset my stomach again. Great.
When we set off for a walk, the sun was just rising, and Baluran was looking beautiful. The water was deep blue, there were sea shells strewn all over the beach, and the sun barely had its head above the waves. I collected all the sea shells I could stuff in my pockets as we walked along, trying to distract myself from my stomach while simultaneously picking up souvenirs. The tide was starting to go out, so there were large swaths of water only a few inches deep where we found sea slugs, sea urchins, sea cucumbers, and starfish I had forgotten my wordbook, so I didn't have the opportunity to write down the names of all these sea critters. Finally, we stopped for a breakfast of rice and Indomie. Indomie is a brand of ramen noodles that can be found in almost any store. Yes, I realize that noodles and rice are both grains, but here in Indonesia, they're very different. Rice is this nation's staple food. A meal without rice is not a meal at all; when an Indonesian asks, "Have you eaten yet?" what they really mean is, "Have you eaten rice yet?"
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| This little lungfish crawled out of the water to watch me poop. |
As we settled on a site and began cooking, my abdomen started sending me some warning signs. I wandered a ways and found this beautiful little pool of water behind a sand dune and surrounded by mangrove trees. The water was crystal blue and teeming with little fishes that swam around the bamboo shoots poking their stalks out from the water. The mangroves were especially magnificent, the way their trunks entwined, hunching and twisting in every direction. The roots spread out everywhere like giant sandworms that grew up out of the sand before plunging back under. One root in particular was flat and broad and came about a foot out of the sand before leveling off. I climbed up on it, dropped my swim trunks, and squatted. I felt like an awkward bird perched on a limb, but at least my view of the pool of water was pretty.
The right hand rule
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| Breakfast at Baluran |
In Indonesia, as with many muslim countries, people are discouraged from using their left hands: passing anything to another person, offering your left hand for a handshake, and touching food with your left hand among others is considered incredibly rude. Since the left hand is considered dirty as is, that hand is used for picking things up off the ground, picking up shoes, cleaning yourself after using the restroom, and the like. The right hand is used for things like shaking hands, handling food, and eating. This is especially important because many people don't use utensils (unless they're eating soup or something like that). Personally, I enjoy using my hand for eating: I feel closer to my food, there's fewer dishes afterwards, and frankly it's more fun. Unfortunately, the left-dirty-right-clean logic behind all this breaks down when you consider that you have to use both hands for many tasks, and that both hands handle money and touch doorknobs. Anyway, there is rarely toilet paper in Indonesian bathrooms; you're expected to use your left hand. Sitting on my little mangrove root, I was just happy that my stomach was feeling better after a squat by my little oasis. Fortunately, I was used to not having toilet paper by the time I got to Baluran. Also fortunately, we ate our Indomie with chopsticks.
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| Herbert is sleepy. |
After sating our appetites and sitting around drinking more coffee and smoking cigarettes, we meandered back to our cabin to wash up, pack up, and head back to Genteng. On the way back to the cabin, we did a little swimming, happened across a few groups of monkeys, and collected a few more shells. When we got back to the cabin, everyone napped as they waited for their turn to shower. Everyone napped in the car on the way back too. I surely needed it. It wasn't a strenuous weekend, but the Indonesian sun is brutal, especially if you're not 100% to begin with.
In my next post, you'll hear about Bro-ing Out Part II: Dinner at Herb's. Or maybe you'll hear about Idul Adhal Festivities, namely the sacrifice of a cow or two at my school.
