Earlier post: The second day in my city (blogging problems; don't ask)

On Western Comfort, “Culture” and the Ibu with whom all things are possible

I am writing from my new home in East Java. I live by myself in a six bedroom, 2.5-bathroom house on a quiet street in a residential part of the city. I would be uncomfortable with my situation (and the fact that the only house my organization approved of was one that could house six or seven people) except I won’t lie: I really like this place. I like the three mandis, the fact that the kitchen is split into two separate rooms on two different parts of the first floor (one with cabinets and a fridge and table, the other with the sink, shelf space for dishes and cook stove), and the beautiful front porch and second floor balcony. I like the fact that the laundry/purified water/dry-goods store is five houses down from me. I like that across the road is a sort of undeveloped make-shift park where cute kids play and older student-types play volleyball and soccer. I like that rickshaws and fruit and ice cream vendors walk by my house twenty times a day. I like that the house owners left my bed and their tv remote wrapped in plastic (my ‘bu says it’s a ‘cultural’ thing). I like that the prayer calls here sound different and more plaintive than in Bandung. I like that I have encountered at least three lizards in my house in the past twenty four hours, and that on at least one occasion a cat has wandered into my house. I like that the owners have left me with a tissue box that looks like a stuffed kangaroo. I almost don’t dislike the absence of hot water in the house.
Enough about the house. None of this would be possible, anyway, without my counterpart teacher, a woman about my mom’s age, who speaks damn good English and gets things done in a way that leaves me awestruck. From the moment we got on the bus to the Jakarta airport, she started distributing the mineral water our org had gotten us (at the last second) to keep us alive during the four hour ride. After this my ‘bu went through the bus, taking photos of all the ETAs with their counterparts. Once we arrived at the airport she organized all the luggage our group had brought, hired several porters, helped us all weave through the disorganized check-in lines, bargained-down the price for our oversized luggage, and brought us all to our gate without batting an eye. I lucked out in a huge way. When we got to the airport in our city she found our two rented cars and drivers and got us to my house. Waiting there was a welcome committee of two teachers from the SMAN, the house owner and his niece Lia (Lya?). They came with fruit, drinks, and snacks (traditional way of greeting travellers in Indo), made me get comfortable, and talked to me in a combination of Bahasa and English that left all of us mildly confused (I’m getting used to this…). We promised to learn our respective second languages so we could talk to each other more easily in a month or two. Then my Ibu got me in her SUV and we headed to Hypermart to start the moving-in process. I think we had to have been for two hours…maybe longer. I ended up with some basic Indonesian food staples: tofu, tempeh, oil, sambal and kecup [actually soy sauce], veggies, rice, noodles, and tea. I bought a water boiler, rice cooker, some awesome bed linens and towels, and candles for the frequent power outages. Malls (like the mall where our Hypermart is) are the cultural and social centers of city life. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m becoming a little obsessed with them. I am sort of itching to go back. The people- watching opportunities abound, and being stared-at there has its benefit: once I smile at someone, I get a beautiful smile in return. It doesn’t get old.
Today Ibu and my other English teacher friend showed up at my place around lunch time. They decided I didn’t have enough to eat. They brought me nasi puluh; tofu/tempeh in ketcap; cooked greens and chiles; some traditional drink that involves milk (maybe coconut milk?), sugar, and what I believe are mung beans or soybeans; sliced fruit in spicy peanut sauce; a fried rice-noodle dish; some amazing Indonesian rice-chips, and a gigantic papaya. They take such good care of me! Also, my current opinion is that East Javanese food is superior to its Western counterpart. Much spicier, and more vegetable-oriented.
I’m not really sure what to do with myself for the next few days. Tomorrow I am going to school at three to see the August 17th party, which I think involves music and dance performances by the students (and maybe the teachers too?). On Saturday I’ve been told that I’m going to the (female!!) principal’s house for dinner with the English teachers and the principal’s two “handsome, medical-school” sons who are about my age. Maybe I shouldn’t have told my Ibu that I’m single!
I suspect there will be more blog entries soon enough. Every day is new. Why didn’t I realize that back in the States?