God lives in a bus

How can it be that I experienced my happiest moment in Jakarta when I was crammed on a hot and sweaty rush-hour bus?

Today, coming back from my muscle work-out at the gym, I was standing alongside the street waiting for the 605a bus back home. It was dark already, since it gets dark around 6.30 pm here, and traffic was crazy again but there was a nice breeze and I was waiting together with an Indonesian woman and managed to have some sort of broken conversation in Bahasa.

Then the bus shows up and is just packed with people, and I mean PACKED. So I jump into the (as always slowly driving) bus and hold on tight because the door is open and I am standing on the rim of this door opening. The street flashes by, lights and cars and people and it is pretty exciting. After two stops - mind you this bus just stops wherever people want to get out, which they announce by banging against the roof with a ring or coin, there are no formal stops – there is some space and I get pulled inside by some people and the women sitting on the back bench manage to cram me in between them.

Here I am, sitting like a sardine in a can, and just looking and smiling at all these bodies and faces and people holding on to each other and to the bus in any way they can. I feel this rush of joy and love rise inside me and I have to laugh out loud and people are just laughing with me and I suddenly feel so grateful and happy to be here. To experience these moments, to feel connected without words and language barriers, to belong….

I get up early every morning to do my yoga and meditations, and sometimes it just feels a bit dry, like a routine, I can not find the beauty. Still, I keep doing it, since I am devoted to it and it keeps me clear, stable and healthy, but it is not always that rewarding. How surprising and beautiful it is to find this deep spiritual awareness, this heart-felt joy, in the mundane things of life. To find it on a simple trip to the gym. To find God in the bus…

Leaving Lake Toba

For a while I thought I might stay here till leaving for Jakarta on saturday... but after three days I feel rested and restless. I am not so good at doing nothing in sleepy little towns. So yesterday I took a motorbike and saw most of Samosir island, and today Chiara and I got up early and hiked to some hills to see the sunrise... we left at 5.20 am so in the dark, was a nice and quiet walk and we had a nice view to the sunrise on the lake. It was fun to hike through the bushes and over buffalo trails, since the supposed hiking trail was a bit too difficult to find for us....

Now we leave towards Bukittinggi, the heartland of the Minangkabau people. It is a rugged mountain area with lots of nice villages and lakes. But before we get to see all of that we have to sit on the nightbus for about 15 hours.... That will be my third and last nightbus trip of this journey. I considered to go to Jakarta by bus, boat, and bus but am glad we decided to book some plain tickets instead....

By the way: did anyone see the Obama inauguration? I enjoyed it online this morning and hope it will bring much good to the United States, its people and to the world.

As my yogateacher Gurumarka reminded me once: It is never the people failing, only the system.... Lets hope the people and their president can change the system for the benefit of all.

I know Obama is no miracle worker, but I do feel he can inspire people to bring out the best of their abilities....

Lake Toba, Impressions

Girls in the Woods

Lake Toba with Carolien and Chiara

On the Banda Aceh Beach with Carolien, swimming with clothes on....

Breezing through Brastagi

Proud Batak lady (Ibu) in Lingga, Sumatra

Brastagi, Lingga, 17 January 2009

A cloudy sunrise awaits me when I wake up in Sunrise View, and I enjoy the early morning sun, looking out over the rooftops and church spires of Brastagi. This is where Islamic Sumatra changes into Christian Sumatra. The mountain people (Batak Karo and Batak Toba) always resisted efforts from Aceh to convert them to Islam, but in the end gave out to colonial missionary efforts in the late nineteenth century and early twentieth century. This is why the area of Brastagi and Lake Toba is covered with churches instead of mosques, and why alcohol is suddenly readily available again.

It also means I can wear t-shirts and shorts, which (I must admit) feels really good after covering up for a week and swimming in the sea with clothes on, like in Banda Aceh. I don’t really mind covering up, with my skin the sun is way too strong anyway, but I do feel more free in the Christian areas, I realize. I guess it might have something to do with the refusal of the security guard at the big mosque in Banda Aceh to let me in. I was fully covered and wearing a headscarf, but no, only Muslims were allowed inside. I was surprised at how angry this made me, I had to swallow it, but still felt very frustrated at the things people do with their religions in daily life. As a believer in One Cosmic Creator I feel all houses of worships and all versions of God are one and the same thing, so why bar other people from your house of worship? Wouldn’t it be great to welcome them inside and show them your way to praise and prayer?

Masjid Raya, the great mosque in Banda Aceh

The really crazy thing is that most people in Banda Aceh would probably be fine with Westerners visiting their mosque; they seem a lot more open and tolerant than their local government. This is why the Sharia police in Aceh is so busy patrolling for proper headscarves, trying to outlaw ‘dating’, and sex before marriage…. But all their efforts in spite we saw lots of dating going on, lots of improper headscarves and some people even told us about the car they saw on campus the other day, in which a couple was having sex while the important Friday prayers were going on in the mosque…. This makes me laugh and makes me hopeful, people making their own choices and living their lives regardless of the Sharia police and ‘religious’ rules. “It is always the system that is failing, not the people,” my yoga teacher told me once. I believe so.

Back to the Christians in Batak land: Why they gave in to Christianity but not to Islam is not completely clear to me, but it had something to do with a missionary whose coming was accompanied by some really good harvests and the Batak king felt that trading animism for Christianity might be profitable for him. At the time the Bataks were still head hunting, and some had an appetite for human meat as well. This was only done with real enemies though…. The Batak civilization was highly developed, with an interesting language and script, great houses with curved roofs (like boats or buffalo horns), beautiful woodcraft and arts.

Brastagi was a resort during colonial times, when sweaty Westerners from Medan came to the mountains to relax and forget about the stress of colonial life… My grandmother used to holiday here as a child as well. Colonial Brastagi is almost gone, the only remnants some old luxury hotels on the hilltop outside the modern town. Today’s’ Brastagi is a bustling market town, “too busy to bother with tourists” as a guidebook says. This is true and it gives us some welcome peace of mind and undisturbed walking around. Only the school kids are excited to see us but we can handle that, they are pretty cute actually and their school English does not extend to more than: My name is? Which is considered by them to mean the same as the question: what is your name?

It reminds me of the hilarious story of Leena in Banda Aceh, who was on her way in the dark at some point when a voice from the bushes asked the intriguing question: “Who am I?” This has become one of our standard traveling jokes, as has the English phrase from our jungle guide John: “Much more better….” When describing anything he thought was good he would put this in front of it, like “Much more better swimming, or much more better food”

We decide to explore the area around Brastagi by motorbike to see traditional Batak Karo houses and enjoy the country side. This proved a brilliant choice. We had great fun driving around, and I quickly adapted to driving on the left and dealing with Indonesian traffic rules.

Rule 1: Always honk when you pass anyone or see anyone or just feel like it.

Rule 2: Do not be scared by crazy maneuvers from oncoming traffic. They will eventually make space for you, although probably at the last moment and you will not really die. You just feel like you will die.

Rule 3: be ready for anything on the road: children, bulls, wooden carts, women with buckets on their head and most of all: Giant potholes that you have to avoid at all costs, even if it means swerving over to the other side of the road.

Rule 4: Honk more.

With these rules quickly discovered, I was feeling free as a bird, wind in my face, helmet and sunglasses on, enjoying the speed, the fun, the sights and the smells. I always wanted to ride a motorbike when I was a teenager but my parents thought it too dangerous. And so I started to think it was dangerous and never tried one till now. Now I am addicted though…. I am renting one again as soon as I can, probably to go around in the Lake Toba area.

We saw many fascinating churches along the road, mixtures of Christian and Batak architecture.
We also found the village of Lingga, were some original houses are preserved. Families still live in those old houses, but as an elderly Ibu (lady) told us, since the 1950s most people build modern houses when the old ones fall apart. In the Batak houses there is only one big room where many families live, and since the idea of an individual family also arrived in Indonesia those houses are not considered to be so good anymore.

Ibu appeared to be great company and with Chiara’s brilliant translations we learned quite a lot about the village and her life. At some point she even showed some old dance moves, inspired by us talking about Bollywood. The great thing was that many villagers, especially children, were gathering around us in a big circle. So in the end the old lady talking to us about her life became a community event. She told about colonial times, when she was a child and very afraid off the foreigners. They were herded into some sort of camp during the war, in the jungle, but we were not sure if it was by the Japanese or the Dutch. During the revolutionary war they all left the village for safer places and returned after the struggle was over. We were invited to stay the night and share their food, but we decided to return back to Brastagi.

Before leaving we were blessed by the old lady, she said that she was praying for us to have many children and good health. It was great, the solemn way she said her blessings and the humble way in which we made our goodbye. We were all touched by this meeting.

Travelling in the night, part two

Ketambe to Brastagi, 16-17 January 2009

A feeling of intense happiness floods over me, total bliss as I am hurtling through the night again, music blaring, driver honking and smoking, little houses flashing by, people walking along the side of the road with their checkered clothes around their bodies against the cold. Endless trees and potholes full of water, and then again some houses and warungs. People all piled into one room or porch watching tv, the rest of the village dark and without electricity.

What makes me feel so happy? I don’t really know, just feel it, some sort of travelers’ happiness, like that song: on the road again, oh I just can’t wait to be on the road again…

At some point the potholes are driving me crazy, every time I fall asleep my head bangs against the side of the window. In the end the three of us just all lean into the middle, into Chiara, and manage to get some sleep. My ipod saves me again, music lulls me into some sort of stupor that I can pretend is like sleeping. It isn’t, but it is at least bearable to be one a bus for seven hours. There are no peeing stops, as I have learned from the last trip on the bus from Banda Aceh. All we get is stops for eating and you have to be quick to rush in a trip to the kamar kecil or kamar mandi (bathroom). So I learn not to drink while on the bus, even though I want to really bad.

Just in the middle of my stupor we unexpectedly stop. It is 3.30 am and we are at a roadside warung (restaurant) where whole families are stuffing themselves with elaborate meals of rice, meat, vegetables, bakmie, etc. It is an unbelievable sight, my stomach turns with just the thought of food. Carolien and I order some tea without sugar, we first get just hot water since they don’t understand the concept of tea without sugar…. Indonesians like everything sweet, really sweet, and everything has standard sugar and condensed milk in it. We manage to explain we like tea and the waiter manages to make it, without sugar. It’s too hot and we have to go again, which might be a relief, since the whole restaurant is looking at us like we are zoo animals and we are not ready to face the constant stream of questions: Where are you from, where are you going, are you married, have children?

These kind of questions, together with the unavoidable “hey mister” (to both men and women) are the only downsides to the incredible openness and friendliness of the Indonesians. I like them, I really do, and I try and appreciate these questions, but sometimes it really, really gets to me and really drives me a bit nuts. Privacy does not exist, I don’t even think there is a word for it in Bahasa Indonesia.

Just after our crazy night dinner we arrive in the town of Brastagi at 4.00 am. This bustling market town, in the fruit and vegetable rich area of the volcanic highlands, is deep asleep. We are dropped off like sacks of potatoes, with the backpacks on we look like that too, and clamber up a quiet hill to find a hostel named Sunrise View. It is cool, almost cold, and a bit rainy. I like it, and our nightly hike is appreciated too by all the watchdogs who bark and yell and follow us along. This is not the only time I have been happy with those rabies inoculations I got before leaving home.

We have to wake up the hostel owner but he is nice enough about it and shows us two rooms. We collapse and sleep, even the loud praying at the mosque next door can’t keep me out of my sleep now.

Travelling in the night

Woods, vines, lots of green, red and rocky roads, turning and winding their way up the mountains through the jungle. We left Banda Aceh around 1.30 pm, even though we were supposed to leave at 12.00… But times don’t really count when it comes to road transportation in Indonesia, jam karet it is called; “rubber time”. I feel like a piece of rubber by now since we travelled for 24 hours on that minivan, and then another one. A stunning trip in many ways.

Old bridges over the river, little naked kids are playing below and their mothers are doing laundry. A chain smoking driver, talking on his cell phone while loud music is blaring through the mini-van. We are sitting three in a row, shifting and shaking up and down. The road is really good, in some parts, and really bad – or nonexistent – in other parts. I enjoy listening to some music on my Ipod, even when it is difficult to ignore the bass of the music in the van, and looking out the window at life along the roads.

As always in Indonesia there are so many motorcycles with people heaped on it, little kids being breastfed, schoolgirls in their uniforms riding side-saddle. With every move our van makes the drives honks at the motorcycles and other cars. It’s a single lane road but that does not prevent anyone from overtaking one-another all the time. We arrive in Takengon late in the evening and get out for a quick meal of nasi, of course, nasi, always nasi. As a vegetarian it is a bit challenging sometimes, but usually I manage to get some vegetables with it and avoid the fish and meat. Although I do have some fish once in a while, when my body screams for protein ;-)

After the dinner we get on the bus again, three white girls and about eight Indonesians going back home or visiting family. From Takengon the road into the Gayo mountain range gets really narrow and winding and rocky, everybody is slumping in their seats and sleeping, or pretending to sleep, but for now I prefer watching the road and hoping to see some more monkeys, or even better: tigers or orang utan! These animals still live in the Sumatran jungle, together with all kinds of rare birds and monkeys and snakes and bear and elephants and rhinos…. But so far I have only spotted some smaller monkeys (bavianen) and mosquitos.

Being on the road all night was not as bad as I had anticipated, with my ipod on, slumped between Chiarra and Carolien, I even got some sleep. We expected to get straight to Ketambe, but at 4 am we pulled into some sort of garage and were told to sleep there in the bus till 7 when another bus would leave for Ketambe…. This was of course not communicated to us in Banda, but we just went with the flow, slept and woke up to a perfect sunny morning.

The drive to Ketambe was beautiful, lovely mountains and jungle and the Alas river down in the valley. We could not wait to start our jungle trek!

Impressions

Playing with the local kids on Mabul Island, off the coast of Sabah, Malaysian Borneo








Playing with the local kids on Mabul Island, off the coast of Sabah, Malaysian Borneo

Het huis van mijn Oma/My Grandmothers House

Medan, Sumatra, vrijdag 9 januari 2009

De Jalan Candik Mentut – vroeger de Van Sandicklaan - is een smalle rustige straat, met aan de ene kant een hoge gele muur en aan de andere kant een aantal woonhuizen. Er is een grote partytent over de weg gespannen, waarschijnlijk gaat iemand trouwen. Naast het huis met de partytent staat een stukje van de weg af, in een bescheiden tuin met een gazon en een kinderschommel, een witte bungalow, Hollandse stijl. Er staat een laag muurtje voor de voordeur, die het huis en gazon van elkaar afscheiden. Het huis is laag, 1 verdieping, het dak is van dakpannen en vrij plat. Er zitten luiken voor de ramen en daarboven, onder het dak, ronde ventilatiegaten. Het is een strak en modern ogend huis, (beetje jaren twintig?)

Het huis is nummer 13, en terwijl ik er naar sta te kijken vraag ik me af of dit het huis is waar mijn oma woonde in de jaren ‘dertig van de twintigste eeuw. Het ziet er wel zo uit als op de foto’s, maar misschien zagen alle huizen in de straat er wel zo uit. De rest van de huizen zijn vervangen door modernere Indonesische gevallen, die de neiging hebben een beetje protserig te zijn. Het is duidelijk nog een welvarende straat, en ook goed gelegen, tussen de sportvelden en het oude Nederlandse Hooggerechtshof, nu nog steeds in gebruik (als kantoor?), en vlak bij het oude stadscentrum en de alun-alun (groot plein en grasveld in het midden van elke Indonesische stad).

Aan de Alun-Alun staat ook het voormalige kantoor van de KPM (Koninklijke Nederlandse Pakketvaart Maatschappij) waar mijn overgrootvader werkte als accountant. Ik weet niet of hij in dit kantoor werkte maar het zou best kunnen, ik zal het mijn oma binnenkort eens vragen.

Nummer 13 is omringd door een hek en de poort is op slot dus helaas kan ik niet dichterbij komen, maar ik zie aan de linkerkant nog wel wat van de achterkant en iets wat er uit ziet als de verblijven voor bedienden en de keuken. Een straat verderop zijn ze precies zo’n bungelow aan het verbouwen en krijg ik het voor mekaar om het huis te bekijken. Vanbinnen is het al helemaal gestript maar de kamers, badkamers en aan de achterkant vier slaapkamers die uitkijken op de tuin zijn nog goed te zien. Dit huis ligt aan de rivier, waar mijn oma me ook over vertelde.

Nummer 13 kijkt uit op de muur die de sportvelden omringt, die waren er ook al in de jaren dertig. Voetbal, tennis en hockey velden, die nog steeds in gebruik zijn. Op weg naar de rivier kom ik ook een klein stukje bos tegen. Dit was vroeger veel groter, aldus Kings, maar nu is het gedeeltelijk volgebouwd.

De straten rond mijn oma’s oude huis zijn allemaal omlijnd door bomen en stralen een rustige sfeer uit. Er staan wat etenstalletjes langs de weg, kinderen spelen, een paar mannen verzamelen afval, kippen pikken wat rond. Overal waar ik langsloop wordt ik natuurlijk bekeken en begroet, bovendien willen mensen weten wat ik daar doe. “Nenek saya tinggal di sini tempo doeloe” probeer ik uit te leggen, en volgens mij begrijpen ze het. Een aantal mensen wordt zelfs erg enthousiast, ook mijn becak chauffeur die het wel een mooie missie vind.

Terwijl ik op de brug over de rivier naar het stromende water sta te kijken denk ik aan hoe mijn oma dit precies zo gezien moet hebben, rivieren, water, zijn vrij onveranderlijke kenmerken. Maar ook lopend door haar straat en door de straten in de buurt probeer ik met haar ogen te kijken. Het geeft me aan apart geluksgevoel om daar te lopen.

Telkens als ik in Indonesie ben verbaas ik me er over hoe gemakkelijk ik me er voel, hoe thuis eigenlijk. Ik voel me nooit echt een vreemde hier, hoe kan dat? De houding van mensen is zo open en enthousiast, je wordt onthaald als een eregast, als een lang verloren dochter. En volgens mij doen ze dat bij elke bezoeker, ongeacht je herkomst, al zijn ze wel veel enthousiaster als je blank bent.....Een oud-studente vertelde me eens over haar bezoek aan een dorpje op Java waar al heel lang geen vreemdelingen waren geweest. “Behalve een paar Afrikanen”, maar die telden niet echt, aldus de dorpsoudste. Het schoonheidsideaal hier is nog steeds blank, en vrouwen smeren hun gezicht vol blekende creme om maar zo wit mogelijk te lijken. Het doet me altijd een beetje pijn, de mensen zijn hier zo mooi, maar deze patronen zijn moeilijk te doorbreken ben ik bang. Het is echt een bijzonder land met bijzondere mensen. Ik ben blij dat ik hier ben en dit mag meemaken.

A silent symphony of color and movement

Mabul Island, 1 januari 2009

It is a symphony, without sound, played in movement and non-movement, in singles and doubles and millions, small notes and big ones, with waving plants and majestic turtle fins, in colors and in bubbles.

I had NO idea, could have NO idea, that diving is this magic. The world beneath the waves has an indescribable and entrancing quality. No time, no weight, absolutely free and in the moment, like the deepest state of meditation.

After three days of theory and practicing skills under water I got my Open Water certificate, so I can officially do dives till a depth of 18 meters. Today was the first day I went for ‘fun-diving’, sight seeing under water so to speak. And what a way to start the new year! If the first day of the year is any indication of how the rest of that year will be… I will be living a beautiful dream in 2009.

Sipedan is a national marine park, an atoll in the middle of the ocean. Only 120 divers per day are allowed to dive, 10 per dive outfitter. This is strictly followed; we all had to sign in with the Marine guys who are manning the island. It is a very small island, a tropical paradise, white beaches and palm trees, surrounded by azure blue seas. Just a few meters into the sea steep seawalls, covered in coral, plummet down to a depth of a staggering 600 meters. This ecosystem is an amazing home to all the sea animals you can imagine and see. But most exciting to many divers are the hundreds of giant sea turtles and white tip and reef sharks living there.

I saw them for the first time today, the sharks. How beautiful, how humbling, to see them pass by, with slow and elegant movements, cool and haughty, undisturbed by our presence. And how they sleep! Lying on the sandy sides and bottoms of the coral reef, like statues, sometimes in pairs. I could swim right next to them, hovering above them, under them. They were all around us, swimming and sleeping. It was beautiful to be with the sharks and not feel any fear or worry. These are cute sharks! Just one to two meters long and not interested in humans in neoprene suits at all….Nothing like the surreal fear of sharks I had for years, after watching Jaws by accident at the tender age of 8….. I even freaked out swimming in the North Sea or lakes, but today those fears were gone. These sharks only feed of the fish on the reef, and there are so many that they never have to go hungry. Besides, they have kind of tiny mouths!

The sea turtles are superb, they nest on Sipedan and it is an important breeding ground for them. They are swimming everywhere in all shapes and sizes, and lying and resting on the coral reef as well. Their slow swimming movements, their wise heads, black observing eyes and majestic shields never fail to raise my admiration.

What a wonderful world we live in! A feeling of grace and humility fills me. What is the name of the one who created this? Even if I had a thousand tongues I could not sing enough praise…. Ek Ong Kar.