I drive slowly with my motorbike through the dusky humidity of the rice fields around Yogyakarta, in front of me rises the flank of the Merapi Volcano. I look with awe to this giant cone, some smoke drifting from the top into the grey-blue sky. On my left hand the sun has sunk below the horizon and I catch some lasts glimpses of red in the quickly darkening sky. The smells of food from some road side sellers drifts into my nostril, delicious smells of the meat I no longer eat.... I enjoy the fresh and cool breeze coming from the mountain, and the earthy smell of just-after-the-rain.
I feel lucky, I feel blessed, I feel grateful for moments like these, the beauty of this country, the beauty of sultan-city Yogya. The sights and smells and crowded insanity of Jakarta are slowly fading in my memory, only my favorite images of this behemoth city remain. The little boys playing soccer in their underwear on a McDonalds parking lot. The mother breastfeeding her child on the busy bus, both looking so content and peaceful amidst the morning commuters. Jakarta has beautiful sides, if you look hard, but Yogyakarta is just easily beautiful. Little pearls of beauty around every corner, waiting to be put on the string of my experience.
One more week of research here, and a talk I have to give at the university, then it will be back to Jakarta. I am actually thinking of returning to Yogya in march or early april to start writing some chapters of my dissertation. This place is great, I have some friends here, it is peaceful and I feel the peace of mind to sit down and start writing. Who knows, I might not return to Holland just yet.... For some reason the thought of going back home does not really appeal to me yet.
Is it the constant talk of crisis? The thought of the Dutch weather? Or the fact that I don't have a home waiting for me? In terms of an actual house, that is...since I moved out of the room in Amsterdam and put my stuff in storage. Of course there is a home back home ;-) I really love the Netherlands, but I also love being away from it, I realize. Being abroad there is the freedom to re-invent yourself, your patterns and the activities you do or don't. For once, my life is more quiet here, I don't run around trying to juggle everything from my job at the university to teaching yoga, seeing friends, etc. Of course, there are great aspects about being back home (family, friends, my yoga community, tango dancing, a special person who I would like to get to know better, but who is actually living in Germany...) but they will be there even a few months from now. These are probably my last months in Indonesia for a while to come and when I think about writing in the Netherlands most of the nice parts of being home seem to pale a bit in comparison to life here. Writing in the Netherlands seems like a huge mountain, waiting for me, and it does not look like a nice hike....
When I think about writing here, it feels good, it feels inspiring, like the right thing to do. There is so little to distract me, I work more hours without even noticing. I will wait for a bit to decide what is the best thing to do... Ask for some inner guidance, and some from above might be nice too... but then, that often seems to be one and the same thing.
One thing is clear in my mind: writing my dissertation is a priority for the next 8 months and I am looking to create an environment, here and/or at home, that will be most supportive to write, and in the most enjoyable way possible. Because I am done suffering for this PhD, I am really done with that. It is time to enjoy doing this project, and to enjoy life while writing a dissertation. I know it is possible!
The only question that remains in my mind is the following: Is it egocentric to want to stay here for a bit longer? Am I living for and by myself too much? I am not sure about the answer. Do you have any ideas on this? I would like to hear them.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Of beggars and millionaires
After three weeks in Jakarta I have regained my balance, my flow, and my sense of purpose. After three weeks in this polluted town I can see the beauty of skyscrapers and bear the sight of people living under a bridge, admire the resilience and survival of street dwellers and begging children at the traffic lights. After three weeks I am no longer shocked that a Cafe Latte at Starbucks costs as much as the hourly wage I pay to my research assistant. Which means that my research assistant is underpaid (to our Western standards, but I pay him more than his last boss did) and that Lattes are heavily overpriced cause with the price of a latte I can eat two lunches at the National Library. And how much does a Latte cost? About 26.000 rupiah, which is 2,70 euros......
In three weeks time I have become used to both the luxuries and unpleasant and unbearable sides of living here. When I go to the supermarket I take a taxi home with my weekly groceries, while usually I take the bus everywhere because it is what normal Indonesian people do, and I like meeting them in the space I have between my life as a western (yogi) expatriate at home and a historical researcher in the National library. There is not much time and space in which my life overlaps with their life, if it does it is usually because they serve me and my kind. They wash our clothes, clean our rooms, pack our groceries at the supermarket, take care of children and households, cook and serve the wonderful Indonesian food I love so much. It is only on neutral terrain like the street and in the buses that we are completely the same, there is no dependency on each other for money and services, there is just the meeting of human to human.
On Friday night, during the tango evening in Grand Canyon cafe, I meet rich upper class Jakartans with enormous amounts of money. The same morning I was witnessing life on the other side. On the ruins of a house naked children are washing themselves under a burst water pipe. Their lithe brown bodies are glimmering and shining from the water, they laugh and run around, throwing their washcloths at each other. Right next to them is a flood channel, dark brown water full of garbage floating by. Several men are up to their waste in the water, searching and sifting through the garbage, trying to find who-knows-what. On the side several rows of traffic rush by, cars, motorbikes, buses and some bikes. Once in a while a little horse cart comes along, click-clacking hooves a memory of times long past. Along the road stand many old Dutch houses, they look sad and are in a state of disrepair and neglect. Some of them look a little better, their owners apparently able to afford their upkeep. Sixty years ago this was a wealthy neighborhood, on the edge of central Jakarta, close to the old colonial government buildings and parks. Not much is left of that, now this area is overcrowded, dirty and clouded in a hazy layer of smog. I have never seen the sun in this part of town.
I pass by the children, the flood canal, and the old sad houses every day, on my way from my house in southern Jakarta to the Perpustakaan Nasional (national library) in Menteng. It is a hell of a commute, that takes me at least 1,5 hour from door to door, and when the traffic is bad it can be even up to three hours. This was the case last Wednesday and I could hardly keep my cool about it. Getting to the library means changing buses 3 times, and in all of those buses I am standing since they are so crowded that sitting is impossible.
I listen to my I-pod and use my Indonesian language cards to memorize vocabulary. Most Indonesians try to sleep, even the ones who are standing. If the bus is full enough I don’t need to hang on to anything, the sheer volume of bodies around me just keeps me standing upright and makes me kind of giddy. At least I can’t complain for a lack of physical contact, even though I might rather opt for a different form of physical intimacy than my morning commute ;-)
I started wearing a face-mask when I hit the roads in the morning; the exhaust fumes are so dense that it gives me a head-ache. I also wear the mask inside the library, since the insecticides on the old documents and newspapers also give me a headache. The Indonesians deal with this without masks, are they used to it? I leave the house at 7.30 in the morning and usually return between 5.30 and 6.00 pm, if I am lucky with traffic. These are long tiresome days, that left me utterly exhausted at the end of the first week.
This was not really what I had planned when coming to Jakarta. I thought I would spend my time in the National Archive and chose to live right next to it in wonderful Kemang Vista. But as fate would have it, most of the material I need is actually in the Perpustakaan, something I did not find out till I got here. And this means I live on the wrong side of town right now. I considered moving to Menteng, but have decided against it. I enjoy living in Kemang very much. It is relatively green and relatively well serviced, due to a great number of expatriates in the area. I have a supermarket close by, can go to the gym, etc. Plus, I just made some friends in the area and like hanging out with them. I am not sure if Menteng would offer the same possibilities. And I will only be doing this commute for about 6 weeks. I can manage.
Especially since I found my purpose and my focus again: I am choosing to work hard, really hard, and finish my dissertation in December 2009. That is the goal. December 2009. I realized it last Wednesday. I am done, I am done with this research and with this dissertation, all I have to do is write it up. Why wait till my contract ends in May 2010? Why not just go for it and do it. Finishing in 2009 inspires me about a hundred times more than finishing in 2010. 2009 Is the year. Read my lips :-) But more than that: support me in any way you can, because no-one can write a PhD alone.
In three weeks time I have become used to both the luxuries and unpleasant and unbearable sides of living here. When I go to the supermarket I take a taxi home with my weekly groceries, while usually I take the bus everywhere because it is what normal Indonesian people do, and I like meeting them in the space I have between my life as a western (yogi) expatriate at home and a historical researcher in the National library. There is not much time and space in which my life overlaps with their life, if it does it is usually because they serve me and my kind. They wash our clothes, clean our rooms, pack our groceries at the supermarket, take care of children and households, cook and serve the wonderful Indonesian food I love so much. It is only on neutral terrain like the street and in the buses that we are completely the same, there is no dependency on each other for money and services, there is just the meeting of human to human.
On Friday night, during the tango evening in Grand Canyon cafe, I meet rich upper class Jakartans with enormous amounts of money. The same morning I was witnessing life on the other side. On the ruins of a house naked children are washing themselves under a burst water pipe. Their lithe brown bodies are glimmering and shining from the water, they laugh and run around, throwing their washcloths at each other. Right next to them is a flood channel, dark brown water full of garbage floating by. Several men are up to their waste in the water, searching and sifting through the garbage, trying to find who-knows-what. On the side several rows of traffic rush by, cars, motorbikes, buses and some bikes. Once in a while a little horse cart comes along, click-clacking hooves a memory of times long past. Along the road stand many old Dutch houses, they look sad and are in a state of disrepair and neglect. Some of them look a little better, their owners apparently able to afford their upkeep. Sixty years ago this was a wealthy neighborhood, on the edge of central Jakarta, close to the old colonial government buildings and parks. Not much is left of that, now this area is overcrowded, dirty and clouded in a hazy layer of smog. I have never seen the sun in this part of town.
I pass by the children, the flood canal, and the old sad houses every day, on my way from my house in southern Jakarta to the Perpustakaan Nasional (national library) in Menteng. It is a hell of a commute, that takes me at least 1,5 hour from door to door, and when the traffic is bad it can be even up to three hours. This was the case last Wednesday and I could hardly keep my cool about it. Getting to the library means changing buses 3 times, and in all of those buses I am standing since they are so crowded that sitting is impossible.
I listen to my I-pod and use my Indonesian language cards to memorize vocabulary. Most Indonesians try to sleep, even the ones who are standing. If the bus is full enough I don’t need to hang on to anything, the sheer volume of bodies around me just keeps me standing upright and makes me kind of giddy. At least I can’t complain for a lack of physical contact, even though I might rather opt for a different form of physical intimacy than my morning commute ;-)
I started wearing a face-mask when I hit the roads in the morning; the exhaust fumes are so dense that it gives me a head-ache. I also wear the mask inside the library, since the insecticides on the old documents and newspapers also give me a headache. The Indonesians deal with this without masks, are they used to it? I leave the house at 7.30 in the morning and usually return between 5.30 and 6.00 pm, if I am lucky with traffic. These are long tiresome days, that left me utterly exhausted at the end of the first week.
This was not really what I had planned when coming to Jakarta. I thought I would spend my time in the National Archive and chose to live right next to it in wonderful Kemang Vista. But as fate would have it, most of the material I need is actually in the Perpustakaan, something I did not find out till I got here. And this means I live on the wrong side of town right now. I considered moving to Menteng, but have decided against it. I enjoy living in Kemang very much. It is relatively green and relatively well serviced, due to a great number of expatriates in the area. I have a supermarket close by, can go to the gym, etc. Plus, I just made some friends in the area and like hanging out with them. I am not sure if Menteng would offer the same possibilities. And I will only be doing this commute for about 6 weeks. I can manage.
Especially since I found my purpose and my focus again: I am choosing to work hard, really hard, and finish my dissertation in December 2009. That is the goal. December 2009. I realized it last Wednesday. I am done, I am done with this research and with this dissertation, all I have to do is write it up. Why wait till my contract ends in May 2010? Why not just go for it and do it. Finishing in 2009 inspires me about a hundred times more than finishing in 2010. 2009 Is the year. Read my lips :-) But more than that: support me in any way you can, because no-one can write a PhD alone.
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