Always a Bridesmaid....

Sometimes we agree to do things without really thinking it through. Often said thing we've agreed to turns out to be an overwhelming burden that days are spent trying to wriggle out of. And then sometimes said thing is hysterically awesome. Fortunately, when I agreed to be in a woman I have never met’s  royal Bugis wedding a month ago, and then promptly forgot about it, then promptly remembered again the week the wedding was upon me, things veered toward the hysterically awesome.

After fighting my way through a monsoon I finally washed up on the front steps of Lydia, the bride’s, family home. I entered to find Lydia swimming in yards of jewel encrusted fabric while solemnly sitting in a bedazzled box as the Koran was read in front of her. I consider myself something of an Indonesian wedding expert, considering I went to two wedding parties in one night about a month ago. Due to my copious knowledge, I figured the rest of ceremony part1 would be just a solemn. Indonesians aren’t really itching to break into the electric slide and lets face it, their weddings are boozeless.

Anyways, one can imagine my surprise when I stepped back into the house to find Lydia posing for wedding photos on her white satin flower wreathed bed. This was almost too much hilarity to handle, as the photographer crawled around the bed with her to find the right poses. Continue to imagine my surprise as Lydia invited me, and the 6 other foreigners invited, to pose with her…on her bed. So onto the white satin we piled. Yet never fear, as Lydia slyly joked that mattress could handle our weight because “ it was new for the wedding night”. I almost peed on the spot.

Wedding ceremony part 2 the following day proved to be just as fruitful. Day 2 is when the groom arrives, has to step on a series of symbolic objects, reads from the Koran and then touches his bride for the first time. Because this was a “royal” wedding the groom arrived with an entourage Sean P.Dizzle Combs would have envied. Complete with slaves, symbolic slaves, but slaves nonetheless. Since Lydia had yet to lay eyes on her new groom, she asked up to text her “thumbs up” or “thumbs down” when we got a peek. Day 2 part 2 , “ the party” went off without a hitch. Like I mentioned earlier, Indonesian wedding parties aren’t exactly raucous, but much delicious food was eaten, a little karaoke was sung and many many pictures were taken.

First World Third World Fridays

First World Problem: Taxes got me this year so I don't think I can afford to fly to Bali this summer.

Third World Problem: I can't afford to leave Bali.

We can all agree that third world wins this week. Many thanks to the American government for making my recent trip to Bali possible. More on that and my wedding adventures tomorrow.

Selemat Fridays!!

First World Third World Fridays

Inspired by my recent adventures as a bridesmaid in a royal Bugis wedding.

First world problem: I really need to shed these last 5 pounds before the wedding...but juice diets are so taxing.

Third world problem: My wedding dress weighs 35 pounds. Literally.

Selemat Fridays!

I'm flying to Bali in a few hours so tales of my nuptial adventures will be postponed for about a week. Yet never fear a (possible) triple whammy will be coming your way shortly.

Thanksgiving and Such

Its been quite a few days since my last post (I’ve obliviously let go of all dreams about actually producing a page a day) and this is mostly due to the fact that I was too busy fulfilling my 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea fantasies over Thanksgiving and then becoming intimate friends with my toilet, post Thanksgiving.

How do you celebrate Thanksgiving in Indonesia?
With patience.
A lot of patience.
And rum.
And maybe a headlamp.
Patience, rum and a headlamp.

This holiday season eight friends and I decided to forgo the Thanksgiving extravaganzas taking place in Surabaya and on Lombok for a more intimate affair on the island of Bunaken. Bunaken is a tiny island off the northern coast of Sulawesi and it is widely considered one of the best diving and snorkeling spots in the world. So obviously this was a brilliant plan. This plan also allowed me to indulge in my most Indonesian/South Asian moment to date…eating  gado-gado I packed in a tupperware container, at the  departure gate,  with a METAL fork I brought through security in my purse. I physically basked in the approving looks I received from my fellow travelers. After the typical “ wait everyone is moving, did the gate change? SHIT the gate changed! Which gate is my flight leaving from?” Indonesian airport experience, I soon found myself jetting through the night to North Sulawesi.  At the Manado airport I was greeted by the raucous and somewhat inappropriate calls of my fellow Americans, and for the first time in a long time being an obnoxious public spectacle just felt so right.

After a not so brief pit-stop at my friend Polly’s adorable school, we were soon racing across the waves to Bunaken and the Oceanbreeze* resort. Now Oceanbreeze is a lovely (if mildly overpriced) little “resort” run by an Australian man named Terry. Terry is everything you would imagine an Australian who has been living Indonesia for 30 years and runs a dive resort would be like.
So  completely insane.
And possibly on all the drugs.
But an awesome guy, an awesome guy who decided to turn his hotel kitchen over to us for a night (and buy all the groceries) so that we would make the Thanksgiving meal of the century. Seeing as turkeys are a bit hard to come by on the island the menu consisted of roast chicken, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes (yes white people consider mashed potatoes an acceptable Thanksgiving dish.), candied yams, stuffing and apple crisp. I’ll keep this short and sweet by explaining the items indicated above as necessary for executing a proper Indonesian Thanksgiving:

1.)                   Patience: the oven in your kitchen probably won’t stay lit. Oh yea you’re lighting it with a taper like the Pilgrims did. Patience.

2.)                   Rum: Self-explanatory

3.)                   Headlamp: the lights at your resort will frequently go out. While you’re wielding large knives. Luckily the boys you travel with are always prepared and have brought their headlamps.

Everyone emerges unscathed.

After many hours and a few improvisations…a lovely meal was shared by all.

Now on to my regulation defying scuba dive. As a non-certified diver I am only supposed to go about 15 feet under the waves, for an average of 35 minutes per dive. Well my first dive was 20 meters and lasted about 75 minutes. You do the math.  I’ll admit I was heartily freaked out at the prospect of being underwater before the whole process began. What if whale ate me? What if I ran out of air? What if I was swept away by a current, never to be seen again? Well apparently I’m a Zen breather because I used less than half my tank. Which is impressive. Trust me. And I didn’t see any sharks. And as for the currents, well it turns out I was swept away in one. But my boss of a dive master was holding my hand the whole time (things got a little intimate under the sea) so I never felt overwhelmed. In fact I didn’t have to do anything but swim, and gasp in wonder every time I saw a HUGE sea turtle or cool fish (I wouldn’t recommend gasping with a mask and air tank on—not comfortable), and remember to breath and point at cool things. Obviously momma has an expensive new habit. I feel like I’ve gained some insight into the mental workings of coke addicts.

* Name changed in order to maintain privacy. And so PADI doesn’t shut them down