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

First World Third World Thanksgivings

This weeks 1st world/3rd world has arrived a bit late. This is mostly due to the fact that I
spent most of the Thanksgiving holiday fulfilling my 20,000 leagues under the sea fantasy. But more about that later. For now enjoy this little tidbit inspired by a story one of my professors at Columbia used to tell all the time about his time doing research in Java.


1st World Problem: I got to the farmer's market too late and now they are all out of organic free range turkeys. I guess i'll have to buy a generic organic turkey from the grocery store.


3rd World Problem: We consider turkeys pets so I guess we'll have to cook the dog.


Hope you had a happy Friday!

*the region in which I spent Thanksgiving does in fact eat dog meat. They call it Ar.

I'm sorry but are you old enough to drive?

         My colleagues at school have taken to calling me hitam manis or “black sweetness” as they translate it. Apparently this isn’t a term of endearment my cab driver came up with, but rather a widely acknowledged phrase. They also like to say things like “ you look like President Obama’s daughter!” followed by a chorus of cantik cantik “ beautiful beautiful”. I would find this incredibly offensive  (What, all black people look alike?! Why can’t I just be sweetness, why does it have to be black?!) if

A.)Being called beautiful, even when I’m dripping sweat and there are bags under my eyes, wasn’t an awesome ego boost

B.)They weren’t so sincere

C.) If the whole situation wasn’t so incredibly ridiculous

           In other news I’ve been riding the pedi-pedi a lot more than usual. Pedi-pedi are the Indonesian public transportation du-jour, and for some reason I’m trying to save money.  These little vehicles go all over the city only cost about 3,000 Rp.or about 3 cents per ride. Now imagine a mini-van for tiny people, with all of the seats taken out. Instead of seats they feature little benches that line three walls of the van. Since Makassar is a big fancy city, many of the pedi-pedi feature such gems as disco balls, black lights and giant subwoofers that blast all sorts of music at ear-piercing level. Looking for seatbelts and a functioning door? Sorry those have been removed for efficiencies’ sake.  

        Also I’m pretty sure the average age of the drivers are somewhere between 13 and 17. You think I’m kidding, but I’m completely serious. Also I’m pretty sure most of these adolescent drivers learned their craft by playing hours upon hours of Grand Theft Auto. I also can’t seem to figure out the routes to save my life. As a result, I often end up on the wrong pedi-pedi and a journey that should have taken 30 minutes will end up being an hour and 30 minutes. On the bright side I’m getting a chance to practice my Bahasa Indonesia and I’m becoming more exposed to the Indonesian hairstyle I have deemed the “pullet” or “partial mullet”. A pullet is about 80% business in the front and about 30% party in the back. Think of a rat tail, but thicker and longer. Many of the pedi-pedi drivers I have come in contact with sport this particular style and some sort of Jafar-esque facial hair. If they’re old enough to grow facial hair. I often think about the many ways I could die in this country. Morbid I know, but it makes me feel prepared. The pedi-pedi have moved to the top of the list followed by “hit by a car while walking”, “malaria”, “heat stroke” and “attacked by feral cats”. However, I’m earning mad respect from my security guards, and honestly that’s all that counts.