TravelStream™ news feed for member carpediem291 on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/carpediem291 en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Sat, 19 Jul 2008 04:43:36 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/carpediem291/1/1216109220/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/carpediem291/1/1216109220/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/carpediem291/1/1216109220/tpod.html Sat, 19 Jul 2008 04:43:36 -0400 The Art of Life

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Ubud, Bali, Indonesia

July 15, 2008

I witnessed one of the most unique rituals in Bali called "Ngaben," or cremation. This event was special because it was the royal cremation of the body of Agung Suyasa, head of the royal family of Ubud who was considered to be their King and two other members of his extended family. It was the most spectacular royal funeral in Bali in at least three decades.

The timing couldn't be anymore perfect for me. I arrived in Kuta, near the southern part of Bali, on the 13th and immediately I rented a motorcycle and left the following day to Ubud, approximately 45km north from Kuta. I was happy to leave Kuta because it was the most touristy place in all of Bali and to me foreigners seem to outnumber local people. It took me almost 2 hours to arrive to my destination because I got lost several times since the roads aren't clearly marked like back home. Nevertheless, I arrived in Ubud in the evening and I was lucky to find a room since almost every hostels or hotels were full. I walked to the main road and asked questions to shop owners and random people because I wanted to get as much as information about the event (who, what, where, when, why, and how?) Since I was approaching it as a documentary photographer these questions were necessary to fully understand its significance.

The purpose of the cremation is to free the body of all worldly attachments and thus to prepare the soul to be reunited with the Supreme Being as a first step to reincarnation. Their bodies have been preserved for months waiting for their souls to be freed through cremation. "A cremation is an occasion for gaiety and not for mourning, since it represents the accomplishment of their most sacred duty" according to Miguel Covarrubias in his classic work, "Island of Bali," published in 1946. The Balinese believes that it's a part of the cycle of life. Agung Suyasa died on March 28, his body had been lying embalmed, as if asleep, in his palace. The family brought daily offerings and symbolic meals.

I woke up the next morning and discovered two tall decorated towers (9 tiers) called, "wadah," a representation of the cosmos in which the bodies will be carried to the cremation ground. Also, there were two gigantic bulls, a sarcophagus, in which the bodies will be placed before the burning.

The main street was filled with onlookers and volunteers wearing purple shirt. Their job was to carry the 11 ton tower, as tall as 3 story building, containing the body of Agung Suyasa and the bulls to the burning site using a bamboo platform, 200 at a time for 100-yard shifts. Laughing and sometimes breaking into a quick sprint, volunteers swung the platform with frenzy from left to right to confuse the spirits. I was in the middle of the commotion sometimes within inches of getting trampled. Many onlookers on the side of the street were injured and a tourist even got her arm broken when they swung the platform. I tried to keep a safe distance and watched my step because the street was slippery from water sprayed in the air to keep the volunteers cool. As I was standing looking up at the massive bulls I remembered thinking that this is the closest thing to running with the bulls in Spain.

At the cremation site, the casket was brought down from the top of the tower, as if descending back to earth from heaven. I saw the son of Agung Suyasa carried on the backs on the volunteers. Overwhelmed with emotions he was crying and screaming. The coffin then circled around the waiting bulls three times followed by women with offerings on their heads.

This event attracted world attention. I was along side photographers from New York Times, Reuters, Associated Press, etc. These guys are professional so of course they had their press pass dangling around their neck. But I still managed to get close. It seems that if you have a big ass camera around your neck people don't ask too many questions. I still have a lot to learn so I was watching close what they were doing. The photographer from New York Times, Justin Mott, was a pretty cool guy, a little bit older than me. He lives in Vietnam but he covered many events in Southeast Asia. We exchanged contacts and he told me to look him up if I happen to be in Vietnam. Anyway, check out his work at justinmott.com.

The ceremony started around 10am and by 7pm I was tired and hungry because I haven't eaten anything. Getting the picture was more important than satisfying my hunger. I found a spot on top of a fire engine that had a good view below. I saw thousands of people with their cameras out waiting anxiously. The backs of the bulls were opened and the body was put inside. By this time, the sun had already set and I saw quick spark of flashes from spectators' cameras.

Suddenly a bright flame appeared under the belly of the bull and it quickly traveled upward immediately engulfing the gold necklace around the neck and its bright colored decoration. Bright flames shot out of its nostrils and sinister eyes as if it was angry. It was truly a menacing sight. I thought it would spit fire from its mouth like a dragon annihilating everyone in its path. The infuriating fire swallowed the bulls leaving nothing but the iron frame, in which the burning skeleton remained.

Workers poked at the useless body with a long bamboo pole to stroke the fire. They also used what looked like two huge flamethrowers to speed up the process and disintegrate the skeletons into dust. They would gather the ashes and take them to a nearby beach and spread them to be carried away by wind and water, freeing the soul from earth.

Witnessing this ceremony made me think about my own mortality. I have accepted the idea because we all die eventually; it's just a question of when and how. But the most important question is how I've lived. Nevertheless, I never liked the idea of being buried under ground and confined. If I die I would like to get cremated as well. I would like to have some of my ashes spread out to free my soul. I would also like to have some of my ashes used as a fertilizer to grow a huge tree that will provide a place of sanctuary (like the book The Giving Tree). I should put that on my will.

I will upload the photos on my website, andritambunanphotography.com soon under Featured Galleries so check it!
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/carpediem291/1/1216196340/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/carpediem291/1/1216196340/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/carpediem291/1/1216196340/tpod.html Sat, 19 Jul 2008 04:21:04 -0400 The Art of Life

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Kuta, Bali, Indonesia

July 16, 2008

Near Fatal Accident

I must have a guardian angel or perhaps I am just the luckiest person. I left Ubud in the afternoon to go back to Kuta since I left bags with all my clothes back at the hostel. I got on my motorcycle got on the busy road. I was about twenty minutes away from Kuta when I missed my turn. I stopped on the side of the road to turn around. I looked on my left and to my right and saw no one on the road. I proceeded to turn when I heard a loud motorcycle coming fast directly at me while I was on the middle of my turn. The last thing I heard was the other driver's scream and a loud crash as he hit me.

The impact knocked me off my motorcycle. I was lying on the middle of the road dizzied. I knew I needed to get up and get off the road due to oncoming traffic. But my right foot gave out as soon as I put some weight on it. I saw my motorcycle on the other side of the road. A street vendor came to my aid and helped me drag my motorcycle off the road. I was hopping on my left foot and reached the side of the road when I collapsed to the ground. I felt a tingling sensation on my knee and right elbow. I tried to stand up again and my left ankle was in excruciating pain. I must have twisted it pretty badly or maybe worst.

On the other side of the road I saw the other motorcycle driver. He was also in a bad shape. I looked at my knee and right elbow covered in blood. I must have scraped it on the pavement pretty badly. The street vendor put some car lubricant on my wounds that seemed to work well to stop the bleeding. We were both lucky to survive the accident. He had cuts on his face, arms, and knees. I felt guilty. I knew that it was both of our faults, he was going too fast and I made an illegal u-turn. We both agreed to not involve the police mainly because it would make things more difficult. I gave him some money because I could afford it so he could fix his motorcycle and get some aid for his wounds.

I got back on my motorcycle and checked into a different hostel. The right rearview mirror and right brake grip were broken. Also, the front wheel was out of alignment. Since I rented the motorcycle I can't bring it back to my first hostel in such condition. Unlike back home, the motorcycle didn't come with insurance.

My first aid kit was back at my first hostel so I cleaned my wounds with water and kept my ankle elevated. The hostel didn't have ice and it was too painful for me to go to a nearby store to get some. So I slept that night with so much pain. There was not even a blanket so I used the bed sheet throughout the night.

The next morning I woke up and asked for direction to a nearby motorcycle shop. Luckily it was not too far away. The shop replaced and fixed the motorcycle to its original condition. I saw a local hospital and stopped by to get my ankle checked out. I was worried it was broken or there might be a fracture. But the x-ray proved that everything was fine. The doctor told me to rest for the new several days and put ice on my ankle and prescribed some medicine for the swelling.

I got back to my hostel and returned the motorcycle. The guy at the front desk asked me why I was limping and I told him that I fell while taking photos of the bull the day before. He didn't suspect anything more.

I have been putting ice on my ankle for the last 36 hours and the swelling have gone down. I will stay in Kuta perhaps for another 48 hours and head out north to Lovina or head out to Lombok, another smaller island to the east of Bali. For now, I am spending my time recuperating and editing my photos.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/carpediem291/1/1215668880/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/carpediem291/1/1215668880/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/carpediem291/1/1215668880/tpod.html Mon, 14 Jul 2008 02:46:57 -0400 The Art of Life

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Probolinggo, Indonesia

July 10, 2008

After about 9 hours, we arrived in a hostel about 3km from Mount Bromo. I was exhausted and went to bed early because I had wake up around 3:30am the next morning for the sunrise. I have paid for a jeep to take me to the viewpoint located on the highest hill so I can view the crater of Mount Bromo during sunrise. However, by the time I got to the viewpoint, there was huge crowd of at least 100 people. I had two problems, I had no clear view of the crater and I didn't know which direction to look since everything was still dark. I found an opening and immediately set up my camera and tripod. It was annoying to have these many people on one spot all looking for the same thing. I remembered eight years ago when it was just me and 3 other people. I saw the sun breaking through the cloud of mist just below the horizon. Slowly, the orange color penetrated through blanket of black and gray. It would have been a peaceful moment but the overlapping sound of the crowd's conversation stole it from me. I waited patiently for that amazing light 5 minutes before. But as it turns out, I was on the wrong side to view the crater and it was too late for me to switch location since there were many people blocking the view. I gritted my teeth and waited until the crowd disperse. Fortunately, I was lucky enough to take a photo of the crater when the light was still decent but I hated the crowd. The jeep then took me to the bottom plateau and I had to walk the rest of the way to the top of the crater. There was small temple used for ceremony to honor and please the mountain. Visitors can also please the mountain by throwing a bouquet of flower in the crater. The same crowd that was up at the viewpoint are also now on the bottom. Many walked along side with me while some hired a horse to take them across the deserted plateau. I saw the guide with their horses and they were competing to get fares. The price for the ride is 75,000 rupiah or about $7.50. I knew that they were will be many people at the top and realized that I had to comeback later in the afternoon for the sunset to avoid the crowd. Thus, I concentrated to taking photos of the horses as they gallop wildly across the dry terrain and their guides. Later, I made arrangement to have someone drop me off and pick me up in the afternoon.

I was dropped off back on the plateau around 4:30pm and I walked to the rest of the way. This time I was by myself. I hiked up several small hills and finally got to the stairs leading to the top of the crater. There were over 200 steps and I wished there was an escalator. I remembered these stairs from long time ago and I though that they were stairs leading up to heaven. It was not bare as before but now has BNI logo all over it (Bank National Indonesia). I finally got to the top and saw the white puff of smoke from the mouth of the crater. I walked clockwise around the edge of the crater. I finally got to the highest point and I realized I was by myself. For a brief moment this place and moment is mine. I felt like standing on the top of the world but within inches from the edge of the universe. I thought if I fell no one would find my body. It's a good way to go, fast and painless. The air was cool. I sat down watching the sky melting. Eventually, darkness has slowly descended on the plateau below and the hills have become miniature shadows in the distant. I saw the steady stream white smoke from the bottom. It's as if God was puffing on his pipe. I continued to circle the mouth of the crater and ended up where I started. To be so close to nature's wonder such as this is breathtaking. I remembered a song by Incubus, "Wish you were here."

P.s. I started reading Eleven Minutes by Paulo Coelho, a story about love and choosing your own destiny. So far it's a good read and highly recommend it.

"I stood for a long time by the roller coaster, and I noticed that most people get on it in search of excitement, but that once it starts, they are terrified and want the cars to stop. What do they expect? Having chosen adventure, shouldn't they be prepared to go the whole way? Or do they think that the intelligent thing to do would be to avoid the ups and downs and spend all their time on a carousel, going round and round on the spot? . . The roller coaster is my life; life is a fast, dizzying game; life is a parachute jump; its taking chances, falling over and getting up again; its mountaineering; its wanting to get to the very top of yourself and to feel angry and dissatisfied when you don't manage it . . . If I had fallen asleep and suddenly woke up on a roller coaster, what would I feel? Well, I would feel trapped and sick, terrified of every bend, wanting to get off. However, if I believe that the track is my destiny and that God is in charge of the machine, then the nightmare becomes something thrilling. It becomes exactly what it is, a roller coaster, a safe, reliable toy, which will eventually stop, but, while the journey lasts, I must look at the surrounding landscape and whoop with excitement." Eleven Minutes by Paulo Coelho
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/carpediem291/1/1215842100/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/carpediem291/1/1215842100/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/carpediem291/1/1215842100/tpod.html Mon, 14 Jul 2008 01:57:10 -0400 The Art of Life

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Surabaya, Java, Indonesia

July 12, 2008

I almost died today . . . twice.

Kawah Ijen or crater Ijen located in East Java is famous for it's sulfur. I arrived here last night from Probollingo and woke up this morning around 4am to visit the crater. We got to the site around 5am but it's a 1.5-mile hike to the top of the crater and it took over an hour because it was steep. I cursed at myself for bringing so much camera equipment with me. Along the path left of the side I discovered bamboo baskets filled with huge chunks of yellow sulfur. I reached the main office and I saw one of the workers weighing his load. I asked him how much it weighed and he told me 92 kilo or equal a little bit over 202 lbs. I asked his name and he told me Pak Asjati. He told me that he has been doing for over 20 years. I asked him how much he would get from this load, "550 rupiah per kilo," he said. Thus, from this backbreaking labor he would receive 50,600 rupiah or about $6. These chunks of sulfur are sold to factories used to refine sugars, medicines, etc. I bought several pack of cigarettes and bread on my way there and offered some to him. He put a couple of loose cigarettes in his pocket and together we had breakfast. He told me that he has two children and he works 5 days a week. He would make two trips to the crater per day but each trip would take at least 4 hours. He had been working since 4am. I told him that he is one of the strongest people I know and he laughed. I didn't want to take anymore of this time and continued my hike. I arrived at the top of the crater and looking down was an amazing sight. The bottom was covered with a blanket of white smoke and I wasn't sure its depth. I smelled the pungent odor of sulfur in the air. I saw little shadows moving about in the abyss. I was unsure whether I should descend into the gaping hole. I remembered Dante's Inferno, the remarkable journey down to hell. Slowly I stepped down into the treacherous terrain. There was a clear path to the bottom however one simple mistake one could easily fall to your death. A tourist from France fell to her death before after she lost her footing while trying to take a photo. On my down I encounter workers hauling their treasure on their backs. I can hear them coming by the creaking sound of their bamboo baskets. I greet them and offered them smokes and cigarettes. I spent a few minutes chatting with them before taking their photo. I found out that most of them have been doing this job for years; the longest was 30 years. The youngest one was only 26 years old (my age) and he has been doing it for only 5 months and he is working to provide for his family, his wife and 4-year-old child. This job is literally is a backbreaking labor. Their hands were rough and black from handling the sulfur and their face and even eyelashes were covered with yellow soot. The workers would carry two sets of baskets. They would fill one up and carry them halfway to the top and then would come down to fill up the next one. Once they get to the top they would combine the two loads together. I finally got to the bottom of the crater and discovered a lake behind the cloud of sulfur. I looked to my left and saw the workers extracting the sulfur from the ground with a long sharp metal pole. They were not wearing any safety equipments exposing their lungs, eyes, and flesh to the poison. Several feet in front of them were several pipes stretched out from the top and steams of hot sulfur were coming out of them. I got even closer to take their photo. Then it happens . . . Everything happened so sudden but in slow motion like a trance. Due to the sudden shift of the wind, a blanket of sulfuric acid engulfed the workers and me. All around me was white and I could hear the workers warning to cover my mouth and nose. I couldn't specify where the voice came from because although they were a few steps from me in front of me, they were nothing but black shadows. I had my bandana around my neck and I held it tightly to prevent the toxic fume from entering my lungs. I turned my back in a futile attempt to escape the oncoming flood of poison. Everything was quiet and I can hear myself thinking. I heard a small voice telling to me to hold my breath as long as possible and close my eyes until it dissipate. Seconds felt like eternity and I tasted the sulfur in my mouth. I opened my eyes but felt a burning sensation. The poison had entered my lungs. I coughed and tried to breathe through my nose but tasted the sulfur in my throat. I was gasping for air and spit into my bandana hoping the moisture would somehow helped. I forced myself to hold it just a little bit longer. "This will pass," the small voice told me. I wanted to throw up and felt like fainting. Meanwhile, I didn't stop pressing the shutter on my camera. Suddenly a hand grabbed my arm and pulled me out as I was losing my will to live. He took higher ground and saved me as I was on the brink of losing hope. I took a deep breath and I coughed for the next ten minutes to clear out the poison from my lungs. My body had gone through a traumatic experience and I was winded and exhausted. But I saw the workers and they had continued working. The small voice told me to leave. Nevertheless, I went against it and stayed. I followed a worker who told me to go to the top because they heard that I was taking photo and they wanted me to take their pictures. I endured several similar experiences there and my body was trembling. I heard the small voice again and this time told me to "Get the fuck out!" I listened.

I climbed slowly back to the top, stopping frequently to take photos of the workers who walked passed me carrying their huge load on their shoulders. These yellow gold acquired from the deepest abyss and brought back to earth on their bare flesh. I reached the top of the crater and felt that I had escaped the grasp of hell. As I was walking back down I met a family of tourists and as it turns out they are from California. It's rare to meet Americans since their idea of traveling is going to Hawaii or Cancun. We chatted as we walked down together. They had two little girls with them and I wonder why they would bring them to place like this. Suddenly, one of the girls cut in front of me and fell. I was in the middle of my step and tried to avoid stepping on this fragile thing. Nevertheless, in order to avoid her my left foot fell to the edge of the cliff and I tumbled to my left. With reflex I my hands grabbed on anything I can grasp and luckily there were bushes with strong enough branches to stop my fall. The dad pulled my hand and helped me up. I cleaned myself unconcern about my near death experience but rather worried that I broke my camera that was dangling around my neck. Thank God, they just minor scratches. The family asked me I was okay and I told them that I was fine because I am built like a tank and has the nerve of steel. I continued to walk down to the main office and discovered a line of workers waiting to weight their load. Once weighed, the worker would receive a piece of paper indicating the total weight and their amount of compensation. One of the workers invited me to their housing. 10-15 workers would spend the night here if they don't return to their family. He led me to a small dark room where a group of them were sitting around a small fire. One of them was sitting on a wooden stool and offered his seat. They were sharing fried chips from a small bag and offered me some and even encouraged to take a handful. I was touched because these workers don't have very much but they are willing to share what little they have. Compare a billionaire giving a thousand dollars to charity while someone with only 10 dollars giving 1 dollar, who has given the most? I chatted with them for a little bit but my told them I had to leaven since someone was going to pick me up to take me back to my hostel. I bid my farewell and thank them for their hospitality. When I got back to my room, I discovered that my clothes were reek of sulfur. I took a shower and tried to wash the smell scrubbing my skin with soap. Then I remembered the workers whom I will never forget who had grown accustomed to the smell. I stopped scrubbing and put on new clothes. I wanted the smell to still linger. I lay down on my bed to rest. I closed my eyes and tears started to roll down my cheek, the sulfur made my eyes watery and a part of me cried for their struggle. I admire these workers for their perseverance. They've taught me hope and human triumph. Then I fell asleep.

I am leaving tomorrow morning to Bali. I might be there for a week or even longer. I will rent a motorbike and tour the whole island.

P.s. I finally finished Eleven Minutes, perhaps the most sexually erotic book I have read. Damn it read it! I am starting a new book, On the Road, by Jack Kerouac.

"Freedom only exists when love is present. The person who gives him or herself wholly, the person who feels freest, is the person who loves most wholeheartedly. And the person who loves wholeheartedly feels free . . . That is the true experience of freedom; having the most important thing in the world without owning it." Eleven Minutes by Paulo Coelho.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/carpediem291/1/1215582240/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/carpediem291/1/1215582240/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/carpediem291/1/1215582240/tpod.html Mon, 14 Jul 2008 01:47:15 -0400 The Art of Life

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Yogyakarta, Java, Indonesia

July 9th, 2008

My homecoming was a huge step forward in my journey of re-self-discovery. I have always thought in order to continue on it's necessary to go relearn our roots. It's homage to our past because whether we like it or not it had greatly influenced the present and will do the same for the future. In the end, I have a greater understanding of myself. So I urge everyone to learn about your heritage, your parents' or grandparents' pasts, and your origin. Though I wanted to spend more time with my family, I wanted to travel my home country so I left Jakarta by train and arrived in Yogyakarta a couple of days ago. I told them that I would return sometime next month and spend several days with them before heading out to China. I asked the kids what they wanted to do next time and they told me that they wanted me to take them to the mall. At first I was hesitant but I remembered that unlike back home going to the mall is a rare occasion so I agreed. Here the mall is super huge, 7 stories high with hundreds of store. It's ironic to have a mall that big when the majority of the population can't afford to buy anything in it.

Candi Borobudur not far away from here is perhaps the biggest attraction in Yogyakarta. This Buddhist monument is a must see in Southeast Asia. I booked a transport to take me there in the morning mainly because it gets crowded later in the day and the best time to take photo is before sunrise as the morning midst still hangs below the horizon. If you wonder how design of Borobudur, it's like a mandala or the tattoo on my left forearm. When I got to the site the sun was almost up and I knew I only had minutes. It was an incredible sight and the light was just breathtaking but it quickly ended. Inside each stupa is a statue of the Buddha sitting in a meditative state. It is believed that men should reach in and touch his hand and woman should touch his feet and make a wish and it would come true. Another great site that I visited is a Hindu temple called Prambanan. Unfortunately, a 5.6 earthquake heavily damaged this temple in 2006. Only two temples were opened and many are still under repair. The outer bass-reliefs of the temple illustrated the legend of Ramayana. Later that night I returned to Prambanan temple but this time to watch the Ramayana Ballet. This is a must because it is set up in an outdoor theatre with the temples in the background as a backdrop. I paid 200,000 rupiah $20 to seat in the very front so I could get closer enough to take photos. In the end I had to use the highest film speed on my camera, which is 6400 (on 1D MKIII the noise is relatively low) and used my 70-200 f/4 IS with 1.4x extender (for those photo geeks). Similar to the story of Troy, Ramayana is a story of how a king kidnapped the queen of another king and they had a big war over it; big surprise men fight for women and/or land. The hero of this legend is my all time favorite, Hanuman, who is a white monkey warrior. He was burned alive but manages to escape and his dance is very acrobatic. There were about 30 dancers and the ballet is accompanied by traditional "gendingan" music. I must have taken at least 200 photos of the ballet.

As a city I prefer Yogyakarta than Jakarta because it's not as crowded and cleaner. Also, the city still maintains a strong sense of its tradition and culture. The Kraton, which is the sultan's old palace, is still a main attraction in this city. Malioboro Street is the busiest area in this city. The street is overflowed with street vendors selling their goods. Walking on the sidewalk is fighting through traffic of people and your own temptation to shop for cheap batik (hand printed fabric), Dagadu clothes, arts & crafts, etc. I was wearing my dog tags chain that I got here eight years ago. I had it engraved with my name and on the bottom "living to feel alive" and on the other side "In search of true happiness." At night the city comes alive as food vendors set up shop on the sidewalk and sell delicious food attracting many local and tourists. As you sit on the ground enjoying your food many street entertainers would come to strum their guitar and sing you a song, this is called "ngamen." As I was eating my dinner, one of them came up to me and asked me for a request, I told him to sing me "Hey Jude" by the Beatles. Though he forgot some of the words he sang his heart out. The local delicacy that the city is known for is called "nasi gudeg," which is rice served with young jackfruit and spices often served with egg or chicken. I haven't eaten this for many years and it's almost impossible to find it back home. What's also apparent about this city for first time arrivals are three wheeled pedal taxi called "becak" that seems to had invaded every side street and corners of this city. As I was walking to the Sultan's palace, I saw this old gentleman pushing his becak. Though, my destination is within a walking distance I decided to ask him if he could take me there in his becak. We started talking and by this time my Indonesian is almost fluent again =). I found out that his name is Pak Ponjiwo, (Pak means sir because he is still my elder and deserve my respect). He is 73 years old and he has been doing this job since 1972. He is a very funny guy. He told me that he'd been married 3 times. The first two wives were too beautiful and his third wife is not as pretty but knows how to cook. He has two sons and they all have their own family and that he had a grandson but he died within a week after birth. He asked me how old I was and if I was married and I said no. And he asked me if I have a girlfriend and I laughed I told him that I am having way too much fun to be tied down. He chuckled but then told me that he was married by age 19. I asked me if he would ever retire for doing this kind of work. He said if his body were able he would continue to do it. I felt bad because I know he was struggling as he pedaled his becak and I wanted to get out but I realize that it would insult him even more. I know that he is the kind of guy that takes pride in what he does. He even offered his banana though I politely declined and made sure that I am doing okay. I admire him for that because though by our standard his line of work is not respected, he works hard and still does his job to the best of his ability. I asked him how much he would make a day and he told me 50,000 rupiah or $5. He dropped me off near my hostel and thanked him for his kindness and gave him 50,000 rupiah and a little more for his lunch.

I checked out this morning for Mount Bromo, which is an active volcano in East Java. I will climb to the top of the crater so let's just hope it does not erupt. Also from there I will head out to Kawah Ijen, which is also crater known for it's sulfur and workers would climb up to carry 80kg of sulfur rocks without proper equipment. Many of them develop lung problems. One of my favorite photographers James Nachtwey did a documentary on this. Anyway, until next time.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/carpediem291/1/1215429780/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/carpediem291/1/1215429780/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/carpediem291/1/1215429780/tpod.html Mon, 07 Jul 2008 07:29:51 -0400 The Art of Life

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Jakarta, Indonesia

July 2, 2008

Prelude

I arrived in Soekarno-Hatta International airport around 1pm. I rushed out of the cramped airplane with an overwhelming desire to stretch out my legs. I walked quickly passing through pastel colored corridors with dimmed fluorescent lighting and headed directly to the immigration checkpoint. I had my passport in my hand and declaration form filled out. I wanted this process to be quick and hassle free . . . I hoped. But the lady didn't even bother to glance at me as I handed her my Indonesian passport. She quickly stamped it underneath the logo of Machu Picchu that I got the year before. I breathe a sigh of relief since I was carrying a lot of camera equipment exceeding the value quoted on the declaration form. I only checked in one bag and while waiting for my baggage I met another traveler from Scotland. He wore a t-shirt, "If it's not Scots, it's sucks!" Chris was his name and it was his first time in Indonesia. I offered to ride with me so that way my cousin could drop him off at his hostel. For those who never traveled to a foreign country, the time of arrival is crucial especially not knowing anyone because you are arriving in an unfamiliar place and when you get out of the airport or train station there will be 5-10 taxi drivers hounding you. Of course, you have never met any of these people and many times they will take you to a different hostel rather than what you requested because they would rather take you to the one where they will get commission. This happened to me in India in which the taxi driver told me that the hostel had burned down. We chatted a bit as we walked toward the exit and I found out that he had been working in San Francisco. There were a throng of people outside and I was searching for a familiar face. It had been 8 years since I saw my cousin and I have only seen his photo. Finally I saw my aunt and I dropped my bags and ran to hug her. Behind her was my cousin, Dian. He is dark and thin. I shook his hand and asked him, "Apa khabar?" or "how are you? "Baik saja," he replied or "I am well." My Indonesian is rusty to say the least because I speak English mainly. My aunt and cousin were asking me questions about how everyone is doing and my plans here in Indonesian and I tried my best to answer them. I asked my cousin if we could drop off Chris on the way and we squeezed all of our bags inside the car. It has been almost 8 years since my last visit but driving on the chaotic road of Jakarta nothing has really changed. Motorbikes zoom passed us almost clipping the side mirror, panhandlers sold their goods from car to car on a red light, metro mini or mini bus chugged slowly on the narrow road picking up passengers and spewing dark clouds of smog with every stop, and of course a sea people walking across busy streets carelessly despite oncoming traffic. I felt right at home. As we dropped off Chris, we exchanged email and we might meet up in Yogyakarta or Bali.

We arrived at my cousin's house around in the evening around 5pm or 3am back home and I was exhausted rather than jet lagged. I slept and woke up the next morning rejuvenated. My aunt was surprised that I was not jet lagged. I told her that usually doesn't sleep till around 3am everyday anyway and I am used to it by now. After a cold shower and some clean clothes my and my cousin headed to my old house.

July 3, 2008

Homecoming

Petukangan Utara, in west Jakarta is the area where I was born and grew up before moving to America at age 10. It was a much simpler time back then. I remembered walking to school with my friends and stopping for some "nasi uduk" or flavored rice for breakfast. We wore different uniforms everyday and we made sure that our fingernails were clean or we would get hit by a wooden ruler by our teacher. In the afternoon, we would play games like soccer or play our kites and explore in the field or small streams to catch fish. There were no video games, no cell phones, no expensive toys or clothes, no need to look or be cool . . . no worries. I looked through the tinted window of the car searching for familiar signs from my past. There are more houses and people now. We finally arrived on the small street that leads to my house, the same one where I learned to ride a bike and fell, where I had my first fight and wrote my name on the wall. It was a mixed sense of Déjà vu and unfamiliarity. I opened the gate to my old house and stepped into the past. My aunt looked at me and she was surprised because I didn't tell anyone that I was coming. I gave her a hug and she told me, "You are so big!" My cousins, so many of them, Ucok, Andi, Kristin, Julius, Dear, Ucok kecil, Dede, and jun-jun greeted me. They are so big now and some were born after I left for America. I looked around the old house, going through each room searching for lost memories. Nothing has really changed in this house. I loved this house. I remembered growing up that this house is the gathering place for our family. My mother has 10 other siblings and we always get together here every holiday. My father built this house before he died. His picture is still hung on the kitchen wall. My aunt kept telling me that I look like him. The neighbor right next door heard all the commotion and she was also surprised to see me. She called me "ayi" and for a second there I forgot whom she was referring to. But I quickly recalled that I called myself that because when I was little I can't roll my R. Her daughter Desi was my playmate and she and my mom used to say that we were boyfriend and girlfriend. We sat down and reminisced about the past. They asked me if I would ever move back to Indonesia and I told them definitely not now but maybe later in the future.

I asked my aunt if I could look through some old photo albums. I know my mother wanted to me to see if there are still any photos of my dad when he was still young. Nevertheless, I found many photos of her instead. I don't remember seeing these photos when I was younger so I guess it is officially my first time. My mother was born and raised in Sumatra. She is one of the oldest children, the third child out of 10 children. My Grandfather wanted her to stay at home and help raise her younger brothers and sisters and even work in the field. However, she wanted to pursue a better life like many young people those days and against his will she left to Jakarta. She put herself through school and became a nurse. Once she got herself established she sent for her younger siblings. I remember growing up we always have people staying at our house. She had opened doors for many people and not just her immediate family. These photos were of her during her early twenties. She was so stunning and beautiful. She had a natural beauty and many of her photos weren't posed but rather candid. She was also fashionable, she smoked cigarettes, play guitar, and wore dark sunglasses. I also found a photo of my dad and my mom on their wedding day. He wore a brown suit and she wore a traditional dress from Sumatra. In the back of the album was also a picture of me over my dad's coffin. I took out these treasures from the album and took pictures of them using my macro lens. I hope to restore them in Photoshop so I can reprint them. I kept looking at my mom's photos through the night. She is sixty years old now and look at them is truly a window to the past. I have always seen her as my mother. But at one point in time she was a young woman with infinite potential. I guess I was attempting to connect the dot to bridge the past to the present. Nevertheless, she looked so happy in those photos and I wonder if she is happy now.

July 5, 2008

We squeezed inside my cousin's car and headed for my father's grave. It's a fifteen-minute drive from my old house. When we got to the graveyard I forgot the exact location of the grave. My cousin told me that my uncle had planted a tree so it's easier to spot. My father died young at age forty due to liver cancer leaving behind a wife and three kids. I don't have much memory of him. Even those that I remember I am not sure whether they are real or just dreams that I had when I was a child. When I finally arrived at the grave I discovered that it was covered with tall grass and weeds. I called a caretaker on site and paid to have them trimmed and cleaned. I told my cousin to buy some flowers and he arrived minutes later with a bag full. I asked everyone to take a handful and spread them. I made a quick prayer and I told my father that everyone is doing well and mom sends her love. I would like to have the chance to get to know him. He loved to travel and I saw his photos in many parts of Indonesia and Asia. I guess that's where I got my sense for adventure. Before I parted, I rubbed his headstone for luck and perhaps to feel his presence and reconnect our bond. I promised that I would see him before I leave Indonesia.

On our way back to my old house, I asked my cousin to stop by a bakery because it was my aunt's 53rd birthday and I wanted to buy her big chocolate cake. We wanted it to be a surprise so went in first and kept her busy while the kids were getting the candle ready. She was totally surprised and she was gleaming as we sang her happy birthday.

I wanted to spend time with my cousins and my uncle suggested to go the zoo. The zoo was packed because it's holiday in Jakarta and it took us almost 2 hours to get there almost thirty minutes to find parking. And once we got in, the animals were nowhere to be found and those we saw were pretty sad. It didn't matter because I just wanted to spend time with my family. I missed having a big family because they are all in Indonesia. I really want to help them. Many of my cousins wanted to go to college to further their education but it's so expensive especially since the average income is 800,000 rupiah or $80. And college could easily cost thousands of dollars. I would like to return someday in the future and help them financially.

Today is my last day in Jakarta because I am leaving for Yogyakarta, which is East Java, tomorrow morning.

July 7, 2008

I arrived in Yogyakarta yesterday. I will be here several days exploring the city. Also, it's my father's birthday. Happy birthday dad.
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Taipei, Taiwan

July 1, 2008

Even now it has not truly sunk in. After 12 hours of flight, I am in Taipei, which is in Taiwan, waiting for my flight to Jakarta. My flight departed around 1:30 am this morning. I spent the whole weekend packing. I was not sure what to bring with me. In the end I took my big backpack for my clothes and jacket, my camera bag with my equipments and laptop, and another daypack for all my chargers and books. My brother and sister and Jon took me to the airport. I spent the drive to the airport making farewell calls. I am glad that my mom didn't go because it would make it so much harder for me. She is the only person that I worry about when I am away and seeing her crying will make it harder for me to cross the security checkpoint. Before leaving, she told me not to forget about her and I thought how silly for her to say that. She is the most influential person in my life and without her I am nothing. I held back my tears and wave her goodbye. I can't remember the last time I cried. She also wanted me to visit my father's grave. After all these years she still loves him. If you ask me how I am feeling right now, sad or excited is not one of them. I am still trying to make sense of it all. I hope that I am still capable of feeling my own emotions, though sometimes I doubt it. Sometimes you build a wall to protect yourself and in the end you wonder how it gotten to tall and think and impregnable that you've trapped yourself within. I guess this is a battle I am still fighting.

It's a five-hour flight from Taipei to Jakarta. I have not any reading or research to the places that I wanted to travel. I hope I am able to stay awake. It's 6 am here and 3 pm back home. My cousin will pick me up in Jakarta. I hope the hot and humid weather and the feeling unfamiliarity will be a wake up call, I am not in Kansas anymore.
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