Indonesia: Round 2

The last time I left Indonesia, people asked me, “Mal, kapan kamu akan balik ke Bandung?” And last time, I had an answer. This time around however? This time I don’t know when I’ll be returning to my country of islands, my home. And that’s heartbreaking. I don’t know when I’m coming back. I don’t know when I’ll see my closest friends. Or when I’ll be able to devour es kelapa muda and ayam madu. I don’t know when I’ll again return to the life that I love so much - the place where I stand as my best self. Like I said. It’s heartbreaking. 

I knew that my return to my favorite archipelago would bring a wave of emotions. I anticipated  weirdness - perhaps a bit of unease. In the time that I had been away, questions ran rampant in my homesick heart. Had things changed? Would my host family treat me differently when we reunited? Had the angkot routes been modified? Would my favorite martabak sellers still remember me? Could I still handle heaping amounts of the spicy sambal that my school friends devoured? I was worried, to say the least.

But the moment that the wheels of my plane dropped and touched down in Bali on the 1st of December, I abandoned every single concern I had, and relished in knowing that I was finally home. 

On my flight from Sydney to Denpasar I was fortunate enough to meet another girl my age who was traveling to Indonesia for the first time where her “schoolies” friends were patiently waiting. When we touched down at the airport she had an Indonesian driver ready to take her to where her friends were staying. Me on the other hand? I had no idea of where I was going, how I was getting there, or what to make of the humidity that I so foolishly had forgotten about. When I accompanied her to her driver and began conversing in Bahasa, he was clearly stunned, and an enormous smile took to his face. He offered me, a random bule with no plans, a ride to my hostel, and I was once again reminded of the generosity of the Indonesian people.

Whitewater rafting for the first time with a crazy doctor from Perth

I checked into my hostel bedroom - a private all-girl dorm with two bunk-beds and about two extra square feet of walking space. Two minutes later, a platinum blonde girl from Finland checked into the same room. “So, are you traveling alone, too?” And from then on, Mari and I were attached at the hip for the entirety of my ten days on the island. 

Precious encounters like these are the ones I love most

Over the course of ten short days, us two girls had made extraordinary memories. From our first night of dancing until 3:00 am, trekking to Ubud and prancing through the monkey forest, tea tasting, and surfing well past the sunset. We did it all, and then some. And not a moment was wasted. 

Monkeyssss

My time in Bali reaffirmed a few things for me. The first, and debatably most important, is that everyone should stay in a hostel at least once in there lifetime. The sense of international community that is bred behind those walls is unmatchable, and I’ve gained lifelong friends. Rather they be crazy doctors from Perth, or sassy girls from China, friends are awaiting. You just have to go find them.

Me and my soul sister from Finland

At 8:00 am on December 9th, (after approximately fifteen minutes of sleep,) I managed to make my flight to Bandung. I had only 16 days, and I planned to embrace every one. My first day was spent adventuring with Agung in the green mountains of Lembang (surprise, surprise.) And then going home to my host family’s house in the evening. As the warm teh tarik hit my lips at home that night, I embraced the paradoxical feelings that came with. Everything was the same. Everything was different. But I was happy.

Over the course of the next few days I reunited with many old friends. Baya. Pandu. Hilfi. Lidya. Nabila. With each reunion, came more and more smiles. My being quickly succumbed to happiness. Pure, unadulterated, authentic happiness. And to be honest, it had been a while since I had felt that way.

On Tuesday evening, I took off on a trip to Yogyakarta. Baya joined me, and together we took a seven hour night train to the heart of Indonesia’s culture. Our first day we decided to go to my favorite beach; Pantai Kukup. We frolicked in the sand and splashed in the powerful ocean waves, basking in the joy that came from good company and strawberry-flavored Oreos. Just as we were preparing to leave, a ginormous wave came and swept up our bags containing both of our cameras, wallets, iPhones, clothes, shoes. Everything we had that was supposed to be of “value” had quickly been destroyed. But for once in my life, those things didn’t matter. “It’s okay. It’s just stuff.” 

So we lost our ability to take photos for the rest of our time in Jogja, and for the rest of my time in Bandung. But it was okay. Because the memories we created were far too priceless to attempt to capture in a simple photograph. 

Turns out I can't handle spicy foods anymore

After a return to Bandung, the rest of my limited days were spent eating way too much street food, having random jam sessions, exploring Bandung a bit, and getting heaps of Global Politics work done. 

And just as quickly as it had come, my homecoming trip to Indonesia was complete. On Christmas Eve, I made my way to Jakarta for one last final pitstop to meet with Fuadi to deliver raised funds for Komunitas Menara, and then went out for a final dinner with my two closest friends. 

I'll see you soon, beautiful

And now I’m here. Sitting in the airport in Kuala Lumpur. It’s Christmas. And the closest thing I have to family is the Sri Lankan man sitting next to me in this poorly lit Starbuck’s lounge. The tears want to come at the thought of being so close to Indonesia, yet now knowing that it is a thing of the past. But I think there’s a beauty in that. In loving a place so much that you’re moved to tears at the thought of not knowing that there’s an imminent return. That’s love. 

So although this Christmas season may not have been traditional, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Merry Christmas to everyone back home, everyone I’ve met along the way, and everyone that has yet to come. Much love from across the world!

Brandon

Brotha from anotha motha

It's not everyday that I blog. And it's certainly not everyday that I dedicate an entire post to one person. But this one? This one is special. This one had to come out because only once in my lifetime will someone like Brandon Lucante walk into my life and completely tear things up in the most wonderfully exquisite way.

My fellow exchange students and I have often said that that the best part of living abroad is the food. And the majority of the time, I would without hesitation nod in agreement. (Martabak manis, anyone?) Perhaps some would argue that witnessing new traditions first hand is the most stimulating part of living in a foreign land. That feeling completely at home halfway around the world is most rewarding. Or the satisfaction that follows after rewiring your brain with new language pathways. Exchange websites like to highlight the selfie phenomenon and present the multitude of photo ops as the key to living abroad. And all of these things, well, they're all integral. I have experienced all of these wonderful factors of living abroad, and about twenty pages more. I had checked all of the boxes on the proper exchange student checklist. I was complete. I was satisfied. Then I met Brandon. And only then did I realize that I was truly wrong. I had been missing something.

As I stood at the foot of the train station watching from a distance as he wiped a tear before it could fall to the escalator below him, the reality of our goodbye overtook me. My mind took off on a race, trying to grasp how absolute goodbyes can be, while simultaneously clinging to the hope of a tomorrow and forever with Brandon in it. My heart couldn't fathom it, nor could my head to write the proper words. 

So for now I guess I'll just do what we do best. Write. And pray to the author gods that this will suffice. 

"So you're from here, huh?" I beamed as a fellow American had mistaken me for a local and immediately let his remark go straight to my head. I smiled once more with his acceptance of being called Princess, and the smiles haven't stopped since. From eating dinner at tiny, vegan food kitchens, to breaking into the Opera House, or gazing at sexual art in Contemporary Art Museums, I'm grateful for every moment we together have shared. Though they be few in quantity, they are standouts in quality. Even more than the list of memorial moments we have shared in this country, I'm grateful for his laughter, and for my own. It exudes out of me in twenty second increments whenever I find myself in his presence. I'm grateful for the tears that were shed on train station benches as we talked about the big moments of our pasts, and embraced the beautiful ones that have surrounded us over the course of the last few months. I appreciate his heart. His wit. His snappy comebacks that usually top my own. His optimism and resilience. His willingness to be vulnerable while concurrently standing tall. His imagination and passion for written word. I appreciate the combustion of all qualities that make up his being, and it's my hope that I embody a few of them myself. (We often joke that I'm am the female version of him, and vice versa, so I mean, I guess I might have that going for me.)

I marvel at the strange way the universe works, constantly pulling me in directions that I don't quite understand. Events and experiences stacking upon each other, building up to the grand finale. It took crossing an ocean to find each other, but boy, I sure am glad I took that leap. Brandon makes it all so worth it. 

I'll see you on the next leg of the adventure, asshole. 

Real Talk

I'm lost. Completely. Utterly. Thoroughly. Lost. I'm unsure of what way is up, what way is down, and what direction my life is trying to point me in. I laugh at the paradox that has become my life- The mingling sense of pride I have for getting this far sitting beside the lurking feeling of doubt about whether or not I've really done anything meaningful.

Often times I have found myself in situations in which people will say, 

"You are so lucky."
"You have SUCH a good life!"
"Tell me your secret. I want your lifestyle."

The phrases repeat themselves, over and over and over again, getting wrapped and twisted within the hidden corners of my brain and soul. Because the truth is, what no one is able to see is, I don't have my life together. Let me repeat that again: I. Don't. Have. My life together.

Despite what the Instagram posts and tweets allude to, never in my years on this Earth have I been faced with so much uncertainty. One day my mind is in Indonesia, reminiscing on the simple, glory days of mangos and positive company. The next I'm planning my adventures to come and vowing to never look back. To keep moving in fear of what will happen if I stop. What will happen if I "settle down."

I set my heart on seeing the world but crave being a stone's throw away from my family. I relish in packing my suitcase but despise having to unpack the memories when I get home. I have about fifty college majors looming over my head but can't settle on just one. I want to have the "college experience" but I also want the "real-world" experience of sharing stories and cultures. One day I want to study. And graduate. And make my way to the top and become the next Secretary of State. The next I just want to sleep. Cry. And let myself be completely engulfed by the lack of control I have over where I will end up. I continue to push myself to be as uncomfortable as possible, while simultaneously begging for normality. There are days when I feel like I can conquer all peaks, and days when I feel like I can't pick up my feet. 

This current path I'm walking, (more like crawling down,) is hard. Harder than I thought it would be. It's dark. It's windy. And it's ruthless. I am lost. But I think that I'm lost in the right direction. And for now, that's enough for me. 

A Story

I had a good weekend.

Not just a good weekend. But rather, the kind of weekend where when I returned home late Sunday evening and quietly pressed my bedroom door closed, I felt obliged to take to my journal to write about the unexpected joys that I had experienced over the course of the short three days in fear of letting any of the fresh memories fade. I had a good weekend.

Sand-boarding over Australia's renowned wandering dunes. Climbing sandy peaks that produce seemingly infinite views of "the bush." Eating sand by the mouth full and still bearing a wide, gritty smile. Prancing on the beach as a morning storm rolls overhead. Trekking into the ocean waters in pursuit of mother whales and their babies. Being enchanted by the boundless openness of rolling waves while simultaneously attempting to dance to Taylor Swift. Hearing first-hand accounts of World War Two stories on Australian turf. Flirting with baby koalas and inquiring about their habitats. Patting kangaroos as I would my own puppy back home. Passing a football on the shore at sunset while children raced towards the last sunlit waves. Falling in love with this world and every human, animal, plant, and water source in it. All of this, and so much more.

I had a good weekend. And the goodness, the simpleness, the absolute best parts- those can't be captured in a photo collage. Those can't be put into words in a short blog post. The quiet conversations that were shared as we drove from place to place. The way the sun warmed the top of my head under my new hat. The gentle reminders of why I'm here, of why I am right where I am supposed to be. The lightbulb that went off in my head when I connected real life events to what I'm studying in Elemental Geosystems and Global Politics. My new thirst to learn. None of these things can be captured quite right, but I sure am a lucky gal to have experienced them.

I had a good weekend.

Struttin' Unda the Sydney Sun

"All I know for sure is that I'm ready. I'm ready for this adventure and I'm ready for my life to change." These were the last words of my first blogpost prior to my first solo extravaganza to the other side of the world.

And these were the words I wrote in my journal just days ago before departing once again. "A new journey is starting has started. And boy, things are so great. Nothing is close to how I imagined it would be this time last year but, now that I'm here, I wouldn't have it any other way. And you know, before I went to my little country of islands, I wasn't this way. I was always dreaming, hoping, wishing for better. I craved leaving and being on my own and taking cool selfies in cool places. But now? Now I'm content STOKED to be right where I am, wherever that may be. Because it turns out, no matter where in this world I may find myself, I am still SO LOVED. I am loved by the most empowering, uplifting, beautiful, humbling people this life has to offer. And it's for that reason that I'm not a bit fearful to leave again for a year. Love is powerful. It spans oceans, suburbs, Indonesian macet, jungles, and multiple plot lines all the way to ME. Life is good STUPENDOUS."

For those of you who had thought that my days of crazy, sporadic adventuring were over, I have BIG news. They're not. In fact, they are far, far from it. As my time in Indonesia was winding down, I couldn't help but dread the impending days of college lecture halls, tasteless cafeteria food, and unengaged learning. If there is one thing I realized in Indonesia, it's that I thrive in an environment where I am constantly stimulated by new and exciting, constantly surrounded by an abundance interesting humans to learn from. And that, ladies and gentlemen is what brings me here today... To Sydney Australia. The Land down unda.

THIS is my lecture hall.

Two weeks ago I stepped foot on the continent that to be honest, I never pictured I would be standing on. I was fortunate enough to have found a fantastic family to au pair for right in the heart of Sydney (the term au pair essentially means "international nanny.) I live with them in their fabulous home and have access to my own bedroom AND bathroom in exchange for helping out with their two little girls- both of whom have quickly stolen my heart. The girls go to school during the day, so I have an abundance of free time to explore, make friends, surf, and get my course work done. Don't worry, folks. I am keeping up with the college grind and getting my core credits out of the way through BYU's unmatchable online program. 

I found this piece of art in one of my textbooks. Then I went
and found it in Sydney's Museum of Contemporary Art.
This is how learning is supposed to be done.

My first sixteen days in Sydney have ironically been a quiet whirlwind. I moved in with a new family I had never met before with values and habits different from my own. I have had to make friends, this time without an exchange school or group of other exchange students to tackle the challenge with. I have had to navigate my way around a city boasting a population of 4.5 million people and figure out trains, busses, ferries, and light rails. And the craziest part isn't the fact that I have had to do any of these things. The craziest part is that this all feels normal. After a year in Indonesia, anything is seemingly possible. And I no longer fear the unknown. I'm not sure what this round of adventure has in store for me, and I'm not sure where I'll be this time next year. My naive, pre-Indonesia self said it best. "All I know for sure is that I'm ready. I'm ready for this adventure and I'm ready for my life to change."

Some Parting Words

"The end of a journey is the beginning of another."

Elementary school teachers stressed that all stories must be composed of three parts: A beginning, a middle, and best of all, an end. For my 10-year-old self, writing the endings of stories was the most satisfying component of the writing process. I mean, the work was finally over and the story could be shared and enjoyed in its entirety. All stories finished. All characters ceased to exist. And all plot lines commenced. 

So perhaps it’s for these reasons that I have procrastinated the last two months in writing the end of my Indonesian story. 

I graduated from high school in a language that just last year, I couldn’t speak a word of. I performed a mashup of American cheerleading and traditional Jaipong all while rocking traditional, purple kebaya. Empowerment washed over me as I surfed on some of the most famous waves in the world and witnessed the melting pot of culture in Bali. I fasted with my host family and observed the holy month of Ramadan. I volunteered with an English teaching language initiative. I awoke before dawn to catch the world cup games with my host father. I created my own fireworks show with my friends on a mountain top and celebrated my last night in Bandung. I fed bananas to the vacuum-like trunks of elephants. I frolicked in tea plantations and tried to keep a smile through the 347 goodbyes I faced. I paraded on Capital Hill with my exchange comrades and shared our stories with US Senators and Evan Ryan. 

With a story this good, how could I possibly wrap it up? 

The truth is... I can’t. I simply can’t wrap up a years worth of smiles and compassion and adventure and lessons into a few short paragraphs. And for now, I don’t think that I want to. Indonesia has left an imprint. The story will continue. And I will return sooner than later. Thank you to everyone who has supported me on this journey, and encouraged me to keep the adventure alive. I couldn’t do it without you all! Sampai juga lagi! 

Street Food For Da Win

If one was to Google the most popular foods of Indonesia, the usual list to come up would have to be:

1. Nasi Goreng: Indonesian fried rice. This varies from city to city, but I can promise that it’s nothing like the greasy fried rice you can pick up from your local Panda Express. Nasi goreng from Indonesia is rich in spices, chiles, and can also include different options of protein such as chicken, fried egg, Indonesian sausage, seafood, or even rabbit. 

   

   Typical Nasi Goreng

2. Rendang: Rendang hails from the island of Sumatra which fortunately for me, is the island that my host dad is from. This dish is comprised of coconut milk, garlice, lemon grass, tender beef, and a slew of chiles depending on who’s cooking. The cook time for this dish can take up to twelve hours, but the effort pays off. CNN has named it the best food in the world.
3. Sambal: Samabl, in short, is a dish of ground chiles, garlic, onion, salt, pepper, and whatever other spices the chef is in the mood for throwing in, but emphasis on the chiles. Indonesians slather the spicy sambal onto nearly every dish they eat, and no two sambal concoctions are ever the same. Beware. A little bit goes a long way.

While all of these foods are staples in the diets of many Indonesians, what the Google lists of Indonesian foods often fail to mention are the uncommon local street food inventions that the common people have created. Without trying some of these delicacies, the list of popular Indonesian foods wouldn’t be complete. So without further ado, here are some of my personal favorites that can be found on the streets of Bandung. 

Lumpia Basah

 Number one on the list of favorite street foods is my all time favorite, lumpia basah. Lumpia basah is essentially the Indonesian equivalent of a burrito, except it’s fifty million times better. The chef will first throw some baby bamboo shoots, bean sprouts, and a whole egg into a wok and drown it in oil. They’ll ask if you want it spicy, but I don’t usually say yes unless I want my mouth to cry for a few hours. While that’s cooking in the wok, the chef will then make a crepe-like shell on a piping hot plate. I always find myself impressed with the precision and perfection of the chef’s skilled hands that never fails to make a perfectly circular shell, browned, but still soft on the outside. After just a few seconds on the hot plate, the chef slathers the shell in a sweet, peanuty-tasting sauce whose ingredients, despite my attempt to get them out of the street vendor, won’t be revealed to me. After a little more than a minute, the ingredients from the wok are dumped onto the sauce-drenched shell and rolled up into a banana leaf like a burrito.You can get lumpia basah for US $0.60.

Soto Ayam

My next favorite street food in Bandung would have to be soto ayam. Soto ayam is made from time to time in my home, but I have found that it tastes best when slurped under a tarp in the torrential rain. Soto ayam is essentially soup. For those that know me well, you know that I don’t do soup under any circumstances. But the Indonesians have a special flare with coconut milk, chicken, chilies, cabbage, stringy vegetables, and lime. Best served hot and, of course, with a bowl of rice on the side. This one will cost no more than $1. 

Martabak Manis

My final absolute favorite is martabak manis. Martabak has been compared to American pancakes but I think the only thing they have in common is their fat content and sugar. Martabak hails in the street food world, and only few are able to execute it well. Cooks start with a few cups of batter made from flour, sugar, vanilla, and plenty of eggs to make the end result nice and fluffy. The reason that martabak isn’t made in the home is because it requires a special pan and a source of high heat. Most vendors cook their martabak right over hot coals. After cooking in the special pan, you’re left with a large, circular slab of “Indonesian pancake” which is then drenched in condensed milk and whatever other toppings you choose. My personal favorite is shredded, white, cheddar cheese. (Side note: Indonesians have this strange obsession with canned, condensed milk and it’s literally put on every desert or sweet food in this country, whether it be banana cheese or a glass of chocolate Milo.) You can get a box of martabak enough for three people for no more than $2.50. 

Bonus Round:

1. Makaroni Basah: Super spicy macaroni thrown in a wok and fried with egg $0.50

2. Keju Aroma: Literally translates to “cheese smell” but it’s actually thin strips of cheese fried in a sweet batter 5 pieces/$0.50

3. Es Kelapa Jeruk: Fresh coconut water and fresh orange juice swirled together. BEst if sipped directly from the coconut $0.75

4. Mie Ayam: Shredded chicken, noodles, a sweet sauce, assorted green vegetables, and some spicy broth $0.80

5. Kolgo: I don’t like cabbage but, I devour it when it’s fried 1 plate/$0.10 

6. Buah Segar: Fresh fruit straight from the fields and trees. My favorites are melon, mangos, papaya, oranges, baby bananas and snake fruit.