Indonesia

German students visit

SMA Santa Maria Della Strada

The Junior High/High School where I employed my most useful skill (to Indonesians, anyway): fluency in English.

Transportation

Jakarta

Crowded to the hilt, people Jakartaresidents squeeze life into wherever it will fit (and then some places where it doesn't). Poverty walks in front of my hosts' kitchen in the form of vendors, hawking food or wares or skills. Each man caries a yolk or pushes a cart, all the while making a sound—ringing a bell or playing a recording or calling a word—a sound locals know to associate with a particular product or service. One need only to poke one's head out the front door, clap, and then bargain the wizened vendor down to a sale. But perhaps these small entrepreneurial ventures are a sign of self-improvement, of a class that may be poor but that nonetheless knows how to help itself. There is still the trash lining the streets, the starving cats, and the sewage to worry about. And all the people too poor to get out. Maybe one should be concerned abut what one doesn't see. 

A Princess Dies

All these proceedings took place in preparation for the funeral of a Balinese princess. The entire stature of a calf will be burned, as will the structure that's still in scaffolding in these pictures. Talk about a devoted people!

A bit from Bali

I spent a weekend in the island of Bali, the Indonesian equivalent to our American Hawaii. Needless to say, I was not the only "bule"—white person—making the tourists' rounds.

Surfaces of Bali

Ibu Nevi's

You try teaching basic English to energetic Indonesian twelve-year-olds in Indonesian, a language you barely speak yourself. Makes Middle East peace negotiantions sond easy. Also take a look at the art of Richard, painter and sculptor; and Ibu Nevi herself.

Sawa

A rice paddy in Bali.

Travel

By car and then train to Chicago, and then five hours on Southwest to San Francsico. There, a breif stop at a relitave's house before boarding China Airlines. Next, Twelve hours to Taipei, where I wander the terminals for two hours in seach of food (unsucessfully!). One last flight—five hours to Jakarta. Polish of the adventure with a drive in a signaiture Jakarta traffic jam on what feels like the wrong side of the street. At last: arrive at my home for the week.