Outbound

So I had a fantastic day in Jakarta! It is so nice to be in a city where there is so much to do and see. Our good friend Morgan tried to set up a hiking trip for our weekend, but unfortunately due to the holiday (lebaron) the trains were all booked and it would have cost us a fortune to rent a car, so we opted to cut our losses and stay in the city. Luckily Morgan had something up his sleeve that was almost as good as the great outdoors. We headed to an obstacle course in Ancol to complete some serious exercise. We opted  to complete the highest obstacle course first (since I made the mistake of telling Morgan I was afraid of heights.) The men at outbound tightened our harnesses for us as they flirted, asked if we were single, and mentioned they were cute, and we were beautiful. I also learned that apparently in Indonesia they wear wedding rings on the right hand, which would mean that I've had a wedding ring on since I arrived. The men did a bit of safety training, and we climbed onto the climbing wall. Once we reached the top we zip lined across to the next obstacle. I was a bit nervous about the zip-lining to begin with, but by the time the day was over I was zip-lining pro. What an adrenaline rush of pure joy! After climbing the cargo net to the highest point (I wasn't even nervous) we had the longest zip line. While the first worker went he said "Tiara, I love yoooooooouuuuuuu!" I laughed and laughed, and once I was left with the other worker he reminded me that his friend was single and liked me and thought I was beautiful. Thank you, but I already knew that. Not interested.

Once we completed the first course, consisting of a tight rope walk, a ladder climb over the street (the worst part) and a final zip line, we took a quick water break before deciding which course to complete next. We wanted to do the extreme one, but after Angie and Morgan attempted the first portion of it and were in severe pain we opted to do a different course instead. This one we were allowed to go on by ourselves with the workers screaming directions at us from down below. I was very nervous for the stand zip line, and I'm not sure why because it wasn't even a big deal. After we had finished the 2nd course we were getting hungry, but we really wanted to take the gondola ride around the park, which we were told would be quick. We fed some crazy large fish, got to pet and feed some deer, and we got to see chimps eating bananas. There is nature in this city, and I am planning on enjoying it as much as I can! Our afternoon concluded with lunch at A&W on the boardwalk, which included my first viewing of the Java sea and a milkshake. I'm never going to keep this weight off....

Wish I had pictures but I was unwilling to take the camera on the obstacle course with me.

Where?

Where is the sadness and heartache? Where the hell is my confusion and fear? Where is my desire and longing? Where is my homesickness? I'm confused. Why is it that waiting a year or more to see the people I love doesn't seem that bad?

I thought this whole living abroad thing was supposed to be some kind of thriller, but so far I feel like it is just my life. Nowadays I can listen to a whole Ryan Adams album without crying. When did I become a whole person, with a full beating heart? Will she stick around? I sure hope so.

For the Love of Harmonica

After a long day at work today I headed to the gym. After remembering that the summer party at the Larvae Lounge was this weekend I decided to put on on the roses. For those of you who have no idea let me clue you in. The roses is a mix my brother and his friends created back home, based on meticulous requirements. It consisted mainly of old song by very well known song writers, mostly songs about heartbreak. Back in Albania I couldn't get through more than 3 songs on the playlist without crying. It made me more homesick than anything. Tonight, I listened to at least 7 and didn't feel sad. sure, it makes me miss my 3B's: My beer, my boys, and my live bands, but overall I still managed to smile through my workout. Then I realized why a girl needs whiskey:

So she can quit analyzing the lyrics, and trying to find some sort of meaning in them. She needs to stop feeling like the song was written for her. She needs to stop analyzing the past, stop contemplating the questions of the present, and stop wondering about the future. Whiskey allows her to drown out the lyrics and let the simple melody fill her soul with the feeling that everything will be alright, and all she has to do is live. And maybe dance.

I need some harmonica in my life. This song took me back to my brothers wonderful piano version in Switzerland. There is just something about it. 

Weekend Exploration #1

One of the ex-pat teachers from the Philippines agreed to take us out last weekend to explore the city a bit. The executive principal at our school offered us a school car and driver to take us around for the day. We (Me, Angelique, Ruby, Chris, and Harry (a native Indonesian teacher)) started the day out by meeting at 9:00 to head to Monas. Mo stands for Monument and nas for national, therefore Monas is the national monument of Indonesia, representing their independence. After walking around for about 15 minutes we were finally able to find the entrance, and Harry purchased our tickets for us to get in. Sweating to an intense amount we waited for about an hour in line to get into the lift and head to the top of the monument. There we were able to look out over the city and the smog, as Harry pointed out various buildings in the distance. After a 15 minute exploration we took the elevator down and walked out to find our car. On the way we paused to look at a monkey riding a bike around. Sadly the monkey fell off the bike and was being treated very rudely by his owners. I almost wanted to cry.

Monas

At the top of the monument

Our next stop was Masjid Istiqlal, the third biggest mosque in the world, and the biggest mosque in southeast asia. Upon entering we were shown where to place our shoes and were handed some robes to wear to cover more of our skin. The man showed us the biggest area of the mosque and pointed out the line dividing the males and females. Throughout this experience Harry told us a lot about the history of the religion especially in the case of Indonesia. He also took us around the outside to show us where they have students study the Quran, and he let us touch the drum they bang prior to the call to prayer.

Masjid Istaqlal

Exploring the mosque

By this time it was 1:00 so we headed to old town Jakarta to visit a famous cafe and walk through the puppet museum. The cafe was covered with pictures of famous people and apparently they have jazz night every Tuesday. It might be something to look into, although, it was full of white "boleh" which I wasn't a fan of. I want to see the culture, with people who know the culture! I have to get working on this soon.

After the cafe we headed to the puppet museum, Museum Wayang. The majority of the puppets were made from buffalo skin, and Harry (my wonderful Indonesian friend) informed me that Indonesia is the one country Islam wasn't brought to via war. It was actually spread with puppets, which I find to be very interesting. The puppets were both gorgeous, and ugly, and the detail was so intricate that I could have stared at many of them for hours and not seen all the beauty.

creepy puppets. Sadly I noticed we weren't supposed to take pictures after I took this.

Our last stop with Chris was at Plaza Indonesia. We were taken there to shop, however none of the stores were to our liking, since they consisted of brand names, and semi pricy off-brand items. After walking through all the floors we decided to stop for some ice cream. Some wine ice cream. Chocolate merlot wine ice cream, which was tasty and satisfying. After this we headed home, getting stuck in traffic (the norm) on the way home. As soon as we entered our door Morgan texted us that he was in need of some company so we headed out to join him for a drink at Liquid Exchange before heading to Kemung for the evening.

We were told that Kemung is a popular ex-pat hang out and that we would be able to show off our shoulders and knees. This made me sad that I didn't bring many "going out" clothing, however I was able to wear my spaghetti strap dress without worrying about covering my shoulders with a jacket.

Morgan took us to a bar called Cowboys, for some drinks and some dinner. Upon walking in I immediately noticed they were playing the band and got far too excited about it. I jinxed it. What came next was Rihanna and a lot of popular music :( We sang, we danced, and we laughed, and when cowboys closed we headed to another bar to finish off the evening with me and Ruby playing an hour long game of pool, and drinking some "gemison" as they call it in Ireland. We fell out of the taxi as we arrived in front of our apartment building, and were followed by the guard until we reached the lift. It was a successful exploration day to say the least.

First day of P1 :)

 "Only about 11 hours! That's not too bad!" I exclaimed to my fellow expat teachers as I punched out of work. This is the life of a teacher. I consider the fact that my working day was 11 hours with one 10 minute break to eat, (to which I responded to multiple cries of "Miss! Miss!" from students) and one 5 minute break to chug 12 ounces of water and pee, a "not too bad" day. 

It was okay. I say okay because no first day is perfect, because no day as a teacher can go perfectly as planned. I say okay because prior to 4:00 on Friday I had 13 students, and this morning my alarm began blaring annoying music at me at 4:45am.  I had to finish preparing for the total of 18 that would show up. 

I had 2 criers and one screamer. I asked them all at the end of the day if they were excited to come back, and they responded with a very positive yes. 

Now lets talk about the joys of working at a school located in a high rise building. I spent far too much time waiting for elevators, and in elevators. So much so, that the very brightly sounding jingle for the advertisement on the screen of the elevator is currently stuck in my head, and will be engraved there forever. Trying to mangle 18 students into an elevator in an orderly fashion is nearly impossible, but I think my students are getting the hang of it little by little. At one point I was waiting to take my slow eaters upstairs for playtime in the gym, and I think we waited about 8 minutes for the elevator to come. What a waste of learning time! My partner teacher informed me that I should plan for 10 minute passing periods before and after specials, which means that on Tuesdays I only get a 20 minute English period! What?!

Immediately after shuffling the rascals off to their parents I attended a staff meeting, where I was overwhelmed by more information about after school programs, the work notebooks (there are 7 that we have to fill by the end of the year,) deadlines for testing, deadlines for materials lists, and preparations for parents night. I stayed another hour and forced myself to leave. My fellow ex-pat teachers were also drained. As I told them about my "not too bad" 11 hour day one declared, "I'm not going to the gym." The other agreed. "I'm going. I need to go." I responded.

Thanks iPod, thanks top 25 list, and thank you elliptical for a great workout and a fantastic outlook on life. I whispered lyrics, slid my feet around in poor dancing fashion, and used the handlebars as a drum. My brother kept playing this song when I was home, and I've always loved it, but today something about it felt different. Like I really meant it in some way. 

We won't mention that I didn't include the hour of work I did at home in my 11 hour day. Here's to tomorrow being just as chaotic, stressful, and wonderful! I love being a teacher. Am I crazy?

Like a P1 student

As a teacher, I find that learning another language can be a great experience to allow you to understand the process their brain must go through. Similarly, converting currencies can be quite the math task.

I sit in a bank. I'm asked to figure out my yearly salary in Rupiah. Take the USD, multiply by 12, and multiply by 10,000. I look at the number and cannot read it. I try to count zeros, and finally give up and hand my phone to the HR rep. 

I've studied some Bahasa (Indonesian language) and I know a lot of random words. Staring at the signs above me I can see the word saya, bisa, along with two others. Post sentence there is a set of elipsis, followed by many different pictures: A couple in front of a house, a man with boxes and building plans, a young child wearing a cap and gown, and older couple with grey hair. I try to assess what the statement says. I know that saya is I. Bisa I know in the context of "Anda bisa bicara Inggris." Which means "Can you speak english?" Perhaps the statement is "I can..." 

Here I sit as a teacher using my sight words and context clues, doing math that is far to difficult for me. I remind myself that this is what it must be like to be a P1 student, and vow to tell the students the story so that they can see my understanding of their difficulty. 

Assessment: Stress

I sit in a meeting about our assessment procedures, 3 days into work. My mind begins to wander and I'm purely overwhelmed with resources, information, spaces, and faces. I long for something, anything familiar. And so it begins. The homesickness I knew would come eventually. What do I crave? A hug. Just one to make me feel something recognizable in the stream of confusion I’m drowning in.

My mind drifts back to home. I think about the wonderful time I was allowed to spend there. Hearing the music of the live concerts, smelling hops, I remember the final hug I got from my brother, tight and genuine. Then I tear up. It is too painful, so I pull myself back to the meeting. Assessment binders: to compile all of our tests in one easy access area for future reference.  More information to remember.

I can feel my mothers’ arms around me. Embracing me each night before I go to bed, reminding me that this is what we missed the most. At the time I was even slightly annoyed. But why? I miss it too, now. “Feel the hugs!!!” she reminds me with every single e-mail. And I can feel them now. But these ones are empty, and cold, and all I want is the warmth of an embrace.

I think about how lucky I am to have people in my life who even give me hugs. I consider it a privilege that I cannot count my goodbye hugs on my fingers. I remember that as I grew closer to my Tirana family their embraces, and words of encouragement seemed to suffice to make me feel better. I’m so much stronger now that I was a week into my time in Tirana, and that eases the desire a bit. There is so much to look forward to, so many new experiences to have, so many things I must do before I can miss home.

I yank myself back to the meeting. I won’t go down this easy. Assessment portfolios. I gottcha. This isn't homesickness. This is simply stress. 

If I Ever Write a Book

All of last year people kept mentioning that I should write a book. Now let’s be realistic, I don’t consider myself that great of a writer. I use the same boring ,words, my grammar is crap and I have more typos than many of my students probably would. But if I ever did write a book I have finally thought of a title for it.

“So You Think the Cheese and Beer is Bad in                         ?”

So you thought the cheese and beer was bad in Albania? My first sip of milk from my cereal bowl had to be spit out. The so-called “plain” yogurt was extremely sweet. I splurged on what I assumed to be the good gouda in the store (because it cost way more) and it is still processed disgusting cheese. Take me back to Europe. I’ll take the brie, fresh mozzarella, and parmesan over this. I think it is safe to say my days of consuming vast amounts of dairy are over. When I was back in Wisconsin my stomach couldn’t even handle an ice cream cone, or a few slices of cheese. With the exception of putting yogurt in my smoothies (I will continue to search for a decent kind) I don’t think I’ll be eating much dairy at all.

Beer-wise, I get pilsners. I’m trying not to get too disappointed on this one yet.  I've seen some decent beer listed, but it is all very expensive. I'm already angry at myself for thinking the beer in Albania was bad. It took me a few months to find good beer in Albania, so I still have hopes. I saw some stout in the store, I purchased each of the kinds, and they are each the worst stouts I’ve ever had. Nothing will compare to you, oh glorious IPA, or to you, Midwest coffee/chocolate stouts.

My goal for this blog was to be more optimistic and happy, and less homesick. So here goes. The great thing about Indonesia is that there is a ton of delicious fruit to try, and I have a blender. All the fruit is also very inexpensive in comparison to American prices, which will hopefully make it fairly easy to eat healthy. Oats for breakfast, canteen for lunch, smoothie for dinner, is the ultimate plan. Angelique has agreed to help me learn to pick out good fruit, if I in turn teach her how to like beer. Lucky for her the thing she dislikes the most about beer is the bitter taste. Pilsners are perfect.

Another good thing about being here: Rumor has it I’m like a model here because I have 4 of the 4 things people look for. Firstly I have white skin. Then I have what is called a “tall nose” meaning that my nose is long and pointy instead of flat to my face. 3^rd I have blue eyes, and lastly I have blond hair.

Today we went out to lunch with some other people from the school and I met an expat who is very involved in Inter-nations. He has already suggested a trip to the Islands next weekend. I'm psyched to hopefully remain friends with him so that I can continue to meet others ex-pats. I had some curry that cost me a total of $2.20, which was less than my ice tea cost me. Insane. It was incredible! Then we went out for coffee and continued to talk about the school with the preschool teachers. They all seem really nice and I'm happy to be making friends with both ex-pats and locals :)

So there is my complaining, and my optimism.

My Independence Day

So I spent my second day getting acquainted with the other teachers, shopping for various items for the apartment, and organizing. So far everything is going really well, and I feel like I’m adjusting much better than I did in Albania. Having a roommate helps a lot. We met another teacher who has been here for 2 years and he has given us some awesome tips. He also told me that I have to redeem the American name, because apparently the Americans last year judged Indonesian culture a lot. Everyone here is so friendly and I can’t imagine not loving my time here.

Everything I need is in my building (except for some shopping.) Seriously. I have a pool, gym, small mini-market, laundry service, maintenance service, cantine, and super nice fancy restaurant. Now if I could just get my internet in my apartment to work. Also, the school is pretty much directly next to my apartment. It takes me about 5 minutes to get there. I go down the elevator, walk through a hallway and go up another elevator. I can’t see a reason to ever leave (other than to grab a drink.) I’ve already seen some stout in the stores, but haven’t purchased any yet.

Today is July 4^th and today I started work. We spent the morning doing training in the Mathematics curriculum, doing the first steps to get our computers set up, and made a trip to immigration to complete the necessary steps for our work permits. I got to meet the rest of the primary ex-pat staff, and I found out, to my pleasant surprise, that I will be teaching grade 1 instead of grade 2. Apparently the grade 1 class is the biggest. Currently there are 15 students registered and they expect to have 20 by the end of the year. I will have my hands full. On Monday I get to meet my partner teacher. I’m psyched to be getting some training and explanations of the expectations prior to starting. Tomorrow we get to go over the English portion of the curriculum and we get to finish looking at math stuff.

This evening we were treated to dinner, by the director of our program. It was a wonderful combination of Indonesian and European dishes. We had some fried potatoes, calamari, rice wrapped in banana leaves, creamy fried onion soup, fish with red peppers, 2 kinds of chicken, ribs, a delicious salad made from papaya flowers and desserts. The first dessert was like an apple pie. The second one was like a bubble gum flavored slushy in a bowl with gummies in it. It was disgusting and I nearly threw up. They also added American flags to the centerpieces to help me celebrate Independence Day.

We were warned against using the tap water for anything. Unfortunately, we have been brushing our teeth an washing our fruit with it. Here is to hoping nothing bad happens.

I’m looking forward to a weekend of exploring and getting out of this area, and hopefully getting my internet set up so I can really catch up with people.

Wherever you go, There you are

Saying goodbye at the airport. A little bit of the same as last time. Hugs and tears, and confused faces from my niece and nephew. K understands. She’s done this before. Q is just sick of me giving him hugs and kisses, and he is need of a nap from waking up extra early. Milwaukee to Chicago is short, and I easily find my gate in Chicago. Of course I have a window seat. I can never decide what is better, being in aisle so I can get up whenever I want, or being in a widow seat so I can lean my head against something. Luckily I’m sitting next to an older Chinese couple, They get up about every other hour to pee and I just follow their lead. I watch the flight time decrease. It doesn’t seem to be going anywhere until I finally sleep for 3 hours.

After a 15 hour flight to Hong Kong, I arrived in my line to get my boarding pass for my final flight. I finally get to the desk, an hour before my flight leaves. After looking at my visa the lady informs me that I may have to purchase a return ticket upon arrival in Indonesia. I try not to panic. It’s fine. When I applied they told me I didn’t need one. And so it goes. I have a credit card, I have some cash, it will all be fine, I tell her. Lines at security and I’m supposed to be on my flight in 20 minutes. According to the map it takes 20 minutes to get to my gate. So it goes. I get through, run to my gate, stopping to pee on the way. In the bathroom I cry. Just a little. I already don’t know why I’m doing this. I miss English. I miss my family. I want a hug from my mom. I want an IPA.

Boarding. I’m behind a family of 4. One little girl looks bigger than my niece, but is potentially the same age. She whines that she doesn’t want to walk. I miss my family more. No one has blonde hair. No one has while skin. I want to go home. I find my seat. After 5 minutes 2 other American girls sit down next to me and introduce themselves, They are visiting their friends who just got done teaching in Jakarta for a year. Apparently they were transferred from Vietnam, and fell in love with Indonesia. They had a blast. My faith is semi-restored. They offer me a green tea kit-kat. It is delicious. My faith is restored more. I’m exhausted. The plane leaves 30 minutes late. I pass the time filling out the customs forms, praying I can just make it to the apartment and sleep. I pick at my chicken and rice. I gulp down two glasses of red wine and take a 30 minute wine nap.

I arrive in Jakarta and step off the plane. Instantly I’m blown away by how humid it is. My lungs fill with the dampness and I can’t breath. I regret my lack of appreciation for the clean, dry breathable air of Minneapolis. After getting in the wrong line and finally asking a policeman, I figure out where I need to go for customs. The man behind the counter takes a look at my passport, looks at me and immediately comments that he is also 23. He repeats my address out loud several times, trying to memorize it. “Can I come visit you sometime?” he asks me. My mind is blown. Is the customs officer really flirting with me? He asks me if I plan on traveling eyeing my hiking pack up and down. I respond by saying I’m very excited to explore the country. Baggage claim is crowded, but eventually I find my bags. Success! They both made it! I hurry through the second customs check, and they don’t even have me put my bags through security, just my handbag. I exchange money. I feel rich as I’m handed bills with 5000 written on them in exchange for my $120 USD. I find the girls who are waiting to pick me, among traffic and chaos, as multiple taxi drivers ask me where I’m going and offer me rides. The driver finds us and packs my bags in the trunk. I try to carry on the conversation started, but I’m exhausted. I watch the street and the city, taking note of the things that make this city better than the last one. Signs on the interstate, lines on the interstate, pedestrian overpasses on the main streets, an A&W, far less trash on the streets, recycling bins. The only similarities I can see so far is the smog that hangs over the buildings, and one small vendor selling cigarettes on the street corner. Suddenly I notice we aren’t on the right side of the street. But neither are the other cars. I’m confused and way over tired. They tell me one other teacher has arrived. Ruby from Ireland. Stephan from Belgium and Angelique (Angie) from South Africa (my roommate) will arrive tomorrow morning and afternoon.

I’m told we are getting close. I take note of the surroundings, trying to establish myself enough so I can explore. Places to eat are pointed out. Among them a bakery, a noodle place, and a McDonalds. That’s right. A McDonalds, right down my street. The building is tall, 25 stories high and I can see the school, located right in the bottom of it. This is going to be quite the adjustment. I walk in the main entrance and everything looks fancy, like a nice hotel. There is a security guard, and a pond with water flowing over rocks. Through the doors I can see a swimming pool. We turn the corner, and there is an unfinished portion of the building. Just cement. I take note of the floor and the room number as I enter my apartment. It is partially my style, partially not, but enough so that I will be able to live with it. I sign the waivers, receive my key and access card, and begin to work on setting up my room. Why am I doing this? It’s 1:00am. I become frustrated with trying to organize. I need more hangers, I need a few extra drawers or a shelf. I need hooks to hang things, and picture frames to decorate with. No, I need to go to bed.

I decide it is time to shower. Having no idea which side is hot and which side it cold, I hop in. I don’t even care. Once the hot water begins to pour out I do care. I need a cold shower. I feel as though I will never ever stop sweating. I freak out because I forgot to check for spiders before I got in. Short and done. I need to go to bed but I just want to write. So I write and I worry about using the toilet, reminding myself to always check for spiders. It’s 2:30am. I need to sleep.

I brush my teeth, almost forgetting that the water isn’t drinkable, I’m sure to spit it all out, and to wipe my mouth out. I crawl into bed, hoping to god for some kind of salvation from the jet lag I know will haunt me for the next 2 weeks. I’m wide awake

4 hours later I awake, to a very bright room. It is instantaneous. From darkness to light. It is as if the sun rises in about 10 seconds. I consider moving to the other of the two rooms because there are less windows, but I really like the long window and the bigger bed for purposes of when people visit. I get up and take an IB profen. My head is pounding, and I have no energy to deal with it. I heat water in the microwave and mix some of the instant coffee they left me. I eat cornflakes and milk, and can hardly keep it down. The milk is sweet, and so is the coffee, but my tummy is empty, and gurgling. I eat slow and combine the sweetness with sips of cold water. The apartment finally feels cool enough to put on clothes. I turn the air down 2 degrees Celsius, and dress in a hiking shirt and my longest pair of sleeping shorts.

Outside looks nothing like it did last night, other than the smog that still hangs over the buildings. I notice more trash on the streets. I notice a pack of dogs in the streets. I notice a gypsy village in the distance and people collecting trash. I notice unfinished buildings. I notice the mosques. It looks like Tirana, but with more trees. There is a block long park next to me, covered in green. Thank god there is more green here.

I explore the apartment, mapping out an organization plan. I find a second toilet, that I didn’t know existed. I already need to sweep, but there is no broom. I begin a list of things to get when I’m at the mall. They mentioned something about a mall trip once everyone has arrived. I soon begin on the rest of organizing my closet and room, and continue to add to the list. I need so much. I want this place to feel like home, because it will be for the next 2 years.

I desire internet, anything to help me check in with the real world. I want to tell my mom I arrived safely. I want to explore, but don’t want to do it on my own. Where is my sense of exploration? I want to be here in case anyone comes, and I’m able to make a connection of any sort. I consider a nap. It is too bright, and then all of the sudden it is pouring rain. 30 minutes later it is sunny again. I spend the day in the apartment, fearful of getting lost without a map or phone. I convince myself that I can explore tomorrow, but deep down I’m disappointed in my fear and inability to just do it on my own. I don't want to feel lost. I read Beyond the Sky and the Earth by Jamie Zeppa. "Wherever you go, There you are." I'm here.