Dinner and International Monopoly

It is an appropriate parallel that my second entry on this blog, like my first, should revolve around an invitation to dinner. Last Friday, July 29^th, was one of the better days of the camp. The lesson my team taught was about peace, and we did a little activity wherein we passed out index cards to each student, asking them to illustrate the first idea that came to their head with the word “peace.” Responses varied from the 1960s peace sign (often humorously missketched as the Mercedes Benz logo!) to people of different races holding hands. It was a very productive and probing exercise each time we did it with a class, asking why they considered peace a reasonable goal and why they drew what they did.

Dinner that evening was with a family whose two teenagers, twins, were both students at the camp, and the guests were myself and three fellow interns, one each from Tajikistan, the Czech Republic, and Sudan. After a forty-minute bus ride to the other side of the bay that Izmit wraps around – the destination being the town of Gölcük – we arrived, and dinner began. After I had lost my debit card to an ATM in Cappadocia the week before, I with my limited cash had spent very little on food and this dinner seemed even more of a feast for my inadvertent fasting; however, even without my persistent hunger it would have been a remarkably filling and delectable meal. A vegetable soup was first, followed by a sort of cracked-grain stew; there was salad – tomatoes, cucumbers, and onions – as well as several dishes I could not recognize save for the presence of meat, a sort of dough, and a smothering layer of sour Turkish yogurt. The yogurt here is a puzzle to my America taste buds, accustomed to yogurt coming primarily in sweet variations with the occasional plain serving; in Turkey, they only have sour yogurt, thicker than whipped cream and eaten with a fork, or salty (maybe even garlicky) yogurt, including a salted, diluted yogurt drink named ayran of which I only ever could finish one glass but which the Turks imbibe with a hardy vigor. Another foodstuff that they did better in Turkey than the United States: fruit juice. There was an enormous variety, but I loved how some of the most common flavors were peach, apricot and sour cherry – and the former two delightfully thick and pulpy, and all three on this magnificently spread dinner table.

After dinner, we moved into the other room and broke out a game of Monopoly – in Turkish. Instead of the ever-so-familiar Mediterranean Avenue, Park Place and Broadway, however, all the slots were places in Istanbul! Not to mention the fact that two of the railroad stations were (appropriately) replaced by ferry docks and that all the cards were in Turkish, or that the currency was based on the old Turkish Lira, long before 2005 when they lopped six zeroes off the end in order to bring it into some semblance of normalcy. The funnest part, however, was attributing the actions of the players to their home countries: at no other time would Tajikistan have enough money to buy out half the world, or the Czech Republic and the US be under international probation (“In Jail”)! Though we didn’t even buy out all the available properties, it was still a thoroughly enjoyable evening. I was glad to have the opportunity to associate with such a nice family, and to be in the company of my fellow interns outside the confines of the classroom. It was definitely another highlight of my internship!

A birthday in the land of the undotted i's

To set the stage somewhat: I'm currently in Izmit, Turkey, a town of around a million inhabitants about an hour's fast drive east of Istanbul, a place where you see the lights peppering the mountains across the Sea of Marmara at night and the location of Turkey's devastating 1999 earthquake. My project is Myself My World, a sort of summer camp with the objective of giving Turkish high schools students, all of whom have studied English for around five years but none of whom have opportunities to practice it outside their classroom, exposure to English and a chance to speak it, as well as present diverse world cultures to them.

The first Myself My World camp of the summer is nearly done, and I was blessed with the chance to have my birthday fall during this time - and it turned out to be one of my more memorable birthdays in recent years, and a great confluence of a great variety of interesting activities.

My team of fellow interns met, as usual, at 10am so as to plan the one-and-one-half hour class for the morning, this time about entrepreneurship; also, as usual, everyone seemed to remember what I tended to forget - that it was my birthday. One student, smiling gleefully, informed me that the class had a surprise for me (I loved the irony in her informing me of that), and my fellows corroborated with their observations that the students had been twittering in Turkish the previous day. Only after the opening meeting was the extent of the surprise revealed: while I was preparing for an average, if perhaps dry, lesson about entrepreneurship (I'm no enthusiast for business), they came in with a cake bedecked with sparklers and candles singing Happy Birthday, followed at their heels by a veritable parade of other foods, which we spread out on some desks in the center of the room. There was börek, a baked pastry stuffed with meat and sauce; potato with onions; a pasta salad; stuffed grape leaves; a powdery sweet called irmek helva; and there was a local speciality, pişmaniye, which is closest to cotton candy - but American cotton candy is coarse and sickly compared to the delicious fineness and smoothness that is the traditional sweet of Izmit. All together, there was far, far too much food even for the twenty of us, and we were all oversatiated by the end.

The post-lunch torpor did not prevent us, though, from adapting K'naan's song "Waving Flag" - which you make recognize from its having been the anthem of last year's World Cup - into a declaration of team unity, which we later presented as the camp got together for the afternoon's country presentations (I had done mine about the US two days earlier - coincidentally, July Fourth!). It was good to finally have a cheer to call our own.

After the activities of the camp were through, one student took me to his home, as he had invited me to dinner with his family the day before. While we awaited his parents' arrival, he showed me photos from his family's trip to Mecca when he was twelve - a place that I'll never get to see save through photographs of those who visit. By happy chance, when dinner did roll around, I could speak with everyone in the family except the mother: the two sons knew passable English, and the father, a Qur'an teacher at the mosque and hafidh (person who has memorized the entirety of the Qur'an), spoke Modern Standard Arabic, and actually complimented me on my Arabic skill. After the dinner, a few of the family's relatives came over, and I was witness to a private Muslim prayer service: the first time I had witnessed the entirety of the ritual of Islamic prayer. It was a very interesting experience, and the little bit after that we discussed the unique bits of Islam and Christianity and I explained that, even though I don't drink tea as a part of my faith, they shouldn't feel obliged to not drink it in my presence.

The family then retreated to the top-floor terrace for the mandatory post-meal watermelon. It was there that the student asked me about the song "Cotton-Eye Joe", which was played at camp and to which no one really knew a dance but me. And so it was that I demonstrated the dance I knew to "Cotton-Eye Joe" to a Turkish family.

All in all, it was a great day. I'm glad I had the chance to be here.

Discovering a Hidden Jewel--Sempu Island

I woke up at 3 am in the morning, got dressed in my bikini, then packed an extra pair of clothes, a towel, lots of food and water, mosquito lotion, and some sunscreen. I was about to head to Heaven on Earth in Indonesia—Sempu Island. It was going to be a 3-hour drive to the coast, a 15-min boat ride to the island, and a 2-hour walk to get the lagoon next to the Indian Ocean. The car and boat ride was less than extraordinary, but the 2-hour walk was an adventure of a lifetime—especially given the jewel that I was to discover at the end of the journey.

We got off the boat and crossed some shallow water. On the other side was a muddy jungle that seemed to hold all the secret wonders of the world. Our guide, Hendra, told us that the island was divided into two areas—area A is mostly uninhabited by dangerous animals, while area B is where the jaguars dwell. As much as I wanted to see a jaguar, I was happy to hear we were about to venture into area A. J

Crossing the muddy paths, I can see that there were many visitors in the past. The footprints in the mud were our guides, and their presence gave us just enough knowledge to reach the lagoon. Step by step and slip after slip, we got our muddy selves through the jungle without serious injuries. Along the way, I kept on wondering: perhaps the animals are all spying on us. Their voices were so vivid yet we could never see them—I heard monkeys and birds; even some unidentified croaking sounds that perplexed us all. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were laughing at us clumsy human beings.

As sudden and unexpected as the sun seems to creep up at dawn, we spotted clear, CLEAR, blue water. “We’re here,” said Henra. Each of us were so concentrated on that one step in front of us, that time disappeared, our hungers and thirst vanished. Yet as soon as we saw that water, even that slippery mud in front of us became solid ground. We raced to the lagoon, forgetting all our aches and pains.

There it was—paradise. I have never seen clearer water and whiter sand in my life. How can I have lived for 20 years on Earth and have never even seen this hidden wonder? I kicked off my half-broken muddy shoes, and to my surprise, the sand was one of the most solid kinds I’ve ever set foot upon. My feet didn’t sink in, and the heat of the sun was not trapped in the sand. It was comfortable and cool. I stood there, just for another second, to absorb all that was around me. I looked over at a large opening between the rocks that separated the ocean from this land, and I listened carefully to the Indian Ocean beating ruthlessly against these rocks. The opening allowed the clear sea water to gush into the lagoon. With each oceanic wave, the lagoon came to life with a soft sound of the sea. I wanted to be a part of this all! So I took off my clothes and ran into the lagoon in my bikini. I let the cool, salty water absorb me in. I let the sun shine its rays onto my skin. The girls and I floated, swam, laughed, took pictures, and enjoyed all that was around us. I felt true serenity.

On the way back, we began hearing a distant but familiar sound—the Muslim prayer broadcasted by loudspeaker throughout Indonesia. Together with all praying Muslims, I thanked God (whomever it/He may be) for creating this Earth with all its wonders. I knew that even though my internship about tourism and environmental protection was about to end, I will always be a part of this project for the rest of my life. Our Earth, our home, will be protected; its beauty will be shared. J I just wonder, what other jewels are there for me to discover? I can’t wait to find out.

Anna in China! - Dialogue with Man on Airplane

What is this? *fortune cookie*

----------------

Setting: Airplane; mealtime.

Language: Mandarin Chinese

----------------

Chinese Man: What is this? *hands me fortune* (More importantly, why is it in my food?)

Me: Uhhhhhh... (Dang it, how do you say "proverb" in Chinese???) It's...a smart or clever sentence that...white people...like to read. And... they put it in the cracker.

Chinese man: *points to my fortune cookie*

Me: Yes, there is one in mine too.

Chinese man: *disbelieved look*

Me: (Fine, I'll show you.) *crack open fortune cookie*

Chinese man: *ruffles brow; shrugs; continues eating*

---------------

Disclaimer: This dialogue was actually more awkward and drawn out than I have depicted in this blogpost.

Travelling back in time at Malang Tempo Dura

After much internal debate about the subject of my first blog entry, I've decided to first introduce Malang, Indonesia to all our readers. Hopefully, after reading this, you will have a better picture of what Malang is, and who are the people living in this rich piece of land. What I am about to share was documented on May 22nd, 2011. These are observations that capture my true feelings about the people and culture of Malang.

Travelling back in time has never been easier with the annual festival of Malang Tempo Dura (Malang goes back in time, MTD). It is truly a place where one can taste, smell, touch, and see the rich culture of Indonesia. Moreover, it is a festival for people from all walks of life to gather—young and old, rich and poor. It is a gathering of strangers in Malang, to shop, laugh, and eat. These strangers, with the help of lively music and the aroma of spices, from a community that is so vital to Indonesian

culture, as it is reflected in the festival’s food, clothing, and art.

A community is a family with little or no blood relations—it is choosing to be a part of a larger group of people despite the accident of birth. Indonesians exhibit a strong sense of community, which is reflected very strongly in the food at MTD. Stopping by stand after stand, one can always find rice and dough as part of the main dish or dessert. Rice is always coupled with strong spices, sugary drinks, and oily snacks. This coupling allows the bland to meet the exciting; the flavorless to meet the flavorful. The opposing elements counter-act each other to make a harmonious and delicious serving. The dishes allow difference to create unity—just as a community would. Moreover, the mixture of dough, mixing it, compressing it, steaming it, rolling it, are all part of a process that many families enjoy together. As the sticky rice unites each dough particle, the making of rice cakes unites the family; as well as those who eat it.

A community is also complicated. It is made up of completely different individuals with vastly different personalities. Such complications are what make a community beautiful and strong. These qualities are undoubtedly on full display in the cultural clothing and art of Indonesia. At MTD, one can always spot the traditional Indonesian clothing, Batiks, being used as wall decorations or sold as clothing. The Batik is a large piece of cloth, traditionally painted by hand with natural dye, into floral patterns of great complications. It can

be worn in many ways, depending on one’s personal style. As hundreds of years have passed since its first appearance, thousands of patterns have emerged on the Batik, celebrating the diversity of Indonesian people and culture. The Batik at once unifies a community and differentiates individuals.

At MTD, one may also find a form of traditional Indonesian Art, the Wayang Shadow Puppet. It is a cultural heritage that few can deny its splendor. The puppets themselves are colorful yet structured, displaying patterns of similar complications as the Batik. Yet, when the shadow puppet is used in a performance, one only sees its shadow—a projection of its outline from behind a screen. The two-dimensional puppets come alive through the interplay of light and shadows. Similar to Indonesian food, by contrasting empty spaces and solid material, two opposites, one can see the puppets come alive on the screen. The puppets then play out scenes of the lives of Indonesian people. With exaggeration, it can dramatize and satirize a community, a person, or a type of people. The Wayang Shadow Puppet is a form of art that educates as well as inspires awe. For the practice of controlling the puppet limbs takes years to master, and to give the puppets character, the puppeteer must know the movements of the puppet as if they were his own. Wayang is an art of the mastery of patience and understating, qualities that a community must possess to be open to new ideas, but also form a sense of identity.

Community is one of the most important values in Indonesian culture. As I traveled back in time in MTD, I realized that this quality is hundreds of years old, but as vibrant as ever. As the world becomes increasingly fast-paced, Malang shall never lose its patience. Malang will maintain that sense of community, of being in a diverse community made up of different individuals but united by their food, beliefs, culture, and language. The aroma of Malang is rich, waiting for you to discover its intricacies and complications. That is something time shall never erase.