Sensual Seduction

I promise a long, lenthy, deliciously detailed blog post about my doings, wanderings, and findings to come soon...but for those of you who don't like to read anyway (ahem!), here are some tidbits to hold you over...

Cultural Manifestations

I've somewhat neglected blogging as I've been finishing up the final project for my Mexican Cinema Class. However, I think I finally found something that can save me writer's block and speak for itself, check it out, share it, like it, love it, comment on it, but just watch it:



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=txjdU8s6yL0

La Cocina de Frida

The presence of Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera can be found everywhere in Mexico from tributary murals to bottle cap earrings. With her signature look, which is more than just her very prominent uni-brow, thank you, but also her upswept hair adorned with flowers and a wide-set, piercing gaze, Frieda may be the most popular face of Mexico. I was lucky enough to get a chance to see her live re-incarnation in person in the village of Ocotolan, Oaxaca, which has a traditional market every Friday. There among the vegetables, flowers, animals, and cotton panties, was the kitchen of Frieda, herself, serving Tlayudas (a Oaxaca regional specialty= very large, delicious tortillas) heaped with market fresh ingredients from pollo to beans and quesillo.

In Oaxaca, and all of Mexico, the preparation, flavor, and combination of unique ingredients is an art from in itself. Among the backdrop of fresh produce and smells of a million delicious meals being prepared, served, and consumed in succession, amidst a country where magical realism does not to seem too off-base or far-fetched, I could easily imagine the visual art of Frida, the artist being re-born and continuing in Frida, the chef. Qué chido eh?!

Midnight...a la Mexicana!

Guatemala welcomed me in the first night, and many nights following that, with fireworks right outside the window-- so loud I thought they were gunshots. Never one to be outdone by it's neighbor, Mexico welcomed me in with live Mariachi music going full blast at the stroke of midnight, Tuesday's crack of dawn. And while Christmas has long ago lost it's charm for me, there was something magically nostalgic in awakening in the middle of the night with amazement at the gift you're about to get. Not to mention,stumbling up the stairs blindly groping for the balcony,hair a la llorona, and in pajamas( pajamas precisely because they are clothes not fit to be seen in public) doesn't hurt to bring back those childhood fuzzies either. Maybe it's the classic Mexican cinema class I'm taking, but I was absolutely and completely tickled five different shades of pink to awake to real live mariachis in the middle of the night, serenading the entire neighborhood, intentionally or not! Having only seen Mariachis in restaurants and weddings, which in itself I consider quite a privilege, to go out and and peer into the stars through the darkened street to the best sounding fiesta you've ever heard complete with ayi-yiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis from a 12 piece ensemble is surreal.

When I was traveling throughout South America I met several people on Round-the-World Tickets, or spending half a year or more just traveling throughout Latin America. I always had to ask them where their favorite destination had been after seeing so much. It's not so surprising the most common answer was Mexico, in a way promoting my own return to discover Mexico in all it's splendor.

Why Mexico? The answers circled around: the warmness and hospitality of the Mexican people, the food, stunning country landscapes, and the overwhelmingly rich and varied culture. In a country that has it all, they have moved forward without displacing traditions from the past. Mañanitas are still sung at midnight to serenade loved ones into the next day, Mariachi's still crowd the Zocalo, or central square late Friday and Saturday night serenading lovers and couples. The Zocalo, itself is still a place to gather, to laugh, to dance, and to seduce lovers or introduce singles.

It feels great to be back (yes, there are firecrackers frequently going off. And yes, I still jump every time trying resist the urge to duck and cover.) Only this time around I don't care what time the neighbors are celebrating or how loudly, as long as they continue provide the Mariachis.Que viva la tradiciones mexicanas! Long live the music, and the culture, and the fiesta!

Mister Creep

“Hey Mister!”
As five little voices from the group of punky youngsters get louder, giggling and yelling out any English words they know, I can’t help but glance over my shoulder.
Yup, they’re definitely talking to me. I am the mister here. You see, most school children learn some English in Indonesia and have been taught the polite form of saying hi is “Mister”, regardless of age or sex. Then they have so little chance to practice their English that what little they learn usually falls to the wayside. Until of course they see me, BULE. Then they get really excited. Everyday I walk past greeted by “Halo, how are you? Where you from” at least once, more recently there have been a lot of “Obamas**!” And then of course, my favorite, after I pass by: “something I can’t understand, more I can’t understand BULE, babble babble gibberish” and gaping faces or amazed and sniggering children.

I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to looking up from a pair of shoes in the mall and see all eyes trained on me, salesgirls and other customers alike. Or being asked to take countless pictures with other peoples families and even their small children. But I have found being bule an advantage in certain areas as well. Like the time I was ‘camera creeping’ on this little girl in the Borbodur temple, Yogakarta. Everyone else was taking touristy photos of the temple, the temple and themselves, the temple, themselves and us Bules. But I just wanted this picture of the cutest asian girl pouting in her big sunhat. She was full of sass and knew it, and I wanted a picture. I was stealthy, but being bule is never being stealthy enough. As her family walked away I cut around a column to snap a picture of her, only to look up and see her parents staring at me. Oppsy, I was that creep with the camera taking a picture of a strange kid. I snuck around the other side and tried to disappear into the group I was with, therefore trying to appear less than creepy. Only I accidentally walked into pose with a bule fest, and after three pictures with random people squeezing me like we were BFF’s, I started recounting my mortification and creepiness to my friends, halfway through the incident I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the girl with the sunhat’s father!

Speechless, I gaped at him while he addressed in an incomprehensible slew of wild sounds(that Bahasa Indonesia is tricky!). I could only imagine what he was saying to me, I wanted to melt into the floor and disappear. M grabbed my camera, “they want a picture with you” and he pushed me next to the little girl who obviously did not want another picture, and was not the least bit impressed whether I was in it or not. Only in Indonesia would me being caught in the most creepy and awkward situation end with me being treated like a celebrity just for being white, and foreign and a rare, rare sight indeed.


**Side Note: The Obama comment is actually quite funny in and of itself, it seems Indonesia is crawling with “Obama’s children”, a joke that never seems to get old here, and refers to really dark skinned Indonesians who look ‘black’ in a country where white, white skin is considered a beauty ideal. It’s also a bit of Indonesian Obama fever, which interestingly enough is due to Obama’s previously close ties with the nation. The president himself went to elementary school in Jakarta from 1st through 4th when his mom married an Indonesian man. However now that Mr. Obama has postponed his arranged visit to Indonesia three times, I wonder how long Obama fever will be seen as a positive and prideful thing for Indonesia.

Waking Up on the Right Side of the Bed, Wrong Side of the World

Almost 3 whole days of planes and airports, naps in all the wrong time zones and countless breakfasts for dinner, lunches in the middle of the morning, and suddenly I’m standing in-line for immigration, officially in Indonesia. What am I doing here? That’s a question I’m still trying to get my head around. Especially when I find myself standing in the middle of the road with crazy traffic whizzing by in both directions. Which happens uncomfortably often, everyday, minimum 6x a day. In a country with no stoplights, stop signs, and although there is a double white line dividing the road, it’s more symbolic than mandatory. I find it more a suggestion really for where to stand when your trapped on both sides by bikes, cars, and open-sided vans that constitute the public transportation, jammed together. If it weren’t such a terrible idea I would need to close my eyes while crossing the road...

As it is, I really feel like I’m living on the edge, just like the inspirational posters make look so easy and fun. I don’t know about easy, but they may have something about marketing all that fun. Really what could be more fun than pairing up 10 American Students and 10 Indonesian students, currently studying in the US, transporting them to Indonesia, partnering them with different NGO’s based on their interests: economics, public health, education, art, and my personal favorite, the environment. Those 20 students are then dispersed between 3 cities in West Java: Jakarta the capital, Bandung the 3rd largest city in Indonesia, also know as Paris Van Java, and Yogyakarta, considered the spiritual, cultural capital of Indonesia.

I, along with my partner M, are working with Wahana Lingkungan Hidup Indonesia (WALHI) in Bandung, along with 4 others from the program in economic and public health NGOs. M is awesome, he has constantly saved me from myself and my terrible Bahasa Indonesian, getting lost, crossing the street on my own, incomprehensible menus, basically everything except putting my foot in my mouth, which happens at least once during every conversation. Like the time I accidentally asked the housekeeper how much his shirt was instead of where he got it, yeah, that was a big whoops. Possibly the Topping that is the time when I mispronounced a word I thought I knew and miraculously managed to inquire if our new friend was a virgin instead of what he did for a living, that was really awkward.

As for the other four students, they’re pretty awesome too. Who else would help cover you up and pretend you’re sleeping to avoid being charged the bule/tourist price, haggle on your behalf for market food, or alternately pretend you’re all famous to try and get into the club for free? And if I’m going to be stuck in traffic for hours at a time, hike up a huge hill every morning to be in class by 8:00, and try every bizarre and oddly good Indonesian snack, I’m glad it’s with them.

As for WALHI, each day is an adventure. Not just your bathroom variety either. Between the language barrier, treading all the cultural footpaths, and just working in an environmental NGO the works always different, seldom boring. So far I’ve sat in on some pretty cool environmental films, some from Indonesia and others from around the world. Unfortunately the discussions are always in Bahasa Indonesian, no subtitles. Translated a few films to be screened, viewed a peaceful demonstration from a very far, very safe difference, sat in an official/stockholder from several organization meeting for cleaning up the Citarum river (prepare yourself and then click on this link to see some of the issues we’re dealing with:

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-460077/Is-worlds-polluted-river.html

).

Too be honest when I first applied to this program, I knew next to nothing about Indonesia. What I’m supposed to be doing is learning about working with NGO’s and West Java’s environmental issues, solutions, attitudes; while participating in and fostering a cultural awareness between Indonesia and the United States. An unbelievably cool program and fantastic summer Internship provided by the Freeman Indonesia Non-Profit Internship Program (FINIP).
So what am I actually doing here? I’m living in the moment (Indo time, or always late/stuck in traffic), learning to pay closer attention to all pronunciation in class, learning countless ways about the West Java Sudanese culture, about the environmental, political, social problems Indonesia faces environmentally, about how satisfying coconut, ginger and chili are in everything I eat. And I am most definitely completely falling madly and chaotically in love with this land of volcanoes and islands that I will be calling rumah saya—my home for 2 months.

Testing Tastebuds 1 2 3

I might just have to dedicate a whole new blog to the food here. It’s weird, and oh so delicious, irresistible really. Take this idea of the Avocado Float, sort of like an avocado milkshake, only with chocolate added in. Sounds, well, plain wrong and that’s putting it nicely. In fact, it’s delicious. The kicker is, the other day we had dinner at our house, the 6 of us interning in Bandung, and we had a stir-fry, rice, scrambled eggs, and one ripe and ready to eat avocado. When I proposed to just eat it with the eggs and sambal chili sauce three Indonesian heads whipped around and stared at me like I had just suggested making a cake with it. Avocado and eggs? Now that’s a crazy idea...