A Day of Mountains, Horses and Motorcycles

We've spent the last two days in Rashi's town having a blast.

Saturday we went to the school where she teaches and got the warmest reception of our lives from the students and faculty there. It was kind of like traveling with a C-list celebrity. Mark gave them a laminated poster of Barack Obama that he carted over from the states and they were over the moon about receiving it. Everytime we said Barack Obama, everyone would cheer and shout, "Obama!" They were also pretty tickled by Mark's attempts at Bahasa Indonesia. While I prefer to bow a lot and speak slowly in an Indian accent, Mark jumps right in with a language book and it's pretty impressive how quickly he picks up the local jargon.

We spent the evening at Rashi's house, having dinner with her host family and it was kind of nice to just kick back, relax and eat around a dinner table for one night.

This morning she took us to Gedong Songo, a mountain town in Central Java about an hour away where nine Hindu temples and sulfur springs sit on a hill. The temples have long been destroyed by invaders to the area so the setting was kind of sad -- a lot of piles of rocks and broken deities -- but you also took in a certain history of the region while you were there.

We rode horses to the top (I think every person on mountain knew how ridiculous it was that I'd mounted a horse because every time we approached a different temple the gathered crowd would snicker in a way that I knew they were laughing at me) and I only fell off once on a dismount, though I managed to do it in front of a 50-person family reunion.

When we left, we approached the parking attendant at the motorcycle taxi stand to arrange for motorcyles to the back to the bus stop. Dude walks away and comes back on a bike, abandoning his post at the parking lot to drive us to the bottom.

Rashi and I were on one bike and Mark was on another. Another ridiculous story but one better told in pictures on our return.

Mark and I are also suprised that our trendy interracialness phases no one here. I was expecting a lot of stares (not because we're trendy and interracial, of course) but because we definitely don't look like the locals, but no one really notices. Truth be told, I felt more like an "outsider" in Minneapolis. And when they do stare here, they're more curious than anything else. It's partly because there's no real traditional Indonesian "look" (you see Indonesians with Asian, Indian and Dominican flair) and our traveling trio sort of covers the range. A brave stranger sometimes engages Mark in a conversation about Obama, which I take as an acknowledgement of where we're from, but that's always just more cute than anything else.

Selamet Siang!

We've been here for three days and traveled halfway across Java with my sister.

I've only had one instance of near meltdown (after we crusied through immigration and customs not having to wait for luggage!) and walked through the arrivals gate with anticipation written all over our faces unable to find her because she was waiting for us at another gate.

But, we've reunited and are having a great time.

My sister moves around this country like a local, haggling for good fares, jumping on and off trains and making small talk with the Indonesians.

She has a whole week planned for us and we're having a lot of fun just catching up!

22 Hours in SoKo

Mark and I are attempting to make the most of our 22 hour layover in South Korea, en route to Land of Java.

The flight from Washington, DC to Seoul is a west-bound 14-hour flight that pretty much bops you over the Arctic Circle to Asia. As a result, you're flying in a constant state of sunrise and somewhere over the North American tundra Mark and I raised the ire of our section of the plane when we opened the window to take in the beautiful sceneries. It was worth it though: we saw the most beautiful sun, sitting pink and orange on the edge of the horizon, while huge glaciers floated below us, cracks and all.

The time on the plane itself wasn't all that bad. Before we left, Mark and I made a big intellectual show, insisting on purchasing books and journals for the trip. Once we sat down on the plane and took in the almost endless On Demand movie options, our faux elitism was out the door as we fully embraced the likes of Hancock, Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, Babylon AD, and House, among many, many others (about 14 hours worth).

The trip has also highlighted the different travel sensibilities between myself and my would-be groom. In preparation for our time in Seoul, I called the Korean Tourism Board and had them send a guidebook and wrote down the phone numbers of the US Embassy in Korea; Mark, on the other hand, taught himself how to say "thank you" and "how much for that bucket of eels?", alongside dabbling in Korean cinema (with English subtitles) on the plane ride over. He was quite moved by the cinematic performances in "The Divine Weapon".

The joke was ultimately on me though. I made fun of his Korean linguistic skills for most of the plane ride over and when we were greeted by the hotel manager at the airport, Mark said thank you ("gamsa hamida") and the gentleman told him he had perfect intonation.

When you fly Korean Air, they take hospitality to the next level during an extended layover such as ours -- arranging accommodations, meals and transportation for you while you wait out the transit time.

Incheon International Airport is about an hour away from Seoul and we were afraid to venture into the city in the event of an unexpected attack of jet lag. We got in Wednesday evening around 6pm, checked in to our hotel and hopped on the local subway to Bupyeong which was an experience and a half, as we sort of wandered from restaurant to restaurant pantomiming "vegetarian" (reasons I'm glad we aren't the camcorder sort) and ending up with a hot, spicy bowl of shellfish (reasons I'm glad we aren't professional mimes). After much negotiation, Mark was also able to order a small bowl of white rice.

Here's to hoping everything we ate yesterday follows it's proper gastrointestinal path.

-N

Counting Down...

In short days, I'll be reunited with my sister.

I'm mostly excited and strangely nervous.

Indonesia is the first thing she's done without us bossing over her -- and even then, we attempt to lord over her from afar. It will be a unique experience for me to spend ten days with her in the drivers' seat speaking another language, knowing something so well that has nothing to do with any of us.

I'm also slightly afraid that she does crazy things there. And that the mini-Mom in me is going to freakout when I see her driving a motorcycle. In a skirt. Without a helmet.

And also to be filed under unique experiences: Mark and I are attempting this international excursion without checking luggage. The Indian part of me, used to busting zippers and weight maximums to stuff suitcases with mini-candy bars, socks with traction grips and multivitamins, is still in slight disbelief that we were able to accomplish this. And I guess the final proof will be when we end up on the flight with our two bags each without being forced to check anything.

For now, it's all about backpacks, rolled t-shirts and TSA-approved toiletries; a sneaker and a sandal each; and, of course, about 40 granola bars for my sister along with the 2009 Filofax filler papers she asked our mother to send with me. (Along with her Internet access, I'll be investigating exactly what she needs an organizer for, given that she knows about 10 people south of the Equator.)

-N