Housekeeping Notes From The Far Side

Six years.
Seven hundred articles.
Twelve videos.
Three hundred and fifty tweets.
Regular visitors from 149 countries who have translated the blog to 17 languages.
Cross-posts on Jeff Rense, Lew Rockwell, Henry Makow, David Icke, George Ure, and more.
And half a million page views, with the best day so far being 12,500 hits.

Not bad for a nutter squatting in the darkest jungles of Borneo banging out nonsense using monkeys on a treadmill to generate electricity and four wives to keep me fed and oiled, and occasionally groomed, I suppose.

And no, I still haven't seen King Kong, but I have seen 20-foot long lizards lying across the road sunning with no one willing to get out and argue about schedules and rushes and other unimportant things.

Life for an ex-pat on the Far Side is a lot of things, but boring ain't one of them.

I arrived in Jakarta on Valentine's Day 2008, with one suitcase, $600, and some wild ass dream of building a new life in the most remote and unusual place I could think of, outside of the Gobi desert.  In these eight years, I've managed to buy a house, two apartments, some farm land, and a car.  All paid in cash, something I never could achieve back home.  I owned a few jalopies outright, but I never got further than renting houses from a bank.  I'm not alone.  I hear the same story from a lot of ex-pats in various parts of the world.

At 46, a lot of folks thought I was an idiot for doing this.  I'm not sure they are wrong, but I sure am happy I did.  Of course, a few of those folks who called me an idiot thought Indonesia was in Bali.  Just shows to go ya.  I wouldn't trade a moment of the experience, though.

The first year, I nearly starved to death, gave up beer and cheese (you can't imagine how much that hurt) because I didn't have the money for such luxuries, and saw some of the most amazing things I could imagine, from monster lizards to barbequed monkey to cobra blood drinks to one of the most amazing reefs I've never heard of.  I've eaten dogs and bats, picked fresh fruit that looks like something out of scifi movie and stared into the craters of two massive volcanoes, and actually went inside a third one.  I've been through my first earthquake (7.2) on the 23rd floor of my apartment building.  I've tripped over snakes as big around as my thigh and long as a first down.

I lived more in the first year I was here than I did in the preceding 20.

I've gotten a little jaded now and many things don't surprise me as much as they used to, but Indonesia never fails - almost on a daily basis - to show me something that just makes me slap my head in stunned amazement.

Once I saw a motorcycle in front of my car that looked like it had streamers coming off the back of it, but the streamers looked strangely mechanical.  When I finally caught up to it, I saw it was about a dozen geese strapped across the seat like saddle bags with their heads poking out the rear.  In fact, I've seen just about anything you can imagine on a motorcycle here, including six people on one (7 if Mom was pregnant), a car windshield and a bundle of 20-foot long bamboo poles.

I'm learning four new languages (now 17 in all with 4 fluent) and a dozen new cultures.  I've stood on monuments that pre-date recorded history.  I've encountered ancient and mysterious religions, set foot on my seventh continent, and been in places I can almost imagine no other human have been.

I completed construction of the country's first international theater and brought the first-ever Broadway musical here.  I've met artists and craftsmen whose work blows me away.  I've watched women in village milking circles threshing rice (when you're old enough, I'll tell you about milking circles).  I've seen folks haul fish the size of a pony out of the ocean and cook it for lunch on the beach.

And the next eight and a half years look to be just as much fun, with projects that include producing/promoting/touring shows around the country and creating a beer culture in a Muslim-dominated society.

No one has ever accused me of not taking a challenge.

Through it all, I've endeavored to bring my faithful readers on a ride of words, sharing thoughts and experiences along the way.  I've met some great people through this project and have dozens more who regularly check in with a quick note.  I now have 6,000 regular readers whose support makes it fun trying to come up with 1,000 words a day that are reasonably coherent, though some might argue I fail on a regular basis.

In any case, I want to thank everyone for their support and regular visits, most especially those who have donated to the cause.  You've paid for software and gee-gaws to do Radio Far Side.  I am very grateful to the folks who enjoy my efforts, and for those who don't, there are a million other (not so well-written) sites to choose from.

I hope y'all keep coming back and don't forget to pass a link along to other folks who might enjoy my weirdness.  I'll keep plugging away for you.

Cheers!

PS - If you look at the map at the top, you'll notice that Bali is in Indonesia.

600

It's been a while since we gave a shareholders' report.  After all, it is you, dear reader, that make Life on the
Far Side a going concern and keep it growing with your great ideas and donations to the cause.

We chose the event of the 600th published article as an appropriate time to catch everyone up and what's been going down.

First of all, the hit counter is spinning madly.  We get about 300 visitors a day, less on weekends and more when our scribblings are actually coherent, or cross-published, whichever comes first.  The audience is split almost in half, with about 52% from the US/Canada (but I repeat myself), and 48% from Asia, Russia and Brazil, with a healthy mix of Eurospace in there.  The top 2 countries continue to be the US and Indonesia, both of which indicate promising signs of intelligence out there.

We are rapidly approaching a quarter-million pages served, which is likely the morning shift on some sites, but for a one-man show coming from deep in the jungles of Borneo, we think it's pretty damn stunning and we intend to use it as an excuse to drink brandy and smoke cigars.

As for the donations to pay for all the high-tech equipment that brings the Far Side to you each and every...well, OK, once every 3 days on average, we haven't received squat since installing the new Bitcoin system.  You may recall that PayPal wanted a whole ream of personal data and copies of IDs and all that.  WE told them which part of Elon Musk's alpha-male anatomy would be suitable to filing all that personal data and promptly established a Bitcoin account (for all the freakin' good it's done).  It could very well be that the lack of donations is a function of the declining quality of work around here, but we prefer to blame it all on Bitcoin and PayPal.

Radio Far Side is doing considerably better on YouTube than Vimeo, while the Yuku channel is langishing in anonymity.  We're about to peak over 4,000 hits on YouTube in the past five months.  Yeah, yeah, we know...fardly viral that, but hey, how many does your channel get?  Neener neener.

The Wordpress mirror site has suddenly and inexplicably taken off.  We're not complaining, you see, we just want to know how we did it co we can repeat the process elsewhere.  The Twitter account might actually do best if we gave a damn about it, which we don't.  Same with Farcebook.  But we still put a little effort into keeping them up to date anyway.

Meantime, back at the ranch...er, jungle, we're preparing for our annual Far Side Thanksgiving report, which is one of the perennial favorites out there in reader-land.  We're also fixin' to start a Big New Job, which is taking a lot of time and focus away from our regular musings here, but hey, we're keeping up with the average post count.  One of these days, we may even go in an clear out the 173 unfinished articles, too.

Our Big Goal for the Coming Year (OBGCY) is to get more regular readers than Far Side staff.  For some damn reason, our payroll seems to be expanding far beyond what would seem reasonable and proprietary for an effort like this.

At the end of the day, we want to thank all the regulars out there and welcome the newbies.  We'll try not to scare your right off.  It's been a long strange trip (thanks Grateful Dead!) getting to 600.  We just can't imagine what things will look like around here when we get to 1,200.  Hopefully by then, someone will have figured out how to use Bitcoin.  :D

Keep the faith and keep coming back.  We'll keep trying to education and inform, not necessarily in that order.  Special thanks to the good folks who write in and scold us for trashing up the 'net.  We really appreciate your efforts and look forward to more tongue-lashings in the near future.

Once more unto the breech!

Another Day On The Far Side

There are times when I hate teaching.  Today was one of them.  The problem I faced today is not limited to certain countries, either.  It is endemic in schools throughout the world, as the battle of Truth rages on.

Today, the materials I was given to teach included the topics of "terrorism", "healthy eating" and "climate change".  Well, if you're a long-time reader here, you'll know immediately that my hackles went up.  The articles and lesson plans were obviously unabashed propaganda with a strong US federalist bent.  The problem was, how to present this material in an "English" class without becoming part of the problem.

This is a difficult choice.  Obviously, the producers of the textbook are some arm of the US propaganda machine, and they are seeking to manipulate young, open minds with a particular point of view.  In the case of the "Terrorism" article, it was plainly trying to justify America's bombing the snot out of every Muslim country it can find.  And here I live in a predominantly Muslim country.  Doesn't take much to conclude that we are potential targets of American imperialism here.

An additional problem was that the students would be tested on the materials I was presenting.  Therefore, I had to make sure I didn't hinder their ability to regurgitate on command, while at the same time ensuring that they weren't victims of vicious and cynical forces trying to manipulate them.  Furthermore, I had to achieve these goals while keeping the class interesting and not preaching or lecturing.

The 9th grade drew the "terrorism" material.  OK, so I passed around the papers and opened the discussion with, "What is the definition of terrorism?"  A few nervous looks.  Some thumbed through the pages looking for the answer.  One student piped up, "It's when a group of fanatics attack a nation to scare people."  Obviously a victim of mind control, but not too late.

"That's partially correct," I said.  "Someone surf over to the Merriam-Webster dictionary site."  The laptops and Blackberries flew into action.  Students love when they can use their toys in class.  The first student there began reading aloud:

"..Although usually thought of as a means of destabilizing or overthrowing existing political institutions, terror also has been employed by governments against their own people to suppress dissent; examples include the reigns of certain Roman emperors, the French Revolution (see Reign of Terror), Nazi Germany, the Soviet Union under Stalin, and Argentina during the “dirty war” of the 1970s. Terrorism's impact has been magnified by the deadliness and technological sophistication of modern-day weapons and the capability of the media to disseminate news of such attacks instantaneously throughout the world."

"What can we conclude from that definition?," I asked.

"That terrorism is usually used by governments against their own people," said a bright bulb.

"And how long has that been going on?", I prompted.

"Since Roman times," came a growing chorus, as they started to get the point.

"Good!  Under the old definition of terrorism, only governments could be terrorists, because the groups of people fighting against government were revolutionaries.  Whether revolutionaries are terrorists is only a matter of whether they win or lose, right?  But government terrorism is always terrorism."

Heads bobbed up and down as they pondered this new way of looking at things.  I pressed on.

"Does anyone here believe that Osama bin Laden, sitting in a cave in Afghanistan, caused the 9/11 attacks?"

There was a pause and they looked around to see who would raise a hand.  They had learned over time that I never let someone get away with a blanket statement without a challenge.  A hand timidly raised in the back.

"Yes?  Why do you think that?", I inquired.

"Because the evidence proved he was guilty," came the reply.

"What evidence is that?", I pressed.

"Well, they had evidence that bin Laden had been planning the attack for a long time," the voice quivered a bit.

"Can you display the evidence for us?"  There was silence.  So I put them to work again.  "OK, go to Google and search for evidence that bin Laden masterminded the 9/11 attacks."

There was a swell of happy clicking as they scoured the internet for evidence.  At one point, there was a kind of lull that fell over the class.  Every teacher knows this moment.  It's when minds get opened and students take just the tiniest moment to consider that all they believed just two minutes ago might not be true.  I call it the "eureka" moment.

"How many results did you get?"

"Fifteen million five hundred thousand," came the reply.

"Now, click through a few pages and scan the headlines.  Do they seem like they are promoting the idea that bin Laden was behind the attacks?"

"Most of them are questions," came one bright voice.

"Of the links that appear to support the idea, what are the sources?", I continued.

"Some are Wikipedia and some are media websites."

"Click on the Wikipedia article and look for the section that talks about evidence of bin Laden's guilt.  What are the sources for that information?"

There was a pause as they poked around and read the articles.  Then a couple of voices rang out in unison:

"The sources are government agencies and media," they chimed.

"Given what we know about the definition of terrorism from the dictionary, do you believe government sources when it comes to evidence for a terror suspect?", I asked.

There was a moment of silence as they cogitated on this new way of thinking.  I could see in the eyes of several of the students that they were making the connections.  Then one of the bright bulbs spoke up:

"If governments throughout history have used terrorism as a way to control people, then we should be careful with government evidence about terror attacks?"  A teacher can always tell when they get the idea, but are afraid to declare it out of fear of ridicule.

"Exactly!", I said.  "So, when we read today's article, what should we do?"

Another pause.  "Be critical of the information in it?"  Still unsure.

"Yes!"  I felt exhilarated.  I love when minds start working.  "Now, with the things we have talked about, what do you think is the difference between 'information' and 'knowledge'?"

Even longer silence.  Then, one of the faces lit up.  I knew she got it.

"Information is not right or wrong," she mused.

"Go on," I prompted.

"But knowledge can be false?"

"Exactly!," I cried.  "Information doesn't have a context, but knowledge does.  If I say that 'leaves are green', is that always true?"

"No, because some die and turn a different color."

"Right!," I was getting excited.  "So 'leaves are green' is information, but it is not 'knowledge', because we know that leaves change colors when they die.  The information now has a context and we know it is not always true."

One of the class critics spoke up.  "So, are you saying that Osama bin Laden didn't do 9/11?"

"No, what I am saying is that you must apply history, culture and all the other contexts you know to any new information.  If the new information does not fit what you already know, then you must analyze it more closely.  If the information does not stand up to analysis, then what should you do?"

Silence.

"Throw it away?"

"Either that, or..."

"Find a context to fit the information?"

"Exactly.  And if the context you find does not fit what you know to be true?"

"Throw it away?"

"Now you're thinking!"

With that, we started reading the material at hand.

Rodeo Daze In Jakarta

OK, so it's not REALLY a rodeo, but for a Texas boy, it sure looks like one.

You see, Friday is Iddul Adha, or if you prefer the original Arabic, Eid al-Adha.  That's the Feast of Sacrifice for those who aren't Muslim.  It celebrates one of the most contentious events in history, since it is the basis of all the problems in the Middle East today.

According to Jews, "Abraham" was told by Yahweh to go sacrifice his son, Issac.  According to Islam, "Ibrahim" was told to go sacrifice his son, Ishmael.  If you're not up on your Old Testament, old Abe wanted a son, but at well over 100 years old, his wife wasn't up to the job, so he did the deed with a handy maidservant.  The offspring was Ishmael, who went on to father the semitic races.  Later, Yahweh told old Abe that He was fixing things so Abe could have another son with his wife.  Sure enough, she plumped right up and eventually had Isaac, who went on to father the Hebrews.

At some point, Yahweh (thinking this would be great fun apparently) told Abe to sacrifice his son, and here's where the fun really starts.  Abe took either Ishmael or Isaac up a mountain and prepared to let one of them have it.  Reports are that Abe's wife was so distressed by this that she died on the way.  Just as Abe was about to do in Ishmael/Isaac, Yahweh stopped the show and provided a lamb instead.

This incident set up one of the hottest family feuds in history, and even though the Hebrews have all but vanished off the face of the Earth, the Jews (actually Russians from the Caucasus mountains), along with their Christian dupes, have carried on the tradition of killing and hating.  Needless to say, this makes the Jews the most anti-semitic people around.  How's that for screwball?

So anyway, back to the rodeo.

Celebrating Idul Adha involves sacrificing goats, or if you're particularly rich, cows, to atone for one's sins.  In order to pull this off, this past week has seen truckloads of goats and cows being brough into the city.  Make-shift bamboo pans have sprung up around every mosque in town, with the attendant sounds and smells of livestock assaulting one's senses every 200 meters.

On Friday, the festival begins at sunrise.  Families pool their resources to buy one of the animals for sacrifice.  Afterwards, the meat is divvied up, with the poor folk getting a share of the bounty.  The scene is replicated at mosques all over the country, and even on vessels at sea, though I have no reports of this occuring on airplanes as yet.

A few years ago, a particularly corrupt politician (but I repeat myself) was showing off his pocket change and bought a cow for sacrifice at the main mosque in city center.  After the sacrifice, it was discovered that the animal's liver was riddled with worms.  Keep in mind that the liver in this culture is the seat of the soul and emotions, much as the heart is in Western cultures.  This was taken as a sign that the politician's sins were quite extensive and there was a minor scandal over the following weeks.

Much like Houston, the week has been full of trucks, push carts and any other rolling vessel delivering hundreds of animals across the city.  And like Houston, the got-rocks folks will show off their wads of cash by buying the most expensive and showiest animals.  Unlike Houston, they will be slaughtered on the street, rather than the butcher shop, and none of them will be ridden, as far as I know.  But the overall effect is very similar.

It's enough to make one homesick.  Similar events a world apart for very different reasons and histories, but still one of those interesting little quirks of Life on the Far Side.

Intermission

Well, folks, time to take a breather and catch up with the doings around here.

As promised, we are getting into the multimedia in a big way.  We've already brought you an interview with Peter Levenda on the temples of Java and Hitler's final resting place.  We talked to Courtney Brown about remote viewing and some interesting developments in that area.  In a couple of days, we'll be posting a new interview that will twist your mind into a pretzel.

And we're not stopping there.  We're in contact with a dozen other folks who are pushing the boundaries of culture, knowledge and understanding.  We're doing this because we are curious too.

That's why all this is free.  We're not trying to get rich off other people's work and ideas.  We want to give an additional channel for them to reach more minds.

Life on the Far Side is not about where you dwell, but where your head is.  It's about thinking long and deep about Everything, which is a really broad topic.  As one of our favorite authors put it, it all comes down to Life, the Universe and Everything (Douglas Adams).

The reason people think inside a box is because that box was constructed around their minds to keep them from asking the really important questions.  What's more, if they asked the important questions, then they were trained not to hear the answers.

Well, here on the Far Side, we want to ask those questions, and then record the answers so that we can go back and check them later, to make sure we heard what we heard.

The point is, we aren't happy with the pat answers.  They have failed us...miserably.  We want new, fresh answers so that we can explore a different way of thinking.  We want to leave the old paradigms that have killed and impoverished so many people on this planet, and create new ones that enrich all of our lives...not just physically with gold and paper, but spiritually, with ideas and lines of inquiry.  We think of Jack Nickolson in "A Few Good Men" saying, "You can't handle the truth!"

Beg your pardon, but not only can we handle it, but we want more than just your truth.  We're Far Siders!

The guests we're lining up for Radio Far Side are not crackpots.  They aren't fringers and conspiracy theorists.  These are people who have invested many hours of their lives into exploring life's mysteries.  They are experts in their fields, if for no other reason than because there is no one else in their field.

We want to ask the really deep questions and we're not afraid of the answers.  We may not like the answers, but that doesn't mean we shut them out.

Yes, we will step outside the bounds of 'normal'.  Yes, we will ask the hard questions.  Yes, we will work to get guests on that challenge the very foundations of our beliefs and sacred texts.  But that's what it means to live on the Far Side.

By the way, of the twelve guests we are trying to line up right now, six of them we suggested by readers/listeners.  You want to hear us converse with someone?  Send in the name.  Our email address is under the header.

Stay tuned...we've only just begun!

Bits And Pieces

On occasion, we like to put up an article called Bits and Pieces.  It's a collection of observations and events that haven't yet made themselves into full-length stories.  Enjoy!
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"Terima kasih untuk selalu menjaga kualitas dan kesegaran produk dengan selalu menutup kembali kaca lemari pendingin."

Now Indonesian readers will look at that and say, "So, what's so funny about that?"

The meaning is pretty straight-forward.  "Please keep product quality and freshness by closing the cooler doors."  The exact word-for-word in English is rather humorous, to us at any rate.  "Receive pity for always keeping quality and to-now-ishness product with always closing return glass cabinet self-cooling."

Just goes to show you why translating is not always an easy task.
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What could be more funny than politics.  The numbnuts take themselves SO seriously, but really the whole damn thing is a joke.  We know because we spend most of our time here at LFS World Headquarters, deep in the jungles of Borneo, lauging our fool head off.  Mostly at American politics, although the rest of the world provides good fodder, as well.  Take, for instance, recent events here in Indonesia...

A member of Parliament this week was photographed watching porn clips during a session of the House of Representatives.  OK, so what?  Judges in America do it all the time during trials.  Well, the best part is that this representative is a member of the PKS party, which loudly and vociferously promoted an anti-porn law last year that makes it illegal to produce, distribute or download internet porn.

The rep was using his new toy, a tablet computer, and a photographer in the gallery noticed him hiding it under his desk while the others MPs were having a big fight over a new government building they want.  Several parties (there are 40 of them here) walked out in protest.  We can only assume that this MP was too embarrassed to stand up.

Anyway, after the story broke, the rep jumped up and down and claimed that he had clicked on a link in his email that has inadvertently brought him some porn video.  However, the photog revealed that he had 60 photos showing that the rep had searched through several folders of porn on his tablet toy to find just the right video, and then played it while sitting in the House of Reps.

Oops!

Not only did he get caught red-handed committing an ethics violation while supposedly serving the public interest, he also broke the law that he and his party had so vocally championed.  Even if he really did click on a link in his email, the fact is that the law prohibits downloading porn, even if it is accidental.

Ah, justice...
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Java is being attacked by a swarm of white, fuzzy caterpillars.  It started in East Java, the side closest to Bali, but has spread West until it is on the door-step of Jakarta.  Seems the little boogers ain't fun, either.  Not only are they stripping the vegetation (they have a particular appetite for mango trees), but if they get on your skin, the little hairs cause severe itching and burning.

The worms are coming into houses and falling out of trees.  People are walking around with umbrellas to keep the little suckers from falling out of trees and landing on their heads.

We immediately ran out and found a copy of that rare and silly British film, 'Lair of the White Worm.'
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Indonesian police ar always good for a laugh or two.  Why, here's a couple of headlines just from today's paper...

Five cops have been thrown in jail for 21 days because they raided a house in east Jakarta known for being used by (gasp!) meth smokers, here called sabu-sabu.  That's not the best part.

Seems in the raid, they found a water pipe, a handful of people and nothing else.  Not satisfied going home empty-handed, the cops took the folks to a local hospital for piss testing.  Turns out they had all enjoyed some sabu-sabu in the recent past, but that wasn't admissible evidence in court.  So, the chief ordered the folks released, since there was no actual drugs found.

Since the cops had gone through so much effort to bag nothing, they decided to call the family of one of the hapless users and demand Rp. 100 million (about $11,000) to secure the release of their little Precious.  At that rate, why is anyone payng taxes for law enforcement?  They seem to be self-supporting.
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In a related story, a cop at one of the local jails was busted for selling drugs to the inmates.  Guess there's no harm in that.  The boys are already in jail, so there's no extra effort to bust 'em.  No word on whether the cop took bribes to keep his mouth closed about who he sold drugs to.
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All this fun and games with politicians and police brings us around to the case of SugarBumps and the Headcrackers show.  If you've been reading along, then you will recall we told you about the woman at CitiBank who had (allegedly) stolen a couple of million dollars from her well-heeled bank customers.  Word on the street is that she had used her 'ample,' surgically-enhanced assets to cajole folks out of some serious jack.  Enough that she had several Mercedes-Benz SUVs and a Ferrari.  Keep in mind, she is/was an HR clerk.

Now, one of the top dogs in one of the political parties comes into the bank.  He's hopping mad because his credit card bill, which should have been about $4,000, but was topping out at $10,000, is obviously being inflated by the bank.

SugarBumps had made an appointment to sit down and talk with him at one of the branches, but when he arrived, she was not there.  Instead, someone else met him and showed him to the fifth floor, where Guido, Bonehead and Knuckles, local 'debt collectors' contracted by the bank, proceeded to 'discuss' his account.  The poor guy was later found dead.

This event caused the central bank, Bank Indonesia, to call for reform of 'debt collection' practices.  HAHAHAHA!  Ya think?

It also caused BI to take a closer look at its member banks, where they found additional cases of extortion, money laundering, graft, and other savory practices, not just at CitiBank, but several others, too.

If anyone wonders why we affectionately call them 'banksters,' wonder no longer!  Of course, since many readers here are American, you have had ample proof of this fact at home for some time.  Only, in America it's not a scandal, it's business-as-usual.
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It gives us no end of entertainment when people say, "It's hot!"  To which we can only respond, "No shit!"

It's Indonesia.  It is hot 24/7/28-30-31/12/10/100/1000/eon/epoch.  It's been hot in Indonesia since God created dirt.  Why is everyone amazed that it's hot?  It's the equator.  It never gets cold.  It has never been cold.  It couldn't be cold here if it wanted to be cold.  And besides, if it got cold then everyone would complain because it's cold.

Saying it's hot in Indonesia is akin to saying rocks are hard.
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They just passed an overhaul of the immigration law here.  It used to be that the foreign spouse of an Indonesian could get permanent residence here pretty easily.  The trick was, you couldn't work.  That permit was a whole different process.

We were damn disappointed.  We were enjoying just sitting around the shack doing nothing all day while the wives were out gettin' it done.  Now there's no excuse, once the law takes effect.  We're going to have to get a job.

Oh, they also extended the expiration from five years to ten, but you have to check in every five years.  One thing governments can be depended on to do is create ways to take money.  Even if the permit lasts ten years now, you still have to stop by every five and pay a fee.  The government giveth, the government taketh away. All part of the fun, que no?
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When we first came here, it was a status symbol just to have a cell phone.  Now, you have to have a BlueBerry.  It's gotten so bad that no one introduces themselves with names anymore.  They just say, "Hi, my BBM PIN is blahblahblah.  What's yours?"

There's even some new phone/tablet thingy on the market.  It looks ridiculous.  It's huge and when you take a call, you have to hold this massive chuck of [expletive] to your head.  It looks like that scene from one of the Zucker brothers movies where the guy answers the phone, and it's huge.  It's a real two-fisted cell phone.

Sort of a case of reverse miniaturization.
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Well, that's enough for now.  We are missing some prime lazy time in the shade of a coconut tree with three of four wives ministering to our every need (wive number one is still being surly).  You should have a pretty good sample of how crazy life can be here on the Far Side.  We'd list everything, but then we'd be here all day.  Oh, we're going to be here all day anyway.  Well, we don't want to work, so there.

Honey #2, bring me some more of that Siomay, would ja?  Honey #4, rub a little harder on the shoulders, OK?

See y'all next week.  Maybe the world will be a little more serious then.

Sampai jumpa!

Dear Mom, Part 6

Every six months, we bang out a novella to the folks back home, updating our progress integrating into the vast unknown. Those letters are serialized here, dating back to the first month we started putting electrons to phosphors here.

Dear Mom,
I’m starting this letter early in the hopes of actually being able to complete it by February 15, which will be the third anniversary of my arrival here. With any luck, and a little persistance, I should be able to meet that goal.
At any rate, it seems almost trite to say that my arrival day seems like yesterday, and yet generations ago. I can vividly remember walking from the plane to the luggage claim, and then the drive from the airport to Kemayoran, where Steve and his family lived. I distinctly remember looking around on the drive and thinking how it looked just like every movie set in southeast Asia, with coconut trees and rice paddys all over the landscape.
I recall the feeling of severe disorientation when I encountered a language unlike anything I was familiar with in the past. I strained to listen to conversations and try to catch individual words. I looked at signs that meant absolutely nothing to me; all of which seems so basic to me now. I even catch myself thinking in Indonesian on a regular basis.
At that time, I made numerous social faux pas, like paying with my left hand or waiting for women to go first through doors, and such. I would forget to remove my shoes at the door constantly. All those things have become automatic nosw. I’ve even adopted local table manners, like putting my arms on the table, eating with my hands and drinking soup from the bowl. And I can’t forget to belch at the end of a meal to signal that I have had enough to eat.
Those first few months in Balikpapan, I struggled to communicate. I was so frustrated that I couldn’t get the most basic ideas across. I spent hours with my dictionary memorizing words, though I had no reference for the grammar, which still flummoxes me. I was eating foods I had never encountered, much less heard of, and tastes that were completely foreign. Some of the ones that initially reviled me are now among my favorites.
In three years, I’ve gone from a suitcase and $1,000 and sleeping on the floor of an office, to a house that requires a rather large truck to move. My wardrobe has expanded to include a dozen dress shirts and ties, as well as a collection of batik shirts with motifs from various areas around the country. I’ve also added several pairs of shoes, two of which are sandals, which are the primary footwear here.
In a sense, Indonesia has as much invaded me, as I have invaded it.
It’s not all peaches and cream, of course. The first year was a nightmare sometimes, and I nearly gave up and came home a hundred times. The big turning point was when I cashed in my return ticket, with about a week to go. At that point, cut myself loose and chose to stick it out and see what it would be like to live somewhere new without the thought of running home at any minute. That was really the moment things started to change, not in any physical way, but in my perspective.
It was all a matter of prepositions. There was nothing to go back TO, and everything to stay FOR.
In so many ways, I feel more alive now than I have in years. Every day is a challenge, though not always in a positive way. That would be too simplistic. There are many tests and it is difficult to come to grips with being a perpetual outsider. No matter how long I live here, how much I adopt the local custom or how well I speak the local tongue, I will never fit in completely. I look and act nothing like any Indonesian anywhere in the country.
That leaves me with two alternatives: get upset all the time, or make lemonade.
I have come to enjoy the kids following me through the neighborhood chanting, “Bule kampung!” (village white boy) I have encountered very little prejudice (quite the opposite really), but it does let me know that I will never be mistaken for a local, as I might in Ireland or Germany, or even northern Italy. Here, I am an eternal outsider.
It does have its benefits, though. There is a certain deference to bule. The folks here give a wide latitude and extra consideration to foreigners. However, it is always assumed that I am ignorant, and vendors constantly try to rip me off. I call it harga bule, or white boy price. Instead of getting angry though, I have made a game out of it. In fact, I’ve gotten quite good at negotiation, much to the amusement of onlookers, who watch to see how much the vendor will scalp me for. I’m quite sure it makes for half an hour of chatter after I leave, that I not only know the real prices of things, I try to get an even better deal. Just like a good Indonesian housewife, they say.
Another trick with the buying racket is to have my girlfriend, Wati, go in and get the price settled, then I walk in to pay. It always gives me a certain satisfaction to see their faces when they realize that a bule was the buyer. The only bule I know who is better at it than me, is a Dutchman, who being Dutch, is notoriously cheap.
There is a certain attraction to the country that appeals to foreigners. The vast majority of bule I know have been here between 10 and 30 years. The few newbies I know catch the bug in about the same amount of time as I did, around six months. I have known a few who come here on a one year teaching contract and then can’t wait to get out. Invariably, they are women, just as most of the long-termers are men.
The reason is simple. Indonesia has a very traditional culture in which women are most definitely subservient to men. Part of it is the muslime influence, but most of it is just adhering to the old ways and eschewing modern feminism. It is a function not only of men demanding it, but the women themselves enforce it on each other. It is the way things are, and that’s good enough.
As a westerner, it does take some getting used to though. Having the woman walk behind you and even open doors for you is a rather strange feeling. The women won’t eat until the man has started. They will request, but never demand. In fact, of my female students, their greatest goal in life is to be a housewife and care for home and hearth. It is quite refreshing, actually, coming from a culture where the behavior of women is virtually inditinguishable from that of men. There is a reason that Asian wives are so highly prized by western men.
It is hard for me to put my finger on what it is that draws me to this place. It is a problem of having too many points, and most of them being so subtle. It’s a lot like Carroll’s, “Alice Through the Looking Glass.” There are some very obvious differences, but most are very small and take a while to notice. There is a certain unspoken initiation into the culture, in which one is slowly given the full revelation of what it is to be Indonesian.