Some Holiday Thoughts

It's 16C (that's 61F for the metrically impaired) as we sit huddled by the warmth of the laptop on a crystal blue morning in what passes for winter here on the flank of the largest volcano in Java at the Far Side World Headquarters - Java Branch.  We gathered up all our wives and made a bee-line for the hills south of Jakarta for the Big Holiday.

No, not Fourth of July, Eid al-Fitri, silly.  The 4th means even less here than it does in the States, and by that I mean almost nothing, except that it is the eve of the biggest commercial holiday in all of Islam.

Oh, sure.  The Fourth is a holiday in the US.  It used to be Independence Day, but the country is no longer free and has little, if anything, to do with democracy.  More meaningful to folks there is the convenient three-day weekend with the three Bs - beer, barbeque and bullets.

On this side of the planet, though, today is one of the last shopping days before Eid al-Fitri, the big party at the and of Ramadhan.  As with all major religions that originate in the Middle East, it is an orgy of commericalism, with folks buying elaborate food baskets and handing out envelopes full of crispy new bills and kids getting shiny new bicycles from Santakesh, who flies around the world in one night, delivering gifts in his caravan pulled by eight magic camels.

Yes, it's more of the same, prompting us to bug out of the big city and hide out in the mountains until the madness passes over.

Eid al-Fitri, Idul Fitri as it's known here, starts the Lebaran holiday (lit. wideness).  It is a roughly one to two week holiday that starts with everyone in the entire country going mudik.  Mudik can translate as "scattering," "exodus," or "diaspora," depending on how much you are willing to pay for vocabulary.

In effect, one of the most densely packed cities on Earth empties out and becomes almost livable for a time, as folks slowly filter back from hometowns around the country.  Places that normally take an hour to an hour and a half to reach can suddenly fall within a 20-minute ride.  Only problem is, everything is closed, so there's really no point to going anywhere.  All the more reason to hold up in the hills until the madness blows over.

Eid al-Fitri is a combination of the feasting and travel of the US Thanksgiving holiday, along with the commercial aspects of Christmas and the religious fervor of Easter, all rolled into one.  It follows the month of fasting, during which restaurants cover the windows to hide non-Muslim diners, while placing photo adverts in the windows.  This is known as "cagnitive dissonance" in the communications biz.

Amidst all this felicity, we too have something to celebrate: all the damn drumming at 3a will now cease until next year.  Don't ask, you just have to experience it.

We are also joyful that food and eating will no longer be the center of every...single....damn....conversation.  And you may not be aware of this, but not eating or drinking (or even swallowing if you are hardcore) gives folks a wicked case of halitosis.  As a matter of social graces, it is quite pleasant when the fasting month ends.

So, after all that, there's really no point in talking about the Fourth of July.  No one here gives a good spit, and most Americans don't even remember what it's about.  Besides, at this point, the former foe (Britain) that the US cast off is now a bit freer after BREXIT.

So, as we sit here shivering in the tropical cold, we note once again that ritual has shot the air out of meaning, and that commercialism trumps (pun alert) the sacred with the profane.

Yes, folks, it's all about spending money, no matter how holy or sacred or important dates are.  In the end, they are nothing more than an excuse to dig in your pocket and extract the loose change that government and necessities left behind.

Just goes to show you that nothing is so special that commerce can't take a big steaming dump all over it.

Have a great holiday, regardless of race, creed, color, national origin, or sexual orientation.  Because we're all special till the money runs out.

Ramadan Gone

Today marks the end of Lebaran, which is a week-long national holiday in Indonesia.  The official days off were last Sunday and Monday, but so many folks bug out of town to pulang kampung (return to the village), that really life here just shuts down for a week.

12 million people vanish overnight - KOMPAS photo

Lebaran is akin to American Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter all rolled into one.  Airports are packed.  roadways are jammed.  Special feasts are prepared.  Gifts are exchanged.  Bonuses are received.

The cause for all this revelry is the Islamic holiday of Ei'd al-Fitr, or in the Indonesian spelling, Idul Fitri.  The holiday begins at the precise moment of the New Moon following the month of fasting and marks the beginning of the Islamic New Year, in this case 1488.

Ramadan is a curious concept.  It requires the strict muslim to not ingest anything. He may not eat, drink, swallow saliva, smoke, or otherwise take something into his body from sun up to sun down.  There are many devout observers of this practice, but there are many who practice in public.  As my aunt said about Southern Baptists, "Honey, we're Baptists.  We don't drink in front of each other."  As with all religions, there are many whose integrity extends only as far as the neighbor's eyesight.

Ramadan is actually quite annoying for those who are not caught up in the spirit of things.  There are the gangs of gung-ho youth who traipse through the neighborhood at 2am banging drums and cymbals to wake folks for the early morning food fest and prayer time.

The mosques begin their turn at 3am with the actual wake up call that the drummers prepared us for an hour earlier.  Depending on the local imam, this may last 5 minutes, or go on well past sunrise roughly three hours later.

This routine goes on for a full 28 or 29 days, depending on whether you follow the synodic or sidereal calendar.  In fact, the government agency in Indonesia whose official task is to determine the beginning and end of Ramadan is always at odds with the mosques.  Every year it's the same controversy.  The government agency follows the sidereal calendar, so they determine that Ramadan starts slightly later and ends slightly earlier than the imams.  Naturally, most folks follow the government agency, especially for the ending time.

The routine is always the same.  For the first week and a half, there is great excitement and fervor as everyone begins the fast.  By the end of the second week, folks have a haunted and pained demeanor.  By the third week, the paranoia sets in: are you fasting?  You better be fasting.  If I'm fasting, you need to be suffering along with me.  As the fourth week begins, the markets fill up with shoppers and prices go through the roof as everyone prepares for Idul Fitri.  Everyone starts worrying about their THR, or bonus pay.

Oh, THERE they are! - KOMPAS photo

Then comes the day before Idul Fitri.  There is nothing quite like it.  Dump trucks get hired out by groups of people going to any given village and 50 to 100 people pile in with their bags for the long, arduous journey to anywhere.  Trains are piled inside and out with people.  Literally millions of cars and motorcycles hit the roadways.  The news is filled with stories of macet, or 'log jam'.  The papers have a running, week-long death tally (this year 870 dead).  It reminds me of the Great Rita Fiasco in Houston several years back, though this mess is an annual ritual.

The night before Idul Fitri, the mosques begin the chanting that will last until well past sunrise the next day - about 13 hours here on the equator.  The next night is marked by a literal orgy of fireworks that goes on for a minimum of five days, depending on when supplies are exhausted.  There are spontaneous bands of merry-makers roving around whooping and hollering.  Everyone shoves food in your face claiming their variation of such-and-such a delicacy is the finest.

By Sunday (today), the fireworks are gone, the revelries have slowed, the shops start re-opening, most folks are back home, and life starts returning to normal again.  Prices, which sky-rocketed last week, start to settle down, though they never return to the levels seen just a short time ago.  The exercise group starts meeting again in the park in front of the house.  The food vendors return to their usual rounds.  Traffic jams clog every road and byway of Jakarta once again.  And the Christians start planning for Christmas.

Life goes on.  Hi Ho, as Kurt Vonnegut might put it.

Mudik To My Ears!

Tomorrow begins an annual Indonesian ritual that is a wonder to behold.  It is the beginning of a holiday called Lebaran.  It is akin to Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year all rolled into one.  And it is the one time of year that it is an absolute joy to live in Jakarta.

But, let's back up just a smidge.  What's going on?

This past month has been Ramadan, which for those unfamiliar with muslim practice, is the month of purification.  A true practitioner will fast from before dawn until sunset.  By fasting, I mean that one doesn't eat, drink or even swallow saliva.  Al Quran also commands the practitioner to work hard and suffer as a means of achieving holiness through denial and patience.

Generally, the ritual involves folks waking up around 3:30am, performing the morning prayer, then eating a large breakfast before sun up.  The mosques help out with the high-volume chanting to get everyone started.  The chanting continues roughly every hour until 10pm.  For muslims, though, the most important one is around 5:50pm, when the call goes out to let everyone know they can 'buka puasa,' or break fast.

During Ramadan, restaurants cover the windows.  The few small pubs still open serve beer in coffee cups.  All anyone talks about is fasting, breaking the fast, are you fasting, did you eat yet, what time can we buka puasa?

Ramadan begins with the first appearance of the Moon at a certain time of the year, which moves around a bit.  Last year, it was October, this year in August.  The month ends with the final disappearance of the crescent Moon.  It's such an important time of the year, there is even a government agency whose primary function is to set the exact dates and times for the beginning and end of the Fast.

The culmination of Ramadan is a holiday called Idul Fitri, which is the Indo version of the Arabic name.  That particular day is a lot like America's Thanksgiving, in which everyone goes home to the family and eats special foods to the point of medical intervention, and spends a week recovering.

Tomorrow, beginning about noon and lasting through the weekend will be a ritual of truly gargantuan proportions.  Millions of people will migrate from wherever they are to the home village in an annual nightmare called mudik.  Mudik more or less translates as 'exodus,' and it truly is every bit of that.  Just about anything that rolls will be pressed into service to carry folks back to the home village to gather with family for the feasting.

What's truly fascinating is that Jakarta, a city of roughly 12 million people, where the legendary traffic snarls are a full-contact sport (literally), becomes a ghost town.  Suddenly overnight, the 18-hour-a-day traffic jams vanish, the crowds at the malls evaporate, and the omnipresent toxic cloud over the city wafts away.  For one week, the city is positively a joy to live in.

The first year I was here, I made the mistake of going to Puncak, in the mountains south of the city.  The area has a great number of villas and resorts for city dwellers, and normally it's quite pleasant up there...except during mudik.  The main road through the mountains became a literal parking lot.  It took as long as an hour to drive three kilometers.  I swear I saw a little old lady, four feet tall and nine years older than God, walking faster than the cars...up hill.

The next year, I stayed in Jakarta and found out that those left behind absolutely own the city.  You can almost literally lie down in the middle of normally busy roads and not move for half an hour.  You can actually see the mountains south of town.  You can go places and not have to wait or be run down by mobs.  The constant drone of traffic noise dies down to almost nothing.  You can even get a table at the Batavia Restaurant without a reservation, not that a reservation guarantees anything normally.

Imagine having Times Square all to yourself, and you almost get the feeling here.

This time of year, I use a taxi instead of motorcycle.  I can actually go across town in 20 minutes, instead of the usual 2 hours.  Places that normally cost $10 to get to, run about $4 or $5, by taxi.

There's also a festive feeling in the air.  The pubs open again and you can get a beer in a frosted mug.  People aren't tired, hungry and irritable all the time.  Folks run around giving gift baskets of food and fruit syrup and everyone gets THR, or the Idul Fitri bonus at work, so they're happy again.

For one whole week, the city is vacant and quiet.  It belongs to us tiko with nowhere else in particular to go.  We sit in sidewalk cafes for the only moment of the year that it's sanitary to do so.  We go to the museum or Monas, because no one else is there.  We are Charleton Heston in Omega Man!

Then, just as suddenly, the week is over.  Comes Monday morning, the traffic is worse than at any other point in the year, except during floods, as millions of people come back and try to rearrange their lives once again.  The magic moment flees and the rat race once again takes over.

Until that time, we savor every lonely, quiet moment in the Big City.  The glorious solitude in the midst of wall-to-wall humanity.

For a brief and shining moment, there was a place called Camelot!
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