Soeharto's Last Erection

Freedom Square in Jakarta; the phallic structure in the middle of the square is jokingly known as Soeharta's (the former Communist dictator) Last Erection. From what I gather, it's about half and half when asking an Indonesian what they thought of the man. You either love him or hate him, I guess. And if you loved him, chances are you do NOT love his daughter, who is currently running for president.

Jakarta, near the National Museum.

Our main dinner haunt on Jalal Jaksa, the backpacker street.

O, hai. This is Nori! We didn't know he even lived with us until we went to investigate where all the meowing was coming from at our place in Yogya. We thought there was a litter of kittens that kept waking us up in the morning, but it turns out it was just Nori, meowing like a cat. A defense mechanism, perhaps? Or a personality disorder? Either way, he was a beautiful bird who should have been living his twilight years in the jungle as opposed to chained up outside our guesthouse...

A common occurance in Yogya- young girls asking us to complete surveys for their English projects. They didn't just ask dumb, everyday questions, but on one occasion about Indonesia and the environment... on another, Manchester United. You can tell which group Patrick got along with, yes?

I thought it would be inappropriate and ignorant of us to leave out a few pictures of Jakarta... even though we didn't really take many! Here are a couple from Yogyakarta and a few from Jakarta. Can you tell we're biased towards Yogya?

Either way, we're not even on Java anymore. No, siree, we have officially made it to the city of Medan and the island of Sumatra (I think it's the third biggest in the world after Greenland and Borneo, but feel free to correct). I know that Medan is the third biggest city in Indonesia. This leads me to beg the question: why do Indonesia's biggest and most populous cities have the crappiest budget accomodation? Is it because there are more wealthy visitors than backpackers? In Medan's case, I would think not. While our guesthouse for the night is dirt cheap, it is still covered in... well... dirt. And the bathroom is pretty intolerable (and I'm saying this after three days at sea with nothing more than a hole in the floor for a toilet). There's no shower, just a bucket of water to douse yourself with... and this bucket will not be filled by you, because there are no running taps! Let's compare to Yogya, where we paid the same amount per night with a private bathroom (no frills, but there was at least a shower head). Something doesn't seem right!

It's only for one night though, so I am beyond allowed to complain. We are off to Bukit Lawang tomorrow, where we will a) find excellent budget accomodation in a jungle/riverside setting, b) will be able to watch workers at the orangutan rehabilitation centre feed the primate residents a bland lunch of milk and bananas (so they will be encouraged for forage for further, tastier meals) and, c) go on a two day, one night long jungle trek to view wild orangutans in their natural habitat, which is becoming smaller by the day due to slash and burn farming and illegal logging- hence the need for (overflowing) orangutan rehab centres. They're homes are slowly becoming nonexistent. They say that the wise face of an orangutan is forever burned into your memory. Stay tuned for a first hand account. I may never come home and simply choose a life in the wild with the orangutans. On second thought I wouldn't want to seem to be copying Jane Goodall. How unoriginal!

Even for it's lack of decent accomodation on a backpacker's budget, I like Medan. There is an absolutely beautiful and famous mosque just across the street, and we ate dinner while listening to the final call to prayer. I even found poutine on the menu at the restaurant where we had dinner with some new friends, although in Medan they seemed to be called "Dick'y Chips" (?). At the restaurant they had English World News on the TV (it was CNN, the bane of my political existence, but I still watched with relish). Ok, so maybe I just really like that restaurant. We won't have much of a chance to explore the city, but already, I feel safe (knock on wood) and happy here.

Maybe you're wondering how our boat ride from Java to Sumatra was? Did you even know we did that? I don't remember if I mentioned it previously. Anyway, on the 20th we boarded a large Pelni Ship (the national shipping company of Indonesia and, therefore, the most seaworthy and safest) and went to our separate rooms assigned by gender (did my Mom call the shipping company beforehand? It's an Islamic thing, I suppose) and basically hung out, read and ate for three days. It was nice!

It became even nicer on our last day at sea. The first night I was kept up by my chatty roommates, who simply had to get up at 2 AM for showers and a nice girl talk before settling in (finally) after I ate my ship cafeteria breakfast at 6:30 AM. On the third day I woke up realizing that my roommates were different. They were staring at me. Smiling. And they spoke a little English (hallelujah).

I quickly became part of their family, the mother, aunt and two daughters, and became a "sister" to my other two roommates, who were twin sisters. One family were practising Muslims and the other weren't. They told me that in Indonesia the difference between girls who wore headscarves and the girls who didn't was that one family was practising, the same way my parents are practising Catholics, and the other family wasn't practising. As simple as that. And as accepting as that. The non-practising family made me eat mounds of dragonfruit (yum) and the practising family went through my makeup and told me I looked like Britney Spears (um... thanks?).

I found out that one twin sister was nine months pregnant with a baby boy (she was wearing shapeless clothes specifically for Muslim women so one couldn't really tell) and, once again, I was asked to give a name for the baby. Much to Patrick's chagrin, I said "Matthew", both because it's my brother's name and because I thought it could also be a nice Muslim name (to which Pat said that Patrick was also a nice Muslim name, or at least as Muslim as the name Matthew. I told him at this rate, I would be asked to name another baby tomorrow and would call it Patrick, but of course he was only kidding to begin with). Then, the other twin presented me with a gift- a beautiful Batik shirt. Really quite stylish. And she gave me her email, telling me she would send a picture of "Matthew" as soon as he came along. A great way to end an enjoyable voyage.

As we continue to travel overland without the use of planes (which was originally planned around my fear of flying), I've really been thinking and reading about how environmentally friendly we are being, simply by taking planes out of the scenario as much as possible. We made friends with a couple on board the ship- the girl is Swiss and the guy is Aussie- and they are travelling completely overland, by use of trains or ships, to Switzwerland. I thought this was cool as I just finished reading a set of short stories about people who never use planes. It's something to think about and, I'm sure, something that will keep coming up in my posts as we meet more people.

Until next time! XO.