Week Ten: Terima Kasih Indonesia

Sunrise in Palangkaraya, Indonesia

I’m not sure how this summer went by so fast. I feel like I was just hauling my bags up the stairs into my tiny apartment, and now clothes are strewn across the floor in failing attempt to repack those bags. I’ll be flying to Tokyo early tomorrow morning, then seeing my parents in Hawaii before heading back to Seattle.

Ten weeks ago, I landed in a foreign country, in a part of the world I’d never seen. I spent my time here being the white girl who stuck out everywhere she went in this crowded, traffic-ridden city. I learned the best way to do the simplest things, like how to cross the street (just walk boldly into traffic and the usually the cars stop) and how to get from point a to point b (two words: motorcycle taxis).

Commuting in Jakarta

Through press conferences, interviews, and just living everyday, I learned about a culture that's wildly different from my own. I learned about the critical state of environmental resources in this country, and how big of a task it is to change peoples’ habits to preserve what remains. In an intrinsically patriarchal society, I learned about a few small groups of women fighting for big change. Sailing down the Rungan River in rural Borneo, I saw a school thousands of miles (and dollars) from the one I went to, but still full of children with passion to learn. I learned how to adapt and thrive in a world unlike one I’d ever lived in.

I won’t miss the traffic. Or going to the grocery store and having to mime “safety pin” and other things of the sort. But I’ll miss pretty much everything else, like taking Gojeks to press conferences at the Ritz Carlton, and the huge plates of street food served on banana leaves. I’ll miss binge-watching 50 cent DVDs on rainy Sundays, waking up in a different city every weekend, and exploring the streets, beaches, and jungles of this crazy archipelago. I’ll miss starting work at noon, seeing a new part of the city on every assignment, and my coworkers who laugh with me, not at me, at my daily struggles of navigating this country.

Reporting live from the Rungan River, Kalimantan, Indonesia

Most people I’ve met here have asked me why I chose to do this program. I never really know what to tell them. I think it was a combination of having no idea what I wanted to do after graduation, mixed with a bad case of wanderlust. But reflecting on my time here, it was so much more than just a chance to see a little more of the world and add another line to my resume.  It was a chance to work as a print and video reporter in a city where I didn't speak the language. It was a chance to sit down with people halfway around the world, everyday, and hear about the lives they lead. It was a chance to explore the crazy little heaven that's Indonesia.

When I was a tour guide at my university, people often asked me about challenges they might face in college. I could list many, but I think the thing about challenges is that they’re temporary. If college taught me one thing, it’s that in order to grow, to become a better person, you need to step out of your comfort zone.

Parambanan Temple in Yogyakarta, Indonesia

Spending three months eight thousand miles out of my comfort zone, I learned so many invaluable lessons, but I think one of the biggest ones I already knew: It's the fact that the best way to become a better person, is to take risks, to challenge yourself. And the best feeling in the world might just come from looking back on something that once seemed impossible, whether it was crossing a busy street or writing a story from a press conference that you didn't understand a word of, and seeing it as easy in the rear view mirror. That moment, when something that was once your ultimate goal turns into the baseline, or just a small milestone along the way, that's when you know you’ve grown.

I’m so grateful for the time I got to spend here, for everything I’ve learned, and all of the people I’ve met. Looking back, I know this is an experience I will always carry with me. Terima kasih UW for giving me this opportunity, I’ll do my best to pay it forward. Terima kasih Indonesia.  

Kalimantan sunset, Palangkaraya, Indonesia

Week Nine: Temples and Travelers

After consulting my bank account, I decided it was worth eating Indomie (Indonesian Ramen) for every meal of my last week here to see Borobudor and Parambanan temple, so I booked one last weekend trip to Yogyakarta.

After a 3:00 am wake up call and a short flight, I was in Central Java. Yogyakarta is a smaller, much more manageable version of Jakarta. My friend picked me up from the airport and took me to eat Gegung, a sweet Javanese chicken and rice dish. Then I checked into my hostel and dropped my stuff off before adventuring.

My first stop was Parambanan Temple, which I reached on the public bus for about 50 cents round-trip. There were two very clear markets for this bus: local commuters and tourists who were too cheap to pay for the tour bus. Some Romanians sat down next to me and gave me a brief sales pitch for their country. Then they asked me if America was still the dream. I didn't know what to tell them.

Parambanan Temple

Leaving the Romanians behind, I turned into a little street side restaurant to avoid tourist-attraction prices for food. I simultaneously had my most successful conversation in Indonesian and became a social media celebrity; a boy asked me what I wanted (Mie Ayam or chicken with noodles), where I was from (America) and how old I was (dua-dua, not even twenty-two, just two-two). But he understood, so I’m basically fluent now. During this conversation, his mom, who owned the restaurant, took about 50 photos with me which I’m sure are probably now all over her social media.

After my noodles and photo shoot, I made it to the Parambanan Temple, which is absolutely incredible. The Hindu architecture casts a huge shadow over the courtyard when the sunset peaks through the clouds. I almost missed the last bus back into town because I didn't want to leave.

When I got back to the city, it was pouring, and I still had a bit of a walk to my hostel from the bus stop. But it all worked out, and out of all the hostels I’ve stayed at so far, Laura’s Backpackers in Yogyakarta was by far my favorite. It had this awesome outdoor area where everyone was just hanging out and they even had free dinner. Talking to some of the other guests there made me wish I had more time to travel around while I was here, to go on a long-term adventure without having to make it back to work on Monday.

Sunrise near Borobudur Temple

I spent all of two hours sleeping, then had another 3:00 am wake up call. This time it was to watch the sunrise from a hill above the Borobudur temple. It was a bit cloudy, but still beautiful. I remember walking around Saint Paul’s Cathedral when I was in London and thinking of how old that place was. But Borobudur was built eight centuries before that. I can’t even fathom the changes in the world those tiny etchings have seen over the past eleven centuries.  

On the way back, I road in a creaky, stop-and-go minibus that with two Germans, another American, and a guy who was something of a Canadian/South African nomad. His job is based in South Africa, but he can only stay there for three months out of the year because of his visa so he just travels around and works remotely for the rest of the time. I think that's the best thing about staying in hostels, is that you meet so many people in different parts of their lives, and it opens up the realm of what you think is possible. A lot of their trips were just beginning, and mine is coming to an end, but as I prepare to head back to real life, whatever that might be, I’m glad I got to meet a few more people living their own real life right now. It showed me that whether you’re a recent grad, med student, or nomadic Canadian, where there’s a will there’s a way when it comes to travel.     

Week Eight Part Two: Time Travel

Supertree Grove, Gardens by the Bay, Singapore

If you ever want to time travel, go straight from a rural village in Borneo to Downtown Singapore. That should do the trick. I needed to restart my visa, so I headed from Borneo’s wild jungle to Singapore’s urban one for the weekend.  

The city-state is feels like the future-but not the burned, dried, dead future we see in movies like Wall-E. It's what the future could look like if we listened to those movies and started making positive environmental change.

I had something of an itinerary planned, but once I saw Singapore’s Gardens by the Bay, I ditched those plans and spent most of my day there. The Gardens are made up of a several-acre park that features giant photovoltaic towers that look like trees, where metal meets the Earth. They have two huge botanical gardens, called the Cloud Forest and the Flower Dome. Walking through the Flower Dome looks like the Hogwarts campus in the Garden of Eden. It has plants from all over the world and statues of mythical creatures seamlessly immersed in the man-made forest.  The Cloud Forest feels like you’re several miles up a mountain, complete with a multi-story waterfall.

alice in wonderland figurine in gardens by the bay

The last part of this exhibit takes you through a sustainability museum. A soundtrack of young kids plays in the background. They ask questions like “Is there more past, or more future?” and “How many trees do you have to cut down for a forest to stop being a forest?”  The final room shows a film called “+5˚ C” which shows what will happen to our planet if we don't find ways to sustain our world with cleaner energy.

Maybe I was brainwashed by living in Hawaii, where my school taught “Take Care of the Land” along with Respect and Honesty as values kids should live by. Maybe Seattle brainwashed me, when the kid I babysat couldn't wait for his day to be on “The Green Team,” the group of kids who got to stand by the rubbish bins after lunch and make sure everyone sorts their trash correctly. But living in Indonesia for two months, where trashcans are loose suggestions and clouds of burning waste, exhaust, and who knows what else pollute the air, has further highlighted the global need for sustainable living.

cloud forest at gardens by the bay

Seeing a city like Singapore gave me hope for a world where kids would get just as excited about going to a world attraction that showcases something natural and self-sustaining, as they would to visit the man-made, gas guzzling consumerism of Disneyland. It gave me hope for a world that doesn't leave tiny robots in mountains of trash and humans too fat to walk in spaceships because we destroyed our planet. It gave me hope for a world where people are motivated to make positive change for the environment. I just hope more people will jump on that bandwagon.

Week Eight Part One: Two Degrees From the Equator

Drinking coffee on the boat near Palangkaraya's famous bridge

This week, The Jakarta Globe needed to send a reporting team on a boat cruise through Central Kalimantan, an Indonesian province in Borneo, and by some crazy process of elimination I got to go. We left my house at about 3:00 a.m., got on a 6:00 a.m. flight and were in Palangkaraya, the region’s capital city, by 7:00.

The river looks like where Pocahontas’ “just around the river bend” might meet Mowgli’s backyard in The Jungle Book.  It winds for miles deep into the center of Borneo.

The Petuk Katimpun village is built on stilts to accommodate river tides. These houses are right on the water during the wet season.  

Our first stop was at a tiny Dayak village, a village of Borneo's indigenous people, called Petuk Katimpun. The population is about 200 and they only have electricity from 6-12 p.m. During the dry season, the school’s front lawn is a soccer field. In the winter, it’s where mom’s drop off the carpool from canoes because the water levels are so high. Students have class from 8-11 am, after which time girls go home and help their mothers cook, and boys help their father’s fish.

classroom in petuk katimpun

When the school was run by solely government funding, the teachers only came to school a few times per week because the road to get there is so difficult to navigate. We talk about privilege a lot in America. But I’ve never had it illustrated quite so clearly as seeing this elementary school, compared to mine.     

View from the small motorized canoes that took us to the orangutan island

We continued up the river, to observe the orangutan sanctuary run by the Borneo Orangutan Survival Foundation. I felt like Steve Irwin riding down a river offshoot in a tiny motorized canoe. Our guide, Putu, told us the story of Kessie, an orangutan who had been tied up so tightly at a palm oil plantation that when she was rescued her hand had to be amputated. He told us about how these animals are becoming more and more endangered by the minute, and of course, humans are to blame. 

Kessie, the one-handed orangutan enjoys sugarcane on the coast of Palas island

Cruising down the twists and turns of the river, Putu also told us about the history of the city. He told us about Indonesia’s first president, Sukarno, and his plans to make Palangkarya Indonesia’s new capital city in the 1960’s. He brought in Russian engineers to build roads and a huge bridge across the river. As fear of communism mounted in Indonesia, these Russian were jailed and development of the city more or less stopped. Its weird to think that most of this history I’ve learned has been Hawaii or America centric. You learn a lot when you change your centric, and learn about a place and time in another part of the world.

The longer I spend hear, the more I realize what a beautiful, crazy, and diverse place this country is; how I can be on Bali’s sandy beaches, then Jakarta’s congested roads, and deep in Kalimantan’s jungle and its all in the same country. I’ve missed the feeling of being in nature, free from streetlights and pollution and traffic-jammed streets. With hordes of emails and piles of work out of reach, it was so nice to just be in nature, to have a coffee with the sunrise and a beer with the full moon. I never realized a jungle boat, two degrees from the equator in rural Borneo was on my bucket list, but I’m definitely glad I’ve crossed that one off.  

Full moon view from the ship's back deck

Week Seven: Autonomy

There’s no easy way to carry a tripod around Jakarta. I can carry my tripod bag over my shoulder, which turns navigating the streets into something like an awkward, unintentional, one-sided jousting match with street vendors and small children. I can carry it long ways, essentially spooning with it on the bus to keep it out of other people’s way, but if I walk with it in this position it continually hits me in the face. It's a vicious cycle.

That’s another thing about journalism these days, is that historically, outlets would send a reporter, photographer, and video camera guy at the very least to get a story. These days, it's a one-woman show. I’ve learned to show up early at press conferences and get a good spot, rather than being the awkward white girl fumbling with equipment and a “Beritasatu Intern” badge. Its quite a project to get sound bites, photos, and enough content to write a story at press conferences with tons of reporters and sources who don’t typically speak English. It’s safe to say I’m learning a lot.

Tripod bag, among other things for next week's reporting project

This autonomy goes beyond work, too. This has been the first time I’ve ever lived completely alone. Its weird to think how different my day-to-day life now, is compared to three months ago. My days used to start at 5:30 a.m. where I went to my nanny job, then I was either at class or my internship by 10. I usually went to my third job or the gym in the evening, then was either passed out in bed by 10 pm or was being dragged to $1 Wells Wednesdays by my roommates. Here I work seven hours a day at the most, and have the rest of the time to do whatever I want.

I’m so thankful for the people I have met here; people who have helped me understand and love a way of life so different from anything I’ve ever known. But I’ve also loved the chance to be autonomous, to do things completely on my own because I want to do them. For the last four years, if I wasn't waist deep in homework I was running around after the kids I babysat, or after the 50 campus tour guides whom I was loosely responsible for. Here I’m really only responsible for myself.

I love governing my own day. I love waking up in the morning, going for a run, and still having time to sit down and eat breakfast before going into work. I love sitting down with a book in the busy park on Sundays, and having my own bubble in the midst of all the city’s craziness. I love having time to think, to take in this world that's so different, and really appreciate it.

It's a bizarre feeling to have this much time and space all to myself. I’ll be happy to go back to my people in a few weeks, with a bigger backyard and some friends I’ll never forget. But right now, at this point in my life, I am truly thankful to have a little time, in this crazy place, to do my own thing, in my own part of the world.   

Mural at Senayan Sports Complex park

Week Six: Tourist towns with no sidewalks

Its crazy how fast my time is going by here. I recently realized I only have a few weeks left so I aggressively booked some weekend trips and watched the money from months of babysitting and boring internships quickly leave my bank account. One Uberpool and a plane ride later and I was in Bali.

Bali’s thick sand and clear water reminded me a lot of my hometown, just with beautiful, intricate Hindu temples and a lot more monkeys. Kuta and Waikiki are twin cities thousands of miles apart. Kuta wins on the beer deals though. When I ordered a beer with lunch the waiter asked if I wanted three beers for about $7 or eight for $12. He looked surprised when I said no, I actually just wanted one beer.

Aerial view of Padang Padang Beach, South Bali

If growing up in a tourist town taught me one thing though, it’s that the real destination is never the Waikiki or the Kuta. Between consulting my coworkers and some Googling I came up with a loose itinerary. Maybe it's a cliché Eat Pray Love thing, but traveling alone is both mildly terrifying and incredibly liberating. I’ve been in a few binds traveling before-namely stuck in Poland with no usable currency, or snowboarding down the wrong slope in Canada and having to take a bus back- but those situations are more daunting when you’re by yourself. But I managed to stay out of Poland and avoid unnecessary bus riding with ski gear so I’d say it was a success. I spent a day listening to the waves crash on the cliffs near the Uluwatu Temple and another walking for miles down the coast of Nusa Dua.  

It’s weird to think about the people who stay in the castles of hotels on those beaches. I walked past families of CEO’s on vacation with their kids, thinking about how sure they are of where they’ll be next month, next year. Meanwhile, I’m towel changing behind a tour bus, trying to make myself look socially acceptable enough to go into a café to for the free Wifi.

World Tourism monument to 107 countries that contributed tree species to Nusa Dua

At the end of my trip, I was advised to walk to the airport instead of taking a taxi. It was only a 15-minute walk, which would probably be faster than sitting in traffic. I opted to save a whopping $7 and walked to the airport, sunburnt, hair still wet from the beach, and a plastic bag as my carry on. I hopped over ditches and weaved through palm trees on my way there.

Right when I was thinking I was the only person who would actually walk to an airport, I ran into another girl doing the same thing. She also had a plastic bag for her carry on. She asked me if I knew where the sidewalk was. I told her I didn't think there was one, but if we winged it a little longer we’d be there soon.  Soon enough, I found the terminal and made it back to Jakarta. I’m assuming she made it back to Melbourne. I’ve got less than four weeks left here, and I’ve still yet to find that sidewalk on the way to what happens next, but I guess I’ll just have to keep winging until I get there. 

Nusa Dua Beach, Southeast Bali

Week Five: Cobblers, Chimney Sweeps, and Journalists

What do cobblers, chimney sweeps, and journalists have in common? Apparently they’re antiquated professions. I’m looking into signing a lease on an apartment back in Seattle and that came with a fat dose of reality: I need to find a way to afford rent (read: I need to find a real person job) and I need to do it in five weeks.

I’ve had a blast working here this summer. I’ve loved taking motorcycle taxis to press conferences at the Ritz Carlton and getting to write about whatever interests me.  It’s the dream. The only problem is that comes with an unpaid-intern salary. That won’t cut in in a city where the average rent for a two-bedroom apartment is over $2,000. 

I spent last Saturday applying for jobs at my pseudo office, a Dutch café in my neighborhood with insanely good coffee. I’ve been trolling LinkedIn and Indeed.com for the last few months. I've found that the few publications that are hiring are either looking for Mid-Senior Level editors or volunteer interns.  I’ve taken to applying for PR and Marketing jobs seeking “good storytellers” and “strong writing skills.”

Snapchats from the job application process

After my job application marathon, I came home and watched Spotlight. Its a movie about the Boston Globe journalists who exposed Catholic priests sexually harassing kids across Boston and around the world in 2001. Fifteen years later, I’d guess most news outlets don’t have resources to support an investigative reporting team like that one. The journalists on that team got there starts at small, local newspapers and worked their way up. Those gates into the profession don't really exist anymore.  Online media has taken their place, and like so many other industries, offers what once used to financially support the profession for free.

Modern inventions replaced chimney sweeps, and I guess there are still cobblers out there but you don’t hear much about them. Maybe chimney sweeps thought this when they were losing their jobs to machines, but I can’t think of a mechanism that could take the place of journalism.

Empty copy-editors desks in the newsroom

Newspapers are dying, but news isn’t; there’s still a huge demand for news, people just don’t want to buy it. People use their cousin’s-friend’s-brother’s-ex-wife’s subscription to The Economist, or stop reading after The New York Times’ ten free articles. Advertising dollars can support online news to a point, but digital advertising doesn’t pay the same way a full page add in the Sunday paper would. Other media turn to company sponsorships and product placement, but any PR textbook will tell you the difference between advertising and news is that advertising is paid and news is earned. Advertorials can be great, but they can be dangerous when presented as hard facts and not sponsored content. Just think about a world where you could buy the cover of the New York Times.

I wish I had a solution. I spent my classes in the business school, classes I took as a backup in case journalism didn't workout, thinking about how we could support news in our time. There definitely are some millennial publications like Buzzfeed and The Skimm who seem to have it figured out. I think means there is a way into journalism for my generation, its just not a clear path, and I could really use some clarity right about now. I’ll leave you with a photo of this somewhat-tacky-but-relevant Steve Jobs quote on the menu at the café I’m working at, in hopes I'll figure it out. 

Week Four: Ladies and Gentlemen

This week, I had the opportunity to attend an event for Lentera Sintas, an Indonesian campaign to promote awareness about sexual harassment and to support survivors of sexual assault. Right now, they’re going around to middle and high school orientations, talking about what sexual harassment is and how to deal with it. There’s a lot of talk in Indonesia right now about reducing sexually based crimes but most of this talk is how to punish the perpetrators with jail sentences and even chemical castration. The legislation doesn’t do much for the survivors of these crimes, so this campaign is trying to help.   

Jakarta high school student shows her support for survivors of sexual harassment

After the event, I got to chat with one of the volunteers who lead the talk. She somehow managed to get about 100 tenth graders to engage in discussion about sex and other often-taboo topics. She told me a bit about herself, and how even though she is probably one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, she isn’t married. She said she wants to chase her own dreams, not just be a mother and a wife.

One thing I notice walking around here is that there are so many men out in the streets, but far less women. In my neighborhood, men sit out on their porches in groups every night. Boys run through the streets, playing catch and riding bikes. But where are all the women? When I run at the local sports complex I see soccer fields full of boys’ teams, but not a single girl kicking a ball around with pink cleats and a bouncing pony tail.

My country is absolutely guilty of marginalizing women, but I think I’m just used to seeing it in different ways. It’s normal to see girls in my hometown, walking down the beach wearing string bikinis and being hit on by men twice their age.  Girls here often cover themselves from head to toe. Women at colleges across my country are welcomed to frat parties with sickeningly pink punch spiked with cheap vodka, and sweet-talked by boys into bedrooms upstairs. The taboo on alcohol here prohibits the nearly 200,000 people under the age of 21 who are sent to American emergency rooms every year for alcohol related injuries.

Cartoon by Malcom Evans

I guess I’m just learning a lot from a world so different from my own. It would be a lie to say I don't feel vulnerable sometimes, walking down the streets in America. Some men there will say a lot worse things than “would you like a taxi miss?” when you walk by. But some groups of men here just stare. And there’s something about fifteen pairs of unwanted male eyes locking onto you without many other woman around that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. And its not just grown men that do this, but groups of schoolboys who catcall when you walk by.

I think that's why its so valuable that this group is starting a conversation about sexual harassment, and is advocating for women’s’ rights. I never realized how lucky I was to be from a world where girls are ballerinas and soccer players, where women are CEO’s and carpool drivers. Not to say that my country’s way is the right way, the only way, but I’m glad to see people in this country fighting to give girls more choices. 

Week Three: Adaptation

After three weeks, I’ve made something of a routine here. I wake up, workout, and eat breakfast. Then, I go to work, work, come home and make some kind of food in my rice cooker-and-microwave kitchen. On weekends, we go to restaurants and explore the city. Aside from hearing a mix of Bahasa and English at work and being served beer in mugs instead of glasses because of Ramadan, life here isn’t wildly different than life back home.  

I guess after a while anything can seem normal.  I don’t fear for my life every time I cross the street anymore, I just power through oncoming traffic like the other pedestrians. I’ve learned where to shop for groceries and been warned against which street foods to avoid because they “have marijuana in them chopped up like celery.” I’ve learned to take my own initiative in the laid back culture here.

Lanterns in Kemang, South Jakarta

I guess you could say I’m adapting. Last Sunday, I was planning to spend the day at this outdoor museum in East Jakarta, but every time I tried to leave it started to monsoon. Hashtag South East Asia problems. After about two hours of torrential downpours, I gave up. Instead, I stayed home and started watching this show called Scorpion that I’d picked up on DVD from a roadside stand for about $1.50. It’s a nerdy show about a team of geniuses who work on a Special Forces team for Homeland Security.  In one of the episodes, they talked about adaptation, and how their team has to adapt to become stronger. One of the characters quoted Leon Megginson, a famous evolutionist, saying “its is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent. It is the one that is most adaptable to change.”   

I’m not used to living in a city where the smog is so thick it blurs the skyline. I’m not used to being asked to be the spokesperson for my country, and fielding questions about racial tension in the U.S., about Trump vs. Hilary. I’m not used to living alone in a city where I don’t know many people. But according to the geniuses on that show, adaptation is a rough process, but it makes you a better version of yourself. I think that's what this summer, and really, what real life is all about. It’s easy to keep doing the same thing, to stay in your comfort zone, but sometimes that's not enough. You need to change it up to grow, and that's hard part, but I think it’ll be worth it in the end. 

Smog over Jakarta

Week Two: Fresh Air

This week was Lebaran, one of the biggest holidays of the year for Muslims. It felt a lot like the last week of school before Christmas. On Friday afternoon, my office was filled with giant tinsel-lined gift baskets full of delicious cookies of every flavor. Everyone said goodbye for the weekend and headed back to their hometowns. That night, I had dinner at a friend’s house and her mom made a bunch of Indonesian dishes. The food was spicier and Muslim songs, not Nat King Cole, played in the background, but really it didn't feel much different from when my family celebrates the holidays. I don't think it matters where you are, when you have a few days off, and sit down with people you care about for a good meal, it feels like home.

I didn't feel like I deserved time off yet, but I can’t say I minded the chance to explore. I was lucky enough to be invited to spend the weekend in the Gili Islands with some friends I’d met. After taking an Uber, a plane, another two-hour taxi down an endless winding road, a speedboat, and a horse and buggie, we made it to Gili Trawangan.

North Western coast of Gili Trawangan

I grew up in a tourist town but I’ve never seen anything like this place. You can walk around the island in about two hours and there are no motorized vehicles. The only ways to get around are walking, biking, and horse and buggie. The east side of the island is tattooed in villas, beachside bars, and sunburned tourists from around the world. The roadside shops sell Batik, Bintag, and everything in between.

Places like this always make me think about my love-hate relationship with tourism. I love to travel but I hate what travel does to some parts of the world. When we went snorkeling our boat captain told us about  about seeing hotels take over the beaches of his childhood and growing mountains of trash that the island can’t keep up with. It reminded me of every time I go back to my hometown and see another tour bus arrive in my once off the beaten path neighborhood. It reminded me of seeing a Target store instead of the small business that's been there for decades, and locals unable to afford the rising cost of living in the towns they’ve always called home.  But at the same time, when we told our captain that we didn’t want to feed the fish the bread they had brought, he and his crew ripped the bag open and scarfed down whole loaf. Tourism is these men’s’ meal only ticket and apparently it's not enough. So how do we balance the two?

Piles of trash on the north western coast of Gili Trawangan

Qualms with mass tourism aside, I’m glad I got the chance to see this remote part of the world. Even though I was thousands of miles away, it felt a lot like home. It felt like the warm summer nights when I was a kid, biking around Lanikai Loop under the stars. I missed the sound of the ocean when you dive under the waves, and the feeling of a cold shower after an early morning run in the blistering heat. I missed watching the sun climb over the horizon in the morning and going halfway around the island to watch it crawl back under the horizon in the evening. I missed the fresh air.

It was great to have a little time to explore East Indonesia and see a little more of the world. I’ve already got my next few weekend destinations picked out, but for now it’s back to the grind. 

Week One: A City Shaped by Gridlock

Eight thousand miles and several time zones later, my neighbor’s music woke me up. Back home, I was used to being woken up by the boys who lived downstairs. They had a habit of simultaneously playing drums and vacuuming early in the morning. This definitely wasn't them. It was religious music, haunting but beautiful, that accompanied my neighbor in her morning prayers.

After this unconventional wake-up call, I climbed out of bed and decided my morning mission was to stock my fridge. I put together the best conservative-but-still-suitable-for-95-degree-weather outfit I could find and headed outside. I rushed through the traffic that stops for no one to the convenience store across the street.

Roadside vendors in Central Jakarta

This city is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Jakarta’s fast-growing economy also creates fast growing divide among its people socioeconomically. This is true in a lot of cities in the world, but it shocks me to walk around a castle-like mall full of pristine designer stores, and ten minutes down the road there are men in torn clothes rolling carts down the streets selling bananas.

Fancy tea store in Plaza Senayan Mall

The traffic here is insane. It’s like a moving jigsaw puzzle of cars, bajajs, and motorcycles. My favorites are the gojek motorcycle taxis with dignified women riding on the back. These ladies sit sideways in their skirts while texting at 30 miles per hour. Its nearing the end of Ramadan and at sunset, people run through the halted gridlock to hand out snacks and water to drivers who have been fasting all day and haven’t reached their destination to break their fast.

The traffic also creates a weird sense of isolation. Sometimes I hesitate to go places because it takes so long to get through the maze of roundabout highways, one-way streets, and unwalkable sidewalks. The traffic shapes the way of life. People work certain hours to avoid being on the road, or they just work from home. Before I got here, my friends who knew Jakarta told me to “plan for Indonesian time.” They said this means plan to meet one to two hours later than scheduled, partially because it takes everyone so long to get anywhere.        

Communting in Bendunguan Hilir

But beyond the insane traffic and the hard-to-breathe air, this city has its charm. The hustle and bustle makes me appreciate the moments of quiet. I love the sound of pouring rain on my window and the twists and turns in the branches of the banyan trees that still find places to grow in the urban jungle. And the people I’ve met here are insanely nice: from my boss who picked me at the airport in the middle of the night, to my coworkers who helped me with literally everything, to the cab driver who spent an hour in traffic teaching me basic driving instructions in Indonesian (right, kanan, left, kiri, straight, lurus). It’s nice to feel welcome in a city where I know no one and don’t speak the language. There are so many different people, cultures, and religions here, I’m not sure if I’ll ever figure this place out, but in its own way, its beautiful. Here’s to nine more weeks. 

Week Zero: Pre-departure

I felt like graduation would never actually happen. I had all of these dates on my calendar: The date of my last class, of my last day at the job I had for four years, the date when my parents got to town. They date when I would walk across the stage and get a handshake in exchange for four years of hard work and thousands of dollars. But I was surprised when those dates ran out and I had only one thing left: June 25th, Jakarta.

In my last class, a capstone class for my certificate program in the business school, my professor had every student come forward and share their post-graduation plans. “Investment banking” one student said, “pharmaceutical sales” said another. “Wearing three piece suit and working 70 hours a week, making billions of dollars, and my next vacation will be when I retire at 80,” said another. Just kidding…kind of. I said I was heading to Indonesia to work as a journalist for three months and after that I had no idea what I was doing. Safe to say I was the only one with that plan.

UW graduation

In the few days between graduation and departure, I said goodbye to a lot of friends who I have no idea when I’ll see again. I packed up my room in the house I shared with my best friends, said goodbye for now, and prepared to fly to Asia.

I know everything will be different when I get back in September. I won’t be living within four blocks of all of my college friends. I won’t be going back to school in the fall for the first time since I was four years old. I don't know what I’ll be doing, but I’ll worry about that later.

For the last few months, people have asked why I’m doing this. I say why not. I can’t wait to experience working as an international reporter. I want to learn what its like to work at one of the largest media companies in Indonesia. For me, this program is the perfect mix between doing something productive for my future and getting to see a little more of the world.

I was pipe dreaming when I applied for UW’s Foreign Intrigue Scholarship, the program that sponsored myself and a few other students and recent grads to travel to developing countries (India, Sierra Leone, Cambodia, Jordan, and Mexico) to work as journalists for the summer. I’m so incredibly thankful to have this opportunity. In high school, my teachers often reminded students of the value of a good education and told us “to whom much is given, much is expected,” and to always “pay things forward.” That's what I hope to do in my time here: to learn as much as I can and to take that back with me, and somehow pay it forward.

So here we go, see you on the other side of the Pacific.