Weeks 7 and 8: Sulawesi

Apologies for the delay in posting - I have spent the last week and a half travelling with limited internet access. The other volunteers and I have been travelling around Sulawesi, another of the big islands in Indonesia. It has been a fantastic trip and I was lucky enough to spend it in excellent company.

We spent the first couple of days visiting one of the regional offices of our NGO in an area called Jeneponto. I was completely blown away by the kindness and generosity of the people we met there. They were so welcoming of us, even though we were only there for a brief visit and some of them only spoke basic English. There seems to be a different attitude to friendship here; it is immediate and automatic rather than reserved for those who have proven their 'worth' in some unspoken way, as often seems to be the case in our culture. One of the employees in the Jeneponto office, Annie, not only allowed us to stay in her house, but took her entire Saturday to show us around. Moreover, her mother and grandmother, who didn't speak a word of English between them, made sure that we were well fed at all times. In Jeneponto, we were first taken to see the office, then to visit a horse market (horse meat is a local delicacy) and then to a village. In the village we went to visit the local chief and were once again treated to a delicious home-cooked meal. After lunch we were taken on a tour of the village, including a boat ride round the chief's seaweed farm. I am so lucky to have the social network provided by the NGO; it has allowed me to visit places and meet people that would otherwise be entirely inaccessible. The NGO describe themselves as a family and this was certainly borne out by our experiences in Jeneponto

On Sunday we headed to Tana Toraja (that of the Lonely Planet fame) for a whirlwind tour of the region. Whilst planning the trip we had unfortunately overestimated our tolerance of long bus journeys and underestimated our need for sleep and booked ourselves onto two consecutive overnight busses. I think overnight busses are a little like childbirth; you subconsciously forget how bad they are, otherwise you would never get on another one. They are sufficiently comfortable that you feel sleepy, but not quite comfortable enough to actually allow you to sleep (the air conditioning on this one was practically arctic). We survived, but I would not recommend it.

We arrived in Rantepao at around 5am and spent a good half an hour wandering the streets, stupid with tiredness. We eventually found a cafe where we could sit and drink tea until daylight came. As soon as morning arrived we headed to the tourist information centre to hire ourselves a guide for the day. Our guide Asis took us to a number of Tarajan villages and through a valley of rice paddies. The first village we visited confirmed some of my fears about tourism in Toraja (see last week's blog entry). As beautiful as the traditional 'boat' houses were, the village seemed to have been created entirely for the purposes of tourism. Despite Asis' protestations that the village had inhabitants, I saw no real signs of life, and there seemed to be more souvenir shops than houses. Nevertheless, the houses were stunning and it was interesting to hear how their size and layout relfect social organisation and cultural beliefs (for instance, the bigger the house, the more important the person). Later in the day we visited another village, in which the houses were more lived in - one was even under construction - which made me feel a little less of a gullible tourist.

It might sound morbid but Torajan culture is famous primarily for its fascination with death. The traditional house all face North - the domain of the divine - in order to form a bridge between the living and the dead. We were taken to see some elaborate graves, including a tree in which dead babies are buried because the white sap of the tree is thought to be like the mother's milk. Torajan culture is perhaos most famous for its elaborate funeral rituals, some of which involve slaughtering hundreds of buffalo at immense financial cost (a big funeral is a sign of high social status). Unfortunately the funerals only take place in July and August (sometimes people save up for years to hold a funeral) but Asis kindly invited us back to his house to see some photos he had saved on his computer.

As anyone who has travelled round Asia will tell you, lavatory facilities can be a little - how shall I put it? - unsavory. Over the course of the week a competition developed to see who could find the worst offender. The toilet in the cafe we visited in the early hours of Sunday morning was a definite contender: it was a simple concrete shed with no lock and no lighting; not even so much as a squat toilet, only a drain in the corner. Now, I don't know whether you have ever tried to pee in pitch black, holding the door shut with your hand, desperately trying not to let you clothes or belongings touch the walls or floor, with an Indonesian woman chopping vegetables only a metre away, but I can assure you that it is a deeply unpleasant experience. This was followed by an amusing incident later in the day when Hannah realised she needed the loo in a remote Torajan village. At the behest of our tour guide she decided to brave the 'natural toilet', only to emerge from the bushes a few minutes later looking sheepish, flagged by an angry looking farmer. Over the course of the long journey home this competition developed into an elaborate ranking system, which we designated the Study of the Hygiene of Indonesian Toilets (S.H.I.T.)

The only real blight on the week was that soon after arriving at our hotel in Makassar we realised that Hannah and I had been robbed on the bus. As soon as Hannah realised her cash had been taken, I was filled with a horrible sense of foreboding, soon confirmed when I found my camera missing. My camera was by far the most valuable of my posessions, in both economic and sentimental terms, and I was utterly devastated by the loss. It left me with a bad taste in my mouth to think that someone could be so selfish, so devious, as to climb under my seat whilst I was asleep, take by bag, remove the valuables, and then carefully return it. Even worse was the realisation that the other passengers must have been aware of what was happening, but no one saw fit to stop it. However, there is nothing that can be done to change the situation and I have been trying to see the bright side. I am one of those tourists who takes a million pictures, terrified of missing an opportunity, convinced that somehow can experience doesn't 'count' if you don't have a photographic reminder of it. I think that travelling without a camera will force me to value experiences for what they are, rather than worrying about documenting them on film.

Luckily, I spent the next four days in such an amazing place that the theft could not have been further from my mind. Bunaken island forms part of the Manado-Bunaken National Park, one of the world's best diving sites. We were met at the airport by a representative of our hotel - Lorenzo's - and driven to the coast, where a small motor boat was waiting to take us to the island. It was sunset when we arrived and I remember sitting in the boat, looking out over the stunning scenery, just awestruck by the simple thought that of all the places in the world I could possibly be, I was here .

Lorenzo's Beach Garden is a small collection of bamboo huts, sitting on a beach in a private lagoon. I think it is entirely possible that the proprietor, Lorenzo, is the happiest man on the planet. He spends his days lounging in hamocks, eating amazing food and swimming in the world-class coral reef that is his garden. The four of us passed four very happy, lazy days in his establishment, reading in hamocks and sitting up at night playing cards. We were treated to three amazing meals a day; pancakes and fruit every day for breakfast, followed by two hearty meals of rice and fresh fish. The first night happened to be my birthday and, unbeknowst to me, my friends had prepared a few suprises, including a birthday banner, a feather boa and sparkly tiara (what birthday would be complete without a little humiliation?) and a very thoughtful present: a lock for my posessions! We spent that evening having a few drinks at a neighbouring resort. Presumably as payback for my actions on our night out in Jakarta, Hannah made sure that the lead singer of the band knew it was my birthday and I was soon up on stage being serenaded. The singer began with happy birthday and then moved on, somewhat less traditionally, to Creep by Radiohead. I found it impossible not to get the giggles when he was kneeling at my feet singing "you're so very special . . ." with all the verve and sincerity of a Celine Dion Power Ballad.

It would have been a dreadful shame to visit one of the world's premier diving sites without seeing the coral for ourselves, so on Thursday the four of us hired a boat and an instructor and headed out to sea. I was aware that scuba diving would be a once in a lifetime experience, but when I got down there I was absolutely dumbstruck by the beauty of it. Words, quite simply, cannot do it justice. It was like every David Attinborough documentary you've ever seen, but better. Even though we were only about 12 meters down, we were right up close to the coral, swimming through shoals of brightly coloured fish. I had expected that the fish would swim away whenever we tried to get near them, but they seemed almost oblivious of us and I even reached and and touched one. During my dive I saw a stingray and a barracuda (on their dive Jenna and Kamran saw sharks but, if I'm honest, I was quite happy to miss out on that experience). Whilst we were on our way home we saw a school of dolphins in the distance, which was just the icing on the - already delicious - cake.

Week 6: This Week I had Too Much Time to Think

This week has been quiet. Very quiet. With the other volunteers away in Aceh (Sumatra) I have been spending quite a lot of time alone. I dont mind solitude - I can be impressively antisocial when I want - but it does tend to result in me over-thinking things. This week I have been thinking, in predictable anthropological fashion, about cultural tourism.

It all began when I started to look back over my week and consider all the things I had done. This week I went shopping, went to a yoga class, went swimming, watched a couple of DVDS, finished my book - all things that I routinely do at home. When this realisation hit me I was immediately racked with guilt. I am a bad traveller, I thought to myself, and - worse - a bad anthropologist. After all, why come to the other side of the world to do what you do at home? I should be doing what Indonesian people do. But when I tried to think of what this might entail I realised that this is exactly what I had been doing. Life in Jakarta simply isn't that different to life at home (attitudes to time management and saturated fat aside). Why, then, did I feel like there must be this 'Indonesian culture' above and beyond the daily lives of Indonesian people?

Well, personally, I blame the Lonely Planet Guide. Indonesia is a popular tourist destination. People come here for a variety of reasons - the weather, the food, the surf etc - but perhaps the biggest appeal is Indonesian culture. The Lonely Planet Guide to Indonesia is explicit on this point. Their recommendation? Get out of Jakarta as soon as possible and head to Bali or Tana Torajah. Indonesia might be an eminently cultural place, but some parts of it are clearly more cultural than others (have you spotted the sarcasm yet?)

Anthropologists are rightly critical of this attitude. In anthropological circles cultural tourism has come to resemble something of a dirty word. For one thing, the idea that one culture is more cultural than another is clearly absurd. Lesson 1 of an anthropology degree: culture is not a quantifiable substance that you can have more or less of. Lesson 2 of an anthropology degree: cultural 'authenticity' is an ideological construct, albeit a powerful one. The idea that some beliefs and activities are more authentic - or more cultural - than others, is pervasive, increasingly globalised and seemingly intractable.

Anthropologists are also critical of the impact that tourism can have on the host culture. Tourism leaves an indelible mark, not only in the economic relations it creates, but also in the ideological shift it engenders. Cultural tourism encourages local people to view their activities and traditions as part of a cohesive whole - culture - which endows them with new value. It also provides an economic motivation for preserving cultural traditions, at least nominally. Tourism contributes to the reification and the romanticisation of culture. It can lead to the absurd scenario of cultural practices being maintained purely for the benefit of foreign observers, devoid of their original meaning.

It is often the case that we find personality traits in others irritating because they remind us of the more unsavory aspects of our own character. The same principle can be extended to the relationship between anthropology and tourism. For anthropologists, cultural tourism is just that little bit close to home. There is a cartoon by Gary Larson that depicts some tribal people running away from their village clutching TVs shouting "quick, hide the electrical appliances, the anthropologist is coming!". In making 'culture' their object of study anthropologists contributed to the reification of culture long before tourism had been invented. Cultural tourism is sort of like the bastard child of anthropology.

It is possible to criticise an outlook without entirely removing yourself from it. I too succumb to the fictions I have been discussing. I am as suceptible to the illusion of cultural authenticity as anyone else. I would feel slightly cheated if I stayed in Jakarta for sixth months; I too want to watch traditional dancing in Bali and observe a Tarajan funeral procession. Perhaps the only difference between a tourist and a tourist with an anthropology degreee is a tendency towards self-relfection. I had to laugh the other day when I found myself persuading Kamran that when we go to Tarajah we should visit tau taus (effigies to the dead), not only because they are of cultural interest, but because tourism has transformed their meaning; what we once perceived to be recepticles of spirits are now seen as mere artistic representations. This is obviously absurd: tourism is one thing; the tourism of tourism quite another. I find myself getting caught up in the fascination of 'traditional' culture and then berating myself for it. For instance, Jenna and I are hoping to go and visit Papua, famous for its tribal culture, but I can't help but be slightly repulsed by the adverts for 'indigenous tribal cultural tours'.

Basically, I think I have just had a little too much time for contemplation this week. I am resolved to enjoy Jakarta and stop feeling like I am somehow missing the 'real' Indonesia. I am also going to give in to my inner tourist and stop feeling bad about it. Anthropology, as interesting as it is, has a tendency to draw you into furstrating intellectual quagmires. Sometimes it is best just to enjoy experiences for what they are rather than over-analysing them.

Week 5: A digression on food

This week has been quite uneventful so I thought I would use this opportunity to digress on a particular topic of interest: food. Food is everywhere here, both physically and in terms of the cultural importance allocated to it. Eating out is commonplace and in Tebet there are hundreds of restaurants, cafes spilling out onto the street and street stalls, where you watch your food prepared on the spot and eat it sitting on a little plastic chair. I am also a big fan of warungs, small cafes, usually run by little old ladies, where you order your meal by pointing at the different dishes lined up in the window.

I always thought that British people loved their food but Indonesians put us to shame. I think Western people are more ambivalent about food than we care to admit; we eat it, enjoy it, obsess over it, but then feel bad about it afterwards. Indonesians simply cut out the last step, which seems to me to be a far healthier attitude. One of the unexpected joys of travelling has been feeling like I am re-discovering food. I have been enjoying eating here in a way that I rarely do at home. You don't really realise how repetitive your eating habits are until you are placed in unfamiliar culinary terrain. Western food is easy accessible in Jakarta - all the usual global brands are here - but so far at least I have no desire to eat it. I am having far too much fun trying new foods and, now that I have been here a few weeks, indulging in new-found favorites.

Most dishes here are pretty carbohydrate and protein rich, although sop (soup) is also popular. The two basic dishes in Indonesia are nasi (rice) and mie (noodles), which are usually served with meat or tofu, plus maybe a token gesture towards vegetables such as a slice of cucumber. The other volunteers and I were commenting the other day that all of us learnt the word for fried (goreng) within a few hours of being in Indonesia, but we all agreeed that this was a bit of a wasted effort since fried food here is pretty much synonymous with food. I was even presented with deep-fried sushi the other day, which I must admit was surprisingly palatable.

One of the prominent flavours in Indonesian cooking is peanut and two of my favourite dishes I have found are gado gado, which is cabbage, avacado and beansprouts in a rich, peanutty sauce, and ketoprak, which is similar but comprised of a mix of lontong (congealed rice), noodles, beansprouts and tofu. Another of my favourite finds is tempe, soybean cake marinated in soy sauce, which tastes so good it almost makes me want to turn veggie.

The lack of vegetable dishes is made up for by the quantity and quality of fresh fruit. I swear, even the familiar fruits taste better here, and I have come across some interesting new ones, such as Rambutan and Durian. You can buy fresh (and I mean actually fresh, as opposed to Innocent smoothie 'fresh') smoothies on the streets here for 6,000 Rupiah (less than 50p). As you might expect in a country with a tropical climate, drinks here are rather more exciting than they are at home. One of their more peculiar traditions is putting jelly in drinks. I honestly didn't know what to do with myself when on my first night I was presented with a drink of iced coconut milk with cubes of pineapple, jelly and avacado floating around in it.

One of things that has suprised me about Indonesian food is their love of all things sugar-based. I always thought that cakes and puddings were a Western invention, eschewed in more health conscious Asian countries. How wrong I was. Cake is big business in Indonesia and never before has a culture so wholeheartedly embraced the humble doughnut. It is no exaggeration to say that the American chain Dunkin' Dohnuts is ubiquitous in Jakarta. The flavours, however, are slightly more adventurous than they would be in the states (mango and lychee for instance).

Not all Indonesian foods have been a hit though, I must admit. One of the most famous Indonesian dishes is baso - meatballs - but I find them rather tasteless in comparison to their Italian counterparts. Also, I find sweets made of congealed rice pretty inedible. The same goes for rujak - fruit salad covered in a spicy sauce - which tastes not dissimilar to vomit. Also, whilst I am not craving Western food per se, I do miss breakfast. What I wouldn't give right now for a good bowl of porridge . . . .

The most notable event this week was my first Indonesian night out on Friday. Indonesia, as you might expect, is not a drinking culture, so most of the bars are in big hotels. Whilst it was certainly nice to be in such plush surroundings, the exorbitant drink princes were a bit of a shock (around 160,000R per drink, which would normally feed me for 3-4 days). The two bars we went to had house bands, who play an impressive repertoire of Western pop songs, complete with matching outfits and choreographed dance routines. Shoreditch it was not, but it was fun nonetheless. There were a few memorable moments, such as persuading the lead singer that it was Hannah's birthday and watching her squirm as he pulled her up on stage and made the whole room sing happy birthday. The evening also produced perhaps my favourite chat-up line of all time, when a Saudi Arabian guy that Hannah was talking to told her "if only you were my cousin I would marry you". The evening was a bit blighted, however, but the feeling that Indonesian bars mostly exist to facilitate sleazy encounters between Western expats with beer bellies and receding hairlines, and distressingly willing young Indonesian girls. Nevertheless, the evening was a lot of fun and it was good to see a different side of Jakarta.