Category: Indonesia

There are 17,000 active volcanoes in Indonesia above the water, so just think how many are underwater! When volcanoes underwater erupt, they cause earthquakes, which send out ripples all the way to shore. These ripples are actually huge waves which are also known as tsunamis. Tsunamis can threaten homes near the shore. Twenty years ago, a tsunami destroyed all the homes and killed all of the people in one of the stilted fishing village on the island of Flores. Many homes on Flores are weak and brittle so they break easily.  When the tsunami strikes, homes near the water get carried away.

Climate change is also threatening seaside homes. One reason is because a warmer earth means more tropical storms which can blow houses down. Another reason is that the ocean is getting taller as glaciers melt. This causes sea level rise. Why does it rise? Imagine you have a glass full of ice cubes. The ice cubes float above the surface of the water, and when the ice cubes melt there is more water, so it rises. 

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Fun Fact

1. There are 22,000 islands in Indonesia

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A fun project to do at home

Q: Why does global warming cause sea level rise?

A: Our oceans have giant ice cubes in them called glaciers. As the earth warms up, the glaciers will melt. When icy glaciers melt back into the oceans, there is more ocean water, so the water level rises.

Try it yourself!

1. Fill a glass with water and ice cubes. Make sure the ice cubes are peeping out of the water a bit!
2. Carefully mark the level of the water on the outside of the glass with a piece of tape.
3. Wait for the ice to melt.
4. Mark the new water level with another piece of tape.

Did the level of the water change? It should be a little bit higher because the ice cubes were floating above the surface of the water, and when the ice cubes melt the water will rise.

How many islands (green) and underwater volcanoes (dark blue) can you find in this map of Indonesia?

I live here. On a stilt house, handcrafted from bamboo, pounded into the mud. I sleep here. On the patterned rug, given to me by my mother. I lay there, every night trying and trying to fall asleep, but instead, I roll over. I roll over to check on my children. My baby, only 8 months old, and my 3 year old — the night is the only time he stays in one place. I look at the sores on their bodies. Small red ones on their legs and arms. I look outside. I see water. Water lined with trash. I look out beyond our small floating village. I see clean, clear ocean, sparkling.

I have not left my village since my 3 year old was born. I remember seeing him for the first time. That is when it hit me. I was going to be a mom. I was fifteen years old. I watched him scream and wiggle until he finally fell asleep in my arms. I saw women, with hijabs walking the bamboo street, right outside my room. They smiled inside, happy to have another baby in our small community.

Our village is Muslim, different from the other Christian villages surrounding mine. I wear a hijab every day and every night. Every night, I fall asleep with my son on my chest. His father sleeping right beside me. He is not my spouse. He is my son’s father, the father who is not willing to change the diapers. Now, I look over at him, asleep. He is a fisherman from Sulawesi. Twenty years ago a tsunami wrapped around his small village, along with some neighboring villages as well. It came and it left, and it did not bother to leave anything for anybody. But it brought my son’s father to me. Now I enjoy them, raising them with my mother’s help.

The children look happy at the dusty school. They are short; a lot shorter than children in the USA, but this is typical in Indonesia. Some of them are barefoot, but many wear flip-flops made up of plastic sheets and rubber. They all wear identical uniforms: dusty tan button-up collared shirts with pants for the boys and skirts for the girls. The children are told to make their clothes last as long as possible so that they will not have to pay for new ones, as they have little money to spare.

Most of the children live in the indigenous village right across the street, but some of them have to walk 2 hours down a mountain road to get home from school every afternoon. Since it is after school, only about 50 students are left. Normally the kids have classes separately, but now they all squished into one classroom. They sing us three songs and dance. In return, we sing them two songs on the ukulele — “Someone to Lava,” and “You are My Sunshine.”

Each child gets a new simple notebook and a new pen. I teach them addition and subtraction. When I check their work, the 12 year-olds and the 6 year-olds have similar mistakes adding and subtracting simple numbers, which makes me question how much the older ones learned in six years at their school. Normally, the older kids would do much better than the younger ones! They look happy, but it doesn’t look like they are learning much.

Relax, refresh, recharge. Those are the words of Anika & Co., and I thought that was just the phrase for my Mom and my spa day. This week we are staying in one place for the whole time. So my Mom and I decided to have a spa night. We had facials, massage, reflexology, and pedicures.

At first, we had our facials. They put some lotion on our faces, and we had “luxurious, relaxing and nicely satisfying experiences.” We were right next to the ocean, and we could hear it while enjoying our experiences. It just made it that much better. The hour that we spent in the spa room flashed by and in the end my Mom said that it was the best facial that she had ever had. It was my first facial, so I can’t compare. Being in Indonesia, I think it was worth its pricing.

Next I had a massage. I had been wanting one for about a week because my body was so cramped up. They did it from my toes to my scalp, and my body lost a lot of its tension. My mom got reflexology that day and did not enjoy it as much as the facial. I loved mine just as much but thought the quality was not as good. We figured that the person on the first day must have just been more experienced than the other one. I still loved my massage.

My decision was to get a pedicure. There was a tray of colored toenail polish to choose from —all of the colors of the rainbow were there and many more. I chose deep purple and sky blue. The woman from the day before did my pedicure. She was especially good at doing nails. She first gave me a foot bath in soothing water. Then she used a callus grater to make the bottom of my feet nice and smooth. I got to lay down on a bed and she cut, filed and shaped my nails. Then for the polish. The purple started on my big toes, then it skipped to blue and then back. She let them dry and then added a flower to each big toe. She added a shine coat and we let that dry, and I have beautiful nails now, and a great experience to remember.

After a facial, massage, and pedicure, I truly feel like the luckiest girl in the world. After all, sometimes you just have to Keep Calm And Spa On.

Happy Spa Night!

I am 3 meters long and I can weigh more than 300 pounds. I am the heaviest of my kind. I am a very scaly combination of a lizard and a dinosaur. My kind only exist on three islands in the Indonesian national park that is named after me.

I have thrived in the harsh climate of Indonesia’s Islands for millions of years. I camouflage really well into trees and leaves, and I will eat almost anything, including carrion, deer, pigs, babies of my species, and even large water buffalo and humans. I can eat 80 percent of my body weight in just one meal!

Sometime tourists are looking at me and I bite them because humans are sometimes quite annoying. My saliva has over 50 strains of bacteria, and within 24 hours, my prey usually dies of blood poisoning. I calmly and quietly follow my escapee for miles as the bacteria takes effect, using my great sense of smell to hone in on their corpse — I can smell blood up to five miles away. Humans are a delicious delicacy, but usually, they take medicine so they don’t die.

Even though I am protected, I am beginning to go extinct. My kind may be gone in 30 years.

Who am I?

 

 

Answer: suoƃɐɹp opoɯoʞ

After visiting the sunrise at the Kelimutu crater lakes – worth a 4 am wake up – we headed over the hill to visit a local elementary school. We hit the local version of “being snowed in,” a landslide on the road that blocked both lanes. Despite switching from our car to 2 mopeds, we were waiting with all of the other Indonesians to get over the pass. An hour later, they opened a lane and we zipped over to school, needing to make it before they adjourned at 12:15 pm.

Schools here have short days, but meet 6 days a week. Public school is free (or at least heavily subsidized, can’t remember) until college, and all kids go to school through grade 12, just like in America. The rural mountain school we visited was like rural schools in many places: crowded, underfunded and simple. But unlike some other rural schools we visited (such as two in India), this one was full of bright and happy children and teachers, and was seemingly well organized.

All the children were brought out in the mid-day sun to say hi to us and to introduce themselves. They sang a couple songs and danced 2 dances for us. They were good! We had our ukelele with us, so Paloma and I returned in kind with a couple American songs – “Someone to Lava” and “You Are My Sunshine.” After this, we shared some gifts. Our guide Marino had helped us organize some school supplies to donate to the children, who could really use useful things like pens, papers, and, it turns out, soap and toothbrushes. Paloma and I handed them out to the children, personally introducing ourselves to each one and shaking their hands. “Hi, my name is Hayes. Nice to meet you. Here’s a toothbrush!” They were so very cute and so very happy. We spent some time chatting, and taking pictures together, and then headed inside to the 1st grade classroom.

We saw some math on the board, and Paloma jumped right in as “teacher,” writing problems, and letting the children solve them on the board. I introduced division to them for the first time, asking how 3 children would share 6 fruits. How many would each person get? Paloma drew it out, and the kids looked puzzled, but hopefully got the idea at least a little bit when Paloma showed that each kid gets two fruits. We wrote in their guest book, and after a while said goodbye with smiles and waves to all. I’m not exactly sure what those kids will tell their parents tonight!

Afterwards we headed further down the hillside to visit a traditional village. This village is only fully occupied once a year during a festival, but as we were getting a tour, the village elders, who live there permanently, invited us in to their home. After sitting with us in the cool shade of their palm-thatched home, they offered some coffee and food to us. Paloma was hungry, and who am I to turn down coffee…even though it was a bit scary. Their finest coffee here is processed first by the local fauna, the beans traveling through the digestive tract of a cat before being peeled, roasted , ground, and brewed for us in the manner of Turkish coffee (no filter). I guess that’s what you call a delicacy! Despite my aversion to the coffee-laden poop that was proudly illustrated on the table in front of me, I gave the black brew a try. And…it was delicious. And the food was too.

Paloma did happy dances she loved the food so much! Our hosts, who may have been in their 70’s, could not have been more smitten, like loving grandparents you’d meet anywhere in the world. You like my food? I like you! Here, eat more! We even ate the chili sauces – both of them! Our “snack” consisted of boiled bananas (not too sweet, more like bread), boiled sweet potatoes, fried banana rounds, fried sweet potato rounds, and two chile sauces – one fresh, and one cooked (Spicy!!). It was so good we got seconds! We learned that the elder man plays guitar, and he took quite naturally to the ukelele. And we learned that we are welcome back any time, because we loved their food.

Once again, Indonesians have proven that the world is a kind place. I like the people here a lot. The critters and the weather, not as much. They have mosquitoes and moths, some malaria and dengue, and jellyfish that I seem to be both attracted and allergic to. And it never stops being humid, even up in the mountains where the air is cool. But it seems safer and cleaner than India, so I travel with less paranoia for germs and dirty water. (The rural folks here boil their water before drinking it, yay!) I do miss Rachel though – we’re traveling separately this week, she with Anika and me with Paloma – and I’m excited to reunite with her in 3 days. Until then I’ll stay away from the bugs and try to talk to as many kind people as I can.

A little bit of sickness is tolerable. At this point, after 7 weeks in developing Asia, it is standard. Feeling moderately sick is not. Yesterday was tolerable. Today, I think all the nice bacteria in my gut are working overtime to keep their host alive, and just to make sure I get the message they are telling me loud and clear to stop eating anything at all.

They told me last night to skip dinner and go to bed early. Did I listen? We went to the home of our guide Marino who had gathered his family in his late mother’s house for a backyard celebration. We had already been to the stilted fishing village, an unusual neighborhood of former Sulawesi immigrants who craft their homes and walkways out of bamboo piles buried in the tidal mud. “I would trust any boat captain from Sulawesi. They are very good,” Marino told us. They are Muslims, and evening prayers droned from the mosques, a man’s voice overpowering a more melodic woman’s. Families and children lined the streets and we met dozens of happy and smiling locals, delighted with a mud puddle for entertainment. At the market we picked up a fish and struggled not to buy the local toy from the happy vendor who peddled brightly colored baby chicks. The size of our fish should have told me that it would be a big party.

 

 

So we traveled through the hills into the suburb of nori to Marino’s home town. In Flores they bury their parents in their front yard, a way to keep the family together. Marino’s mom had passed only 3 weeks ago, and the soil and cross over her were still fresh. We were welcomed into a humble living room and sat for a few minutes while Marino went in back. “Where is everyone,” I eventually asked, and we were cautiously invited to the back yard.

That’s where the party was. About nine people sat around a couple ground fires, warming to cook our dinner. Families live close by here and people gather daily to enjoy each other’s company. We were accompanied by five dogs, two pigs, three goats, and a tiny, mangy cat who ruled the roost. Overhead a steel roof kept us safe from storms, and in the near distance stood a forest of towering banana trees.

Once the fires were hot Paloma volunteered to help cook. She deep-fried some chicken in a work over one fire, firmly supported by 3 tinder blocks, while Marino put our big fish on the other grill. Coconut husks burn hot, it turns out.

We learned some local tips. If you are ever thirsty, cut down a banana tree and hollow out the trunk. In the morning you will have a big puddle of water waiting for you. For locals who do not have access to fresh water, this is their survival mechanism in the dry season.

If you need to buy some pants and want to know if they fit, but there is no changing room, you can button them and see how the halved waist fits wrapped around your neck. It works! Now I know that my neck’s circumference is half of my waist’s. And I am told it works even if you are heavy.

If you want the best coconut rice in Asia, have some of Valentina’s turmeric coconut rice, which she makes in an enormous pot, and only for special occasions. Valentina is a great cook.

We learned how to fry green bananas. There is a variety the locals in Flores enjoy green. It is peeled with a knife and sappy fingers, kept fresh in a bowl of water, and sliced thinly on a mandoline straight into a wok of hot oil. They bubble and curl until they are desiccated, and come out ready for adornment with flaky salt, a bright reminder to your tongue of the sea. They are neither sweet nor starchy, a sort of neutral crunch that makes you wonder why we don’t eat them at home.

We headed back to the Sea World Resort and Spa for a night’s sleep, although our hosts would have been happiest had we stayed all night. Paloma noted that any old place sounds fancy when you call it a resort and spa, and we considered renaming our house to the Van Auken Resort and Spa when we get home. Today we travel to Bali, and t ought to Sydney, one day closer to being home and only one day away from Western Civilization.

It is early morning here in Lauban Bajo. In Indonesia they don’t use coffee filters. It’s sort of like Turkish coffee but not quite as strong and maybe more sugar and maybe some sweetened condensed milk. But it’s in my room and it’s waiting for me, and the hot water boiler works, so here I am on cup of coffee number 2 because Paloma and I got to sleep a little too late last night, after deciding at 8:45 that we needed some dinner after all — so we’d better find something. The closest restaurant was 5 minutes down a busy road but they served a pretty mean grilled red snapper which we shared (and enjoyed) as we watched an English soccer game and sipped our fruit juices. Paloma got papaya, and I tried avocado. It came with a hint of chocolate syrup – quite delicious actually – I’ll probably try to make that again when we get home.