When traveling to Indonesia, the first thing to screw with your brain is the seven hour time difference: after the 34-hour flight I was sleeping until two in the afternoon for four days before getting the hang of the local rhythm. I had never been outside of Europe so this was something I wasn’t used to. But when I did wake up from my hazy sleep, I was greeted by breakfast fruit that glistened in reds, greens and yellows that made my mouth water. I could hear the little splashes made by the koi in the pond that lay in the shade nearby. As a person who turns into a lobster in five minutes out in the sun, gets intense sun rash even in gloom and gray of Finland, breaks out in sweat after spicy food, and is introverted and quiet, I knew a trip to Indonesia would be testing my limits. But damned if I’d let that ruin my vacation!
One of my biggest fears was that the Indonesian food in would not agree with me. I knew from having eaten with my half-Indonesian boyfriend’s family, that the food is traditionally extremely spicy. And this girl cannot handle spices. At all. I start sweating like a pig if I eat one spoonful of Chicken Kung Pao. Going to a country where everything has chili had me feeling flushed before even stepping out of the plane. In every restaurant I made a point of asking whether the dish I was ordering was spicy. Too bad that Indonesian understanding of spicy didn’t quite match mine. We ended up often eating at home with my boyfriend’s relatives, who were kind enough to accommodate my Nordic food palate and make the spicy sauces separate from the food. Normally all the bowls of green and red chili would’ve been mixed in with the chicken and noodles in Soto ayam and sprinkled on top of Nasi goreng, but then I would’ve been living on plain noodles for two weeks.
Even before the trip I knew that everything would be cheap compared to Finland. But I wasn’t quite prepared as to how cheap it would really be. We started going to the movies every day because the theater was air conditioned and the tickets only 1.5 euros. We also took taxis everywhere. But of course, that was partially due to the fact that in Indonesia you can’t walk. Well, you can but it doesn’t make sense. The public transportation mentality of Nordic countries is nowhere to be found; if you wish to walk, you have to walk into the traffic while ignoring the hundreds of cars rushing towards you. Most will stop – slow down – well, they will try not to drive over you. Of course, if you do ask about the possibility of a bus going to town, the locals will tell you to look out for one on the main road: the words green and number are probably the only thing you understand from the fast bubbly Indonesian that pours out when you ask for the instructions. You are lucky if you catch the glimpse of a lime green little car whirring towards town. Well, the tiny thing does resemble a bus and also, in fact, has a number on the hood, so it must be what you’re looking for. You wave it to stop and climb in from the hole where logic tells you a door should be. You glance at the prices knowing it can't be too much – five cents, apparently. A sigh of relief escapes when you position yourself on the bench between a chocolate-eyed little boy and a grandmother carrying a basket of mangoes. Apart from being squeezed into a coffee table sized tin-box with ten other people, the ride is relatively smooth. Of course, you don't know yet that on the way back you'd have to wait patiently as the driver kick starts the car with a few wires while spark fly around you. Maybe a taxi would've been worth the extra money and trouble. But of course, taxis might jack up the price all the way to two euros. Drastic, I know.
More than the practical aspects, like money and transportation, I was dazed by the Indonesian mentality that all of one’s relatives are close family. Coming from a nuclear family of two, I’m used to peace and quiet. However, my boyfriend comes from a huge family. It seems I never fully realized how huge until we got to Indonesia and I was greeted by two uncles, two drivers, servants, aunt, aunt’s husband, three cousins and all of their significant others, baby Willa, grandma Oma, and an uncle’s wife. There were people around me all the time – as if I was automatically family. The constant attention and care was making my head spin. As a Finn, I’m used to meeting my relatives once a year or two when it’s someone’s wedding, birthday or graduation and we all gather together even though we live in different cities. Indonesians, however, have to rely more on their family, and extended family, because their government doesn’t support people the same way ours does, and they need some sort of a support network. The Indonesian support network is one’s relatives – every single one of them. After a while the hustle and bustle of the family grew on me, but I did enjoy the piece of the midnight swims under a clear starry sky in a clear, turquoise water away from everyone else.
And yes, I did mention servants earlier. They were a big part of the family life in Indonesia. I can’t even stress enough how uncomfortable I felt about having servants do my laundry and make my food. On one hand, I felt very pampered, but on the other hand, I’m used to doing everything for myself and having someone do what I considered to be my “chores” made me feel bad. Ashamed bad. Rationally thinking I knew that they were doing their job, but it was hard to let go of my self-reliance and trust that they didn’t share my feeling of awkwardness. And it was sweet seeing the servants’ little girl running around in her frilly little pink dress.
Afterwards I noticed how many of the cultural differences that I experienced during my trip (and there were many more than what I listed here, believe me!) were quite superficial and ones that I could forget about as time went on. Sometimes it’s good to be pushed out of your comfort zone because in most cases it’ll only lead to your comfort zone expanding further and further. I felt enriched by the trip to a country across the world – it’s the furthest I’ve ever been from my home and yet I still, in the end, ended up feeling at home.
