Tana Toraja II

I started writing this post a few days ago, had to leave it in order to get on a 20 hour train ride from Penang to Bangkok. Upon revisiting what I had saved, I decided I was quite unsatisfied with my writing. The wonders of doing all this online is my ability to revise, rewrite etc. So I present to you in a far different format what I tried more eloquently (read: poetically which never fares well) to put forth a few days prior.

Trevor and I went trekking in north-western Tana Toraja. We saw plenty of beautiful things. Stayed with a wonderful family in a tiny village (they had just purchased a buffalo), did an absurd amount of walking. I leave the rest to your imagination or the pictures I can now provide. The place was quite special to me, but I think much of that was merely the experience of it and to try and recapture it by putting it to writing is akin to what my Buddhism professor Paul E. Mueller-Ortega referred to as "pulling the rug out from underneath the monk". Ponder that for a while.

The final thing of significance we did while sojourning in Toraja was visit a funeral ceremony. Now to fully appreciate these things I would venture a guess that you need a lot of gifts to give the family, and a ton of patience. They last for upwards of a week and whole days are nothing more than a roll call of the extended families that have traveled back to Toraja in order to be recognized in the ceremony. We attended one of these afforementioned days. It was steamy and getting bright after a brief, but torrential downpour. We were able to mill about in the enormously large and I would say opulant grounds that would most certainly turn the color of an abattoir nigh the week was out. But for today it remained a parade ground for the almost uncountable amount of relatives there to show their respect to the tau tau (effigy) of the deceased (a doctor I surmised after hearing a litany of people's names proceeded by Dr.). Buffalo, some costing upwards of 75 million ruppiah were paraded into the grounds. People dressed in all manner of colorful and a more western black mourning colors were rampant.

Now, here I would like to pause to digress in order for me to wonder what this ceremony is really about. Yes, it is a sacred (take note Eliade fans) and certainly an integral part of the fabric of Torajan culture. But at this point it is also a livelihood, through tourism, for the people of the region. As I noted in my writing from the event I am not at all surprised that such a delicate balance between preservation of culture and cultural pornography or the like is quite difficult. The event had its own viewing section for tourists (we did not sit there and a lucky thing too to be described later), if you pay enough to your guide or foist enough gifts on the family you will even be invited to join the ceremony if ever so briefly. Surely in a symbolic sense the ritual remains deeply meaningful, but I think that much of this is overshadowed by spectacle (I suppose some debt to DuBoard here, but not sure what). It is a mass of flash photography and general lack of participation or sincere knowledge of the ceremony itself. I daresay most people were there in the hopes of seeing some animals being killed (the Lonely Planet Indonesia description would make you think you were entering a Wes Craven film). I myself was ambivalent to the idea of witnessing mass slaughter. 40 water buffalo, 100+ giant pigs, a small dear and a golden calf looking thing. I think I was glad it turned out to be merely a day of paying respects.

But as I mentioned earlier we did not sit with the other tourists (not out of any snobbery or the like, but we were stuck on the other side when the ceremony started). Instead we smoked cloves and watched family after family parade up to the pavilion containing the tau tau. Why this was fortunate is that we did actually witness a slaughter, but one with a less spiritual purpose. Many of the pigs were going to be killed that day to feed the vast amounts of people (the meat, offal etc. is scooped into bamboo pipes to be smoked; called pa'piong). At one point we turned around to see that one of the pigs had died en route to wherever they were being kept. The men acted quickly, disemboweling the now dead pig and scooping all the viable parts into foraged bamboo tubes. We followed them down the the river backing up to the village where several fires we already going. Someone else had just killed a pig and was in the process of unceremoniously dumping the entire carcass onto the fire to burn the fur off. What a lovely smell. Cloves, as well as palm wine passed around helped ease the stench. A third group of people came down with a live pig. A boy much younger than me was handed what looked to be a dull and well worn knife. However, I was much mistaken in how easily a blade can enter flesh, and with a simple prick the knife went in to find the heart. The pig bled out quite quickly, but not without splatter and a fair bit of screaming (a totally inhuman sound if I have ever heard. No horror movie does such violent utterences true justice). The process was then repeated.

I do not recount this story to prove that somehow I received the authentic experience of a Torajan funeral, or even Torajan life in general. Such slaughter is no doubt mundane in such surroundings and life in general is mundane and in the case of the Torajans frought with poverty. In fact I am not quite sure at all why. Perhaps to muse over the notions of lost culture or what contact with outside people's means to such fragile communities. A forum given by the Harvard anthropoligist Wade Davis I attended springs to mind as does Baudrillard's musings about the cave paintings of Lascaux and his subsequent arguments about anthropology and the western desire to museumize things. An Adorno quote would be apropos

"The German word museal [museumlike] has unpleasant overtones. It describes objects to which the observer no longer has a vital relationship and which are in the process of dying. They owe their preservation more to historical respect than to the needs of the present. Museum and mausoleum are connected by more than phonetic association. Museums are the family sepulchres of works of art"

Anyway, all musings and the like aside (who's even reading this anyway? a question for another place I suppose) what follows is my overall impression of Indonesia.

The people were extremely welcoming. Friendly. Bali, where tourism is much more pronounced there were obviously more touts etc. but still the people were helpful and kind. Lombok more shaded to the latter and in Makassar people just seemed to be excited to say "hello" (many times the only word of English they knew. Bahasa Indoesia isn't too hard to learn and people loved me butchering the words I knew.). The food was pretty good. I would say I wasn't blown away by it, but it was cheap, filling and generally delcious if a bit uniform. One thing I could complain about all day long is how absurd fees are. I don't mean in a monetary sense, because the ruppiah is anything but a vibrant currency, but honestly having to pay just to enter a bus station that we already have tickets for seems taking it a bit too far. The weather was nice. The water, especially near Lombok was stunning. Shit, I'd go back to Indonesia is what I am trying to get at. I encourage all who may read this to do the same.

Tana Toraja

Although this is late in coming I hope you all will forgive me as the internet would have permitted me enough time to grow a beard as I waited to have blogspot load. In any event, from Georgetown Malaysia I am afforded a little more leeway to use the internet with ease. This will be something of a short recap of my time in the Toraja region of Sulawesi, Indonesia:

Trevor and I flew into Makassar (Ujung Pandang for you traditionalists) and were definitely struck with how much more this seemed to be Indonesia than Bali or Lombok seemed. This. of course, is not a big surprise considering the latter two regions are the Indonesian tourism capitals. However, when you are first struck with it full on it defintely produces a strange feeling. You really recognize your foreigness. Lots of stares, lots of "hellos", police trying to extract bribes out of you because you don't know any better. Anyway, to make a long story short, after booking tickets to KL for the following friday we were accosted by people wanting to send us on a nice tour of Toraja. Trevor and I had planned to check out Makassar for a day or two before heading up to the highlands. (Here I would like to note that living in Asia has probably made me unduly wary of people trying to sell me things. But for the second time I was proved wrong. The other being Chuseok last year in Incheon Chinatown, but that is for another time). The spiel seemed typical. Makassar sucks. You don't want to go there. Toraja is what you really want to see. We can have you on a bus in a few hours. $213/pax. Well that is an absurd price. After realizing they thought we were big spenders and us dissuading the tour guides of that notion (a/c, hot water, something called a hotel not necessary) we were able to knock down the price to roughly $150 for the two of us.

We did go do Makassar. It was a dump. Disaster averted.

Got on an overnight bus. It sucked. Long. Windy roads. Slow.

However, once in Toraja I think both Trevor and I were immediately struck with how relaxed and pastoral a place it was. Rolling fields, rice terraces, mountains disappearing into the early morning clouds, buffalo grazing lazily. We established ourselves at the Wisma Irama and slept off our shitty bus ride. After a nice breakfast we ventured out to check out what Rantepao had to offer (not much) and then ventured into the countryside. We spent the day on a nice ramble about the paddies and winding hills. Pictures were taken. Little kids surrounded us. Old men laughed at us.

(Here it is worth noting that I have met few people more friendly and welcoming than the Torajans. They are simply an amazingly wonderful group of people.)

The next day was spend with our tour guide Anton (a who book could be devoted to him. He is as I referred to him a "salty dog". One eye milked over. Trekked in plastic sandals etc.) who showed us the major cultural tourist spots of Toraja. Torajans have an amazing blend of animism and christianity. Their funeral rites are famous throughout the anthropology world and indeed in the 70s, anthropologists decended onto the highlands for Ph.D. dissertations. We saw hanging graves, baby graves, skulls and lots of buffalos. I will refer you to your own studies if you want to learn more about the culture.

The next day we agreed to go on a 2-day trek with Anton in the north-west of Toraja. That is where I will end my writing for now. Stay tuned for Toraja part deux as well as my overall recap of Indonesia and my scathing review of Kuala Lumpur (ugh).

Quick Note

I am alive and well and have made my way to Kuala Lumpur where I will spend probably just the weekend before heading up the coast to Penang or the like. This is, as the title would suggest, a quick note. I will have some sort of summary of Indonesia as a whole as well as pictures and an in depth description of Sulawesi (highly recommended is the short answer) in due time. Probably tomorrow morning before the bus north.

Until such time I wish everyone the best with whatever they happen to be doing.

Connections

I have finally extracted myself from the Gilis. A nice place, but not exactly a place I would want to stay for too much longer. Kinda like how it was fun to go to frat parties for your first week of university until you realized it was the same thing in a slightly different looking basement every night. It was a good time, don't get me wrong, but I am happy to be on my way again.

That being said on the ferry ride from Lombok last night I had some thoughts about the difference in connection/friendship while traveling. It is quite different from something that can be long term due to proximity for great amounts of time. To elaborate; I met some very interesting, outgoing, fascinated people in my time on the Gilis. As I had mentioned before, Trevor and I stayed with Bart. A Dutchman doing it up right before devoting his immediate, and probably distant future to off-shore engineering. A cool profession no doubt, and one he is excited to experience. We met Matthew. A serial traveler from French-Canadia. 3 Swedish girls; Maria, Martina and Beatrice. Ski instructors in the Alps... All of these people were great to hang out with. Far from boring. Could easily see myself becoming really close friends with any of them. Except... all of our plans, our geographic locations, times in our lives are so widely disparate. What does that mean about forging a connection of friendship with someone you know is going to be gone in a very observable amount of time?

Living in South Korea where the ex-pat turnover is quite high I have had to try to understand this already. There are a variety of schools of thought on the subject. I have a friend that won't worry about you if he knows you plan on being in Korea for a year or less. This may sound offensive, but far from it. On many levels it is quite practical. You cannot devote tremendous energy to forging a relationship withs someone who is self-professed to be transient. He's not gonna throw you under the bus or ignore you either. Just not going to make a terrible effort to become close to you. For myself, I suppose I am willing to devote my time to someone under the rather naive and romantic notion that I can keep up with people. Stay connected to them. No doubt with the power of communication that is at our disposal that becomes increasingly possible, but how strong is such a connection? I am probably fooling myself that all those people that move through my life are people I will ever see again or even really want to see again. Perhaps it will be the 10% rule that my father loves so much. If I can remain connected to 10% of those people my life will be richer. And in the long run that seems to make sense. I can conceivably make the effort to visit that ONE friend from Australia or Argentina that really stuck out and allow those others, while intense the relationship might have been at the time, to fade nicely into memory. A place where I can say "who was that guy who used to always do ___ when he was drunk?" and then spend the next 15 minutes reminiscing about some other tangential thing.

Will I see these people again? Possibly not. That also depends on their willingness. Matthew is probably moving to Korea so he is likely. I like Amsterdam so Bart perhaps. What of other people? Who knows. But at this moment maybe I'd rather just fool myself into believing that these connections were life lasting... And interestingly, as Bart and I discussed, with things like facebook** (how long until online social networking becomes a graduate school concentration?) there is less need to even remain in close contact with people. They are part of your vast social network. A person you can relegate to your database of places and people and if you ever find yourself in Anchorage or Vladivostok you can be sure that someone will be there to look up.

I am off to plan some bribe packages for my trip to Sulawesi. Never know when a small billfold of Lincolns and a bottle of Arak may come in handy in the hinterlands of Indonesia...

** speaking of facebook most of my pictures are there. If you are not friends with me or don't use facebook let me know and I will provide a link for you to view them.

Still on Gili T

It is quite hard indeed to leave certain places. Every once and a while I have trouble leaving my own apartment. Too comfortable. I'm too lazy. I know I can watch one more episode of Deadwood. It's raining. The Gilis are something similar to that. It is just quite easy to relax and allow the days to slip away when all you have to do is listen to the rhythm of the tides moving up and down the beach and smoke sheesha while looking for the Southern Cross (I am still not sure if I have seen it yet, but I think I have).

I have definitely become complacent in the last few days. Woken up when I wanted to (as long as the PA system of the neighboring mosque is on mute), gone snorkeling when I wanted to (sea turtles are really quite cool) gone to sleep on the beach when I want to (which is about 75% of the time) eaten plenty of noodles and even bananas! However, I am starting to feel the tug again. Wanting to get out beyond this little tourist/backpacker paradise. Although I am very content to spend significant amounts of time in a single place, this place can seem like watching reruns after a while.

So after today, it will be off to somewhere else (Makassar, or maybe Kalimantan or if ambitious onto Borneo in one hop). I don't think I will be sad to leave the place, but that lazing, relaxing person in me will probably feel a tinge of regret.

(untitled)

A feeling of falling off the face of the
world
the tide makes distance, length unappear
it is sheeting rain against the mountains
driving to ground the birds

혼자

soft reflection of the sea meets
smudge, meets cloud. Just errant
brush strokes, translucent, pale

the water ceaseless, unrelenting
sand scars copper skin

the tide is now so near

Padang Bai/Gili

Short note. The internet is slow. The keyboard sucks and frankly I'd rather be tossing the disc on the beach. Arrived in the Gilis yesterday from Bali (padang bai to be exact which is a quaint sort of fishing village. really laid back). A nice little place with turquoise water, white sand and coral, long boats perched picture-esque on the shore.

Staying with a Dutchman named Bart. Cool guy. A last hurrah before starting in earnest at Royal Dutch Shell. Met some Swedish girls. Very nice. All going to ski instruct in the Alps. Oh what charmed existences we all do lead...

I have an extensive piece to write about the traveler stare, but that will come later. Last night, however, an American (only the second I have encountered in the sea of Germans and Australians) tried to pick a fight with me. Apparently it isn't okay to make disparaging remarks about your own country. Americans in fact are all wonderful people and I should have some respect for it. Apparently he has never seen the hooked rug above my fire place at home. Oh well. Didn't dissuade me from my opinion.

As soon as the internet gets better I promise pictures.

be well (and pray for the Korean won)

Of interest... or not

Just some notes since I have a few minutes to while away before heading back to my 80,000 Rp a night abode.

Went on a little tour of the southern and eastern regions of Bali yesterday. It was a nice time although the vast majority of the trip was merely a way to tempt me to part with my money (which, unlike many of the tourists on Bali, is not of a limitless supply). However, it was cool to see some of the cottage industries of Bali at work. The painting is a little bland perhaps, but I was very much interested in the wood-carving. It is quite intricate and certainly still something that gets passed between generations, although that may change as schools arise to meet the needs of educating new craftsmen. Bali's tourist industry is now almost to pre-bombing levels so the demand for "authentic" Balinese art is also reaching those former levels. What I found most interesting is that a lot of the stuff produced in Bali is produced using materials that are not actually found on the island e.g. sandlewood or silver. If anyone wants to shed some light on that please do so.

As a sidenote to all that, I can certainly understand how touts and the like can get really grating on the nerves. They don't particularly bother me (must have been years of experience of deflecting telemarketers at dinner time) and there is also a certain inherent difficulty in the whole thing e.g. I am seen as someone with that aforementioned limitless supply of money. So it can be tough to differentiate between genuine kindness or welcoming and that of sale... However, word to those who decry it wholesale, faulting people for trying to sell you things is rather silly considering how often we don't complain when it is done in our lives, just not quite so in our faces (think adverts in magazines etc.)

As far as travel plans we met someone staying down the way from us who was giving good advice on getting to Lombok and then to the Gilis. We will probably make our way there within the next day.

The only other thing of note is I fear I am going to run out of reading quite quickly. I finished Passage To India in 2 days... (most of it this morning). I am onto the road, but 12 books might not be enough.

of final note, mea culpa for so few pictures so far as I just haven't gotten around to ridding my camera of its contents. Look for those within the week.

Musings on Myth

Back when I was in university the only stories I ever heard about Bali were from my friend Geoff. His uncle was one of the old-school surfers who helped to first carve out the expat surfer havens back in the 70s. The life was described as one where he would basically surf all day, shoot heroin and eat carrots. Nothing but carrots. He turned orange. Died of an OD. Kinda an epic life. South East Asian paradise. Extreme sports. Drugs. Cliche perhaps, but not a cliche as it happened. This of course colored my ideas of Bali and South East Asia in general (my friend Blair's experiences did the same for Viet Nam).

Anyway, such things receded into memory and only when I arrived in Korea did I entertain the thought that I too could go to Bali. I feel one does't so much think about things like that when one is busy grinding out days at the New York Public Library. Halfway around the world is quite literally what it sounds like and the only times I ever read about Indonesia were in Chomsky books about press coverage of the Indonesia/Timor L'este conflict.

When you think of these places, they take on an other worldly quality. Some far off place, full of lush jungle, blindingly white beaches, Hinduism-infused spirituality. Of course when you get to Asia this is all clouded over with people talking about how a place like Bali is rife with overweight tourists spending their Euros and never leaving their beach resorts. I suppose all those things are true and a whole bunch more as well. I thought long and hard on the short flight from Singapore to Denpasar about what it is to be searching for something. To want to carve out something in the world of travel to call your own. To resent others who somehow ruin it for you. No doubt many people have the same sentiments/concerns/fears about their attempt at a unique traipse across the world (be it Indonesia or Mozambique or your own neighborhood in whatever city you live in). I guess my conclusion is that people are in it together. You can be busy resenting all the other tourists or expats you find crass or somehow dampening your experiene of a place, but no doubt that is counter-productive and only allows you to dwell. Probably not a good thing. Leave that to the people who say things like I remember when the LES wasn't so gentrified blah blah blah. I'll take the experience where I can find it and carve out what I can for me. Even if that is in a sea of faces.

...Oh yeah, I'm in Sanur, Bali. Gonna relax on the beach for a day or two before heading inland to the art capital of Bali; Ubud on recommendations from both Dray and Candacee.

kopitiam crawl

So what is a "kopitiam crawl"? I am not sure I can properly translate it, but when looking it up wikipedia explains it thusly. Anyway, the version I experienced as somewhat different. Probably the appropriation of the word in order to blanket other activities under it. Basically, I went out with some friends of friends, visited a variety of eating establishments (eating being an establisment unto itself here in Singapore) sampled all sorts of food, drank big bottles of Tiger (sometimes with ice!) and had an amazingly enlightening discussion.

Diana, is a friend of my friend Uli. He suggested I meet up with her and so I did. Luckily this was going on so I wouldn't be alone lest she turn out to be someone a conversation was difficult with. My social akwardness fears were allayed immediately as I found Diana and her friends at an outside establishment on 25 Geylang just finishing a round of beers. I sat down, was introduced and got the typical shit out of the way, I went to this and this university, spent time here and here. Whatever. However, that was done all rather quickly. Turns out Diana lived in the same apartment in Oxford as my friend Sophie (who would join us later) and they both worked for the government. Diana's friend Jeff and his girlfriend Min-joo (hooray for Korean expats!) had met in London I believe and were now back working for a human rights/labor union organization and the military respectively. All right. Conversation will commence no doubt.

We moved on to another place. Bought more beers. Had some dishes there. I recal the carrot dish being quite tasty. Talked some more about living in Korea, Korean culture, the idiocy cum ignorance of foreigners living on the peninsula etc. Rehashing old stuff really. Sophie showed up, we ordered some more beers. Wondeful.

The final stop on this mini tour of Geylang was Indian food along the avenue between the even and odd streets (even streets being the red light district). We ordered up 10 pratas with some curry sauce and sugar on the side. There was a contentious moment because Diana believes that sugar allows you to get the full flavor of the curry. Jeff did not agree and decried such a notion as un-Singaporean. Either way it was good. (side-note: Indians are huge drinkers. There were dozens of men stumble down drunk on the streets conforming Jeff's-the brewer at the pump room- assertion about a micro market for the Indians of Singapore).

As we sat there I learned quite a good deal about what young Singaporeans (certainly privilaged ones) thought about the state of affairs in their own city state and the tenuous balance of culture, economics, human rights and democracy in South East Asia in general. You know- Modernity. Who owns it? (Jeff said no one), what does it mean? (long winded answer no matter who you ask), the dangers of the Caribbeanization of South East Asia (a 500 million strong Chinese middle class poses threats to the cultural progress of SEA) etc. I will refer you to his blog if you are more interested in his ideas (and I think you should be because they are excellent questions to be asking and ones that I understand very little about being only a glorified tourist in Asia. Then it was a serene walk back through the drizzle to Sophie's apartment.

All in all it was a good night until I woke up at 4:30 in the morning feeling horrible from too much grease mixed with cheap beer. Nothing like nausea and disorientation when the sun has yet to appear...

Monseigner Bone Arrives

This will be a quick note mostly to inform those that may care that my friend and now travel partner arrived in Singapore bleary eyed and a big plane shocked (if such a phrase exists) from his flight from JFK by way of Beijing. Good times no doubt, especially when air China wants to cheapskate on the booze.

Besides that there is only odds and ends to report. I will probably have two more entries about Singapore. One, as I promised, dealing with the beer. The other about a wonderful night I had with some friends of friends (thanks to Ulick William Burke for the introductions). It was an enlightening time and stimulating time and I was able to take part in an impromptu and intimate version of a "kopitiam crawl". More later.

Also, for those looking for pictures, they will come when I can unlazify myself from the steamy near-equitorial atmosphere. Just standing makes me sweat and want to sit in front of a fan. I wonder if that is what colonialists were like...