Well, I apologize for the sparse updates recently. Ramadan has been a busy time for me, and for everyone. On average, Indonesians have more to do throughout the day during the holy month than during the remainder of the year. It’s a time when they embrace hard work and sacrifice. Before I came here, I had read about how a westerner should certainly cut Indonesians some slack by the end of Ramadan. They’ve been going without normal nourishment for a month, and one might assume that the last half of Ramadan could be hard on a lot of people. However, I’ve found quite the opposite. Ramadan is also a time when people are very aware of their emotions, and to become frustrated during this time is a real sign of weakness and of a lack of dedication. This Ramadan has been an enriching experience for me, and I have met many more people and heard many more names than my brain has a capacity to memorize! But, more about this later; I have a story to finish…

Immediately after spending time with teachers in a social environment, I was able to see how much better some of them were at English than what they tend to display in a classroom setting. The traditional language classes at my pesantren cast an atmosphere where mistakes are unwelcome and full preparedness is the only acceptable option. I can see so clearly now that even teachers display counterproductive apprehension toward me during our sessions. So now, more than ever, I intend to promote a classroom environment, which is as different from the students’ typical situation as possible. I think these kids need a little more chaos in their lives!

As a westerner, there are many aspects of this culture with which I am either completely unfamiliar or even with which I am totally uncomfortable. But, when traveling to the opposite end of the earth, that’s only to be expected, and it’s certainly not detracting from my experience. In particular, one facet of pesantren culture, which never ceases to make me cringe, is the general view of women and the interactions (or lack there of) between women and men. There are many examples of this, which contrast so intensely from western culture and from what I am used to, but I’d rather not discuss that right now. What I will say, though, is that when I went on this trip, I hadn’t before seen men and women interacting so harmoniously. All of us sitting in the back of a van, making jokes – it was so refreshing.

The reason I don’t want to sound too negative about gender roles here is because Indonesian women are genuinely happy people, and the patriarchal traditions come just as much from the long engrained Javanese culture as they do from the more recent Islam. Many people here, men and women, would never say that females are treated differently (even if they know it deep down). They are so proud of their culture and so proud to be Indonesians and Muslims, that these social issues, which we hold so dear in the US are not a concern for them (even for most women). People’s sense of individuality is nothing like Americans’. Many Indonesians would define themselves by their family, their home and community, and their religion – nevert by their goals and aspirations, achievements, or career. However, just to relate to me, when I’ve had conversations about gender with people, it is an immediate response for them to give me specific examples of women who are successful and who couldn’t be considered oppressed even by the western definition. But, with my privilege of having had first hand experience in both cultures, and with the advantage of comparison, it’s still very hard for me to fully accept certain practices here… as I am sure it would be similar for them if they ever ventured to the US.

Traveling, however, tends not to be a big desire for many people in central Java, and if it were, it’s still much too expensive. Anyway, that’s one reason why the trip to this mountain and waterfall was so exciting for my new friends. Many of the teachers had never previously been, and for the ones who had, maybe they only remembered it from an excursion during their middle school years. My excitement, though, was drawn from something completely different. This trip happened nearly a month ago at this point, and some of the things here that have become commonplace for me by now were, at that time, very inspiring and made a big impression on me. I’m so happy to go back and write about this because I had almost forgotten.

The jaunt to Gunung Muria was the first time I felt like a true friend to the teachers here and not at all like a novelty. We were joking around with what little vocabulary we had in common (in both languages), trying to penetrate a steep language barrier, and when I look back on the trip, even though I could only manage a true conversation with one of the twelve people who went, I have no memories of feeling out of place or of struggling to communicate. I was even invited to go with them at noon to pray, and although I did not take part in the prayer, I felt more comfortable and at ease, barefoot, in that mosque than in virtually any other memory I can quickly conjure up. Being accepted as a true friend among these teachers, with whom it might appear I have very little in common, was one of the more moving experiences I’ve ever had. And these feelings were only compounded when I took a moment to consider the physical stimuli. There I was, sitting at the top of a mountain, inside a gorgeous mosque known to all of central Java, on an exceptionally beautiful day, with a calming breeze and a magnificent view. Let’s talk a little bit about melodrama.

As you can see from the pictures below, the waterfall was a really spectacular scene, and the walk there was just as beautiful. I learned some pretty important vocabulary during the hike as well, “hati-hati!” which means “be careful!” The trail to the waterfall honestly reminded me of a scene from Apocalypto when a guy slipped and nearly dragged four other people down a cliff with him. I don’t recall us losing anyone though, so I’m sure I’ll make my way back there sometime before I leave. I couldn’t knowingly pass up another opportunity to visit Gunung Muria with a clean conscience; from my experiences here in restaurants, I’ve come to the conclusion that that waterfall boasts the only cold water in Indonesia. Of course I’m kidding, but really, I’m so glad that I just bit the bullet and got sick from drinking the water here during my first two weeks. I’m now able to enjoy the unique pleasures of Indonesian iced drinks, which I would have otherwise been apprehensive to try.