Going to Church, or, 4 km of stress and very un-Christian thoughts

5:21 PM: Okay, I gotta get going! Gotta eat fast!

5:22 PM: Forgot my bike lamps to get back home, for gosh sakes. Gotta walk the 3 feet back to my room to get them. Annoying. (Really, Sarah, three feet? And you are complaining? What has the reluctance of Indonesians to walk anywhere done to you?!)

5:31 PM: I am going to be late! I gotta get outta here!

5:32 PM: I successfully made it down my street without one person asking me, “Mau ke mana?” (“Where are you going?”) It is a miracle.

5:35 PM: Jeesh, sometimes I wish that I wasn’t (usually) so culturally sensitive, or I’d rip this sweater off. Or maybe I shouldn’t have worn this tank top that requires me to wear a sweater while biking in the upper 70-degree heat, only to end up super sweaty at church. What an idiot.

**on the super bumpy road**

5:39 PM: Maybe this road doesn’t bug people here, but couldn’t my rich host dad just cough up a little money to fix this darn road??

5:41 PM: I am ready to take this sweater off. I have no shame it tying it around my shoulders like a grandma. (Sorry, Grandma and G-mo!) I could just take it off…ohhhh, can you imagine, a bule (foreigner, most commonly used for white person, I think…) wearing a tank top, riding a bike alone, and wearing a helmet!? It’d be too much for Indonesians to take.

5:41 PM 30 seconds: It’s happening, I’m taking the sweater off….shoot, can’t yet, someone is driving past me, gotta wait.

5:42 PM: Hallejuah the sweater is off!

**I pass the village that I pass at least once a week, and I swear the same teenager that always says it says it again as I pass, “Bule!” **

5:44 PM: In response to that, I want to yell, “Why don’t you go….” oh man, Sarah, when did you start stooping to this?!

5:47 PM: Okay, it’s gotta happen. I’m stopping here at this corner to turn on my blinky read light and attach it to my back. I don’t want these crazy drivers to hit me because they can’t see me. I feel like an idiot but I’ll be even madder when I’m dead cause I didn’t wear a blinky light for personal pride reasons.

**A pick-up truck passes by me and a man is literally hanging out the window staring at me. I resist the urge not to flick him off, because I am too classy for that, but to hold up three fingers and yell, “Read between the lines, buddy!” But I just barely resist that urge.**

5:50 PM: OH SH*T! Forget the fact that people are passing on their motorcycles less than a foot from me. That bat just flew way too close to me. You can do this, you are brave.

**I see my shadow and realize what I look like.**

An unfortunate photo from Carleton freshman year at Mall of America in which my facial expressions are the same as always,  awkward. But the importance of this photo is that the dress was like Batwoman, crucial to this story at present. 

5:51 PM: Oh my gosh, no wonder the bats are coming at me. My sweater is billowing in the wind like a cape. The bats think I am batwoman.

Trying to eat Iyamide. Batwoman/vampire...

**I try to tuck the sleeves of my sweater into my shirt so there is no cape-billowing.**

5:52 PM: Well that is not gonna work. Okay, this is happening, I am a bule riding a bike, wearing a helmet and a blinky light, and now it looks like I am trying to wear a cape. I look crazy. I am crazy. I chose to live in Indonesia for two years. (I may have said that last part out loud while biking…) You know what, people are already staring at me, let’s give ‘em a show. Yes, I am a bule biking with a helmet, blinky red light and cape. You got a problem with that?! This is who I am, a crazy person! Hmm, maybe I should be careful with being crazy though, or people will believe all white people are like this, and that’s not fair to the normal white people. Oh crap, I’m wearing my cross necklace! I just put this on for the first time in this village, because I am going to church. What if people see it and think that all Christians are crazy! SHOOT!

Can you say crazy bule??

5:55 PM: This is really how I’m going to die, trying to see what time it is while biking. Forget people texting, trying to dig through one’s bag while biking in Indonesia is just as dangerous. It is 5:55 PM, SHOOT! I am gonna be late to church!!! And sweaty. Gosh.

5:59 PM: Gotta turn, best to just not look back. Indonesians don’t look anyways. I am just gonna straight up turn right now. Good thing I’m wearing this blinky light.

**”Hello mister!”

6:00 PM: FOR GOSH SAKES, I JUST WANT TO GET TO CHURCH IN PEACE! Do you have to call me Mister, you annoying person? You know what, I’m gonna blog about this. I am going to write what it’s like to ride your bike to church once a week in Indonesia. 4 km of high stress. I will have to be honest and write about all the bad things I was thinking about saying to people as they passed me and stared or cat-called. And then I will comment on the irony that I am going to church. Every week I bike to church, think really mean thoughts, and then try to go pray it off. Is that a bad thing!?

6:03 PM: Oh gosh, this is really it. The main road, where death is always ready to welcome me. I am gonna inch up behind this ibu (woman) and cross when she crosses. I am also going to position myself on the side of her farther from oncoming traffic, so if someone gets hit it’s her. Oh man, that is a terrible thing to think. But I’m still doing it. This is so dangerous. She is going, oh man, here we go. Don’t look at the other side of the road yet, because like always there is probably a huge truck barreling (literally, like 50 miles an hour) down the road at me, ready to give a warning honk. Just focus on getting to the middle, where of course there is no median. And then just start going with the flow of traffic, risk a glance behind me, and make a mad dash for the other side of the road.

6:04 PM: Thank GOD for this blinky light, or a car would probably hit me. I can’t believe I’m still alive. I think this every time I cross this road. But I still have 30 meters to go.

**quick prayer**

6:06: PM: I can’t believe it, I made it again. I really, truly, don’t know how I am still alive after crossing this road. Praise the Lord!

In other, totally unrelated news...

  

Happy Labor Day! For Labor Day I made lumpur, a traditional Javanese cake, and then made icing on it,  just like all the time in college! Except, as Sam knows oh-too-well, I can't make Mom's easiest-icing-recipe-ever to save my life. Always too grainy or runny or...in this case, the powdered sugar itself wasn't fine enough, leading to a gritty-on-your-teeth sensation. I didn't eat this cupcake-esque Labor Day treat, but I did give it to my neighbors as a thank you for all they've done for me! One of them was confused and thought I was going home to the US and this was my goodbye present to them...

Going to Candi Brahu, the ancient (and very recently renovated or more likely rebuilt... yay tourism!) Mojopahit Temple like 1 km from my house. Attracts international tourists, cool! The building in the backround is not the temple, for gosh sakes! 

...This is the temple! And those are the slew of neighbor kids that invited me to come with them. Those are the same neighbor kids I never want to bike with again because they are too interested in me, asking questions, touching me, pulling my arms. No thank you, not a fan of little kids in quantities of more than...oh, like 2. 

Badminton extracurriculars! I have to admit that I was a little snobby as I attended this, thinking about how in the US our guys play basketball and football, and here these Indonesian guys are playing sorta soft-core badminton...and then I saw Pak Habib and an alumnus play and man, were they amazing. I couldn't play with them, not fast enough! Even though I have more respect for badminton players now, I still couldn't help but think about the strength it takes to play tennis or football...

The gym uniforms, complete with jilbab (hijab!) Very confusing, these jilbabs are, because half of the girls weren't wearing them during badminton. I get very confused between my host family women (that do not leave the house without their head covered) and people who just walk around without one at random times. I forget that it's a choice about how much to wear or not to wear it...

Mosque-opening ceremony at my school!

The mosque is clearly not done (they have yet to cover the bricks with another layer of cement,  put in the windows, doors, floors...) but by Allah (God), we are gonna open that mosque today! 

All important things come with food...food that is eaten with unwashed hands, no spoon. Or, if given a bowl to wash with, water. Just water. No soap. Welcome to Indonesia. 

Teaching at a former PCV's school in Mojoagung. It has become clear that Miss Sarah's punishment song will be "I'm a Little Teapot." Complete with dancing. 

YES!

Just to show you how important I am, I have a microphone! Oh, and I am an honest person, so this picture was added for you to observe the copious amounts of sweat on my face and my greasy hair. Awesome. 

The following pictures are from the day that I went on a bike ride and felt super Peace Corps-y! Why? Because I popped in my ipod to drown out anyone yelling anything at me, slathered myself in sunscreen to the questioning of my host family for the 10th time "What is that?" and set off for 2 hours of uninterrupted peace. This is the super Peace Corps-y part...I felt like my tires didn't have enough air, so I stopped to ask a random warung owner (small restaurant, basically a shack on the side of the road) if he had a bike pump. Not only did he fill my tires right up, we chatted and he gave me free potentially strawberry flavored tea. 

Being spontaneous? Check.

Looking fabulous with my shades and goofy grin? Check.

Talking to strangers? Check. 

Taking a drink from a strange man? Check. 

The Paddies. What is up!

I have decided to get back at people taking pictures of me or cat-calling at me, I will now and then take opportunities to try to make other people uncomfortable. Unfortunately, it is hard to be sneaky as a white lady on a bike, so I broke down and asked these teenage sheep herders (complete with a big shepard-staff there in the background boy's hand) if I could take a picture of them. Again, feeling pretty Peace Corps-y!

My new buddy. Don't ask me his name, I never remember names. Though the best name in Indonesia so far is "Bagus" for the men, which literally means "good" or "awesome!" and "Putri" for the girls...which means "girl." 

Paddy and the corn! Just like the Mid-West with the corn! 

My sweet ride! Complete with bell.