Friday, November 20, 2015

Day seven of my time in Sumatra has begun with more rain. It rained for much of last night, and it is quite wet outside. On the positive side, the rain brings down the temperature. I imagine that in the non-rainy season, it is much, much hotter here.

Yesterday, I finally got out what I think of as my real camera. Till then, I’d just been walking around with my smartphone and my little point-and-shoot camera (which I keep in a liittle pouch on my belt). I wanted to put a portrait lens on the camera, but I knew that the Indonesians would likely call for “selfies”, and a portrait lens would have too narrow a focal range for that. So I compromised with a 50mm lens. It might get me close enough to make me happy and be wide enough to get in a small group portrait.

Things got more than a little out of hand as I walked around with my camera. To begin with, I was nervous. I planned on going to the market, and I didn’t know how Muslim women would react to the presence of a foreign man with a camera. I don’t run around pointing my camera at people willy-nilly, but I know from experience that just the presence of a camera can upset people. The women didn’t seem to mind that much, though I noticed a lot of adjusting of the hijab to pull it tighter around the face and make sure all of the hair and as much as possible of the face was hidden. But then, a lot of women called out to me. Unfortunately, they kept urging me to take pictures of other women. Then these other women would be embarrassed and shake their heads and wave their hands at me to go away. This was uncomfortable to me, because I would never deliberately create this awkward situation. But time and again, a woman would wave me over to her. I would think she wanted to chat or have her picture taken. But when I got there, she would laugh and encourage me to take pictures of other women. These women would protest, and everyone would start laughing. It was all done for fun, I guess, but I wasn’t happy about being in the center of all this commotion and potential trouble.

Men would join in this game, too, but it wasn’t as awkward. Most of the men actually wanted their picture taken. Those that didn’t were just stoic about it and there wasn’t all the shrieking and giggling and running away. The problem was that the men would, just as Filipinos did, focus on my marital status and then start joking that I should marry all the available single women in the vicinity. I can pretend to be laughing and joking for a while, but that isn’t my personality, and all this forced hilarity becomes a strain after a while.

Overall, I just attracted far more attention than I did in the Philippines. I know that I wasn’t hidden in the Philippines. It’s not like I blended into the background. But people didn’t focus on me as much. I was ignored, and they went about their business of buying and selling. In the market in Tanjungbalai, I was in the center of a big commotion all the time. People called out to me all the time, and there was a lot of interest in having a picture taken with me either with their camera phone or with my camera. And once that started, it became a game as more and more people crowded in to try to get in the picture. I didn’t really mind because those group shots are the ones that I like the most out of all the pictures I took. For those, I used my Canon point-and-shoot. There’s no way I could show someone how to use my Olympus and I didn’t want to hand over my smartphone. The Canon was perfect for these opportunities.

The most interesting encounter of the day was with a group of police officers. They were out in the market in force. I ran into one young policeman inside the courtyard of a hotel I was checking out, and we chatted for a while and then took a picture together. The police officer asked me the same questions as everyone else, but coming from a man in a uniform it suddenly felt more like an official interrogation. Out in the market, I came across a large group of his fellow officers and we took a picture together. There was very little English ability in the group, so I didn’t learn anything about them or what they were doing in the market.

Another encounter occurred as I was leaving the market. I was called over to join a group of five men sitting in the shade beside a broken-down ice tea stall. One man there, Sam, spoke a bit of English and he invited me to sit down and he treated me to two glasses of ice tea. Whenever this happens, I can’t help but look around to see if there was a filtered water container of any kind. For most of my life, the rule of thumb with travel has always been “don’t drink the water” and that includes ice. So I tended to avoid any type of drinks, period. But things have changed. The Philippines has converted over almost completely to filtered water, and it looks like Indonesia has as well. So in every restaurant, I’ve been drinking the water that has been set in front of me in a glass. I just assume it came from a bottle of filtered water. But with this ice tea stand, it was hard to tell. And most of the glass was filled with ice. Who knew what kind of water was made to make the ice? But I feel more courageous about water in general, and I happily drank down the ice tea. Looking at the overall dirtinesss of the place, you wouldn’t touch the water, but I have more confidence in the water situation in general.

Sam, it turns out, made his living delivering bottles of filtered water on his motorbike. He was eager to stay in touch with me, and he gave me his cell phone number. I didn’t learn much else about him or the men. They just asked me the usual questions, focusing mostly on the fact that I was alone. This fact is very hard for the Indonesians to wrap their heads around. It puzzles them for two reasons. One, they can’t imagine being alone or going anywhere alone. Family and friends are far too important to them. And they would rarely have the money or opporunity to just go off somewhere by themselves. Two, they’re amazed that I can wander around on my own without a guide or security. They imagine that I would be helpless and that I would feel afraid.

Earlier in the day, the young men at the hotel knocked on my door to announce that I had a visitor. At least that is eventually what I figured out. It was hard to understand what they were trying to say. But I went down to the lobby, and a young woman I’d met the previous day was sitting there with her father. This was the young English student, Sri, whose father drove a becak. She had tracked me down through my Facebook pictures and figured out that I was staying at the Asahan hotel. She is truly a delightful girl – very pretty and very intelligent and engaging. She said that when she went to school and to her night time English class, no one believed her when she said that she had met a foreigner. They thought she was making up stories. So she came to my hotel wanting to take a picture of me and with me as proof. She also wanted to invite me to her English class. We used the powers of my smartphone to type out and figure out that she attended classes at the Alex Essential English Course. For some reason, they call these places courses rather than schools or institutes or academies. And she pronounced the word as “curse.” It confused me for a long time when she kept inviting me to her English curse. We made arrangements that I would come to her “curse” the next night (tonight). Unfortunately, it’s a bit far away and not within a reasonable walking distance for night time. I’ll have to take a becak or ride my bike. We forgot to set an exact time, and I keep hoping she will contact me through Facebook, but she hasn’t as yet.

For lunch, I made a repeat visit to a small local restaurant. It was right at lunch time, so it was busier than before, and I had to sit at a table with other people. The restaurant was clearly for workers and drivers. This was not a professional crowd. And I noticed that everyone ate with their hands. When you sat at a table, the first thing they brought you was a bowl of water for your fingers. You can clean your fingers in this bowl from time to time as you eat. After my meal, I took a picture of the two men that served me. I also asked if I could see the kitchen. I wanted to take a picture of the kitchen, but when I asked for permission, I was met with nearly a howl of protest. I felt like I’d stepped over a serious line. I felt bad about that and I made a hasty retreat from the restaurant. I don’t know why they were so upset, but perhaps the kitchen is somehow sacred or private.

Having had a substantial lunch, I contented myself with a serving of mie tiaw for dinner. Then I stopped at a streetside stall where they were making a different type of martabak. I’d noticed this stall many times because it was so busy and popular and they served their martabak in takeaway boxes. When I checked things out, I noticed that this martabak was completely different from my martabak mesir. It was more of a dessert martabak with chocolate sprinkles, condensed sweetened cream, and lots and lots of margarine. The dough itself was also different, and it cooked into a light and fluffy pancake rather than the harder bread in the martabak mersi. I ordered one before I fully realized what was involved. I think the man preparing it made me a special one with extra chocolate, extra cream, and extra margarine. The result was a gooey mess in the box, and it was far more food than I could reasonably eat without just begging to be sick afterward. I tried to give away some of it back at the hotel, but the young men politely begged off. In the end, I ate four or five pieces and left the rest. This type of martabak is clearly something you buy as a treat for an entire family. You don’t buy one for yourself and eat the whole thing. I doubt I will be ordering another anytime soon.

The evening was spent going over the pictures I’d taken and uploading some of them to Facebook. I did all of this through my smartphone. In a strange twist, my phone with its Internet connection is far faster and easier to use than my computer. I just can’t get enough of this smartphone. I learned yesterday that there are very powerful photo editing apps that you can install on your phone as well. I downloaded and installed the Google app SnapSeed. I’d much rather streamline my system so that I can upload to my blog, but I don’t know how to do that easily.

 

 

Tags: Sumatra Part 01