Ode to the Mandi

A large part of travel is learning to make fine adjustments to our assumptions about life. After being away from my village for a while, I have had to re-calibrate myself to the slower pace of life, the lack of English speakers, and the cold bucket baths. In light of that latter joy, I give to you this little essay I wrote after first coming to Indonesia. It stands true to this day, and is a daily metaphor for getting over myself and diving in. Enjoy!

Before I traveled to Asia, I took my bathroom for granted. I took for granted that people sat on toilets, spit their toothpaste in sinks, and, if they were polite, put a towel on the floor to keep it dry when they showered. But a change in place often brings a change in perspective, and as anyone else who has abdicated the porcelain throne can attest, a change in perspective may mean getting your feet wet.

My mandi, aka. Home sweet home.

Many travelers to Asia have come to love or loathe what some call the “wet bathroom.” Here in Indonesia, where I work as a Peace Corps education volunteer, we say “mandi”. Mandi is both a noun and a verb. To mandi is to take a cold bucket bath, and the place in which you perform this activity (and others) is called the mandi.

The mandi consists of three major areas. The first is the infamous squat toilet (more affectionately, the squatty potty). Set into the floor, it requires one to – as the name suggests – squat. As a result of performing this action multiple times a day, Indonesians are remarkably good at squatting as they complete many of their daily tasks. I have seen children under the age of one and old men and women with wrinkle-worn faces squatting with perfect form as they play or shell beans.

The mandi’s second area of interest is the water source. In many Indonesian homes this is a tiled, square or rectangular tub that holds anywhere from a few to many gallons of water. In less homey atmospheres, you may just get a large bucket. This water is essential in all the tasks that are undertaken in the mandi, because there is no toilet paper. This water is also the source of the mandi’s wetness, from which it receives its “wet bathroom” reputation.

After brushing your teeth, relieving yourself, soaping up your body, or any other activity, it is recommended that you splash some water around the whole room and on yourself in order to remove any possible residue. Unless you are very unlucky, a scoop will be provided to assist you in these duties. Wetter is cleaner, therefore wetter is better.

The final area of import is the floor itself. Tile, linoleum, concrete, or dirt, it slopes slightly towards the drain. This feature is specially designed to carry away soap, toothpaste, or any other unwanted material.

Skeptical to say the least.

Experiencing the mandi for the first time was like traveling to a new country. Everything I had read and heard about it couldn’t compare with actually standing there and facing the invigorating, cold, wet reality. This place felt totally foreign, and I definitely didn’t speak the language. I stared at the water for a few moments, bracing for the cold. But I knew that, eventually, I would have to take the plunge – or rather the splash. I would have to get low, and just embrace this new, uncharted territory. Sure, the water was cold, my quadriceps burned, and I missed my target many times, but I was there. I was immersed in something so foreign, so startling, and so wonderfully different.

At first I hated it. I wondered how anyone in their right mind could possibly live without toilet paper. I pined for a hot shower and dry bathroom floor. I cursed myself and the world when I missed my target for the tenth time, hitting my feet instead. But then, slowly, things started to change.

I learned that when Indonesians bathe in the mandi, they splash themselves with ferocious speed. If you have ever passed the mandi while a native Indonesian is bathing, it sounds like a hurricane has been unleashed. I started splashing myself with as much speed as I could muster, and found the water didn’t feel quite so cold.

Then I discover the beautiful efficiency of spitting out my mouthwash and relieving my bladder simultaneously. I practiced until I could expertly wield the bucket in my right hand and splash with my left while perching with newfound balance. I began to wonder why I had ever used toilet paper in the first place, and I found myself regarding the western world flushing millions of scratchy, papery sheets down toilets every day with scorn. In this environment where I once felt so strange, uncomfortable, wet, and cold, I began to feel at home.

I learned from the locals, and I learned from experience. Through trial and error I discovered the hidden beauty and ingenuity of the mandi. My world was graced with a new perspective and a new appreciation of a different way of life. From now on, both the quick efficiency of the wet mandi and the luxurious comfort of my hot shower back home will hold special places in my heart.

Journey to Flores: New Turf

Indonesia is made up of thousands of islands. On those islands, more than 700 languages are being spoken among some 300 distinct, native ethnic groups.

It’s hard to keep that in mind while strolling the land-locked rice paddies in my Javanese village

It wasn’t hard to imagine while soaring at cruising altitude over island after island – large and uninhabitably small – between Java and Flores.

The island of Flores is located in eastern Indonesia and is a budding tourist destination. It has everything the “off-the-beaten-track” traveler is looking for: breath-taking mountains, deserted beaches, traditional villages, and amazing wildlife. Ever been asked if you prefer mountains or the beach? Well, in Flores you don’t have to choose – it’s all right there.

A beauty-seeker’s paradise.

Flores also offers a different take on Indonesia. Coming from Java, I immediately noticed two things: crucifixes
and empty roads. The people of Flores are predominantly Catholic, and there are a lot fewer of them. During our school vacation I was looking for something different and something adventurous, and I found that and more in Flores.

In fact, Flores was an absolute dream. I loved being there and my thoughts have strayed to going back ever since I left. I could never put everything into one blog post (or into 20), but I’ve boiled the highlights down into two parts “Turf” and “Surf.”

Let’s start on land…

Kelimutu National Park

Mount Kelimutu, located near the sleepy town of Moni, is famous for its tri-colored lakes. Formed in three volcanic craters, the lakes are remarkable for the fact that, despite sharing the same volcanic peak, they seem to change color independently of one another. The change is thought to be the effect of chemical reactions due to the interaction of volcanic gasses and minerals contained in the waters.

My favorite lake was the one that looked like someone dumped a giant can of blue paint in it. Apparently it got the memo that pastels are in this season.

Local legends assign a more mystical role to the lakes. The three are named Tiwu Ata Bupu (Lake of Old People), Tiwu Ko’o Fai Nuwa Muri (Lake of Young Men and Maidens) and Tiwu Ata Polo (Betwitched or Enchanted Lake), and are believed to be repositories of the souls of the dead.

Two of the lakes are separated by a narrow wall of rock.

The third lake sits deep within it’s crater.

Whether chemical or spiritual, watching the sun rise over the lakes while sipping a ginger coffee was nothing short of entrancing.

Sun hitting the rocky wall of one of the lakes.

Traditional Villages

Bena Village

Flores is dotted with traditional villages inhabited by members of the island’s many native ethnic groups. While much of Indonesia is modernizing and globalizing at an increasingly rapid pace, these villages have been preserved in an effort to honor the history and culture native to the peoples of Flores. It’s a rare treat to see these homes and step back in time.

Each region has its own style, reflected in the construction of their houses as well as the motifs found on their traditionally woven textiles.

We visited the village of Bena, near Bajawa in the district of Ngada. While a group of men worked on the construction of a new home, many of the women sat weaving, chewing betel nut, and selling textiles from their porches.

To be honest, it is a bit of a strange feeling walking into people’s lives uninvited. As we started to speak with some of the women, however, they were eager to tell us about their lives and craft. One girl proudly explained that she started weaving in elementary school. An older women showed us how to properly peel and prepare a betel nut. Speaking the language went a long way, and I definitely recommend going with a guide if you don’t speak Indonesian yourself – the depth of experience is all the more enjoyable!

The small structures are symbolic of male (the umbrella) and female (the mini-house). Large stones are used for animal and food sacrifices, while the assembly of stones is like a central, official meeting point. All are involved in honoring and thanking the ancestors.

Textiles for sale, hung beneath the remains of sacrificed animals.

To learn more about Bena and its ancestral shrines, check out this website.

Come back next week to catch some surf with komodo dragons!

Currency Matters: Let’s Crunch Some Numbers

This post deals in vast generalizations, numbers, and economics – none of which I claim to be an expert on. Nevertheless, it is all based on what I believe to be facts. Read it, think about it, let me know what you think!

A couple of weekends ago I took another trip to Solo to do some Christmas shopping.

Looking for trinkets at Solo’s Triwindu flea market.

Idul Adha: The Feast of the Sacrifice

Disclaimer: This post is about animal sacrifice. While I have not included anything particularly shocking, there are pictures in this post of raw meat and animals about to meet their ultimate demise.

This post also contains information about Islam. In no way do I claim to be an expert on any type of theology or religion, especially not Islam. If I have written anything that you believe to be untrue, please correct me in the comments. I would love to learn more! Happy reading.

You think about a lot of things when you witness the slaughter of a sacrificial cow. Like how strange it is that humans are the only predators on Earth who buy an animal in advance, kill it, package its meat, and store it until they decide to cook it and eat it – how we don’t have claws or razor sharp teeth, but are so frighteningly smart that we don’t need them. It also strikes you that the world is a much harsher place for our four-legged brethren than many Americans like to believe.