Indonesian Diary Entry

9 September 2001 Solo

I have now been in Solo for a week, and a fair amount has happened, so it is time for a Diary update. First a few words about the university and related matters, and then some personal observations. Life at UNS (aka Universitas Sebelas Maret) has begun. It began with a bank, in contrast to my normal style and intention. On Monday, the 3rd, Greta Morris (Public Affairs Counselor at the Embassy) as my escort and I came to UNS. First we met with the Rector (the President) who graciously welcomed us and provided us with desert at 10 AM or so, and then we moved on to the Fakultas Ekonomi. (I will dispense with Indonesian spellings.) The Faculty is the equivalent of a college, and it contains departments of Accounting, Management, and Economics. There is a Dean of the Faculty, and a head of Economics. Our first meeting in the Faculty was rather odd. Like the meeting with the Rector, it involved a welcome, and a response on the part of Greta and me. Greta is fluent in Indonesian so they understood her quite a bit better than me. But I said the appropriate things and was (still) gracious. We then took a break for tea and (right) more sweets, and reconvened for part II, which was to be a discussion of my duties. This was the first substantive discussion of such, and we had not been successful in dealing with any of this before my arrival. The discussion amounted to one of the lecturers translating on the fly a document spelling out my proposed duties. My response was initially gracious, but only initially. The proposal was quite different than things I had suggested in messages that apparently never reached the Faculty, and caught me completely by surprise. Where I had suggested a couple of specific courses, the proposal I heard on Monday was for a variety of guest appearances in classes, plus various seminars on topics familiar and unfamiliar to me (the least familiar being a seminar to the Department faculty and staff on quantitative methods). This was where the graciousness cracked. We then adjourned for lunch.

After lunch we reconvened, and began a discussion of my housing. It helps a little to describe the meeting. By now we were about ten or twelve, including Greta and me, and we were sitting in a modest sized room with a non-functioning air conditioner. I had worn a long sleeve shirt and a tie for the occasion, and by this point was sweating rather profusely. This was probably good as I had drunk quite a bit of tea at all the breaks. The one message I had received was that someone was to be assigned to help me find housing. He began by suggesting that I outline my preferences for housing. I did, trying to point out the things I felt that were particularly important. They included a telephone line, an environment friendly to someone who likes to run, two rooms and a bathroom, air conditioning in the bedroom, and a hot shower. Let’s imagine the King of a small nation coming to rural Oklahoma and giving a list of minimal requirements to the Mayor. You get the idea. My suggestions were not well received. The immediate response was that this type of housing arrangement was simply not possible. It did not exist. I said something about things always existing at a price, but I think this inappropriate comment failed to meet the test of comprehension on the part of most in the room. At some point I realized that I had misstated my minimal requirements. I had not included a modern shower (this is different from a hot shower) and I had not included a flush toilet. The shower and toilet are actually functionally related, but I’ve already gotten too far into this whole subject. In any case, a couple of members of the department (who were seated at the table) had planned to offer me space in their homes, but now recognized that their space and my space request were orthogonal. The person assigned to finding me housing dropped me at the hotel with the comment that he’d get back to me. “Tomorrow morning?” I asked. No, whenever he had something to report.

By Tuesday I had reconsidered the proposal on teaching, and agreed in general to what had been suggested. By Friday we had pretty much agreed on a set of guest lectures, a seminar schedule, and some other things. By Tuesday I had been put in an office, and had an assistant assigned to help me. The assistant is Mbak (Ms) Emmy/M.I./Amy. She is great. The office is noisy as all get out, but I like it. It is in a building that contains the library for the Faculty, and that is the source of noise and confusion. The office is also used as a resource room for students taking a couple of courses in finance. So the traffic flow is pretty heavy. But I have my own desk, and I can use the telephone line to attach to the internet, so things are not bad. (The words “Ethernet connection” have not established themselves in the vocabulary. I asked about people’s e-mail addresses and got a list of everyone in the Faculty with a UNS address. When I inquired about that I was told that their e-mail goes to the Faculty main office, and then they are notified by phone that they have mail. They can apparently have it printed out or come to the office to read it. I believe this is correct. I would guess the state of use of computers on campus is roughly where Clark was ten years ago.) MI has done so much to make my life easy that I feel like a prince. (The prince formerly known as Pak Maurice.) This has included, but not limited to, calling taxis, translating for various people who have come to the office, arranging meetings with people, helping me open a bank account, looking at a couple of possible places to live, and directing me to a place to eat near the office. That will be part of the transition to life in Solo in a moment. And one more thing – her mother works in a hair salon, and I am to have an appointment with her next week to have my hair cut.

Now, as to the housing…. Nothing thus far has been accomplished. I have seen a couple of long-term hotel type of places (home-stays as they are known), and they are rather dreary for the long-term. Later this afternoon I am to visit a house where there is a possibility of my staying with a family. This sounds promising. If it does not work out, I will wait a few more days and then probably go to one of the home-stays. I am not happy with the situation, but I realize how much of an effort a few people are making on my behalf, so I don’t feel as if I am being left in the lurch. Naturally, there is shyness because of the language barrier. Even faculty members who have spent time in English speaking areas are a little reticent about conversational English, and others are even more timid. It is clear that there is much concern about my welfare, and the attempts to take care of me are obvious and effective. I will wind up in a housing arrangement that doesn’t meet my initial requirements, but only because that is what there is out there. Now, a bit about Solo. I will say a couple of things, then try and establish context by comparing it to Yogya, since I have written about that city already.

Today is Sunday, and a couple of things stand out about the day. I began by running along what has become my regular route, and before I started this diary entry I visited the somewhat nearby Sultan’s palace or Kraton. One thing from each is worth mentioning. My running route is on a major city street, but one that has a carriage lane (in today’s world a becak/bicycle lane). On the way out I noticed something suspicious, and on the way back it was confirmed. A man was sitting on the curb, stark naked. At the other end of the day I was walking around the Kraton and a young man, about twenty or so, engaged me in conversation. This is common, and it generally involves someone trying to practice their English on the fly. He asked me the usual set of questions, a couple of which I felt were bordering on the excessively personal, and then he asked me if I liked boys. When I answered unequivocally no, he went off to practice on others. It was a strange day. Up to this point the biggest differences between Yogya and Solo are the traffic, noise level, congestion, and general feeling of the cities. Yogya is busier, noisier, more congested, and has more of an urban feeling. Yogya has many universities; Solo does not. When in Yogya I was more aware of the students, especially near the bigger university. Beyond these sensory matters, the biggest personal difference is that I was living with a family in Yogya, and thus far I have been in a hotel. Consequently, almost all of my meals in Yogya (even lunch) were eaten at home, and here all have been eaten “out.” Perhaps the exception is breakfast, which I have taken at the hotel each morning. Lunch has been somewhat entertaining. MI directed me to the place(s) where the students eat. They are call canteens. I have been to two, each in a different Faculty, but neither very far from the office. Each is rather small, with a sheltered area of something like 10’ x 20’. At one end is a small counter of sorts, with a few Javanese women hanging out behind the counter. The protocol is that you and they work together to fill a plate with different items, you consume your meal at one of the benches or picnic type tables, and then when you’ve finished you pay. I’m not sure how the price of the meal is determined, but even by Indonesian standards the meal is cheap. This is not to say inexpensive. This is cheap. I have yet to exceed Rp. 2,500, which you may recall is around 30 cents.

The other culinary experience I’ve discovered is the Srabi. This item is described in my food book as made from rice flour and coconut milk. On the main street there are Srabi vendors, one after another for about five blocks. I would estimate there are between 25 and 40 of them. When I saw so many I realized there must be a reason for their number and eventually tried one. They are marvelous. They are like crepes, with a mound of sweetness in the center, with a sprinkle of chocolate, or banana, or jackfruit on the top. Yum. These will not get you through the day, but they sure make a nice finish to the day.

This section has gone on much to long, so I’ll conclude with a couple of other things. I acquired a hand phone, with the help of one of my generous colleagues who took me to a few different vendors and negotiated on my behalf. It works fine, in spite of the fact that when I got home I realized that the instructions were in French. The seller apparently figured that all European languages are pretty much the same. On another language note, most of the people in the Solo area speak Javanese in any ordinary conversation. This includes my colleagues. This was not welcome news as I struggled to master a bit more of the Indonesian vocabulary. This use of Javanese extends to menus. I have been to a few tourist places, and so far, not much to write home about. So I won’t. There are still plenty of chickens here, and they are like their Yogya cousins (actually, their Yogya cousins have probably been consumed by now) in being non-threatening to runners. There are also some other domesticated animals, most of which seem destined for the table. UNS actually has an Ag School. I’m back to a land-grant university. And day after tomorrow I am part of a panel on Education and Democracy, sponsored in part by the Embassy. It is a big deal and I am a bit nervous about it. But I will end with a reprise about the people with whom I have been working and associating. They have been generous and warm.