Javanese Bride and Bridegroom, Jogjakarta
All postcard images from original image collection of Agusleonardus email:agusleonardus@hotmail.com
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Credit Cards... a simple question
When I was about 10, I came to Indonesia to visit my parents and happened to catch a look at my dad's credit card. I was amazed because on the front of it, it had a picture of him. Obviously, makes sense for security reasons, but i wasn't aware of digital photography back then or scanning technology or whatever.
I just caught a glimpse of my mum's DEBIT card, and it has her picture on the back of it, and the strip where the signature usually goes is all blacked out, and her signature is printed underneath, like how Australian driver's licenses have scanned signatures that are reprinted.
Why don't Australian banks print our pictures on our credit cards? Doesn't that make more sense than trying to remember ANOTHER pin or coming up with stupid gimmicks like "Personalise your debit card with a picture of your dog for $15 more than our average boring design?"
If a second world country like Indonesia has got it sussed, WTF are Australian banks doing?
I just caught a glimpse of my mum's DEBIT card, and it has her picture on the back of it, and the strip where the signature usually goes is all blacked out, and her signature is printed underneath, like how Australian driver's licenses have scanned signatures that are reprinted.
Why don't Australian banks print our pictures on our credit cards? Doesn't that make more sense than trying to remember ANOTHER pin or coming up with stupid gimmicks like "Personalise your debit card with a picture of your dog for $15 more than our average boring design?"
If a second world country like Indonesia has got it sussed, WTF are Australian banks doing?
Monday, June 29, 2009
19 days and counting
Hello, my name is Rani and in 19 days I have only had one beer (Bintang, it's practically water) and one bacardi and coke.
Needless to say, if I am visiting you soon, you better be preparing a running bath of hard liquor for me to bathe in/drink out of.
That is all.
Needless to say, if I am visiting you soon, you better be preparing a running bath of hard liquor for me to bathe in/drink out of.
That is all.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Musings of a father who has lost confidence...
Me: (practicing my dutch in the car on the way to the airport)
Dad:Rani, Perhaps you should direct your energy to what should come naturally. I think you should just stick to learning Javanese if you can.
Me: Thanks for your vote of confidence Dad.
Dad:Rani, Perhaps you should direct your energy to what should come naturally. I think you should just stick to learning Javanese if you can.
Me: Thanks for your vote of confidence Dad.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Aviation jitters
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My parents and I are off to Central Java tomorrow for my mum's high school reunion. (just outside of Jogjakarta.)
I don't care much for going to the reunion, so hoping I get to lay low, and just wander off with my camera somewhere.
I am sure I will find other ways to entertain myself in the city of Javanese arts and culture. Trawling the street markets should be interesting, however, I just spent large at my favourite department store, Metro. Hmmmm.... and I don't think suitcase will be able to take much more. Oh well. Maybe a nick nack or a new pair of earrings or something. Oooohhh, postcards, I will find some cool postcards!
I am slightly concerned that we are flying Garuda, having vowed never to fly Garuda again since about 1999. When I raised this with my parents, they told me that they had chosen wisely, since it was the better of the aviation offerings. I raised my eyebrow at such a dubious statement. They then explained a couple of the budget airlines have recently had a string of ... unnerving incidents.
Better make sure I pack my St Christopher travel charm.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Aunty comes to town
My cousin Ayi and his wife Caroline have a three year old daughter called Tatiana.
She's a bit of a princess because she's the only child, and the only grandchild for both sets of granparents but she's a funny kid. Bright, a little demanding, but has heaps of 'spunk'.
My mum thinks she and I are heaps alike. Her parents think she and I have a 'good connection'.
She's a bit mixed up because her idols at the moment are the Virgin Mary, St Bernadette of Lourdes, and all the Disney Princesses; Arial, Sleeping Beauty,Cinderella , Snow White, Princess Jasmine, and Belle. Go figure.
She's also bi-linguil, so she speaks Indonesian and English.
The other day she asked her grandma if she could kiss her bedroom floor. She must have thought it was holy or something. Her grandma said " of course not", but she did it anyway.
She woke up the other night after her midday nap, and was in a really grumpy mood, and insisted we go to this suburb in Jakarta called Puncak. When we asked her what was there, and why we had to go there, she said "Don't ask stupid questions." Later, when we pressed her for more information, she then revealed, she "was expected at the Priest's birthday party."
Riiiiiight.
Ever since I came to town, she's gotten a bit attached to me, which is cute.
"Tante Rani! Watch me swim."
"Tante Rani! Come have a shower with me."
"Tante Rani! Sit here while I eat."
And she always wants to know "Why?"
"Why are the lights changing colour?"
"Why are you eating that?"
"Why is the dolphin playing withthe little mermaid ?"
We went out for some gelati last night at an Italian cafe, after I saw Barack's school. She and I shared a strawberry gelati together.
I love the look on her face as she tucks in to her gelati. Priceless.
She's a bit of a princess because she's the only child, and the only grandchild for both sets of granparents but she's a funny kid. Bright, a little demanding, but has heaps of 'spunk'.
My mum thinks she and I are heaps alike. Her parents think she and I have a 'good connection'.
She's a bit mixed up because her idols at the moment are the Virgin Mary, St Bernadette of Lourdes, and all the Disney Princesses; Arial, Sleeping Beauty,
She's also bi-linguil, so she speaks Indonesian and English.
The other day she asked her grandma if she could kiss her bedroom floor. She must have thought it was holy or something. Her grandma said " of course not", but she did it anyway.
She woke up the other night after her midday nap, and was in a really grumpy mood, and insisted we go to this suburb in Jakarta called Puncak. When we asked her what was there, and why we had to go there, she said "Don't ask stupid questions." Later, when we pressed her for more information, she then revealed, she "was expected at the Priest's birthday party."
Riiiiiight.
Ever since I came to town, she's gotten a bit attached to me, which is cute.
"Tante Rani! Watch me swim."
"Tante Rani! Come have a shower with me."
"Tante Rani! Sit here while I eat."
And she always wants to know "Why?"
"Why are the lights changing colour?"
"Why are you eating that?"
"Why is the dolphin playing with
We went out for some gelati last night at an Italian cafe, after I saw Barack's school. She and I shared a strawberry gelati together.
I love the look on her face as she tucks in to her gelati. Priceless.Blackberry fever and Black Barry
Indonesians have supposedly earnt the title of the 2nd highest consumers of Blackberry portable communication devices (or whatever they are called.) Americans are the first.
I, myself, have no interest in ever owning one in my entire life if I can help it. I had a little play with my cousin's (Ayi) last night, and was suitably impressed, but was happy to hand it back over. Sure, they are addictive ( Anyone for a Crackberry?) , but I don't ever want to be a slave to my email or mobile phone after hours. Contactable 24 hours a day for work purposes? Err, no thanks. I'm already highly strung. I like to have a social life, and talk to people (who aren't engrossed by their Blackberries).
When I went out with my cousins last weekend to Yuppyville a.k.a Kemang cafe district, and every single person (and I mean EVERY SINGLE PERSON) was proudly clutching, staring at, playing with, typing on, stroking, answering, or talking on their Blackberry, despite the fact that they were amongst a large group of friends of family.
There will obviously be an epidemic of "Blackberry thumb" circa 2019, in Jakarta, and Gen Y'ers all over the city will have amputated thumbs, or arthritis of the thumb.
On a different note, on a little night outing last night, also with my cousins; Ayi, his wife Caroline, their kid Tatiana, my 2nd cousin Dita and her boyfriend Bom Bom, we went out to another district, with a cool story behind it. Menteng is an older part of Jakarta, in the city's South. It was a central area in the times of the late Dutch occupation of Indonesia. My mum just said it was around in the 1930's, perhaps earlier. She would know this because she's pretty familiar with the area, having moved to the suburb when she moved to the big smoke of Jakarta from her little village in the mountains (hee hee) in the sixties.
You can tell it's older because there is still some really big, grand colonial dutch buildings in the area, from when the dutch set up administrative offices and municipal halls. The houses that are in the area are on massive plots of land (which is rare in an overcrowded city of approx. twenty million), and there are a few variations of house styles. Some little humble single story houses with large front yards, and large backyards, and others are glistening, white mansions of monstrous size with elaborate stained glass windows, columns, and chandeliers on their porches etc.
Menteng is where Indonesia's old President, Suharto, grew up, and where another powerful political figure has some close childhood ties. A little school in a narrow street of Menteng was where Barack Obama spent a couple of years in primary school.
After Barack's mother and father divorced, his mother met an Indonesian guy who was studying at the same Hawaiian University as her. They married, and then this Indonesian lad, Lolo, got called back to Indonesia to do some work of "national importance". There's a bit more to this story, more to do about the political climate of Indonesia at the time which is a bit too complex for me to really fully understand, but basically all Indonesian nationals living overseas were ordered to come home to prove that they were loyal to the country, in a bid to figure out who was a communist and who wasn't. ( This is the jist I got after reading Barack's first memoir, "Dreams of my Father.")
My dad claims to have known Barack's step dad. They were acquantainces or something. I think he died a few years ago.
Anyway, Barack's mother; Ann Dunham, flew to Indonesia when Barack was about 7, where they set up house and home for a few years, and Maya, Barack's little sister, was born.
He went to a Catholic primary school first, but then moved to this one. Ann worked in the American Embassy in Jakarta, which was around the corner from this particular primary school, back then. The building still exists, but it's no longer the American embassy. This primary school is still a functioning primary school, and there's nothing fancy about it, it just looks like a normal inner city Indonesian primary school. White and dark green buildings, harbouring simple classrooms, small concrete courtyards. The only way you would know that it had an historical significance is if you saw the silver plaque that was recently bolted to the front near the entrance gates, donated by the "Friends of Barack Obama" organisation. I'm not sure why he didn't go to an "International School" (school for kids of expatriates.) I don't know if his parents couldn't afford it, or if there wasn't one around back then.
Despite the rumours that are floating around in America, it is NOT a radical muslim school, it's just a public school. Stupid rednecks that don't know any better have just started that rumour to propogate fear and hatred amongst other stupid rednecks. It's a public school that doesn't focus on any singular religion, not even sure, it focuses on any religion at all, most public schools don't. Not that there's anything wrong with if he did go to a muslim school. It just takes one person to put the teachings of the religion out of context, and suddenly it's all evil, and violent, which it isn't. His step father, was muslim, and for the years he lived here, he may have studied it/worshipped at mosques.
Ayi drove me down the street, and the others waited in the car as I took a walk around. It was dark, so my pictures aren't great, and being a Sunday, the school gates were closed.
"Why were you walking around in the dark taking photos?" my 3 year old niece asked when I got back in the car.
"Because that school is special Tati. Barack Obama went there."
"Who?"
"The current leader of the free world, sweetie."
"Huh?"
It's pretty cool that Indonesia has a little place in the Barack Obama story. A little reminder of the way the real world works; doesn't matter what school you went to ( despite the importance that others may place on it), it's how hard you work and how much you believe in your dreams and yourself, that ultimately takes you to your own successes.
I, myself, have no interest in ever owning one in my entire life if I can help it. I had a little play with my cousin's (Ayi) last night, and was suitably impressed, but was happy to hand it back over. Sure, they are addictive ( Anyone for a Crackberry?) , but I don't ever want to be a slave to my email or mobile phone after hours. Contactable 24 hours a day for work purposes? Err, no thanks. I'm already highly strung. I like to have a social life, and talk to people (who aren't engrossed by their Blackberries).
When I went out with my cousins last weekend to Yuppyville a.k.a Kemang cafe district, and every single person (and I mean EVERY SINGLE PERSON) was proudly clutching, staring at, playing with, typing on, stroking, answering, or talking on their Blackberry, despite the fact that they were amongst a large group of friends of family.
There will obviously be an epidemic of "Blackberry thumb" circa 2019, in Jakarta, and Gen Y'ers all over the city will have amputated thumbs, or arthritis of the thumb.
On a different note, on a little night outing last night, also with my cousins; Ayi, his wife Caroline, their kid Tatiana, my 2nd cousin Dita and her boyfriend Bom Bom, we went out to another district, with a cool story behind it. Menteng is an older part of Jakarta, in the city's South. It was a central area in the times of the late Dutch occupation of Indonesia. My mum just said it was around in the 1930's, perhaps earlier. She would know this because she's pretty familiar with the area, having moved to the suburb when she moved to the big smoke of Jakarta from her little village in the mountains (hee hee) in the sixties.
You can tell it's older because there is still some really big, grand colonial dutch buildings in the area, from when the dutch set up administrative offices and municipal halls. The houses that are in the area are on massive plots of land (which is rare in an overcrowded city of approx. twenty million), and there are a few variations of house styles. Some little humble single story houses with large front yards, and large backyards, and others are glistening, white mansions of monstrous size with elaborate stained glass windows, columns, and chandeliers on their porches etc.
Menteng is where Indonesia's old President, Suharto, grew up, and where another powerful political figure has some close childhood ties. A little school in a narrow street of Menteng was where Barack Obama spent a couple of years in primary school.
After Barack's mother and father divorced, his mother met an Indonesian guy who was studying at the same Hawaiian University as her. They married, and then this Indonesian lad, Lolo, got called back to Indonesia to do some work of "national importance". There's a bit more to this story, more to do about the political climate of Indonesia at the time which is a bit too complex for me to really fully understand, but basically all Indonesian nationals living overseas were ordered to come home to prove that they were loyal to the country, in a bid to figure out who was a communist and who wasn't. ( This is the jist I got after reading Barack's first memoir, "Dreams of my Father.")
My dad claims to have known Barack's step dad. They were acquantainces or something. I think he died a few years ago.
Anyway, Barack's mother; Ann Dunham, flew to Indonesia when Barack was about 7, where they set up house and home for a few years, and Maya, Barack's little sister, was born.
He went to a Catholic primary school first, but then moved to this one. Ann worked in the American Embassy in Jakarta, which was around the corner from this particular primary school, back then. The building still exists, but it's no longer the American embassy. This primary school is still a functioning primary school, and there's nothing fancy about it, it just looks like a normal inner city Indonesian primary school. White and dark green buildings, harbouring simple classrooms, small concrete courtyards. The only way you would know that it had an historical significance is if you saw the silver plaque that was recently bolted to the front near the entrance gates, donated by the "Friends of Barack Obama" organisation. I'm not sure why he didn't go to an "International School" (school for kids of expatriates.) I don't know if his parents couldn't afford it, or if there wasn't one around back then.
Despite the rumours that are floating around in America, it is NOT a radical muslim school, it's just a public school. Stupid rednecks that don't know any better have just started that rumour to propogate fear and hatred amongst other stupid rednecks. It's a public school that doesn't focus on any singular religion, not even sure, it focuses on any religion at all, most public schools don't. Not that there's anything wrong with if he did go to a muslim school. It just takes one person to put the teachings of the religion out of context, and suddenly it's all evil, and violent, which it isn't. His step father, was muslim, and for the years he lived here, he may have studied it/worshipped at mosques.
Ayi drove me down the street, and the others waited in the car as I took a walk around. It was dark, so my pictures aren't great, and being a Sunday, the school gates were closed.
"Why were you walking around in the dark taking photos?" my 3 year old niece asked when I got back in the car.
"Because that school is special Tati. Barack Obama went there."
"Who?"
"The current leader of the free world, sweetie."
"Huh?"
It's pretty cool that Indonesia has a little place in the Barack Obama story. A little reminder of the way the real world works; doesn't matter what school you went to ( despite the importance that others may place on it), it's how hard you work and how much you believe in your dreams and yourself, that ultimately takes you to your own successes.
The Capital City of Jakarta district council: Menteng Primary School 01 Jakarta
Barack Hussein Obama II, the 44th president of the United States of America, attended this school from 1969 to 1971.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Ik heet Rani...
and I speak dutch.
Sort of.
I'm taking dutch lessons here in Jakarta, with a private tutor. She's 87 years old, and really really sweet. When I first met her, I thought she was only in her late sixties, she's that fit.
She is also really, really fit mentally, and is a good teacher. Whenever I get something right, she claps her hands in delight, and gives me the proudest smile. She also makes me call her 'Oma', which is dutch for grandmother. She's very patient with me, which is good, because she conducts her lessons in Indonesian, so I have to mentally translate her teachings into english and then apply the dutch equivalents... hard work, for two hours a day, six days a week.
Mum and Dad know some dutch, because they learnt it at school. Handy to practice conversational skills.
Sort of.
I'm taking dutch lessons here in Jakarta, with a private tutor. She's 87 years old, and really really sweet. When I first met her, I thought she was only in her late sixties, she's that fit.
She is also really, really fit mentally, and is a good teacher. Whenever I get something right, she claps her hands in delight, and gives me the proudest smile. She also makes me call her 'Oma', which is dutch for grandmother. She's very patient with me, which is good, because she conducts her lessons in Indonesian, so I have to mentally translate her teachings into english and then apply the dutch equivalents... hard work, for two hours a day, six days a week.
Mum and Dad know some dutch, because they learnt it at school. Handy to practice conversational skills.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Shopping for a Birthday Dinner
My mum is having some people over tonight for a get together, because it's my parents 34th wedding anniversary and my 27th birthday.
We went to the markets on Monday to get some produce for the dinner.
Dried Fish as far as the eye can see....
" Just let your Souuuuul Glow, baby, let it shine so silky smooth... Soul Glow"
The Happy Fishmonger 
The entrance to the "meat market" - (quite literally and metaphorically - young and old butchers entice you to come look at their...errrr.... meat.... and try pick up lines on you at the same time...)
Hairy Tail of something
Ox's tongue - seriously, my mum cooks up a mean Ox tongue. It's one of the main courses tonight.
Fresh Guavas, and below them are these fruits that are like giant Lillipillies... so Yummy!
Colourful crackers
The meatball stall... meatballs, get your meatballs....
Mum looking pleased with herself after some good barteringTuesday, June 16, 2009
Global Warming Crusaders or Lance Armstrong wannabes?
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I slept over at a cousin's house over the weekend, after my Saturday night out with some family. Early in the morning, my mum came to pick me up (awwwww...) and as we were driving, I saw the oddest sight. At first I thought it was a demonstration early on a Sunday morning, but my mum told me it was something else... it was about 300-450 recreational cyclists, cycling down a main Jakarta street. Because it's still early in the morning ( abuot 7am) the usually chaotic and busy streets are emptier than usual, making it safe(r) to cycle as they wish.
The weird thing is, this wasn't your usual bunch of espresso sipping, leg shaving, tightey whitey wearing amateur cyclists... there were only a handful in cycling spandex, most were men in weird get ups, some were geriatric women with pink bikes and plastic flowers on their front baskets. Pretty much all of them were cycling in old bikes, some rusty, some looked like kids bikes that were done up with a few hotted up pieces, only one or two were using the really expensive lightweight pro bikes. About 4 of them were wearing helmets. All of them were hilarious.
Singapore Crabs
My cousin and her kids took me out for some famous Singapore Chilli Black Pepper Crab, and some other fantabulous seafood delights. Hell yeah!
Meanwhile, down the road, I wasn't too sure if they may have been stretching the truth a little on the name of this restaurant because it was empty.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
"This is the final call for Rani to haul ass to Gate 7..."
"You don't need the maracas" my sister said
" I know I don't need them, but I want them..."
Ok, so the urge to take the maracas was clearly the part of Rani that just couldn't leave home without the kitchen sink... or the 29th top... or the blue eyeshadow palette that I have never worn, but thought might be useful, should I need to trade or barter with a drag queen door bitch in my travels (" if you let me into this club for free, i'll give you this limited edition eyeshadow palette with ocean dreams shadow AND turquoise waters....")
Unfortunately I was left with no choice but to leave the maracas, and 9 tops, a belt, 2 eyeshadow palettes, 2 pairs of shoes ( i guess 4 pairs are enough), and a whole lot of other random shit behind with my sister, because the suitcase I said I would not fill to capacity, I actually didn't fill to capacity, but still managed to weigh about 28.9 kilos. My ticket allowed for a generous 23 kilos. I negotiated with the very kind Qantas check in dude to allow me to take 23.6 kilos.
Adelaide to Sydney was pretty uneventful, although i did notice a particularly kind flight attendant called 'James Tongue', who gave me a bottle of water with a wink and a smile after notcing my blotchy, puffy eyes, and noticeably distressed sniffles as i boarded the plane. Note to self; must write to Qantas advising them that he derserves a promotion.
When I got to Sydney Airport,I thought perhaps a breather was in order, and proceeded to go outside where I met a nice couple; Richard and his girlfriend Mel.
" I know I don't need them, but I want them..."
Ok, so the urge to take the maracas was clearly the part of Rani that just couldn't leave home without the kitchen sink... or the 29th top... or the blue eyeshadow palette that I have never worn, but thought might be useful, should I need to trade or barter with a drag queen door bitch in my travels (" if you let me into this club for free, i'll give you this limited edition eyeshadow palette with ocean dreams shadow AND turquoise waters....")
Unfortunately I was left with no choice but to leave the maracas, and 9 tops, a belt, 2 eyeshadow palettes, 2 pairs of shoes ( i guess 4 pairs are enough), and a whole lot of other random shit behind with my sister, because the suitcase I said I would not fill to capacity, I actually didn't fill to capacity, but still managed to weigh about 28.9 kilos. My ticket allowed for a generous 23 kilos. I negotiated with the very kind Qantas check in dude to allow me to take 23.6 kilos.
Adelaide to Sydney was pretty uneventful, although i did notice a particularly kind flight attendant called 'James Tongue', who gave me a bottle of water with a wink and a smile after notcing my blotchy, puffy eyes, and noticeably distressed sniffles as i boarded the plane. Note to self; must write to Qantas advising them that he derserves a promotion.
When I got to Sydney Airport,I thought perhaps a breather was in order, and proceeded to go outside where I met a nice couple; Richard and his girlfriend Mel.
"So what do you do when you're not travelling, Rani?"
"I used to work in Advertising." (DAMN, that felt good to say!)
" Oh really? I'm an Account Manager at BWM here in Sydney."
More career chit chat, and it turns out they are going to Bali. A quick exchange of travel tips, and I looked at my watch. Hmmm... 3pm. I do believe I have a flight at 3.50pm. A quick time calculation leads me to offer a rushed goodbye as it dawns on me that my watch is still on Adelaide time, and it's actually 3.30pm . Shit.
I run to immigration, and go through security where a german family of 6 are talking to a security guard about how much water they can take on board, and slowly unpacking their bags. S.L.O.W.L.Y.
Finally I get through security, and make it to the duty free shop, and remember that I promised my little cousins in Singapore some Australian chocolates. No time, so I run for Gate 7. I make it with minutes to spare.
7 hours, 3 bad chick flicks later (2 of which I didn't finish watching), I arrive in Singapore. Hauling my suitcase onto a bus on phase 1 of journey to cousin's house was embarrassing. Mainly because I couldn't do it, and the annoyed bus driver just stared at me until I looked at him helplessly, before he grunted and picked it up and flung it to the middle of the bus. He then told me he only took exact change for the fare, and he didn't distribute change, and I would have to ask the other passengers on the to change my $5 note.
"Does anyone have any change for five dollars?" I mumbled around the bus. Pretty much everyone stared at me, except for a group of three girls in their twenties that kindly fished around in their purses and between them, found me the right money.
Phase 2 meant catching the MRT train to his apartment, where I got off at the right station but couldn't remember what to do after that. Luckily my great sense of direction based on nothing more than the memory of going there about 4 years ago, led me straight to his front door.
Apart from that, I am proud to say that I didn't get lost AT ALL getting to my cousin's apartment. I might be really good at this travelling thing after all.
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