Now that the shock of living in Indonesia has subsided somewhat, the kids have gotten used to their school, and we refer to rumah besar (the big house) as home, life in Salatiga is not really all that different from life in the United States. We get the kids to school, make a second cup of coffee, throw in a load of laundry, run out of milk, catch up on correspondence, volunteer in the classroom, visit with friends, look for lost soccer gear, fight over homework, get dinner on the table, and maybe try to sneak in a run before the day's out. That said, life is, for all practical purposes, absolutely nothing like life in the Unite States.
For starters, Ibu Kasum shows up every morning at 8:00 sharp. From then until about 2:00 pm, she cleans the house, hangs out the laundry, mops the floors, cooks and delivers the kids lunch to school, and makes dinner for the family. For this I pay her the grand sum of $50 per month. Oddly, this does not leave me with infinite time on my hands. Before we left, Brent, a returning Fulbright who had just spent a year in Bali advised, "Whatever it is you want to accomplish in a day, cut it in half." He wasn't far off.
Take the laundry for instance. The semi-automatic washer we purchased requires that you drain the clothes after washing them on one side, and put them into another tub for rinsing and spinning. Only that tub is about a quarter the size of the first, so you have to do it four times, although it still beats the alternative which is washing everything by hand. Then the laundry is put out on the line, either by myself or by Ibu Kasum, for as long as the rain hold out. When the rain starts, you go flying like mad to collect it all, hope that at least some of it is dry, and drape the rest over every available chair and railing in the house until the next day when you do it all over again.
Or shopping. Ibu Kasum does most of the shopping but I still need to pick up odds and ends that the kids go through quickly or that she doesn't come across. Indonesian food stores come in three varieties: the tiny warungs, the toko, and the American style supermarket. The latter can be found only in the big cities and while they boast bright lights, huge inventories, and roller-skating sales clerks, offer only more versions of the same heavily processed, sugar and msg laden prepared foods that the small and medium stores in Salatiga offer -- mostly processed milk products, dried noodles, and rows upon rows of cookies and sweets. The Javanese have a serious sweet tooth. Seamus is in heaven.
The only place to buy 'real' food is in the pasar, the traditional market of which there are two in Salatiga. I am still honing my shopping chops as very little English is spoken outside of the ex-pat and university communities. While it is fun to wander the stalls and admire the incredibly array of goods, it is super time consuming. One very funny, and still somewhat confusing aspect of the Indonesian markets is that all the same type of goods are sold in one area. There will be a full row of fresh flower ladies, then a row of fruit sellers, then a row of people selling dried fish. They all sell exactly the same merchandise, displayed in exactly the same manner. Then of course there are the banana sellers who are a block up, I still have not figured out why they aren't with the fruit ladies. The vegetables are found on the second floor, stairs are around the corner past the row of quail's egg ladies, and across from the tofu/tempe stands. Its all very charming but it means you can put some serious miles on before you have purchased what you need for a single meal. And then lug it home on the bus.
Many of the ex-pats who we have met have been here for long periods of time so they are more invested in re-creating western foods that we 'short-timers'. The upside of this is there is a good network of people who know where to buy bacon, cheese, hamburger buns, canned tomatoes, oatmeal, and other goods that make a homesick 10 year old feel a little less, well, homesick. But it does require more running around.
I do seem to be getting the hang of it though. The other day I got my hair cut, bought fruit, veges, and bread all in the same day. I no longer panic when the fruit lady shouts out a number at me. I don't always know what she is saying, and depending on my mood, will not always barter with her, but at least I don't panic. I find it a little unsettling to argue over whether a kilo of the lovely, sweet, fresh mangoes that would cost me $5 in the States should cost me 90 cents or 75. But I am generally able to pay without causing a scene and audible laughter no longer follows me wherever I go. It is odd the things you take for granted. I don't miss my American routines necessarily, and I am enjoying the experience of the other, but there will be a quiet joy in that first visit to my familiar grocery store, and maybe a tiny sigh of relief.
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