Ambon Musings

Ambon, once the provincial capital of the Malukus I believe, has the tired, despondent feel of an island city marooned on the fringes of civilization. A bit more "rough and tumble" than either Bali or Yogyakarta, there is an air of irascibility that seemed to pulse through Ambon's litter-strewn streets, crowded markets and stereo "bumping" bempos (or local buses). Not unlike Marseilles in France or Napoli in Italy, the city radiates a coarseness befitting a people whose lives are so closely tied to the sea- difficult perhaps but also honest and raw without the pretense or political-correctness so often found in larger cities.

The most apparent manifestation of Ambon's roughshod facade can be found in the men who line the streets and market stalls whistling cat-calls at our female team members and yelling "Mr." at the rest of us. These modern day scalliwags, while harmless, can tax the emotional patience of one such as myself and several times both yesterday as well as this morning have I had to remind myself that I am a guest here and as such subservient to the local customs and norms- regardless of my own personal thoughts on decorum and courtesies. Sweeping generalizations are dangerous and by no means do I claim to have the pulse of Ambon and its people firmly ascribed in but two short days. Still, such are my musings and general impressions of Ambon so far.

Very Best,

Alex

Breaking news! We have heard that a riot has occurred at the local market. We are attempting to account for all the students on our trip as we speak. The hotel seems safe enough for the time being and we are attempting to get everyone back here as I type this. I'm unsure if this is a regular occurance but our team leaders seem worried enough to gather everyone together. As I look outside the streets seem calm enough. Wilson, Watana Emily, Michelle, Josh, Pau and myself are all mulling around the hotel lobby. Will try to update you all more later.

Leaving Ambon

In Ambon, just a couple hours from leaving on an 8-hour ferry ride to Banda Islands. Actually starting the school now, the work begins. Up until now, it seems accurate to describe our time in Indonesia as vacation. Even though we had two weeks of 5-hour a day language training, the personalities of our "gurus", especially Harsono (or Han Solo), created a delightful atmosphere that didn't have the often-times stressful ora of class back at UW. From Bali to Yogya to Ambon and everywhere in between, the time spent here has been a sweaty and extremely enjoyable experience.
Eating delicious fish and crab here in Ambon has been a nice change from the fried rice I was eating daily for breakfast, dinner, and sometimes lunch back in Yogya. Apparently it's all fish from here on out which I hope won't destroy my appetite for "Ikan" by the end of the trip. My stomach has gotten more tolerant after having ice in most of my drinks and drinking the water for the first couple weeks here. The usual multiple daily trips to the bathroom have decreased considerably in number. We'll see how it goes on Banda. Without a true internet connection in the Bandas, there will hopefully be very little distraction which could result in seeing things like Archaeology in a new and interesting light. And having been in crowded and noisy cities for the last couple weeks, remoteness sounds pretty great right now.
Have to exit this very unusual internet cafe right and make sure and not be late for the ferry. More to come I'm sure.

Hotel Mutiara

At night, when all is relatively quiet except for the rumble of the nocturnal scooters and the buzzing of the glorious A.C., the lobby of the Hotel Mutiara seems like every other hotel in the busy port town of Ambon. However, Hotel Mutiara (which means "pearl" in bahasa Indonesia) plays seashell to a bunch of hermit archaeologists. Some are seasoned with time and field scars, both physical and emotional. Others are fresh buds plucked from the varied terrains of the United States of America (Continental). All of them colorful, all of them interesting.

While they and most of the city lay in peaceful slumber, some (like myself) are up and about tickling the lettered tiles of an ivory tray that will run out of battery very soon. Somehow, all of us arrived in Ambon in one piece AND with all our luggage. It's a miracle actually as we had several stops along the way. The head crab with elfin silver noggin and the golden haired T.A. runs the ship as best they could and we are all quite grateful. I could not begin to fathom the amount of patience one has to muster in order to command such a vessel. Only that I am very glad that I'm not either one of them. Apparently, there was some trouble with paperwork and such that I'm sure could be ironed out with a bit of a bribe on the right palms. Yet our journey has just begun and I'm sure that a lot more "trouble" will come out at us out of nowhere.

As the night crew gives me dark looks (the "When is this guest going away?!" kind of look), it gives me great pleasure to announce that Indonesia feels a lot like home. The narrow streets of the port town could be found just about anywhere in the Philippines. The becak and the angkotan kuta resemble our tricycles and jeeps. The spitting just about anywhere, the screaming, the haggling, the trees, the taste for durian, the uneven streets, the unmarked potholes, the videoke, the strange men with wads of cash, the calling every white person "mister" (in our case, it's "hey joe"), the humidity, the unrelenting sun, the showers in the afternoon, the church/mosque/(insert place of worship of choice), the cigarette kiosks, the eateries, the people... glorious.

I am a Filipina in Indonesia. I am a foreigner in a foreign land. But somehow, just above the bahasa Indonesia , just beyond the smell of spice, perhaps behind that becak driver patiently waiting for a passenger, or the blasting karaoke music from the bar next door, I feel like I've never left home.

Thank you Indonesia.

From Bali to Banda

We have successfully negotiated the middle part of our journey, and are sitting in what might be the last air-conditioned room for many weeks to come. Sipping a diet coke and visiting with some locals here in Ambon, I am reminded about what a small (kecil) planet we actually live on. As we move further away from the major populaion centers here, the signs of home are becomng more infrequent. No KFC or Pizza Hut in Ambon, (that I've seen), but tons of local flavor, aromas, and experiences await here for the adventurous explorer. I already miss my host family; the Rochmadi family was wonderful to me, and showed me how amazing Indonesian hospitality (keramahtamahan) can be. Bapak Rochmadi treated me to a wonderful meal of Kepala Ayam (chicken heads) and I've yet to find a cup of coffee as tasty as the maid made me every morning. My last day in Jogja was full of sad goodbyes and e-mail exchanges, and then it was off to take the three-plane trip to Ambon. While not quite as buleh (foreigner) friendly as Jogja was, I'm still feeling quite at home here in Ambon. Were finally appreciating the bahasa indonesia lessons now that they're not getting crammed into our head six hours a day; today we split up into teams to buy gear for the trip to Banda. We succesfully negotiated with local business people in the lingua franca and managed to get everything on our list and were back in time for Bintang at the bar. All in all, the past two weeks were very effective in preparing us for both the psychological and linguistic challenges that lay ahead. Tomorrow we head to Banda for the archaeological portion of the trip. I'm hoping the luck I've had so far will extend to the field as well. All my love to the folks back home. I'll be back before you know it, but maybe a little darker than you remember me.

Archaeology and Politics

I’ve been thinking recently about the many similarities between Indonesia and the USA (maybe driven by obsessive Obama TV watching). There are lots. But I don’t believe there has ever been a street demonstration about archaeology in the US. Last week in Yogyakarta, over 100 archaeology students and senior scholars marched down the main shopping street Jalan Malioboro to protest the destruction of part of the huge Majapahit site of Trowulan in East Java. The destruction was caused, ironically, by the construction of a government sponsored “Visitor Information Center” on the site. Leading archaeologists had reviewed the plans for the project before construction and objected to the location, but the project went ahead anyway. Many believe that it was rushed to be completed before next year’s election so that certain politicians could take credit for it.

Majapahit plays a central role in Indonesian post-colonial political identity and the situation has been widely covered in the Indonesian media (see the Jakarta Post for some English language reports). Our Field School co-director, Daud, has been widely quoted in the media (he opposed the construction plans) and has had to fly to Jakarta several times in the past few weeks to advise the government on what to do now. Interestingly, the case has spurred a new interest in archaeology of all kinds—one of the leading daily papers (Kompas) has had at least one archaeology article a day, not always just on Trowulan.

Although the damage to Trowulan can never be really repaired, at least the situation has raised the public’s awareness of the fragility of archaeological sites. Let’s hope we archaeologists can take advantage of this new attention and get the public more involved in site protection of all kinds.

Permissions

A huge and usually unspoken part of archaeological research is the process of asking permission to dig. Gone are the days when archaeologists excavated where and when they pleased without consulting local communities, government authorities or anyone else. Foreign researchers in Indonesia must start applying for permission 6 months before they arrive in the country. After arrival there are several more weeks of work to finalize permits. For the past two weeks I have been negotiating the complex Indonesian government bureaucracy to obtain our project’s federal permits. Still to come in the next week are permissions from provincial and local government authorities and communities and individuals in the Banda Islands. Every day Emily and I ride taxis to different offices scattered around Jakarta and Yogyakarta (Ministries of Research, Internal Affairs, Federal and District Police, and Immigration). Each office has to be visited at least twice: once to present a request letter, fill out lengthy forms, give copies of other documents and photos of different sizes. Then a return visit a few days later to give fingerprints, pay fees, and hopefully, pick up a new letter to take to the next office. I am still trying to understand the flow chart given to me on day one that supposedly clarified the process.

Since we arrived in Yogya a week ago, Daud has called in the apparatus of Universitas Gadjah Mada to help us, with great results. A helpful person from the university accompanies us to office visits and urges the process along. What normally takes several days is now done while we wait in an hour or two. My daughter Isabel has been spared most of the visits, but she had to be fingerprinted at immigration in Yogya. She quickly charmed the dour fingerprint man and loved putting her fingers on the red light electronic finger scanner. Although I live in fear that I have filled out some form incorrectly and we will all be kicked out of the country immediately, so far everything has gone smoothly and I now have a file full of documents and identity cards.

Our great students have arrived in Yogya and are studying Indonesian language and learning their own ways to get around and live here happily (and blog poetically). I go to Ambon on Tuesday ahead of the group to start on our provincial permits while Charlotte and Isabel go to Jakarta to attend the Obama inaugural ball (much to my envy!). Everyone else arrives in Ambon on Thursday. With luck, we will board the ferry to Banda on Saturday.

I suppose

I suppose most parasite would not appear by itself with no causes...
I suppose most parasite is somewhat a reaction from the accumulation of unrealized actions...
I suppose most parasite always absence the choice for its existence...
Must a parasite deny its nature?
Deny for what it meant to be?
Refuse to rob all of the nutrition
Reluctant to feast upon others flesh and blood
Feel the guilt to take and take and take
Owning the obligated sense to return the energy favor


I suppose...I don't think so
I think that is what a parasite meant to be
its the right place in nature
....to rob all of the host nutrition
....to feed on the host while without remorse destroying it bit by bit
....to take and and take and take until the host disintegrate distorted and unrecognized
....to grow strong by others energy, consuming mercilessly without giving anything back


I suppose...I think so
I suppose....
a host causing or attracting the appearing of parasites
a host accumulating actions for the flocking of parasites reaction
a host have full responsibility for their existence of their parasites
I suppose....
a host must serve its faith:
to give
to provide
to feed
to sacrifice
to submit
to expect to have not expect and to accept:
to disintegrate when its no longer have use
to dissolve when its no longer have form
to be sincere


I suppose....theoretically ...well...
Theoretically in my theory:
a parasite:
despise for being despised
deny for being denied
painful to give pain
suffering to cause suffers
have no choice to be chosen
Dieing to cause deaths
and mostly...
Accept for being accepted
pretending for being able to pretend


I suppose a parasite can be inanimate for certain period of time
Parasite's summer Hibernation caused relaxation for the host mind castration
a month of absence
a piece of peace
a recovery for lost energy in large abundance
well...at the lease...
I suppose...I may give my host an ease.