It’s Friday, Nov 5, 2010. A warm bright day in Jakarta. As I usually do, after waking I called folks back home, made a cup of coffee, and sat down to check e-mail. As it usually does, my e-mail brought some good stuff, and some issues for me to grumble about. Then I read the news:

“Eruptions at Mount Merapi are still continuing and with increasing intensity. And it would seem that the recent earthquake off West Sumatra may have also contributed to increased activity of other volcanoes – with some 19 out of 68 volcanoes in Indonesia having been given yellow status – that is, a heightened level of alert due to escalating activity – including Anak Krakatau. Authorities in response have declared a no-go zone within 2 kilometers of Anak Krakatau. Meanwhile relief efforts have been hindered at the Mentawai Islands, West Sumatra due to bad weather.”

Here I am focusing on my petty issues when a few hundred miles away—the distance from San Diego to LA or New Orleans to Houston—volcanoes, poisonous gas billowing, lava, rock and ash spewing volcanoes are erupting. The caretaker of the mountains spirit is dead, along with at least 92 others.  A friend who lives about 40 km from Merapi said “the ash is falling like snow.”

Ashes from Mt. Merapi erruption are falling like snow

As events  often do, they brought to mind a book: Life As We Knew It by Susan Pfeiffer. This book, with its tsunamis, rising water, erupting volcanoes, storms, devastation and deaths did to me what Orson Wells’ broadcast of War of the Worlds must have done to listeners during its day. It terrified me—and captivated me—and is still haunting me—more with every day’s news. Written as Pennsylvania teen Miranda’s diary, this futuristic-cautionary tale is a real-time account of Miranda and her family’s struggle to survive after an asteroid knocks the moon off course. Pfeiffer’s Miranda makes my bitch, moan, and complaining feel normal. Even after these worlds collide,  Miranda sweats the small stuff, fights with her mom, longs for romance. I like that in her.

News like this, books like this, make it hard for me to go about my business. It might be different if I were a health service provider or provided a service. But I’m not and I don’t. I write. And when I’m not writing I plant flowers, make frivolous hats, organize parties, or go, as I am scheduled to today, for a mani-pedi and cream bath. It’s difficult to carry-on with such blatantly hedonistic pursuits in the midst of so much horror. It makes me feel like Nero.

So, instead of doing what I usually do, I wandered around the house wondering: what should I be doing?

Should we change who we are because what we are isn’t noble or necessary? Should a cat stop being a cat?

Then I remembered the 2001 holiday season. Some society maven (maybe the breakfast cereal heiress?) was thrashed by the media for holding her annual holiday fete that year. Popular opinion dictated that in the Wake of the 911 Twin Tower attacks no one should make merry—especially not to the tune of U.S. millions. Her response (I paraphrase): You give your way; I give mine.” She then published an itemized bill for the party and suggested critics consider how many people she is employing and how, by throwing the party, she was doing her part to bolster the suffering economy.

She had a point. Maybe the best thing I can do, especially considering what I do, is follow her example. And, as Sam told the radio talk show host when she asked how he was going to get over the death of his wife, Maggie:

“[I’m going to]get out of bed every morning and breathe in and out all day.

And after a while I won’t have to remind myself to do it.

And then after a while I won’t remember how perfect things were.” -  script from Sleepless In Seattle

I’ve shared so much of our Jakarta life: woes about my pond; frustration over the traffic and miscommunication; sorrows, as with Suharti’s death last month. It’s fitting and especially joyful to share glad tidings:

This weekend Linda Hermawati, Rusnati and Rohemon’s oldest daughter, married Agung Iskander. As is the custom, the wedding was a three-day affair, beginning with a Muslim ceremony on Friday and culminating in a Javanese-style reception on Sunday to which Curtis and I were invited. Rusnati’s mother and father came from Cirebon for the wedding. Rohemon, an only child, has his cousins there. (Agung’s family was there as well, I just didn’t get a photo of them)

Unlike Western weddings, which are more about getting things ready for the big event, Indonesian weddings are about readying the bride and groom for this life changing event.  For 5 nights before the wedding, the bride was prepared for the ceremony. Linda prayed and fasted during the day. She could not eat certain food including chicken or eggs. Each evening her mother (and other women in the family) washed Linda with an herbal scrub to make her skin soft and sweet-smelling.

Rusnati's family in her home: her father, Kiki (Suharti's son) Rusnati, her mother, youngest daughter, Andrea and Lia, the middle daughter

Sunday’s reception was held at Rusnati and Rohemon’s home. The driveway beside the house was completely tented and festooned with flowers and decorations.

Elaborate Ceiling Decorations

A dais with chairs for the bridal party, the parents of the bride, bride and groom, and parents of the groom stood in that order to greet each guest. It is customary to hold each person’s hands between yours during the greeting. Guests bless the couple by saying “selamat berbahagia” welcome/best wishes for your wedding. The first wedding we attended, our Driver, Aan and social guru, coached Curtis and I on the proper pronunciation of that phrase. We said it to everyone we met that day, not realizing we were wishing each of them happiness at upon their wedding.

The wedding party spends the entire reception on the raised dais, at the ready for photographs and to greet the next guests, and the next, and the next. Some receptions last 2 hours, some all evening. It is no wonder that Javanese wedding parties don’t smile. (Actually, smiling for photos is a relatively new practice in Indonesian, popularized by youngsters snapping and swapping pics via Handphone.) Not only do older Indonesians not smile for photos, many will not look at the camera and some refuse to have their pictures taken. Perhaps in the style of Native Americans, they believe the process of taking a photo takes part of their spirit?

Inside the Wedding Tent

Unlike Western weddings, there’s no dancing, no toasting, no speeches by the family—at least not at the reception. (I don’t know what happens at the other wedding events as I’ve never been.)  At large, hotel receptions there are constant announcements over a microphone. Guests are announced as they approach the wedding party; family members are announced as they enter the room, co-workers, friends and family members are called up to take photos with the wedding party as per a pre-set list. All this announcing mixed with twangy-clangy gamelan music and caterwauling by traditional singers is so loud it makes polite conversation impossible, so everyone has to yell…and the decibel level rises.

Mercifully, Linda and Agung spared us from that. The tone of their wedding was friendly, a pleasant blend of eating, drinking, chattering, children playing.

It was an honor for Curtis and me to share this joyous occasion with Rusnati, Rohemon and their families and friends.

Selamat Berbahagia, Linda and Agung!

Rohemon, Aan, Kelly, Agung, Linda, Rusnati and Curtis

We are mid-way through Ramadan, the Islamic month of fasting. Everyone is looking a little worn from keeping irregular hours and not eating and drinking during the day, feasting most nights. You’d think after several weeks, the city would be at a stand still. That might well be the case if it weren’t for Idul Fitri.

Idul Fitri marks the end of the fast. “Idul” from Eid, an Arabic word meaning “festivity”, while “Fitri”, Fiṭr means “to purify”. The holiday symbolizes the purification after completing the fasting month.

Officially Idul Fitri is a two-day holiday, but schools and most people take a week or more off. It’s much like the Christian Christmas Season, Hindu Diwali, and Jewish Holidays (whether these groups like being linked together or not). People spend time with their families and gather with friends. Everyone exchanges gifts, imbibes in rich foods they don’t splurge on the rest of the year, and return home broke and exhausted.

And holiday traffic is horrid. It’s taken me a while, but I have finally, with the help of our driver, Aan, figured out the traffic pattern. Because every Muslim gets up before dawn to eat and pray, the travel times aren’t staggered like they are the rest of the year. In mass, the whole city finished their morning ablutions and rushes to work. This makes the commute take twice as long because the streets are crammed with 2 or 3 times as many vehicles as usual. And then, beginning at 3:30, everyone floods the streets again, in a mad rush to get home or to parties for bukah puasa, “breaking fast.” Traffic vanishes when the call to prayers begin at dusk. And from then until dawn the streets are blissfully empty.

In response to Ramadan traffic patterns, Curtis has adjusted his routine. He waits until after dark to leave work (not that that’s unusual; it now premeditated.) And I’ve adjusted mine (the big shift.) I’m a morning person. I prefer to work in the morning and run errands and exercise in the afternoon, when my creative energy ebbs. But this month, I’ve reversed my schedule.

And it’s working out pretty well, better than I ever imagined. I’m finding that I enjoy the long afternoons to sit at the computer, not having to rush home so Aan can get to the office in time to wait for Curtis. And I’m getting lots accomplished without as many interruptions. (I’m also using Ramadan as an excuse to send Rusnati and Rohemon home early, which may account for the lack of interruptions.) Isn’t that often the way? Enforced change bringing welcome results.

Idul Fitri brings on the same stress as these other holidays. Everyone scrambling to buy gifts, organize travel, and pay for it all. It’s worse for Muslim’s in Jakarta as they are considered the “rich” relatives because they live in the “big city” and are paid “big city” wages. What the folks back home don’t realize—never do—is that city life is way more expensive than village life. As a result, the cost of everything—everything—rises during Ramadan.

Which, looking at the signs, doesn’t seem the case. Just as “back home” there are Christmas Sales, Ramadan Sale signs are everywhere. However one must look closely as prices have been doubled and more for these special “sales.” And, whereas, normally, everyone bargains (it is usual to pay ½ to 1/3 the asking price) during Ramadan bargaining goes by the wayside. Vendors, like everyone else, are so desperate for money, they won’t bargain. They’d rather gamble that whoever is buying needs the item badly enough to pay more. It does cost them sales, especially from bule, “westerners” like us, who don’t need anything. But just wait. When the holiday’s end, the real sales begin. Everyone will be broke then and honestly scrambling for cash as they have squeezed every cent dry.

It would be nice to say that witnessing all of this has wizened us up. That this holiday season we won’t be buying and paying and doing ourselves into debt. I’d be lying.

Besides, which “season” is that exactly?

As cultures intermingle, holidays merge. We traditionally participate in the Christmas  and Hannukah celebrations, and since moving here we’ve joined the Idul Fitri basket/gift giving frenzy. (I’ve already purchased all the goodies.)  After all,  ‘tis the season…