Packing Lighter--A Tragic Afterward

March 11^th I flew to West Papua, Indonesia with some friends—a group led by Leks and Linda Santosa from Remote Destinations. We were flying into Asmat country—the swampy coastal area of West Papua famous for head-hunters, ferocious warriors with boar’s tusks through their noses and feathered or furred headdresses. The only way to reach this area is by boat--or by small plane and then boat. I had a tough time packing for this trip. (You may recall my blog posting of March 11, “Packing Light”). The supply list was specific and the weight restrictions strict. Selecting what to bring (mosquito repellent, liquor) vs. what I couldn’t (books, wine…) took the most part of a day. I groused about the weight restriction—“…only 15 Kilos—20 including carry-ons? How can they expect me to do that?”

I was delighted to be going even though Curtis couldn’t (a minor thing called “job” held him back). Remote Destinations had had a difficult time securing a plane to fly us into Asmat Country. The two regularly used planes were out of commission: one with engine trouble; the other had crashed after sliding off the runway. After much haggling, Leks finally hired an airplane to fly us from Timika to the village of Ewer. The night before we left on our trip, Linda sent us this message about the plane chartered through Mimika Air Charter:

“The plane is new and the pilot is from Myanmar...VERY professional.  (Freeport Mining Company uses them all the time.)  Everything was weighed and written down...6 seats behind the pilot and co-pilot.  The flight was on time both ways.  And just wait until you see the VIEW over the pristine jungle and the ribbons of rivers flowing into the Arafura Sea.  Have your cameras ready!!!!”

The brightly-painted, close to brand new plane had been purchased to facilitate the upcoming--

--elections. Candidates and election officials would be ferried all over West Papua so everyone would have a chance to hear them speak and decide who was best for the job. Election Rally’s in Indonesia are more than a chance to see/learn about/meet a candidate, they are an opportunity to SCORE! Rally attendees are paid in T-shirts, food, and often cash—as much as 50 or 70,000 Rp a day (US $5-7—day’s wages for many). I have a friend whose gardener took election rally week off so he could earn extra money

Prior to boarding our luggage and each passenger was weighed and then loaded onto the plane accordingly. Upon take-off, we joked about how it seemed as though the pilot and co-pilot were leaning forward to help our heavy-in-spite-of-carefully-packing plane obtain lift-of. We laughed and leaned forward with them.

Once airborne, our pilot, Nay May Linn Aung and the co-pilot, welcomed us and handed back a plastic Pringles lid of wrapped candies—our onboard snack. We told him we had been to Myanmar a few months before and we shared some smiles about that. Their smiles were white and wide, friendly—confident.

A month after than trip, on April 14^th, after carrying us to Ewer and back safely, that spiffy new plane crashed. According to reports, the plane was overweight, stuffed full of election ballots and maybe too many pounds of passenger. (There was seating for eight total and the plane was carrying 10 or 11, including 2 children.) It went down trying to navigate through the mountains regions of West Papua—crashed into Gergaji Mountain. (We had been warned that the air currents and cloud cover made flying difficult and that it was best to fly in the morning—early as possible.) All passengers and the crew—pilot Lin Aung, and co-pilot, Makmur Susanto—were lost.

According to statements from workers and others as the airport, the pilot and co-pilot knew the plane was overweight, knew it was not the best time, or best conditions, or best plan to fly…. Lin Aung and Makmur Susanto didn’t want to fly. Politicos, or political workers, and their bosses threatened them to make them fly. “Fly or lose your jobs,” they were told

Flying is so easy—“jet here, hop on a plane there, “can’t we fly it’s so much quicker,” to somewhere else—it’s easy to cop a lassez faire attitude and take flying for granted. We stop worrying about the danger. I did. A few weeks before the crash, I was the one asking “What difference can a few extra kilos make?” If allowed, I would have gladly piled more into the plane—both coming and going. The only difference between me and those eager to get flying passengers was clout.

Those passengers, impatient to get back to it played the “do what we say or else” card and won. And so, contrary to their best opinions, to their knowledge of the aircraft, the conditions, the terrain in West Papua, Ni Lin Aung and Co-pilot, Makmur Susanto flew. And the too-heavy plane crashed in the mountains. And everyone on board was lost.

Ni Lin Aung and Makmur Susanto will never again smile and pass back a plastic lid of wrapped candies to passengers or say “get ready for landing.”

WEBSITE UPDATE

Please click over to my website--it is refreshed and reloaded with new stuff including news about my forthcoming picture books, Dance Y'all Dance, Dad and Pop, and Your Daddy was Just Like You!

ORA Patricia Gallager Picture Book Award 2009----and the winner is...

Not Norman! But, NOT NORMAN, A Goldfish Story came in 2nd with 5,189 votes. The winner is Chameleon's Colors by Chisato Tishiro. As part of the award selection process, a list of related books and activities was created included this delightful poem:

Ode to Norman by Karen Antikajian

How I love your brilliant color Like a comet in the sky, Shimmering in the dark— No nightlight needed. The lap, lap, lap Of the clear blue water as you calmly circle ‘round, Soothes me to sleep. Your non-flinching attentiveness, Even with my sour notes, Helps me to practice patiently On my shiny sousaphone. And, Norman, I love that you Stick so close to home— Never wandering away. You warm my heart.

For more about ORA Patricia Galager Picture Book Awards and activities for Not Norman and the other nominated books visit http://oregonread.org/gallagheraward09.html.

Van Gogh's Ear--Playing Dirty

"Do you know the real reason Van Gogh cut off his ear?” Esteban Vicente asked John Canaday, former art critic for the New York Times.

“No, why?” Canaday said.

“Because he couldn’t stand listening to critics anymore.”

This exchange is repeated in Audrey Flack’s book Art & Soul. It is preceded by this conversation between Flack and Jimmy Ernst:

“Jimmy: I’m doing bad work…there’s hope.”

“Audrey: I did bad work for a year when I began doing watercolors again after a break of over twenty years.

“Jimmy: There was a time when it was not held against artists to show bad work. It was expected in terms of their development. There was no sudden death in art then. There is now. Art was a friend. You didn’t drop a friend because she or he made a mistake.”

I have not been doing “bad work” nor have I had cause lately to want to cut off my ear. The sad reality is that I haven’t been doing any work. Nothing. I have a notebook of ideas on top of my desk. A few months ago those ideas were niggling, calling, singing at me to write, write, write them.

Over the past years I have developed a “sneak attack” method to approaching new story idea. When a story idea sang to me, instead of trying to write it out, I ignore it. Usually, the idea keeps calling—louder, Louder, LOUDER until finally I have to write it.

But this time, for some reason, while I was waiting, thinking I was so smart to give my subconscious time, that monster critic who sits on my shoulder nattering and badgering me about how lousy my work is--how it’s not good enough, not funny enough, not fresh--took control.

And now I am not writing because I am scared to do “bad work.”

I used to do bad work all the time. It didn’t faze me—maybe because I didn’t know it was bad. I hadn’t learned the “bad art” lesson yet. Like most kids, I slapped and splashed, scribbled and scrawled joyously. Our kid-art was wonderful because we created it.

But now, like many supposed adults, I’m scared to do badly. And not just at writing, either. If I don’t think I can dance well, I don’t dance. I don’t ice skate because I might fall or look silly. I don’t try cooking anything I don’t already sort of know how to cook. I quit art class because I was lousy at drawing—and because I was lousy, I didn’t let myself enjoy it. And now, now that I’m a “published” author, with editors who want to read my work, I’m not writing because I am scared to write. I am so worried about what the critics might say that I have forsaken my friend.

Damn the Monster Critic!

Somehow I, we—all of us who have creation anxiety, all of us with a Monster Critic sitting on our shoulder, judging our every move before we even make it— have got to pull a Van Gosh. Cut off our critic-tuned ears.

Whatever it takes: dancing him dizzy or turning up the music, drugging him, or dazzling him with disco light, somehow we have got to kick the Monster Critic to the curb. Destroy him, or at very least distract him for a while so the kid in us can come out and play.

Come on! Let’s get dirty. Let’s do some bad work!

NOT NORMAN circles the globe!

World news! NOT NORMAN, a GOLDFISH STORY is available in Korea--both as an audio CD and a paperback book. Can you say "Happy Fish" in Korean?

International Lettering System—Jakarta Style

Today is Curtis’s birthday. We celebrated with dinner out. (We actually celebrated twice, but this story pertains to the first time.) Sriwijaya Restaurant is an elegant—translation haute cuisine and high priced—dining experience. When I made the dinner reservation, I also arranged for a birthday cake to be presented after dinner. “Will you put his name on the cake?” I asked.

“Yes, Madame, so it will say Happy Birthday Mr. Bennett.”

“Instead of Bennett, please put his first name? Curtis?”

“Let me spell that Madame.” The concierge began with K for Kurtis, and I left it alone. (Ok, Curtis doesn’t spell his name with a K, but in Indonesia, the letter C is pronounced “Ch” so Curtis ends up being Churtis or Kurtis when it is pronounced correctly.) Besides the Kurtis spelling amuses me. So we moved on to the next letter, U.

U is U, pronounced Uoo so that was easy, but that was as far as we got. A complicated back and forth ensued, with me saying letters, the concierge misunderstanding them, transposing them, or adding extras when I repeated bits.

Frustrated, I tried the International Lettering System (ILS)—using a common word for each letter. Unfortunately, I don’t know the ILS beyond A-Alpha, B for Beta. However, recalling my previous experience with an ILS, I tried that city/country lettering system. I decided against going back to C is for Cuba, U is for Uruguay and pushed on: K-UOO-R for Rome?

“Apa Madame? Rome??? Mr. Rome?”

Success was finally achieved when we created our own lettering system, a blend of the traditional International Lettering System and our shared vocabulary.

“K like in my name, Kelly…Uoo…R like in Romeo…T-Tango…I, like Islam…S, like Sambal.

He laughed. “I like Islam, S like Sambal?” He repeated. “Betul? Correct Madame?”

“Betul, correct.” I assured him.

“May I repeat, Madame…Happy Birthday Mr. Kurtis Bennett.”

“Yes, that’s nice, tapi, but, can you only put his first name?”

“Oh, so how?"

"His first name only…Kurtis sendiri.”

“Oh yes, not Bennett.”

“Betul, correct.”

“So, can I repeat for you madam, Indonesian style.”

“Yes, please.”

“Happy Birthday Mr. Kurtis…Kay-UOO-Romeo-Tengo-Islam-Sambal.”

Yes! Success!

As planned, after dinner a cake was presented to the table. A luscious chocolate glazed confection. Across the top was a white chocolate banner upon which, in chocolate letters, was written: Happy Birthday!

No name. Better safe than sorry, I suppose.

Honoring Lucky the Goldfish

Lucky the Goldfish passed away last week. He was a dear friend and companion to my editor Sarah and her partner, Lori. (I think, if I remember correctly, Lucky was actually one of those carnival goldfish Sarah won at a fair, hence his name.) For more than 9 years Lucky had flapped and fluttered around in his bowl, blowing bubbles, gobbling nibbles, making sure that Sarah and Lori never came home to an empty house. And, in his quiet, fishy way, Lucky was responsible for my story, NOT NORMAN, A Goldfish Story being published. Several years back, say 2002 or earlier, my agent, Erin, heard Sarah speak at a conference. During the Q&A following Sarah’s presentation some one asked the question everyone always asks editors: Is there any story you are looking for? Sarah burst into her Lucky the Goldfish story and how she would love, love to receive a manuscript about a goldfish…

As it so happened, I had goldfish—a pond full of them—and a Goldfish picture book manuscript: Not Norman. The rest, as they say, is history.

People who call themselves “real pet people” i.e. dog, cat, horse, hamster lovers poke fun at us fishy folks. They think the only good pet is one who crawls, climbs or claws. They need the tactile connection those types of pets provide.

We fishy folks are beyond all that. We appreciate fish for what they are and do. A lot of what looks like nothing. Fish swim around in their watery worlds, drifting, floating, bubbling, dreaming fishing dreams while the rest of us drive ourselves and everyone else nuts rushing, rushing, doing, and begging for more.

The only begging Lucky ever did was a meal time. And that wasn’t really begging that was more like a reminder. A hey, remember me while you’re stuffing that cracker into your gullet. How’s about tossing me a treat, too, while you’re at it?

Here’s to Lucky!

Secret Stores...A Good Thing?

Jakarta’s imported food situation has reached CODE RED--CRISIS level. Thanksgiving 2006 was the first time we were personally affected by imported food shortages—canned cranberries and pumpkin, stuffing mix and marshmallows were no where to be found. Everyone American we knew was hunting for them, searching cupboards, sending SMS updates with markets checked, hording was rumored, clandestine trips to Singapore grocery stores planned. Since all the other usual imported goods were available, we chalked that shortage up to a general lack of knowledge about necessary Thanksgiving foods—after all, it is an American holiday.

The next imported food crisis moved into the CODE YELLOW category as it included alcohol thus affecting the entire Ex-pat community. Word was it was due to Muslim Indonesia’s aversion to alcoholic beverages—or someone didn’t pay off the right customs people.

The crisis after that followed the Melamine scare and met with a sympathetic CODE GOOD. Sure we were all irritated by the unavailability of our favorite comfort foods, including mayonnaise, salad dressing, cheese, cereal—specifically bran cereals (those of a certain age worry about regularity), and pickles, but we appreciated the Indonesian governments quick reaction to the Melamine scare and their efforts to protect us from possible harm. (That scare, you might recall, prompted the great Pickle Making Experiment of January 2009. For more than you want to read on that see the blog posting Jan. 7: “Pickled.”)

Government Line has it that the current food shortage is because certain…most… seemingly all of the usual imported foods do not meet the rigid labeling requirements for imports. This stuck me as funny since I didn’t know Indonesia had labeling requirements at all.

This current food crisis, which has already lasted 6 or more months— with no end in sight— is forcing Expats in need to take action. Visitors are being sent shopping lists with items they must hide in their luggage before relatives will welcome them into Jakarta. Back in the day, as the old-timers tell it, bringing back coolers stuffed with forbidden pork items, including diapers and kiddie food was routine. But that was in the good old days of generous baggage and weight allowances on airplanes. Suitcases are being checked on day-long doctor trips to Singapore so they can be stuffed full for the return flights and…”Secret Stores” are springing up.

This morning my e-mail included a note from one of the most active Secret Stores.” The advert read: OUR "SECRET STORE" HAS LIMITED SUPPLIES OF THINGS YOU MAY BE LOOKING FOR! Order NOW while supplies last!

The note went on to list “necessary” items available including:

• Downey Fabric Softener, 40 sheets Rp 45,000; 90 sheets 90,000
• Texas Pork Breakfast Sausage, RP 70,000 per pound
• Oscar Meyer Bacon, 1 pound, Rp 70,000
• Oscar Meyer Hot Dogs, 8 pack, Rp 70,000
• 8 Hot Dog buns (no brand noted—don’t hot dog buns usually come in packs of 10?)
• Velveeta Cheese-ish product, 8 oz; Red Cheddar Block, 8 oz; Rp 40,000
• Imported Cream Cheese, 8 oz, Rp 50,000
• Gold Medal Flour, 5-lb. Rp 60,000, 2-lb. Rp 30,000
• Whole Wheat Flour, Rp 40,000 per kg
• Imported Pure Cane Sugar, best for baking! Rp 60,000 per lb.
• Powdered Sugar, for icings! Rp 60,000 per lb.
• Brown Sugar, Rp 60,000 per lb.
• Chocolate Chips, Rp 50,000 per 12-oz. bag
• Vanilla Extract, Rp 40,000 per 100-gram bottle
• Desiccated Coconut, Rp 50,000 per lb.
• Baker's Angel Flake Coconu, Rp 70,000 per lb.
• Cocoa Powder, Rp 50,000 per lb.
• PAM Non-Stick Cooking Spra, Rp 90,000 per can

What interested me about these "secret stores" (aside from the exorbitant price one pays for contraband) is this: with the exception of PAM Non-Stick Cooking Spray, local substitute are readily available for each of them—including bacon, sausage, and hot dogs for which beef and chicken versions abound. Sure the flavor, texture, and bakeablity is different, sometimes odd—for instance, local flour is much finer and fluffier than good-ole Gold Medal so more is needed to make cookies puff-up; and in the case of the chocolate chip substitute, a baker has to smash up Cadbury bars thus creating chunks instead of tidy chips. If, however, one is truly desperate, the local products work

What really made me stop and think was the cost of these items. Sure, if one really, really, really needs Hellman’s Mayonnaise, as I do, even though a local version and Curtis’s fav, Miracle Whip (gag) are sold, then one will do just about anything including pay through the nose, break laws…break legs and backs, to get them. But seriously, Downey Softener Sheets???

One thing Indonesia does have, which rivals or surpasses any available anywhere, is fresh, fresh, fresh, fruit and vegetables, eggs, fish and chicken—and so cheap. So I ask myself and you, whether shopping in a “Secret Store,” smuggling, or cruising Wal-Mart or Whole Food aisles: Beyond the cost in terms of money or freedom, what is the cost of these items in terms of our health?

P.S. The spellchecker in Microsoft Word has Hellman’s, Velveeta, and Wal-Mart pre-loaded in the dictionary. Go figure...