Solo in Solo

Well I have arrived in Solo after what seems an eternity. All of the new volunteers were apprehensive about actually moving to our placement cities after the splendour of Bali and the security of common experience, none more than me as I am the only volunteer who was going to a city where no one else was going. Actually ‘apprehensive’ is not an accurate word to describe how I felt, more like terrified. What if I didn’t like Solo? What if I didn’t click with my new employer? What if my language skills were worse than I thought and I was unable to function?

The bottom line to all of these fears is: Too bad. Yes you just have to get over them and move on. It turns out that so far the only one of my fears that is rooted in any kind of reality is language. Bahasa Indonesia is a much different language in the classroom than in the real world! People speak much more quickly, and randomly leave out or add words that make perfect sense to them but really throw me off. Add to the mix that the native language of Solo is Bahasa Jawa (so complicated that it is essentially five different languages depending on whether you are speaking to someone older, or younger, or better looking, or smarter – at least that is the gist I have gotten) and no one speaks Bahasa Indonesia unless they talk to me. This means that I can’t even pick up bits and pieces of conversation in the office and has resulted in me having absolutely no clue what is going on.

Solo is actually a very nice city, despite the fact that it is constantly compared unfavourably with its more famous neighbour Yogyakarta. It is green and leafy, and makes much more sense than Denpasar. It basically has 2 main east-west streets, and that alone helps make it relatively easy to navigate. The busiest street, Jalan Slamet Riyadi, has little lanes on either side that are separated by barriers planted with huge trees; on these lanes are the entrances to the buildings on the street. The result is a much safer entrance and exit to the street and an overall feeling that the traffic is separate from the city rather than part of it. It is also much less hectic; the motorcycles still drive in a manner that is mind-boggling, but there are fewer of them. I do not yet have my motorcycle, which I am picking up next week, but I have had the immensely fortunate stroke of luck of having had a previously placed VSO volunteer lend me a bike, and that has allowed me to explore and familiarize myself with this city of a million souls.

The first crucial steps in a foreigner living in a city like Solo are to register with the various authorities so they are informed of your presence. This means that I was required, within 48 hours of arrival to register with:

• The Police in my district – which included several photos and fingerprinting – I firmly believe that I have now had more fingerprints taken than Conrad Black
• The Kepala Desa (Head of the Village)
• The Licensing office (something to do with my international driver’s license, I think?)
• Immigration (despite the fact I already did this in Bali)
• Another random head of some kind of sub-district or something
• The Barack Obama Fan Club
• And a few others that I can no longer remember as the bureaucratic nonsense was so numbing I actually went into a coma for awhile

Clearly I jest – slightly – but I really did spend almost all week in smokey offices while people in unattractive brown or green uniforms discussed my presence with expressions that conveyed very clearly that I was interrupting either their sleep, cigarette, lunch, or in some cases, their crucial work (in one instance we waited about 6 minutes for a woman behind the counter to give us attention; she made no attempt to hide the fact that she was, in fact, playing solitaire on her computer).

Having said that about the bureaucrats, I feel it’s very important to mention that my overall impression of the Javanese so far has been extremely positive. They are gracious and helpful, and quick to smile. In one amazing instance I left a laundry shop with my newly cleaned clothes and headed home with them on my bike. When I arrived at my home, I turned to find the man who runs the laundry service on his motorbike behind me. He had followed me because I had forgotten to take my change from the payment I had made; he had been honking to get my attention, but it simply blended in with the usual honking that occurs on any Indonesian street. The change was 100 rupiah, which is the equivalent of about 1 cent. It must have cost him 10 times that to deliver it to me – pretty astonishing.

I think everything is going to be all right here in Solo.

End of an Era

I have left Bali behind, and along with it the 9 people I have come to think of as friends here in Indonesia. We were ten strangers on February 9, 2009, the day we all arrived in this strange and beautiful land. Our backgrounds are so different we would likely never have met had it not been for the cosmos working its magic and entwining our paths here in Indonesia.

We are:

• Honourary Canadians (they are from New Hampshire so this honour I have bestowed on them personally) Jessica Goldman and Mik Allore (or Mr. William Allore the Third for short). Jessica is, for reasons beyond my comprehension, both an expert on mosquitoes and a lover of puppet shows, and has done development work in Africa for many years. Mik is… well Mik is what all of us secretly want to be, brilliant, yet with a sense of rebelliousness and freedom that allows him to live two lives, Mik the ski-bum (my apologies, Mr. Allore) and Mik the economist and consumer of knowledge in all its forms.


• Retired surgeon Dr. Ing Tan of the Netherlands. This 71-year-old is so youthful and active he makes me feel as old as a fossil. I witnessed him swim two lengths of a pool underwater without surfacing (no one else could accomplish this) and ride his bike (in Denpasar traffic, see previous entry on motorcycles) to and from language school every day. Not to mention his 6-month volunteer placement at a hospital in Ende, Indonesia.


• Accountant, basketball player, and church choir member extraordinaire Peter McGill, from Scotland. To this day Peter firmly believes that England is only part of the UK because Scotland allows it. He has a quick wit, an infectious laugh, and a positive, unflappable attitude that is an inspiration. Oh, and should you ever require training on ‘rolling your r’s,’ Peter’s your guy.


• Operations Manager, tuba player, and world traveler Mark Henderson of Ireland. I had the sincere pleasure of sharing a room with Mark in the final days of our time in Bali and let me say something only he will understand: I SO miss you. Mark laughs constantly, entertains constantly, educates constantly – he is everything I hope to be when I reach his ripe old age (sorry my friend).


• Interesting and mysterious Wicliff Kivumbi, from Uganda. There is not enough space in a paragraph nor accurate words to describe Wicliff. He is one of 26 children, and has worked tirelessly for many years in development and family planning in Uganda and Kenya. Wicliff managed to bring a smile to all of our faces several times a day through his unique and distinctly un-western world view.


• Tall, dark and hilarious Mark Fijens, former Logistics Operations Manager from the Netherlands. Mark is quick to laugh, and has a well-hidden but highly amusing rebellious streak (which only began to reveal itself in the waning days of our time in Bali). I think there is only one thing I should say to Mark that no one else will grasp: May the Force be with you.


• Brilliant, witty, amusingly stubborn, and infinitely generous psychologist Anouk Cleven, Mark Fijens’ new bride from the Netherlands. I bonded with Anouk in a very special way while barefoot on the dancefloor in Kupang (over a beer and vodka – yes you read that correctly, a beer AND vodka, together, like gin AND tonic). I can safely say I have bonded with no other in this manner, and I believe I can say the same of Anouk.


• Last but certainly not least, the illustrious Jenny Van Opdorp, also of the Netherlands. Jenny has somehow managed to be the only one of us to adapt a unique Indonesian name, Jenny Van OpDROP, the unwittingly funny result of a typo, and she has embraced it fully. Jenny was the first of the new volunteers I met on that hot morning that seems a century ago, and she was the last one to see me off when I left for the airport on Saturday. Jenny, thank you for being who you are, thank you for keeping me positive, and thank you for being my friend… but most of all, thank you for saving me from the spider.

To all of you, best of luck in your adventures in Indonesia and in all that follows. Thank you for giving me, in your own unique way, the support and encouragement I didn’t realize I needed until you were gone.

I hope our paths cross again my friends.

Ubud and the Close Call

This was my last weekend in Bali before I go off to Solo for my placement. Jenny (a co-volunteer and world traveler extraordinaire from the Netherlands) and I decided to go to Ubud for the weekend. We packed our bags and Friday headed off for our last adventure together.

Our trip got off to a rocky start as the ‘bus’ we were supposed to catch didn’t really appear to exist. We were given fairly detailed instructions on where and how to catch this phantom bus – these instructions included asking police to help us flag it down, which, as I write it, seems ludicrous, but at the time seemed perfectly normal, and did strike me as typically “Indonesian.” There is no actual bus-stop and if the driver doesn’t notice you standing there he simply whizzes by. The police seemed disinterested in helping us – as they absolutely should have been! We waited at a busy corner where we were told this bus might arrive. After about 10 minutes in the sun, we decided this was a bit much for us and were worn down by the constant offers of “transport? taxi?” by the locals hanging about. We finally managed to bargain a taxi for what we felt was a fair price and off we went to Ubud.

Within 5 minutes we were stuck in a traffic jam that you could see stretched forever. It turns out that the local desa (a village within the city) was celebrating something important as there was a parade of people walking down the bypass road (equivalent to a highway) in full ceremonial costume, with drums, music, and elaborate decorations. There were probably 300 people. This is Bali, so they were given preference over the traffic. The driver simply shrugged; “ceremony” was all he said. We finally managed to get past them and on our way.
We arrived in Ubud about an hour later and went to a homestay (Sania’s guesthouse – I highly recommend it) that had been recommended to us by another volunteer. We paid extra for a room that featured a fan and hot water. Much to our chagrin, however, the hot water only existed in the sink and not the shower. I could write for days about how many things are wrong with that but really just have to get over it. Sania’s does however have a pool, and it’s quite nice, so we were placated.

The next morning, off Jenny and I went to one of Ubud’s most famous landmarks, the Monkey Forest. I dutifully purchased a bunch of bananas (incidentally, a bunch of bananas is called a “comb” of bananas in Indonesian, as they feel that is what it resembles) to feed to the monkeys and went into the forest. Within 5 minutes, an aggressive male macaque had my “comb” of bananas and one of the guides advised me sternly that you don’t mess with an aggressive male macaque – good advice, I decided. I seem to be continually outsmarted by ‘less intelligent’ creatures. The monkeys in the Monkey Forest are somewhat more aggressive than those we encountered at Uluwatu. They have no qualms about climbing up your clothes, going through your pockets, trying to steal your bag (as Jenny soon found out) or just sitting on your shoulder and hanging out. Another monkey eventually got my water bottle as well, though he was much smaller, and I technically ‘let’ him have it.

The next day, Jenny and I decided to rent bicycles to explore the outlying areas of Ubud – and yes, despite the fact that we clearly had 2 large bicycles, the locals still helpfully offered us “transport? taxi?” at every chance they could. Jenny and I toured around the countryside, stopping occasionally to snap a few pics. As Jenny is from Holland, Land of the Bicycle, it was natural for her to lead the way. However at one point, she suggested I lead…

And that is when it happened.

I found a particularly pretty rice paddy off to the left and decided to pull over to take a few pictures. I tried to put my bike on its kickstand, but the space between the road and the canal running alongside it was narrow and at a precarious angle, so I leaned the bike against a tree instead. As I was straightening from leaning over to rest the bike against a tree, I caught a glimpse of spider web, just to my left, probably about 6 inches from my shoulder. I was still in the motion of straightening out and was conscious that this web was a little close, and my nerves took over. I turned my head quickly, searching for the creator of this web, still straightening out, and there it was.

It was the biggest spider I have ever seen outside of a zoo, and it was approximately 4 inches from my face. “OH MY GOD” I gasped and tried to back away, as quickly as I could. Unfortunately, my bike, along with Jenny’s, was directly behind me and I could not maintain balance. Down I went, onto the road, so lucky that there was no traffic at that moment. It was like my life was passing before my eyes; every thought clear and detailed. The whole way down I was thinking how lucky I was that I was not any closer to that thing, and that it hadn’t ended up on my face. I couldn’t have cared less that I was falling, as it just meant I was getting further away from the Spider of Death more quickly.

Jenny still hadn’t spotted it, and was frantically saying, “what? What is it?” I have discovered that we all go to our own dark place when someone around us is scared – Jenny assumed I had seen a snake (her equivalent to the spider I had just encountered) and was looking around the ground in a panic trying to ascertain what had scared me. I finally composed myself and pointed to it, and then I think she got it. No snakes, therefore no danger. I, however, was on the verge of a breakdown. My heart was beating so hard I could feel my pulse in my neck; I could actually hear it!

I managed to get back up, and get a closer look at this spider. I had heard about them, giant orb spiders that spin their webs between telephone poles, trees, and even across rivers. This particular spider’s leg span was about 5 inches, and made those Dock Spiders one encounters in Cottage Country (another of my mortal enemies) look like amoebas. I can only imagine what a spider like this would catch in its web – birds? Those giant Indonesian bats? Perhaps a small Cessna?

Jenny finally managed to calm me down and we attempted to get on our way, at which point I realized that I had knocked the chain off my bike in the fall. There was no way I was putting my back to the thing on the web so we moved across the street to a little driveway to put the chain back on. As Jenny bent down to help me, she knocked her bike and down it went, along with the basket in the front where she had stored her purse and a couple of water bottles. The bike fell in such a way that the contents of the basket spilled out into one of the little canals of water that runs along most Balinese roads. Luckily the only thing that actually went into the canal was a bottle of water; her purse and wallet were OK. As she straightened her bike out, she noticed that her camera was hanging precariously from the basket by its wrist strap; we are not sure how it stuck there, but it did, or it would have gone into the canal too.

Always the optimist, Jenny made note that a few bad things had happened and that we were OK, so the karma for the rest of the day should be good. I simply said, “see what happens when I lead?”

For the remainder of our bike adventure in Ubud, Jenny was in front.

Facing My Nemesis - the Motorcycle

The main method of transport in Indonesia is “sepeda motor” (motorcycle) which includes three categories of vehicle, scooters, as we would call them in Canada, full-fledged motorcycles, usually in the 1000 – 1400 CC range of power, and something in the middle, which is a semi-automatic motorcycle with manually-changed gears, but no clutch. When I first accepted this placement in Indonesia, the Disability Program Manager helpfully pointed out that it would be ‘advantageous’ if I were able to ride a motorcycle as it makes getting around easier. It sort of made sense to me at the time as I didn’t want to have my freedom limited by transport issues, so off I went to Florida (the only place in North America, and possibly the world, I could obtain training in January without a US Social Security Number) for three days of intensive motorcycle training.

To call this training session a disaster would be an understatement. I was taking the class with about 12 other people, most of whom were Cuban-Americans who were there only because they were suddenly legally required to be there under new Florida law, but had driven motorcycles for years. I do not drive a manual-transmission car, which gave me the added challenge of learning to control a powerful machine, while learning the coordination of hands, feet, clutch vs. throttle, etc. I also managed to wipe out, not once, but twice, during the training. Luckily, I was uninjured, unless you count pride. The instructor informed me, minutes before my final driving test, that if I fell a third time, it would mean an automatic fail. I went into the test extremely nervous, but did manage to pass it. To their credit, the rest of the class applauded enthusiastically when my name was called and I picked up my new Florida motorcycle license endorsement.

When I arrived in Indonesia a week later, the full impact of the Program Manager’s advice became apparent. There are probably about 100 motorcycles here for every car, and they drive with a ‘style’ that I can only call CHAOS. In Indonesia you drive on the left, and this includes motorcycles – unless you are either turning onto a road, turning off of a road, have live chickens hanging by their feet from a bamboo pole perched precariously on your shoulders, have more than 3 passengers, or just don’t feel like driving on the left side of the road – at least I think those are the rules.

So it was with equal parts joy and trepidation that I learned we would receive additional motorcycle training here in Bali. I learned that the motorcycle I would be using in placement was of the semi-automatic variety (which, incidentally, is known locally as a sepeda perempuan, or ‘girl bike’). No more worries about clutch, and less power than the machine on which I learned in Florida – I was ready for my training!

I am proud to say that I did not fall, and I managed to make a 2-hour trip to Ubud (a beautiful area of Bali with rice fields, arts & handicrafts, lush rain forest) with confidence, and yes, even using some of the Indonesian ‘rules’ of the road.

While in Ubud, we visited one of VSO’s partners, Senang Hati (which means “Happy Hearts”) for lunch and a tour. This is a facility for people with disabilities that 5 years ago did not exist and today counts over 200 participants. It offers physiotherapy, rehabilitation, English classes, drama classes, aquatherapy, computer classes and more to people with disabilities living throughout Bali. About 35 of its participants live onsite as travel to and from the facility over great distances is difficult. One of the innovations of this facility is to offer computer classes to local able-bodied children – the goal of which is to help integrate the disabled children into the community by helping them make friends with the local children. It is a beautiful place, nestled between a patch of rain forest and rice fields, and the local community is extremely proud that Senang Hati finds its home there.

Back home we went, happy that we got to experience this place. The traffic was much busier on the way home, but we were prepared, we persevered, and we made it. The only injury sustained by our hearty crew was too much sun, and as I am Canadian and it’s early March, that is something I am not going to complain about.

Why am I here?

A few entries ago, as I sat in Chicago waiting for my flight to Korea at the start of this journey, I had a moment to think about the reasons why I chose to come to Indonesia. I remember not being able to think of anything specific. Sure I, like many people, was looking for an opportunity to ‘make a difference’ or ‘contribute’ but I often feel like these terms are over-used – big fancy terms that look great on paper but may not necessarily mean a lot in the real world. Clearly I was looking for some kind of adventure as well, but it didn't feel like enough. So I was still trying to come up with a reason all my own for doing this, and I think there is finally one materializing.

I had the immense pleasure of attending the VSO Indonesia Annual Volunteer Conference in Kupang, on the island of West Timor. I met VSO volunteers from all over the world, people who are already in their placements, unlike me (I am still in the relative luxury of Bali attempting to learn Bahasa before heading off to Solo in about 3 weeks). They are entrenched in the actual work of strengthening and building capacity within VSO’s local partner organizations to better deliver the services they have set out to deliver to those in need.

VSO operates in 3 program areas in Indonesia: Disability (where I will be working), Livelihoods, and Health. There are approximately 40 VSO volunteers working in these three areas primarily on the island of Java and in the province of Nusa Tenggara Timor, or NTT, the poorest in Indonesia. This past weekend, I learned of a project to improve water management, and therefore increase crop yields, in an area often affected by drought. I learned of a young mother who managed to get her malnourished baby to a healthy weight because a VSO volunteer facilitated a workshop on nutrition for newborn babies. I learned of small but essential improvements in the delivery of health services. I learned about a disabled man who is proudly working in the security department of a hotel here in Bali, because he had been introduced to them by a Disabled Peoples’ Organization that VSO had assisted in developing a formal employment program.

These are real accomplishments facilitated by volunteers on the ground here in Indonesia. I would like to emphasize that these changes were not implemented by volunteers. The VSO volunteers' role is to aid organizations to determine themselves what they need and assist them to get there – which hopefully means that the improvement itself becomes sustainable and remains long after the volunteer has gone home.

After hearing about these results and seeing the tenacity and passion with which these amazing men and women tackle their projects, I can only hope that I am able to help facilitate small but important improvements in the lives of people with disabilities in Solo. And that, I think, is reason enough to be here.