Merdeka

In Indonesia, where merdeka (independence) is still a hotly contested issue, the day that celebrated the nation’s sixty-first anniversary of her people’s legal separation from the Dutch was a rather tame, albeit ludicrous, affair. Those Fulbrighters strong and willing enough to risk battle with their hangovers met with our Bahasa Indonesia teacher, Ony, this morning at ten, and made our way north to Ancol, Jakarta’s main port of departure. Ony convinced us to spend our day-off with promises of “fungames” – “like, you know, that game where you grab the fish, I think you call it eel, and run to the next bucket?” – and pohon pinang, which he described as climbing tall, greasy trees in order to retrieve hanging bikes and other goodies. His boasting proved to be justified, and then some.
Last independence day – Indonesia’s that is – I was in Medan, Indonesia’s fourth largest city and the capital of North Sumatra. Festivities celebrating the sixtieth anniversary included a large parade, complete with mini riots protesting the electricity company’s parade float and its recent inability to cope with rolling black- and brown-outs across the city. The day ended with me riding on top of a ten-foot tall tribal mask that was supported in a perfect strangers mouth (see photo) after having danced la bamba with a used car saleswoman in front of several hundred passersby.
This year’s festivities were marked by less solitude and a lot more sweat. Making our way through crowds that must have numbered in the hundreds of thousands, my buddies and I posed for photos with local pole climbers (see photo) and watched some of Indonesia’s most popular rock groups play to a hot and sweaty crowd that wasn’t much different from what you’d find at a typical American rock concert. I had an advantage though, in that being a good foot and a half taller than the next tallest person, I was able to get a good view – and some interesting photos (see above) – without having to sit on my boyfriend’s shoulders. The whole topless thing doesn’t really go over so well here, but I thought about sewing some seeds of decadence and social disruption. My elevated status as “cultural ambassador” was the only thing that held me back. Although it sure didn’t for some of the Fulbrighter girls last night, who turned into the stars of Bedroom, a trendy Jakarta lounge, after they removed a group of men’s t-shirts and proceeded to lasso them with their stolen garments. The nightlife here is impressive, but that’s fodder for its own blog entry.
The pohon pinang turned out to be an incredible spectacle. Two-hundred-and-sixty-one forty-foot tall poles were laid out in front of the massive concert stage. Companies and individuals sponsor the poles, and pay for the placement of bicycles, stuffed animals, and other goodies at the top of the intimidating dowels-on-steroids. As fans danced and families paraded underneath, teams of ten men stood on one another’s shoulders in order to climb-up, a task made infinitely more difficult by the splinters and black grease that lay along their way to a ten-speed. I didn’t see anyone take any bad falls, but a tumble from the top could easily lead to paralysis, or worse. Judging from the muscles, tattoos and scars on the grease-covered guys who paraded back from the pohon pinang grounds with something to show for their efforts, this is not a sport for the vertigo-stricken or faint of heart.
After spending the afternoon studying my language lessons while lounging by the pool, John and I had dinner with a guy whom he’d met on the street. Nico is seventy-five, but incredibly energetic, and psyched to speak with Americans. His house is filled with 18th century wood carvings from all over the archipelago. I was pretty impressed with my Indonesian skills, until his two grown-up daughters got home and notified us that Nico had in fact not been telling us about his two adopted Acehnese children, but was actually inviting us to his other daughter’s wedding this weekend. After being given a velvet-lined invitation and being told that it will be held at Jakarta’s nicest hotel, there was no way we could resist.
I ended the day with Uma Thurman and “My Super Ex-Girlfriend,” which was terrible.