Indonesia through the senses

So often there is music, especially during Ramadhan. The call to prayer hailing the faithful to the mesjid; a distant boom box; the echo of singing, or late night feasting; the shrill, nasal call of a warung stall holder; the jingle of the ice-cream seller; the horns of the angkot; the faint chant of the Buddhist temple. Silence is rare. It is possible to be engulfed in sound. Although I get lonely, the sounds reminds me that I am surrounded by life. Nothing stops.

I can smell the smoke from rubbish burning and forest fires smouldering on distant islands; the heady aroma of a violent downpour evaporating in the crisp heat. The sweetness of fruit and salty fish combines with sweat and rubbish in the market. During the climb up a mountain over the town, the air clears, sweetens and is scented by flowers and the sea.

Tropics meet squalor and the trappings of modernity. A third world pretending to be developed. Cars cleaned daily shine against dirt roads, rubbish and plant choked ditches, and ramshackle houses. Vibrant flowers and relaxed palms frame and inky sky, and offset brightly painted boats on a softly rolling sea.

Tastes are familiar, yet strange. The taste of the heat in the air. Bready pizza topped with fish and tartare sauce. Melted chocolate and cheese atop grilled banana. Spices and sweetness combining at every meal.

Looking around, I see things so different to Australian society. A family of four share an obek (motorbike). A cat wanders along the beach. A bike crawls past, its sidecar piled twice the height of the rider. A serious face breaks into a smile to greet me. Strangers cross imcomprehensibly busy roads to look at me closer or touch my arm.

Although my stay here has included plenty of problems, there have been really lovely moments, and so many eye-opening experiences. A stranger inviting me to their home to eat; on a later visit his sister, meeting me for the first time, insists on giving me bracelets as a souvenir. I know they are poor, so this would not be a cheap gift for her. A young girl on a nearby street who stops me every day to practice her English gives me a coffee bun. A woman in a warung expresses genuine concern that I do not have a religion, and advises me to enter a religion quickly so God can watch over me.

I am so glad I came here.