Szilvi’s Travel Stories

Fearful moments

One morning I was about to go to the train station to visit another school. I locked my door and wanted to turn on the light in the hall way. No light… apparently it did not work. Then I wanted to take the lift. It also appeared not to be working. This meant I had to take the stairs in the extreme dark. Now the stairs in my flat are rather scary. Not actually the stairs themselves but in the middle there is this dangerous space that you can fall in. Since I would not want to take that risk I decided to leave my door open first with the light on, then bring my suitcase with laptop and beamer down and then return to close the door (very inefficient, but that is what most of my plans are). It took me about 10 minutes to bring the suitcase down. It wasn’t easy, but at least there was some light coming from my door at the 3^rd floor. When I reached my door again, there was no other option. I had to close it and go down in the dark. So I decided to be brave and go for it. I felt the walls while I was walking down, I could not see anything and went step by step, very carefully. Until I had no idea where I was. I could not orientate myself, did not even know at which floor I was. I felt totally stuck.. and scared that I’d fall down. So I screamed for help. ‘Help! Someone help me! Please!’ I had to repeat that several times before some light began to shine. It was one of my neighbours (whom I never met) at the first floor. He helped me go further down by having his door opened (this is just one of the not so convenient first meetings with a neighbour, I injured another neighbour when I met him for the first time by accidentally throwing the door into his face, and another neighbour appeared to be a stalker, kept sending me messages while he lived just a meter away, thank God he moved to the 4th floor and he lost his phone including my number). I was saved. But by that time, almost half an hour had passed and of course I missed my train.

A suitcase covered with raw eggs

I went back to the Netherlands after 10 days in Brussels. The reason I went back is that I was not able to bring all my stuff in once. In fact, taking my stuff in twice also failed. Many of my things are still in the Netherlands and I left my room completely messy and unorganized due to a lack of time.

The day before I went, we had a successful campaign against battery eggs (eggs from chickens who lived in cages). The plan was to give animal-friendly eggs to people on the street right in front of supermarkets who refused our suggestion to stop selling battery eggs. One night before the action, they called our office and agreed not to sell eggs from that cruel system anymore. This resulted in: champagne at work! But also: 2000 eggs at work. Which we could take home with us. So I wanted to treat my mother and brother on some animal-friendly eggs and put some of them in my suitcase.

Walking with my big suitcase in the train station was not easy. The lift did not work and I had to pass many stairs. I was very nervous and stressed at that time because I left my phone in the office and I

 had very little time to catch my train, and had to look for a public phone to inform my mother that I’d be 1 hour late, etc. Because I was so stressed, everything went wrong. I got out in the wrong

 metro station, I got lost and almost missed the next train. And when I arrived at the station, tired from running, someone told me: ‘look at your suitcase’. There was raw egg coming from under it.

 ‘Damn it!’ I thought. Stupid me… The hours that followed were stressful: everywhere I went, I left the trace of raw egg. And I was worried about my important papers and adapters that were in the

 suitcase and  of course were totally covered with raw egg. Luckily they all survived after I cleaned it, back in The Netherlands.

Stress in and around the train

That is just 1 example of stress in and around the train. The day that I arrived was also not very smooth. My suitcase was extremely heavy. Taking it on the stairs was difficult, so someone told me to take the escalator. But using an escalator with a suitcase? Scary! What if I cannot get it on the right place and it falls? But okay, I would give it a try. And the thing that I was afraid of, happened indeed. My heavy suitcase fell down, luckily I was not injured. But I was shocked, I screamed and my other bag fell down too. Everyone looked at me and I felt rather ashamed. Some Australian tourists then helped me by carrying my suitcase. Thank god I often meet nice people when I’m in trouble.

Then I often have other problems when I go to the schools: my routeplanners that I looked up at internet seem to be incorrect sometimes. I get lost, take the wrong train, etc. Sometimes it takes me 3,5 hours to get from my house to a school. Also because some villages don’t even have a train station and buses go only very rarely! That’s why sometimes I have to get up at 4.30 and leave my house at 5.30 in order to be on time. Those days when I leave that early and get home late, are very tiring.

It also happened one time that I arrived at the station of a town and the door didn’t open! So I had to go to the next station and then go back again! Fortunately most teachers understand that these delays aren’t my fault.

I really dislike the Belgian train system. Trains always departure late, when you buy a ticket without mentioning you want a ‘back and forth ticket’ you just get a single ticket (this almost caused me a fine once!) and the employees at the station are impolite. When I bought tickets for the first time, I accidentally bought it for the wrong day, and when I wanted to change it, the worker told me: ‘No you cannot! This isn’t a game, madame!’ And another time I asked in which train station I had to get off to reach a certain remote village, and I could not hear what the worker said. He was Dutch-speaking and he probably thought at first that I was a French-speaking Belgian, because he became very angry when I did not pronounce the city Antwerpen in the right way. “Madame! In Dutch that is called ‘Antwerpen’!”

To me a sign that indeed there are tensions between the Dutch-speaking and French-speaking communities, although on a small scale. I always start to speak in French when I ask something in a shop or on the street, because I want to practice. And sometimes I hear from their accent that people I talk with are actually  Dutch-speaking, but they speak fluently French. So even with them I can practice French! And besides French, I also practice Arabic frequently. Near to my street there are lots of Moroccan shops. In Holland it would be weird if I’d speak Arabic with Moroccans, because I can use Dutch. But here.. French is also a foreign language to me, so why not just use Arabic? Now this is really nice, although many of them can speak only the Moroccan dialect which is really different from standard Arabic. But that gives me a good motivation for learning Moroccan dialect.

But going back to the topic of train stations, I should mention that most of the time I am already very stressed when I arrived. This is for the reason that I always go on foot. Normally that is no problem, if I go without my suitcase and leave on time. But since I always leave rather late and I have to carry my suitcase with me, and the streets in Brussels are paved with annoying stones, it takes me so long to get to the station! I always have to run, and that is not easy with a suitcase! And when I end up in one of those small streets, I still get lost and have to ask for the way. Yes, after all these times.

One advantage: I do sports automatically when I go to the station. Sometimes I feel so hot that I take off all of my jackets and sweaters. So I walk around in merely a tank top, in winter time, and I still feel hot. In any case I do not have to do any sports here, because I already do it automatically by going to work.

Personal financial crisis

The banks may have had a financial crisis; I am having one too! Migrating costs a lot of money, and I left with nothing. I was happy to finally get a real job so I would not have to borrow money anymore from my mother. However, it takes some months before I am financially independent.

I was once in the supermarket and then found out that I had nothing on my account anymore. Thank god my colleague was with me and paid for me, otherwise I would not even have food to eat.

There have also been lots of problems with the activation of my Belgian bank account, and that is why they did not even allow me to transfer the money for my phone bill and for the rent. I was not even aware of this in the beginning, so when my phone provider reminded me of the bill, I thought they were just late with their administration. The bank simply did not communicate well with me. And they told me the juristic problem was because I had no Dutch address. My passport is Dutch, so I need a Dutch address, that is the rule here. A bullshit rule according to me. I live in Belgium now. And how can I prove that I used to have a Dutch address? ‘Go to your embassy.’ It is just that I always work at office hours, it’s already extremely difficult to get to the bank (is only possible on Wednesdays when I work until 16.30 or Saturday morning but sometimes even then they were closed), let alone I have a chance to go to the embassy. Sigh….

Last Friday they agreed to transfer the money for my bills but they required a letter from the municipality in Brussels to confirm my address. No problem, I thought.. Until I saw that the municipality wrote a wrong address on one of the papers!!

Everything is so confusing. I have been at the city hall last month, standing in the line for 4 hours…  it is unbelievable how many people are immigrating here! Hundreds and hundreds of people are waiting in front of the city hall every morning starting from 7.00….  and I will be one of them again tomorrow, to try to get the right paper finally.

I have no idea how much I will eventually be able to save per month. I know that live is expensive here, and I try to spend as least as possible. That means I am looking for the cheap supermarkets, but not everything is available there. For soy products I have to go to the expensive one. And for certain exotic fruits like dates (my addiction!) I have to go to the Morrocan shops. The dates that they sell there are unbelievable. So juicy, so sweet, so perfect… And the salesmen are nice. It happened once that I didn’t have money to buy dates, and a man gave me one for free.  

Trying to spend little money is good, but thanks to my confusion, I left the stove on once for a whole day. When I came home from work I wondered why it was so hot in the house. I am lucky that the house was not set on fire.

One time, a practical problem was actually an advantage. I went to the public laundry service to have my clothes washed. I put a coin in the machine, but.. nothing happened. I choose the program but the machine did not react. The coin also did not come back. I called the service number to ask for help, but the lady that I talked to was not willing to help and said she could not do anything about it. I asked people on the street to help me but the ones who tried didn’t succeed, and others ignored me. I lost 3,40. Full of frustrations I went home with my laundry and washed my clothes by hand. No way that I would ever go back to that public laundry place! First I was pissed… I live in a rich country in the year 2008 and I am washing my clothes by hand… And then suddenly I realised that by washing by hand I can save 20 euro’s each month! Now I do this weekly and it is not that bad. It takes a while before the clothes have dried and my whole room is full of wet clothes the days after, but that is not such a big deal really.

It is worth it

In conclusion, my life is hectic at the moment. Basically no social activities, just working, also in the weekend. The work in the house also costs lots of time (especially buying groceries). On Saturdays I am occupied with that from 10.00 until 20.00. God, if only I lived in Indonesia, then I could hire a servant! It reminds me of when I lived in Hungary, and the only responsibility I had was my language course, just twice a week. I spent a lot of time on domestic work and I was wondering: ‘What will it be like if I have a fulltime job, if even now I am so busy already?’. Indeed, now I know.

My eye-problem (seeing double) has returned while I had it under control last August/September, but I know that is a temporary thing. It is all an investment. Integrating with the work (that means making/improving presentations, reading books about the organization and animal rights, etc), and arranging things for my emigration, all those efforts, will be worth it. If it is up to me I will stay here for at least a few years. Because despite the difficulties, I am surrounded by luxuries in my daily life. I love this job, could not wish for any better job than this. It enables me to work on what I believe in, and also to be creative and develop things I have always dreamed of. That is a luxury. Then I live in the very centre of the city, and feel like a tourist in my own street. It is a very inspiring and beautiful environment. I also love my apartment. A small studio, 1 room but with my own kitchen and bathroom. I have always dreamed of that. And there is even a little park in front of my house: my public garden. And I can practice French in my daily life, and at work sometimes too with the French-speaking colleagues. It is nice how it is so normal here to use both languages together. One sentence Dutch, then French, it is very normal here. In most situations it would feel artificial, but here it doesn’t. It is also funny how I have difficulties in understanding Dutch-speaking people here. They use different words and a different accent, and sometimes they speak very fast. Especially students in the schools sometimes speak very unclear without articulating the words, and I cannot understand them. Hopefully I will get used to the Belgian accent more and more, because that will facilitate my presentations at schools in particular.

In any case, the things mentioned above are all luxuries to me. Especially the work has caused me moments of pure happiness already. I feel useful. And I am learning and discovering so many things myself. After I had been to a multi-cultural school, and one student asked me about my organisation’s campaign against ritual slaughters without stunning (during Eid al-Adha) I searched information on animal rights in Islam. I somehow believed that Islam would be positive about protecting animals from getting hurt, but had not found the exact sources yet to prove it. That is why I thought of ever doing a research and write a book on the topic. But I don’t have to, someone already did that! A highly respected imam from the UK: Al-Hafiz B.A. Masry. I downloaded a summary from his book and found out that the Islamic sources are a lot more positive on animal rights than most people (including Muslims) know. I will further write about this the next time. In any case, to some Muslim students and teachers I have already mentioned it briefly, and their reactions were very positive (one boy even suggested that it would be a good idea to stop eating meat). They are likely not to sacrifice any sheep this eid-ul-Adha, but give money to charities instead (most probably to the organization I work for).

In conclusion, I hope to stay here for a long time. The only reason I may leave is because I want to discover other countries and languages (or if I see too many cute boys in the schools and become sexually-frustrated I may move to North-Africa :D).

But before I leave I want to have fully integrated and enjoyed here. I want to settle here, I want to experience and explore this city (like exploring its night life), and I want to reach lots and lots of things with the work.

 When I started looking for a job, I had all kinds of countries in mind where my new job would lead me to: Tunisia, Dubai, or maybe Oman, Singapore, Australia…  Never could I have guessed that my new home country would be so near: Belgium!

Yes, it became my neighbouring country Belgium. Its capital city Brussels, the bilingual city but mostly French-speaking though. And that’s why I had no doubt that this would be the right choice. I enjoy learning and speaking foreign languages and that is my nr 1 motivation to work in foreign countries.

How nervous I was the day when I would get that phone call from my new employer! After having gone to their office for 3 job interviews including a presentation, they finally made their decision. I can’t even express in words how happy I was. I had to quit my internship in Amsterdam sooner than agreed in the contract, but since my boss at the internship always supported me and was really happy for me as well, she had no problems with that.

A hectic period followed. The one day I was finishing things off for my internship in Amsterdam, the next day I was in Brussels, being introduced into the job of my dreams: main task: informing students at elementary as well as secondary (high school) schools (age 7 – 19) about animal rights and animal abuse.

The first challenge was to learn how to work with a Macintosh computer and a Belgian keyboard. When I was told about the use of Mac computers, I suddenly got an inconvenient flash-back to the year 2002, to Steven Pienemans’s computer course in Hogeschool Inholland. I remembered how those Mac computers freaked me out. Now 6 years later, after many hours sitting behind the computer and trying to hang on and keep trying, I can finally deal with it. The Belgian keyboard is the same as in Tunisia, so I got used to it quite soon.

However, a range of other challenges were yet to come. I think I could write a book about all the things that happened to me here so far. There would be a chapter for work-related technical problems, a chapter for money-related problems, a chapter for house-related problems, a chapter for public-transport related problems, and a chapter for practical and administrative-related problems. I will not bore you guys by writing down everything. Instead I made a selection:

My first presentation: a true disaster

In my second week of work, I gave my first presentations at schools. The night before my first presentation, I decided to try out the beamer and the laptop. And then the first problem occurred: I did not succeed in connecting the beamer to the laptop. A feeling of panic came over me. Then suddenly I saw that the laptop said that there was a wireless internet connection. I was surprised because until that time I didn’t have internet at all. Now there was a bit of hope: if I could connect to msn and if one of my ‘technical’ friends would be on line, it may be solved. So I signed in on msn, and thank god! The far most technical and knowledgeable person I know was on line!  And it was because of his knowledge that eventually, when the night was passing, I succeeded in connecting the beamer to my laptop. The laptop from the office did not work so I used my own.

 So the next morning, when I was in the school, I was installing all the things full of optimism. And then…. I could not get the plug in the laptop! Somehow it didn’t go in! ‘Stay calm, stay calm,’ I thought. Then just show the presentation on the laptop itself, on the small screen. The teacher had put my computer on a table, and the table was also on another table, so it would be high enough for the kids to see it. Suddenly I heard a loud ‘BOOM’. In total shock I witnessed my computer lying on the floor… it fell from 1,5 meter high. I screamed: ‘AAAH! MY COMPUTER!!’. The kids turned quiet and with shocked eyes they stared at me.

When it comes to material things, my appreciated computer is my everything. I have no TV, no CD player, no radio. So my laptop means everything to me! That’s why I was overwhelmed by extreme stress and fear. But I suppose my laptop has a guardian angel, because it appeared to be still working!  So I gave my first presentation, still feeling confused by what happened, and trying to improvise because never before I worked with kids aged 7. Some things did not seem to work for them, and I had to do it differently.

Now this is just one of the technical work-related problems. Many followed and it still happens that some DVD doesn’t work suddenly, or that the white screen is located in a wrong place, etc  and this leads to hilarious moments. I keep repeating it: I can’t live with, nor without technical stuff.

And the fall of my laptop has still left its traces: after a few days the computer sometimes got stuck while I played a song. That problem seemed to have been solved, until I got my wireless internet connection in the house. Now this connection is extremely weak and problematic, most of the time I have to re-register (choose the right connection and then sign in with password) every other minute. And the worst thing is that it gets stuck lots of times, and I have to restart it again. I am really afraid that this will break my computer, so I decided that I want to find an alternative internet connection, or if that doesn’t work out, I will just make use of internet cafés.

Other than technical problems, the presentations go better and better. I love to do this, it’s so nice to make young people become aware of animal abuse (it’s important cause they are the generation of the future!) and inform them how they can do something about it themselves (that is the purpose of course!). Sometimes students come to me after the presentation and tell me they will stop eating meat, or they want to become a member of the organization I work for. These kinds of reactions make me very happy.  

Not all of the students are this positive of course, especially the ones in puberty can be very critical. But it is a fantastic challenge to deal with those too, and most of the time they eventually agree with me because of the arguments I use. This job enables me to practice my debating skills. Since I have never been good at debating (normally I always lose debates), I am so happy that I learn that here. Especially for these topics concerning animal rights I really want to be able to debate about it using good arguments. Even before I had this job I always tried to make people aware about animal abuse. Not always could I make a direct change, but at least I could make people think about it.  

TO BE CONTINUED (soon)

De spanning is af te lezen van hun gezichten… strak staan ze in hun Ierse costuums… jong als ze zijn, zo fris als hoentjes springen ze van links naar rechts en maken ze de meest ingewikkelde bewegingen…

Iers dansen, dat kunnen ze wel, die Noord-Afrikaantjes. Dagenlang hebben ze tot zwetens toe staan oefenen. En dan is het zover. Alle ogen staan op hen gericht. Luid gejuich en gefluit klinkt vanuit het amphitheater wanneer de muziek, en daarmee ook de dans, versnelt. En daar gaan ze weer… met hun soepele lichamen… een rasechte Ier zou het ze niet na kunnen doen. Het publiek gaat helemaal op in de tot de verbeelding sprekende muziek en dans. Even krijg ik het gevoel in het Celtische Ierland te zijn… met groene heuvels aan weerszijden en bergbeekjes die kalm kletteren. Koele regen die langzaam uit de lucht valt, mannen met doedelzakken, en in de verte een oude herder met schapen. Dan kijk ik nog eens goed naar die jonge ventjes die zo hun best doen op het podium. Die bruine, soms glimmende zwarte krullenbossen.. vaak met een modieuze haarband die de volumieuze krullen netjes naar achteren duwt.. de ontdeugende passievolle ogen, soms honingkleurig, lichtbruin, donkerbruin, een enkele keer felgroen. De een is mooier dan de ander. Fluweelzachte chocoladekleurige huidjes worden afgewisselend met bleke snoetjes. Snoetjes die gespannen staan van de opwinding… gaat het wel goed? maak ik geen foute pas? Chiko, de magere jongen met het smalle gezicht, kijkt stiekem af bij zijn zelfverzekerde collega Momo, die naast hem de sterren van de hemel danst.

Dan gaat het licht uit. De snelheid van de muziek neemt af. Als het licht weer aangaat, staat er een mooie Arabische jongedame in een kort jurkje op het podium, met daaromheen de jongens, die hun bovenlijf ontbloot hebben dit keer. Het meisje beweegt sierlijk op de maat van de muziek, terwijl de jongens als slangen om haar heen krioelen.

Heel wat danspasjes later krijgen de artiesten een daverend applaus. Ze hebben het goed gedaan, hun eerste optreden van Lord of the Dance, de Ierse rivierdans. Volgende week mogen ze weer. Maar de eerstvolgende avonden zullen ze het publiek nog even moeten vermaken met vulgaire sketches, waarin ze homo’s en vrouwen nadoen. Lekker in strakke jurkjes met hun tieten (lees: ballonnen) zwaaien en hoge stemmetjes opzetten terwijl ze hun ‘mannelijke’ collega met een handtas in zijn gezicht slaan. Blaffen en lopen als hondjes, de een als stoere macho hond en de ander als klein keffertje met een strik in de staart. En bij elkaar op schoot een striptease houden. Ze doen het allemaal. Schaamteloos. Alleen de DJ is vrijgesproken van deze banale acts. Hij mag lekker in zijn hokje zitten en zich met honderden enge knopjes bezighouden. Maar ook hij blijft niet bespaard. ‘Wat een sukkel,’ roept zijn chef door de microfoon als meneer de DJ per ongeluk een verkeerd knopje heeft ingedrukt. Het publiek lacht luidkeels. De chef playbackte ineens een liedje zonder muziek. Een herhalende blunder die meneer DJ de week ervoor ook al beging. Het is niet makkelijk, het leven van een animateur…

Unfortunately I have no time to update my blog with stories about my last trip to Tunisia. All I can leave here for now, is a poem (in Dutch) that I (and partially Eva) wrote during the trip. The surroundings there made me become a bit poetic. The poem tells about one of Tunisia’s desert flowers..

Woestijnbloem (Desert Flower)

Als een woestijnbloem (Like a desert flower)

Die geplukt moet worden (That has to be picked)

Als een donkere diamant (Like a dark diamond)

Die schittert in de lentezon (That shines in the spring sun)

Glanzend haar, pikzwart als de nacht (Shiny hair, pitch-black like the night)

Een huid zacht als zijde en bruin als chocola (A skin soft like silk and brown like chocolate)

Zijn glimlach is als een ster (His smile is like a star)

Zijn huis is de eenzame woestijn (His home is the lonely desert)

Daar wacht hij, deze jonge bloem (There he waits, this young flower)

Om geplukt te worden (To be picked)

De woestijn zal hem missen (The desert will miss him)

Als hij haar verlaat (When he leaves her)

Om elders verder te schitteren (In order to shine further elsewhere)

By: Szilvi and Eva (Aicha and Haifa)

Djerba, 25 March 2008

“I strongly believe that the Malay-speaking Muslims will lead the revival of Islam in the 21^st century. I am serious. You will lead the revival. There are 3 reasons. First, the Malay-speaking Muslims have become the majority of the Muslim world, and you are the only Muslim people to remain united. We Pakistanis failed to do that. The Arabic world is divided into 15 states. You have only Sunnis, no Shias. Second, you have a Muslim organization, Muhammadiyah, with the slogan, Koran and Sunna. Third, the position of women in Indonesia is just as at the time of the prophet, according to the true teaching of Islam.”

This is what the Pakistani Fazel ur Rahman said to Imaduddin, an alim (Islamic teacher) from Sumatra, as stated in Naipaul’s work  Among the Believers (1981). I bring this quote up because there is an interesting Islamic development going on in Malaysia. The “Islam Hadhari” approach of the government has supporters as well as opponents, but no matter whether the approach will be a success or not, and no matter whether it represents the true teachings of Islam or not, it does have a revolutionary character. This is especially so because the government’s aim here is to “empower the Muslim ummah (community) in Malaysia to be the forerunners of a new civilisation that later can guide the society and bring about a progressive and holistic change.”

  A lot of attention is paid to economical growth, and also to an active role of women. The latter one concerned, I think the situation of women here is already very good. As far as I can see, they are hard workers. There is a stereotype about Malay people, that they are extremely lazy. But, as some people say, that is only the men. The women aren’t. That is also what one of my friends told me when I asked him why I hardly see any women in the clubs. “Because they have jobs. They can’t afford it to go out because they have to get up early for work.” Interesting.

It reminds me of Tunisia actually. The Tunisian women are also hard workers. And they are to be found in any kind of working field: there are many female cobs, chefs of companies and institutes (such as my Bourguiba Institute), etc. The only difference between these two countries is that most Tunisian women aren’t wearing head scarves, and practically all Malay woman are. (I am talking now about the northern part of Tunisia by the way, and Tunis the capital in specific, cause the situation in the south is quite different). But when it comes to emancipation that does not make any difference in my opinion. There are people in the Western world who think that women wearing scarves are not emancipated, or not free, but if they would travel to this country, they would see that in fact it is the opposite. 

Talking about emancipation, let’s talk about animals’ in Malaysia. Cause I was rather surprised when I saw that people do care about animals here (in Indonesia I experienced the opposite). For example, there is a 5 start pet-hotel. Wow, in Holland we do not even have that! And in my street, Bukit Bintang, there is a man to be found who has adopted 124 cats, and gives them shelter in his house. Every day he spents a few hours in Bukit Bintang with some of the cats, who are sitting on a motor (not really sitting, it is more like sleeping). I was so happy and amazed to see the good work of this man, that I gave him a 100 ringgit. (I usually only give 1 ringgit to beggars on the street). Let’s hope that in the future, he will be able to save even more abandoned cats.

In between the hard working, there was also some time to have fun. On Wednesday night me and Marjolein went to an Indian Hindu festival at the Batu caves. It was full of excited Indians, and sometimes a lost Malay or some lost Dutch people, but no Chinese. As my Chinese receptionist said: “Don’t go there. It is verrrryyyyy noisy there.” Yes, noisy it was. But it was fun too. We climbed the (many) staires on the caves. I walked very slowly and carefully since I was dizzy. And that caused many laughing Indians. Apparently it looked strange.

The next evening we watched "Sepet":  the Yasmin Ahmad movie that preceeds "Gubra". On Friday evening we went to Kuala Selangor. It is a place which is famous for its special fire flies. At no other place are there fire flies such as these… they shine beautifully and it cannot be compared to anything else. It was way more far than we thought. It appeared to be 2 hours (but let me add that there was a long trafic jam). But it was worth it. We went on a little boat and admired the fire flies. Looking at some things floating in the water, I could not see what it was, I wondered whether there were crocodiles in that river. The boat man said there were not any, but I was not too convinced.

When we got out of the boat, we passed a table with souvenirs. Well, that brought us a good laugh. Man… those souvenirs were so funny because they were so stupid! Toys in the shape of fire flies.. it was too hilarious! The workers there did not seem to agree on that. While we could not stop laughing for minutes, they looked angrily at us, and surprised, as if we were aliens. It was fun.
   

And then there was the day that this trip had come to an end. Looking back at it, I feel happy and satisfied with the things I have experienced here. Every trip is a story, and every story is unique.

I would like to thank everyone who helped me with my research. I know it is only a small research, but yet it is important for me. And besides, I think in order to reach something big, you need to start with something small.

I look at the 452-meter-high Petronas Twin Towers, the jewels of KL, and I remember the first time when I saw them, almost 5 weeks ago. 5 weeks seems nothing, but it feels as if it was more than that. Maybe because I’ve done a lot of things within those 5 weeks.

I do not say goodbye to the Towers. Because I know that I will return.. Some day..

And here I am again, in the Netherlands. On Sunday morning at 7.00 I am welcomed by Eva and by the fresh Dutch air (and by a 130 euro phone bill. I did buy a Malaysian and Indonesian sim card, but before I bought them and when there was no credit on them I used the Dutch one.. which I will never do anymore), and for a moment I appreciate the cold Dutch winter temperature.

We miss the train on the way home from the airport. The next one goes 30 minutes later, because it is Sunday. I sigh. Why is the Dutch public transport not as good as the Malaysian one. There I never had to wait for more than 5 minutes for the Monorail or LRT, whatever day or time it was.. and all the trains were air-conditioned, and when you travel by Monorail you don’t have to bring your discman or mp3, because they play cd’s there all the time. Oh well, every country has its own lackings and virtues.

As I announced in my last post, the days of hard working were about to arrive. It’s not that I did not do anything for my research before that, but let’s say that I wasnt very lucky. It’s just not that easy to make appointments with organisations here. That’s why I decided that it is way better to just go to their office instead of calling them every day. To show them that I’m serious about this and that they don’t get rid of me that easily. I would have succeeded in doing so with the ministery of Islamic development if I would have had their correct address. Somehow I ended up in the ministery of trade.. It would not have been that bad if the weather would have been nice. Suddenly Eva and me were striken by tropical rain. My shoes were so wet that it took 3 days before they were dry again, and up till today they still smell like rain.

That is basically what I had been doing so far. I started to feel a bit nervous about the progress of my research.. I had only 10 days left. And that night I was invited to go clubbing with the Saudi’s. And I was introduced into a whole new world: KL’s night life. Now this was some experience. Mainly because I thought that going out in KL would be boring. And moreover was it some experience because I was with a group of "crazy" Saudi’s. Wow, these people are amazing. They sure know how to have fun. They were completely going wild. When they are dancing it is actually quite dangerous to stand next to them, because they dont just dance.. they jump all around. Even more surprising was the hours before we went clubbing. We met at Bukit Bintang in front of the KFC and suddenly a lot of Arabs were appearing. They came from various corners and streets. And that was the beginning of a 3-hour discussion. Because that is what Arabs are very good at: discussing. After having greeted each other (including many kisses and hugs), they bring up their plans.. but the problem is that everyone has a different plan. Sometimes they share the same plan, but in a different sequence. So each will defend his plan and eventually they come to an agreement (or they don’t).

Since some of the guys knew that it would take a long time before they would have made a decision, they decided to go to the doctor. Not only out of boredom though; one of them was a bit ill and he wanted to skip classes for the coming days.. and what he needed for that was a letter from the doctor. It happened to be the same doctor that Marjolein went to. I warned the guys for the risk of getting more ill, but they didnt seem so convinced. In the meantime I got more and more convinced that this doctor is an amateur. He told the “patient”: "I can see from your eyes that you suffer from astma." The boy, who does not suffer from this decease and never has, confirmed that the doctor was right, and so he got an injection in his arm and an inhaler from the worried doctor.

It was a fun but long night, and I felt rather hangovered the next day, but .. contradictory to what I planned… that evening I was to be found in a club again. And that caused some trouble the next morning. I did not hear my alarm and woke up late while I had an appointment with a teacher from the International Islamic University early in the morning. I went to the university anyway and I’m glad that I did, because I met some very nice Malay students (such as the pencak silat girls, and 1 pencak silat boy. Wow those girls are good! I saw their demonstration on video.. they may look innocent wearing their head scarves and long gowns, but do not try to harm them, because their fighting skills are not to be underestimated!) with whom I had interesting conversations, also related to my research topic.

I have just 1 word for the weekend that followed: fun! My friend Adrianne visited me from Singapore, and our days were filled with many activities. On Saturday the Saudi’s took us to Cyberjaya: a high-tech (but very environmental friendly) city just outside KL. We enjoyed a nice Arab dinner there and smoked shisha.

“We are missing someone,” one of the guys said. His friends immediately knew whom he meant. It was Mary, their young doggie. Usually she joins them, but this time she was at home, being looked after by their housemates. All of the boys are crazy about her. They really see her as part of the family. Can you imagine.. 10 Arabs and a puppy? Mary must be a happy dog..

After the dinner we moved on to Putrajaya: the governmental city. It is as if nobody lives there; it looks so deserted and quiet. Although it was not that quiet anymore once we arrived. We stopped at a big bridge, which kind of looks like the famous bridge in Rotterdam. And soon the place where we parked the car started to look like a club.. an outdoor club. Especially when they turned on the music and everyone was dancing. From breakdance, to Hadhrami dance, to belly dance. The boys were experienced dancers and had thought about everything too. They brought their own bar, with cocktails and even ice cubes in it.

When we had walked down to the River side, one of the guys, Atif, scared the hell out of us. He suddenly climed the high bridge, a very dangerous thing to do. We all screamed at him: “Atif! Come back!” But nothing could stop him. Things got even more out of hand when his friend Sami followed him. We were relieved when both of them were back on the ground again, without any injuries.

We ended the night (or began the morning) with watching “Gubra”, the movie that I research about. For two hours we stared non-stop at the screen, full of excitement. It really is a very unique movie.

Sunday was another wonderful day. Adrianne and me were invited by my friend to join the “futsal” (indoor football) training of JFC (Jamaah Football Club): the Arab-Indonesian football club. I played for 1,5 hour and I realised that I missed this so much. I havent been doing sports since last June. I almost forgot what a wonderful activity it is and how much energy it can give you afterwards.

Starting from Sunday evening I changed a lot. It suddenly struck my mind that the university covers a part of the costs for this trip. And what do I use their money for? Hanging out, smoking shisha, clubbing, playing futsal.. What if my research failed? What if I went back home with empty hands?

No! I could not let that happen! From now on I would do anything in order to succeed. No more wasting time. And so I found my way (after getting lost many times) to all kind of deserted places where Islamic organisations were located. Sometimes with success and sometimes not (but I think even the times without success were still useful; who knows I might have to go to these places again for work in the future, and then at least I know how to get there. And besides that it was just fun to travel through the city, walk around and discover things,, although it wasnt always without dangers. Especially that time when I took a taxi to Pusat Bandar Melawati to visit Jemaah Islamiyyah Malaysia and my taxi driver was a not entirely normal Indonesian, who drove like a crazy. First I thought it was only me but then some other drivers on the road started to express irritations towards him, and then I saw the broken mirror at the left side of the car. When I asked what happened he said it was because of an accident. As soon as I saw a public place I told him I would stop here first, to ‘look around’ I told him… and what a coincidence.. it happened to be Pusat Bandar Melawati! So if I wouldnt have told him to stop he would have driven too far).

And I kept on visiting the office of PAS (Parti Islam Se-Malaysia): the opposition party (Actually I did not mind going there, because it is located in my lovely ghetto: Chow Kit). Every time they said that the respresentative that I could talk to was in a meeting, and his agenda was full for the rest of the day. It was only after the 4th time that I went there, that they called me and told me the good news that I had an appointment with the man on Thursday.

The interview with this man was very useful for my research. He was a nice person too. He allowed me to record everything on video camera, so I did not have to make any notes. But… - the readers who read about my previous trips may not be surprised to hear this – when I wanted to view the recordings back in the hotel, there was nothing there. The camera let me down again. No matter what I try. I just can’t count on it. Well, I can say that this camera has really traumatised me by now and if I would not have been able to control myself I would have thrown it out of the window. The beautiful and meaningful sentences spoken out by the PAS representative were gone… I did not write anything down. All I can hope for now is that he can still write me the important things through e-mail.

The next day a similar thing happened when I interviewed someone at the university from another Islamic organisation. Actually this time the recordings worked out, but when I recorded another minute later on, everything was gone again. I have no idea what happened. Thank god this time I did write down some notes during the interview.

I was more lucky on the other days, when I went to Putrajaya; the governmental city. This time I didnt go there to party. Instead I went to the Ministery of Islamic Progress. The people there were very helpful and gave me books and brochures. I also went to an Islamic book store where I bought a large number of books (some of them written by the PAS person I spoke to) and political (alternative) news papers. I was kind of shocked when I arrived at that store and it appeared to be closed, while according to the schedule it should have been open. However, the man sitting next to it told me that probably they had a lunch break. A lunch break…?? While the store should be open?? And not even a note to inform people that the store would be open soon again?? (I was not the only disappointed visitor by the way, but I was the only one who kept on waiting). I waited… and I waited… and after 40 minutes… finally.. there she was, the sales woman. I can’t express the relief that I felt at that moment; it was overwhelming.

Besides this useful visit, I went to the university again a few times, where I met nice and interesting people again, and I had another meeting with the “Gubra” producer who introduced me to an Islamic teacher who knows a lot about the recent developments.

Those days, the receptionists in my hotel must have thought that I was leading a double life. When I was going to an Islamic organisation or to the university, I was dressed as a Muslimah, complete with a head scarf and all. I had bought one because I was convinced that people at the organisations would take me more seriously, so it was for the sake of my research. But when I was wearing it, it felt actually very exciting. I love to do extreme things when I am on holiday, and this was something quite extreme for me. I wanted to know what it feels like, and it appeared to feel good. Since basically all Malay girls wear it, I see it as a matter of integration. I’m integrating into Malay society. If I’d be given an integration exam, I think I would pass. Or maybe not. Because I’m not really good at putting the scarf in the correct way, so it was often falling down my head, and I was trying to put it in the right way all the time, which must have looked a bit weird. And I also had to get used to not shaking hands with men. Moreover because all Muslim men that I know do shake hands with women, but most men that belong to the movements that I’ve visited here do not. Anyway, it must have been confusing for people to see me dressing Islamically the one day, and wearing a t-shirt the next day. So it was for Marjolein, when last Wednesday she dropped by in my hotel to check if I was there. I was just stepping into the lift. I turned around and I saw that Marjolein was next to me.

“Hey!” We were both surprised. “Oh it is you!” Marjolein said in Dutch. She continued:“Yeah, I was just thinking: that Malay woman is stepping into the lift just the way Sil does.”

I may have to explain that remark. You know, the Malaysian lifts are a bit scary. The doors close very soon, so when you don’t get in quickly enough, you’ll get sqeezed by the doors. That is why me and Eva, and Marjolein also to a certain extend, got a “lift complex” since we came to KL. As soon as the lift opens its doors, we jump in as fast as we can.

Yeah, there are some peculiar problems here that we encounter in the daily life. For example when I was travelling by the LRT, a sort of metro/train, and I was reading the regulations written down on a board. It said that it is not allowed to eat, drink, or to throw something on the floor. The fine will be 500 ringgit (more or less 120 euro). Wow, I thought. That is why it is so clean here. It is good that they have these regulations. At that moment I realised in shock that I was eating nuts just now. In a rush I looked around me whether anyone had seen it, then I put the nuts in my bag. But because I was so nervous, some of the nuts fell down. All that came up in my mind was the 500 ringgit. However, there was no LRT worker to be seen, and I arrived at my destination without being caught.

Another problem is the ringgit coins that I do not always recognise. I should remove the rupiah’s and dinars from my wallet. It happened to me several times already that I gave the wrong coin to people. Such as with this girl that was begging on the street. I accidentally gave her a Tunisian dinar. “This is not ringgit miss,” she said in Malay. “Oh, I’m sorry. Here you go,” I said while I gave her a new coin. “No miss, this is not ringgit either.” The girl was laughing while she gave the Indonesian rupiah coin back to me. I gave her another coin, the right one this time. I walked on and I thought: I should have told her that a dinar is more valuable than a ringgit.

It still surprises me again and again how different Malaysia is from Indonesia, while the two countries could have been one and the same country. It is just two complete different worlds. First of all the friendliness of the people: in Indonesia, wherever you go, you are welcomed with a smile and kind words. In Malaysia however, people are stiff and unfriendly. This is a generalisation of course. I did meet very nice Malaysians as well. However, no matter whether they are of Malay, Chinese, or Indian descent, most of the people that I encounter here in KL have an expression on their face as if they have just eaten something bitter… or a too sour lemon. This also appears when you speak in Malay to them. Many of them just reply in English. Or is it because of my accent? The kind people often ask me whether I come from Indonesia. Since Malaysians in general are not so fond of Indonesians, they might just feel offended when someone speaks in Indonesian to them. Apart from that, i have difficulties in understanding their accent too. Even when they speak in English..they swallow the words, so it is hard to follow what they are saying. In short, Indonesia is a much better place for using the language (but let me add that it is also a matter of standing up for yourself and being determined. My friend Adrianne told me I had to keep on talking in Malay even when they talked in English. So I tried that in the last week and it did really work most of the time!). I was actually amazed when a few weeks ago me and Eva were in Indonesia.. basically everyone replied me in Indonesian and they were not surprised at all when I spoke their language. It was the most normal thing in the world. Many people even began to speak in Indonesian when I had not said a word yet, and even to Eva (who knows only a few words in Indonesian). So that was very pleasant. Another pleasant thing about Indonesia is the food. I wonder why Indonesian immigrants do not introduce their delicious meals here in Malaysia. I’m sure they would make a fortune. Because the Malaysian food is just so tasteless. The only good meals that I have eaten here are the meals in Arab restaurants (luckily there are a lot of them), Indian restaurants, and the hamburger-without-hamburger-but-with-french-fries that I bought at the MacDonalds.

Yet I do not want to complain; Malaysia has many other nice things to offer and I felt truly happy to return to KL on the 9th of January. Just to walk in the always cheerful street where my hotel is located (we moved from our lovely ghetto Chow Kit to the place where we spent New Year’s Eve, but we still go to Chow Kit almost every day cause we miss it so much): Bukit Bintang. Just to eat and drink in our familiar "First Cup Cafe", and to hear the funny Chinese music that they play all day and every day in the shop next to it (I bought the cd, although I’ve never been fond of Chinese music, but this band is just awesome!!). Just to have a chat with the cafe’s friendly waiters (yes, these people were actually smiling). Or just to laugh because one of the waiters is very clumsy and he makes a mistake every time. I usually order an omelette without beans but with tomato. Whenever he does not forget the tomato, he forgets that it is without beans, and the other way around. And when I order a cola, I get a sort of energy drink instead. But nowadays I never ask him to replace it, because I’m already used to it. And the important thing is that his intention is good. (Besides, I remember the time when I was a waiter myself. I was probably even clumsier than him.) I prefer to be served by a clumsy waiter rather than by an unfriendly one.

So, to get back at what I’ve just been writing, there are a lot of differences between Indonesia and Malaysia. But let’s have a look at the similarities too. There is one big similarity and that is the noise. Back in Malang and Surabaya we were woken up by the call for the morning prayers (but I have to admit that I like that noise, it sounds so beautiful). One time it lasted for hours and hours, from the morning until the late afternoon. I don’t know why the muezzin did not stop.. and how come his voice did not break down or anything. Anyway, in the Bukit Bintang street it is the music that keeps me awake until the early morning. I happen to live in the most noisy street of KL. And people love to hear extremely loud music here. Walking through the mall is like being in a night club. You have to scream in order to understand each other.

The first week being back in Malaysia was a bit different from what we expected. My aunt Marjolein, who arrived in KL on the 8th, was suffering from the flu. Because she did not want to spend her holiday in bed, she went to a doctor to buy some strong medicines, so she would recover fast. At least, that is what she was hoping. The opposite came true; the medicines, that were indeed strong, made her more ill than before. And so she did spent the whole week in bed, something we all deeply regretted but could not do anything about it. In the weekend, when she felt a bit better, she decided to recover in Port Dickson, a quiet town at the sea side. We joined her on the first day. It was rather a shock to go from crowded KL to a deserted place such as Port Dickson. Though the air was nice and clean (unlike the polluted KL-air), and walking through a natural place (the beach) was something we had not done yet during this trip.  But the peaceful walk was soon to be stopped, when we heard a sound that resembled thunder. At first Eva was convinced that it was not thunder, because the sun was shining and we did no see any lightning too. "Well, what is it then? An earth quake under the sea that will cause a tsunami?" I suggested. "If that is the case then we are not at a convenient place right now." I looked around. "Oh look, there is a high hotel there. No need to worry if the tsunami may come, we can just flee to the hotel." We decided not to take any risk though and walked back to Marjolein’s hotel. It was a traditional Malay hotel. All the guests were Malay. No Chinese, no Indians, no Western people. Probably Marjolein was the first Western person who ever stayed there. Luckily she had no boyfriend to bring with her, cause the hotel does not allow unmarried couples to stay in one room together.

Even the meals were Malay. And as I wrote before, Malay food is not something to be crazy about. Especially not when you are vegetarian. All I could eat there was rice and fruit. That reminded me of the Chinese wedding I went to in Malang. When I thought I had finally found a vegetarian dish there, the sauce appeared to be made out of meat. Talking about that wedding, it was an interesting thing to see, although I’m sure it was not representative for an Indonesian (or Chinese-Indonesian) wedding. It was more like a Western one (for as far as I can judge that, because I have never been to a Dutch wedding, only to a Hungarian, Turkish, and Tunisian one). With a few exeptions. The most peculiar thing according to me was that nobody was dancing. We asked one of our friends (a Chinese) about this and he said that Chinese people do not dance at weddings because they are not good at dancing. The other special thing about this wedding was that the couple had bribed some celebrities and made them attend the wedding.

It was only a day before Eva left home that she received an offer that she could not refuse. A Lebanese business man who stayed in our hotel was still looking for an agent who could represent his marble and toilet paper company in Europe. The funny thing is that a few days before, Eva told me that she was planning to start up a business. "If I’d have my own business I could travel a lot," she said. She was right about that. Besides, it’s not a bad idea to try out something new if you’ve been working at the same place for more than 30 years. But.. let’s not take this too seriously, so far I have the impression that it is an extra job rather than the start of a new career.

She was actually asked to join him to Indonesia in order to learn about how to do business. But unfortunately, she had to go back to the Netherlands the next day. And at that day my opinion on the Malaysian public transport started to change a bit. The bus to Singapore did not show up. Lots of panic… until it appeared that it left from another place. But then it still took 20 minutes before it came..and another 15 minutes before it left. The bus driver thought that he was missing two passengers, but according to Eva the only thing that he was missing was his brain.

So there was a lot of delay. But if only the bus would have had 5 more minutes of delay, our new friend Munir, whom we met the day before, still could have said goodbye. I was already in a taxi, heading back to my hotel, when he told me he was on the way to the bus station. Quickly I stepped out of the taxi and ran back to the bus, which I entered while I told Eva about it. But that was just the very moment that the bus was leaving. And the driver was not too happy that I was creating a worse delay. So I rushed out of the bus and made another effort to go home. And on my way home I realised that another period of my trip had come. No more fun, no more lazyness, but hard working instead. Or not?  …

It was cold in Surabaya that night.The cool breeze made the air even colder, but it was pleasant. A few hours before it had been raining heavily, which had resulted into wet and muddy streets. We only realised how muddy it was when we arrived at the vegetable market and walked around. Our shoes and pants were covered with mud. I wondered why the market was still so crowded, at 00.00 in the night. The market was full of people and "becaks" (bicycle-taxi’s). The becaks seemed to be in a hurry. One of them even drove on my foot when I was accidentally walking in front of him. Our new friends (the parents of my friend Ayu) told us that this market would last until 6.00 in the morning. Since the vegetables are very cheap, grocery stores buy their things here, and they do this in the night, so they will have fresh vegetables in the morning.

The last times when I was in this big city, I had not seen anything else but shopping malls and I really had enough of that. That is why I promised myself to see something more interesting this time. And luckily Mr. Ghozali and his wife understood exacxtly what I wanted to see. Hardly ever before had I met such nice and enthusiastic people as them. They really tried to make our stay in Surabaya as nice as possible. Their driver would devote the next day to us and take us to any place we wanted to go. And that is how the next day, we explored the "Kampung Arab", also known as Sasak. I really wanted to go there, because last year I had written my thesis about the Arab community in Indonesia. I also mentioned Sasak in my thesis, so it would be stupid not to go there while I was only several kilometres away from it.

Sasak is a special place. There is one main street, a narrow alley, which leads to the grave of one of the "Sunans": the spreaders of Islam in Indonesia. In that main road there are many small shops where you can buy traditional things, including Arab food, clothes, music, etc. The only surprising thing was that almost all people that we saw were Indonesians, not Arabs. Or maybe the Arabs here are so mixed with the locals that they look like them. Such as one of the shop owners that I talked to, who spoke Arabic fluently because he had studied in Saudi. Besides him, we met many other friendly people. People who wanted to take photo’s with us, and people who showed us the grave of the Sunan and then invited us to their homes. Yes, I can say we felt very welcomed there. And it made us become curious about the other "Kampung Arab" near Surabaya: Gresik. However, when we arrived in Gresik there was almost nobody on the street. It looked very different from Sasak. It looked a bit boring actually, but probably that was because we did not really walk around and just saw a small part of the town. We did visit the grave of another Sunan, which was very interesting and beautiful.

After this short stay in Surabaya, we moved on to Malang. Mr. Ghozali and his driver were so nice to take us there by car. On the way there we passed the hot mud-disaster, which killed a lot of people and destroyed many houses 1 year ago. The hot mud keeps on coming out of the earth, frightening the inhabitants of Porong, the village that is located around it. There was a dam builed around the place of the disaster, but would this dam be strong enough to prevent another mud explotion?

Me and Mr. Ghozali wanted to have a better look at the mud. People with motor cycles took us there, while the others prefered to stay on a safe distance. The nearer we came to the mud, the more I could sense the gas that came from it. It looked scary. Roofs of houses were still visible, the rest of the houses were under the mud. The thought of a new explotion scared me, and I was glad when we were back at the beginning of the dam. The next day we read in the news paper that at 9.30 pm, around 5 hours after we were there, the mud had broken the dam. Another chaos came up in Porok. People screamed, people fled. But fortunately nobody died.

The days in Malang were beautiful and we wished we could have stayed longer. This city is so different from most big Indonesian cities. The climate is colder, the city looks more nice, friendly, and it is surrounded by mountains. We spent a lot of nice times with Tante Inna and Ella. We ate delicous "tahu lontong": the meal that I missed so much! And Eva finally understood why I had been talking about that meal all the time, because it was amazing. Yes, Malang was great.. We went to a beautiful park with our new friend Jihan. We went up to the mountains and enjoyed the green and the wonderful view over the city. And Tante Inna’s friendly new servant Yunni was always there for us. We are already looking forward to the next visit and we left their place with wet eyes.

However, those days were not without stress. As our next destinations would be Yogyakarta and Jakarta, we bought train tickets to those cities. After buying the tickets, we heard from my friend Cherie that it would be dangerous to travel by train because of the bad weather. Indeed the Island of Java was suffering at all kinds of different places from floods and twisters. Even Yogya and Surabaya were hit by twisters that destroyed parts of the cities. Whenever we watched the news, all we saw was disasters. The long train trip would be dangerous, especially because the Indonesian trains are said to be not that safe. But what should we do then? Cancel the trips to Yogya and Jakarta? Not meeting our friends there? Not seeing all those nice places in Yogya? Not tasting Ibu Yuli’s perfect and delicious vegetarian cookings?? The last thing I would really regret. I don’t know what makes the difference with other meals, but she is the best cook ever! But unfortunately, we had little choice. We did not want to take the risk of getting involved into another disaster. The trips were long; many things could happen. So we were stuck in Malang. Surrounded by floods, twisters, and hot mud.

We decided to return to Surabaya by " travel" (a sort of bus/car) and try to get a ticket from there to either Singapore or KL. Luckily in Surabaya we had our friend Dewi who assisted us in arranging things. But Singapore airlines had no tickets available for the following days. And so we ended up at Air Asia, buying a ticket to Jakarta. Actually we were afraid to take local planes, because all of Indonesia’s airline companies are on the black list. But then we heard that Air Asia is a Malaysian company, so it would be safe. We were happy to go to Jakarta anyway, but disappointed that we could not go to Yogya. I felt very stupid when I realised that we just could have gone by "travel" to Yogya, instead of by train, but there was nothing i could do about it. It was too late. Anyway, I spent the rest of the day in Tunjungan PLaza in "Telkom" (while Eva and Dewi were shopping): a cafe where you can use internet on your laptop for free. This was not exactly relaxing. My laptop had all kinds of technical problems and after 2 hours of trying to fix it, I had enough of it. Sigh.. technical stuff.. I can’t live with it, and neither can I live without it..

At Juanda Airport (Surabaya) we were a little shocked to see that this Air Asia that we would be flying with was called "Air Asia Indonesia". Would it be an Indonesian airline company after all? And if that was the case, would it be safe?

Another scary moment happened when at the waiting gate, a few people who were sitting next to us went away and left their bags at the chairs. Who, for god’s sake, leaves his/her bags alone! In Indonesia! Would there be a bomb in the bags?? Quickly we moved to other chairs, more far away from the scary bags. A few minutes later the owners of the bags returned. They looked like innocent girls. We laughed at ourselves… maybe we are too paranoied.

And then we landed in Jakarta. Thank god, I thought. We are safe. But maybe I was judging too soon. It took a long time that the plane just stood still and nothing happened. The doors did not open. The motor did not stop. Suddenly the lights went off. Besides the sound of the motor, it was totally quiet. All the people were looking at the front door. Their faces looked afraid. I asked a man what was going on. He just looked at me with his scared eyes and did not answer. It felt like 15 minutes, but it could have been just 5 minutes. Then finally the lights went on and the doors opened. I sighed. Again we were safe. 

In Jakarta we had another nice day, this time with my best friend Cherie. And because from my teacher in Holland I heard that Jakarta actually has interesting monuments, such as Monas, I was determined to see it this time. My image about Jakarta was restricted to shopping malls and trafic jams, because that was all I had seen from it before. And it was time to change that image. Well, that succeeded. I do not dislike Jakarta anymore. And of course I had such a nice time again with Cherie, laughing about old memories that we share, and updating each other about our new lives. Her step mother and half sister also contributed to our pleasant stay. I was so impressed by that smart 9-year old girl who speaks perfectly English. We had fun with her too, especially when Eva asked her a weird question: "Do you like the boys in your class?" I don’t know how she can ask a question like that to a 9-year old! But it was fun.

The guest-house where we stayed in Karawaci (Jakarta) is also worth to be mentioned. It was more like a multi-functional building, such as many buildings in Indonesia (some buildings function as a mall, hotel, appartments, and offices at the same time). There were only a few guest rooms (really big and luxurious ones, not like what we are used to in KL). The most remarkable thing however, was that on the opposite of our room there was a radio station. So whenever we left or came to the room we saw the dj’s broadcasting their show.

The one thing that I do not like about those days in Indonesia, is that we have been in a car most of the time. Indonesians do not like to walk and they always go everywhere by car. But when I cannot put my feet on the soil, when i cannot walk around for a while, look around me, and enjoy the environment, then I don’t feel as if I have been really there.

And another thing: when you order a drink in Indonesia, the waiters always put sugar and ice cubes in it, which makes the drink so sweet that when you take a sip, you just want to drink a lot of water to get rid of that over-sweet taste. And the ice cubes make your stomach hurt, especially when they are made of tap water. Oh and never eat any salad in Indonesia. We ate vegetarian kebab with salad and it leaded to a 2-day severe stomach ache and diarrhea.

But besides those inconveniences, Indonesia is a lovely place and we can’t wait to go back again. Even Eva, who said convincingly when we were stuck in Malang and didn’t know where to go: "I will never go to Indonesia again!", changed her mind soon and in the bus from Singapore to KL she already began to make plans for the next trip to Indonesia.   

It was 24 December 2007 when I was on my way to the airport again. But this time it was not Tunisia that was the destination. It was Southeast Asia. This was the 3rd time for me to travel to Southeast Asia but the first time that I did not go alone. Yes, I had someone to accompany me on this holiday. Oh sorry, I meant study trip, not holiday. The one to accompany me was my mother. Oh no, I’m sorry, I meant my assistant: Eva.

Everything went fine until we checked in our luggage. "I’m so sorry," the girl behind the counter said with a pessimistic expression on her face. Oh no, we thought. What is going on this time? Would the plane be full? Actually we were not surprised because usually some problem happens when we are traveling. The girl continued: "I cant give you 2 seats next to each other.You have to sit apart."
We almost jumped into the air when we heard this good news. Thank god, no problems. We were really going to Southeast Asia.
During the flight I tried to prepare my research that I was going to carry out in Malaysia. However, every time I tried to read, I was bothered by a Chinese lady who sat next to me. I have no idea what she was talking about, because her accent made the Dutch language that she used sound like Chinese. So I just said "oh" and "yes" all the time to make her believe that I was actually listening.
After 12 hours we arrived in Singapore. The plan was to make a city tour and then go straight to Kuala Lumpur, alias KL. But… that plan was going to be canceled. It was Christmas Day, and very crowded everywhere because of that. We were told that probably all the tickets to KL were sold out. We could try to buy one but we had to go to the bus station as soon as possible. So we did. And when we arrived there, we saw that it was true. Everything was sold out. We went from the one bus ticket shop to the other one, and we heard the same answer all the time: "Sorry, sold out. The next one goes tomorrow morning." Damn it, we thought. Would we have to stay in Singapore for 1 whole day with our heavy suitcases, without having slept for the last 24 hours? Without having a hotel or a place to drop our luggage? "Let’s just buy a ticket for tomorrow," Eva said. "What if those are sold out soon too?"
"No," I said. "We have to keep on trying. There might just be a few tickets somewhere." And yes.. in the 5th shop we were lucky. 2 tickets were still available. The bus left half an hour later, so we had no time for the city tour. We did not really regret that though, because in fact Singapore did not look very exciting. It looked like a typical business city, but it looked also too sterile, too neat, too perfect.. And so we left for KL..

Immediately after having crossed the Malaysian boarder, I noticed that it is so different from Indonesia. The infrastructure is good, and there is a lot of green everywhere. It is clean and things are arranged in a good way. It also seems that the Malay Muslims in general are more pious than Indonesians. For example, the old Jawi script (Malay language in Arabic letters) is being used again. It is visible on paper money and on shops. Another sign of Malaysia’s piety is that practically all Malay girls wear a veil. Talking about veils, something that surprised me before when I went to Southeast Asia (Indonesia) is that sometimes very young girls, like elementary school kids and even 4 year olds, are already wearing a veil. I have never seen this anywhere else. Not in Holland among the Moroccans and Turkish, not in Tunisia, nowhere.. (in other places the youngest veil-wearing girl that I have seen was like 16 or 17, so that is a big difference) So I’m just wondering how come this is just to be seen in Southeast Asian countries. Well, it looks cute on them though.

One thing that I do not like about Malaysia is that there is a discrimination against pedestrians. Whenever you want to cross the street, it takes ages before the light turns green and sometimes it doesn’t turn green at all. So if you want to buy something in a shop across the street (our hotel is in an area with many shops) it can take like half an hour or more, which is very frustrating. And another thing: the streets are dangerous here. There are so many deep holes in it. You have to keep an eye on the ground while you are walking, or else you might fall into a hole and die. Something which is very inconvenient as well, is the air conditioning. When we left freezing Holland, we were expecting to go to a warm country. And what happens.. we end up in the freezing cold here! It is so cold everywhere inside. In the hotel room, in the KFC, everywhere! If only we brought more warm clothes…

But besides all that, KL is not so miserable. Although we thought differently when we first arrived in the hotel. Our hotel is in the so called "Black Area". It is named like this because a lot of Indonesians live here, and most of them are illegal workers. In fact you could call Chow Kit a "ghetto". But I must say that there is something nice about that. It has a very local atmosphere. Al least you can see the real daily life here, not just the luxuries in other areas. In the hotel we are the only foreigners. When we entered the hotel, we were shocked, as I said before. We were convinced to leave to another hotel as soon as possible. It looked old, dirty, and a bit scary even, like a haunted place. It looked deserted and the breakfast tasted like shit. However, all of this changed very soon when the same evening we met a group of Malaysians who stayed on our floor. We hung out with them and suddenly the hotel did not look deserted anymore. After 1 day even the breakfast tasted nice. And believe it or not, but now we love the hotel! To me it just proves how soon people can get used to things. It is a wise lesson for me: do not judge too soon.

Anyway, that first week in Malaysia was busy. I had to arrange things for my research and it did not always go too well. I found the prime-minister’s phone number on the internet and was planning to interview him (it would be important for my research cause my research is political related), but in fact it is very hard to reach him. I know I sound very naive now, but the reason why I thought it was so easy to contact him, is because I could contact another important person very easily. This person was the producer of "Gubra", the Malaysian  movie that my research is about. This controversial movie, which promotes liberal Islam, has caused protests from the stricter Muslim community. That is why I thought it would be an interesting topic, especially since the government is promoting a certain kind of liberal Islam as well: Islam Hadhari (Civil Islam). Anyway, I called this guy and we had an appointment last Friday. He gave me a lot of useful information about the movie and the upheaval that it caused, and he gave me a free dvd of the movie. The next day me and Eva watched it and we were very impressed by the quality of it. So people, if you haven’t seen this movie, you are really missing something wonderful. We are even considering to tell the Dutch alternative tv channels about this movie, maybe they’d like to broadcast it.

And then it was New Year’s eve. We moved to a hotel in the entertainment area Bukit Bintang, because there would be no taxi’s that night and so it would be difficult to return to Chow Kit.
Well, this New Year’s eve was some experience, I must say. Never before have I seen anything like this. Crazy Chinese, and even crazier Arabs and Malays were "attacking" people with a sort of soap in spray cans.  At first we thought it was weird to do this, and whenever we were offered to buy these spray cans, we refused. Come one, we thought. We are adults, we don’t do that kind of stupid things. However, we soon changed our minds when we were the victims all the time. Seriously, we were completely covered with this soap and I feared that my video camera would be broken because it was wet. People were going crazy really. Malay teenagers were attacking me, kissing me, grabbing my breasts, until I fell down on the ground. People were screaming and some were even fighting. Especially the Arabs seemed to have a lot of fun. And then we decided to fight back. We bought the spray cans and attacked people. See how you can be influenced so much by a certain event and groups of people. While in the beginning we laughed at them, in the end we followed them and became as crazy as them.

We slept 1 hour that night. Then we took the bus again to Singapore, with Surabaya as our next destination..

It is like when you want to quit smoking. You take your last cigarette and you smoke it slowly, trying to enjoy it as much as possible because it is your last one. But then.. while the cigarette is getting smaller and eventually it is finished, you change your mind. It will not be your last one. You go to the nearest shop to buy a new package of cigarettes.            

That is what is happening to us now, not with cigarettes, but with our second home country: Tunisia. Yes, we are addicted. And our addiction is getting worse and worse, there are no boarders. That is why on November 6, 2007, not even 2 months after we got back from our favourite place, we were on the airport, about to go there again. But then something shocking happened, which could make the holiday become canceled.. It was the loss of Eva’s passport. Just when we wanted to check in, she could not find it in her bag. We started to panick. How could this happen?? We had been looking forward so much to this holiday! And where was the passport? At home? Or did she lose it in the taxi? We called Imre, my brother, who was sleeping because it was 3.00 in the night. He said it wasn’t there. I asked Eva: is it not in the front pocket of the bag? She opened it and yes.. there it was. Our holiday was saved!

Old Friends

And so we did arrive in our second home: hotel Sidi Mansour, and we were welcomed by old friends and aquaintances. Crazy Sam from the animation team (who used to be blond and now black with blue), cute Tahar from the Shisha bar (who now moved  from the shisha bar to the restaurant), our ‘enemy’ Fred, the corrupt chef of the animation team, and others (there were even people who knew us, they knew our names and all, but whom we did not recognise). Unfortunately certain people from the team had left, but they had been replaced by other very nice ones. Sousou (funny that a word in the one language means ‘beautiful’ (Arabic) while in the other language (Indonesian) it means ‘tits’), a girl from Tunis who was never tired of giving dancing lessons, Mido, a funny young Tunisian boy who can speak Hungarian (he was swearing in Hungarian all the time), and sweet mysterious Mohammed, a cute boy who always invited Eva to dance and who had such beautiful melancholical eyes which made him look like a cute young doggy. He’s a unique one. One day he asked Eva: "Why does everybody want to get married?" With pleasure she told him that in Holland that is not the case at all. "Some people do not want to get married," she said in French. "Including Szilvia. She never wants to do that." How nice to meet people who share my opinion; it happens rarely. That is why I deeply regret it that one of the last nights, when we would go out with this special boy, some misunderstanding happened which messed it up. We also had a date with Sam and he told us when we were about to go: "We’re still finishing off the work in the hotel, just go to the club already and wait there." We thought that he would come with Mohammed, but obviously we were wrong. Sam went there by himself but could not enter because he forgot to bring his i.d. card, and Mohammed waited for us in the hotel, but of course we did not show up. Maybe it was for the  best, because in the meantime we also had a date with 2 very nice Afro-Tunisians: Kamel and Lofti, whom we had met the night before. And unfortunately in Tunisia it is not common to go out in a group. That is what makes going out there also complicated.

Beautiful boys and ugly idiots

The night before we went out alone, but that was not a great success. Pushy boys, most of them ugly. You need to be very determined if you don’t want them to ruin your night. Basically you can only be successful in that if you are very rude to them and tell them to fuck off. And sometimes even that is not enough. But Eva was lucky. After having danced with two ugly disgusting guys, she was saved by beautiful dark Kamel. One of the ugly guys did not appreciate that very much and pushed the poor boy. Thank god, eventually this idiot gave up.  I was less lucky.  Kamel’s ugly ‘cousin’ (not real cousin, but all the dark African Tunisians call each other ‘cousin’) Mamadou, was following me all the time (too bad pretty Kamel did not save me), just because I danced with him for 5 minutes. He had a very pretty friend though, but the only time when I got the chance to dance with that one was when Mamadou was in the toilet. Friends are very faithful to each other here, unfortunately. However, one thing that does impress me about going out here is the wonderful clubs. Compared to these clubs, the Dutch clubs are just like old farms! Everything is so chique here. The club looks like a restaurant. You can even book a table. In one of the clubs there are also v.i.p. tables and waiters who are dressed very formally. When we traveled to that same club one night, we happened to meet a famous DJ who was about to work in the club that night: Jamal, alias DJ Gambour from Tunis, and his brother Bobo. We took a taxi with them and got to know that Jamal works with famous Dutch DJ’s sometimes, such as Tiesto. Anyway, he may be famous, but we didn’t like the techno music that much, so we soon fled to our familiar club: La Bomba.

Eating chicken

I will end my story about the Tunisian boys now. I dont want to bore you any further by writing about the extremely beautiful waiters or about ugly "Shems" (or well, he was not that ugly, but he was not the prettiest and he was annoying and boring!) who was trying to hit on Eva all the time. Enough about this. It is much nicer to write about the walks that we made. We passed many beaches, fields, and palm trees, and… old acquaintances. Such as when we just left the beach and passed a few guys. We walked further. "Vous etes francaises?" one of them shouted from quite far now.  "Non, nous sommes Hollandais". At that moment all of us noticed that we knew each other already. It was Ali! Our friend from the first time when we visited the island of Djerba. "Hey!! I recognise you!!" Ali said in French. A warm embrace and a cup of coffee followed.

The next day we were hoping on a real walk (a long one) in the mountains of Southern Tunisia. We would combine that with visiting our friends in Mareth. But since we went out the night before, we did not succeed in taking an early bus. We had to take the louage (a sort of taxi-bus) from Houmt Souk. But again it was not our lucky day.
The louage to Mareth would not leave that day. We went to the bus station and we were delighted to see that a bus to Gabes (near to Mareth) was about to leave. We entered. But the bus was too full and we had to leave again. Going back to the louage station, and waiting for another 30 minutes was worth it. A louage to Gabes came eventually. But because it was the end of a holiday, it was very crowded at the ferry and we had to wait for another hour. When we finally arrived in Mareth it was too late to really make a walk in the mountains, unfortunately. However, we did visit the mountains and made a short walk, which was also very beautiful. (And I promised myself that my next holiday will be an arranged walking holiday. I think that would be most suitable for me.)

Besides that, we had a nice time with the family from Mareth. Luckily they were not angry with me for breaking up with their son. At first I was afraid that they did not know about the break-up yet, when I tried on traditional Tunisian clothes and ‘ummi’ said that I would be wearing that on my wedding there. But thank god, the nice lady was just joking! (although she still hopes that one day it will be reality) She is always cheerful and has a good sense of humor. And her cooking skills. Wow.. My daily dreams about home made couscous, mechouia, and brick came true again. Those really became my favourite meals that I can’t get out of my mind. And it was 100% vegetarian. I haven’t seen any meat in the house, not even a little bit. How nice and gentle of them to respect my vegetarianism so much. At least they understand what is vegetarianism, unlike the staff in hotel Sidi Mansour, where they have a ‘vegetarian corner’ which is complete bull shit.

One day I decided to try a dish from the vegetarian corner. I was careful though, because I remember that Marjolein ever found a piece of meat in a ‘vegetarian dish’. So when I saw something in it which looked like fish, I asked the cook whether it was fish indeed. He said it was. So I didn’t eat it and tried out another ‘vegetarian dish’. I asked the cook while I pointed at the dish: "Il y a de possion ou de viande?" "Non," he answered me with a convinced face. "Pas du tout?" I asked. "Non, pas du tout," was the answer. Ok, I was convinced that this was really vegetarian. So I took a bite, I chewed it and swallowed it. Then I noticed that there was something strange about it. It tasted like fish. I looked at my plate. I opened the dish with my fork. No, it wasn’t fish. It was chicken! I could not believe my eyes. My hands started to shake and my heart started to beat very fast. Upset I went to one of the waiters and asked him whether it was really chicken. I wanted to make sure. But somehow my vocabulary in French was messed up, which made me translate chicken with ‘poulons’ instead of the correct translation ‘poulet’. Since both me and the waiter got very confused, I switched to Arabic. "Min fadluk, hal yujad dajaj fihi?"  (please, is there chicken in it?) The waiter and the cook confirmed this. Yes, it was indeed chicken. "Limadha mawjud dajaj fi corner vegetarien?? Ana la a’kulu al-lahm! Wa al’an qad akaltu!!" (Why is there chicken in the vegetarian corner??  I don’t eat meat! And now I’ve already eaten it!!)  I was really angry, but the cook did not seem to feel very guilty. Probably he did not regard chicken as meat. Fine, no problem if they don’t know what is vegetarian and what isn’t, but then don’t create a vegetarian corner!! It is so fake!! I was determined to report this to the hotel chef, but then one of the chefs happened to have seen all of it and came to me. I told him what happened. He asked me if I wanted vegetarian food. I told him that there is plenty of vegetarian food but that the only thing is that they should not put any meat in the vegetarian corner. He understood and deeply apologised. He also told me that I could ask them to make special vegetarian food whenever I wanted. I thanked him. And the next day he kept his promise. When there was fish on the pizza’s, he ordered the cook to make a vegetarian pizza just for me. And with that nice gesture, the hotel has made it up to me again. No hard feelings. I hope they learned from it though.

Sidi Mansour ya baba

No other annoying things happened during the beloved holiday. Ok, besides the temperature which was colder than we expected. It would not have been a problem if we would have brought more warm clothes, but obviously we didn’t. The worse thing was that the heater in the hotel room did not work. Even when I put it on 30 degrees Celcius, it was still freezing cold in the room. And I did not want to wear the same sweater every day. But no problem, we became a bit more warm when there was a dancing party in the hotel, and those were organised a lot. (I must admit that the animation team was not always full of initiatives because there weren’t a lot of guests in the hotel, but whenever Eva stimulated them to dance or to do sports, they became active, even though they had only 1 customer sometimes: Eva) Especially the one on independance day, November 6 and 7 was very nice. The atmosphere was great. Photo’s of president Ben Ali everywhere. Sometimes 100 on 1 building. Long live Tunisia!

Dancing and singing played a major role anyway during this holiday. Tunisian people love to dance and sing, and they prefer to do it the whole day. Even when we entered a taxi and we said we had to go to hotel Sidi Mansour, the taxi driver immediately began to sing: "Sidi Mansour ya baba, wenjeek enzour ya baba!" And we all sang along. "Allah allah ya baba, wa salam alaik ya baba! Sidi Mansour ya baba, wenjeek enzour ya baba!"

The last day was characterised with sadness. Tears had already flown a little bit when we left Mareth, and now the departure became more definite again. We would leave the next morning at 5, therefore we decided not to go out. It would be too tiring. That is also what I said to creapy Fred, when he offered me to go out with him. "Everything will be for free," he said. It was hard to suppress my laughter; the entrance is always for free anyhow. "Maybe" I said, while we were dancing. "I don’t accept maybe," he answered. "It is either yes or no." In that case: no," was my decision. I told him we had to get up early. He laughed. "You’re lieing." He was about to walk away, when he turned to me and with a sarcastic smile on his face he said "I hate you." Then he walked away. "I love you!" Eva teased him by shouting out those words (because he usually says that to her too). Funny Fred. It is never boring when he is around.

A holiday is never without stress..

A few hours later we were at the airport of Djerba. We were about to board the plane. I wanted to show my passport but…. I could not find it anywhere. Oh no, not again! Another passport lost. I searched through my bag. Nowhere. I ran to the places where I had been. Nothing. What would happen? Would I have to stay in Djerba? Actually it would not be so bad. Or yes, it would be bad. It would cost a lot of money and I had responsibilities in Holland! 10 minutes of panick passed. Then they said I could travel without passport, although I might get trouble at the transit in Monastir or at the arrival in Amsterdam. So I boarded the plane. I felt nervous. I switched off my phone. A few seconds later I was wondering where I had put my phone. I searched it. It was nowhere to be found as well! What happened to me? It seemed like everything that I touched, vanished! I noticed that all of the passengers were looking at me. The plane had a delay because of me. I’m not sure if they appreciated that. (Except for 2 very nice ladies, who protested when the pilot wanted to leave without us. Thanks to them we did not miss the flight)
Then after fifteen minutes.. I saw that there was an extra pocket in my camera bag. And my phone was in it! Alhamdullilah! And a few minutes later, Eva remarked that my jacket was broken. There was a hole in the pocket. All of the sudden I realised that my passport could be in there! I put my hand in the broken pocket and yes! The passport was actually there!!

Full of relief I put my passport in a more save place, while I was promising to myself that I will sue the pockets of my jacket before I go on my next trip.

Another promise that I made to myself was to return again to this country. Even though I dream about discovering other countries: Morroco, Cuba, Egypt, Yemen, Antarctica.. I want to do that too, absolutely. But I can’t let go yet of Tunisia. I never thought that I would go to the same country so many times. But I suffer from an addiction. Or well, suffer? Maybe I can’t refer to it as ’suffer’. The country may not be so challenging to me anymore, the environment is not new anymore, but the friends, the nice people, the atmosphere, the French and Arabic language, and making memories from the last times revive again, that is worth it. 

Long live Tunisia. Long live its wonderful people. And long live our trips to this special place.