Sharing my afternoon in Lombok – long post to read, should you choose to, at your leisure 🙂.
Yesterday we went to play bingo – which is fun and culturally fascinating – but the 20 or so people there at any one time smoke cigarettes incessantly (and drink palm wine) and today I declined Made’s invitation to go again for the sake of my breath and eyes and lungs. So while he went to have more “funs” and try to win us a small fortune, I went “jalan-jalan”, a long walk up the road from his place. Jalan-jalan (or lampa-lampa in Sasak) means “going out”, or “just walking to so and so’s place” or “cruising around on my motorbike” or “going to the shop”, or any kind of outing whatsoever really. It has taken me some time to get the courage to walk in the area alone. Maybe because I was a bit weak and the anxiety thing still grabs me from time to time. And this island is not like Bali. But also it can be a bit confronting to walk in a strange place in a strange country where every few minutes people ask where are you going, usually in Indonesian or Sasak, and sometimes literally in your face.
In Australia the custom when seeing strangers or acquaintances – one which is completely ingrained in our psyche – is to talk about the weather. How are you – nice day isn’t it? Or geez we need some rain.
It would be considered quite rude and intrusive to ask someone where they are going and where they are from. Here, it is the norm. Everybody, without exception, asks you those two questions. At first I thought it was a question asked of a “bule” or “turis”, but no, I’ve learnt they all ask each other this, all the time. Even if not asked, they will tell you where they are heading as they go past. It is as much a part of their being as eating rice is.
The other issue for me is that there are next to no western people here. I am the only white person I’ve seen (apart from a few whizzing past on motorbikes on the main road from Sengiggi to Mt Rinjani). So people are still curious, fascinated, intrigued. I used to feel like an animal in the zoo the way people would stop and stare at me, wide-eyed and sometimes open mouthed. Still now away from the main drag small toddlers will run away screaming when they see me – particularly if I look at them! At first I was quite upset about this, and offended, but I’ve got used to it now. I asked Made once if I looked like a monster or an alien to them and he just shrugged and grinned and said no, I look like a ghost to them! Hehe, so although in Australia I’m considered suntanned with my olive skin, here I am white as a ghost!
And another thing, apart from walking around the corner or down the street to the temple, or to visit family or the local warung, I’ve learnt that walking for the sake of walking, for its own enjoyment, is completely foreign to them. They just don’t do it, and don’t really get it – reaffirmed to me today by the looks of amazement and outright laughter when I said no I wasn’t lost and no I didn’t need a ride back and that yes, I actually enjoyed walking such a looooong way 🙂. I’m convinced they think I’m quite mad.
And so yes, as usual I was asked by everybody along the road – where was I going.
Luckily, by now, I’ve learnt the way to answer.
Not just verbally. Language isn’t just words. It is also very much non-verbal communication, and the mannerisms and inflections here are quite different to ours. I am learning them and adopting some of them, slowly. Like yelling at someone, which is quite ok to do. It is sort of fun.
The area up the road from Made’s house is quite lovely. It climbs gently uphill, is rural, with rice fields and views to nearby Mt Rinjani, and rivers with coconut, jack fruit, and papaya trees and bamboo. Some of the village houses were quite fancy compared to other areas I’ve been to. I passed schools and a mosque, a Buddhist Sunday School, a Hindu temple, a cemetery.
Everywhere people were sitting on their stoops or berugaks or outside the warungs – calling out to me and smiling.
“Good Morning Mister!!!” some of the teenagers sang out as they passed me on their motorbikes, practising the English they learn at school. It was late afternoon 
😋.
Oh something else struck me today. When I first settled in at Meno Madia I found I could tell just by listening whether someone walking by on the street was a local or a tourist. The locals generally walk more slowly, and they drag their thongs noisily. In fact that used to irk me at first (memories of me saying to Gus, for gods sake pick your feet up)! Hmm, another thing I must have become used to. Today whilst walking I realised that, quite inadvertently, I have perfected the technique 😉. Thinking about it I believe it is because it takes less effort, which is ultra important for the locals, and also it means your toes and ankles are less tense, more relaxed. Your feet splay and it’s like walking in bare feet. Anyway, enough of that trivia.
Here’s a few photos of my long jalan-jalan this afternoon, which I went on courtesy of the volcano still hissing a bit and causing AirAsia to cancel today’s flight to KL for my visa run 
🙁.
Epilogue: In case you were wondering, Made was home before me – “bunkrut” again 😋!
