How do you say "Double Cheeseburger" in Bahasa?

Today I completed my mission as an American in a foreign country.  I went to McDonald's.  But this was unlike any fast food experience I've ever had in the states!  The building was a beautiful two-story, shiny white, mirrored window business.  Instead of a parking lot filled with broken-down Cutlasses, though, there were brand new motorcycles, scooters, and luxury SUVs and a DOORMAN!  As soon as I walked in, I was met by a bright and shiny woman working behind the patisserie counter.  I moved on through the restaurant to the counter, where I ordered a double cheeseburger - get this - a la carte, and the cashier both looked me in the eye and smiled at me.  We're definitely not in Kansas, anymore!

After I ordered my lunch, I took my tray up to the second floor.  There I found an 8-computer wi-fi counter and flat-screen TVs.  Oh, and a smoking section!  So weird.  

Here is a picture of the tray paper:

Notice the big yellow letters at the bottom that promise 24 hour delivery service.  That's right, y'all.  Southeast Asia is fully equipped with McDonald's home delivery.  Taco Bell's 4th Meal campaign is looking pretty silly right about now!  Oh, and here's a picture of the cup lid.  Nothing important, I just thought it looked cool.

I cannot conclude this post without a picture of the totally disturbing mural of Ronald McDonald on the wall.

Arizona, Take a Knee!

If Americans are so concerned about illegal immigration, they should take a lesson from the Indonesian government.  Any time we go anywhere within Indonesia, we have to report to the local organization (which we would probably equate to a neighborhood watch) so that the police know we're there.  If we don't, we could be fined 5 million rupiah or put in jail for a year.  I saw the Bridget Jones movie - ain't no way I'm going to jail!  I'm reporting!

We also have to keep our passport, our visas, our KITAS (which allow us to travel around the country), our work permits, and our Indonesian-issued ID cards with us at all times.  This isn't as much as it sounds because the first three things in that list are all a part of the passport, but if you lose the passport . . . well, you just don't!  Actually, you're allowed to lose your KITAS twice, and then they deport you.  And the immigration officers will do random sweeps, which is a targeted identity and document check at a select location like a hotel, a store, etc.  If you don't have yours with you, you go to jail.  If we don't have ours with us, we call Nellie.  She moves mountains.  It's awesome.

The immigration office has taken up my passport with my hard-earned visa in it in order to give me my KITAS.  That's right, I am officially passport-less.  I have a photocopy, but that isn't like the real thing.  I'll get mine back hopefully by Wednesday, but I already had my visa checked while I was out the other day.  Photocopies make me nervous, but thankfully the policeman accepted it as legitimate.

Real Housewives? Real WHAT?!

Okay, I have an announcement to make. I LIKE TELEVISION! I do! I like TV. And movies and commercials and magazines and brain-killing, ignorance-building, mass-controlling popular culture. I'm fascinated by it. And from this day forward, I am going to own my fascination!

I met a girl the other day, and I asked her if she ever watched the Real Housewives shows on Bravo. Suddenly the conversation, which I thought was going pretty well, was cut short as she quickly and less-than-tactfully bowed out. She didn't really speak to me anymore after that. Was it because I had offended her? Perhaps. But how had I offended her? As I think back over the conversation, I remember that I laughed at her jokes (and it wasn't some stupid pity laugh. They were genuine laughs because she was genuinely funny), I showed interest in her life by asking questions, I didn't interrupt, and I, in turn, gave her cause to laugh. The only reason that I can think of for her sudden and violent disinterest in me is my Real Housewives confession.

Why is it that so many extraordinarily intelligent people of my generation seem to snub their noses at television, and reality television in particular? I've been working in the trenches for the past three years, so maybe my perspective - that if I come home from spending five hours at the hospital with the family of a 4-year-old rape victim and do something that might cause me to think too much about what I had just witnessed, I just might lose my mind - is a little different. Or maybe I'm just meeting the wrong people. But it seems like there exists only an either/or option for people of all intellects. I can either read, or I can watch TV. But if I do watch TV instead of read, it absolutely must only ever be a show on National Geographic, PBS, Discovery, or History. Why can't it be both? I do both. I am currently reading three books: Orlando by Virginia Woolf, The Collected Short Stories of Edgar Allen Poe, and Assassination Vacation by Sarah Vowell. I am also watching many shows. Well, I was before I came to Indonesia. I think it is crucial to maintain a balanced interest in both worlds, especially because I am going to be in a position for the next nine months to really give an in-depth and more accurate picture of America to my students than they might ever encounter again. Hopefully not, but just in case, I feel like I need to make every medium of popular culture available to them. If it turns out that, god forbid, my students watch Jersey Shore (which, for the record, even I cannot bring myself to watch), I need to know how to counteract that swiftly and effectively. When I went to Kenya, the most common questions I got were related to the idea that everyone in America lives like the people on MTV Cribs. Who can blame them for thinking that? That's all they've been exposed to. Likewise, many people I know in America think that a) Africa is a country, not a continent, and b) everyone runs around wearing loin cloths and killing lions. Because that's what we see in America.

As I think about some of these past experiences, I realize now more than ever how valuable this upcoming year will be. One of my favorite things is showing people my own experiences in another culture and watching their expressions as they realize that, in the end, we're all just people. We might dress differently or eat differently or speak differently, but we all smile. And we all laugh. And we all love.

I'm Here

This is for the family members - I'm here. I'm safe. I'm exhausted. I have lots of interesting things to say, but first I'm going to sleep. More to come tomorrow!

Whatever the game is, I lost it!

Despite my best efforts, jet lag got ahold of me and won't let go. So while I sit here in my gorgeous hotel room watching Indonesian television (thanks to globalization, this consists of primarily English-language channels with Indonesian subtitles), I might as well catch up on my blog.

Thanks to facebook, most of my friends and professors have been in touch with my visa woes, but few know the whole story. I arrived in Jakarta this morning - one day after everyone else - because my visa did not arrive in time for my original flight.

So here's what happened:

I waited all summer for the Indonesian government to issue my work permit. Without the permit, I could not apply for a visa. Thankfully, I did not have to actually DO anything to apply. Nellie, the AMINEF coordinator in Indonesia, and the other lovely ladies who work for the organization were the ones who did the paperwork, the haggling, and the legwork. I just sent in info when it was requested - that's clean living, y'all! Because Indonesia has recently tightened it's immigration laws, however, there was a lot more trouble getting all of us our proper documentation than anyone expected. So about three weeks before we were scheduled to leave, twenty ETAs (that's short for English Teaching Assistants, aka the type of Fulbright grant we have) got their paperwork. That's half of us. So these lucky folks had plenty of time to apply and get their stamped passports returned to them by takeoff on August 20. I resented them slightly. Who wouldn't?

Once this lucky groups of folks got their stuff together, the stress came down on me like never before. My hair started falling out, I quit sleeping, and my poor gastrointestinal system . . . well, I'm sure you can imagine. The most shocking thing was that I lost my appetite. Me! The poster child for emotional eating! You know things are bad when Hannah turns down chocolate!

Bless my poor parents for putting up with me. I got mean and moody and irritable and depressed and just all around unpleasant. But life went on! I kept going to see people to say goodbye and trying to enjoy myself. When my mom and I went to see my grandparents (shout out to Grammy and Granddad!), I finally got my documents. And subsequently freaked out. I had exactly one week between the time of receipt of my documentation and the departure date to apply for a visa. The nearest Indonesian consulate is the actual embassy in Washington, D.C. If I mailed my visa application and had them mail it back, it would not have arrived until Monday or Tuesday. The embassy was closed on Tuesday for Indonesian Independence Day, which meant I had 3 workdays to get my application in, get it processed, and get it mailed back. Even on the fastest of cycles, a visa application that is mailed in would take 5-7 days to be processed and returned by mail. When I realized all this, I called my dad and cried. His immediate response was, "Well we'll just drive up tomorrow so you can be at the embassy on Monday morning." Sigh. I have a great daddy! So we did. We got in the car at lunchtime Sunday and got to D.C. eleven hours later.

Here comes the fun part! Our hotel was only three blocks from the Indonesian embassy, so I decided to walk. The consular services office opened at 10am, which gave me time to get up in the morning and take care of printing out extra copies of everything and buying a prepaid, self-addressed, stamped envelope for a speedy passport return. The hotel had a fedex in the basement where I thought I could take care of all of it. My conversation with the fedex man went something like this:

Me: Hi. I have to buy a prepaid envelope. What's the fastest shipping method y'all have?
Him: We only ship.
Me: I know that y'all ship, but I have to buy a prepaid envelope. How do I do that?
Him: You can't. We only ship.
Me: Ooookay. I'm not sure I understand. You only ship?
Him: Yes.
Me: So then where do people pay for the packages they ship?
Him: Here.
Me: Right, so I can pay for an envelope here.
Him: No.
Me: But I have to apply for a passport today and my dad and I just drove eleven hours from Atlanta so that I could be here in time for the embassy to open and I have to get this mailed back to me as quick as possible and I'm fixing to head over there right now and I have to have a prepaid envelope so they can mail it back to me or else I'll miss my flight and this is the next year of my life! I have to get one!
Him: We only ship. If you pay for it here, it sends out here.
Me: So you're telling me that I can't go ahead and pay for overnight delivery on an envelope and then give it to someone else to send to me?
Him: Well, you'd have to put your credit card number on there.
Me: Well, yeah.
Him: But then they could see your credit card number. It's on the label.
Me: Well then I'll pay cash.
Him: You have to pay with credit card.
Me: Is there anyway I can send it without my card information visible?
Him: You can do it on that computer right over there. Pay and print online.
Me: So if I get on that computer and pay for a shipping label and stick it on an envelope and give it to the Indonesian embassy, I can do that here and it will arrive and you won't try to ship it here?
Him: Yes.
Me: Okay, which computer is it?
Him: Well our system is down. It doesn't work right now. You have to ship if you buy it here.

I kid you not. And this is a much-abridged version! I spoke with the Fedex man for a full-on twenty minutes. I finally just found a post office - that's right, y'all, the good ol' USPS. Although I was able to purchase a prepaid envelope with considerably more ease, I almost cried. It seemed like everyone I met in D.C. was mean and unhelpful unless they were working me for a tip. For example, if I had walked into a post office in Georgia like I did in D.C. - slightly frantic, near tears, very polite, and obviously in need of a kind word - somebody would have asked me what was going on or how I was doing or at least answered my questions with a concerned look on his/her face. I know because it was not, unfortunately, my first time walking into a post office when I was slightly frantic, near tears, very polite, and in need of a kind word. So I walked into the post office and asked the man who was working there what the fastest shipping method they have is, and he told me. I bought the label, envelope, and stamp. He handed me the stamp, but I didn't know where to put it. I said, "Sir, where does the stamp go? I only use email, hehe." On a side note, I'm not an idiot. I know where to put a stamp on a business envelope, just not an enormous express overnight envelope. But I can send an email with the best of them! Anyway, he responded by pointing generally in the direction of the envelope and grunting, "Right there." I asked him to be more specific, and I guess he thought he was, but I swear he just pointed again without any clear direction. Then I handed him the stamp and asked him to do it. Apparently this was a self-serve post office, and I had just violated the terms of his contract. So when I asked him to show me how to attach the QUADRUPLICATE shipping label, he took one look at me, then redirected his glare to the growing line behind me and yelled, "NEXT!"

With the first leg of my mission finally accomplished (albeit with much more difficulty than I had imagined - I should have seen it as a sign for what was to come), I headed to the embassy. Now the weather there was much nicer than the weather down in Georgia, but I was so nervous and anxious that I turned bright red and started sweating so much that even the folks down in Macon would have thought there was something wrong with me. I was gross.

When I got to the embassy, I had to stop and think. I had already had such a hard time that morning that I knew I couldn't take anymore snafus without a complete and total breakdown. The embassy entrance was blocked by an enormous iron gate. I suddenly didn't know if I was supposed to have called ahead or if there was a doorbell or what! So I pulled out my phone and called my trusty professor, Dr. Houry (shout out to Dr. Houry!). I'm sure the last thing he expected was a random phone call on Monday morning with me on the other line asking about embassy protocol. Thank god he answered! As it turns out, there IS a doorbell! It has an intercom attached, and a little man answers and says, "PUSH ON THE GATE!!!!" And when you promptly push on the wrong side of the gate, he gets very helpful - "NO THE OTHER GATE! THE OTHER ONE! NO MISS! THE OTHER - UGH!" I got it . . . eventually.

There were two other ETAs already at the embassy when I arrived. I saw the AMINEF seal on one of their letters and felt a million times better. Safety in numbers, right? Well despite our best efforts - Mia and Kelsey pleading with the man at consular services, me waking up Nellie in Indonesia to get her to call the embassy - he would not budge. We even had a letter in Indonesian from a very important man in Indonesia asking the embassy to expedite the process for us. That man at the embassy wouldn't even read it! If we turned in our visa applications on Monday, they would be ready for pickup on Thursday at 11am. I called poor Nellie for the fifth time that morning to tell her that I could not pick up my visa and passport in person, and she said, "There has to be a way. I will keep trying." Bless her heart. It turned out that there wasn't.

I left my visa application at the embassy, but I took my hard-won prepaid envelope with me. I wasn't taking any chances - in case there was some way I could get my visa in person on Thursday, I wasn't leaving an envelope with my application for it to be sent off before I got there, wasting my time and money. I called my dad on my walk back to the hotel. At that point, I was in hysterics. I was so angry that I was shaking, and I started shouting into the phone. I can't help but grimace as I think about what I must have looked like - a short, red-faced, soaking wet, crying, shaking, shouting Southerner (my accent gets real thick when I'm angry) storming up Connecticut Avenue. I've had better moments.

I ended up leaving my hard-won prepaid envelope with the embassy, The office closed at 1pm, and I didn't decide to let them mail it until 12:15, so it was a bit of a race. Even though we were only three blocks away, we didn't know long it would take to get there, what with all the one way streets! We waited anxiously for the valet to bring the car around, then jumped in real quick. Dad started cussing at the GPS because it wouldn't let him type in the embassy address the way he wanted, but finally we got it together. He dropped me at the curb and I went in - this time pushing on the correct gate the first time! When I walked into the office, there was an Indonesian woman renewing her passport at the counter. The man who had been so unaccomodating and insensitive to me just an hour earlier was laughing and joking with this woman. I breathed a sigh of relief and thought that he might be nicer this time around. Nope! As soon as he saw me, his brow furrowed and his face went to stone. It was just like in the movie, You've Got Mail, when Meg Ryan tries to use a credit card in the cash only line at the grocery store, and the cashier has nothing but daggers in her eyes. I almost laughed out loud when he did that, but I kept my composure and waited patiently in line. When it was my turn, I thought I'd try to be funny, so I walked up to the counter with a big smile on my face and said, "Hey there! Remember me? I'm baaaack!" You'd of thought I said "Heeeeeeeeeeeeere's JOHNNY!" I think the only way I could have made that man smile back at me was if I broke a bone, or maybe told him I didn't want to go to his country after all. Whatever. He took the envelope. Then we drove back home.

So that's the story, folks! They didn't mail my passport until Thursday, and Nellie sacrificed yet another night of sleep on my behalf while she got the travel agent to book me a flight for Saturday. I am so grateful! And just like I thought it would be, all that nonsense was worth it now that I'm here. It's going to be a wonderful year!