Bule Photo Interlude

Saturday, a day for lacing up and hitting a long trail run. I was particularly looking forward to last Saturday because some of my cohorts in Bandung had discovered a large park a short distance from our hotel. The hotel contained two caves with munition storages created by the Japanese and Dutch during their occupations of Indonesia. Another five kilometers beyond the caves promised a large waterfall and monkeys...tons of monkeys. I had explored the cave portion of the park with a friend the week before and decided to return on the weekend for a long run to see this waterfall:

I wasn't the only one wanting to see the waterfall. I was, however, the only bule among bus loads of camera-wielding Indonesians on vacation for Idul Fitri. Crap. My run instantly turned into a obstacle course, dodging ojeks, hikers, and sometimes horses. I was determined to see the falls since I knew it would be my last chance to before leaving the city, so I pulled my visor low and tried to blend in. This was pretty much a futile exercise being that the path was only wide enough for three across, and I was at least a head taller than most of my park-going friends...with white skin...and running attire...and a wake of 'Bule' chants following close behind. Selah.

Ok, so this was not going to be the head-clearing run that I was hoping for, but I was there, so I went on. I only began to get a complex after the fifth group of children burst into spontaneous giggles after I passed on the left and several Ibu-Ibus breathed an 'Aduuuuh' after making eye contact. My bruised ego was healed a little by the group of 30-somethings who stopped me on an uphill to practice English and exchange Facebook accounts. I did, finally, make it to the falls, where I stood in admiration and in several family photos.

I took my time on the way back with determination to smile though and make the most of this run turned ridiculous. The smiling helped. It helped me to remember how fun it is to be here and to interact in a new culture. It also seemed to trigger people to ask politely, 'May we photo, Mister?' and for me to gently correct the widespread misunderstanding of gender titles: 'Iya, tapi saya MISS, bukan MISTER.'  I was struck by how my forced smile eventually changed my whole outlook on the madness to a genuine affection for the country and its inhabitants.

Later in the week, I more than made up for lost workout by joining a hash run with Jess, another English teacher. We climbed, undisturbed, up through kampungs (villages), through valleys of children flying kites, and over bamboo bridges (I was praying for someone to stop me for a photo on those never-ending uphills!). I copied this from the hash newsletter about the run.

We were made to drink for, among other things, being American.

I hope running, whether it be interrupted by giggles, photos, or beer, continues to introduce me to new parts of Indonesia. Cheers.