My first experience in Indonesia continued what has become a pattern in my international travels. I arrived hoping to find my name neatly printed on a placard in one of the receiving lines outside Jakarta’s international terminal. Despite the fact that I was inspired by highly specific directions (“Meet at the Dunkin Donuts”), finding my ride became a difficult task.
Many states in the American Midwest have yet to receive their first Dunkin Donuts, but that one terminal, 16,000 km away from Dunkin Donuts' home in Quincy, Mass, has three. At the first and second I found no “Gregory Randolph” sign, and after about thirty minutes of looking, I couldn’t locate the third. Finally, from the echoing “taxi!” appeals ringing in my ear, I heard a relaxed voice: “Sir, can I help you?” Assuming an airport employee was coming to my rescue, I explained that I was looking for a hotel pickup van. Ridwan spent a half-hour calling the hotel and helping me track down the driver. Only as I was getting in the car did I find out that he was no airport employee, but just another taxi driver. I apologized, explaining that I had no Indonesian money to offer him. His response was resolute and smiling: “Don’t even think about it, Mr. Gregory.”
Such an experience would be an anomaly many places in the world, but here it is a more of a standard. For me, Yogyakarta—the student-centric city in Indonesia where I’m spending the summer—is defined by its people. Other than Chapel Hill, my home-country college town, I haven’t found a place anywhere in the world with such a high concentration of friendly and intelligent people.
Perhaps the more remarkable aspect of Yogya’s people, though, is their healthy balance of global connectedness and local groundedness. At the research center cum PhD program where I’m working, named the Indonesia Consortium for Religious Studies, the staff is presenting at conferences all around the world—Germany, Singapore, Bulgaria, Ecuador. But in conversations with the jet-setting staff, and in all my interactions with people since arriving, I’ve yet to hear anyone talk about moving abroad for anything other than a degree. Last weekend, an embassy official told me that the United States approves Indonesian visa applications at an exceptionally high rate, because Indonesians also return home at one of the world’s highest rates.
Understanding what defines local and global—as well as locating their harmonies and intersections—has been an taxing endeavor for my geography-oriented mind ever since I began traveling. But after a few short weeks in Yogya, I suspect this place might offer a few worthwhile contributions to the ongoing conversation on how to be both a responsible global citizen and engaged local community member.
No comments:
Post a Comment