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Malam yang Bergairah di Pengastulan

Malam hari setelah perayaan Galungan, warga desa Pengastulan bergairah. Ini adalah hari di mana keriaan akan mengisi desanya yang lenggang. Saat pemuda-pemudanya yang merantau pulang ke kampung halaman, saat kawan-kawan masa kecil akan kembali dijumpai, saat sanak famili kembali berkumpul dan saling bercengkerama. Sebuah perayaan pun disiapkan di depan pura desa. Panggung besar didirikan untuk mementaskan acara-acara hiburan. Joged bumbung, tari kreasi, pentas musik. Menjelang gelap warga berduyun-duyun ke area depan pura desa. Tua, muda, laki, perempuan, kakek, nenek, hingga para bocah yang dari hidungnya masih menyembul ingus. Dengan pakaian terbaiknya mereka hendak merayakan keriaan enam bulanan itu.

Gypsytoes ada bersama saya. Untuk pertama kalinya ikut merayakan Galungan di kampung halaman ibu saya di ujung utara pulau Bali. Ia siap dengan berbagai kejutan yang ditawarkan. Dan itulah yang diberikan desa Pengastulan untuknya. Hal pertama yang kami lakukan adalah ikut melihat permainan judi dadu yang oleh penduduk setempat disebut mong-mongan. Bukan sembarang judi dadu, di Pengastulan judi dadu sebagian besar diikuti bocah-bocah ingusan. Beberapa keponakan saya yang baru masuk sekolah dasar sudah siap dengan uang receh di sakunya dan berharap menjadikannya segepok puluhan ribuan. Tentu judi dilarang di Bali, namun, dalam masa-masa tertentu, kegiatan berjudi kecil-kecilan adalah hal yang lumrah. Misalnya, malam setelah Galungan di mana kemenangan kebaikan atas kebatilan dirayakan, atau menjelang upacara ngaben di mana warga menghabiskan malam menemani jenazah sambil mencoba peruntungannya di meja permainan.

Maka di sanalah kami melihat para bocah menempatkan uangnya pada salah satu dari enam gambar dadu sambil berharap-harap cemas. Para bandar yang di beberapa meja judi juga terdiri dari para bocah mengocok dadu dengan tangkas. Mereka memberikan jeda penuh ketegangan saat para peserta menempatkan taruhannya. Berbagai ekspresi lenguhan muncul saat sang bandar yang tangkas membuka penutup dadu. Beberapa bocah berteriak riang saat taruhannya mengena sementara beberapa yang lain mengeluh karena uang saku dari orang tuanya hangus. Gambar-gambar dadu yang dipertaruhkan juga sangat lucu untuk kami. Enam sisinya terdiri dari tiga sisi bergambar binatang, dua sisi bergambar makhluk halus, dan satu sisi bergambar perempuan seksi bernama Santi, Epa (benar-benar ditulis Epa, bukan Eva), dan sejenisnya. Jika taruhan mereka di sisi perempuan cantik berhasil menang, para anak monyet itu akan berteriak dengan tingkat kegirangan yang lebih. Ini adalah hari yang penuh untuk Gypsytoes. Setelah sesak nafas oleh asap dupa di pura keluarga saya dan perjalanan tiga jam yang membuatnya kepayahan mabuk darat, berada di desa yang sama sekali baru dan melihat segerombolan anak monyet merayakan keriaan Galungan dengan berjudi adalah kejutan yang unik untuknya. Ia tampak takjub dan menikmati keganjilan ini.

Saat kami sibuk melihat mereka yang bermain judi, di panggung sebelah keramaian telah dimulai. Lagu-lagu pop Bali terdengar menghentak. Tari kreasi pun ditarikan para remaja-remaja tanggung yang antusias. Dengan sedikit malu-malu para gadis cilik menari menirukan gerak Missy Elliot, Rihanna, ataupun Agnes Monica. Betapa budaya pop sudah merambah jauh sampai desa Pengastulan yang sehari-harinya lengang. Penonton pun antusias menikmati hiburan enam bulanan mereka ini. Bapak yang menggendong anaknya, pedagang kacang rebus yang berharap panen rezeki, nenek-nenek yang masih bersemangat, pria besar dengan kaus bertuliskan ‘Ninja lebih lejam dari Ibu tiri’, hingga pemuda yang mulai terpengaruh alkohol saat jam baru menunjukkan pukul Sembilan. Saya dan Gypsytoes sempat tergeli-geli memperhatikan pemuda mabuk yang duduk berselonjor di pinggir jalan itu. Ia sedikit mengerang dan agak menangis. Rupanya hidupnya agak berat.

“Anak-anak sudah dikandangkan. Sekarang waktunya kita minum-minum. “ tiba-tiba Gede Sumerta, salah satu sepupu menghampiri saya. Rupanya ini tradisi yang masih berlanjut. Malam setelah Galungan dihabiskan para pemuda dengan minum bir dan bersenda gurau. Gede Sumerta dan semua sepupu seangkatan saya saat ini telah menjadi ayah dari beberapa anak monyet yang gemar untuk menjadi girang. Hari itu para sepupu berkewajiban menemani anak-anak mereka bermain judi dan sejenisnya. Setelah uang jatah berjudi habis atau malam mulai agak larut para anak pun ditidurkan di kandang masing-masing. Saat ini, saat segalanya telah beres, para sepupu siap beraksi. Gypsytoes pun mengikuti di belakang saya dengan antusias. Dan berbotol-botol bir berjajar siap dinikmati para orang tua hingga pagi menjelang. Saya sangat senang bisa bertemu lagi dengan sepupu-sepupu yang juga kawan-kawan masa kecil saya ini. Dulu kami adalah bocah-bocah yang dikenal dengan sebutan pasukan Bodrex. Kami berkeliaran ke sana-kemari seolah-olah penguasa desa Pengastulan. Mencari belut di sawah, berenang di sumber air, dan kenakalan kanak-kanak lain. Mereka pun semacam pelindung saya karena usia dan tubuh saya yang paling kecil. Malam itu kami minum bersama mengenang masa lalu dan mengutuk betapa kami sekarang mulai menua. Hingga lewat tengah malam saat kami mulai mengantuk termakan usia. Saya selalu menyukai kegairahan malam Galungan di Pengastulan. Dan malam itu Gypsytoes ikut bersama saya melihat-lihat keganjilannya. Ia berjanji tahun depan akan datang lagi. Mungkin ikut mencoba peruntungan di meja mong-mongan.

Twosocks, November 2013.

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The Sekotong Charter

Quiet really is the new loud. Twosocks and I are spending three days in Sekotong, a coastal area in the western part of Lombok, where we’ve been spending hours after hours just literally staring at the infinite changing shades of blue in the brilliant sky and magnificent sea, listening to the sighs and whispers of the waves, feeling the salt in the air tease out the waves in our hair, and inhaling the fresh air we are sharing with only a handful of people.

Our travels are usually filled with high powered activities starting from the break of dawn, but this time around, we really needed some quietness. Work was exceptionally busy for the two of us, Twosocks just finished his half marathon the week before, and I was still recovering from a plethora of illnesses that hit me a few months before. We needed some space to clear our heads, fill our lungs with fresh air, stretch, and exhale.So we went to Sekotong, beautiful quiet secluded Sekotong, where we floated in the sea, snorkelled with the rainbow-hued fishes and the purple-blue corals, and fell asleep on the blindingly white sand while the clear turquoise water tickled our feet.

As it turns out, all the peace and quiet sparked long conversations on the delicate balancing act required to live a happy, healthy life. We both love our jobs and will never quit the field if we have the choice to, but I also have another passion that I pursued in time stolen under the moonlight and over the weekend. I admitted to Twosocks that the moonlight passion pursuit does not make me happy. I feel like it pushes my already nearly OCD self into overdrive and detach myself from other people. Twosocks admitted that he wanted to revisit his old hobby of writing fiction and see whether he still knows how to do it. The bottom line is, we both feel that the left part of our brain has taken over and that it is time to give the right part of our brain some time in charge. We want to try new things just for the sake of trying something new, regardless of what the outcome is.

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“Come to think of it,” Twosocks said while sipping his millionth fresh young coconut, “The Dusty Sneakers is where we get to do those things.” And he was right! We love the opportunity to experience new things, challenge our previous assumptions, and find new things about ourselves that comes with travelling. We created the blog to capture those feelings and events, mostly for our future selves when our little grey cells are no longer as sharp as how they are today. We already have the medium, for four years and counting,now we only have to think about several other steps to tilt our lives more to right brain side.

We came up, as geeks often do, with a list of three things of how The Dusty Sneakers can help us with these pursuits. We call it, as geeks would do, The Sekotong Charter:
• We will write more often on the blog
I must admit, I am the one who needs to catch up on this front. Twosocks often mocks how often I would post something after a long hiatus and say “I’m back” to only disappear for a few months after. I came up with a solution to my mental block a few weeks ago and now I have to live by my words!
• We will try to get to know more travellers
We would like to get to know more travellers, because we would like to hear more stories of how different people experience different places. The same place can result in so many different stories and angles and we would like to hear as many as possible! The easiest way to start this, we think, is by signing up to Twitter and let the wonder of social media lead us to as many people who are generous with their travel stories and experience.
• We will explore Jakarta with more playfulness
The best thing about travelling is our willingness to be open minded in experiencing and embracing a new place. We would like wear the traveller-tinted glasses more often in the way we’re engaging with Jakarta, our smutty, gregarious, and in-your-face hometown in the hopes of being able to love it more. We’ve come up with a way to do this that will also allow Twosocks to exercise his fiction writing, but let us share more about this in another time – perhaps in the new year. I will share what we’re calling this experiment though –Ah Jakarta.

Charters come and go, some became milestones in history while others faded into non-significance. Here in Sekotong, we decided to take the first step towards implementation by setting up our Twitter account. @dustysneakers is now out there to get to know more travellers and hear more about your travel stories. Give us a buzz!

Let’s see what will become of The Sekotong Charter in time. We’ll share more about how it pans out – but later. Right now is the time to stare some more at the sea and sky, until the splashing waves of calling us to the waters in the quiet, kind, generous Sekotong become too loud to ignore.

Sekotong, 4 November 2013
Gypsytoes

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When I Think of Agrigento, I Think of Alessandro

We were desperate. The four of us enjoyed basking in the glory of the beautiful ruins of Roman temples in Agrigento under the kind Sicilian springtime sun a little too much. Actually, scratch the ‘a little’. We just missed the last bus that would take us back to the train station, from where we’d have to take a three-hours ride back to our hostel in Palermo. We walked up the hilly, bendy road as fast as our tired feet allowed us, but we knew there was a slim chance that we would make it.

Suddenly, a car stopped and a friendly face popped out the window. “Ciao, ladies. Remember me?” And yes, we did! He was the man who sat next to us on the train to Agrigento and kindly smiled while we noisily chatted and gasped at every change of scenery. He offered us a lift to the train station and we immediately climbed up his jeep before he could change his mind. During the ride, with his broken English, he introduced himself. “I’m Alessandro. Un piccolo mondo, eh.” What a small world, he said.

He dropped us off at the train station with minutes to spare for us to catch our ride. We flooded him with thank you in four different languages, while he laughed and waved us goodbye. When we arrived in Palermo, Ana Banana bought a small plastic cow keychain. We had decided to buy plastic animal keychains and named them after the people we met during our great Sicilian spring trip. The cow was graciously named Alessandro, to honor the kindness of a stranger and a reminder of how piccolo our mondo is.

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Of a trip on April 2011 with Ana, Lauren, and Jess,
Gypsytoes

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Because Travel Tales are Love Stories After All

“The more I think about it, the more travel tales seem like love stories.”

Twosocks was sipping his cup of Aceh Gayo with much fervor while I talked a mile a minute, as usual. That last sentence caught his attention, however. He put down his cup and asked me what I meant. So I told him this.

The best travel stories, the ones you remember, are always the one written from the heart. No matter how long or how brief, no matter how mundane or how exotic the locations are, you connect with how genuine the writers give meaning to their experience.

There are the summer flings of travel stories, the most common kind. A summer fling is almost always told in a light hearted way, like romantic comedies if you will. There might be a few mishaps here and there, but one would overlook personality flaws for that one or few magical romantic moments that would make a great snippet when retold many years after. The same goes for many travels. After all the saving and waiting to finally have a trip somewhere new, most travelers are determined to make the best out of the trip and try their best to develop a crush – or even fall in love – with the destination. And to be honest, a few days or weeks somewhere is not enough to reveal the many layers of a place that are not all pretty. So it’s fairly easy to revel in the newness of a place to then come back to one’s hometown with great pictures and enough colorful anecdotes to say, “I had the most amazing time!” or share stories about “that one time I was in Syracuse” with fondness in the years to come.

Here in Dusty Sneakers, we definitely write this kind the most. I don’t think we have ever found a place we do not like at all, but we have been refraining from commenting on less happy things we found along the way. We did not share that we got scammed by a tuktuk driver in Hanoi, the discomfort of being stripped by the eyes of strangers in the streets of Bangalore no matter how covered I was, or observations on just how patriarchal the culture in some places could be. Part of this is because we felt like we did not stay long enough to justify the observations and actually stating them out loud. But the main reason is because we usually fell in love with these places and decided to only keep the highlights in our mind. There is nothing wrong with the summer flings of travel stories, I told Twosocks. I just want to recognize them as they are.

Then there are the bittersweet kinds of travel stories. These are the ones that bring melancholy with them. The ex that you still couldn’t quite get over, the one that got away, that one night you keep playing over and over in your head, the love that once was. You know you are grateful to have them in your life, but you can’t bring yourself to tell these stories without a sharp painful pang in your gut. These are the kind of travels where conversations and revelations so personal take place so you can’t find the words to share them. Using metaphors is not quite right and reducing the magnanimity of the experience to another fleeting summer fling feels downright criminal. This is exactly why I could never bring myself to write about The Hague, the city I so love and has given me so much in return. This is why I found it harder and harder to write about my trips in Europe taken with people I had come to love and knew that I only had few moments like that with them left. This is why I have never written about Bangalore or Taipei, where I learned to own my femininity, sexuality, and heritage.

But you know what, when I think about these bittersweet love stories, I think Sondre Lerche got it just right. In his ever melancholic song ‘Minor Details’, which is also my ode to The Hague, he sang about all the details that seem so minute but are actually major in the way they represent all the unspeakable feelings and usher in the entire memory. It’s the breaking of the waves that were about to carry some place, a misty morning on the L train, the sun on the left, and the piano on the right. I told Twosocks, this is how I can honor my bittersweet travel stories, through all the major minor details. I could share pictures and a few words, much fewer than what we are used to writing here. Images don’t feel that personal to me, but words are my thoughts and feelings and they make me feel naked. But I want to, I have to share my bittersweet travel tales, because they too are love stories in my life and should be part of the memory vault that is The Dusty Sneakers.

Finally, there are the lifelong love stories. These are the sagas, the journey that never ends, the ones where commitment features as much as passion and companionship in the love being shared. This is like Before Midnight, the latest in Richard Linklater’s incredibly romantic Before series, in which the mystery of attraction and connection have given way to a long term marriage where the logistics and challenges of day-to-day togetherness can be ignored no more. These love stories are more difficult to tell, because it is a continuous journey that can never be told in its entirety. There is no end to this just yet. But these love stories are also, in a way, the most uplifting kind, because they are stories of deep, enduring love that most of us yearn in life.

This, to me, is definitely the kind of relationship I have with my hometown, Jakarta. In the Dusty Sneakers, we have written here and there about the joys the city could bring, but boy, it does take commitment to love this mall laden, heavily polluted, perennially jammed city. I fell out of love with Jakarta after I came back from The Hague because the pollution took its toll on my lungs, the in-your-face inequality hurts, and I have actually lived in a place where these don’t have to be the norm. It took some time to re-commit to a relationship with Jakarta and, like in any long term relationship, it requires work. I learned to dedicate some time to see Jakarta with a traveller’s eyes, using my summer-fling-tinted-glasses, if you will. Just like how married couple should never give up on date nights, Twosocks and I remind each other to explore the city. This has worked. I am now in love again with Jakarta, with all its glory and flaws. I told Twosocks that I want to write more about our Jakarta escapades here, because in the great travel stories of my life, Jakarta is the greatest of all because it is the one that I will take a lifetime working on.

Twosocks ordered another cup of coffee. The Aceh Gayo had gotten cold in the time it took me to tell him all the above. “You have to write this, Gypsytoes, and then go and share your bittersweet and lifelong travel love stories in the Dusty Sneakers.”

So I did. And I will.

Jakarta, 13 October 2013
Gypsytoes