Fish Spa

I love spas - thermal baths, mud baths, hot stone massages, chocolate body scrubs - you name it and I'll probably be game. So when I found out about something here in Indonesia called a fish spa, I couldn't resist. What was this all about?

I got my chance to try one when I was exiled in Jakarta. I happened to be wondering around the Grand Indonesia mall with my Fulbrighter friend Megan. We had just had a delicious lunch when Megan asked, "What do you feel like doing now?" And I responded, "How about a fish spa?" Megan was a little dubious about the whole idea. A fish what? 

So we walked over to the store and looked in the window. There were several large tanks with fish of varying sizes. A few people were sitting on cushioned seats next to the tanks with their feet dangling in the water. It looked harmless enough and Megan decided it would be fun to try after all. We inquired about the prices and then soon found ourselves having our feet washed in preparation.Then we sat on the cushioned seats and peered into the tank below. Gingerly we both lowered our feet in and were instantly swarmed by eager fish. Megan shrieked in surprise and then started giggling - nibbling fish are very ticklish!

Ticklish!

Nibble, nibble

A pamphlet we picked up on the way out provided a bit of background information on this whole phenomenon. Fish spas apparently started in Turkey and other parts of the Middle East hundreds of years ago and are now growing in popularity in Asia. The fish used for this, a member of the carp family called garra rufa, love to dine on dead skin....yum!

As the pamphlet puts it, "this fish acts like pumice stone, rubbing off the dead epidermis layer of the skin, and leaving behind baby-smooth skin. The feeling of the fish nibbling is highly relaxing and you will experience the sensation of "micro massage" to your skin. It stimulates the acupressure points of your body and regulates the nervous system to generate the sense of well being and healthy lifestyle."

I enjoyed the 20 minute foot therapy. It feels super ticklish for the first couple of minutes and then you sort of get used to it. It's a novel way to get your feet feeling smooth and pretty. However, even I am a little reluctant to try to the 45 minute full body fish spa that is advertised in the pamphlet...

The Story Behind the Dress

I was excited when I found out that the ELFs had once again been invited to the Marine Ball in Jakarta and even more excited when I realized that this year I could actually go. Jackie, Noreen, Michaela and Megan were all planning on attending too, so it promised to be a fun night out. We might even get to see our boss tear it up on the dance floor! Jackie was organizing our tickets and offering up her apartment as a place for all of us to crash, so the only thing I had to worry about was finding a fancy dress. What should have been a fun task turned into one of the most challenging of my fellowship so far - it ain't easy finding a floor-length ball gown in Indonesia!

About a month before the big event I went looking for a dress in Yogya. First I went to Galleria Mall where I found a small collection of dresses at the Matahari Department Store. It was an odd assortment and grew even odder when the saleswoman told me that the dresses were one-size-fits-all. How is that even possible? Without bothering to try anything on, I headed over to Amplatz Mall and also left empty handed. It occurred to me that searching for a dress in my size in a country where the women tend to be significantly smaller than me was going to be a bit more challenging than I had thought. I briefly considered getting a dress made but once I found out I was flying to Jakarta for a doctor's appointment, I figured I would be able to find something easily in one of the dozens of malls in the capital city.

In between doctor's visits I spent practically the entire week I was in Jakarta hunting for a dress. I tried on dresses at Pondok Indah Mall, Senayan City Mall, Mangga Dua Square, Artha Gading Mall, and Grand Indonesia. Mostly I went by myself but sometimes I went with Jackie and her friends and colleagues who seemed eager to help. (Jackie and Megan, by the way, had smartly decided to get dresses made as soon as they found out about the ball and thus avoided the several weeks of fruitless searching that Michaela, Noreen and I endured). The dresses I found generally fell into three categories of undesirableness: dresses that seemed like costumes for little girls wanting to dress up as princesses (including two-piece dresses with puffy sleeves and corsets), dresses that were cute but that I couldn't even zip up, and dresses that were outrageously priced. Once while checking out Senayan Plaza Mall I made the mistake of wandering into a Roberto Cavalli store thinking I might find something on the 70% off rack. Ha! 70% off of 56 million Rp ($6,222) was still WAY more than I would ever dream of spending on a dress. 

An example of a dress I really liked but couldn't zip up

A nice Seibu dress...

...but more than I could afford

I left Jakarta empty handed but returned about a week later and hit the malls again with renewed determination with Michaela and Noreen. Starting to feel the time crunch, we decided that our best bet was to go back to Grand Indonesia where we had seen nice but expensive dresses in the $200 and up range at Seibu. Although this was more than any of us wanted to spend for dresses we would wear once at an event where we weren't even bringing dates, we were starting to worry that we wouldn't be able to attend the ball at all if we didn't have dresses - just like Cinderella! However, we were still confident that if we just forked up the money at Seibu we would at least have something to wear and could stop spending all our free time roaming Jakarta's many malls. Once we arrived at Seibu we formulated an action plan and got to work. We scoured the racks, plucking anything that was labeled size 12 or higher, regardless of style, color or price and disappeared into the dressing rooms. Noreen got lucky and found a very cute white cocktail dress. So what if it wasn't floor length. It looked stunning on her and, to borrow Henry's expression, the price was merely rude rather than outright offensive. 

Michaela and I weren't as lucky. We tried on dress after dress and continually ran into the same problem - these dresses just weren't made for our body types. We struggled with zippers and puzzled over molded bra cups that just didn't sit in the right place. The number of dresses to try on grew smaller and smaller. Our definition of 'fit' didn't including flattering or stylish. It got to the point where we were just looking for something that would zip up. At the end of the day, it came down to just one option - two orange dresses that hung on our bodies like shapeless potato sacks. These were the only dresses in all of Jakarta that fit us. We stared at our reflections in the mirror and decided that we weren't quite ready to take that step. We held out hope that we would find something in Bandung - a known shopping mecca.

Unfortunately, Bandung had nothing to offer and after the TEFLIN conference we found ourselves back in Jakarta with one day to go before the ball and still no dresses. We had one hope left. Jackie and Megan claimed to have seen a small dress shop in Ambassador Mall that appeared to have dresses in Western (a.k.a big) sizes. We headed over there, joking that if this didn't work out at least we could still go back and buy the matching potato sack dresses. At The Fairly Bridal Boutique, the saleswoman pulled out a suitcase of extra large dresses and got to work outfitting us. The first couple of dresses we tried on were kinda ridiculous - I tried on a light pink number that made me look like I was wearing a Greek Goddess Halloween costume and Michaela's wasn't much better. However, someone somewhere must have been looking out for us because both of us FINALLY managed to find dresses that fit us reasonably well and weren't half bad to look at. My dress is actually part batik, a traditional Javanese material. Someday I hope I can wear this dress again and have it serve as a conversation piece at a cocktail party. 'Oh this? Why yes, I bought this in Indonesia,' I'll say casually.

My dress - I love the way it twirls!

We were all able to attend the ball after all!

A Medical Mystery

For the past few months, I have been troubled by an array of odd symptoms and even odder medical advice. It all started the day my plane landed back in NJ after my first ten months in Indonesia. I noticed that the right side of my body sometimes felt very strange - a little bit numb, some tingling sensations - and felt colder than the left side of my body. And then the left side of my mouth started drooping! Alarmed, I went to see a doctor at home who ended up sending me for an MRI to rule out the possibility of MS. The MRI came back normal and the doctor concluded my symptoms must be caused by stress. This seemed to be a cop out answer to me since there was nothing in my life that I was feeling particularly stressed about. But in any event, my symptoms lessened and I returned to Indonesia feeling relatively fine.

However, by the beginning of October I was forced to acknowledge that I really wasn't fine. The odd sensations and mouth drooping were back, I felt unusually tired and lightheaded at the end of the day, I was having trouble gripping things in my right hand and, most disturbingly, there was a period of two to three days when I experienced really bad headaches that made my head feel like it was going to explode. These shooting pains in my head scared me enough to confide in Ingrid and seek out a doctor in Yogya. Ingrid did some research and took me to a doctor that several people had recommended.

Unfortunately, this doctor in Yogya turned out to be a bit wacky. His initial assessment of me was done through iris imaging. We looked at pictures of my eyes on a TV screen and he told us how spots on the iris correlated to organs of my body. My heart and lungs were fine but he mentioned in passing that I have a dirty left ovary. I'm sorry, what? A dirty left ovary?? But I quickly forgot about this as he announced his provisional diagnosis. According to him, I had a 'viral infection on a nerve in the brain'. Yikes! A brain infection?? And he can tell this by looking at pictures of my eyes? I was doubtful, but he ordered some blood work done and I figured a blood test would probably be a more reliable measure.

So the next day Ingrid and I went back to see him about the results of the blood test. He glanced at the paper we handed him from the lab and he announced that I have rubella. Really? I knew I had been vaccinated against rubella as a child and I didn't have a rash so this struck me as odd, but perhaps there was an Indonesian strand of the virus that I did not have immunity against. What do I know; I'm certainly not a doctor. Anyway, he prescribed two different medications, 6 to 12 rounds of physiotherapy, a detoxifying ionic foot bath (more on that in a minute) and last but not least he wanted me to wear a cervical collar for a month to put my facial muscles back in place. A cervical collar!! I asked him many questions but I could tell he was getting impatient. Ingrid translated that he felt like he was giving a lecture. He ended our session by saying that if I had any more questions I should just Google them. I promised myself I would do just that as soon as I got home, but first there was the experience of the ionic foot bath.

The ionic foot bath consisted of a tub of cold water with some sort of metal device that was plugged into a machine. The guy in charge (the attendant, the technician?) explained that the impurities from my body would float out of my feet and collect on the surface of the water as a layer of scum. Well, those weren't his exact words but that was the idea. If the scum formed one circle that meant I was relatively healthy. If the scum formed separate circles, it meant there was a problem somewhere. I peered into the tub; three distinct circles had formed. The guy looked at me sadly and shook his head. He told me the best thing to do in my case was to pray. Then he held up a worn copy of an English language book entitled 'Alone with God' and asked me if I wanted to read it. I politely declined and high tailed it out of there with Ingrid. I'm not saying prayer won't help, but it's not exactly what I wanted to hear at the doctor's office!

Back in my room, I Googled 'rubella' and found out that the blood work I had gotten done tested positive for the presence of IgG rubella antibodies, which should be present since I was vaccinated. I had tested negative for IgM rubella antibodies, which would have indicated that I currently had the virus. I sat there dumbfounded by the idea that the doctor I had gone to see had misinterpreted a simple blood test like this. On the spot I discounted everything he said to me - which to be honest was kind of hard to swallow anyway - and wrote to my RELO supervisors to see what I should do next. They suggested I fly to Jakarta to see a more reputable doctor at the International SOS Clinic.

On the day of my flight to Jakarta I found out that the neurologist I was scheduled to see had to cancel because of an emergency surgery. At the last minute RELO was able to get me another appointment with another neurologist at a Jakarta hospital. This doctor listened to what I had to say, did a few physical tests and told me I had migraines. Now, migraines sounded much more plausible than rubella but it still didn't ring true for me. I had been experiencing all these weird symptoms for over three months and only had one bout of bad headaches. And there was no aura or sensitivity to light or noise or any of the classic other migraine symptoms. I also didn't care for his recommendation of avoiding cheese, chocolate, coffee, citrus and cola. No cheese?? That's a horrible, horrible thing to forbid a girl who spent her twenties in a country famous for its cheese and who was cheese deprived for the entire 10 months she spent in Gorontalo.

To get a second opinion, I booked another appointment with the SOS doctor that I was originally supposed to go see. Of the three doctors I saw, Dr. Amanda did the most thorough testing and questioning. In fact she was so thorough that she sent me to get more extensive blood work done, an EEG and two evoked potentials tests called VEP and SSEP. The SSEP test was horribly painful. My body was hooked up to all sorts of electrodes and tortured with a vibrating current. It was most painful in my feet.

When the lab doctor wordlessly handed me her report at the end of the session, all I saw where the following words in bold type on the top of the page: Diagnosis: Multiple Sclerosis. At first I was stunned. Oh no!! And then I was angry. Who does that??? Who hands somebody a diagnosis of MS without saying a word about it?? It was shocking and I spent the taxi ride back to Jackie's quietly contemplating my fate and calling my parents. By the time I got back to the apartment I was visibly upset when I told the other girls. But Megan, to whom I will be forever grateful, calmed me down and explained that this was probably just a bad translation. A better wording would have been something like this: Reason for Test: Possibility of Multiple Sclerosis. Megan also pointed to the conclusion section of the report which said nothing about MS and just stated that the test results were compatible with sensory neuropathy in both lower extremities. What did that mean? Well, I had to wait another week or so before I could go back for a follow up appointment with Dr. Amanda.

When I finally got to sit down again with Dr. Amanda, I learned that I have a calcium deficiency. I had grown up knowing that I should drink milk for strong bones but I never realized before or had forgotten that calcium ions transmit messages from one nerve to the next. My decreased level of calcium was slowing these transmissions and causing nerve pain! Dr. Amanda speculates that I depleted my calcium stores living in Gorontalo where I pretty much involuntarily eliminated milk, cheese and broccoli from my diet. Never underestimate the importance of cheese! No wonder I craved pizza practically every time I left Gorontalo. My body was literally crying out for it. To fix this, Dr. Amanda prescribed me some calcium/vitamin D supplements and B12 supplements for good measure. I also asked her if there were any specific foods I should be eating as well, thinking she might say something like milk or cheese. But instead she replied, "Bone." Bone?!?! Bone has never been a diet staple in the part of the world where I'm from. She clarified by explaining that those little tiny fish that Indonesians dry and salt are a very good source of calcium. Right. Dried whole fish. Sounds yummy!

I tried the dried fish one night with some nasi goreng. They tasted just like bacon!

After months of worrying about what could be wrong with me, I'm relieved to find out it's something as simple and treatable as a calcium deficiency. I'm so glad it's not MS or migraines or a 'brain infection'. I just need to eat more cheese...and bone!

Escape from Merapi

In mid-October I moved into a new cubicle at ICRS. The new office space has tons of advantages: it's much bigger than my previous cramped quarters; it's centrally located in the hub of all ICRS activity so I don't feel like I'm all alone in the building when five o'clock rolls around; it's right next to Ingrid and Ipung's desks so I can easily chat, ask questions and steal some warm pisang goreng from Ingrid; it's close to the coffee and tea supply; and perhaps most impressively, it boasts a great view of Mount Merapi on a clear day. I thought it was pretty darn cool to have an office with a view of a volcano but on Oct 22 I noticed that the volcano seemed to be smoking. I pointed this alarming fact out to Ingrid, who told me that it's normal to see smoke coming from Merapi since it's an active volcano but also reassured me that we had nothing to worry about.

When I came home from work on Oct 25, I learned from my housemate Anastasia, who's always on top of the news, that experts were predicting an imminent eruption of Mount Merapi and had already started evacuating nearby villages. We sat glued to the TV that night, wondering what might happen next. The very next day, Oct 26, Merapi started to erupt, spewing ash and rocks into the air. That night found all of us once again glued to the TV in the common room as we watched the ash-covered evacuees talk to local reporters. A light ash rain fell in the background as people wearing face masks huddled together. I couldn't help but wonder why the shelters were so close to the volcano. Why weren't these people being taken farther away? Like to Yogya, a city about 25 km away and out of the danger zone where we were just comfortably sitting around watching the events unfold on TV?

I got the answer to my question the next day at work when Ipung explained to me that the villagers were reluctant to move far away from their cattle and livestock on the slopes. These animals represented their sole means of earning a living; if the animals died, so would their livelihoods. The men felt a strong need to stay close to their homes so they could run back and check on their cows during periods of low volcanic activity. If the authorities had insisted on evacuating these people farther away, they probably would have refused to evacuate at all.

I also learned that day that the eruption had already claimed a number of lives, including that of an elderly man known as Mbah Maridjan who was regarded as the spiritual guardian of the volcano. For many years, Mbah Maridjan's responsibility was to appease the gods of the 'Fire Mountain' with offerings of rice or flowers. Locals believed that if a serious eruption was imminent, Maridjan would be warned in a vision. On Oct 26 he stubbornly chose to ignore official orders to evacuate. His ash-covered body was later found in a praying position. Tragically, 13 other bodies of people who had either followed his example of staying despite evacuation orders or who had tried to persuade him to leave were found as well, including those of a journalist and a Red Cross volunteer. News of his death spread quickly through ICRS and saddened many.

Mount Merapi as seen on Oct 27 from my office window

On Oct 28 I flew to Jakarta. No one had ordered me to evacuate; I just happened to have a doctor's appointment. I also had plans to stay out of town for the next two weeks because of a conference in Bandung, the Marine Ball in Jakarta and another workshop in Banda Aceh. My timing couldn't have been better. The day after I arrived in Jakarta I started to get frightening reports from friends back in Yogya: Merapi had erupted two more times, the airport was shut down, and the volcanic ash had reached Yogya - it even dusted our guesthouse. Merapi was nowhere near being done erupting. In fact, she was just gathering energy. I was glad to be out of harm's way, but I worried for those still in Yogya.

On Nov 5 I woke up to the following text message from my counterpart, "Julianne, don't get back to Jogja first, Mt Merapi is getting worst. Ipung." A text from RELO followed shortly thereafter asking all ELFs to confirm our locations and to warn us to stay away from Mt Merapi, Yogya and Solo. It turns out that in the early morning hours of Nov 5 there had been what the media was calling the "worst eruption of the century". This eruption would eventually push the death toll up from 44 to over 250 and counting and triggered a series of emergency actions: my host university canceled all its classes for the week and many of UGM's buildings were converted into shelters for displaced people; the Indonesian government promised they would reimburse farmers for the loss of their cattle in an effort to convince them to stay away from Merapi's deadly slopes; and AMINEF pulled the ETAs out of the region and temporarily relocated them to Jakarta. In the days immediately following the eruption, I heard tales of intense rain, lightening and even a 5.6 earthquake in Yogya (said to be unrelated to Merapi, but still).

There have been no major eruptions since Nov 5, the danger zone has decreased in some areas and classes have resumed at UGM and ICRS. However, Merapi continues to cough and rumble. How long this will go on is anyone's guess. Ingrid and Ipung report that Yogya is feeling normal again but on Nov 10 the U.S. State Department issued a travel alert for the area until Dec 31. The ETAs have been moved from Jakarta to work indefinitely at other schools on Java; Demi is now in Bandung and Brett is in East Java.

As for me, I'm stuck in Jakarta for the time being. My original flight back to Yogya was scheduled for Nov 14 but the Yogya airport is closed until Nov 20. But even then, is it safe to go back? Demi tells me that AMINEF is keeping the ETAs out of the region until the Indonesian government officially lowers Merapi's alert status. Consequently, RELO is checking with the Embassy Regional Security Office about when it will be safe for me to return. In the meantime, I'm being put up in nice hotels in Jakarta and RELO is giving me various little projects to work on. Yesterday I was a guest visitor in an Access Microscholarship Program English class. I'll return tomorrow to lead the class through some speaking and writing activities. On Friday and Saturday I'm volunteering to help interview Indonesian high school students for a year-long exchange program in the U.S. These are interesting tasks, but I hope it will be safe enough for me to return to Yogya soon to resume my life and regular classes there. It's not easy being in this state of limbo and uncertainty and I miss my friends and housemates in Yogya.

World's Most Expensive Coffee

On the islands of Java and Sumatra there lives a small cat-like animal called a civet (or luwak by the locals). This cute little animal likes to eat cherry coffee berries. The coffee berries tumble around in the civet's digestive system, some chemical reactions happen, and then the still-intact coffee beans are pooped out. These beans are then washed, dried, roasted and brewed as usual. 

A luwak (www.elephantmountaincoffee.com)

Cherry coffee berries (www.kealaolafarm.com)

Luwak poop (www.wb7.itrademarket.com)

World's most expensive coffee (www.artsyspot.com)

Although I've lived in Indonesia for more than a year, I had never tried this specialty until today. I was walking around the Grand Indonesia Mall in Jakarta with Jackie and her friend Miranda when I spied a Kopi Luwak cafe. Spontaneously, I suggested we go in. The sign on the table reminded us that kopi luak is the world's most expensive coffee; a pound of the stuff apparently goes for $300 in the US. And at certain establishments one cup of this special joe can cost $50. Fortunately for us, this particular cafe was selling it for about $8 a cup, which, while still super expensive for a cup of coffee in Indonesia, is still much cheaper than $50 in the US. So, I ordered one cup for Jackie and me to try.

No sooner had we placed our order than we were approached by a camera crew from CNN wondering if they could interview me as I drank my first cup of kopi luwak! What a way to make this special moment even more extraordinary! The woman interviewing me turned out to be Sara Sidner, an international correspondent based in New Delhi who was putting together a multi-day feature on Indonesia that will air November 22nd to 26th. She asked me if I came here today especially to drink kopi luwak (no, it was a spontaneous decision), how I thought it tasted (good...I guess), if I thought it was worth the price (well, maybe just once to try it) and a few other questions. I wonder if my interview will make it on air. 

With Jackie, Miranda and Sara Sidner at Kopi Luwak Cafe

What I didn't say was how surprised I was that the coffee wasn't freshly brewed. Instead, the waitress came over with an empty mug, a bag of powder and a thermos of hot water. Essentially, she was making instant coffee for me at the table. Really? I'm paying $8 a cup for instant coffee? To her credit, she let us all sniff the contents of the powder bag before she stirred in the water. It smelled aromatic enough. We were then instructed to wait two minutes for the coffee to settle in the mug. The camera crew hovered nearby as Miranda kept an eye on her watch. And then the moment of truth. I raised my mug, inhaled deeply and took my first sip. I was expecting to be wow'ed by its exotic flavor and hints of whoknowswhat but instead it just sort of tasted like regular coffee, albeit a very dark and silky one. I usually don't drink black coffee and had to fight the urge to add milk and sugar. I will say, though, that it had a very nice, clean aftertaste. 

If anyone sees us on TV, please let me know!

Orientation in Jakarta

We are staying in an extremely nice luxury hotel for a few days of orientation. I am enjoying the comfortable king size bed, the hot water, the broadband internet access, the spa, and the fantastic breakfast buffets as long as I can. It’s a sterile, safe environment from which to absorb the cacophony of sights, sounds and smells that is Jakarta. We leave the hotel for little adventures each day. Sometimes we sit through long orientation sessions put on by the Regional Language Office, sometimes we get carted around like the innocent sheep we still are to various points in the city and sometimes we strike out on our own. During one orientation session we met an English teacher who has been in Indonesia since 1959. She was good friends with Barack Obama’s mother and knew Obama as a 10 year-old boy in Jakarta. Interestingly, she said he still speaks Indonesian with native pronunciation, but a 10 year-old’s vocabulary. In another session on cross cultural awareness, we did a fun and useful exercise about our positive and negative impressions of Indonesians so far. We were given Post-It notes and asked to write either one positive or one negative impression per note. Then we stuck all the notes up on the wall and organized them around common themes. Our positive impressions included things like friendliness, kindness, willingness to help and our negative ones included things like not knowing what people are really thinking, not having the privacy we’re used to, rubber time, and the slow pace of life. Our speaker, an Indonesian woman with a PhD in Intercultural Studies, left us with the following two slides of insight to think about based on years of intercultural work with Indonesians and expats: Top Negative Impressions of Indonesians by Internationals: -not assertive enough -no sense of privacy -lazy – not punctual -too quick to agree on issues Top Negative Impressions of Internationals by Indonesians -arrogant -stingy -not friendly/ too individualistic -overly serious As part of the settling in effort, we have been bused to two different shopping malls so far to buy necessities that we might not have brought with us - yesterday alone we spent a good three hours or so buying cell phones and pirated DVDs. From our perches in the bus we’ve driven by slums and luxury hotels, often side by side. We drove by the Ritz and the Marriott hotels, which were bombed earlier this summer. We sat in traffic and watched in fascination as transvestites walked up to the other parked cars and did a little song and dance for money. Our Indonesian guide told us that they first say “Give me money” in a high pitched voice and when none is proffered, they switch to a low voice and chant “Money, money!”. We watched dumbfounded as families of four squeeze together on one motorcycle and more often than not, the children are not wearing helmets. We’ve seen other families living in absolute squalor underneath highway underpasses. We’ve seen children playing in polluted canals. We stare out the window and try to take it all in. One memorable evening, several of us left the hotel in search of dinner and ended up in a Padang restaurant around the corner. Padang means spicy but for me I will now equate it with food that has been sitting out for a long time in a window and gets “recycled”. Let me explain. As soon as we sat down, countless dishes of unidentifiable food appeared instantaneously. Adam, who lived in Java last year, did his best to identify what he could. There was jackfruit and curried eggs but also a couple of dishes that we suspect were brains and dried skin. I picked at my rice and jackfruit and left the rest of it alone, especially after I found out that whatever food is not eaten, is removed by the waiters and put back into the store front windows and served up to the next group of hungry eaters. Now there’s an appetizing thought! I’m enjoying the orientation and definitely enjoying getting to know the other ELFs who are all in the same boat as me, but I’m anxious to get to my town, settle into my house, and really start living in Indonesia.