--> Is Mujiarso, Maximillian Aug/Sept 09
In my opinion, spending a holiday on Bali's famed Kuta Beach is not much different than a trip to the Sekaten night market in my hometown of Solo, Central Java. Of course when I say not much different, that's discounting all the bare-chested Japanese and Australian tourists in Kuta hurrying down Poppies Lane carrying yellow surfboards and wearing white Rip Curl shorts with purple flower motifs; not many shirtless tourists running around Sekaten. The similarity is that at Kuta, as the sun rises higher into the sky, all those pale tourists descend on the beach, looking for the ultimate tan, much the same way all the locals descend on Sekaten market, looking for the ultimate deal.
Sure, there are one or two bules (no disrespect meant, because some people do take offence to this Indonesian slang word for Caucasians) sitting on the verandas of cheap rental rooms, poring over guidebooks, or hanging out in cafes knocking back "Guantanamo Boy" in two days of marathon reading. But I ignore them; my eyes are drawn to a Batak man who has lost his accent but cannot hide the ethnic features of his face, as he peddles his bead necklaces and makes comments to the women passing by in their bikinis. But this man is less interesting too than what else I will discover in Kuta.
I'm talking about the domestic tourists. First of all, they stick out among all the laid-back, dressed-down foreigners. You can spot them instantly by their clothes. You will recognise a group of Jakarta teenagers from their smart outfits, which stand in stark contrast to the bare-footed Westerners with whom they share the sidewalks. I myself tried very hard to dress the part of a "beach bum", figuring I didn't want to stand out as a tourist in my own country.
The second thing that separates the Indonesians from the foreign tourists is the attitude. My friends and I were staying in a hotel not too far from Kuta Beach. Every morning we swam in the ocean and joined the other tourists trying to learn how to surf in Kuta's inviting waters. Later in the day, a bit before noon, more people would arrive at the beach, from a group of East Java elementary school teachers to a pack of high school kids celebrating their graduation. They would unfold carpets made of bamboo and sit down. And that is what they would do for much of the day; sit there enjoying the scenery, and not the waves, but the people out in the ocean, who happened to be for the most part foreign tourists.
"Why do they just sit there? Why don't they jump in the ocean?" I asked my friends.
Not that there's a rule against people sitting on the beach. But I was just getting so tired of watching people take off their sandals, roll up their trousers a bit and walk along the edge of the surf, always jumping back if the water got too close, as if it were toxic and would melt off their skin.
And those "long-sitters", who would just stake out a spot in the shade and sit and watch the people on the beach, as if it were some sort of theatrical performance. They seemed to be caught somewhere in between "passionately observing the white teenagers' bodies, with their minimalist attire" and "keeping their distance from the world around them".
I don't understand why my fellow Indonesians can't seem to enjoy themselves on their holiday. This is our own beautiful country, and they are standing in a corner, as it were, mere spectators while the bules enjoy themselves up on the stage. Could it be that having fun is not part of the Indonesian culture?
Maybe because most Indonesians are taught the value of modesty from childhood and have an understanding of how difficult life can be drilled into them from an early age, when they grow up, they find it impossible to truly enjoy a holiday, considering it too much of a luxury. Is that our culture, then? Work hard until we forget (or are too tired) to take a holiday?
When I mentioned all of this to my friends, they responded with an emphatic: "Don't talk about culture!"
I didn't understand.
"The problem is so simple. Indonesians are just afraid of becoming tan," one of them said.
"Yes, besides, most Indonesians can't swim," the other added.
I look at both of my friends with a hint of disbelief, unable quite to accept that the answer could be so simple. But is it true? Sure, lots of Indonesians don't like to go out in the sun, obsessed as they are with having light skin. But that seems a bit of a silly reason not to enjoy a beach holiday. There must be something else to it.
After returning to jakarta, I discussed this problem with some other friends and got the answers I wanted. (Yes, I know, I am a bit of a bore).
One of my friends who has lived for years in Australia said that the bules in Kuta don't act like that when they are at home. In Kuta, where they are treated like gods, they feel freer than at home. So it is not the Indonesians who are folksy, but those bules! Even non-folksy bules, when they arrive in Kuta, they become folksy.
That's an answer! I smile with satisfaction, and then I reach my own conclusion: Maybe this is the dilemma of places that become global tourist destinations. Local tourists become intimidated by the "domination" of strangers and feel inferior in their own country.
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