Bule Falls in the Latrine ~ title coined by my fabulous counterpart, Tisia

Once upon a time, there was a bule (foreigner) on an adventure in Indonesia. Some friends invited her on a wisata (excursion) and she happily accepted the invitation. As usual, she had no idea what the day would hold but when they parked the car and walked towards the river she excitedly realized they would be taking a river cruise.

She eagerly got on the kelotok (traditional boat) and settled in. Minutes later, her host asked if she could swim. “Yes…?” she responded. “Mau di atas?” (Do you want to go on top?) they asked. “YES!” and to their surprise she jumped up and crawled to the front of the boat where she quickly hopped up onto the roof. It’s quite common to see Indonesians sitting on top of the boat but her hosts were quite surprised at her eagerness to risk falling in the shit-filled waters in order to sit on the roof.

For an hour, up and then back down the river, she soaked in the sunshine, gulped in the fresh air, and shrieked when someone moved too much below and the boat began to tip violently. Before returning to the dock, her hosts wanted to stop at their extended family’s house and so they steered the boat towards a spot on the riverbank. Like most houses, this one had a rickety bridge over the water that led to a latrine, which emptied right into the river, hence the shit-filled water.

One by one, the hosts crawled to the front of the boat, climbed up the ladder onto the bridge, passed by the latrine, and then crossed over onto the land. The bule waited for last, in order to safely jump off the roof onto the deck of the boat. Her hosts helped her climb up the ladder and then they all proceeded to cross the short distance across the bridge. When climbing up the ladder, the bule had handed her tas (bag) to the host’s daughter and once safely on the bridge, everyone laughed with relief that the bule had successfully ridden Indonesian style on the kelotok. The bule took one step towards land and the girl with her tas, and then, with a splintering crack of rotted wood, her left leg plunged straight through the bridge and suddenly, she was dangling over the shit water, one leg on the bridge, and the left half of her body, up to her waist, dangling inches above the water.

The women screamed, the men yelled, and the bule started laughing. She was hauled up and out, and carefully directed across the rest of the bridge and onto dry land. Her heart was pounding but she was laughing at her luck – she made it off the roof of the boat but the damn bridge still had to have its say.

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Obviously I am the bule in this story. I now have substantial battle wounds to prove it. From the land I was escorted into the house where, despite my protests that I was fine (I wasn’t, my leg was throbbing), the women hiked up my skirt and examined my leg. At first, it didn’t look that bad. A few scratches, some redness. To be expected. The women brought out some oils and one began to rub them into my leg. I then proceeded to insist that I was fine, it was just a little scrape (in fact it was throbbing terribly but I wasn’t going to admit that).

After a short rest, we took a jalan-jalan (journey) behind the house and into the orange garden beyond. Unfortunately, my evil spirit wasn’t done with me for the day – the window shutter was propped open and me, being the tallest in the group and not paying attention, ran smack into the wooden shutter. Yes. I have now embarrassed myself beyond words.

After an exceptionally long, but fun journey to the orange garden, to a jelly fruit stand, carefully across the bridge and onto the boat, back down the river, to a museum, to lunch, to a 500 year old King’s tomb, to another museum, to my hosts house, and then finally back to my hotel bed, I was finally able to examine my leg. It is ugly. It is swollen. It is purple. And I can’t stop laughing.

I learned two new Indonesian words that day: jatuh and jamban. Fall and latrine. Yes, the Bule jatuh di jamban.