Detoxing in Thailand: My fabulous five day fast.

As the Muslim month of fasting officially was coming to a close and Indonesians were all returning home to family for the celebration of Idul Fitri, Hal and I headed off to the Sanctuary at Koh Phangan in the Gulf of Thailand to undergo a fast of our own.

We'd both done 3 day fast before and loved the renewed energy it gave us, so we opted for the 5.5 day, seven night cleansing program and signed on the dotted line.

Arriving by boat on the tiny beach at Haad Tien where the Sanctuary is located, I instantly felt at home among hatched roof huts nestled into the surrounding jungle populated by a tribe of smiling relaxed interlopers, chilling out on cushions and hammocks in the shade. The whole place had a welcoming and distinctively laid back style.

The first thing you have to do is report to the Wellness Centre and pass a ph test to see if you have an healthy amount of electrolytes in your system to commence the fast. If you are going to be releasing toxins from the colon you want your body to be capable of handling the load efficiently.

Greeted by the effervescent and irrepressible Moon, our cheeky Thai guide for this odyssey, we spit on our little bits of paper, and pass with flying colours. Two weeks pre-fast preparation of a largely fruit and vegetable diet and no alcohol, dairy, wheat or processed foods probably helped quite a bit.

We down our last supper of ‘hot and raw’ soup, a lurid shade of green and surprisingly delicious. Armed with our first bentonite clay and psyllium shake and some intestinal herbs we are ready for day one and head off to bed.

Meanwhile on facebook a lot of people are concerned. Our feed slowly fills with people’s externalised fears and attachments about food: ‘I could never do that’. ‘Is that dangerous?’ ‘You guys are crazy’, ‘What about all that great Thai food you are missing.’ And so on.

You clean your home, so the line goes, why not your insides!?

The aim? Rid our bodies of acids, and toxins, remove blockages and stagnation in the digestive tract, and improve nutritional absorption and circulation around the body. Our good gut bacteria should also get a boost helping our immune system to work better. In short we should look and feel better, from the inside out! 

Our diet is largely vegetarian and pretty healthy but we’d be lying if we didn't admit it also contains a regular share of processed and refined flours and sugars, rich restaurant fare in heavy sauces and the occasional pizza takeaways, not to mention caffeine and alcohol, eating on the run and all those preservatives, food additives and chemicals we were never designed to consume that seem to creep their way into everything.   

Just the act of stopping food intake is beneficial all on its own. It takes around 24 hours for the body to start diverting the enormous amounts of energy usually spent digesting food, to eliminating toxins and healing and repairing the body. If you think about it historically the human body is conditioned to having regular periods of feast and famine as food sources and fortunes change across the seasons. Science is now telling us that one of the key indicators for longevity is calorie restriction and intermittent fasting is all the rage. (Tell your mum - skipping breakfast is not bad after all!)

Giving the body a break to help rid ourselves the accumulated goop of bad food choices makes perfect sense once you look into it. The actual process of cleansing the body from the inside is a little more mysterious until you do it.

Which is what brings us to Day 1 of our fast.

Day 1: Our printed timetable requires us to report to the Wellness Centre approximately every 1.5 to 3 hours for an alternating intake of herbal supplements which will assist in the cleansing and elimination process. For a fast it seems like a lot of stuff going in. We are told the bentonite psyllium shakes act like an intestinal broom and will help us feel full.

Filled with holiday excitement I embrace everything on offer – complimentary herbal tea in the 'tea temple', hatha yoga, three rounds in the steam room and plunge pool, and a massage - which follows my very first colonic. All in all a pretty full day!

As the sun dips below the horizon I can feel a headache coming on. I’ve experienced this on previous fasts so skip the film night – a Lenoard Cohen biopic screened in the restaurant where real food is served - and head to bed.

Day 2: I wake up feeling worse for wear after a night spent getting up every few hours to pee. The result of the 3 litres of water we are expected to consume daily.

The detox is hitting me surprisingly quickly – my head aches and I’m slightly nauseous. I decide to take things a little slower, getting intimately acquainted with the hammock  and library of nutrition books in the wellness centre. 

The charming staff breeze about mixing up shakes for everyone with big grins while listening patiently to detox symptoms from the clientele that saunter in and out. Drink more water and take a rest are prescribed remedies for just about anything. They've seen it all before.

Day 3: We have yet to feel any signs of hunger yet the only real nutrition we are consuming is one 200ml carrot and cucumber juice at 1pm daily. The clay shakes are doing their job despite starting to taste a little gross! I’m still showing far more signs of detox than both boys. This mainly consists of headaches, nausea and the added bonus of aching bones in my legs each night. I’m also having strange dreams, recalling things I haven't thought about in years. A brutal break up, strange encounters with my long dead relatives. Other long past dramas surface during my morning meditation. Releasing old emotions is one of the outcomes of the cleansing process.

We end each day with so called 'soup' – its essentially water in which a few vegetables may or may not have been momentarily bathed. Plates of lime and cayenne are provided for flavour. It tastes bad but gives us a reason to come together with our fellow fasters. Some are finishing up a 10 day fast and seem quite lively and energetic. They could just be trying to encourage us newbies!

Day 4: I instantly feel better including watermelon in the shakes. My experiment with no sugars had made the detox a lot faster. I regain some energy and enjoy a walk to a neighbouring beach and a swim. After being very introspective for a few days I'm starting to feel the results of the fast. My body feels light, and my mind calmer and less busy with thoughts. I indulge in a hot stone massage and yoga in the hillside studio that is nestled by a gurgling stream threaded with bright blue plastic irrigation pipes. When the teacher asks the fasters in the class to raise their hands I almost forget that’s me.

Day 5: I suppose I need to say something here about the daily colonics. We each have our own private colonic bathroom assigned to us for the duration of the fast. The spotlessly immaculate set-up includes a gravity feed colonic bucket filled with filtered water and coffee. Our colourful demonstration from Moon on day 1 inducts us into the process. 

As you lie back and try to imagine you are somewhere else (a Thai beach perhaps?) a speaker pipes a selection of mainly soothing and sometimes slightly erratic music into the room. You have complete control of the flow of water entering into your colon.  A warm sensation not at all unpleasant followed by a feeling of fullness lets you know it’s time to evacuate. It’s less about revulsion and more a kind of fascination that comes over you seeing what comes out of your body particularly after you haven’t eaten anything for 4 days.

This is the day I was told to start to expect to start to feel results. It’s an accurate assessment as I wake up with loads of energy. Even the shakes taste slightly less like mud - or is it just that I know it’s my last day today? I enjoy the morning yoga, a swim, walk on the beach. I'm honestly looking forward to breaking my fast the following day. More for the pleasure of being free from the routine of supplements and shakes than any driving hunger pains.

Floating about in the warm salty sea water I sense a feeling of calm from deep within. Something akin to complete joy at being alive fills my body. The world is bright, clear and I’m wearing a grin as wide as the bright blue bay.

Day 6: The day dawns enticingly with my final colonic a soothing camomile concoction rather than regular coffee. On completion, I feel as empty and new inside as the day I was born. Today I go back to the land of food. Surprisingly I feel no sense of urgency.

Coming off a fast is often the part that people have the most problems usually due to introducing too many foods at once and too quickly. The key is to reintroduce very simple raw fruits and veggies for a day or two and chew everything thoroughly. At least 20 to 30 times for each mouthful. Adopting this habit alone can make a huge impact on your digestive health. As someone with a habit of inhaling my food its going to be one to watch!

The papaya takes strangely foreign in my mouth at first. It takes my fellow fasters and I a good 90 minutes to eat our first breakfast sized bowl.  A grin feels permanently fixed to my face. I celebrate with more massage, swims and steam room. The day drifts deliciously by chatting with fellow travellers about where they are off to next. When I toddle off to bed I sleep soundly for the first time since we arrived. Wouldn't it be incredible to feel this full of life all the time!

Did it work?

The aim of our fast was to cleanse our bodies, improve digestion, and lose any excess weight while gaining a range of other benefits including improved moods and eating habits. So how does that translate into how we actually felt before, during and after the fast?

While it wasn't always a picnic, the fast really has made me feel fabulous inside and out. Hal and I felt completely renewed and revived - and this is something that has stayed with us.

For those concerned about such things I can honestly also say that I, Hal and Marky actually never felt hungry on the fast. Not once. And both boys went on to continue on for an additional 3 days after me, a total of 8 and a half days without food.

Before experimenting with fasting, I like many people had imagined that no food meant not only weakness and depletion of energy, but a risk of getting ill. Yet increased energy is the number one benefit listed by participants on completion of a fast.

That was certainly our experience.

Marky and I complete a cross country 3 hour trek through heavy forest and up and down a steep ridge to the main beach at Haad Rin some several kilometres across the island. Marky on day 7 of his fast – and me with only some papaya and a raw slaw in the belly since resuming food the day before. We feel exhilarated and amazing after our climb. A little eye opener that smashes a few myths about what our bodies actually need in terms of energy!

Plenty of people around us are do the 10 day cleanse and over the years I have met many healthy, vibrant people who have fasted for up to 30 days to great benefit. While the experience is not always pleasant, tiredness, and some discomfort can show up as you release lots of stored gunk from your system – it’s far more about healing and never about lack of food.

And once you undergo the cleansing process you feel lighter on so many levels. Its as if a whole lot of emotional baggage off loads from your cells along with all the toxins. Besides kilos shed, one of the most noticeable external effects is that your eyes become brighter - they literally shine!

Since fasting my skin, digestion, and general vitality has also improved. I am eating more raw foods and really enjoying simple vegetable dishes. I'm also noticing what my body does and doesn't like. Milk immediately gives me sinus and runny nose, wheat and yeast products cause my belly to bloat. Sour dough - well chewed - is okay. One, maybe two glasses of wine feels like plenty. The three kilos I lost - not the aim of my fast - has largely stayed off.

It’s amazing how ill-informed we are about food and our relationship to it. Fifty years of the nutrition industry and its conflicting messages telling us what to eat and not to eat –high fat low fat, no fat, low carb, high protein – it’s no wonder we have lost our ability to trust in our own bodies, let alone hear our inner compass that can guide us to making the right choices.

Fasting has been practiced for millennia as a vital part of maintaining good health and healing of all kinds, and as a way to reach heightened states of consciousness. Yet a lot of fear and confusion surrounds the practice. We come from a culture of such food abundance that the idea of abstaining from food by choice seems to incite irrational fears.

Given all our knowledge and the relevant abundance of food in the Western world you would think we would all be enjoying longer lives and freedom from illness. Yet chronic diseases and obesity are at epidemic levels.

Thankfully many of us are embracing the idea that shunning the food ‘industry’ and its packaged processed products is a vital step in reclaiming our health and reducing the risk of disease. Yet what if all those great organic wholefoods— brown rice, fresh veggies from our garden, home pickled olives, activated nuts and seeds we are consuming are not giving us all the benefits they might due to a beleaguered and toxic digestive system? Perhaps detoxification and cleansing are the missing link in the formula for lasting good health that we and many others have been missing?

For me the benefits are in. Restricting food intake and undergoing a cleanse is not only beneficial for a healthy body and mind, its one of the keys to long life. It will certainly become a yearly feature on my personal wellbeing program. I encourage everyone to try it at least once.

Life in the fasting lane

Life here in Java offers plenty of food for thought.

It's Ramadan right now and most Muslims are fasting, which means no food or water (or cigarettes, sex or getting angry) during daylight hours. After dark this seems to be followed by lots of eating and praying. 

Hal and I have been experimenting with fasting for a year or two now. There are various theories kicking around, the most common being the  five: two regime - two days a week you refrain from eating, or reduce to 25% or 500 calories. The aim of this eating pattern is to help your body to use food more efficiently, with all sorts of health benefits including greater longevity. There's nothing more powerful you can do for your body according to the experts.

Of course, restricting food intake has long been practiced as a way to cleanse the body and mind and restore balance in a number of cultures, well before modern science came along to sing its praises. But fasting a day here or there is one thing. Every year the world's Muslims collectively forego food for a month.

I admire their staying power.   

On quizzing Ibu who works in the kitchen and housekeeping for YabbieKayu, her 'day' goes something like this. At around 2.30am a voice is heard through the streets calling out 'Sahur' which is the last meal for Muslims before pre-dawn prayer and fasting begins. In case you miss it, groups of young boys and other devoted individuals walk around neighborhoods beating on drums and making noise to wake up the faithful (and their neighbours).

It took us a while to work out what this night parade was all about. This is the time Ibu gets up to prepare the pre-dawn food for her family which is then consumed before heading off to the mosque for prayer. Prayers ramp up during Ramadan so in addition to the usual call to prayer around 4am there seems to be longer recitations and chanting. 

Then it’s back home for Ibu to do a little housework before arriving for work at 7am. She then prepares breakfast for the guests, including us, shops for food and cleans the bungalows. The usual full day of work only with no lunch or refreshments to sustain energy. 

For those of us not fasting it feels polite to avoid eating too publicly. During Ramadan lots of smaller warungs and food places are closed during the day. Of course I forget about it after a a few days in and stupidly offer the gardener some of my dark chocolate. He declines with a polite smile. 

Buka puasa or breaking fast happens at sunset around 6pm so people tend to leave work early to head to markets and stalls to grab some snacks. It’s a social time with special foods consumed with friends and family. Our local village has makeshift stalls set up selling nasi uduk (coconut rice) and nasi kucing (literally 'cat's rice') small serves of rice with tiny toppings. 

We try a menu of small snacks one evening that includes tasty fried stuffed tofu, sweet jelly fruit drink, and a rice flour porridge with java sugar.  I slowly discover that Ramadan isn't about no food altogether but moving eating to different times of the day. Incidentally, this is similar to the time-restricted fasting program also being advocated in the West, where you restrict eating periods to 6 or 8 hour window on certain days but consume the same calories!

Once the fast is broken it’s off to the mosque again for evening Maghrib prayers, before a full meal is served. Further prayers are held in neighbourhood mosques and at gatherings every evening at about 7:30 pm. As we head out on the motorbike we can see large groups from the village in colourful sarongs seated in the courtyard in front of one of the mosques. 

After this community gathering everyone returns home and goes to bed by about 9 or 9.30 (unless staying up for the World Cup of course). And then it’s time to get up and do it all over again at 2.30 or 3am.  When I remark that it’s a pretty demanding schedule Ibu shrugs with a smile and says 'Its only a month.'

The purpose of all this effort is to remind Muslims what it is like to be hungry and poor, and to teach discipline. In practice it certainly seems to invite spiritual reflection and bring people together for a common purpose.

At home we seem to have forgotten the difference between feast and famine. We no longer eat with the seasons and indulge in myriad foods and imported delicacies available all year round.  At special times like Christmas, things usually turn to excess.  

Perhaps the fact we no longer savour and appreciate our food as we once did is most reflected in the estimated 30% of food that is wasted worldwide every year. It strikes me that becoming more grateful for what nourishes us is something we all can benefit from, regardless of religion or what part of the planet we live on.

As for the discipline involved, well I can't see the equivalent scene playing out very well in Australian workplaces. I try to imagine my office getting through the whole working day on minimal sleep, no food - and most importantly no coffee - for 30 days straight!

But all seems quite calm here. Perhaps there’s a few more people than usual draped over their desks or lying on the cool tiles for an afternoon nap. 

As the fasting month comes to a close and millions of Indonesians travel home to their families for Idul Fitri Hal and I will head off for a five and a half day fast at the Sanctuary in Thailand. This is part of our present to one another for our ten year anniversary. You can check out the review from the Guardian here. 

Our program will involve consuming no food whatsoever for just over 5 days, apart from an array of herbal intestinal cleansers and carefully prepared bentonite clay  purification ‘shakes’ 4 times a day. There’s also optional colonics and your own private pre-fast consultation and support manual. 

I have a little grin at us heading off for our carefully planned (and expensive) health retreat by the beach. We see it as an opportunity to give ourselves a mental and physical clean-up in beautiful surroundings. I’m sure the locals think we are nuts! 

Given that we will be surrounded by the delights of Thai cuisine and not eating anything for a good part of the trip, we may well be. 

Only time will tell if the experience brings gifts of a deeper kind. 

For the love of loudspeakers

It's pre dawn and I am about to lose my cool.

I've been tossing and turning all night but the thing I've been really wrestling with this trip, a little frantically over the last 24 hours, is the call to prayer. Not the call itself but the volume.

And because I like to think of myself as someone who is open-minded, culturally sensitive and eternally curious about the spiritual side of things maybe I'm resisting the idea of how intolerant I'm being. 

My husband tells me not to worry, ignore the noise. I'm a light sleeper while he has a high tolerance for noise of all kinds. This is partly due to reduced hearing but also because he has tinnitus, a condition of constant ringing in his head. 

I wish I could be so zen. When the evening call sounded out on our first night in Jogja, travel weary and slightly delirious with a head cold, my first thought was that I wasn't going to be able to sleep here. At all. Ever.

Indonesia is over 85% Muslim, and is packed with 800,000 mosques that call out at prayer times five times a day and night. That call lasting a mere five minutes, has been ringing out for centuries. It's an ever present reminder of faith and a ritual to praise god throughout the Moslem world. 

Even distorted by modern amplification, it still has its own particular beauty. And as someone who struggles to maintain a regular morning meditation practice, I have the utmost respect for the diligence and discipline it would take to observe shalat (prayer) for a week, let alone a lifetime.

Call to prayer--or azan--can be heard everywhere, and that's as it should be. I just can't help wonder when it got to be so loud. 

On this topic a local Indonesian friend is pretty candid: "I know and am very sure it has become competition between traditions, between villages and in fact between mosques. Each of the mosque now showing off their ability to gain more followers. More follower means you can earn more money and furbish your mosque, you can have greater influence, and as a result you can join an election and become a mayor."

In our village there are two mosques close by - but at the appointed hour you can hear up to five or six from across the district blasting out at one time. During any of the five prayer times entire neighbourhoods in Jogjakarta and the surrounding villages are filled with dueling voices. Even the roosters are drowned out - and the overlapping reach between mosques surely means that no one azan is ever fully heard. 

Add to this scratchy sound systems and distortion from ancient loudspeakers, and it can be quite disorienting. 

The use of loudspeakers in Indonesia is not limited to calls to prayer, but also Quranic recitations and other religious gatherings. Five minute calls can last for almost an hour. 

It's amazing to me that on the majority of nights, I --and many others --sleep through the whole thing. These sorts of adjustments are all part of the interesting mix of living somewhere new. 

A quick bit of research and it's clear I'm not the first to wonder about this delicate issue. There are prominent Indonesians waging into the discussion. 

Vice President Boediono, triggered a national debate in 2012  by publicly calling on the Indonesian Mosque Council to issue a regulation on the noise levels for loudspeakers used by muezzins to belt out calls to prayer.

“We are all aware that the azan is a holy call for Muslims to perform their prayers, but I, and probably others, feel that the sounds of azan that are heard faintly from a distance resonate more in our hearts that those that are too loud and too close to our ears."

As the opening to the council’s annual conference it not surprisingly sparked a  ton of both positive and negative responses on social media.

According to an article from that time from the website South East Asia Real Time: "The cacophony blasting through loudspeakers from hundreds of mosques at the same time is a somewhat sensitive issue in Indonesia. Most people consider it part of life in a Muslim-majority country, but some complain about the persistent aural assault. While many Indonesians say in private that they would prefer more quiet, they are content to keep their discontent to themselves to avoid offending devout Muslims."

Modern technology has brought many blessings. But I can't help but wonder if it's yet another one of those issues where the change is gradual and people perhaps fail to notice it happening around them. Hundreds of years ago azan would have echoed out from a landcape that was noticeably quieter than that of today. 

For me it's not the disrupted sleep so much as the pervasiveness of the sound - the feeling that you cannot quite be alone with your thoughts or completely in nature. 

Having done most of my growing up in the leafy suburbia of small Australian cities, I realise silence is something I take for granted, as an almost pristine natural state. Even this is not entirely accurate because even an undisturbed environment contains the sounds of animals and the elements. But these are natural sounds that are sonorous and pleasing to the ear and the soul. 

Jogja as with cities the world over, is growing at a massive rate. Even kilometers out of the city, the roar of motorbikes, cars and trucks announce the daily commute at peak times throughout the day.  Honks, shouts, bells and engines jostle for our attention from all directions and our ability to tune them in and out is as much a reflection of our inner state than anything else.

As I contemplate all this from my little piece of paradise on the world's most populated island I realise that man-made sound is all around us. 

It strikes me too that silence is a quality that is gradually retreating with the inexorable expansion of human population and the march of industry over ever diminishing wilderness areas. 

This is something that is happening worldwide and with the growing reach of modern amplification systems this simply means more competing sounds demanding our attention. 

Is the decreasing opportunity for sustained silence inevitable or do we have some control over the intensity of sounds reaching us? 

As I wrestle with cultural distinctions around what constitutes a comfortable noise level I wonder whether do we as human beings realise the consequences of lost silence?

                           ************************************************

Saturday morning arrives fully bathed in sunshine. At 8am on the dot a syncopated beat pounds out, transferring to my dreams. Its clearly not the azan, which isn't due till midday. Rhythmic, catchy, all enveloping it was the kind of thing I might have danced to in  a nightclub--but here is so completely out of context I can't do anything but jam the pillow over my head hoping it'll go away.

It doesn't. I shower and dress and set out across the lawns - the caricature of an agitated Westerner fully intending to march up and demand an explanation. From someone, anyone.

Luckily I meet one the unflappable local ladies on the path who smiles her serene smile as I blurt out:  'Ada disco hari ini? (There's a disco today?)

No, she explains patiently, it's the local cultural centre, holding an aerobics class for their staff.

Defeated, I turned back to the bungalow. This was clearly a debate for another day.

Postscript: It does seem there is change on the horizon.

Last week another former Vice President weighed in with some action on this issue.

According to the local news Jusuf Kalla, in his capacity as chairman of the Indonesian Mosque Council (DMI), has started a nationwide campaign on the issue of loudspeakers. Some 50 cars, manned by more than 150 technicians, have been dispatched to help mosque caretakers improve the sound quality of their amplification systems.

Kalla was reported to have said that other than reducing noise, the technical assistance would also help to ensure those attending mosque could hear Muslim preachers’ complete message.

It may take some time before this is any notable change to volume levels but at least the conversation has commenced. Issues are never one-dimensional especially where tradition, culture and religion coincide. Thinking about this issue has given me a deeper understanding of my new home. 

And I for one, no longer take silence for granted. 

I treasure it now that I have less. And that's a good thing.

  

One suitcase, no plan

For close to a decade now Hal and I have kept rebounding to Indonesia. It’s become part of our shared story, I can’t explain exactly why.  Something about the landscapes, food, and people --the friendly and relaxed attitude to life—has gotten under our skin. An itch that needs to be scratched.

Rather than shift restlessly between locations like harried tourists on an annual culture binge, each journey we have chosen to become immersed in a project. Slipping into a new way of living seems to offer up more important secrets than skipping around like an owl-eyed TripAdvisor reviewer.

In 2009 we spent nine months volunteering on conservation and cultural projects in Ubud, Bali. Yes that ever changing traveller’s nirvana, made ever more famous as the destination of “Eat, Pray, Love” where Liz Gilbert (played by Julia Roberts) finally gets laid. She could have found all three realities in that one hillside village.

Think cramped offices in unbelievable gardens, tropical nights robed in equatorial darkness. A crumbling pantheon of silent Hindu temple gods,  interrupted by the rendered slickness of six star villas slowly sucking the deep rivers dry. The blend of modern and ancient that makes up life in much of Asia today. 

This time, a quiet, steady voice within says ‘wait’. Chastens me to slow down to the speed of Indonesia (a measured dilatoriness) and to not put my hand up for a project, nor map out a list of achievements to tick off. I do the opposite of what I usually would do. I alight off the Garuda Airbus with a packed suitcase and an empty agenda. 

Travel affords the possibility of a great many things. For me it has always offered insights into the intimate workings of life, as much as the chance for adventure and sightseeing. With Hal’s humanitarian project providing more than enough reason for going, this trip is a perfect opportunity to put my theories of mindfulness into practice. 

So I come to Java with a plan to eschew all plans. To do nothing pre-arranged, and simply wake up each day and see what the morning brings.

Surprisingly this is more difficult than I’d imagined.

For starters, there’s a not entirely inaccurate belief that others will perceive I’m plain idle. Add to that my deep seated need to feel productive – something that is both personal and cultural.

First discovery: To be completely free of responsibilities is both weird, and guilt-laden.

Of course it feels wonderful to escape the normal routine of life at home—and enter the exotic otherness, the topsy-turvy multi-sensory bombardment that is living in an utterly foreign culture.

I make the deliberate decision to stay out here by the rice fields. The work of the traditional farmers is laborious and as lean as the old villagers we see riding around on their Dutch-era bikes. Yet there is comforting chatter in their early morning routines.

I begin to observe the farmers gather outside our window each morning joking amicably as their bare feet follow the furrows of their sawah.  I wonder what us Westerners have lost generations ago when we became urbanized and orphaned from nature and the land that sustains us.

Away from hyperventilated rush and adrenaline pulse of the city, in this small village called Tembi, is the perfect opportunity to allow life to unfold in its own unbridled pace. As I mediate from the deck of our bungalow, time is nothing more or less than swaying rows of emerald rice stretching out invitingly —my morning panorama.

I should be as happy as a plump cherub in heaven.  But my ingrained habits ambush me and I can’t resist signing up for a couple of tasks that fate inevitably asks. And then a few more. Intensive language lessons, learning batik, writing a travel guide to Jogja for the bungalows, volunteering my time as editor and writer.

Somehow getting up early for class feels more onerous when the rest of my time is so free. Planting my butt in front of my under-sized tablet computer irks me. I begin to regret offering to edit grant applications and help a local student with their environmental thesis. I want to help but I'm resisting being jammed up against my keyboard once more. Strapped to that contorted qwerty universe, I'm as yoked as a bullock in a pen.

Here is my dilemna: while having nothing to do feels like an oddly unfurnished room, doing anything goal oriented also begins to feel stifling and infuriating. I drive Hal and myself nuts for a few days.

Thankfully nature thwacks you on the head a little more often here. Minor earthquakes, torrential downpours, chorusing frogs and a phenomenal volcanic ash fall. In our little corner of Java, it’s hard to get caught up in introspection for too long.

Interrupted by a breeze, my head bobs up to glimpse the sudden appearance of grains of rice dusting the fields, signaling a new phase -- one that is gently delivering me back to myself.

With a few intriguing bumps along the way.

Gunung Kelud coughs - Jogja chokes under ash

A pale halo of light shines through the mosquito net.  Somethings not right. Still half asleep I stumble to the doorway of our outdoor bathroom – and rub my eyes. My brain tries to reconcile the scene.

The grass has changed from its normal fluorescent green to gunmetal grey. Looking up, the frangipani tree and everything within our bungalow’s courtyard is doused in a sickly grey coating.

A soundless mist is falling from the sky. I call out to Hal still snoring in bed, and fling open the veranda door to look out.  

The colour has been sucked out of the world. While we were sleeping everything has been blanketed in a layer of grime.  

All is mute. The chatter of birds, the usual calls of the farmers as they wade out amongst the rows of rice, even the hum of traffic is eerily missing.

We wander about trying to take it all in. Nuclear fallout momentarily flashes through my mind.

 It's like a snow scene gone grey. A feeling of unease creeps over me.

Our first lucid thought is Merapi, the volcano less than 30 kilometres to the north.

Any confusion is short lived. The benefit of living with locals and a good internet connection. 

Guning Kidul some 209 kilometres away erupted at 22.50pm the night before. That loud boom we'd put down to an accident or distant thunder was the sound a volcano makes when pressure builds up and forces an explosion. 

Tons and tons of ash and sand had spewed out 17 kilometres into the air is now billowing in a 500 kilometre radius across Java, covering everything in its path.

As I wandered around the village a local woman on her way to work shelters me under her umbrella. Later we are handed face masks by someone in the street who will slip away before we have time to thank him.

A man in his sixties tells me this was only the second time in his lifetime he had seen anything like this. The last time was in 2010 when Merapi erupted.

We are so used to humans running the show and being the cause of things that happen. To directly experience nature's power to wreak havoc leaves my mind a yawning blank. 

Volcanology is not something I know much about after all. Living in the Pacific Ring of Fire I'm guessing I'm about to get a crash course.

To begin with I'm surprised to learn volcanic eruptions are not that rare. There are close to 500 volcanoes classified as active on the planet -- with 45 of those right here on Java. Every year somewhere between 50 and 70 volcanoes will erupt and the chance of that happening here is high. A sobering thought!

Known for large explosive displays, Kelud itself has erupted some 30 times since 1000 AD. In the 1919 eruption over 5000 people died, mainly through hot mudflows known as lahar. 

Thankfully the volcano is monitored closely, with officials warning residents within 10 kilometres of Kelud to evacuate several hours before the actual eruption. 

After breakfast we grab a car and go north. Driving around Jogja, the entire city is enveloped in a 3cm layer of ash. Surreal scenes greet us on every corner.

Apart from all the ash itself, the emptiness of the streets is the first thing that hits us. Being able to walk around and witness the city without its usual throng of cars, scooters and becaks, and of course people. All the shops hoardings closed up, and everywhere coated in a white haze.

Occasionally we see someone out the front of a building hosing down the cement or stooped over attempting to scoop up the mountains of ash with a small broom. Otherwise the streets are weirdly deserted accept for curious spectators like us.

At least 200,000 people from the area surrounding Kelud have been directly affected, with 80,000 evacuated from their homes. Astonishingly only four people have perished due to the weight of ash caving in their roof. 

The clean up job will be immense.

And the fine ash rain continues to fall with every gust of wind and as Kelud keeps on erupting. 'Welcome to Indonesia' someone quips as we shuffle the dust off everything only to have it re-covered again minutes later.

One good thing. The soil and young rice plants will benefit having been hit with a layer of fertiliser. Some plants will be lost but in a few months everything will undergo a spurt of growth my friends assure me.

You learn a lot about a culture when you see how they react under stress. Sunday a kind of street cleaning party took place in Tembi with local youth group leading the charge with  water, brooms and hoses. Our offers to help are met with polite laughs.

For Jogja the ultimate outcome of all this ash is a massive house cleaning task. Floors to be mopped repeatedly, gutters to be cleaned, porches to be wetted down. 

The quiet, calm resilience of the locals as they pump water from the stream and set about cleaning their streets, the cooperation between the army, police and local disaster recovery volunteers all tells me this is a place where adversity is met with collective sense of equanimity.

Valentines Day 2014: we end up having a cosy dinner for seven in a bustling local eatery run by an unflappable Frenchman. We're all exhausted and still reeling from the strangeness of this day. I can't imagine I'll ever experience anything quite like it again.

 

What's so special about the Special Region of Jogjakarta?

At first glance it looks like a gritty labyrinth of narrow streets with an impossible number of cars, scooters becaks (pedicabs) and pony carts all competing for road space. Bit by bit, as you get to know the special region of Yogyakarta,  you discover a city which is equally home to Sultans, burger shops, batik and advertising hoardings - and where you can find almost anything - old and new, ancient and modern. 

Our new motto: expect the unexpected. This blog will track my discoveries over the next ten months, sharing Hal's and my adventures in our new home. 

Firstly a bit of orientation. Not to be confused with the capital Jakarta, Indonesia's frantic financial and administrative centre to the west, Jogja is situated between the island of Bali to the east and Sumatra to the West. Borneo is to the north and Christmas Island to the south. 

Known as the soul of Java, the region is also one of the most crowded places on the island. With a population of 135 million Java itself is the most densely populated island on the planet! Something you can quickly get a sense of in Jogja's traffic - which I might add is nowhere near as bad as Jakarta's.

Our new home is special in a number of other ways. Situated on the southern coast of Indonesia's largest island (there are 17,000 in total), Jogjakarta the only region in Indonesia that is still governed by a pre-colonial monarchy, the Sultan of Jogjakarta.  

Jogjakarta is naturally proud of its special administrative status which was awarded to the region due to its important roll in the Indonesian National Revolution (1945-1949) - more on that later!

The only non-elected official in Indonesian state, the Sultan acts as the hereditary governor of the region and enjoys enormous popularity with the people. Exploring the old walled palace or kraton in the centre of the city is first on the list of must-see things to do. 

Living in Jogja means we are watched over by Mount Merapi, which sits smouldering a mere 30 kilometers away. A not very reassuring National Geographic article lists it as one of the world's most active and dangerous volcanoes. It last erupted in October 2010 killing and injuring many - and displacing around 100,000 residents nearby. 

Jogjakarta's geographic distinctiveness is just the beginning. Known as the center of classical Javanese fine art and culture, such as batik, ballet, drama, music, poetry and puppet shows it's also one of Indonesia's most renowned centers of higher education. 

The city sprawls in all directions from the kraton, with the the core of the modern city to the north. Over 100 public and private higher education institutions are located here and Jogja attracts students from across Indonesia and the region - including plenty of Australians. With so many young minds congregating here to learn, there's also an exciting scene for modern music, art and self-expression as well as activism. 

As if the array of food, art, culture and industry wasn't enough, Jogjakarta also boasts Indonesia's most important historical sites - Borubadur and Prambanan.

So it's into this rich landscape that we find ourselves for a year of living curiously. I'll keep you posted!

Gudeg city

What is going on with my tastebuds?

A week or two into my ten months in the village of Tembi (Jogjakarta region of Java, Indonesia) and I'm already looking for sambal on my sandwich, scanning the side streets for fatty fried snacks, and ordering nasi goreng--a spicey fried rice--for breakfast (and actually enjoying it!).

So when the offer of trying out the best Gudeg in Jogja comes up I don't hesitate. A 25 minute cab ride to the north in the drizzling rain through weaving traffic is a small price to pay for a chance to try out another exotic Indonesian delicacy.

Jogja is sometimes known as Kota Gudeg (Gudeg City) and you can find kaki limas (literally five legs - tiny mobile food carts on wheels), warungs (simple street stalls) and rumah makan (restaurants) selling their version of the sweet stew all over the city. So it's not surprising we have a few false starts getting our gang to the right location. Finally we pile out at a multi-story restaurant with startling orange walls and fluoro lighting.

Gudeg Sagan (Jl Prof. Dr. Herman Yohanes, No 53) started out as an electronics shop run by a husband and wife team - selling TVs and radios by day and Gudeg from a tiny stall out front by night. These days electronics are long gone and the tiny shop has been replaced by a bustling eatery. We huddle around the the window where the dishes are all on display, the ubiquitous cover band filling our ears. Dave, our host and longtime Jogya resident takes us through what's on offer.

Gudeg is made from young jack fruit that is boiled for several hours with palm sugar and coconut milk. A range of spices are added including garlic, shallots, candlenut, coriander, galangal and teak leaves.  The teak leaves which give the Nangka its distinctive red colour in the Jogja version of this dish, is also sweeter and drier than the kind found in Solo. It's served with a range of toppings - chicken, hard-boiled egg, tofu and tempeh as well as a stew made of crisp beef skins called sambal goreng krecek.

I give a mental thank you that Dave is with us to explain so I can select the option without meat--I'm pretty sure my Indonesian isn't quite up to translating the various aspects of an animal carcass. Since arriving in Joygja I've relaxed my vegetarian diet to include a little fish now and then. This means that I can sample a wider range of food, as many vegetable dishes have shrimp paste or anchovies in them. But crispy cow skin (and snakes, bats and chicken heads for that matter!) are definitely off the menu.

We order and I go for tempe and egg toppings. Gudeg Sagan offers one of the less sweet versions but it's still pretty sweet by Australian tastes. Still, the coconut broth is tasty and the tempe and egg soak up the flavours. I wash it down with an es jeruk (orange juice water and sugar with ice) and an es teh (no sugar this time!). The restaurant seats are open air, the place is clean and the feeling is spacious - I scan the room and spot a couple of other foreigners enjoying their meal.

All in all, the texture and taste of the jackfruit is interesting and with my newly discovered fire-eating skills I'm keen to try the spicier version when we travel to East Java.

We jump on the scooters - the lack of helmets between us only generating a moments consideration - and head off for some gelato before Hal and I take a taxi home to Tembi. I can't say I would travel to north of the city for this dish given the huge number of eateries and different styles of food on offer elsewhere but I'd definitely recommend Gudeg Sagan to visitors for a first time experience of Jogja's signature dish--and I'll certainly pop in next time I'm in the area.

The next day at the fascinating Beringharjo market I finish getting acquainted with nangka by buying a bag of the ripe fruit from this lady (see picture)--it tastes like a cross between pineapple, lemon and something else I can't quite place.

Now at least I know what those big green fruit are which I've seen hanging in all the locals front gardens. Given the size and number I guess I'm pretty thankful they aren't Durian!