All I could see made me think we had just entered a small village set in gardens. There were stone paths with little paved gutters along one side, following the walls of a row of single storey bungalows as they went around a corner. A motorcycle or two was parked under a tree. The party of people split up, and Ibu led Yudhie and me along the path that turned a corner and stopped at a closed door in the last house in the row. She turned the door handle, opened the double doors and turned on the light—a magnificent, large, high-ceilinged room furnished simply with a pair of bamboo benches, a plant, and a couple of Hindu ikons hanging on the wall. Another room opened off to the right, but I didn’t take it in just then. My eyes were following Ibu’s every move, as she opened another door straight ahead. That door had a key. We entered another room and she turned on the light.
‘This is where you will sleep.’
I couldn’t believe my eyes. This room was also very simply furnished, very Spartan in its detail, with a large probably queen-sized bed, a wardrobe (which was locked), and a table with a mirror above it. The floor had a bamboo rug on one side near a large, unglassed window with ornate ironwork lattice and opened wooden shutters. The light in this room and the first came from a single fluorescent light bulb hanging from a cable in the ceiling. This seemed to be the norm everywhere we went in Yndonesia, from middle class townhouse to peasant cottage, and this comfortable and spacious bungalow somewhere in between. We put down our bags and followed Ibu as she opened yet another door, this one bolted from inside the room. It opened onto a breezeway that joined several ‘houses’ and was separated from an inner courtyard by wire latticework. Just outside our door to the right were the ‘facilities.’
This is where I got my first glimpse of what is normal in Yndonesia for toilet and bath. The bathroom in Yudhie’s apartment is almost American in layout, except for the drain floor. We have a normal toilet except there is a spray nozzle nearby along with the toilet paper roller, and both toilet and shower are in the same room. This is a ‘Western’ bathroom. What our house in Bali had was separate rooms for the toilet, and for the bath. In fact, they were actually separate little houses connected to the continuous flow of houselike rooms that comprise Ibu’s home. The
kamar kecil, or toilet room, had a seatless toilet bowl, a water spigot with a bucket below it, a much larger water vessel off to the side with a handled cuplike pail, and finally, a roll of toilet paper hung on the wall by a makeshift wire. When you use the toilet, you flush it by pouring the bucket of water into the bowl and then refilling it.
I’m not going to describe the method of cleaning yourself after using the toilet because it’s just common sense. You either use toilet paper as in America, or water in the small pail and your
left hand, or both. The
kamar mandi, or bath room, is literally just that. The floor is a drain floor. The floor and walls and reservoir are tiled. There is a faucet above the reservoir which you use to refill the tank with as much water as you have used in bathing yourself.
How do you bathe yourself, by the way? Well, it’s easy, and fun! Again we find that little pail that looks like a large measuring cup. You don’t hop into the reservoir, of course! The water is icy cold, even in hot weather. You strip down, then douse yourself all over starting with your head with cold water using the little pail. After you’re soaked, you use regular shampoo and wash your hair, soap for your body, and so on. Afterwards, you rinse yourself down the same way.
I came to love this type of bath even more than the baths in Japan. There’s something invigorating about using icy water. It wakes you up in the early morning. It cools you down when you bathe in the heat of the afternoon. It softens you and relaxes you in the night, getting you ready for night time pleasures, prayer, and sleep. While we were in Bali, and elsewhere, I bathed two, three, even four times a day. I never missed the hot showers I take when I am at home in America. It’s no wonder the people are so clean here—It’s so easy and refreshing to bathe. Looking back to our overnight stay in Nakao village in Sumatera, we can see how this type of bath evolved. There, a well in the front yard to draw water, a pony wall enclosure next to it with a drain floor, and a small reservoir in the wall which is filled by hand from the well. Dousing yourself with a pail, using shampoo and soap, that doesn’t change.
Ibu asked us if we thought the accommodation was satisfactory. We nodded respectfully and thanked her for such hospitality. After telling us that Titi would bring us a towel and some mosquito repellant, she bid us goodnight. We couldn’t help rejoicing in our good fortune. We’d never have hoped for such hospitality and comfort—our own house, and for the duration of our stay. After we bathed and settled in, we looked around our ‘rooms.’ Off the main entry room there was a dining room with table and chairs. A rack of plastic-bottled water, and a tray with two teacups and some teabags, lay on the table. I can’t quite remember if it was that same night or not, but several times during our short stay at Ibu’s food was brought us and laid out on the table. We were treated by Ibu and her family as visiting royalty. At the end of our stay as we were saying goodbye, she made certain we knew we could return any time.
Tidak ada komentar:
Posting Komentar