Vivid impressions

When I think about Indonesia, certain impressions stand out in my mind very clearly. I remember, for example, an early morning car drive through the beautiful West Java countryside. In the foreground the lush tropic greenery and the coconut palms were reflected in the mirror-like surface of the flooded ricefields, which climbed down the hill slopes step by step, while in the distance the blue volcanoes formed a magnificent backdrop.

I recall the irresistible appeal of Balinese dancing—the first vibrant chord of the gamelan orchestra, the entrance of the dancer with her eyes flashing and a fixed enigmatic smile on her lips, the peculiar fascination of the sudden changes of mood, and the incredible artistry of movement of hands and fingers.

Then I think of the hospitality I received in a little Sumatran village; I sat on the floor and ate rice with my hands, and then joined in the singing of the folk songs of the district to the tune of the guitar. But I also remember seeing the smoking ruins of a ten-acre Djakarta "kampong," after a fire had swept through frail bamboo and step houses leaving ten thousand people homeless. That is also Indonesia. And last, I think of the troops of smiling, bare-footed children trotting off to their shabby-looking schools, which now work three shifts a day in an effort to keep pace with the rapidly growing demand for education.