Walking down the small paths among rice fields brought back all nice childhood memories. Although I was born and raised in the city, I spent most of my holidays in this small village in Garut, West Java, where my grandparents lived. The house they owned was modest, but large enough to have six grandchildren to stay for a week or two. They made us a swing made of a used tire on the backyard. They fed us with veggies, fishes and chicken meats from their own farms.
I loved coming along with them to work on the farms, helping them picking cloves, chilies, fruits and veggies while the boys helped grandpa fishing or carrying firewood for barbeque. Life was simple back then: we just ate what we planted. And for a city girl like me, that was called luxurious.
