Like the Pros

For my last week in Jakarta, I’ve had a few small adventures I thought I’d share.

Tuesday night, Katie and I decided to get our feet chewed on by those lovable flesh-eating fish (not nearly that scary but I love how it sounds). To get to the shop in the Grand Indonesia mall, we have to walk around the Selamet Datang traffic circle. It’s about four lanes deep and of course no traffic lights around the four large, three small entrances to the circle. Katie and I have become pros at traversing the dangerous freeway: just walk out at a steady pace, hold your palm out to the car, and keep going. It’s even better if you can cross with a local next to you. They have a better sense of the traffic rhythm.

Wednesday night we were invited out to have dinner with some Americans at Face Bar, which is a restaurant just behind our hotel. Before we left the hotel though, Katie and I sat down at the piano in the lobby. We decided to do a very American selection: “Heart and Soul.” Only the staff was in the lobby. We earned a standing ovation; they loved us. Angel, one of the girls at the front desk, rushed over and made us promise to perform again before we left. Katie and I couldn’t stop laughing. Dinner was also amazing. I wish we’d been invited out more, but everyone at the mission is very busy right now.

Tonight is our last night here. All the staff can’t believe it’s been a month, and frankly, neither can I. We’re hoping to get to the gym one more time before we leave. Part of me is sad to go. Katie and I joke that we won’t be able to understand why our rooms are cleaned twice a day when we get home or how come the food won’t be prepared for us. Tonight I went for a massage on the fifth floor. It was very good; the girl made a valiant effort at the knots that are my back. Still, I found myself just wishing for the backrubs we give in my family. I’ve honestly felt that way with all three massages. Frankly, my mom trained us well. What else can I say?

We work in the morning and leave in the afternoon tomorrow. I’m off to do some last minute packing.

 

The Motorway or Why I Read in the Car

After many debates, Katie and I decided that for our last weekend we would do a day trip on Saturday to Bandung. Sunday would be reserved for last minute shopping in Jakarta. We knew this would be a long day, but Katie’s philosophy, “I want to wake up in my own bed,” was a familiar one to me. I grew up with Joan after all. Jakarta may be the only place I’ve ever stayed where it can often take you two hours to go 30 km (15 miles). Traffic is just that bad, and on weekends everyone is headed out of the city. Our three weeks here have also matched the three weeks of summer holiday for students. I read of all of Bogue’s Fortune and wished I’d brought a second book. Since it was dark by six in the evening, this oversight on my part didn’t matter as much.

Upon finally reaching Bandung, the group tour stopped at Jalan Cihampelas, an area famous for shopping. I’m beginning to wonder where in Indonesia is not famous for shopping. Since there were two Indian women on the tour, Katie and I bummed around pretty much just waiting to leave the moment we arrived. I got a couple of good photos but was quite bored to be honest.

We stopped somewhere at a local place to eat. The Indian women, who were Hindu and vegetarian, had a hard time explaining the idea of no meat. Patrick had had similar issues when he was here. I finally got to try some foods wrapped in banana leaves, which I must admit sounds more exciting than it tasted. There were some really cute kids playing on the playground though. It made me think of Alex, who loves going down slides.

Finally, we prepared to head towards Tangkuban Perahu Crater. I will only mention in passing that these roads were also crowded. Along the way, we passed green tea plantations, which were quite lovely to behold. Furthermore, this part of the island is mountainous, always a plus in my book. However, our clear day was turning overcast. The higher we drove up, the foggier everything became. Really, we were very lucky. Five minutes after we reached the crater, the clouds moved just enough so we could see it. It was like Brigadoon had come to Java Island. I do love mist in the mountains; I suppose it’s the romantic in me. Still, I was a bit disappointed because I could tell how spectacular the views would have been. The photographer in my was saddened. The other perk of the elevation (1830 meters) was the cool temperatures: pure bliss. Not bliss was the volcano’s potent sulfuric essence.

The last stop was to be the Ciater Hot Spring, part of a large tea estate. This was naturally everyone else’s next stop too. Really you’d think some of the tours would do the route counter clockwise to miss the crowds. I’d brought my swimsuit but no towel. The other three didn’t want to go in. I just wanted to do something; I was so tired of sitting on the bus. Then again there were almost no women in there, just men and children. The two women who were in the hot springs pool were fully clothed. Considering how uncomfortable our guide (I do believe it was unintentional) made me, I just couldn’t stomach getting stares from all the men in the pool wearing my one-piece. Never underestimate the power of visual sexual harassment. At which point, I feel like this stop, with the added no-go traffic, was a complete waste of time. I can go to the Hot Springs in Bath County the next time I’m home. Why here if I’m uncomfortable?

This meant that at almost five in the evening the only “thing” I’d managed to do all day was get out and walk around the top of a volcano for thirty minutes. Now the weather was such that I probably couldn’t have hiked up it and I would have been sad to have missed the opportunity if I’d stayed in Jakarta. I knew all that. But I also knew that I need a bit more from my days than sitting down on a bloody bus all day even if the scenery is pretty.

My moment of zen came when the guide let us stop off when passing some recently harvested rice patty fields. The road was so narrow the van went on ahead a little ways. For three wonderful minutes, I was able to look at the fields and walk on the road with the mountains in the distance. Beautiful.

As the sun set, we continued to meander through small towns. I watched locals from the window, taking in all I could. With no light to read I was grateful for this glimpse of local life. We passed a dad and three kids sitting on train tracks and talking. I saw local men sitting on rugs and studying the Quran in a building. There were scads of bikers resting on the side of the street, a lit cigarette in hand. People of all ages walking up and down the town’s streets greeting friends and enjoying the cool night. As we went away from the shops, we passed homes. One home looked like little more than a roofed shelter, not much furniture. The kids’ faces were illuminated by their TV as they sat on the concrete floor. Whether in Jakarta or in the country, the poverty is impossible to hide.

Today was a slower day. I caught up with family on Skype, did a leisurely tour of the gym, edited yesterday’s photos, etc. I can’t seem to get myself to turn on the TV to watch the video I rented from the Concierge. Joan will gladly tell you I have the same problem with our Netflix rentals. I’m equally hesitant with movies on flights. I just can’t get excited about it. I could be laying on my bed doing nothing or writing my next entry here or trying to call a friend at home.

We went shopping to a local store that a fellow shuttle rider recommended a few weeks ago. It’s in a neighborhood, not commercial, part of town. Even with the small map we gave him, our taxi driver stopped for directions three times. It reminded me of some of the shops in Ibillin, you wouldn’t know them unless a local took you. The closer we got the more narrow the streets became. Many of the young boys peered out to see who was coming. Traffic and taxis are not common here. Inside the store was beautiful, we took our time deciding what we wanted. While I was browsing upstairs, I heard a quick banging of metal on metal from the street below. “Tek, tek” it seemed to say. I was thrilled to hear the sound for the first time and know that it meant someone was coming through selling hot food.

The only other customers came in after us. It was a family with two teen-aged daughters. They were speaking French, then Arabic. I caught a couple of words of each, then I was introducing myself and asking where they were from. Turns out the father is a Tunisian diplomat. They lived in D.C. for several years. I had a really nice time talking with them. The one thing I regret with this trip is that I don’t feel I’ve met very many people. The older girl reminded me of Sawsan, Maria, and several of my other students. It was just a lovely encounter.

It’s hard to believe that this is my last week. Today, I don’t feel I’ve been gone three weeks. Not that I haven’t been homesick at points. We’ll see what adventures lay in store before I return to the States.

 

Cuisine

Food is not just something my brother worships. It’s important to everyone everywhere. While Americans have learned to love American Chinese take out and Mexican food, I haven’t seen any Indonesian restaurants dotting the Great Plains. So what makes Indonesian food different from Thai or Japanese? Oh let me count the yummy ways!

Disclaimer: There are thousands of islands in Indonesia with different culinary traditions. I’m not even scratching the surface with this entry.

The first is tempeh, a Javanese invention. Tempeh is fermented, compressed soybeans that have a firmer, denser texture than tofu, which is also popular here. The major disappointment for me has been that although tempeh originated on this island, we have been unable to find it in the restaurants we’ve tried in Jakarta. I had it in Jobja (Yogyakarta) and really liked it. Tofu is eggy, but tempeh is a bit more meatlike with better flavor.

The second is sate. Now sate is the Indonesian answer to a shish kebab sauce. It has peanuts in it and is slightly spicy. It can be a bit heavy on a hot day, but it’s nice. Kecap, where we get the name for ketchup, is the generic term for sauce. I’ve enjoyed trying to ones laying around the mess hall at work. Kecaps can be mild or spicy. The one I’ve had the most reminds me of molasses.

While our international hotel has dim sum and sushi, these dishes are not found in an authentic Indonesian restaurant. Unlike Chai da Thai in Winston, your dishes do not come with coupous amounts of veggies (and that is unfortunate in my book). Instead you will find nasi campur (mixed rice) and nasi goreng (fried rice) and maybe nasi bungkus (rice wrapped in banana leaves). Nasi, or rice, is unsurprisingly a staple here. Locals say they don’t understand how foreigners can be full without eating enough rice. It is the one thing to not leave on your plate.

Of course, noodles are an option. I won over a class of users this week by expressing my love for Mie Tek Tek, spicy street noodles. This dish got its name because of the sounds street vendors make to let people know they are selling hot food. Each vendor makes a unique sound, so his customers will know he has arrived. The banging on the wheeled carts can make a tek-tek sound, hence the name.

Ongol-Ongol is a popular sweet, that like most non-American desserts isn’t too sweet. It’s a coconut paste of almost gummy consistancy. It is a nice, light end to a spicy meal.

Below I’ve provided links to some websites on Indonesia food:

www.indochef.com

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Indonesian_cuisine

http://www.tasty-indonesian-food.com/

I mentioned that our hotel serves international fare, so we actually aren’t eating as much Indonesia food as I had initally expected. Considering that I don’t have to have fried eggs on my fried rice, that’s ok. Katie is in love with the bread pudding for breakfast and the egg salad at tea. As you may have guessed, I have an immense appreciation for the bakery. The breads are lovely as is the pain au chocolat. I’m also a fan of the homemade yogurt.

Indonesia being a tropical climate, I would be remise in not mentioning the fresh fruit. Mangos are not currently in season, but everyday I have a plate full of watermelon. And it gets better: there are two types red and yellow. That’s right, my friends, yellow watermelon. Now it’s not quite as sweet as red, but it is refreshing and just plain wonderful. It really is summer!

 

Snapshots

Yesterday morning I missed the shuttle. I felt like Linus Larrabee (from Sabrina) as I climbed in the backseat of a Mercedes to be driven to work. Sitting in the leather backseat, I read the International Herald Tribune, aka international New York Times as I ate a pain au chocolat from the hotel’s bakery. Looking out the car window to see families on motorcycles, what I’ve decided to refer to as the Indonesia minivan, was surreal. Then again, so was the fact I was in a Mercedes.

Lest you think that this is just too ridiculous, which I freely admit that it is, I would like to remind you that everyday I teach people how to use software. From the looks I get from the Americans in class, it’s pretty easy to presume they would be shocked to know that I’m intelligent enough to have a MS in Chemistry. Then again, you can only judge based on what you see, so I can’t blame them.

With Patrick gone, Katie and I have decided to spend most of our evenings in the hotel. Frankly, traffic never clears up and the only thing to do if we go out is shopping, which now sounds like the most arduous, masochistic chore known to humankind especially considering the time spent in a dark car. I don’t think I mentioned that the sun sets here about six in the evening. When I’m not fed up with the whole Ivory Tower thing, evenings in the hotel can be great. The gym is wonderful, and the steam room is doing wonders for my sinuses. We’ve met a few nice people during the Happy Hours (we call them dinner since we go there to eat for free) after our check in call and during afternoon tea, which we sometimes make after work. And generally, I spend my evenings on Skype talking (or trying to) cool folks back home. I have tried in an effort for those who love my TV here to watch something, but frankly, they just don’t have any channels I like. I’ve turned on the news twice.

There’s another aspect to life in Jakarta as a foreigner that I haven’t touched on yet: security. Some of you may remember my talking about having your bag checked every time you went into a train station or a mall in Israel. This is the case here, at least with malls. But the hotel security is intense. Your car pulls up. Five–count them, five–people surround the car, opening the doors, checking under the underside with special mirrors. When your car goes forward and lets you out, you and your bags still go through a metal detector like the airport. They have a good reason for this: several hotels with Americans have been bombed in the past few years. It is necessary. As John, a Brit now Aussie who has spent years in this country pointed out to us, the hotel’s to get bombed were American hotels like the Marriott, which is why he was staying at the Mandarin. It’s a Chinese chain and thus safer.

There’s one Bali story I didn’t have time to include yesterday. It’s naturally about ice cream. When Mom and Dad moved to Massachusetts for his PhD program, Dad, at least, had a bit of a culture shock. He thought the bagel was a doughnut, etc. (This was prior to the “cultural sharing” of Northern foods with states south of the Mason-Dixon Line that has happened since in the 70s.) He loved to tell us kids that those Yankees didn’t know how to make milkshakes. When he ordered one, it was just milk shaken up with flavoring. We nodded our heads, who would do such a thing?! So hours before we head to the airport and leave Bali–perhaps forever, Katie and I are sitting by the pool enjoying the sound of the artificial waterfalls and watching families in the water. The night before we’d seen milkshakes on the menu but were too full to consider it. Now, however, I’ve decided that a nice thick chocolate milkshake would be just about right. When the order came, yep, you guessed it: the Indonesians learned to make milkshakes from the Yankees. I asked the waiter for more ice cream in it, trying to explain I wanted it thicker. He gave me a funny look and eventually came back with my drink. He’d added ice. Quite depressed because chocolate milk just wasn’t at all what I wanted, I paid the full bill and upon walking over to the bar to ask them for change, I gave them my milkshake back. In a soft voice, I said, “This isn’t what I wanted. In America, it’s something different. It has ice cream in it.” Add a few minutes to get over language barriers, and they were quite sad that I didn’t like the drink. Finally, the young man offered to bring me chocolate ice cream. I said thank you. Katie and I shared a nice martini glass full of chocolate ice cream while the guys behind the bar talked about that crazy American girl in the local dialect. “Why would she order a milkshake if she wanted ice cream?” Well, Dad, maybe you can answer that one.

 

Bali or a parade of photos

Americans seem enchanted with Bali. I think they’re more familiar with that island than anything else about Indonesia including that Bali is in Indonesia. Bali is known as a popular surfing destination in the 1960s and wandering around I saw lots of jewelry and clothes among other things that definitely got imported to the States during that time. In fact, that was probably what was strangest about Bali: its familiarity. All of the resorts look the way American tropical resorts look with the difference of being more authentic in that they are in the tropical location.

We arrived at the Bali Island airport, just south of Kuta, about one in the morning on Saturday. There were almost no taxis. We knew we were getting had by the price, but we were a bit shocked to realize the hotel was literally a five minutes drive. Because of our late arrival, our room wasn’t ready. Katie and I agreed to share a king-size for a night. However, the next morning we told reception we didn’t have to move. After all, the bed was big enough and the room was nice. We just didn’t feel like dragging our stuff. Apparently, this was a problem because suddenly we’d been upgraded to a Garden Villa, with a private patio and two twin beds. It was a lovely surprise. The room was beautiful, and one of my regrets was not having a day to spend on the enclosed patio. Rama Beach Hotel was fantastic. The pool was out of this world and it was across the street from the beach. It was also within walking distance to several restaurants and small shops, including a plethora of “spas.”

Saturday, Katie and I explored Ubud. I wish I’d remembered to write down more about what was there when I researched it back in the States. For the first time since coming to Indonesia, people were willing to bargain with us, and I ended up not minding shopping. The Monkey Forest was incredible. In swapping stories in a van with some Aussies the next day, I found out that apparently the monkeys who found us and our bananas were unusually aggressive. They would not stop at one. I hid the bananas which worked for a bit but really the monkeys were quite insistent. I was a bit intimidated. Two monkeys started fighting over the last banana. They were really coming to cuffs and had dropped the banana in their struggles. A smart third monkey came over, picked it up and ate it, happy as can be while the others continued to duke it out.

On our way to meet our driver, we walked through a local Hindu festival. We couldn’t find anyone to tell us the story behind the festival. I wish we could have been there for the whole parade. It was similar to parades in the States: down the street with everyone crowding along the sidewalks, excited to see what will come next. All the participants ended in a big field where the festivities continued. There was a fleet of young men playing drums dressed in traditional attire. All I can say about the floats is they were enough to give you nightmares and would have been considered indecent by most city councils. Ironically, these floats that seemed to depict lore were followed by “Top Models” in high fashion. I think the women’s heels were equally scary. Some folks might be interested to know that apparently Princess Leia’s hairstyle is back. On our drive home, we stopped at a temple where we wore sarongs during our brief tour.

Sunday Katie and I did our own things on the beach. She tried out surfing, and I went snorkeling. The fish were beautiful and so colorful against the gray coral. I thought Turtle Island was going to be a turtle refuge. It was a bit more like a petting zoo. Still, I enjoyed it especially with the family from Jakarta that shared the small boat with me. The three and four-year old boys were especially sweet and enjoyed seeing their dad hold all the animals. They were very brave when the cobra was put around their necks.

I took my camera with me on my late afternoon walk on the beach and got a few shots. There was a temple near the shore, which was a pleasant surprise. It dawned on me that this was the first time I’ve been to the beach since I left Israel. The shore was a mix of “black” sand and stones. Kuta, the touristy spot, is likely not the best beach on Bali. My initial reaction to seeing the beach was that I preferred Haifa, Ocracoke, and Hilton Head.  I’ve come to realize that the beach might not be the main reason for coming to Bali. As all over Indonesia, the people are wonderfully friendly, and yes, that is why I like the South. But unless you’re doing-it-yourself, you won’t find equivalent prices for massages, body scrubs, hair treatments, etc. Almost everywhere you go in Kuta, you find $5 manicures, $7 hour long massages. Not everyone you get is brilliant at it, but the prices are hard to beat. The first massage I got taught me one thing: my mom taught me how to give really good massages. If everything else fails, I can always open up shop in Bali and get lots of customers. 🙂

Katie and I met up and had amazing Indian food and then walked on the beach again. It was then we realized our new batik dresses together were red, white, and blue. Accidentally patriotic. We had a really lovely evening walking on the beach. We could see the planes land and take off. Bali gave me some peace of mind I’d lost recently. Katie and I agreed that we weren’t ready to head back to Jakarta, but duty calls!

 

June 27–Prambanan and Becaks

Sunday morning we slept in till 8. That may be the latest I’ve slept since arriving to Indonesia. The adhan, the call to prayer, had woken me up about five in the morning. It didn’t even solicit an internal prayer I was so tired. It was a slow start of finding our driver from the day before was already taken. I had wanted to see the Kraton, the Sultan’s Palace, in Jogja. We agreed to hire becaks again for the morning and find a private driver for the afternoon ride to Prambanan and then the airport.

Outside the hostel were several becak drivers looking for customers. They congregate there, and you have to admit it makes good business sense. As one should, we agreed to a price beforehand explaining that we didn’t want to shop only go to the Kraton. Katie and I rode together. Mid-morning was already too hot to be comfortable in an unshaded becak, but we rambled along.

At the Kraton, there was a man performing a traditional Java dance with a gamelan, an ensemble playing traditional instruments such as xylophones, drums, gongs, bamboo flutes and metallophones. Gamelans are common to Bali and Jave islands in Indonesia. What struck me the most was that the dancer’s movements and the music were not synchronized as they are in Western dances. Sometimes the music would be allegro, but he would be still and vise versa. Did you know the sultan is the only precolonial ruler still governing in Indonesia? History is fascinating. The Kraton had displayed awards and foreign gifts accumulated by the Sultan. The gifts included what looked like Dresden porcelain. Also on display was a warang kulit, leather puppet for the shadow plays that are part of the Java tradition. Katie and Dana were accosted by a group of school children who wanted to interview them. This was in the one building where photos weren’t allowed; the children were so cute I was disappointed I couldn’t capture the moment. Throughout the rest of the palace, we were asked for our photos. We’ve gotten better about turning people down.

Back with our drivers, we asked them to open the tops to the becaks before we started again. We told them to take us to our hotel. They abruptly stopped at a batik painting shop along the way. Good-naturedly, we got out and watched a demonstration of the technique. We looked around the shop but found nothing to purchase. The drivers were surprised when we said we were ready to go back to the hostel. They didn’t seem happy. When we arrived, there was a dispute about payment. They said if we didn’t want to pay them IDR 30,000 then they didn’t want to be paid. Everyone was frustrated. The conversation broke down several times, and we almost walked away. But finally handed them the desired amount. It’s really not much at all in dollars. We had been surprised because we paid more for less time than we had the day before. However, I surmised that the drivers are likely to get a commission at the places they take us to. Saturday night, we bought a lot of stuff as a group of three, so the drivers didn’t mind. These drivers clearly didn’t believe that we wouldn’t be shopping today. If they had, they might have tried to negotiate a higher price for the drive. I just wonder where we would have taken it based on our experience the day before.

We had arranged a private driver at a place across from the hostel. He took us to Prambanan. The traffic was light there and on the way to the airport. It’s hard because you never know about these things. You have to allow for more time on the road here. Prambanan was almost better than Borobudur. For one thing, it was less crowded. It was also spread out–there are several temples. It’s just really breath-taking. Even though it’s a Hindu site, one of the temples is Buddhist.

The flight home to Jakarta was fine. I got home with the single goal of showering and was it amazing!

This week was the more advanced week long course. Patrick has left us. The week went well, and now I’m about to catch a flight to Bali. I have a feeling I would like Lombak better–less tourists. But it will be very nice to get out of Jakarta.

 

Jogya–Saturday June 25

Saturday morning Dana, Katie, and I got up early and met in the hotel’s lobby restaurant for breakfast before grabbing a Silver Bird taxi to the airport. Blue Birds are the recommended taxis because they are metered and the drivers know where places are. Silver Birds are their luxurious Mercedes Benz cousins. We had all bought our tickets for Lion Air two days before. Here, you have to go in person with cash to the airline office to purchase a domestic flight. With work, that was impossible. We paid a nominal fee for the hotel to do the legwork. We got on the one hour flight to Jogya (Yogyakarta) without any real plans beyond seeing the two famous temples: Borobudur and Prambanan.

When we got to the Jogya airport, we went to a counter to look for a hotel.  This being high tourist season now that school’s out, all the rooms at the nicer hotels were full, and all the air conditioned rooms were gone everywhere. The three of us decided to share a room with a fan, $6.50 each. The Metro Guest Home was not fancy, but it was all we needed. Talking with a friend online when I got back, I wanted to describe the weekend as “good, clean fun” while the spirit of that phrase was true, we were anything but clean. It was a hot and humid weekend. The fan cooled us down when we finally got back to the hostel, but the shower was just too dirty to contemplate. After all, it was only one night. After the plush Mandarin, it felt good to be roughing it a bit, to be real again.

We hired the man who drove us to the hostel to take us around to Borobudur once we’d dropped our stuff in the room. He was very nice, even stopping at the town’s University Gadjah Mada, which Dana told us was one of the best colleges in the country. He pulled off to show us a cemetery on a neighboring hill. I spied fresh coconut juice for sale along the road and later a man planting tobacco. We stopped on the way back from Borobudur to capture shots of some women in the rice fields. Throughout Indonesia, the rice goddess has been revered throughout history. Women conceal their knives in their hands while harvesting in order to not provoke the goddess’s irk.

Borobudur was amazing. The temple is not only an impressive site in and of itself, it boasts impressive views of the surrounding mountains. While we had been prepared to snap hundreds of pictures during our visit, we had not expected to be as interesting a spectacle as the temple itself. Borobudur is known as a main tourist attraction, but neither Dana, Katie, or I realized most of the tourists would be nationals. We spied two other white couples at the temple that day. Coming from all over Indonesia, I’m sure some of these local tourists don’t see many white folks. Every time we stopped to talk amongst ourselves about a stone panel relief or to take pictures, someone would come up us asking to have their picture taken with us. Sometimes it was a young girl, sometimes it was someone older, sometimes it was a guy. Once Katie had a baby shoved in her hands as the father made camera snapping motions with his hands. Another time we were surrounded by middle school girls and their teacher. I am never being rock-star famous—end of discussion. The paparazzi made it difficult to enjoy the temple’s grandeur.

Dana, Katie, and I arrived back at the hostel after experiencing Yogyakarta traffic, which was just as slow as Jakarta traffic or at least it felt that way. We wanted to see a little bit of the city and decided to ride around in becaks. These “Environ cabs” are three-wheeled bicycles with the passenger seat an enlarged and lowered front basket with the cabbie pedaling from behind. Becaks are banned in Jakarta but used widely elsewhere in the country. We bargained beforehand (an absolute must), and each got our own driver. First we went to a silver store, then to a shop selling batik paintings and then to a local restaurant. On the way home, we stopped in at a touristy shop, but there wasn’t much we were intrigued by. The shopping was actually fun because I was getting to admire craftsmanship instead of trying on clothes that didn’t fit what I needed to buy.

For me the best part was riding in the becak along the back streets. The quiet neighborhoods were hidden from main roads with the street lights and the noise of the motorbikes and their dirty fumes, which were a good reason to not want to ride out in the open. The sun had set, the full moon had risen, and the stars were visible. It was so peaceful; the first real quiet and calm I’ve felt since coming here. The hotel is wonderful and relaxing, but it’s artificial for all its beauty. I might have been worried about being driven around completely alone if I hadn’t known Dana and Katie were behind me. As it was, it was just perfect.

 

Funny moments

Below are some stories of small mishaps I don’t expect to be of interest to anyone outside my close circle, but since that’s likely you, I’ve included them in this post.

June 19, 2010

I had just arrived at the hotel after a grueling international flight. The first leg of fourteen hours had been quite fine. The eight hour layover had been bearable. The second eight hour flight had been no fun at all. It had taken another two hours to de-plane, collect belongings, arrive at the hotel, and check in. I was tired, felt grungy, and was starving. I called room service, and they said it would be half an hour. I had just drawn my bath and gotten in when my doorbell rang. Throwing on a towel, I discovered it was room service. Somewhat embarrassed, I directed the placement of the tray and was signing the receipt when the door rang again. It was housekeeping to turn down the bed. Trying to stay out of her way and too tired to process anything much, I sat at the desk waiting for what seemed an eternity. Finally, she was done turning down my bed and straightening the bathroom. She asked if I wanted her to drain the tub. I explained that I wasn’t finished in as nice a voice as I could, but she was embarrassed. What was amazing was that the bath water wasn’t frigid. Supper was ok, and I managed to unpack before heading off to sleep for some much needed rest.

June 29, 2010

If you got my photo updates in Israel, you probably noticed that most of the time I wore the same khaki jacket. Made of linen, it’s perfect for hot climates because not only does it help me stay modest in the local culture, I don’t have to grease up with sunscreen. However, I have a feeling the designers at Sigrid Olsen hadn’t envisioned their jacket being used so enthusiastically. This weekend, I got holes in both of the sleeves near the elbow. Digging through my bag, I realized my sewing kit was back in Jakarta. Yes, a stitch in time saves nine. The holes of course grew substantially before I returned to the Mandarin. Immediately I raced to the bathroom to find the free sewing kit. Most of the threads were dark, but there was a strand of white. I quickly began to sew up the hole. I didn’t finish before I ran out of thread. So, yesterday, with a new sewing kit, I used the next strand of white. That still wasn’t enough for both holes. I’m hoping to complete this feat tonight–wish me luck!

 

The perks of traveling for business

I do love roughing it on my trips. I enjoy the cool people who frequent hostels and feeling of adventure when you aren’t really sure that anyone else would decide that the twenty minute rail ride to the city center of Vienna was worth the cheap hostel fare. I’m trying new things, solving the puzzles of using foreign public transport, figuring out how to make a baguette last for two meals. It’s fun.

However, I am quickly learning that traveling for business has a lot of perks as well. It’s seeing how that other half has always lived. I’m expected to take a taxi from my apartment in Alexandria to Dulles and expense it. I was on the waiting list for business class. A side note on that: if you are waiting to be upgraded to business class, do not under any circumstances wait anywhere but at your gate for the flight. Luckily, I did manage to get upgraded anyway, mostly thanks to Katie. Business class was amazing. I was in the first row, so there was even extra room for me to scooch passed my neighbors when I needed to get up. For once I felt comfortable drinking all the water I needed to stay hydrated. Also, the food was good. On United all of these perks were impressive. The seats were like Laz-E-Boys but reclined a bit farther. I actually slept most of the flight—such a nice change.

Even the airport in Dubai, our layover, screams luxury. Katie C and I meandered around gawking at some of the Duty Free. A new Malback was on display. The backseat has a convertible top, but your driver will still be under a solid roof.

I could read some of the Arabic words, and it felt nice to hear Arabic over the loudspeakers again. Still, I was a little confused by the large number of Asians in the airport. Of course it makes sense they were there because Dubai is on the eastern side of the peninsula, but last year I saw almost no Asians outside the small community of Philippinos who had immigrated for menial jobs. The layover was eight hours, and I will save you the details of the second flight by simply saying it was not comfortable.

I shared my first impressions of Jakarta yesterday. What I didn’t discuss was our hotel the Mandarin Oriental in the Welcome (Selamat Datang) Circle of central Jakarta. My room is bigger than my room at Mar Elias, which was quite substantial. The bathroom is bigger than my kitchen at home with a shower stall and a full-sized porcelain bath. There is a king size bed that gets turned down every night. The other side of the room has a nice desk I want to take home, a couch and coffee table, and a flat screen TV that would seem an appropriate size to Uncle Van.
The Mandarin is truly a five-star hotel. The staff have learned our names. I am finally “Miss Pharr.” They are so nice and always ready to help us. Because the hotel recently re-opened after renovations, they are having amazing deals, which is how we can afford our jet set lifestyle. The gym with its large windows and hardwood floors has changing rooms complete with steam rooms and saunas. There are other spa amenities like massages as well but for a fee.

Additionally, the hotel has perks for club members, which we are since we’re staying here a month. We get free breakfast for room service, at the lobby restaurant or in the club on the 21st floor. Katie and Patrick are in love with the bread pudding. The pain au chocolat is as good as those I’ve had in France. The watermelon comes in red and yellow! The fruit is amazing. There is also a high tea in the club from 2-5, which we sometimes can catch if we get back in the evenings soon enough. Regardless, we as a team have decided to always gather at the club for the free happy hour when we meet to call back to Washington. Happy hour might be misleading; there is alcohol. However, we’re going for the food: sushi, salad bar, hot dishes, fruit, and mini desserts like delectable chocolate mousse. Normally, we don’t pay for any meal besides lunch.

Additionally, we rarely walk unless its to the malls in our traffic circle: the Plaza Indonesia and the Grand Indonesia. We take taxis though motor pool picks us up in the mornings for work. It’s strange not to take public transportation, but it all fits together in this strange but interesting new twist on traveling aboard.

With the taxis and the elegant hotel, I’m not entirely sure I’ve left the States as I work out in the gym and gaze at the high rises. This lifestyle is so clean, so removed; it gives a whole new meaning to the term “Ivory Tower.”

 

Jakarta–first impressions

As we’re descending onto Java Island, I look down. Finally, below the clouds, I can see rice patty fields. The island is so green, so beautiful. We slowly circle lower and lower. I look but don’t see a city–nothing but fields and small homes. I have a half-second of panic. Did we get on the wrong plane? No, the pilot has just said we’re coming into Jakarta. Then I get more confused. Jakarta is supposed to be a big city, yet there is nothing here. We are practically landing in a rice patty field. We touch ground. When I see Katie C, I find out she had the same internal dialogue. We assure ourselves that we know Jakarta is a big city. There is some logical explanation. In the airport, documentation is a breeze, but we wait for almost forty minutes for our bags. Our driver is waiting for us when we get through customs, which was pretty much just walking through a metal detector. The drive into town takes about forty minutes. And yes, there are skyscrapers and shanties along the river. The airport was just a bit more like Dulles–far from the main city.

The afternoon after we arrive, Katie and I walk the twenty minutes to the National Monument from our hotel in the Welcome Statue traffic circle. We arrive at the site about the time as the afternoon shower commences. We don’t get soaked, but the walk back is a bit sticky with the high humidity and damp clothes. The monument is 137 meters tall; a quick elevator ride promises a spectacular view of the city. However, the line is impressive because it is sheltered from the rain. The flame at the summit of the monument is coated in gold. This structure is a proclamation of Independence for the Republic of Indonesia. In the park surrounding the monument, we pass several classes of students who eagerly whisper hello to the two silly Western ladies who are walking in a shower without umbrellas. Leaving the monument, we passed a warung, the local version of a shwarma stand with chairs and a table. Just outside the wooden structure are monkeys chained for sale, we supposed, along with other peddlers. On our way back we decide to stop at the Plaza Indonesia, a mall across from our hotel. The prices resemble those in the States except for the movie theater and the restaurants, which are cheaper. We aren’t likely to make any significant purchases there during our visit.

The intense pollution of the small motorbikes, bajajs–the auto-rickshaws that define the city, and the cars of Jakarta seem to have kicked up my allergies, but I’m still enjoying my visit. Cars drive on the left like most of Southeast Asia. We’ve speculated that this may be because the Japanese, who also drive on the left, occupied the country during WWII. The Dutch drive on the right to the best of my knowledge. (They were the major colonists here for centuries.) Traffic is bad enough in the evenings that five miles can take ninety minutes on a regular commute. However, the country has cool electronic counters at each stoplight to tell you how long it will be red and how long green–very useful.

Traffic in Jakarta ensures that we don’t usually venture outside our neighborhood of central Jakarta. The city layout is interesting because the skyscrapers are separated by kampung, small neighborhoods with one story homes and trees. Many of the women wear hijabs though the style is different from what I saw in the Middle East. There is a small brim at the crown of the head that might be cooler in the humid heat; I’m not sure. The poverty is palpable; like most of the developing world you can’t ignore it whether you are in Jakarta or out. I haven’t been able to capture it well in photos yet.

One of the issues that comes up in any developing country is what is known here the boule tax. Boule is the Indonesian term for whites; it means albino. As Dana points out, “it’s a passport and a tax.” You’re not a local; you’re going to pay higher prices. If you bargain, you might pay less, but it will still be more than locals. Even getting into national temples, monuments, etc. can cost you more as an international. Then again, I’m not so sure it isn’t fair. So many people here are barely surviving on what they make. Is it that unreasonable to expect that foreigners, who clearly make enough to come here on holiday, would pay $15 for a product that costs locals, who may make $15 a week, $3? It’s all relative. Not that it doesn’t get irritating for everyone involved.

Indonesia is exciting for me also because they are an Asian country uses the Latin alphabet. This isn’t surprising considering that Indonesian is a relatively young language and considering their European colonized history. The country has over 18,000 islands and hundreds of dialects and languages. Their new national language is used in schools and government, but, especially outside the main cities, people speak their dialects at home. The Latin alphabet means that I’m already recognizing words, like ayam (chicken) and hati-hati (be careful), that I see on billboards and menus.

Work takes up most of the time of the week since we have a daily check-in call at 6:30 PM. Patrick, our USAID person from Washington, meets me and Katie for breakfast before we grab the motor pool to the mission. We work till its time to catch the shuttle back to the hotel. I’ve usually got a few more things to straighten out in the evenings. Still, there’s a gym with wooden floors inside the hotel that I’ve managed to visit a few times.

On Thursday, we walked to the nearby mall—Grand Indonesia. We got eaten by fish—literally. A famous spa treatment here involves tiny fish that eat the dead skin off your feet. Dana, someone we met who works for a US-Indonesian NGO, joined us in our adventure. The establishment was very upscale looking. The communal pools were tiled, clean, and very relaxing. We all made faces when we stuck our feet in. You just didn’t know what to expect. The fish, which resembled minnow-size catfish (officially Garra rufa and Cyprinion macrostomus), rushed at our feet like a room full of starving teenage boys. It barely tickled; it was gentler than some pedicures I imagine. After half an hour of being feasted on, we sat down in another room to get fifteen minute shoulder massages. All for ten dollars! Then we grabbed some local fare at a nearby restaurant before heading home.