 |
| This was the perfect vacation novel, (thanks Missionary). I ordered a beer on the plane and the man next to me gasps, "But you look like a high school student!" Then he eyes my pink Converse sneakers, "And your shoes are high school student shoes!" |
So we try our luck out. I land in Jakarta around midnight coming from Manila on Cebu Pacific Airlines, a low-cost carrier in the truest sense. Being small, I managed to mangle my body into a twisted corpse and find some slumber during the three hour flight in Cebu's tiny flying coffin. (If you have long legs, avoid Cebu.)
I somewhat easily get a Visa on Arrival at immigration but not before the man with creamy tanned skin eyes me up and down. He flips over my arrival card and barks, "Read number 2!"
"Ugh...what?...read it?...oh-kay...'fill out the arrival card in block letters in black or blue ink'..."
I look at both the 'customs declaration card' and 'arrivals card' and it looks as if a small animal has bled out all over it.
"Shit...You don't like red ink, eh?"
He is not impressed with my remark so he looks over my documents again. Write down the address you will be staying at he says.
"I don't know. A friend will pick me up."
He is not impressed. I sweat a little. He is enjoying this.
"You traveling alone?"
Now I feel panicked. I've done nothing wrong but its like a parents' inquisition when you've come home "full" from a party.
I try to relate my plans to this man who's skin looks just like a Werther's Original candy that I kinda feel an urge to give him a lick but of course I don't. There is a glass barrier after all and probably some cultural no-no's. I don't know my plans exactly so I talk his ear off with nonsense.
"Ah...I'll meet my friend in a couple days and maybe we will go to a beach south of Jakarta and then maybe Bandung and maybe Yogyakarta and maybe Bali-"
He cuts me off, "Write Bali."
More small talk and before he finally let's me pass he warns, " Next time you come to Indonesia, don't use red ink!"
I collect my passport, stuff it into my side bag, and I flash him a brilliant smile as I walk away. In the corner of my eyes I think he returns a playful smirk.
Hello Indonesia!
 |
| Ryan and I hang out at a really cool bar, Equal Park on Jl Jaksa street. The live reggae band is super cool and because it is too dark to capture the atmosphere and scene, I tell Ryan to draw me a picture as a keepsake. I will frame it! |
Without any checked baggage, I walk straight through customs and out of the over air conditioned terminal to find myself in an all too familiar place. In South East Asia surrounded by a buzzing throng of hungry, thirsty, pouncing taxi drivers and their pimps. Like mosquitoes on a fresh set of bare legs after dark in the throes of summer, the drivers surround me, shouting in Indonesian and English and god knows what else. I try not to make eye contact but its not my nature to be blatantly rude so I utter "no thank you's" into the ground until I am ten feet from the entrance and pull out a Marlboro One. I try calling Ryan but I don't know the area code. One taxi driver takes out his phone and calls the number. As I try to talk to Ryan he pulls the phone from my hands and decides to negotiate a meeting point himself. He then tells me to sit my tushy down and hands me a L.A. menthol cigarette. It tastes like cloves which always reminds me of Christmas. I'm never comfortable around men like these because my first instinct is to trust them. They're my dad's age and just want to help like a good Samaritan but I've fallen for that trick before. It's a big problem I have with men. Do I trust them or not?
When I finally meet Ryan and we drive south to his house he offers his frist tip to me: "Don't be shy to ask questions." Easy enough.
He tells me about Ramadan and then we stop at the corner store for beers. There aren't any in the fridges. It's Ramadan. We try three more shops. No luck. "This is racism" Ryan blurts out and I laugh. We manage to get a store to sell us warm beer in the back room and we drink it on the floor of his third storey apartment in Tebet. It's warm but good Bintang beer. I have a flashback to Vietnam, my first trip, and remember walking through the motorbike congested roads of Ho Chi Minh with Henry in search for a bar on our first night. We find one, order Saigons and they come in the same large size as Bintang, warm, but with a side of an ice block.
My couchsurfer's hospitality is heartwarming and Jakarta in the dark on my first night during my last Southeast Asian trip is wonderful. Maybe its not the city (dusty, distant, loud, and impersonal) but the people you are with and the place you are in in your life but something feels right.
Ryan gives me my second tip of the night: "It's a Muslim country so if you hear some singing and chanting throughout the day don't be scared. That's just a call to prayer."
After some beers and a melody Ryan strums out on his guitar it is nearly 4 am and we are hungry. During Ramadan, fasting lasts all day but you have a meal before dawn. We go out in the dark and find street food. The lady we wake up fries me a piece of chicken while giving me devil eyes and uttering something foreign. I ask Ryan what she said and he says with a laugh, "Oh, she is just being racist."
He gives me tip three: "You have to be tough. Speak up if you aren't happy."
We eat out rice and chicken at a wooden bench. A litter of kittens come beg at our feet and I am attacked by mosquitoes. Back at the apartment I count eight bites on one leg and four on the other. I can't stop scratching and they've already turned purple and bruised.
Tip number four comes then: "More important than all the other tips is this one. Wear mosquito repellent. Especially at night. Especially in Jakarta." He laughs his light-hearted laugh in a warm smile and we retire to bed. It's Monday in the morning anyways and I haven't slept well since four countries ago.
I got an email from a Thai girl I met in Chang Mai this morning. She sent these pics of a long neck village.
