In Indonesia, nothing is half hearted. The four-lane highway to Bandung was state of the art. Comparing to Bali, its poor neighbour in terms of infrastructure, you can see that Java is the seat of governance and everything decadent. Surrounded by mountains, gouged away by mining concessions, we eventually make it through to Bandung.
Traffic is our welcoming party. I had been stuck in Jakarta traffic, and while grid locked, looked outside my air-conditioned bubble to see the mobile markets in action. But today, my Indonesian friends, JJ, the male driver and engineer, Mo Mo, and Rita, both sales ladies, and Hanifar, executive Manager of sales of Casa Blanca Residence, showed me how Indonesians interact with the mobile market plying its trade.
Sitting in the back seat, I snapped happily away while my friends bought news papers, local snacks, and glow in the dark accessories. A mute was groaning and carrying on, putting in a great performance. We handed him some lose change. Then his eagle claw hands and spastic expression came back to normal.
He played a good Downs Syndrome kid. It reminded me of a beggar I’d pass every day on the way to work in Bangkok. Fingers bandaged up, and a painful expression, he’d lie on the ground all day begging. One day I caught him in the Seven Eleven, buying a pack of cigarettes. From cripple to walking, it was a miracle similar to the one I saw today.
Mo Mo modelled a set of flashing red devil horns. Another man was selling head lights that you wear on your head. I wasn’t interesting in buying, and he sighed in feigned regret. A young person dressed up in a Chinese costume walked past our window, with a musician closing in behind, just as the car got away again.
The only time I got out of the car was for a local Sudanese meal. All the staff all had a headscarf on, and out the front, a lady sat selling Royal Jelly. I was surprised to see everyone wearing jumpers and jackets during the day. Later in the evening, I knew why. The weather is much cooler than Jakarta. I had heard that the girls of this town are very pretty. “They have Dutch mix in them,” said Hanifar.
I spotted a white skinned Indonesian, and made an introduction. My right hand was covered from food (after eating like the locals with my right hand) and I pretended to shake her hand, with intention of pulling back at last moment. My friends looked on in horror. But the gracious waitress still shook it. Her father was from Texas and mother from Indonesia! How small did I feel?
I went outside for a smoke, and started up a conversation. A buxom Indonesian confirmed that Royal Jelly gives you power. Then we got talking about Karaoke. I think she wanted me to sing with her at the local club.
Being the ugly Australian has its advantages. The Indonesians take it as meaning laid back. When my minimal Bahasa failed me, I slipped into Thai mode, while the waiter, to whom I played the retard when he took me to the table where my friends were sitting – I asked him in English what did he mean – started warming up to me. It was obvious he was saying that my friends had already seated, but the Ugly Australian is a safe mode when you are out of your comfort zone both culturally and linguistically.
Eventually JJ arrived, astonished to see young kids and staff alike, laughing their heads off. I love playing the clown; it comes so natural to me. The food here was great. No coconut used in Sudanese food!
The security guy who directed our car into the parking lot wanted me to take a picture of some people eating soup. I snapped away. And then took a snap shot of him. Yes, the street was beckoning me again.
I was spotted by a beggar carrying her child. She said Al Humdilar, and followed me to my seat. I quickly closed the door. But that didn’t deter her. She just stood outside, looking in and working on intimidation. JJ eventually gave her some change, and we were on our way.
If you spend any time in Indonesia, you will find the beggars can really overwhelm you. Being a bule, a foreigner, just attracts them even more. I’m not mean-spirited and do give to people I think need it. As every Iman in the mosques preaches on Friday afternoons, “Give a percentage of your savings to the poor. Some seem take advantage of this, and today being a Friday, was no exception for this lady. She targeted me shamelessly.
Past the restaurant, the three major telecommunication companies fought an advertising war, their logos emblazoned on building sides, and every available wall. On the side of the high way, there were large billboards, slapped together on any surface. One like a ball, roughly finished, sported a flashy logo of XL, one of the faster Internet providers.
Sometimes visiting Indonesia is like going back twenty years. On the way back, a big sign, the size of the one in Hollywood Hills, advertised Mild cigarettes. I also saw two Marlboro ads. A Marlboro Man on a horse rode through the Rocky Mountains smoking reds, while a white horse, in mid stride, looking god like and majestic, promoted the virtues of Marlboro Lights.
Indonesians are very flexible, and they take their religion seriously. JJ stopped at a gridlocked petrol station half an hour from Bandung. The mosque’s spirals glittered in the cool mountain climes. Stepping out of the car, a cool breeze refreshed me. I was suffering from sleep deprivation after rising at 3a.m. This petrol station had all the franchise restaurants. I gulped a strong long black from a mobile Star Bucks while JJ said his prayers.
Driving back was like driving through collective Javanese memory. Rice paddies chilled out on the hills, with mountain backdrops, and singular sellers on the side of the highway, selling rambutan. Bridges built by the Dutch spanned valleys for the trains traversing the 2000 kilometre island, all remnants of a past coexisting with the present. The Dutch wind mills, from the Dutch Bakery, to the town clock in Bandung, show a legacy of colonization, and Javanese easy going acceptance of its past.
Cultural adjustments aside, after three hours of driving we arrived in gridlocked and hot sweltering Jakarta. Bandung is no different, except that it’s much cooler! Oh, and prettier too, its wide streets framed in its old deciduous trees.