It's always a 12 hour day

An oasis of beer in a desert of wine

2012-01-08T04:40:00.034+07:00

We had fun, times three, over the Christmas holidays. Sweetie one and I were fortunate to have sweetie two join us for the holiday season. My big guy winged his way over and after a very long flight, one piece of luggage that didn't want to come along for the trip until a day later, and lots of confusion at the airport we were all reunited as a family. Happy times!

While the funk of jet lag wore off for cutie two, we played in Jakarta, rode the Scoopy and Ninja, ate yummy food, visited the gem market, checked out the mall Christmas decorations, floated in the pool and just enjoyed each others company.

On Christmas Day, we opened a few gifts and then went to the Dharmawangsa Hotel for a Christmas Buffet. The Dharmawangsa (Dharma (just like charm but with an uh sound at the end)- wong - suh)is a very nice older hotel in South Jakarta. The buffet was quite good and they had a very cute, tropical Santa wandering around with a pack slung over his back from which he handed out toys to the kids in attendance. They also had a musical group performing Christmas songs on the patio. It was all very relaxing and fun.

As the afternoon wore on, we had to make sure we were packed and ready for a very early departure from Jakarta to the land down-under the day after Christmas. Not only did I get the gift of us all being together, but we were doing a modified family road trip. Kind of.

We boarded a plane bound for Perth, Australia about the time the home side of the planet was eating an early Christmas dinner or late lunch. We had to make a "technical stop" in Bali which meant getting off the plane, walking through the Bali airport to a different gate and re-boarding after about 45 minutes. From there it was three and a half hours till touch down in Oz.

While in our mother-land it is Winter, in Australia it is Summer. That means the kids are out of school. Christmas equals riding a surfboard and going for a swim in the beautiful waters that surround this huge island to the south of Indonesia. Since the population and pollution are much less than Jakarta's, the sun was quite intense and the temperatures ran in the upper 90 degree range most of the week while we were visiting.

We arrived in Western Australia, collected our bags and went through immigration and customs. The idea is to drive south from Perth for about three and a half hours and arrive in the Margaret River area by dinner time. Just like the seasons, driving in Australia is opposite from what we usually do. That is to say we are now going to try our hand at driving a car on the left hand side of the road. Honey bun and I ride our scooter and motorcycle on the left in Jakarta, but neither of us has tried to drive something larger than a means of transportation with two wheels. However, with the three of us to keep our eyes open for road signs, highway numbers, following the basic navigation app we downloaded to my iPad, and stray kangaroos we were ready for our down-under experience.

Australia has these clever round abouts that took a little getting used to. I guess they are showing their European roots with this system. This also gave sugar pie practice with the turn signal, staying on the left and figuring out which spoke he was supposed to be aiming for. I say practice with the turn signal because more times than not, sweetie number one would inevitably turn on the windshield wipers instead of the signal. This became pretty much standard practice every time we got in the car. Get in the car. Seat belts on. Engine on. Back out of parking space. Drive to corner to make a turn and oops; there go those pesky wipers. It provided a constant source of entertainment, and to some degree betting as to which one he would activate - the signals or the wipers. Sorry honey. We bet on the wipers most of the time. Love you. *Addendum - after I read my blog aloud to my sugar he asked that I please note that the turn signal and the windshield wipers are located in reverse on the steering column to what we are used to. There you go honey. A note has been made.

We arrived at our destination all in one piece and had a delicious dinner at our lodging. Where we were staying, there were lots of Karri trees. They are attractive trees; tall with light colored bark. Our host told us that most folks don't like to hang out under the Karri trees very long because the termites find them attractive too. That means large limbs are prone to fall off without warning. Keep that in mind if you ever visit Australia.

There are all kinds of birds calling as evening begins to settle in. There are the great imitators - the magpie as well as kookaburos, what I think are lorakeets, and what appears to be warblers of some type. Also at dusk and dawn the kangaroos come out. Yes, the unusual looking animals are just like deer roaming around in the fields, the edge of the woods and brushy areas. They are very timid and take off at the slightest movement.

As usual, I am working my way to the reason that prompted me to title my post the way that it appears. Margaret River is one of the wine producing areas of Australia. There is also a fair amount of cattle, goats and sheep raised here. Therefore, you find cheese and ice cream to be a source of pride for the region along with wine. But we didn't go that route. Nope, sweetie two has decided to learn to make his own beer, meade, and ciders as a hobby. Therefore, part of our visit to the area was to check out the micro-brewery scene. One of these brew houses used the motto "An oasis of beer in a desert of wine." Well, there you have it. So let's get on with the rest of this tale.

We mapped out the breweries that we wanted to visit and mixed them in with other sight-seeing activities. It was such a refreshing change to have so little traffic, eye popping blue skies, magnificent blue water, clean air and some really tasty beverages to boot. We visited brew houses in Margaret River, Freemantle, and Perth. Each one was different and each one was enjoyable. We walked along beaches, visited lighthouses, walked on city streets, poked around in shops, tried out the local cuisine, toured museums, saw kangaroos and just soaked up Aussieness.

At the micro-breweries, one of the first sthat struck us was that almost all had playgrounds, or play areas and green space. Entire families would arrive and those with kids would sit out at the tables on the grass so the kids could run around, climb on the playground equipment or play in the sand box. Now I haven't been to any breweries like that in the US. Maybe I have missed them, but I don't think so.

The second thing that struck us was that we were no longer towering over the population as we do in Jakarta. A large percentage of the people we saw were our height or taller. Sweetie two is a pretty tall Texan and he even looked short compared to a few of the Aussie men we saw. Must be all of that fresh air.

We also noted that the large majority of the population wear hats when they are out and about. They are serious about sun protection. Since the sun is very intense, and they don't have the SPF30 pollution sunscreen we have in Jakarta, they cover up. However, since many of the hats were very cute short-brimmed numbers perhaphs it is to just keep your head from frying.

The food was predictable at some of our stops. Typical pub grub. Hamburgers and pizza. However, the hamburgers still had a down-under twist. Atop your burger was lots of lettuce, shredded carrots, sliced pickled beets, tomato, maybe grilled onions, a dab of mayo, and a touch of bar-b-que sauce. Now don't go all eeewwwww on me. No pickles and no catsup seem like a major crime all on their own. But pickled beetroot (as they like to call it) and shredded carrot??? It was actually pretty tasty. We ate several burgers prepared that way and enjoyed them quite a bit.

Our tour went from very up-scale to very not up-scale brewing establishments. The very not up-scale place was actually the most fun. We pulled up late in the afternoon; about 4:10 to a place called the Bush Shack. This brewery was supposed to be representative of a bush shack (surprise) out in the Australian Outback I think. We drove around and I really didn't think we should get out. Its rough facade was a little too authentic looking. However, this was why we were here so we got out. It was probably our favorite place. We missed the food service, it ended at four, but the offerings looked really interesting and I hate we missed out. The beer was very good and well crafted. The staff was so friendly. In fact, I was about to take a picture in the bar area and they invited us behind the bar and I handed over my camera to one of the staff. In the photo, we all looked like we were pulling the taps and serving some brews. Thanks guys. It was a great afternoon.

As we drove around Margaret River, we observed signs that said, "Who's your skipper?" I liked that. What a colorful way to ask you if you have a designated driver. Good advice anywhere you are.

We also observed tour buses for both the wineries and the micro-breweries. Two of my favorites were "Wine Tours for Dudes" and "Margie's Big Day Out." I think we could have called ourselves "Two Dudes and a Mom Beer Tour" or "Sweeties Big Day Out." Whatever we called ourselves, we had a great time.

We visited chocolate shops, did a speed tour of a cheese shop - totally different story that would make no sense unless you were there, watched kite-surfers, wind surfers, surfer surfers having so much fun in a sea the color of aquamarine that you just wanted to jump in a give it a try. All of this before we made our way north, back to Perth.

We spent two nights in Perth and after a long day of walking we retired to the hotel and turned on the TV. There was a cricket match being televised. The Perth Scorchers versus the Brisbane Heat. I kid you not. It was a sell out crowd in attendance. The really odd part was that it was being held about a mile away from our hotel as we could see the lights on the field. We watched the match and tried to figure out what was going on. Shockingly enough, we found that it was pretty interesting and we had a good time watching. Would have been even better to see it in person. While we were watching the action, we realized that who we thought were three announcers were actually two announcers talking to the "bowler" who was wearing a microphone while he was playing. Imagine the announcers have conversations with Eli Manning while he is out on the field quarterbacking? We were amazed.

We visited one last brew house in Perth and it was the most up-scale. It was good, but after the Bush Shack life just wasn't the same. So, on New Year's Eve we turned in our car, headed to immigration (where by the way we had a delightful chat with the immigration officials as there was practically no one else in the airport), and then off to the gate we went.

Sunny Australia was fun and we feel truly blessed that we were all able to share it together. May you, and those you love have some time to spend together soon. No brewhouse necessary.

My Thanksgiving turkey earned frequent flier miles

2011-12-07T14:25:00.038+07:00

For Thanksgiving this year, my honey bunch and I flew with two other couples to the island of Sumatra. We went there for several reasons. First, we were invited by one of the other expat wives that we know as her husband had a birthday happening very close to Thanksgiving and he wanted to go to Lake Toba which is on Sumatra. Second, none of us had been to Lake Toba before and thought that it sounded like an interesting and fun place to visit to help him celebrate his birthday. Lastly, it is good to get out of Jakarta and breath some fresh air for a little while.

As the trip approached, the birthday boy's wife, who was doing the primary organizing, decided that since we were leaving the Friday after Thanksgiving (which I am sure you know, Thanksgiving is not a holiday in this country) we should cook a turkey during our stay and have a belated Thanksgiving feast and a birthday dinner combined. Hmmmm. I think to myself. Turkeys are available on a limited basis in Jakarta. We are now flying from the capital of the country, which is pretty cosmopolitan, to a remote location on a different island. What are the chances that a turkey will be available there?

Well, the answer to the question is, "No worries." We will just bring one with us. Not only was the plan to bring a 14 pound frozen turkey in the carry on luggage, but also lots of the fixin's to go with it. I brought two cans of cranberry sauce, one can of black olives - stuffed in my hiking boots and socks - and a three bean salad that I had prepared and placed in a zip lock bag and then placed that inside of a container that sealed and would fit in my large purse. The other ladies brought a can of pumpkin and pecans with which to make pies, a turkey, stuffing mix and a few other goodies stuffed in all sorts of places in their luggage.

I would really like to know is it just me, or does everyone have these really bizzar experiences? What is it about this place that just seems to bring out all kinds of wackiness?

So early Friday morning we met at the airport. Throughly prepared to have my cranberry sauce, olives and salad confiscated, I am amazed as we pass completely through security without one question being asked.

We get to the gate and wait for everyone else to show up. Sure enough about 20 minutes later here they come. Turkey and stuffing in tow. Please tell me what you think a 14 pound frozen turkey must look like on an airport x-ray machine. With all of this stuff, and stuffing, going through the scanner maybe they thought we were taking supplies to needy children on the island and thus didn't say one word. I am still totally taken aback. In my home country this would never fly - no pun intended. After reading about the 80+ year old woman who was stripped searched at JKF, how could a turkey go on board unquestioned?

We board the plane and off we go to Medan, Sumatra which is located on the northern half of the island. Upon arrival, and lots of checked luggage confusion, we are met by two drivers who will transport us from Medan to the shores of Lake Toba where we will then catch a ferry boat that will transport us to the island of Samosir which is located in the lake.

Before we go further, let me tell you a little about Lake Toba. As I have probably mentioned before, Indonesia is located in what is known as the "Pacific Ring of Fire." What is left of Krakatau sits about five or six ours to the west of Jakarta to give you a little perspective. We have lots of volcanic activity (Indonesia has the highest number of active volcanoes (130+) of any other country) and earthquakes which can consequently trigger a tsunami. Lake Toba is a lake and a super volcano. The lake formed in the crater of the volcano after it erupted and cooled down a very, very long time ago. It was an even bigger explosion than Krakatau. Lake Toba is 62 miles long by 18.5 miles wide and 1,666 feet deep at its deepest point. This makes it the deepest volcanic lake in the world. It is an impressive thing to read about and is mind boggling to see.

Back to the journey. I read in the Jakarta Post, a day or two before our trip, that the fatality rate from vehicular accidents in Northern Sumatra has risen dramatically over the last year. I took note, but didn't feel like it was something I really needed to worry about.

After riding on what is fondly called "the death road" for about 4.5 hours I now get it. Imagine a two lane road filled with trucks transporting goods, vans, cars, little local taxis, and motorcycles. Also imagine that no matter what the speed, the maximum distance between the vehicles is about six inches. The speed varies from about five mph to about 40 or 50 mph. People really get antsy when they are going under 40 so all that is left to do is pass what is slowing you down.

The result is a massive game of chicken. At times, since we are on a two lane road, there are four vehicles coming head-on toward each other. We were fortunate that we made it around each time with a few too many of them being just at the very last second. After 4.5 hours of this I was a bit frayed around the edges. To highten the effect, one of the other couples who rode in the van with us decided that playing music from their ipod would make it all better. At times the music was playing, little noises were escaping my lips as we were head-on with a vehicle. There were a lot of thoughts that this was most definitely not the best idea that I had ever had and I wanted to take my cranberry sauce, my sweetie and walk back to the airport and return home.

By the time we made it to the ferry landing, the ferry is about to leave. We grab our gear and run and jump on the boat. After all of the stress of the van ride, a boat ride is welcome relief. We chug along in the clear waters of the lake and take in the fact that we are in the middle of an old volcano. Time has been kind and the volcano walls have eroded and are lush with vegetation. You see little villages along the shore of the lake. It is a predominately christian region so you see small churches dotting the shore as well.

Samosir is an island that was formed when all the gunk in the bottom of the volcano solidified and was forced up by magma to form a beautiful but rugged piece of land that is the size of the country of Singapore in the middle of the lake. As we approach, we are enticed with the views of fishermen setting out nets, a thin water fall pulsing down the side of the island mountains, simple resorts with interesting roof lines that mimic the shape of water buffalo horns - kind of a very wide and low U-shape, and a even a few jet skis. It is lovely with all the flowers and greenery.

We arrive to our destination after about 30 minutes and check-in. Our room is on the second floor of what they call a cottage. There is no air conditioning, but we have big windows and a fan. We discover that when we turn on the shower, the water is pumped up to the second floor and the shower pulses to the rhythm of the pump. Unfortunately, so do the lights in the bathroom. It is kind of like a disco when you shower minus John Travolta and the music from Saturday Night Fever.

We eat dinner at the resort and the food is delicious. Honey pie and I both had a fish and vegetable curry. WOW! Everything is open air and there are a lot of friendly dogs wandering around the property. They come lay by your feet and take a nap. Never saw one of then beg. They were too laid back for that.

Saturday morning. Honey bun and I get up early and go for a walk. One of the dogs we met the night before decided to be our escort. He was a cute black and white medium-sized dog with a tail that curled around just so. We three walked along the street together. He running ahead and waiting for us to catch up and us looking all around being amazed at all of the flowers and scenery. Tropicals of all kinds along with roses, which you don't really see in Jakarta, and huge palms and hardwood trees. It was a nice walk. We ventured up to the Catholic church which had a big wing-ding going on. It is a new church and the bishop had been brought in from Medan, and I KNOW there was a lot of praying before he got there because he had to come up the same road we did, to bless the church as well as the many young people waiting to be confirmed. There was a huge turn-out. Folks were all dressed up. Those that were not directly participating in the service were cooking large pots full of pork and vegetables. There was going to be major chowing down at the end of the ceremony. We made a small donation and got a program and wandered around a little bit. It was interesting standing looking at coffee plants, rice fields, and lush vegetation while organ music gently drifted across to you. I swear it was like the music was emmeshed in the warm moist air. You could almost see the notes.

We took some photos and moved on to leave them to their celebration. We walked past numerous water buffalo, deep in wallows of mud. They looked joyous to be all covered in cool mud. It didn't seem to bother them one little bit that it smelled pretty bad. Earth and sometimes rotting fish. I walked out in one fields and my dog friend followed. He barked at me when I got too close to the water buffalo. Not sure who he was warning; me or the water buffalo. Perhaps he was scolding me for getting too close. Whatever the case, I found it touching and heeded his friendly advice. Despite the warning, we all seemed to be happy to be where we were and in the state we were. Life was pretty good.

We walked and waved at the towns people and then returned to the cottages where we had a breakfast including locally grown and roasted coffee. Starbucks. Take that! By that time, the rest of the troops were up and we all decided to walk the other direction on the road and take in the sights that way. Once again beautiful vegetation and lovely views of the lake. Our dog buddy was taking a nap so we were on our own for that walk.

Upon returning to the cottages the second time, we decided to rent scooters and drive a little so we could get more sights in. One of the couples had their teenage daughter with them so we used it as a teaching session for her to learn to ride without very much traffic. It all went well and we had a good pizza lunch by the lake and returned to the cottages to begin the turkey preparations.

Turkey is not native to Indonesia. I feel pretty certain this was the first time most of them had ever seen a 14 pound turkey much less cranberry sauce and stuffing. We were bustling around their kitchen, mainly getting in the way, and trying to put this feast together. At times you could see they were a bit annoyed. I would have been if I had been in their shoes. A bunch of bules invading their space cooking weird looking food and asking for ingredients in very bad Bahasa Indonesian. But in Indonesian style, they were gracious and helped us where they could. Lots of modifications had to be made. They had no evaporated milk or regular containers of spices for pumpkin pies or a rolling pin. Pie is also a rather foreign concept. When told that we were making pie they thought we meant pumpkin bread. So modified pastry dough was made, rolled out with a bottle of water, sweetened condensed milk was used and cinnamon sticks and whole cloves were pulverized to add to the pie. No powdered ginger so we used fresh grated ginger instead.

By 7pm we had put it all on the table. We had taught them how to make mashed potatoes, pie dough, cook a turkey (not that they will ever see another one), make gravy and dish out cranberry sauce from a can. The three bean salad was probably the most normal looking thing on the table as there were green beans, edamame (soy beans) and black bean all in there.

It was a delicious feast and when we were done we shared it with the staff. They seemed to get over being inconvenienced and I think they enjoyed seeing even simple things like potatoes used in a different way that they can replicate at their own homes.

Sunday. The second full day of our island-within-an-island-in-a-lake experience took us walking and then scootering around the northern end of the Samosir. It was quite interesting to see many more of the traditional homes, different views of the lake, two smaller volcanoes (that were still active), hot springs, lots of water buffalo, interesting shrines that were small replicas of the traditional batak houses, many churches, children playing and friendly faces.

I will elaborate on these events another day. I am sure you are tired of the descriptions by this point. But needless to say, it was an interesting trip filled with many beautiful and unexpected sights.

If you ever get to go to Lake Toba just remember to breath deeply while you are riding from the airport to the ferry dock and lovely things await you on beautiful Samosir.

Hellos and good-byes

2011-11-11T16:49:00.023+07:00

Life here is always an adventure. Between TRAFFIC, figuring out where to buy the things you either need or want, assorted things that I will not get in to, and people coming and going all the time you sometimes get a little off balance.

Today the SEA Games began. The Southeast Asia Games, which are held every two years, are kind of like the Olympics. Hello to all the athletes from 11 different countries who have arrived in Jakarta for the games. Best of luck to you all.

There are various events - soccer, weightlifting, badminton, dragon boat racing, blah, blah, blah. Over the next 11 days, traffic is going to be even more of an issue than normal. Many of the major roads are going to be blocked so the competitors can use them to get to the venues and back more easily. Unfortunately, as we are not competitors, the rest of us will just have to work it out. I think getting to work for sweetie will not be the problem. It is going to be the getting home. Oh well, it is for only 11 days so we will just have to suck it up as best we can. I think snuggle bunny may want to consider taking a pillow, blanket, a change of clothes, and toothbrush/toothpaste just in case he can't get out.

Also today, I said good-bye to a good friend. This is one of the parts about this life style, as mentioned before, that is very hard. Being so far from home, you really become more dependant on your friends than you might under normal circumstances. In 22 months I have had five close friends, and many acquaintances, move and I miss them a lot. It is a very transient situation when you live like we do. You have your heart broken on a regular basis.

Anytime you leave friends, or they leave you, you all say good-bye and you truly hope that you will keep that promise that you will see each other again. The reality is that you know that unless you both make great effort, that will more than likely not happen.

As she and I were eating our lunch, a lady came in that I had just met yesterday in my art class. She is from Perth, Australia and I invited her to sit down at the table with us. Somehow, very early on in her conversation, she started to talk about this very same thing; friends coming and going so quickly. My friend and I looked at each other in disbelief. You sometimes really think that what you are feeling just belongs to you and everyone else is doing okie dokie. This is the beauty of communication. When we actually share our thoughts and feelings with others we many times find out that we are not alone.

I have met some very nice people, and some not so very nice, over the last 22 months. In fact, over the last month I have met several new expats that have come in from various locations. With some of them, I hope we will find common ground on which to build a friendship. That would be a good thing.

That doesn't mean I will not miss my friend who is leaving today or the fine women I have met who have moved away earlier, or the friends who I have left in the US. They each hold a special place in my heart. I can never thank them enough and tell them what each of them mean to me.

I sat this afternoon with a cup of my favorite tea, sweetened with honey from my brother's bee hives, and took fingers to keyboard to contemplate all of this. I think of those friends in my life that have come and gone. I miss many of them so very much and appreciate how they enriched me. The current friends that I have, no matter where they are, are treasures. I also look forward to opening my life up to new friends. Not only do I hope they will bring something special to my life, but I hope that I will to theirs as well.

Safe journey my friend. I hope your return to the US brings you many good things. Enjoy being home with family and friends and don't forget about your time here in this land - 6 degrees below the equator.

Cheers friends near and far.

Birthday Pudding Pisang and Creole Udang

2011-10-27T16:35:00.041+07:00

This weekend, honey pie and I are hosting a dinner party. It will be a party for twelve. At first I had planned to have it catered as it can be done very reasonably and really makes for easy entertaining and saves your sanity.

As I was telling my housekeeper my plans, I got the look. The one where she drops her chin, looks up at me and with hands akimbo I swear she is saying "What you talkin' about Willis?" That phrase may be a little out of date for some of you reading this. The show that quote came from, "The Facts of Life," was off the air before my son was born I am pretty sure. Anyway, the look is one that I don't get very often but it comes straight to the point in a New York minute. So between "the look" and my sweeties' encouragement, I am now cooking dinner for twelve.

My friends have been so sweet in loaning me wine glasses, ice buckets, and other party paraphernalia that I want to give a big shout out of thank you to them. However, the thing I want to thank them most for is the support and love that they share with me. My friends continue to be the thing that keeps me going many, many days here. Thanks guys!

Back to the party. Today, Thursday, I decided to make desserts. Both selections are things that improve when they sit and mingle a little bit. The first thing I made is a recipe my son gave to me for what he calls "surprise chocolate pie." The reason it has the word surprise in its title is because it contains silken tofu. Surprise! However, it gives it the most awesome texture and if you didn't know it had tofu, you would most likely not guess it. My version is called "surprise mousse" since I am unable to get the cookies necessary for the crust and must serve it in individual containers.

The other dessert I made is a variation on banana pudding. I guess I should really say a variation on a variation. When you are using a bule recipe, it is essential that you have the ability to improvise. Many times things are just not available here or it is an item you see for a while at the grocery then, poof, it disappears from the shelves to only reappear six months later or maybe never again. So, this afternoon I made a version of a Paula Deen banana pudding recipe that I found on the Internet. If you know Paula Deen, this is not the low calorie selection for the evening.

My housekeeper was totally on-board with the dessert fest. She helped me fill each small glass with my "surprise mousse" and then helped me with all the mixing and whipping of cream and combining of ingredients for the banana pudding. This recipe makes a lot more than I expected, so I had a goodly amount of custard left over. After filling 14 dessert dishes, I decided to get a larger dish out and fill it as well. We layered cookies, pisang (bananas), and the remaining custard. As she carefully covered each container with plastic wrap, I told her the big serving dish we had just filled was for her birthday which is tomorrow. She looked so surprised and started to giggle and repeat, "For me?". All I had to say was yes, and she quickly disappeared to the garage with the banana pudding. I am sure it went in the staff fridge out there. I hope no one touches it without her permission. It could get ugly otherwise.

What touched me was that she was so excited by a gift we had made together. As I had considered in a much earlier post, my staff is our family here. Not only do they help us get from here to there, take care of chores, keep our belongings safe while we are out of town, but I learn about what is going on in their lives, what is happening with their families both the suka and the duka. So with love and appreciation Manisem, Salamat ulang tahun!

The main course of the meal, shrimp creole, or as my housekeeper calls it creole udang, will be made tomorrow. I've made this dish many times before and the best part, besides eating it, is that most everything is readily available here. The only thing that gave me a scare today was not being able to find my can of Crisco shortening in the cupboard. One must have shortening to make the roux. As any self-respecting Louisianian would tell you, that is the absolute heart of the dish. I went to three different grocery stores and could only find one lonely little can of butter flavored Crisco. I somehow think that if I used it, I would be guilty of a crime against nature in Louisiana and would never be able to set foot there again. I certainly don't need any bad juju! Upon returning home and digging around in the pantry, I found my can of plain Crisco. At this point in the process if that had not happened, I would have had to resort to dinner for twelve from KFC delivered on a scooter.

At the moment, my fridge is jammed full of beer and wine, desserts and washed lettuce and salad stuff. After tomorrow, it will be full of savory shrimp getting to know its fellow creole mates while awaiting re-heating and being served.

I hope it will be good eats for all of our guests. Not that KFC is a bad choice, and I love when the delivery guy shows up on his scooter, but I think that might be better for another day.

Moto GP redefined or Can my goat have a ride?

2011-10-18T15:14:00.032+07:00

This past weekend, huggems and I decided to break out of the neighborhood and take my Scoopy and his Ninja beyond the confines of our usual close to home route. We decided to venture out on to one of the main drags in Kemang (that is the area of South Jakarta that we live in)and live large.

Sunday morning is the most likely time to spot bules behind the wheel. This can be attributed to necessity, they are desperate to get a behind the wheel fix that they are denied 99.999% of the time, or they just want to go for a Sunday drive unassisted. Our outing would fall under the last two possibilities I think.

While in the US, our friends Rick and Nancy took us to a motorcycle shop where I purchased a girlie looking "do-rag" to wear under my helmet. I have begun to call it my "Scoopy-Do-Rag." I know, you are groaning as you read this. I just can't help it. Maaf. It is cute and it does keep the hair from being ripped off my head when I put my helmet on or take it off. So, thanks guys for your help in making me cool, stylish, and even more American looking than I already am.

About 7:30 we roll out of the gate and begin to make our way to Kemang Raya and then to the coffee shop where we usually eat Sunday morning breakfast. The route we chose was one that included almost exclusively left-hand turns. That way we did not have to cross traffic on the busier street and I am much better at left-hand turns. Sweetie put me in the lead position because not only is he a gentleman, but my scooter has got a lot less get up and go than his Kawasaki Ninja. He didn't need to be constantly looking for me as we were driving along Kemang Raya.

As we made our way through the neighborhood, we turned left at the bunga (flower)stands that are at the end of the street and begin our assent up the hill that leads to Kemang Raya. As I get to the end of the street I think to myself, "Do I turn around now or do I do this?" I decide, as I look up and down the street, that it looks pretty calm and I feel confident I can keep myself in one piece. I bravely turn on my left turn signal, and roll out on to my path of adventure no matter how brief the trip.

As I drive along, I stay pretty far to the left so other motorists can pass me if necessary. I think I am going pretty fast but in reality, everyone is passing me. But you know, I am OK with that. I was not in the way and it was mainly lots of other scooters and motorcycles going by so I know I was not impeding their progress. Thus, I Scoopied along and felt pretty happy with myself.

As is my normal experience, driving a route is different than riding as a passenger and I missed my turn because it came up quicker than I expected. So, I just kept driving until I got to the street that we fondly dubbed Lake Kemang.

It was so named because when it rained, it would get about ten to twelve inches deep all the way across the street and about ten to fifteen feet down the street forming a lake. If you got caught on foot instead of in your car during a rain storm, you had a problem. It has been repaved, and this is not much of a problem any longer. However, my friends, Gayna and Laura, got stuck there one time and had to have a guy on a motorcycle get them across because they didn't want to walk in the icky water. This was a very wise choice because you don't want to walk in flood waters here if you can at all help it. Sanitation is a massive issue. Goodness only knows what is mixed in with the water or if you might get the added bonus of having a squashed dead rat go drifting by. Nuff said.

Down the street we go and wind all around the neighborhood before we decide that we are really getting hungry and want a cup of coffee and some food. We head back toward the bunga stands and as we approach,I see a motorcycle in front of me with strange cargo.

Now I have seen a lot of things on motorcycles and scooters here. Motor bikes rigged up with baskets to haul orchids and other lovely flowers, a man riding with a car tire around his waist, 2 guys with a 6 foot ladder, 6 people on one bike, women riding side saddle decked out in high heel shoes and matching purses, live chickens hanging upside down, a guy riding on the back holding a car windshield, rolled up carpets being transported, adorable young school girls who could win a cuteness award, insulated boxes rigged on the back to get your KFC, McDonalds hamburger and fries, and Pizza Hut pizza order to you somewhat hot.

However, on Sunday I saw two men on a motorcycle with a full grown goat riding in-between them. Now the goat was not riding like a person would. That would have made me fall off my Scoopy. The goat was on his side being held by the guy on the back. His little goat head was tilted up so he was able to view his world from the correct angle. This was a very healthy brown goat. Most likely he was about 65 or 70 pounds. He, without a helmet, was just riding along as calmly as could be with his long goat ears flapping in the breeze. I just burst out laughing at this sight.

Now, this is Jakarta and one never knows what they will see. What made this make sense is that the holiday known as Idul Adha is quickly approaching. Idul Adha is known as the festival of sacrifice. It is a time when lots and lots of animals are slaughtered, usually on the steps of the mosques, and the meat is butchered on sight and given to the poor. I have been told that it is really quite the sight. It is not one I care to witness. I am not sure I would ever be able to eat meat again after that. Last year I did not even leave my house on that day. However, as gruesome as all of this is, it has a purpose and I cannot diminish what that is. For many of the poor in this country, this is the only meat they will have all year long. Animals are purchased and donated to the mosques and it feeds many very hungry mouths.

When I first saw this goat, and stopped laughing, I realized where he was heading and I wanted to shout out "Get off that bike and RUN!!!" However, I guess his destiny is to help the many and not the few. May you go in peace brother goat.

I titled this post "Moto GP redefined." We don't live in a world of Sunday afternoon football games on TV here. Instead, we have lots of coverage of MotoGP and Formula 1 races on Sunday. MotoGP is short for Motorcycle Grand Prix and Formula 1 race cars are the open wheel style and they go very, very fast while looking very stylish. Both of these types of races are international races. We have seen race coverage from Australia, Spain, Japan, France, UK and lots of other destinations as well as California and Indianapolis, Indiana. Yep, we tour the world from our lounge chairs most Sundays. After seeing my four legged friend riding along, I decided maybe he was in the Moto "Goat" Prix. How prestigious!

With all of that silliness behind, here is hoping that the hungry will be fed, that the world will find some balance and that no one ever asks me to give their goat a ride on my Scoopy.

Doing the Kampong Shuffle

2011-08-22T15:56:00.016+07:00

We are watching as Ramadan comes to its culmination once again this year. The lead up to Idul Fitri is always a more and more intensifying celebration. About a week before the actual day of Idul Fitri, people begin to travel to their native kampongs (can also be spelled kampung). What that means is there is a massive exodus from Jakarta, which is pretty astounding, to destinations all across the Indonesian archipelago. Some people make pilgrimages to Mecca during Ramadan. But those numbers are few as it is a very expensive trip for the average person.

I saw in the paper last week, that an estimated 7 million people will leave Jakarta for Idul Fitri. That means over half of our population will be trying to "get out of Dodge" by train, plane and automobile - well and of course motorcycle and bus.

Today is Monday, and the traffic has been above insane. Tomorrow I know it will be worse and the real peak will begin on Wednesday. Wow! Wednesday. That is the day sweetie and I will be returning to our kampung called the US of A. I am trying to decide what time we need to leave to get to the office to pick up honey pie and then go to the airport. Now, we are in the minority as we will be going by plane out of Jakarta. However, what is the minority of 7 million? Is that like two million? One million? And we can't just magically fly over all of the other vehicles that are packed with people driving on their journeys home. We will just have to resign ourselves to being part of the experience I guess. There is no other solutions.

It will be like traveling on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving in any major city in the US. Holy cow! Should be exciting.

There is lots of food purchasing going on along with new outfits and gifts. The stores are having huge sales and the paper even says that you should stock up on supplies four or five days prior to the holiday if you are staying here as nothing will be restocked until several days after Idul Fitri is over.

We are now to the stage of Ramadan where folks in the neighborhood are setting off very loud fireworks after the final call to prayer has ended. Thank goodness it doesn't go on too long. However, on the night before Idul Fitri the celebration begins about 6:00 PM and gets more and more wound up as the night goes on. We were totally uninitiated last year and had no idea what the night held for us. The celebration continued on and on until about 3 AM. We kept turning the TV up, but couldn't hear it. There was very little sleeping. I am not sure earplugs would have helped. Ambien is your only hope for some shut-eye.

On the day of Idul Fitri, there was no one out on the streets. It was almost a ghost town. That is a truly amazing sight in what is a normally a city crawling with 13 million. If we were going to be here for that experience this year, I would be out driving my Scoopy all over Jakarta. It would be the safest place in the world to drive. I almost hate to miss the opportunity.

So, to all my friends remaining here in Jakarta, stock up and try to get some rest. To all of my sweet Indonesian friends and acquaintances, safe travels to your families and to your villages. I know we are looking forward to seeing our son and sleeping in our very own kampung.

Scoopy, Scoopy Doo. Where are you?

2011-08-09T16:12:00.025+07:00

On the Fourth of July, I declared my Vehicular Independence. I went to the Honda dealer in Jakarta and purchased myself a vintage violet Honda Scoopy. If you haven't heard of a Honda Scoopy, don't feel uninformed. I have only seen them in Indonesia and Cambodia. My guess is that they are a South-East Asian specialty.

It is a very, very adorable scooter that is retro-styled. It is a bit like a Vespa, but it is completely automatic. I love Vespas and have wanted one for a long time. However, I tried driving one here and decided that I have enough to worry about with driving on the left side of the road, cats darting out in front of me, traffic laws - well forget that part, and all of the spectators that I entertain that working a clutch was way, way too much for me.

As I mentioned, it is vintage violet. It looks black until you get it out in direct sun and then you can see it is a dark violet color. When I purchased it, I got a Honda jacket and a Scoopy helmet. Now originally, the helmets were made to match the color of the scooter. I guess I am at the end of the Scoopy purchasing frenzy so I got a white helmet.

This is really unfortunate. The white helmet looks like I should be out on the 50 yard line across from Drew Brees. It is really big and bulbous and WHITE! I am trying to figure out how to customize it to slim it down. My sweet son told me yesterday, as I modeled it for him over Skype, that vertical stripes are slimming. Hmmmm. I do hope he was talking about my helmet and not my figure. It was also mentioned that photographers always think black makes folks look skinnier so maybe I need to paint it. Am I that desperate? My friend Susan says that she thinks we should cover it with batik fabric or beads to make it look better. For someone to make that suggestion, I guess desperation is the appropriate response.

However, it is better having your brains encased in something that at least gives them a chance even if it isn't stylish.

Buying a vehicle here is really, really different than buying one in the U.S. You go to a shop/small showroom and you look at the scooters that are available. About half the room is a service area with motorcycles being worked on in front of a raised platform where people sit in folding metal chairs waiting for their motorcycles to be made drivable again. There are maybe only about 15 new motorcycles inside and in front of the shop that are for sale. Not like the Car Max lots that have acres and acres of vehicles waiting for you to test drive them and take them home.

No one is particularly interested in having you take a scooter for a test drive. You sit on the bike, shake your head that you want it and then you go over and sign a few lines on a form and give them your address, telephone number, and a small deposit (when I say small we are talking like $50.00 small) and they tell you they will deliver it to your house. This is weird to me. I am used to haggling with the sales person, sitting for hours while they and the sales manager jerk you around and then finally coming to an agreement, sign stacks of paperwork, and then driving that puppy home.

After the transaction, they hand me my complimentary jacket and I try it on to see if it fits. It has the current Honda catch-phrase "One Heart" on it. This makes me sad because when we watch the MotoGP races (that is motor cycle racing for all of you non-racing fans) that are broadcast, the Honda bikes all have "Satu Hati" which is Indonesian for "One Heart." I wanted that on my jacket not the English version. Oh well. I guess I will not be racing next to Casey Stoner on my Scoopy so this will have to do. Next they hand me this big ol' bohonker helmet. I put it on my head, and feel like a fool. I then look up and see the entire crowd on the platform, plus the mechanics are looking at me. Now, I feel like a complete fool. Just like my golf outing in Lombok and my laundry debacle there is always room for more humiliation it seems.

I go home and count out the cash that I have to give the delivery guy. With the largest denomination rupiah being equivalent to a little less than $10.00, that is a big-o-bag of cash to hand over. A few hours later the little truck arrives with my Scoopy on board waiting to see its new home. They roll it off the truck and in to the driveway. I am given the keys, a tool kit, and an owners manual in Bahasa Indonesia. I in return, give the guy the bag-o-money which he carefully counts. I sign the same papers that I signed before, tip the delivery guys and the Scoopy is all mine.

My maiden ride went OK. I am sure I was squealing, and grimacing, and going really, really slow. Of course it was late afternoon and there were lots of people out walking their dogs and kids playing in the street watching this crazy bule woman drive up and down at such a slow speed that they are amazed that I am staying upright. Since my speedometer is in kilometers per hour and not miles per hour I have no idea how fast or slow I am going. Not to mention the fact that I have no idea what the speed limit is in the neighborhood. I am getting lots of thumbs up, and smiles and laughs and it is like a parade where I am the only float. My driver and honey are standing in the street watching to see if I am going to crash, or not, with such sweet expectant expressions. I think they were totally proud that I didn't fall off or hit anything.

I have been practicing but would give anything to have a big, empty school parking lot to drive around. It would be nice to not have cars, and children and animals all around me as I get the feel for how it turns, how far to lean when turning, how much throttle to give it, etc.

My biggest, well I am not sure there is a biggest as they are all big, concern is the open ditches on the sides of the streets. I honestly don't think there are enough antibiotics in Jakarta to save me if I ever drove in to one of those. They are so nasty, you have vivid nightmares about what is in there waiting for you. So when I turn or try doing circles around in the street I keep a very close eye on how close I am to them.

Driving on the left is really different than riding in a car that is being driven on the left. All of a sudden you are just out there. Going straight isn't really so bad, it is the turning. Traffic laws are, as mentioned before, kind of like guidelines really. So when you are turning through a big intersection it is really easy to get lost as to where you should be.

So after weeks of practice, I struck out today on my Scoopy to go to the grocery to purchase an item that I had forgotten to buy earlier. We are currently in the month of Ramadan. This can mean either light traffic or "Holy Cow! How did my normal 15 minute drive takes an hour and a half?" I was very fortunate that traffic was light, the street in front of the school close to the grocery was not crawling with kids, and the flower stall that I have to drive past was not spraying water all over the road as they usually like to do. I make my way to the security stop at the grocery and the young men all smile and look at me and my Scoopy and hand me a ticket to commemorate my entrance in to the parking lot. The arm is raised and I drive in. I pull around where the other motorcycles and scooters are parked. I pull in between a couple of bikes, get off, lock the handlebars and remove my bowling ball, maaf, helmet from my head. No my locks did not flow out behind me and I didn't give my head a pretty little shake like you see in the movies. Instead, I pry it off my head trying to not rip my earlobes off or my earrings through the holes and walk across the parking lot and in to the store.

Upon my departure, I push my bike back and start her up. Helmet on. Check. Grocery bag secured. Check. Cell phone in my pocket in case I crash and burn and have to call the Calvary. Check. I have to drive around the entire store and back to almost where I was parked to pay the cashier for my parking. I hand her my ticket and a 2000 rupiah note. She smiles and hands me a receipt and a 1000 rupiah note back. I don't think there is anywhere I have ever been that costs ten cents to park other than here. The one cruel part is that the cashier's booth in located at the bottom of a slight incline. Enough that a sopir baru (new driver) has to give it a bit more throttle to get up the hill. I was afraid I would shoot out in to the intersection and get run over by a bajaj, but luckily I did OK.

When I got home my driver was so proud and I sent text messages to my sweetie and one of my friends to let them know I did it!!!! No ditches were driven in to, no crashes with other vehicles, no feral cats run over. All in all there was a lot to be proud of despite having a white bowling ball on top of my head.

The fabulous turkey sandwich of Doha

2011-06-04T03:02:00.021+07:00

On my recent trip to and from the US, I flew a different air carrier and therefore, a different route. This time I flew direct from Jakarta to Doha, Qatar and then from Doha to the US.

Don't feel bad if you are not familiar with Doha. Most people have never even heard of the city of Doha or the country of Qatar. It is a very small, sand covered nation that juts out of the side of Saudi Arabia on the Persian Gulf. Doha is the largest city in Qatar and has about one million residents. What makes this tiny, under-vegetated area unique is that most of the population is comprised of expats just like sweetums and me.

The return trip to Jakarta, through Doha, was a marathon event. Originally, I was to have about a seven hour layover. Unfortunately, three additional hours were added to the wait after getting on the plane. We were told there was an ill passenger and that person's (and the entire group they were traveling with) luggage was going to have to be off loaded. This event then caused the flight crew to time out on the runway and we then had to wait about an hour to get a new flight crew aboard. Even though it was going to be 110F in Doha, we had a massive snowball going.

The lounge area I waited in was pretty nice. Not Singapore airport level of nice where there is a gym, several gardens and an abundance of shopping, but still nice enough. While I was on the ground I ordered a turkey sandwich to munch about midway through my wait. My expectations for the sandwich were minimal - just some turkey on bread with a lettuce and tomato garnish. What I received was a beautifully made sandwich with the above mentioned garnish but also some roasted peppers and an herb based spread on homemade bread. It was totally lovely and totally tasty. My hat goes off to the chef for exceeding my expectations and creating a beautiful culinary delight despite my less than helpful direction as to what I wanted on it or with it when I ordered. As I had just reached the stage of jet lag where decision making was not my strong suite, he surprised me. With a tasty snack in front of me, I sat in the main dining area and watched the people come and go. It was dinner and a show.

There were men dressed in what we think of as Middle Eastern attire. Long white robes topped off with white head coverings that had a bit of a wing shape at the top all secured to the wearers head with a dark rope like band. As I looked out at lots and lots of sand and very little vegetation, this seemed like an excellent choice of clothing to wear. Good air circulation in a robe along with something on your head to keep the sun from cooking your noodle. However, the majority of the people waiting along with me in the lounge were dressed in western style clothing. Slacks, casual shirts, etc.

With all of the sand, one really did expect to see a camel at any minute. I don't think I am relying on movie stereotypes to conjure up this image. What I saw available, in the limited shopping areas, were numerous types of camel dolls, figurines, coffee cups, etc. Who knows, maybe it was movie driven since they do sell lots of boots and hats in the Houston airport. While you do see people wearing western gear in Houston, you don't see horses wandering all around or people all decked out in cowboy attire every where you look. I didn't purchase one single camel which I now regret because a camel coffee mug would have been an exceptional addition to our home in Jakarta. Silly jet lag!

As we took off and flew over what is probably the downtown area, most of the structures were a sand, tan, or a light beige color. I imagine the light colors help to reflect the brutal sun and keep the buildings a little cooler. I would think all of those downtown structures would almost be mirage-like under the right weather conditions.

Our route was over or close to many places that most of us have never, or will never visit and have only read about in history books. We flew past Baghdad, Bahrain, over the Tigris River, lots of India, and a number of places that ended in "stan". So much history, so much strife, so much beauty(and yes the geography is very stunning in some of these places) all being crossed from way, way above.

If it is daytime the next time I fly through Doha, and I have a little time, I think a tour could be most interesting. Can only imagine the markets, the clothing, the architecture and the style of driving you would encounter. Perhaps another day.

After what seemed like an eternity, I finally arrived to lush, green, muggy Jakarta. To the smiling faces of my sweet hubby and my driver waiting eagerly for me at the airport, and then to my housekeeper and jaga who all welcomed me home. Coming home can mean lots of things and it seems to be evolving all the time. The one constant is home is more of a state of mind and not a particular location. It is a place where people are happy you are there and they welcome you with loving arms.

So today after you read this, truly appreciate those around you and realize that each day is a homecoming just waiting to happen.

If there aren't chickens and cows on the course, it isn't really golf

2011-02-16T19:42:00.025+07:00

The weekend before Valentine's Day, my sweetie and I traveled back to the sister island of Bali known as Lombok. While Lombok isn't nearly as cool or romantic sounding as Bali, it is a pretty nice place.

Last visit we enjoyed the beach and spent a day in the city of Mataran to take in some various sights. We visited a wildly painted Chinese cemetery that had cattle grazing all around the plots, some Buddhist temples, a traditional market, and a "factory" where they weave ikat fabrics. It was all very fascinating and colorful.

We had a different plan this visit.

We are not only living in the land of "spa", but golf is a major activity here. Honey pie and I decided to take some golf lessons so we can get in to the "swing" of things. Maaf. I had to say it.

Our instructor is a Canadian guy and he is very patient. Good thing for us but could probably drive him to drink however.

With a grand total of three lessons under our belt, we decided to spend our Valentine's Day at a resort located next to a golf course in Lombok and put to use what we had learned.

The resort was very nice. Instead of a normal hotel, there were small bungalows. We had one that faced the beach and had a private plunge pool in which to plunge and cool off. This sounds way over the top, but it isn't all that unusual to find things like this at a pretty reasonable price in these here parts. Also, so not to be out done by Bali, many of the bungalows had outdoor baths. It is actually very private and kind of cool. Have had to do a similar make shift kind of thing when camping out in Big Bend National Park in West Texas. But....the only common thing between them is the fact that you are bathing rather unconfined. West Texas cannot be at all confused with being in tropical Indonesia. This is a good thing for both of them.

Bright and early the morning after we arrived, they sent a golf cart over to pick us up and take us to the club house. We drove along a dirt road next to kampungs and cattle. Chickens and roosters were running to get out of the way. It was an interesting sight.

We get to the club house and they loan us clubs and assign two caddies to us. Why? I really don't know since we were also given a cart, but that is how things are done here. I figure it is our way of supporting the local economy. Now our caddies didn't speak a lot of English and I have been very slack since Christmas and have not resumed my language lessons. This put us in the position of using lots of gestures and making sentences that I know sounded ridiculous. But it all worked out OK.

We drove to the first tee and being a gentleman, my main squeeze let me go first. I go to tee up the ball and my caddie beats me to it. He sticks the tee in the ground and puts a golf ball on top. OK. Hmmm. I get set and whack the ball and off to the right it sails. This was to be repeated 12 more times that day as we didn't make it through all 18 holes the first go round. The caddie consistently put the ball on the tee and I consistently hit the ball to the right on every single hole. My thoughts on that were that my teacher could at least say I was consistently bad and if he could fix what ever was causing me to do that I would be driving them straight on down the fairway and attain golf glory.

The reality of all this bad driving was that many times I put the ball in to some deep tropical vegetation. Here is where I was overjoyed and understood why we had caddies. I, for one, was not sticking my hands in there. God only knows what was lurking in the tangle of things. I wasn't going to find out first hand.

Now don't feel too sorry for our caddies. As we would drive from hole to hole various "galleries" would appear. Most of the time it was kids from the kampung who would help the caddies look for the ball, offer to sell you a new ball (which they had found - and could have been the one you just lost), or just stand quietly and watch you make a fool out of yourself. It was very unnerving to be so observed but as mentioned in previous blogs - we draw a crowd where ever we go.

At various junctures, hens with chicks would scurry out of the way as you walked up to the tee. Very proud, vocal roosters would give your ball the one eye stare if it was close to him. Occasionally, someone carrying a rice cooker would walk from one kampung on one side of the fairway to another kampung on the other side all while you were setting up for a shot. At one point there were two cows and a calf standing about 20 feet in front of the tee box and a large group of people about 75 yards on the right of the fairway using hand tools to cut grass from the rough, and beyond, to carry back across the fairway to feed their livestock. This was a major dilemma. I am just way too inexperienced to feel confident that I wouldn't put a cow's eye out or bean someone standing on the side of the course especially since there were off to my right. I figured I should first deal with the cattle.

Normally, animals run away when you approach them. These cows didn't give a flip about me. These were uninformed bovine. I start waving my hands and saying "shoo, shoo" to them. Nothing. They just continued chewing on the tasty grass on the golf course. I walk a little closer and try again. Sama (same). I then decided to go closer and speak bahasa Indonesia to them. I wave my hands and start saying "pulong, pulong, pulong." Pulong means to go home. That did the trick and off they charged. I was happy that my language skills served me so well. Most likely my caddies thought I was an idiot for worrying about the cows and conversing with them even if it was in their native tongue. Not so easily impressed I guess.

Now came phase two. The people on the right. As mentioned before, every drive I made went right so what should I do? About 20 people are over there, standing now, staring at me. No pressure. So I take a short swing and try to not hit the ball too hard but try to put it where my next shot will not place them in harms way. Thus, it was a terrible looking shot which went about 50 yards. My fan club watched. Yet another unimpressed group, went back to cutting the grass.

On another hole we had two komodo dragons, according to our caddies but one of my friends thinks they were monitor lizards as komodo dragons don't live on Lombok, run across the course as well.

Nothing like communing with nature while you are out pretending to be a duffer.

After 12 holes of fun in the hot tropical sun, we called it a day and set up to come back the next day. Our caddies jumped on that and said they would come get us the next morning. We tipped them, sent them off with bottles of water and we drove back to our private plunge pool to cool off.

The next day was pretty much a repeat of the day before. No matter what I did, it always went to the right. I had also made the decision that I was going to make it all the way to the 18th hole. By number 13 I was really getting tired. My caddie even hit the ball on a couple of holes to try to put me in a better position. We played best ball and sometimes we even picked up the ball and drove closer to the green with it. These are things I know you are not supposed to do, but I am not Arnold Palmer and I took a lot of liberties.

We did make it through all 18 holes and the caddies were paid and given lots of bottles of water. They wanted us to come back the following day. Wow! Does that mean they have seen worse golfers than us? Unfortunately, or fortunately - depending on if you are cattle, we were leaving the next day and couldn't play. Next time buddies.

We enjoyed our plunge pool one last time and had a Valentine's Day dinner on the beach. Our driver took us back a different route to the airport the next morning. The other times we have traveled on the road that runs next to the beach. This time we returned thru the Monkey Forest.

My expectations were pretty low and I figured the monkeys would be back in the forest away from the road. This was not so. Just like the cattle, people didn't bother them at all. In fact, since people feed them they know where to come to get a quick and easy meal. We are the Mickey D's to the wild kingdom. In some areas there would be pull offs and cars would be parked and there would be monkeys all around eating pieces of fruit and vegetables people tossed out the windows.

As we drove down the narrow road making our way to the airport there would be a monkey sitting on every guard rail support we passed. It is very much like the scene you see at the beach where there is a sea gull on every piling. A mother monkey with a baby clutched to her chest. Young juvenile monkeys lean and curious. Big male monkeys who sometimes had stunning, almost, handlebar mustaches. All quite dashing looking.

I had packed my camera in a bag that was in the back of the van. It was agony not to be able to stop and photograph all of this. We did however have a plane to catch so I didn't make the driver stop while I dragged my gear out. We would have easily lost two or three hours as there was lots to photograph. I can still see a vibrant green rice field with a lone bicycle leaning against a tree. Folks on their way to celebrate at the local mosque dressed in their finery as we were traveling on Muhammad's birthday and it is one of the national holidays. And monkeys. Just begging to be photographed. Guess that means that I will have to go back and spend the day out exploring with my camera. That is the way it seems to be here.

Upon our return, we went to the driving range and my instructor worked out the problem. We just need to get out there and try again. This time on a par 3 course so we don't get overwhelmed and frustrated.

Life is just different here. In so many, many ways. I am finding that I am still adjusting. Some stuff that seemed overwhelming isn't as much so. Some stuff still remains that way.

Guess that is just life. No matter which side of the planet you live on.

A year in the life of an expat

2011-01-26T15:33:00.031+07:00

This weekend, honey lamb and I will celebrate one whole year of being expatriates. This feels almost shocking to us both. Thankfully, it isn't one of those situations where you say, "OMG. That felt like FOREVER." Instead, it is more of "I can't believe that a year has already gone by."

All of this brings about a feeling of great accomplishment but also some feelings of inadequacy. I think of all the things we have done and hurdles we have crawled, scaled, scrambled and dragged each other over in the past year and feel proud. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would find myself doing something like this or ever living in this kind of situation.

However, I feel sad too that I have yet to master some of the things I hoped that I would by this blip on the time scale. My language skills are progressing at a speed best measured by geologic time. This continues to distress and disappoint me. Yes, compared to a year ago, I am much better at communicating and my reading skills are greatly improved. But there is so much I don't understand when people speak to me. Colloquial terms, idiomatic expressions, the speed at which they speak (not to mention that my hearing isn't as great as it once was) still cause major problems. Just like in the US when someone from New Jersey talks to someone from Alabama there is going to be lots of stuff that just isn't understood. Slang, accents, speed of speech. Yeah buddy....problems galore.

I still don't know as much about Indonesia and its culture as I thought I would. Yes, I understand about certain things, but there is a lot I have yet to delve into. Granted, I haven't spent near the time reading about their history, and all the different cultures as I have with language lessons so I guess it is unreasonable to expect too much. You think that you will absorb stuff. But just like in school, sleeping with the book under your pillow just doesn't get the job done. So, I will need to study a bit.

Unfortunately, you want to get out there and see and do stuff, not just read it in a book. I could be sitting on the beach in Florida and study about Indonesian history and not have a single grain of Indian Ocean sand touch my feet. I haven't quite gotten the balance right yet. Sweetums and I thought we would have it all figured out by now.

When will we ever learn.............

This one year anniversary also brings us to the ever popular photo baru (new photo) for my kitas. As you most likely remember, last years trip to "imigrasi" was a pretty memorable thing. And the picture........well, you remember. Bloated toad was the phrase I believe I used. If not, it should have been.

Today, honey bun is bringing home my passport with the latest, and hopefully greatest, photo that I get to live with for the next year. According to him, he has gotten a preview, it is much better. Well, it wouldn't have had to go to far to be an improvement. So, we shall see what my glamor shot looks like this go round.

I have also learned to not let the prices of items in the grocery make my hair stand up. There is a balance and you just have to get the things you need and also learn to compromise sometimes on brands. I have also learned that many times the things that are imported are not handled very well and are usually not made the same as the item at home. Oreos do NOT taste like this in the US and Hagen Das ice cream that has been defrosted, refrozen no telling how many times is not worth spending almost $10 a pint for. My doctor will be happy to hear such news as I shouldn't be eating that stuff anyway.

I saw in the Jakarta Post last week that there are 8 million motor cycles in Jakarta and 3 million cars. I would agree with that figure. I have been sitting in the middle of all of them, I believe, on numerous occasions. But after being here a year, I manage to not notice it as often as I used to. There are still days where I am a major backseat driver and continue trying to stomp on the brake peddle that isn't there. I have learned the fine art of either being totally amazed by what is out the window of the car and not noticing that there are about 50 motorcycles coming at me from seemingly all directions, or texting while riding is a good way to take your mind off what sometimes looks like immiment death by being crushed under a big city bus that is trying to merge on top of us.

It is still a struggle to be so far away and overwhelming at times to think of how long it takes to get from here to there. I try not to think about it too much. It makes me feel too vulnerable. I would say claustrophobic is an accurate discription some days.

For the last year, actually I didn't begin my blog until February, I have written about all kinds of things. I am not really sure who is reading the stuff that I write. Many times I feel really silly even writing it as there are much bigger problems in the world than mine.

It is also very weird having such a one sided conversation. You never call. You never write. You never send flowers. I am not always sure anyone is really listening, interested or just wishes I would stop all of this blogging. I guess the beauty of that is that if you aren't interested you don't have to read my droning on and on about my adjustment process.

With that in mind. I will close this chapter. Let us all be blessed with all the riches that really matter in life. May our imagrasi photos be beautiful. And, may our ears and hearts be filled with the telling and being told how much those we care about, are cared about.

Hamming it up

2011-01-17T13:39:00.063+07:00

Last night, we decided to make breakfast for dinner. It is one of those silly little delights that we enjoy on occasion. What started it was finding an American brand bag of self-rising flour in the grocery and the fact that I haven't made pancakes from scratch in almost a year.

We then decided we needed something else to go along with it. That something wound up being some country ham that I bought from a German deli not too far from our house. Now this deli has a lot of interesting things in it and you can call them up, order, and they will deliver to your door. Is that sweet or what?

I had visited their store and bought an assortment of things which have all been pretty yummy. Last night I uncovered a package of frozen country ham. We opened it and discovered it was very thinly sliced ham. A little odd, but we let it go. We slapped some of the pieces on the griddle and heated it up. It smelled pretty good and it made a welcome addition to our dinner menu.

The sweet smell of pancakes filled the kitchen along with the slightly salty smell of the ham. Hot diggity!

Sweetums and I sat down at the table, slathered some butter on the hot pancakes and drenched them in syrup. We divided up the slices of ham and the forks were flying. The pancakes were excellent and then we both tried the country ham. Well, it was a bit of a disappointment. It smelled good while cooking, but didn't really taste like much of anything. In my book, country ham has some very specific criteria to meet or it just isn't country ham. I guess it just depends on which country you are in.

If the producer of this ham wants to really get with the program, they need to talk to some of the fine people on the eastern side of the US about how to make REAL country ham. Otherwise they need to put a different label on there and call it salty smelling, bland tasting white meat made from pigs not to be confused with country ham.

This all reminds me of an incident way, way back in my life, that could not happen today due to current flying regulations.

One of my brothers had moved from North Carolina to Texas and was missing certain things that were not offered there. Things like Duke's mayonnaise, Squirt, and country ham from a place that makes some of the best country ham in the world.

Anyway, after I moved to Texas too and was on a visit back to the mother-land, I was commanded to return with packages of the "other white meat" that brother number two had purchased for the deprived brother number one. Seemed pretty straight forward as many things do on the surface.

How full of mischief could a dozen plus slick plastic packages of ham be?

To set the scene, just imagine that I had a wild strawberry colored Samsonite over-night shoulder bag. Yep, imagine that! It seemed like the perfect vehicle to transport the requested items. No laughing at the luggage. It was hot stuff back in the 70's. It was probably even considered "sassy."

I stuffed as many of the sealed packages in the side pockets but had to stuff a few packages inside the bag along with my own personal items. Once at the airport, I had to put the bag on a conveyor belt to go though the X-ray machine where it promptly fell on it's side and the ham packets began to slide, no, squirt is more accurate, out. My bag was oozing ham. I was trying to catch it and stick it back in my sassy wild strawberry colored bag as it made it's way along. It came out the other side with ham packets still scooting all over the place. The security people all found this amusing. I was saying bad words and trying to make the ham behave and stay put. I also did not say nice things about my brother while this was happening.

I guess this all links together in some convoluted way in my head. Country ham has to be the real deal to me or it just leaves you unsatisfied. Pigs may be very smart, but country ham has a mind of its own. People miss the common place things that they don't have even when they move within the confines of their own country (even if Texans consider Texas a whole other country). Comfort food comes in many forms or certain foods seem comforting when eaten in certain situations. And, I seem to have a long standing history of not getting along very well with plastic (please see previous posts).

Therefore, take comfort my friends in the little things; for you never know when they might be hard to come by.

Fish bombs and other food related topics

2011-01-10T09:34:00.017+07:00

Bomb Explosion: Central Sulawesi
A fish bomb exploded at the house of forestry agency head in Tojo Una – Una
regency, Central Sulawei on Thursday 6 January. No injuries were reported
and police are investigating. (Source: Media Indonesia)

"So what is a fish bomb? Can only make you wonder. Probably did not smell
good anyway you approach it." (Quote and news flash from sweetie pie to me)

No, I am not making this up. Honey lamb gets all kinds of security updates at his job and some of the more choice ones he sends to me. Sometimes, here in our little stress-free world as some imagine we live in, their are unnerving warnings like those about protest areas to avoid, violence against certain groups, volcanic eruptions, or things that could severely alter your life. Thank goodness, some are simply amusing as they have no direct impact on me. Now, I imagine if I had been the recipient of a fish bomb I probably would be less amused.

Here is another news flash.
CIVIL & LABOR AFFAIRS
Official Run Amok Over Job Transfer
An inauguration ceremony for officials in Palopo, South Sulawesi, had to be
cancelled on Wednesday 5 January after an officer, upset about his new
posting,threatened to attack colleagues and guests with a bamboo pole. Andi Nur Pallulu, the former head of the Palopo administration’s national unity and public protection division, started overturning chairs and tables, screaming that anybody who dared move him to his new post “would have to deal with him personally.” He was recently named head of the city’s Women’s Empowerment and Family Planning Agency.
Participants and guests dispersed during Andi’s outburst and there were no
reports of injuries. (Source: The Jakarta Globe)

OK....

Enough of these news flashes and on to food related topics that are much more interesting anyway.

In the Monday edition of the Jakarta Post, there was an interesting article on sambal. A couple of things before we proceed. First there is a chili crisis here in Indonesia. With the abundant rains we have had both over the summer (sorry that would be the summer months as they relate to the other side of the world and areas that have seasonal changes other than it rains a fair amount or it rains so hard that you have class 3 rapids on the streets) and during the winter months (see previous notation)chili production is down. Chili prices are soring and this is a major problem for a country who LOVES sambal and chilies in every form.

Secondly, if you have been keeping up with things that I have posted, if you haven't, you know who you are, you will remember the sambal discussion.
Today we will explore the topic of sambal further.

According to this article, there are 19 kinds of sambal. Who knew? This is probably a little low as I am sure there are subtle variations for the people who tweak the recipe based on what they like. Let's explore some of these recipes.

In this article I don't know if they listed them by preference, amount consumed, oldest recipes to newest versions or what. But let's dive in. Oh! By the way, all of the following is paraphrased from the Jakarta Post and Wikipedia. This is my general interpretation and highlights of what was printed.

Sambal terasi. It apparently is a very common style of sambal made here. Terasi is fermented shrimp paste. It is mixed with red and green chilies, sugar, salt, either lime or lemon juice. The citrus juice can be omitted and pounded tomatoes used instead. It is not cooked.

Sambal mangga uses the above sambal recipe with shredded young mango added. There appear to be multiple recipes which use sambal terasi as the base and then they improvise.

As would make sense, different areas of the archipelago has their version of how they like their sambal.

Padang, which is on the west coast of Sumatra (the big island to the north and west of Java where we reside) produces many versions of sambal for which they are well known.

Sambal balado is Padang's famous sambal. To make it you can use either red or green chilies mixed with garlic, shallot, red or green tomatoes, salt and either lemon or lime juice. It is then sauteed with oil.

In Bali they like Sambal matah. It is made with raw shallot and lemongrass. The shallots are finely chopped along with bird's eye chili, terasi and a little dash of lemon.

In Manado they make sambal dabu-dabu. Coarsely chopped tomatoes, shallots birds's eye chili, basil, salt and vegetable oil.

Finally there is sambal petai. This sambal is a mix of red chili, garlic, shallot and petai, which is green stinky bean. No joke, that is what they are called in the English translation. So ends the paraphrasing.

You are now among the educated foodies and if asked, you can give a quick overview of sambal. If you get the opportunity, give it a try. I can guarantee it is much better than receiving a fish bomb.

Paintings at an art exhibition

2011-01-04T21:06:00.013+07:00

In Jakarta, well it seems like all over Indonesia, the tables get turned on you when you visit a museum or some kind of tourist attraction. You suddenly become the exhibit. We went to Yogyakarta during the holidays and we were photographed almost as much as Borobudur temple. Every school group or family that came by either wanted a photo of us with them or they were snapping pictures with their cell phones as we walked by all sweaty from climbing the steep steps of the temple or being doused by a heavy rain storm. Man! Are we celebrities or what?

At the National Museum in Jakarta things got a little out of hand. We could not even walk around the museum and look at the exhibits. There were huge school groups touring the museum the day we went and they ALL had phones and or cameras that were strictly dedicated to photographing bules, not museum exhibits. Well almost. It was either photograph the bules or photograph themselves and their friends with the bules or them posing cutely in front of some antiquities that could possibly be considered as cool as bules.

We could not stop and read or really look at the displays. We had to keep moving while swarms of students followed us around just waiting for an opportunity to pose with us. Every room you went in there was a new group. We were accommodating at first. But then we realized that this would go on until closing time and we would not have moved more than about 20 feet. After about 30 solid minutes of this, we decided to use the tactic of moving quickly from one thing to the next and finding displays where there were as few people as possible.

I think it would not have been as bad if we had not just been through the same thing in Yogyajarta. For my son, who is 6'3" and a first time visitor, it was a little overwhelming. Now if those crowds of girls had maybe been over the age of 18, he might not have minded quite so much. But being surrounded by cute little Indonesian girls is still fun. They are very sweet and very cute and you can't help but get caught up in their enthusiasm about it all. To a point.

However, being a "rock star" gets old. I now have a better appreciation for celebrities who get mobbed and photographed when they are not necessarily at their best. The only difference is, my son is just a poor graduate school student and the pay differential is huge.

Christmas conundrums and surprises

2011-01-04T20:17:00.026+07:00

What constitutes Christmas music is up for debate over here. I have never considered Amazing Grace nor The Battle Hymn of the Republic the kind of songs that spring from my lips at Christmas time. Yet as I wandered around Hypermart with sweetie one and sweetie two during the holidays, those were a couple of the songs on the Yule Time Top 40 Chart. It appeared that the criteria used for this compilation was if it had ANY kind of religious connotation, whether applicable or not, it was on the list.

The other holiday songs we heard, that are on my more typical play list, were rendered in a rather odd jazzy, show tune fashion. Instead of feeling all warm and fuzzy, I just felt warm and confused. I hope that Indonesians really don't think that is how the songs actually go. It could possibly be the case that this makes them more appealing to their ears. And bless their hearts they were trying to get in the spirit of things or at least go along with it all and make us feel "Christmasy."

As we walked around the store picking up supplies, songs were blaring out at a pretty fair volume. The up-side to this was it saved us from the perpetual jingle that they normally play while I shop there. For days that jingle will stay in my head. I am forced to sing the Gilligan's Island theme song to get rid of it. That is desperation for you.

There were Christmas decorations for sale and artificial trees. I scored a great Indonesian version of Monopoly for my son and for my friend Mary's son. It was mostly in Bahasa Indonesia and had Indonesian properties and cities. Instead of utilities it had the major airports around the country listed. The only place where they missed the mark was they didn't use rupiah for their money. It was just boring Monopoly money.

In the land where everyone is a millionaire, simply due to the fact that 100,000 rupiah is equivalent to about $10.00 US this could have been fun. You would have had to have stacks and stacks of money to buy properties or houses. Pass go. Collect 2,000,000.00 rupiah.

There was also the mental issue of just trying to get used to having a tropical Christmas. I know for at least half of the world this is normal operating procedure. Even after living on the Gulf Coast for so many years and having a warm weather holiday, this was even more mind boggling. Don't misunderstand, I am only voicing an observation about the differences. It would have been an even bigger blow to my system if I had been trying to get home to family in Europe or the Northeastern part of the US and gotten caught up in all of the travel issues they were having. My expat friend, who now lives in Canada, got trapped in all of that. She finally made it to her family in England, but not before getting stranded for a while in the South of France. Being the ever resourceful person that she is, she used it as a shopping opportunity to buy Christmas gifts for her family. Way to shop girl!

One very delightful surprise we had was that our staff got together and gave us Christmas gifts. Not only was I totally surprised, but very touched. These gifts are now proudly displayed in our home. We will always remember the thoughtfulness behind them and the loving people who gave them to us.

From the US, we also got some fun and thoughtful gifts from family. That was very appreciated. One of my brothers had spied some long, thin metal icicles at a craft fair last fall and bought some. When we were kids, my family had these dangling treasures on every Christmas tree we decorated. They were made of tin and were muted colors and would twirl around and catch the light with the slightest breeze or from the poking of inquisitive fingers of a child. Our housekeeper is going to love them when we hang them on our pohon natal (Christmas tree) next year. She loves sparkley things.

For our Christmas dinner we had roast chicken stuffed with herbs and surrounded by potatoes and carrots. We had Ocean Spray canned cranberry sauce, bok choy that was stir fried with red chillies and garlic and of course, a side dish of rice. Our dessert was pisang goreng - fried bananas coupled with vanilla ice cream. It was a blend of new and old, East and West. It was a very nice meal which we all ate while dressed in shorts and tee shirts.

While there were conundrums, there was a beautiful blending of things that made it a very joyous occasion. May we keep that spirit all year long.

Welcome home

2011-01-04T12:15:00.026+07:00

On my recent trip to Amerika, as it is called and spelled here, and back again, I made a few interesting observations.

First and most importantly, despite the long line you have to stand in at airport immigration, I love chatting with the immigration officer when it is my turn. I love it when the conversation is concluded and they say "Welcome home." I am sure they don't think much of saying that to each returning US citizen. And I am also sure it doesn't always mean very much to many of the people who are tired and just want to get home. But I am just a sappy person I guess. And being an expat now, it just sounds so wonderful to me. I am sure they wonder about me because I get this big ol' goofy grin on my face and tell them "Thanks. It is good to be here."

Secondly, I shopped for myself and honey bun and I also had promised our staff that I would bring something back for each of them. My housekeeper wanted a pink hooded sweatshirt jacket. I have been here almost a year and a sweatshirt jacket is still not on my list of things to wear six degrees below the equator. This continues to confirm the fact that I am not a native, besides the obvious things which I have commented on in previous posts.

She loves pink. I shopped for a pink "hoodie" and had no trouble finding one. The irony came in when I was looking at the size label. I was buying an article of clothing on US soil for my Indonesian housekeeper and that article was made in Indonesia. Wasn't sure if I should cut the label out or take a Sharpie marker and blacken it. Just another one of those odd things that you never really think about until it is put in a totally different context.

I bought Houston sports teams hats for the jagas (guards in case you forgot). I couldn't decide what to get so I bought two Houston Texan hats and two Houston Rockets hats. The Texans hats were the hands down favorite. The Rockets hats have an awesome logo, but they don't say Houston or Texas anywhere. Not as popular as something that has a US city on it. Note to self, buy all the same thing because they are like kids and they compare and get stuff that has some well known US city on it. Maaf Pumpkin Center, N.C.

After almost a year in Indonesia, it is starting to feel like home. I know this sounds contradictory to my very first observation but not really. I will always love "home", but true to many writers declarations, home is where you make it. I looked forward to seeing my husband and returning to our "new home" with our son. Maybe that is what kind of sealed the deal. The three of us together. Sharing all the mundane things that we like to do. Together, under one roof.

Two dear expat friends pointed out a couple of things about this kind of life. Laura told me up front - "It will take you a year to really settle in." I thought this seemed like an excessively long time frame. But by golly, she was right. My friend Leena asked me when we returned from a trip to Australia back in November, "Did it feel like home when you came back?" That was November and I didn't quite feel like I was there yet.

But this time upon my return, it did feel like home. It was so nice to see my husband and our driver waiting for my son and I as we came around the corner from customs. To see the jaga's familiar face and smile as he stepped out to slide the gate open for our car to pull in the drive. Our housekeeper and gardener waving hello and being totally amazed at how tall our son is and shaking hands with him and welcoming him to Indonesia. It was all very special to me.

It was just like our family back "home" welcoming us when we pull in the driveway of their home or seeing that first glimpse of their smiling faces when they greet us at the airport.

Part of feeling home too is seeing friends. That is a challenge when you are jet lagged, short on time and long on list. But, I did feel the warm embrace of friends in Texas and also upon my return to Jakarta. It is a blessing to have many people think of you and care about your well being. It is not so nice a feeling when you know you can't see everyone of them and catch up on their news. I guess that also makes you feel like you are home because you are disappointed in not seeing all the people you care about and find out what is going on in their lives.

So, before this gets any more mushy. Let me tell you all how very lucky I feel to have you as friends and part of my family (family being either through guilt by association or being born in to the same family as me and therefore not having a choice). This past year has been a very big challenge for honey bun and I. If it hadn't been for loving hearts to help cheer us along, I probably would not be sitting here at my desk in Indonesia typing this. I would have packed what few belongings I had with me at the Shangri-oo-la-la and headed back to the good ol' US of A. But you helped see sweetums and I through so I now serve as your explorer.

So, if and when you come to our home on this tropical island, we hope we can make you feel welcome and return that warm embrace we have so especially appreciated for the last 12 months.

Enjoy being home, where ever that might be, and know we are thinking of you.

If the Kentucky Colonel only knew

2011-01-04T12:00:00.021+07:00

While sweetie pie junior was visiting sweetie pie senior and I, he was fascinated by many things here. One of the things that really got away with him was the status that KFC holds in Indonesia.

Now when you think of fast food places, especially chicken places, you don't think of grandiose things do you? Well, you need to come for a visit so you can see how it is done on this side of the world.

The KFC that is in our little kampung is a huge affair. It has live music, it is twittered about, has a fan club and they deliver your order to your house on cute motorcycles with bright red boxes on the back with their logo plastered all over.

We decided to give the delivery service a whirl just so we could get a picture of the delivery guy on his motorcycle. Sweetums senior thought that it would be fun to order a Super Kombo Meal for us and for the housekeeper and jaga. That was a very wise move on his part. There was joyous squeeling and big smiles from the staff when we asked "Anda suka KFC?" (You like KFC?)

Since this was honey bun seniors idea, I opted to let him place the order. That didn't work too well. I could see his face going from confident to perplexed during the ordering process. You could see that as they were speaking to him, he was having trouble figuring out what they wanted. He handed the phone to me. Oh brother! I was suddenly in charge. Finally, I figured out what the guy was saying. He wanted my hand phone number right off the bat. This was not at all what hubby was expecting and it just totally threw him off his game.

Once we got over that hurdle, I tried to place the order. I needed five(lima) Super Kombo Meals, spicy. Seemed to have lots of struggles with that and then the nice, very soft spoken young man handed me over to a very nice, more mature sounding man. After a little repeating he got it. That is a good thing because up to this point I think I was going to get lima pieces of chicken of unknown distinction.

We got to the address phase and things were good. I was told "35 minit, Mrs." So all we had to do was wait for the delivery guy to show. They were in fact, early. This is highly irregular in the US. Guess those agile motorcycles give them a leg up on that function. I had given the money to the housekeeper and thought we would hear the guy arrive. This was not true so we missed our photo op. Rats!

Our housekeeper had set the table and was all prepared for the feast. Little did she know that usually if we want something like that, we go pick it up, return home and eat it out of the container. What heathens!

Honey pie junior had been a little disappointed when he asked if it came with fries and I told him no, it comes with nasi (cooked rice) wrapped up in a paper wrapper. At first he was not sold on the idea. However, once the wrapper came off the nasi he declared it a good thing because it gave him an additional opportunity to consume sambal on something else.

Sambal is kind of like thicker version of Texas Pete, if you are from the East Coast or Tabasco if you are from the Gulf Coast and I don't have a clue what it is like if you are from California or Ohio. It is tasty stuff and can be very, very hot or hot/sweet at the same time. Each maker has his or her own way of making it. It can be thick and chunkey at times. Sort of like Picante Sauce. However you make it, saya suka!

Since we missed the delivery guy on the first try, we ordered chicken again on New Year's Eve. Thought it would be fun. This time I held on to the money so I could pay and also request a photo. Since we don't use the phone in our house very often, KFC was on redial. Hip Hip Hurrah! This time we just gave our hand phone number to the person on the other end and wonderful things happened. In less than 30minutes, our delivery guy arrived.

I paid for the chicken and asked if he would mind if I took a photo. Indonesians love to have their pictures taken so he was most agreeable. All the men-folk gathered around the motorcycle with the happy little delivery box on the back and I snapped away. Of course I had to show the driver the photo. He smiled and gave a thumbs up. I imagine he was hoping to wind up on the KFC fan site under the category of "Our favorite KFC Delivery Guys." Unfortunately, that will not be but he will be forever immortalized on my blog and in our hearts.

Time travelers

2011-01-02T23:12:00.021+07:00

Just two days in to 2011, I put sweetie pie senior and sweetie pie junior on a plane bound for the US. Had to be one of my more odd moments. Sending the two things I love most in life to the other side of the world all at once.

But, I enjoyed the thought of the two of them exploring the Singapore and Moscow airports together and doing some male bonding without "mom" butting in every five minutes and their being travel companions for the next 30 + hours.

Yes, there will be sleeping and movie watching during that time but it is the shared experience of making the journey together that will not be forgotten. I am sure they will compare notes on the action flicks they watch or the fun animated movies they view and who had what for dinner. But as with many men, it is just the closeness of proximity that makes them feel happy and secure. The need for deep, meaningful conversation is not massively necessary and in fact, many times, seems to impede the process of just being. Maybe their is a lesson here that could be useful for a "mom" like me.

Take off was at 8:40pm, Jakarta time on Sunday. They landed in Singapore about an hour and a half later. The longest layover of the trip was there and they didn't take off again until 2:20am. About 1:00pm, Jakarta time on Monday, I got a Skype call. It was my guys calling me from the Moscow airport. It was about 8am on Monday there. Stay with me now cause with this International Date Line thingy, it gets very confusing.

While I was sleeping, very early Tuesday morning here (3:00am if you are trying to keep up), they landed in Houston. For them it is 2:00pm in the afternoon on Monday. From take off to landing was about 30 and a half hours. This of course doesn't include the travel time to and from each airport. Ladies and gents. It is a long travel experience.

After I really thought about all of this, I am now in amazement that I can even make a sentence once I arrive. No wonder my body is so confused when I do this trip!

It is now almost 4:00pm here in Jakarta on Tuesday afternoon. They are all snuggled down in their respective beds snoring away I hope. My guess is that in about an hour, maybe two, they are going to be wide awake on Tuesday morning on US soil. The first few days your wake-sleep cycle is so messed up you are up at four or five in the morning and semi comatose by seven that night.

Even though it is tough on our bodies, it is a marvel that we have the ability to go all the way from one side of the planet to the other in a reasonably short time. It is also a marvel that you can use your computer to stay in touch with those left behind or waiting for you during this process.

Who knows, maybe real time travel will come to be and you will be able to teleport from one place to the next like in Star Trek. There will probably still be "teleport lag", but maybe you won't feel quite so beat up once you get there. In the mean time, bless you Orville and Wilbur. You really started something big. Oh, and St. Christopher, you've done a outstanding job so far. Keep it up.

The best 3 out of 5

2010-12-21T21:33:00.023+07:00

On a recent trip to Houston, I purchased various goods to re-stock my shelves. Some things purchased were items that are unavailable in Indonesia; i.e. contact lens cleaner for gas permeable lenses and underwear that is sized for an ibu like me. Other things purchased were preferenced brand items, also not available here, but could really be lived without; i.e. Far East Couscous and Country Time lemonade packets.

However, the item that I lugged back with me that was the most challenging was two king sized pillows that had to be stuffed in to a "space bag" (as seen on TV). I swear to goodness, I had horrible flashbacks to Championship Wrestling right there in my hotel room during this encounter.

First let me say, that I have an obsession about a pillow that is squishy enough to contour a bit, yet firm enough to support my head and neck. I seem to buy a lot of pillows that just don't live up to the criteria or die due to the fact that I must abuse my pillow more than the normal person.

It seemed like a simple thing, well sort of, to find and pack two king sized pillows in the largest suitcase that the airline would allow me to carry. I packed two large space bags in my baggage before leaving my tropical island home just for this purchase. I had great hopes in their ability to assist me in returning with the required sleep aide. That however, was not exactly how it worked out.

I found a couple of pillows that passed the poke and squish test and purchased them. They lingered on my vehicle backseat for a bit before I decided to give putting them in the suitcase a whirl. This was a mistake, as I think those hateful pillows began to develop a strategy to remain in their safe little domain rather than come live at my house.

Round one began with me stuffing one pillow in the bag and really wondering if the other one would fit as well. I finally managed to get both of them in there, but was way over the little dashed line at the top that indicates "do not fill above this point". In fact, pillow number two was several inches above the top of the bag but I ignored this and still felt somewhat confident. It was a clear win for me.

Round two saw a major shift in the scoring. As I began to squish the pillows further down into the bag, I realized that trying to zip the bag and also hold the pillows down was going to be a major problem unless I suddenly grew a couple of extra hands. I pushed and tried kneeling on the pillows, with my knee in the top of the bag, while quickly zipping the bag as close to my knee as I could get it. This didn't work very well and soon as I got my big ol' knee out of the way the top pillow would pop out of the opening. This went on for way to long and I had to remove my sweatshirt and continue the round in my tee shirt and jeans as things were getting really physical at this point and sweat was forming on my brow. I definitely lost that round. Thus, the pillows and I were tied at one all.

Round three. I finally managed to get the zipper closed, but needed to squish the air out of the bag to make it flat and as small as possible. Carefully I opened a small amount of the zipper and pushed on the bag with my knee to force the air out. That tricky top pillow was making an extremely successful effort to escape again, so I was both pushing and pulling on the bag at the same time and managed to rip it. Holy Cow! Sweat and not so nice words were flowing. Pillows had won another round.

Round four. New space bag, same process. This was not at all how the lady on TV had to do things when she demonstrated how marvelous these bags are. I was once again faced with how to get the air out and keep the pillows in. This time I thought maybe I could sit on the bag and get the air out. Space bags are rather slick and this was not as easy as one might expect. As carefully as possible I executed this maneuver. I just wasn't getting as much air out as I needed. At this point, I decided to use a full body press.

Looking back on it, this must have looked absolutely ridiculous. A grown woman laying, or is it lying, on this bag of pillows trying to squish them flat without anything escaping time after time. I finally got the job done and proceeded to the packing process. Round four was mine! Score - two all.

I got the pillows in the suitcase and began to gather other things that would fit in the bag along with them. Upon returning to my luggage, I realized the pillows were fluffier than just a few minutes earlier and there was considerably less room then before. Uh oh. I unzipped the zipper just a bit and pushed on the bag. At that point I could hear air escaping, but not from just the top. I had manged to blow out a small seam in the side of the bag and air was being forced out there as well.

In my book, round five went to me by just a hair. The pillows were swelling, but the space bag was still containing the sprawl. I managed to get other goods in the suitcase and go through repeatedly pressing the bag and zipping my luggage until everything was trapped inside. I was victorious!

As I locked my bag I prayed that no TSA employee would decide to frisk my luggage and undo all of my hard work. I felt quite sure they would just toss the pillows and not wrestle them, liked the Masked Marauder, back into their corner.

So as this time of travel is upon us; requiring many to go by air, land, and sea in order to celebrate this glorious Christmas and New Year with family and friends, remember my experience. In times of stress, as only travel can bring, be happy that you hopefully didn't have to pack KING sized pillows in your luggage.

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good nights sleep on a perfectly delightful pillow.

and presents for pretty girls

2010-12-07T18:57:00.016+07:00

Holiday time is alive and well in Jakarta. Thanksgiving arrived with no parades, fall leaves, or college football games. However, sweetie pie and I managed to have a very nice turkey dinner with a few modified accompaniments. There was roast turkey, cranberry sauce, green beans and something that I think was supposed to be a form of dressing, and some pumpkin based desserts on the menu. All of this was part of the American Club Thanksgiving Dinner right here in Jakarta. It was very nice and we had two ladies sitting at our table that we had never met before and talked of things in the US and things in Indonesia. It was a little slice of home that I didn't have to cook.

The cleaver Indonesians, or at least the ones in Jakarta, have discovered that Christmas is big business. The malls are decorated with Christmas trees, Christmas music is playing in lots of places, both secular and non-secular. Today at the grocery, the clerks had on Santa hats. Ho. Ho. Ho.

Now keep in mind, that some of the decorations are a little different than what we have. At the mall for instance, you can have your picture taken with Santa. There is a big elaborate area where you wander up to Santa's grass roofed hut. Past jolly figures wearing capri length pants, cone shaped hats,and no shoes. Santa and his cute little helpers are dressed in bright red batik. Beautiful, huge butterflies are suspended from the ceiling of the mall. They are made from lovely batik fabrics and swing as the air moves. Tall narrow cone shaped artificial trees are decorated with garlands and colored balls and lights. It is very festive and an unexpected sight.

Today I am on my way back to the US. My first solo flight to the mother-land. I am in capri pants, not at all like the ones the Indonesian elves are wearing at the mall and a short sleeved shirt. I will go to Singapore who's weather is much like ours. From there I will go to Moscow. Holy cow! I have a change of clothes as I know capripants are not going to cut it there. December in Russia is not the same as December in Southeast Asia. I will change before I get off the plane and then wander around for an hour, get frisked and then get back on the plane. Can hardly wait.....

From there, I will arrive in Houston which is also not like Southeast Asia in terms of December temperatures. On my last visit in May, I never got around to driving myself. Those days are over for me very soon. I will be in charge of getting myself from point A to point B in one piece. I will be driving my honey's truck no less. Can hardly wait.....

I am looking forward to a visit and to bringing our son back with me to Indonesia. I imagine, it will be a bit like watching the disbelief and awe on his face when we took him to Disney World. It is going to be a blast to show him things we have discovered. Seeing his face as he watches all of the incredible stuff that goes on around you every single day. Every single time you leave the house. It will be a fabulous Christmas gift to us to share our new home and life with him.

Living in the land of Spaahhh

2010-10-08T16:16:00.054+07:00

Besides rice, traffic, motorcycles and plastic; there is an incredible abundance of spas in Indonesia. Since I am totally nuts about a great massage, this is a wonderful match-up for me.

I first became addicted to massages when sweetums and I lived in New Orleans. I love the smell of a spa, the great relaxing music they play, the calmness. It practically makes me swoon. The fragrance is what I would call a clean beachy smell. Kind of salty, a tad bit earthy, and ever so slightly musky. At this point I feel like I should be saying, "My name is Judi, and I have a problem."

One of the interesting and surprising parts of this culture is that massage is very much a part of life for practically everyone. It doesn't matter if you live in a palatial home or you are someones housekeeper, massage is deemed a great cure-all for many things. They seem to appreciate the therapeutic value of human touch.

Another thing that I have found unique about the spa experience here is the huge variety of spa experiences you can have. Let me tell you about a few of them.

One of the most widely popular massage/spa experiences is called a cream bath. No, it does not involve sitting in a tub of high fat dairy product. It is the application of a delightfully rich conditioner to your hair accompanied by a head massage. The application of the conditioner and massage usually takes about 30 minutes. Bliss I tell you. After the application, and having your head rubbed and scalped coaxed in to submission, your hair is wrapped in a towel to allow the goop to work its magic and not drip all over you. If that weren't enough, while you are waiting for the transformation of your lovely locks, you are given a shoulder and arm massage by an ever attentive technician. AAAHHHH. After about 15 or 20 minutes of that, the towel is removed from your head and your hair is washed, rinsed and blown dry. Your silky tresses are glorious and you feel so relaxed I think you wouldn't really care if they had shaved your head. Hmmmm. Wonder what's in that stuff? As mentioned before, this treatment spans a huge socio-economic slice of the population. It is something that should be offered in the US and isn't. They are missing the boat on this little money maker.

Next up, on the totally opposite end of your body, is the fish massage. This is a spa treatment that appeared in a few locations around the US; briefly. It was shut down after some regulatory commission sighted health concerns. Not sure if they were more worried about the fish's health or the patrons. Whatever the case, it is not an issue here, so Fish Spas are all over the place. While not as abundant as the cream bath venues, you do see at least one in every mall. The point of the fish spa is that the hungry little buggers will nibble all of the dead, dry skin off of your feet and legs and they will be transformed in to smooth, sleek, appendages. Appetizing, no?

Several of my friends enjoy visiting these spas. I held out for a long time because it just seemed so....strange. However, I succumbed to peer pressure and the un-refusable request from a very sweet friend to accompany her to the fish spa before she moved away from Indonesia. Thus, on a sunny morning in August we drove to the mall and headed for the fish spa. We were the first customers of the day, which I had hoped for when we set this up the day before. Instead of the heady spa fragrances and the quiet little treatment rooms where the piped in music puts you in an almost catatonic state, you have multiple islands of fish tanks scattered around the room. I don't know what the formal name is for where they keep the little fishes. They aren't really aquaria, yes that is the plural of aquarium, and they aren't really ponds. So let's just settle on calling them tanks, but you must use your imagination here.

When you enter the spa it is restful and there are those tanks of cute little, hungry fish swimming around just waiting for you to put your feet in. But before that happens, you sit in an area where they wash your feet and legs before you are allowed to dangle them in the tank. Don't want any icky lotions from your legs making the ikan(new Indonesian word for you to learn - means fish)sick. They give you little slippers to wear so as to not get your nice clean feet dirty while you walk over to the spa tank. Sitting on the side, you slide your slippers off and plunge your feet and legs in almost to knee level. I learned that you don't want to be the first one to stick your feet in. Those guys swarm you. Your feet and legs become covered with eager fish. It looks like you are wearing these weird boots made out of wiggly fish bodies. Oddddddd.

It is kind of a buzzing sensation when the fish work you over. It kind of tickles and vibrates all at the same time. So I guess that is why it is called a massage and not a fish pedicure even though you are kind of getting a little bit of both. Maybe we could call it a fish pedisage. No, that sounds worse. Never mind.

Now according to my sweetie pie, he had a similar experience every time he got in our backyard water garden to clean it or make adjustments. He would get in the pond and the fish would come over and size him up to see if he was good eating. Somewhere along the way, he would have to get out, change from shorts to long pants because the fish were getting a bit to interested for his liking. The little nibbles would begin to feel like piranha attacks according to him. Keep in mind we did have some sizable fish. Most notable were the three LARGE albino cat fish. Those guys were big enough to fillet and eat. I would not qualify this as a fish spa experience by Indonesian standards.

There are a couple of OTHER kinds of spas that I WILL NOT address on these pages (and no, I am not talking about THOSE kinds of spas. They are here too, just like most anywhere else in the world). These are a different kind of spa. It is very strange to me to live in a place that so strongly encourages woman to cover up almost completely and holding hands in the mall gets you stared at will tolerate this. I guess I still have a lot to learn about living in a different culture.

Let's move on. Reflexology is also very popular here. It is one of those kinds of treatments that you think to yourself, "This is going to feel so much better when they quite torturing me." Reflexology is based on the theory that the soles of your feet have points on them that match up to various organs or areas of your body. The technician will rub and kneed your feet; sometimes using her knuckle to dig in to places on the bottom of your foot or the pads on the bottom of your toes. It is sometimes painful, sometimes it feels good, and sometimes you are almost crying for mercy. When it's all over, your feet feel a little tender, but surprisingly good.

It is nice to know that when the streets of Jakarta get you down you can go to a tranquil spa and let them work out the knots in your neck, kneed your muscles until you feel like the Pillsbury Dough Boy, and float for a while on a gentle river of music until you feel relaxed and ready to get back out there and do it all over again. It's a spaaaahhhhh world after all.

Mother's Day Out - the Indonesian version

2010-10-01T15:53:00.056+07:00

When my son was young, I enrolled him in a Mother's Day Out program. Typically, that was the time that I would schedule appointments or take care of things that were difficult to do with a little one in tow. When he got older, he attended various camps and activities during the summer. I loved picking him up and seeing what the artistic creation du jour was. Usually it involved macaroni, glitter, Mardi Gras beads, clothes pins and or toilet tissue rolls.

His little smiling face would go between looking at his project and my face to see if I was totally getting how utterly fabulous it was. I truly got it and just like millions of parents everywhere, displayed it proudly. The "Hall of Fame" area would have to be culled due to over crowding. Old stuff had to be moved for new things to take their place. I think we still have every single one of them tucked away somewhere among all of our things in the storage facility that is holding our goods until we return. They better take good care of them or Mom is NOT going to be happy.

Now, you are wondering what in the heck does this have to do with my blog. Well, I am going to tell you. One of the things that I have wanted to do for a very long time is to paint. This has been a desire for more years than I care to admit. I signed up for an art course my senior year in college, but chickened out and dropped it before I even got started. I have multiple blank canvases, in storage, that I have attempted to paint. However, I could never get past where to begin. I don't know why in the world I didn't just stick with the first one and stare at it instead of adding additional blank surfaces to mock me. Was the next new canvas suppose to be the one to break the spell? Massive performance anxiety at its worst.

With the move to Jakarta, I decided to try and pursue this desire to paint. As great luck would have it, there is a British woman who lives within walking distance of my house who gives art lessons. She has been painting for over 20 years. She has a MFA and is a very prolific acrylic artist. Every Thursday afternoon, I pass through her gate and into her home and do art. She has room for 8 students. I am so happy to be one of them.

The first class was all about blending and shading and values. I like that she teaches art based on the gray scale just like in photography. Those of you who are familiar with Ansel Adams, the master of black and white landscapes and the fellow who introduced the zone system, will understand what I mean. It was a good exercise for me and the end result was acceptable for a beginner. It was raining when I finished class, so I had to have my driver come and get me so my painting wouldn't get drenched. I came out smiling and jumped in the car and rode home.

During the second class, we did a collage on plexiglas. A totally different concept, but one that exercised the brain. I whined on and off through the class. You had to lay out the basic idea, then do it in reverse on to the plexiglas. The front of the plexiglas had a piece of protective paper over it so you couldn't really see what it looked like until it was all over. At this point I begin to realize that I am sharing some pre-schooler tendencies. Whining about stuff and getting paint on me and my clothes. I complete my project and peel off the paper and clap my hands. Looks pretty darn good. Once again it is pouring rain, as we are now in to the rainy season. I text message my driver to please come and get me. This time, he is on his way home from picking up my honey pie from work. I wait a bit and I see my sweetie come through the gate with an umbrella. I come out the door showing off my new art work and smiling this big ol' goofy smile. What fun! I have now officially regressed to kindergartner status. I have to show off what I made and tell everyone all about what I did today.

During this past Thursday's class, the teacher turned us loose to paint either what we wanted or something that she set up. I had photographed this really cool fern that we have growing in a container on our patio. I thought it would make a neat painting. I sketched a likeness of it on to the canvas and lugged it to class. My teacher liked it and began to give me instructions and pointers on how to begin. I could feel the anxiety building and just kind of sat there. She suggested that I do the entire painting out of one color so it would act as a kind of underpainting and give shadow and depth to the next layers. I wet my brush and began to paint.

I am sure if she had made a video of me painting, my tongue was sticking out of the side of my mouth at times and my brow furrowed in concentration. I turned my painting this way and that and the picture this way and that and my head this way and that. I am surprised that I wasn't dizzy by the end of the class. After three and a half hours the teacher looked at my canvas and told me to step away from it so I could see what I had done. Holy moley! I couldn't believe I had acutally made something that you could tell what it was. It wasn't like, "Nice pony you painted there sweetie." It looked like the fern in my photograph. Only in shades of blue.

I felt kind of bad that I was the last person to leave. My teacher had much better things to do I am sure. It just so happened that this Thursday afternoon it had stopped raining by the time I finished. Therefore, I walked home carrying my creation. If you saw me walking home, please tell me that I didn't skip. I was just so excited! I got home and sat my painting where it could be admired when honey bunch walked through the door.

He arrived not too long after I did and oohhed and ahhhed. The problem is now I am afraid to apply the remaining layers because I fear I can't repeat this act of magic again. My poor teacher.

As you read this, I am sure you think I have either lost it or am having a second childhood experience. I hope it is the latter and not the former. This has been an unexpected perk of our move. One I had not quite anticipated but am so very happy that it offered itself to me.

This time Mother's Day Out has taken on a whole new meaning for me. I am the one doing the art projects. I come out of class and smile and show off . It is such a delightfully good time.

Here's to being brave. Being unafraid to dive in. Enjoying creative adventures even if they involve macaroni.

The tale of the traveling rice cooker

2010-09-04T16:23:00.018+07:00

Living in a country that is totally obsessed with rice in all of its various forms, it goes without saying that we own a rice cooker. I would never have ever thought I would buy or need one, but here I am. They are most definitely nasi(cooked rice)crazy.

The interesting thing about our rice cooker is that it has migratory skills. This is truly a unique skill for a rice cooker to posses. One just never knows where it will appear. This magic rice cooker, and its side kick the extension cord, love to go a travelin'.

Some days sugar pie comes home to find it plugged in, via its extension cord, and cooking away at the front entrance to the garage. Other times it has sprouted legs and has moved to the back of the garage. There have also been sightings on the stairs leading up to the housekeepers quarters and also next to the staff cooking area. Only rarely does it sneak in to the house and sit on my counter top. I think this has only happened once or twice. Our happy little rice cooker never gets bored. However, I think if it goes too many more places, it is going to need a passport.

With rice in mind, we have never eaten so much of it before. Yes, living in Texas there are a lot of folks who eat rice. Living in Louisiana, Monday was red beans and rice day. And my goodness what about jambalaya and gumbo? No rice - no way. So we have been exposed to the joys of this versatile grain for many years.

Here however, it is at a totally different level of consumption. Today as a matter of fact, we stopped for lunch at a KFC. Yes, there is KFC here - in fact it is all over the place. They love it! We each ordered a dua (two) piece kombo (k is used instead of c for that hard c sound)meal. With that comes two pieces of chicken, a drink, and cute little packet of nasi.

Most of the rice is short grain and very sticky. The packet of rice at KFC is about the size of a tennis ball if they were to shape it as a ball. Since it is so sticky, it stays together and you can pick it up and nibble on it kind of like a cake. You can also easily break off chunks and eat it with your fingers Indonesian style. To really complete the experience, you have to have some sambal on the side. Sambal is pretty much the Indonesian version of hot sauce. It can be smokin' Joe hot so you have to venture carefully to see what the heat index is before you consume a big dollop of it on your food.

I loved the longer grain rice that we had in Texas called Tex-mati. While cooking, it smelled like popcorn and each little grain would separate from its neighbor. No group mentality with that rice. Here, they love it all stuck together as one big happy family.

They use gelatinous rice for desserts. I am really not into that very much, it reminds me too much of rice pudding. As a child, my mother would make rice pudding. It was sweet and had raisins in it and according to my brothers and sister, she made a good one. I never liked the texture and it was one dessert I didn't eat very much of.

They have rice noodles that are very thin and dry like angel hair pasta. Instead of boiling it, you pour hot water over it and let it soak just a few minutes and it softens up and become clear. You place it in a bowl and ladle some yummy soup over it and chow down. Good stuff!

There is lontong which is sticky rice wrapped in a banana leaf and cooked and cooled before serving. By cooking it in a banana leaf and cooling it, the rice is shaped and compressed so it can be sliced in to chunks to serve.

There is also congee which is a hot rice cereal. Now, I don't want to spoil it for you, but when you look down in to the pot of steaming rice cereal all you can think about is that it is just a pot of starch staring back at you. The rice is cooked with lots and lots of water and so it pretty much dissolves. If there are any congee lovers reading this, no offense but it just looks too much like wall paper paste to me. I did try it and nope, not going to try it again. However, if I had to choose between eating a big bowl of congee or a piece of durian. The congee would definitely win.

Now that you have heard way more about rice than you cared too, I will move on. May your rice always be cooked just right, may your rice cooker stay in one place, if you own one, and if you go to KFC and order the kombo meal ask for a side of nasi - you might like it.

OK Pak

2010-08-29T20:15:00.025+07:00

Now that sweetums and I are becoming more "educated" in Bahasa Indonesia we are trying more and more to communicate with the local population using their native language. How's that going you wonder?

My honey is much more bold than I. He is always making up sentences with the new words that he learns from his guru(I swear I am not making it up...that is what teachers are called) and trying them out on people. I seem to suffer from major stage fright. Everything I have learned goes right out the window when it is time to ask a question, give directions, or order food in a restaurant. It is both frustrating and embarrassing. I hope our two gurus don't talk to each other too much and compare notes because mine is going to be very disappointed.

However, there are times that I think our driver is glad that I am more timid about it. For example, when traffic gets really bad, I sit quietly in the back seat and try to act like I don't notice that we are about to be mowed down by a bus or that our mirrors are going to be ripped off by a swarm of motorcycles. I don't say much and just focus on my breathing. Honey bun's strategy is to try out new words and phrases on him when traffic has come to a halt and he has a captive audience. Sweetie talks about the cars around them, or reads the signs and thumbs through the dictionary and tries to figure out the words he doesn't know. It recently dawned on me that it must be like riding in a car with a pre-schooler or a 1st grader who is just beginning to read. They want to read everything, know what that says, what stuff means, practice saying words over and over. Holy moley! I think Akil is going to ask us for hazard pay before too much longer if we don't get immediately better with the language.

I usually walk in the mornings before it gets too hot here. Last week, I was expecting a piece of furniture to be delivered. As I walked I thought, "Be brave. Plan out your sentence and tell the jaga(guard) that furniture will be delivered at 10:00 today." I went over and over the sentence and had it all worked out and my confidence worked up by the time I returned to the house. As I walk up to the jaga and I could feel the words slipping away from me. Oh no! I decide to spit it out quickly before it was totally gone. I open my mouth and words tumble out.

Now, I know that I used the right words. It is highly possible they were not in the totally correct order, but I think they were. I also know that as a non-native speaker, my accent is heavy and I can't for the life of me roll the letter r as it should be done. But, for heaven's sake, it was a short sentence that I was uttering how badly could I mess it up?

Well, apparently pretty badly. That jaga looked at me as if I were speaking Russian to him. So I tried to tell him the same thing in English and got the same response. This kind of reaction is giving me an inferiority complex.

I continue to try. With the help of a great, and patient guru I WILL get better at it. Just wait. Locals will think that I actually have a few brain cells that didn't get lost in the half-way around the world relocation and can converse with a fair amount of accuracy.

The reason I am optimistic is that I am beginning to be able to read some of the ads I see and pick up bits of conversation without having to go through weird gyrations in my head to translate. It is much simpler than many other languages I could be trying to learn. It is just this blasted memory thing that is not helping me out too much.

I have made flash cards for myself. To re-visit the elementary school student analogy, I try to use my "spelling words" in sentences or even a story when I feel especially inspired. This has at least helped me score brownie points with my guru. It is hearing the spoken word at full speed that is keeping us in the no fly zone. I have to say things so slowly; one, very drawn out, word at a time. There is no real flow. People speaking to me are going so fast that my ears and my brain can't keep up. Thank goodness they are not doing the typical American thing and just speaking louder at me. Slower would be so appreciated however.

That is how it is going and nobody seems to be too worse for the wear.

The title of this post is "OK Pak." Well, that is what Akil says to sugar pie when he is blazing new sentence territory. I think it is his way of saying, "Nice try there bud." Or maybe, "You know, that doesn't really make sense and I don't have a clue what you are trying to say. But, you pay my salary so how ever you want to say it, go ahead." It appears to amuse him in a kindly way. I am sure there is lots of discussion about what we are saying and how we are saying it but I don't think it is done in a mean spirited way. I actually believe that they appreciate that we are making the effort to learn. We are not like Jack Benny, who was actually a wonderful violinist but was good enough to know how to make it sound so awful that people believed he couldn't play worth a hoot. Not that they would know who Jack Benny was, but I think they know we are doing the best we can with what we've got.

Terima kasih to our gurus, patient store clerks and staff who don't totally flinch when we open our mouths. We are still at the pre-school level but we are working hard to make it to 10 year old status before the end of the year.

Six months; but who's counting

2010-08-03T19:30:00.010+07:00

At the end of July, honey bun and I reached the six month mark for living in Indonesia. I am amazed at this and the changes that have occurred in half a year's time.

The first thing that comes to mind is that I am now no longer counting the time in weeks since our arrival. At the beginning it was so....so....MUCH to take in that you just felt consumed and you were having to take life one day at a time and sometimes one hour at a time.

I guess it is kind of like when you have a baby. You measure progress and report their age to admirers in weeks for a long time. Then it becomes months and finally years. Childbirth is painful, and this too has had many moments where you just had to grit your teeth and keep breathing. Each milestone and each accomplishment is such a thrill. The only difference is this time I am going through it with a housekeeper, a driver, a gardener and four guards.

I think of the things I have learned and all the things yet to learn.

This second six months brings with it our first trip to the ocean. Now that seems like a pretty ridiculous thing to say since we live on an island. I might as well have been living in Iowa the last six months for the amount of sea and sand that I have seen. However, in all fairness, we have been a little busy trying to get settled, sorted out and get comfortable with our new surroundings. So it with great hope that we are now in to a different phase of things.

It still surprises me that at times great waves of homesickness still wash over me. I miss easily chatting with my son, my family and my long time friends at home. I miss knowing where to buy things. I miss being able to communicate what I want without the aide of a dictionary and a game of charades. I miss driving myself places.

The flip side to all of that missing is what I am enjoying. While having a staff is challenging, or maybe it is because of language and cultural differences, it is very nice to have some help with things. Having the floors swept and mopped, clothes washed and seriously ironed like never before, someone to run errands for simple things is a massive luxury. It is one I have never experienced before and know that when I return home I will miss it immensely.

It is still with amazed eyes that I see faces, life, work, strife, joy, exotic plants, and a culture so different from my own going on around me every single day. It is a rare opportunity to get to do that. I try to catalogue in my head and with my camera things as I experience them for the first time. It is impossible to keep up because there are so many things that are new. Back to the baby analogy, it is like being a child and everything is news to you. So much to learn, so much to see, so much to process. But also like a child, at times it becomes a bit overstimulating and you could really use a nap and a break from it all. Unfortunately, I don't really get to do that part.

I continue to wish that I was better at this "Extreme Relocation" game show that I am on. It is probably due to unrealistic expectations for myself that makes it hard some days. Six months here, three weeks of language lessons, and bunches of new foods and sights later I think I should feel more at home and able to navigate life and speak fluently. Well, it isn't working quite that way.

Patients is key. Patients with myself is the hardest part it seems. I will continue to listen and look and collect memories. Those things can come from something as simple as walking on unfamiliar sand on a beach to driving on winding roads across a lush green landscape and observing people whose houses are built a foot and a half from the side of the road living their lives so much in the open. Seeing that young people are young people no matter where you go. Here they may live in a precariously placed house constructed of bamboo and rattan but they have a cell phone and a digital camera with which they love to take pictures of themselves and their friends.

It is a long, long way from familiar. I wonder will this become familiar too? Not that I will become a diamond, but massive change comes from pressure and time. It is transforming me. I can feel it. I can also feel the internal struggle with grasping for the familiar while reaching out for the unfamiliar. It is the realization that I am kind of like Dorothy. I am on this fantastic journey to an unknown world. I am meeting new people and there are friends to help me along my way. Thanks to all of you both near and far and above who help me as I go along and lend a hand, or a shoulder, when I need one.

I hope my stories and insights are a small repayment for all that you give.

My steak knife does not make an obeng bagus (screwdriver good)

2010-07-14T18:44:00.021+07:00

A new and interesting aspect of having staff is that they sometimes use the goods you brought from home in ways that they really weren't designed to be used. Case in point, no pun intended, is my set of Wusthof steak knives.

When we unpacked our goods, I was so happy to see my knife block holding my two nice chef knives. Nestled in that same knife block is a set of Wusthof steak knives. These are pretty nice knives, not tip top in the steak knife world, but better than what you might pick up at a Walgreens. Unfortunately, my staff does not quite have the same amount of affection for them

I frequently find my housekeeper using one of them for some task that includes prying. Now, a steak knife is handy, but it really isn't the best or safest tool to use for leverage. These same knives also seem to be the tool of choice to unscrew things. At the rate we're going the knives will have been transformed in a set of Wusthof screwdrivers within the next year.

I try to head this kind of usage off at the pass because I shutter to think what kind of damage Manisem will do to herself if she slips with it. I keep offering screwdrivers and other tools that we brought with us, but she returns to the ever handy steak knife as her tool of choice.

There is a man who peddles around the neighborhood who will sharpen your cutlery for you. My guess is that he gets a lot of repeat business as I am sure my experience is not isolated. I'm not Jim Bowie or anything, but I think once the point is finally shot, there is pretty much no coming back.

I have decided that at the end of our time here, these knives/screwdriver/pry bars will make a nice parting gift for her since they will not be of much use for me. It will be kind of a "Thank you for playing and here is what we have for you."

Another re-purposed item is a large cooling rack for cookies and cake pans. So far nothing sweet has come to rest there. It has now become a super-duper size grilling rack to fit over the small satay grill we bought for the staff. This is kind of troubling, but Manisem makes some pretty sassy satay so I can't complain too much.
Those cookies will just have to cool somewhere else.

My brain is roti panggang (toast)

2010-07-14T09:00:00.005+07:00

Last week I began my official bahasa Indonesia lessons. Holy cow! I love how everyone tells me, "It is an easy language to learn." OK. Maybe if you are a language person and you are used to trying to make your mouth move in ways that you aren't accustom to. This mouth from the south just isn't used to rolling the letter r and trying to make nasal sounds. Also since I can't remember anything longer than a nanosecond, it makes it difficult to construct sentences when you can't recall any of the words you uttered five seconds earlier.

The other thing I love is when my guru (teacher) announces "The sentence structure is just like English." Is that so? Here is a sentence for you, "Mobil Pak Santo baik." The literal translation is "Car Mr. Santo good (or fine or nice)." The sentence structure in English would be, "Mr. Santo's car is good." OK. Is it me, or does the original sentence really not look like the way Mrs. Rogers taught us to compose a sentence in elementary school? Granted, there are times it is laid out the same. At this point, it is a struggle for me to remember when to make it one way of the other.

My friend Karen said while living in France, her language skills improved in direct proportion to the amount of wine she drank. Now Karen, here is my tiny problem. I am residing in an 88% Muslim populated country so it isn't always as easy to get wine. For that matter, with tariffs and such, a bottle of wine that you would pay $15 for in the US would probably be about $56 here. Single bottles of beer are sold in the stores. When I buy two Coronas for us to have with dinner, I pay $3.50 a piece for them or $21 for a six pack. This could explain why they are sold individually. It is constantly like buying beer in a bar, except you don't leave a tip. With that in mind, how in the world will I ever improve my bahasa Indonesia? In Brazil, I would have been fluent in Portuguese in under two weeks after drinking a few caipirinhas.

There is no verb to be. There is no gender. There are no plurals. There is no tense. Those omissions should make things easier. Unfortunately, it is hard to switch off wanting to use am, is and are and to indicate if something is happening now, will happen later, or happened already. I feel like I am saying "Me Tarzan, you Jane" a lot of the time. Poor Hamlet. How would he have ever made his sorrowful speech debating his continued existence in bahasa Indonesia? There would have been no "To be, or not to be." if he had been living in Jakarta. He would have just had to suck it up and get on with it.

The word "dia" covers the pronouns - he;she;him;her;his. See, a nice non-gender specific word. We are not going to expand on that. To make plurals, you say the word twice. The word "orang" is the word for person (FYI - Orangutan is an Indonesian word meaning person of the forest). If you have more than one person you would say orang - orang. So if you wanted to say "There are people in the bathroom." It would be, "Ada orang orang di kamar kecil."
*For the more fluent followers who have had more than two bahasa Indonesia lessons under their belts, please forgive any possible errors that I have made. It may come to light in 6 or 8 weeks that I have it all wrong and it is indeed a piece of cake to learn this language. This just happens to be my interpretation of the situation as I see it at this particular moment.

I also realize that literal translations from any language make for some pretty outlandish sounding sentences to us English speakers. When you are the one trying to string together words, in the correct order, that makes sense within the confines of your head and to the person you are speaking lots of trouble begins.

So sweetums and I text each other in really bad Indonesian and then laugh at ourselves. To add to the amusement is the fact that my hubby is renown for his "Dad" language skills. While in Texas, he would make up the most amazing Dad Spanish words we had ever heard. Then, when he took Portuguese lessons for three years, we had some pretty funny Dad Portuguese floating around the house. I am sure his teacher, Alice, would have laughed herself silly over some of the things he attempted to pass off as real Portuguese words. Now, we are blessed with his version of Indonesian. The up side is that he is currently able to make me laugh in three languages other than English.

Bules in Kemang. Who let 'em in?

"When You Look Like Your Passport it is Time to Go Home"

2010-07-02T15:13:00.014+07:00

Today while I was exploring a few things on the Internet, I came across an excerpt about Indonesia by the late, great Erma Bombeck. As I read it,and laughed myself silly, I thought maybe you could use a good laugh too.

If you are close to my age, you know who Erma Bombeck was. For you youngsters out there, she was one funny lady and I am happy to say after reading this excerpt, she is backing me up 100% in many of my observations.

Once again, I am going to side-step the typing and let a real master fill you in on things. It was just way too good not to share. I don't know when she visited Indonesia or when this book was published, but not too much has changed as of this century.

Thanks Erma. I wish I had read this before I got here, but I probably would have thought that you were making some of it up.

Erma Bombeck on Indonesia:
Every country in the world worries about the threat of aggressive neighbors who seek to conquer them. Not to worry. The Russians will do themselves in by drinking too much vodka. The Japanese will smoke themselves to death, the Finns will phase themselves out from arteries clogged with all those dairy fats, and the entire population of Indonesia will eventually die from the traffic. It's just a matter of time.

For a change, both my husband and I were excited about going to Indonesia. Usually we were a house divided on where we were going to go and what we were going to do, but this country offered everything. It had white, sandy beaches; the Ujung Kulon Game Reserve; Krakatau, the volcano that erupted in 1883, creating the largest explosion ever recorded in the history of the world; plus one of the most unusual cultures in the world. Although the largest religion is Islam, there is a blend of Hinduism, Buddhism, Christianity and animism throughout the country.

Once you see the drivers in Indonesia, you understand why religion plays such an important part in their lives. After a day as a passenger in a car, I would have worshipped the hotel draperies if I had thought they would protect me from bodily harm.

The first thing we noticed in Jakarta (Java) was the absence of dogs and cats. It didn't take me long to figure out they had probably once roamed this part of the world in great numbers, but one by one they were picked off by Mercedes and Volvos as they tried to cross the street. It brought about their extinction. People were next.

We picked up our guide in Yogyakarta at the hotel. Outside, he introduced us to our driver. This was very unusual, as one man often serves as the driver and the guide.

The driver was young, frail, and said little. He was emotionless, and from time to time he displayed a tic of sorts. His right eye would blink, his head would jerk, and he stretched his neck as if he had on a tight tie.

“We visit the Sultan's Palace,” said the guide, smiling. The car shot out of the driveway like the Batmobile in Gotham City.

I. d like to point out here that I am not a nervous passenger. I have survived three teenage drivers: one who used cruise control in downtown traffic at five p.m., one who put on full make-up while driving through a construction area, and another who got a ticket for driving forty-five miles per hour ... in reverse. But this was unbelievable.

Most of the highways in Indonesia are two lanes. Everyone passes. Everyone. How do they do this? you ask.

There are basically seven modes of transportation in the country. At the slowest and bottom of the spectrum is the horse and carriage, which is exactly what it sounds like. Next is the pedicab. This is a little buggy on two wheels hooked up to a man who pulls it through traffic. The becak or powered tricycle is next, followed by motor scooters, hired cars (and taxis), then trucks and finally buses.

This is how the pecking order works. Your car passes another car at a speed of fifty or sixty miles per hour. If you meet a motor scooter head-on in the passing lane at the same time, the motor scooter is below you on the scale of size. He has to disappear. Don't ask me where. He just knows that. On the other hand, if you are in the car and meet a truck or a bus, then you must give way.

It's the old game of chicken that has reached state-of-the-art.

All the while our lives are hanging in the balance as our guide is trying to indicate temples and points of interest. I can't take my eyes off the driver.

Every once in a while, the driver engages in a little ritual that is bizarre. As we stop for a light, he tilts his head all the way to his shoulder and then with both hands gives his head a jerk that would have broken a normal spinal column in half.

“Why does he do that?” I asked our guide.

“It relieves the tension,” he says. “Actually, he is a very good driver. You are here to relax. Just sit back and enjoy.”

It would have taken a lobotomy for me to relax.

I. d like to say that despite the frenzy and the insane passing, I never saw an accident. But that. s not true. It was like being in the middle of Demolition Derby. I saw women on bicycles balancing trays of fruit on their heads, only to be forced to hit the ditch and become fruit salad.

I saw an ambulance give way to 'you got it' a truck, and in the city it was not unusual to see people sitting on the curb holding bandaged heads while they hauled their vehicles away. But through it all, I never once saw anger, obscene gestures or exasperation. I never heard shouts or language of any kind ... only quiet, emotionless resignation.

Over dinner our first night there, our guide kept insisting, “You must relax, Miss. How would you like to see Indonesian dancers in Ballet of Ramayana at the theater?” He was right. I had worn a hole in the floor of the back seat of the car where all day I had jammed on imaginary brakes with my foot. “I'll go back to the hotel and change into something suitable,” I said.

I travel with a limited wardrobe, but I always carry one dress for special occasions. This one was all white with a gold belt and sandals. We should have been suspicious we weren't talking Bolshoi when our driver drove like a maniac down dark alleys and came to a stop on a dirt road several feet from the 'theater'. Actually, it was a tent with the glow of naked light bulbs shining through the canvas. We bought our tickets and stepped inside. Not only was I overdressed, but the performance was undersold. There must have been seven hundred folding chairs distributed around the riser. There were five other people there besides ourselves. I think they were German tourists.

At seven o. clock, the music started and the graceful dancers glided onto the stage. Our guide leaned over to interpret what was transpiring on stage. “A young man named Jaka Tarub, while hunting birds one day, sees a lovely nymph descending from heaven to bathe in the forest lake,” he whispered. “He hides but watches the nymph Nawangwulan and falls in love with her. Jaka Tarub steals her clothing. He returns to his hiding place and creates a disturbance to frighten Nawangwulan, but she is unable to find her clothing and so cannot return to Heaven. Feeling sad and lonely . . .”

I listened numbly. My eyes felt like balloons filled with water.

At eight-thirty, our guide was still talking nonstop. “When Dasamuka attacks him and forces him to flight, Kala Marica then transforms himself into a Golden Deer to lure Rama and Lesmana away from Sinta so that Dasamuka can kidnap Sinta. The Golden Deer then teases ...”

From time to time, my head would fall to my chest and I would jerk it up to hear his voice reciting in a monotone, “In return, Sinta gives her hairpin to Senggana to deliver to Rama ...”

I spit on my fingers and rubbed them across my eyeballs. My husband had his head between his legs. His elbows touched the floor. He was comatose. I looked for some kind of compassion from the five other people in the audience.

They were gone. My arm was bruised from where I had pinched myself in an effort to regain consciousness by inflicting pain. “Then the ape tells both ladies to leave and he begins to destroy the garden,” the guide droned on. “He breaks loose, sets Alengka on fire, then returns to Pancawait to ...”

It was after eleven when we fell into the car that took us to our hotel. I slept the entire time. Maybe that was the answer to surviving as a passenger in Indonesia.

As a break in our schedule, we planned a cruise through the Spice Islands. My husband wanted to climb the mountain of cinder sand and look down into the smoking remains of Krakatau. It was nice to get out of the fast lane and not worry about rites of passage.

When we docked five days later, the captain of the boat said he would be glad to drop several of us off at our hotel. I settled back into the cushions of his car as if I were safe in the hands of Allstate.

The next thing you know we were weaving in and out of the traffic like we were competing in time trials at the Indy 500. Suddenly there was a screech of brakes as we stopped for a red light. Then there was a crash from behind and I flew into the seat in front of me. I turned to look at the van behind us. One of the passengers had hit the windshield. An ambulance siren sounded in the distance. The man assured us he was all right.

I bowed my head and said a silent prayer to the patron saint of Indonesian passengers: Our Lady of Valium.

Excerpt from Erma Bombeck's book “When you Look Like Your Passport it is Time to Go Home”

We've Only Just Begun

2010-07-02T06:28:00.030+07:00

Yesterday, I decided to make a dish for dinner that I have been preparing for a long time. It is called Beef and Bean Casserole. Well, actually I don't know if that is the official name of it or not. I cut this recipe out of a Good Housekeeping or Better Homes and Gardens magazine in the late 70's when cutie and I first got married and have since misplaced the original. That is a shame. The recipe has a great picture of a guy with a large afro style hairdo scooping out a big portion on to a plate with an equally large smile on his face. How could I resist adding this recipe to my list of cheap foods to make when you are just married and have no money?

You are probably wondering how all of this relates to life in Jakarta. As usual, I am going to tell you.

The ingredients are pretty easy to find even in this part of the world. You need ground beef, Kraft BBQ sauce, pork and beans, brown sugar, refrigerator biscuits, and some grated cheddar cheese. The ground beef, Kraft BBQ sauce, brown sugar, and the cheese were no problem. Pork and beans I didn't find, but I did find baked beans and they are pretty much the same thing. No one here sells cans of biscuits so I knew I was going to have to make those from scratch.

Before going to the grocery, I went on line and found a good looking buttermilk biscuit recipe. While shopping for ingredients I discover they don't sell buttermilk here. No problem. I can make my own or substitute plain yogurt instead. I bring the items home and begin making biscuits.

My biscuit recipe calls for self-rising flour. Hmmm. Don't have that, so I go on line to look up what I need to do to make plain flour into self-rising. Got it. I measure out the dry ingredients with the appropriate additions to pimp my flour. The recipe also calls for 10 tablespoons of butter. I pull out the butter I had bought and realize that there are no markings on the side of the stick. It just gives a weight of 100g.

Doggone it! Back to the computer to find out how many grams there are in one tablespoon of butter. Alex Trebek, please note that I can answer "What is 14.19grams," if I ever make it to Jeopardy. Thank goodness I managed to have enough sense to bring a nice kitchen scale that will do either metric or US standard measures. I weigh out 142 grams and cut it in to small pieces to mix with the flour.

As I mentioned before, I have a wet and a dry kitchen. What this means to me is that I can add lots of steps to my pedometer by walking back and forth way too many times to retrieve items to use for preparing my dish. I am sure yesterday I probably walked a mile between looking things up on the computer and walking between kitchens just for this meal. Good thing since I have just weighed out 142 grams of butter to make biscuits.

Also, since most expats are the wrong size to live in this part of the world, the counter tops are a different height than at home. I guess this is why you have a cook. Your back is killing you from leaning over either to work on the counter or to cook on the cook top or to wash dishes for that matter. It is their little insurance policy that you will come to realize it is cheaper to hire someone to do these things than to have back surgery and physical therapy.

I get the biscuits finished that will top my meat and bean mixture and move on. While cooking the meat it suddenly dawns on me that I don't have a casserole dish. Oh, bloody Hell! I finish putting all the meat and bean ingredients together and begin to search for an oven proof substitute. After several attempts, I decide my best bet is a 9 inch Pyrex pie plate.

In to the pie plate goes the mixture. I top it with my homemade biscuits which have been cut in half and placed cut-side down on the meat mixture. I distribute the grated cheese over that and put it in the oven to bake.

The differences between a casserole dish and a 9 inch pie plate make themselves known as the kitchen begins to get kind of smokey about half way through the cooking process. The gooey cheese and some of the meat mixture is dripping over the sides of the pie plate and on to the bottom of the oven. We open doors and windows and turn on a floor fan until my casserole, disguised as a pie, is finished cooking. We put a cookie sheet beneath the pie plate to keep any more mess off the bottom of the oven.

After the timer goes off and the smoke has cleared, we sit down to eat. Oh my. It tastes like home. A heavenly little slice of familiarity even if it was in the wrong size dish.
*No afros were harmed in the preparation of this meal.

Driving Miss Judi

2010-06-28T15:56:00.047+07:00

On Sunday, sweetums and I attended a wedding (actually a reception following the wedding) in a town called Bandung which is south east of Jakarta. This was not only our first Indonesian wedding reception, but it was also our first trip out of Jakarta by car.

First off, let me say when you say the word wedding or wedding reception, it brings to mind bad bride's maids dresses, organ music and little pink and green butter mints (that is really showing my age and my point of origin). That is not exactly what happened here. I knew that the western idea of a wedding was most likely not going to be what we would see and would have been a little disappointed if that is what we got.

Prior to our trip, honey bun decided he needed to have a long sleeve batik shirt. A long sleeve batik shirt is about as dressed up as you get at many affairs in a very tropical environment. Off to the store we go on Saturday morning and secure appropriate attire. It is determined that I can get by with a blouse and skirt and maybe a pretty batik scarf to top things off. I therefore bought lovely batik scarves (notice it is plural - it is like potato chips - one is never enough)and honey's shirt and returned home.

Bandung is about 180km away (since I am living in a metric world, I am going to make you do the math). We left around 7:20 Sunday morning as the traffic can be really bad since it is a very popular destination from Jakarta.

Bandung is at an elevation of about 2,500 feet. It is sometimes cooler up there, but on Sunday that was not the case. I am going to let Wikipedia take over here and do some of the typing:
Bandung (pronounced [bʌnduŋ]) Indonesian: Kota Bandung) is the capital of West Java province in Indonesia, and the country's third largest city, and 2nd largest metropolitan area, with 7.4 million in 2007. Located 768 m (2,520 ft) above sea level, Bandung has relatively year-around cooler temperature than most other Indonesian cities. The city lies on a river basin and surrounded by volcanic mountains. This topography provides the city with a good natural defense system, which was the primary reason of Dutch East Indies government's plan to move the colony capital from Batavia to Bandung.

The Dutch colonials first opened tea plantations around the mountains in the eighteenth century, followed by a road construction connecting the plantation area to the capital (180 km or 112 miles to the northwest). The European inhabitants of the city demanded the establishment of a municipality (gemeente), which was granted in 1906 and Bandung gradually developed itself into a resort city for the plantation owners. Luxurious hotels, restaurants, cafes and European boutiques were opened of which the city was dubbed as Parijs van Java (Dutch: "The Paris of Java").

Thanks for the hand Wikipedia.

Since we were attending a function, we didn't really get to explore the Paris analogy. And since I have never been to Paris, I still might not have appreciated its similarities. Be that as it may, I am looking forward to returning to Bandung and explore more of what the city has to offer.

Should mention here that it is not unusual for couples to have a private ceremony earlier in the day and then have a big reception following. To get this shin-dig started, the couple is introduced and they lead a procession down a red carpet that leads them to a stage. They are followed by both sets of parents. The stage is decorated with beautiful flowers and there are wide, heavy wooden chairs that the couple and their parents get to sit on very infrequently.

The bride and groom are so handsome together. The bride is absolutely stunning. I don't think I looked anywhere nearly that beautiful on my wedding day. She is wearing a rich, claret color full-length skirt with a striking floral motif on it. A long sheer over-blouse of a very light peach hue(close to flesh color) covers a long sleeve cream top. The over-blouse has wide trim that has the wine color repeated in it along with accents of gold. She has a beautiful broach at her throat. Her head covering has a wide wine color band with the same trim. On the side of her head covering are orchids that repeat this wine and cream color scheme. The rest of the wedding party are dressed in the same colors and look most dashing. The couple both have long strings of jasmine that have been strung with gold beads in between the blossoms. They are five strands of flowers wide so it looks like a floral scarf. Hanging behind the wedding party are colorful flower arrangements with more of the delicious jasmine hanging down. Different groups are invited up on stage to congratulate the couple. When it was our turn I couldn't inhale enough of the jasmine's delicious scent.

After all the various well-wishing groups are called and have said their piece, it is then photo and buffet time. The different groups who have come to share in the celebration of this union are once again called on stage to pose with the couple and their families for a photo. The folks waiting for their photo op hit the buffet line and begin scooping rice(nasi)on to their plates and then add a little beef something and a little chicken something, a little veggie combo something, a little fruit salad. At the end of the buffet table is a pot of steaming broth that has chilies, garlic and I think chunks of tofu (No comments please. I happen to like tofu. It is amazingly versatile). You ladle the broth over nasi and the meat and veggie goodies and chow down. I really only have a vague idea about what I was eating, but it was pretty tasty stuff.

After I finished eating, I went to take a few pictures of the activities. When I return, hubby poo had a small container of ice cream waiting for me. I asked the flavor and was told it was durian. Not sure how familiar those of you reading are with durian. But the stuff smells absolutely horrible. It is ban from many grocery stores as it can make your stomach roll over and you seriously think you don't ever want to eat anything ever again. Kind of runs counter intuitive to the philosophy of grocery shopping when you are sprinting from the store gagging instead of filling up a shopping cart.

I smile sweetly at my mate and am aware of several sets of eyes upon me to see what I am going to do about this situation. Most likely, the thought running through their minds was who can I place a bet with to see if the bule eats it or bolts. They should have bet on me as I did take the frozen treat and began to eat it. There are a couple of problems with this dessert. First, the ice cream smells just like the fruit only slightly less intense. You must hold your breath until you have it in your mouth or it just isn't going to get past your lips. Second, while the taste isn't bad (but you are holding your breath so I am not 100% sure about it), you burp up the noxious fumes for hours afterward. Nothing like a dessert that just keeps on giving.

Some of you may have heard the story of when sweetie pie and I were first married and the retired gentleman down the street took up wine making as a hobby. He had a Dixie Cup dispenser right next to his brewing apparatus. Sonoma didn't have anything on him with all their fancy wine tasting experiences. Anyway, dear Mr. Hines served us corn cob wine. Once. Trying to be polite, we took sips from our little wax coated cups and at first it tasted kind of sweet. The after-taste was the gotcha. It tasted very much like really, really nasty, sweaty sneakers smell. Thank goodness the cups were the bathroom size because I wouldn't have made it through anything any larger. I would equate durian to that experience.

I can tell you that this is not a dessert that will be on my favorites list at any time in the near future. Most likely it will NEVER be on my favorites list. If you come to my house to visit, rest assured you will not be served durian ice cream.

After our congratulating, eating and hobnobbing with the other attendees, we headed back to Jakarta. I had noted on the trip up, some beautiful things that I wanted to stop and photograph but couldn't since I was in heels and a skirt. On the road home, I swapped out my skirt for capri pants and sandals, and began planning where I was going to stop first. There were beautiful terraced rice fields (padi)in many stages of the whole rice growing process. Some where lush green and waiting for harvest. Some were bare where the rice had been removed. Some had been sprigged with new bright green rice plants and some were brown and dry where they were harvesting the grain.

It was not only beautiful, but fascinating as well. The fields where people were harvesting were a soft brown and there were ducks all around enjoying the spoils of the harvest. The ducks (bebeks) were the same color of brown as the stalks of the plants and were gobbling up what ever they could. At first I didn't really see them until I realized that it was animal not vegetable that was moving around around the legs of the workers. I think this was allowed because the grains of rice would have been difficult to recover and a fat little bebek would make for a tasty meal later.

At another stop, there was a woman who was scooping up the un-husked rice in a broad, flat basket. She would lift the basket in to the air and slowly pour the rice out. As she did this, tiny bits of debris was blown away by the wind.

We also came upon a guy who had the most awesome hat and was tending a water buffalo. Our driver, Akil spotted him and pulled over. I think Akil is going to get in to the whole photo safari thing. The water buffalo is all covered in dirt and mud. His underside is still wet. The gentleman stilling on a rock watching him, to make sure he doesn't go to far away, sees me coming. I ask if I can take his picture by lots of smiling and pointing. He nods yes. His hat is very broad brimmed. He isn't a really big fellow so his hat appears to be almost as big as he. He has a SERIOUS looking knife tucked in the back of his pants. The reason I think it is serious is that the handle on that sucker is huge. Somehow I don't think something the size of a paring knife was on the other end. Not sure what he uses it for, but I wasn't going to do anything to find out. I take his picture and thank him and tip him. Wow! Did his face light up. I was happy. He was happy. The water buffalo didn't show any emotion.

A little further down the road, Akil sees a cute little old man tending some cows and goats and sheep. Once again we stop, I ask permission to photograph and tip the model. A smile as big as Java crosses his face. If you have ever seen the movie "The Gods Must be Crazy" the little bushman in the movie is about the same size of the fellow I photographed.

All of this was given to me as a gift on Sunday. I didn't have to go driving off the beaten path, even though it looks like I did. All of this glorious stuff was along the side of the toll road that runs between Jakarta and Bandung. Makes you wonder what marvelous things you will see if you travel even just a little off the highway.

The Gods were most definitely not crazy on Sunday. They were too busy smiling on me.

Carless in Jakarta

2010-06-25T14:12:00.022+07:00

This morning, my driver had to take the car in for service. This meant that I was carless all day. Hmmm. What is a girl to do when she has invited three dinner guests and still has shopping to do?

As I made out my list of remaining items to purchase, I decided that Manisem and I would just walk to the store and bring the items back. Did I mention that it was raining when I got up at 5AM? It was still raining about 9AM when I decided to break out of the house and go to the store.

I gave Manisem an umbrella and I took one and off we trudged. It was quiet on the way to the store. Not a lot of traffic, which was very pleasant, and the rain actually quit just about the time we arrived at Hero, our local grocery store. We split up and I got the items I needed for appetizers and Manisem got the items we needed for soto ayam (mentioned before - just in case you forgot - it is a rockin' Indonesian chicken soup) Some how or the other we manage to fill up a cart with items. Oh brother, now I have to decide if she and I can carry all of this stuff back or use other means to get home.

Standing in the checkout line Manisem decides that she will go get a bajaj for us to take home while ibu finishes paying for the goods, as all good ibus must do. Off she scurries. As the young woman is ringing up my purchase she asks me if I am having soto ayam. Apparently, as a native you know exactly what kind of things should go in this soup. After all, I think it is the National Soup of Indonesia so it wasn't too difficult for her to extrapolate my dinner plans. I told her yes and that I love it, which is no exaggeration.

As I push the cart out the door, there is Manisem and a trusty little bajaj. I have been eye-balling these things since we got here and have wanted to ride in one. Well, sports fans, today was my big day. We gather all the bags up and climb in to the back of the bajaj. The driver shuts the little door, the side flaps are rolled up and we are ready to rock and roll.

Around the Hero parking lot we go. We stop at the gate to pay to get out. Since I had bought more stuff than we could carry home, it means that I have spent enough money to qualify for free parking. Yipeee! Through the gate and putt-putt-putt along we go past the flower stands. OMG, this is really fun. It is kind of like riding in a three wheel go-cart with a bench seat in the back only higher off the ground. Since the traffic is light, we aren't getting a face and a lung full of exhaust. Lucky me. I must have picked the perfect day for this kind of adventure.

We go over the speed bumps they love to place across many of the residential streets. We are being bounced around in the back. Many of these speed bumps (or polici tedure ((sleeping police) as the locals call them) are so well disguised, that you don't see them until you are right on top of them. By then, it is too late and you are almost pitched off the back seat. But I digress. We chug along and turn up the street that goes to our house, which by the way, has a fair amount of incline to it. It is a bajaj full and it sounds like it is having to work hard to get up the hill. Hmmm. There goes that bajaj's tip.

I must say our trip ends way, way too soon. We are in front of the house before I have gotten my fill of bajaj riding. I am grinning like some kind of idiot and want the driver to drive back to the store and then bring me back again. Unfortunately, there is someone waiting for me at the house and I sadly get out. All this pleasure costs me 10,000 rupiah or about $1.00 US (remember the rule of 4 I talked about earlier?). Obviously, I am a cheap date.

I know this may sound like a really silly thing to get excited about. But you haven't see the bajajs in person. They would win you over in a heart beat. I now want to own one so I can drive it around when ever I want to. I somehow doubt seriously that I could make the thing street legal in the US so I will have to get an Indonesian driver's license so I can drive one here. The expectations are pretty low with it so people just go around you and don't really expect you to get out of the way. I am not even sure if they have to really obey traffic laws. Well, that is the norm here, but I think bajajs get even more special dispensation.

My only regret is that there was no one to take my picture. I think my face must have looked like a kid on their very first ride at the fair. My plan is to take one again and make a movie of it with my camera and post it either here or on facebook. It would be just like being here, only without the exhaust smell.

Pruney fingers and other pleasures

2010-06-15T14:04:00.019+07:00

Today marks the first full week of living in the "hood" (guess I should say "pung" since we could be sort of considered a very upscale kampung - as you might remember a kampung is a village). Much like my experience photographing sports, being on the ground is a very different experience than being in the stands.

In our current location, we are a short walk from a grocery, a great coffee shop, a small(but nice)book store, a Mexican restaurant (will expand on that later), two beautiful flower stalls, a whole bevy of bajaj's (those little 3 wheel carts that I featured in an earlier post and yes there are two j's in bajaj), a school, and three home accessory store. Hard to grasp that all of that is a five minute walk from our new abode.

Our house has a pool. Well, our backyard IS the pool. This is the first time we have ever had a pool and so far we are enjoying it. Sweetie pie and I have the pruney fingers and toes to prove it. One of the nice parts of having a pool for a backyard is that we can literally open a door from our bathroom and step down a couple of steps and start doing the crawl. It is a bit odd not having a real backyard, but the pool isn't a bad trade off. So, I'll just have lots of potted plants on the patio instead to satisfy the need to have greenery around me.

Another interesting feature in our home is that we have what is called a wet kitchen and a dry kitchen. This is not an unusual set up for this side of the world apparently. My sister-in-law, Dottie, asked some colleagues about it and was told it is partly because the style of cooking here is rather messy so it is even more separated than in a normal kitchen. Maybe I have needed this wet/dry kitchen set-up for a long time. Hubby says I can dirty up more stuff while I am cooking than anyone he knows. What can I say? It is true, but sometimes creativity gets a little messy.

We have a kind of Balinese style bath. What that means is that it is open to the outside, sort of. It is an un-air conditioned area with a small rock garden off to the side. The rock garden area acts as a kind of exhaust shaft in that the warm air rises up and goes out the screened in top, which does have a small roof on it that kind of keeps out the rain (an issue we are going to have to figure out how to alter just a bit since when it rains it runs down the newly painted walls of the rock garden area and splashes on to the tiles of the main bath area).

No air conditioning vents in the bath sounds like it would be uncomfortable, but it isn't too bad. I have a floor fan to move the air around when we are showering and it keeps things pretty pleasant. However, I don't think it is very pleasant when I have to get up in the middle of the night to answer nature's call and the humidity level is about 95% and no air is stirring at all.

Also, with the bath open to the outside, you start your day with unobstructed participation in the call to prayer going on at 4:15AM. The bonus is that you get to hear the vendors with their own special little calls, and smell when someone is burning trash (that is not really a bonus) and the birds waking up and calling out. Sweetums equates it to camping in a very large tent. It is much like when I was little and most houses weren't air conditioned. Folks opened the windows in the summer to keep it cooler and you could hear the neighbors mowing the lawn, the birds chirping, and the kids playing down the street. Guess I have moved half-way around the world to re-live my childhood. That is what we call ironic.

The majority of the house has marble tiles on the floor. The baths have ceramic tiles. Since we have just moved in and have limited furnishings, it is a little on the loud side. We will get that taken care of soon as we begin to get settled and decorated.

It is a two story home which I swore I would not do again. However, it does give me a very pleasant view down the street from the bedroom on the front of the house. I can see the vendors pushing their carts around the neighborhood and the kids out playing with their nannies keeping watch. The guards, that most folks have, all like to stand and visit with the nannies and the vendors. As I mentioned before, it is a very social place here. Much like the way we were when we didn't have air conditioning and we sat outside to catch a cool breeze, snap some beans or shell some peas in the shade of a big tree. Many times the neighbor was taking the laundry down from her clothes line and you would chat and swap stories about mundane things, offer or be offered lemonade or icy cold tea. Before I get all "Prairie Home Companion", I will get back to our current life here.

We are in the process of hiring the previously mentioned multi-task guy. Right now he is working for another expat family bound for an assignment in Australia. Therefore, Warno comes twice a week to clean the pool and sweep-up leaf litter outside after he has finished at the other family's home. At the end of the month he will come and work for us full time. At the moment, Warno likes to show up before lunch and eat here. I find it all very amusing. Don't know if the grub is better or he is just feeling how things are before he gets in to this thing full time. We are hoping Warno works out and will mesh well with the other staff.

The house is bringing a new aspect to life here. There is lots to learn and figure out. I am enjoying having more room and seem to be personally trying to help the Indonesian government pay down any debt they might have by shopping for goods that I was unable to or just didn't have a clue to bring or have fried and must replace due to the difference in the voltage. Live and learn.

Changes in latitudes. Changes in attitudes

2010-06-02T14:47:00.028+07:00

On Tuesday, June 1, we got the word that it was time to move to our much anticipated house. The list is long as to why this took just over 4 months to achieve. I will not go in to that in this post. Trust me, it will save us all a lot of grief if I don't.

On Monday, June 7, the big hand off will take place. We will begin relocating the goods we have acquired during our four months of bliss in the care of the various Shangri-La facilities to a house in an area of South Jakarta known as Kemang. On Tuesday the moving truck will arrive with the goods that we haven't seen in so long that I don't even remember most of what is in there. It will be a happy "Let's get reacquainted" party for sure. I do know that my camera gear has been greatly missed and the other half of our clothing will be embraced with great joy. It will also be nice to have more cooking paraphernalia.

The move is a step in the right direction. I am hoping that we will now be able to build a home and a life in this wacky place known as Jakarta. Hubby's commute will be long due to traffic and not so much distance. We will see how all of that works out. Will take a little while to figure out new schedules and such.

With the move to a house also comes a new staff member to hire. We are looking for a gardener/pool guy/houseboy. The reason for the long title is that the yard is very, very small at this particular house so there won't be much gardening to do so to employ him full time he will also maintain our pool and help wash windows and mop floors.

With this addition, we will be responsible for paychecks to three employees; a driver, a housekeeper/sometimes cook and the above mentioned Mr. Multi-function guy. Also added to the mix are four guards who control who comes and goes on our property and who enters the house. Honey bunch's employer requires these guys to be there guarding us and our worldly belongings 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. This will take some getting used to. Between guards, razor wire, spikes and some broken glass thrown in for good measure, it will be like Fort Knox at our humble abode in Kemang.

In many ways this seems to have turned in to our very own private United Way project. We will be responsible for feeding the staff while on the premises. The housekeeper/cook will live with us as she has been a live-in for a long time and has nowhere else to go. Most of the expats living in Indonesia are having similar experiences with staff as sugar pie and I. Some, who have children, employ nannies and an additional person to just handle laundry. Pretty far out stuff for a little Tarheel girl to grasp.

Part of what makes this unfamiliar territory is the fact that sweetie and I have been empty-nesters for the last four years. Now suddenly, we will be surrounded by people every day. Is that going to be weird or what? Not to mention the weirdness of saying you have "staff." That sounds so pretentious to anyone you say it to except other expats living here. So please, those of you reading this, I am not getting all uppity. That is just what life is bringing my way and it will certainly add to the tales we tell when we get together with folks (do I hear groaning?). This entire experience is one huge tale. Many times I feel like it is all make-believe. Does it sound that way to you who are reading it?

As we looked upon the little kampung we have come to call our own this last weekend, we were graced with yet another unexpected site. The owner of the goat herd we have enjoyed watching the last 6 or 8 weeks was carrying the cutest little newly-born twin goats down the street. The mother goat was not especially happy about this arrangement. She kept nervously bumping the man and running around him as he walked carrying her precious little ones. I assume he was moving them from their birth place to a more secure area on his farmette. He carried the babies through his house, with the mom following along with him. Out the back of the house the entire four-some came. He gently placed the babies on the ground and then proceeded to fill a bucket with water for the the mom. I know, this isn't a particularly unusual thing to see. I've seen it in Texas and North Carolina on multiple occasions. But it is under such odd circumstances that I viewed this site that I think it makes it noteworthy. It is just so unexpected to see baby goats being born next to a 5 star hotel/residence, a large mosque, the motorcycle parking lot for the hotel and 20 and 30 story apartments and businesses. It is just not something that I expected to see from my luxury apartment balcony.

This is my last post from the haven known as the Shangri-La. The staff at the residence is just as wonderful as the staff at the hotel. I really have enjoyed getting to know them and have appreciated their care and attention. My life would have been immensely more difficult without them. They have helped to ease my stress with their smiles and greetings. I work very hard to always smile around them as they are trying so hard to make my life easier in a place that still doesn't always make a lot of sense.

Till we meet again Shangri-la. Thanks for the memories and helping us get our feet wet. You eased us in to things and provided us a friendly place to begin our journey when much of the time we felt overwhelmed and unprepared.

Terima kasih.

Take me to your weirless rooter

2010-05-30T14:23:00.022+07:00

Over this first full weekend back in Jak-town, honey pie and I have been searching for three things; a wireless router for un-tethered Internet access, an oven thermometer, and several clocks. This sounds like an odd coupling of things, but let me explain.

At the apartment, we have been using a Ethernet cable to plug in to a phone jack to access the Internet. This works well and isn't a problem unless both of us want to use the Internet at the same time and/or don't mind always having to be positioned close to a phone jack. Therefore, we decided to buy a wireless Internet router to fulfil the dream of freedom. So, asking Akil to drive us around from place to place on Saturday, we found "living the dream" wasn't as easy as we thought it would be. The first place we went, Glodock Electronics, seemed like the most likely place to start. Glodock is a bit like entering a three story cornucopia. It is crammed full of all kinds of things. Phones, cameras, bullhorns, tiny drink umbrellas, craft making items, transformers, cooking utensils, cooking appliances, refrigerators, air conditioning units, cables, plugs, adaptors, USB thumb drives, notepads, etc. All of this delight is packed in a store with aisles barely one bule wide and it is un-air conditioned. Well, that is not totally accurate. On the third floor, they sell AC units. They have one unit on display blasting out cold air. It is nice to go up there and stand in front of it until you get cooled off and then you come back down and continue your explorations.

Before we left the apartment Saturday morning, I went to Google Translator and found out how to ask for said wireless router in Bahasa Indonesia. The audio application told me it is pronounced "weirless rooter." I am spelling this phonetically so you can join in the fun. This wouldn't be nearly as amusing if it weren't for the fact that we had a dog who's nickname was Rooter. Sometimes Rooter Tooter on more fragrant occasions. With that correlation, it made it easy to remember the pronunciation.

Once in Glodock, we asked the young man at the front for weirless rooters. He looked at me as if I had just landed from another planet. Hmmmm. Guess I am kind of from another world so it wasn't too undeserved. I say it again, and he still looks at me. I then say wireless router. He says "Oh, wireless router!", and directs me to a stack of boxes containing wireless routers. So much for the translation preparations. They carried only one type of router and they were not the brand I wanted. Rats! Defeat number one for the day. With all the abundance of Glodock around us, we decided to look for an oven thermometer and the much needed clock.

The meager assortment of clocks available were an odd lot. Mostly analog varieties with surprisingly large price tags. These were Target or drugstore level clocks. No aspersions here, just not high end time pieces to warrant the 800,000.00 rupiah they wanted for them. To help you with the monetary conversion, that is a little less than $80.00 US. The cheapest thing we found was a very small clock for about 450,000 rupiah. We thought about it and decided to leave it and see if we could find one somewhere else. Rats again. Defeat number two.

We wander around the store still in search of an oven thermometer. We finally ask if they sold thermometers. Foreign planet looks again. We start saying things like temperature, oven, hot, cold, cooking. Anything to find a word to give the young woman a clue. I finally said therm-O-meter. She seemed to get it and lead us to a section with cooking utensils and sure enough there were meat thermometers, refrigerator thermometers, outdoor thermometers but no oven thermometers.

The reason we are looking for an oven thermometer is that the dial on the oven in the apartment and at the house, we are still trying to move in to, have little pictures but no numbers to indicate the temperature. Perhaps if I were a better cook, I could tell by sticking my hand in the oven if it is the correct temperature to roast, bake or braise whatever I want. I am not that good. I need numbers.

Defeated for the third time, we decided the three strike rule was in effect and we left Glodock for greener pastures. Once again in the car with Akil, we head for the big Ace Hardware located on the second floor of Pondok Indah Mall I (there is a Pondok Indah Mall II right across the street). The locals call it PIM 1 or PIM 2 since it is kind of a mouth full and it also helps you know which side of the street to park.

Once in the Ace Hardware, we asked a shy young woman about wireless routers. Not working. We tried weirless rooter. Not working. Here we go again throwing out clues. Internet, computer, blah, blah, blah. She confers with someone and leads us past a display of at least 50 ironing boards to an aisle where there are cables and jacks to plug in to the phone jack. This was not at all going to help with our Internet needs. Since ironing is an obsession here, along with plastic bags and zeros, we would have had a much easier time getting help with that kind of purchase than high tech Internet stuff. We left Ace and went to several other electronic oriented stores and totally struck out. At this point we decided to call it a day and try again on Sunday.

10AM Sunday morning.... Akil picks us up and we head for a different mall in search of the same three items that we looked for on Saturday. We go to the store from which I purchased my much beloved cell phones that I spoke of in one of my first posts. We find the computer area and ask a techno-savvy looking young man for wireless routers. Hmmmm. OK, weirless rooters. BINGO! He understands and repeats, "rooter." He leads us to a display and unfortunately, they are the same exact brand as the ones at Glodock. After much discussion with my honey pie, we decide to buy one and give it a go.

Feeling more confident, we decided to pursue a clock and an oven thermometer. We go to a high end kitchen store. No luck. I decided to go to a store called Debenham's. It is kind of like a British Macy's. We head for the cookware section, and happen to pass by a clock display. Holy Toledo. Still seeing really high prices on really cheap merchandise. I am now discovering why it is standard operating procedure for Indonesians to always be late by at least 30 minutes to an hour for any appointment you make with them. The bloody clocks are so expensive here no one will buy them or can afford them! Therefore, the majority of the population is using the call to prayer (which happens five times a day)to set their schedule it would seem.

Blast! No clock purchase again today. Will have to confer with other expats to see where to find something reasonably priced. I guess I haven't mentioned that there are no clocks in the apartment. No clock on the stove in the kitchen. No clock on the wall in the living or dining area. Therefore, unless you are wearing a watch, have your cell phone in your pocket, or go look at one of the two land line phones in the apartment you don't know what time it is.

Disappointed, we move on to the cooking section of Debenham's. We rummage around a bit and there, shining in the artificial light are three oven thermometers. S-U-C-C-E-S-S! I almost bought two of them because they were so difficult to find. Hubby convinced me one was enough and I happily slapped my 100,000 rupiah note, and some change, on the check-out counter and walked away a satisfied customer.

This whole episode is a reminder of how much more I have to learn about being an expat and adjust accordingly. How much I took for grated familiar things like a light on my oven to tell me it is hot enough to put a cake pan inside, or that cheap clocks are actually priced accordingly in most stores where I am from, and a rooter is a fond memory of a dog who enriched our lives many years ago.

Ibu's back in town

2010-05-24T19:58:00.028+07:00

Over the past couple of weeks, we have been to the US and back again. In the four months that I have been here, this is the first time I have made it out of the city of Jakarta. It sounds odd, but life can get complicated with this kind of a move.

There are many routes that one can take to get between the US and Indonesia. As you may remember, the initial trip out was Houston to Moscow to Singapore and then Jakarta. This trip was Jakarta to Singapore, to Hong Kong, to San Francisco, to Houston and then a drive to Sherman, TX. Whew!

We saw Hong Kong only briefly out the window, but it looks like a city that could be interesting to visit. Since I was in the center seating area of the plane, I couldn't really get a good look. I did see mountains and boats in what I assume is Hong Kong harbor. I took snapshots of the airport and the various views of the planes and such. Also on this trip, we had more time to experience the fabulous airport in Singapore. The terminal we were in had orchids everywhere. There was also a sunflower garden up a couple of levels from where we were walking to catch our connecting flight.

There is major shopping to be had in all of the airports we passed through. Pretty unbelievable the high end stores there. I felt more like I was in a mall than an airport at times. In one of the other terminals in Singapore, they supposedly have an outstanding butterfly room. Not sure what the proper name for that is, but I have no doubt that is is beautiful as the Singaporians seem to do it up right.

Before leaving Jakarta, my brother, David, made a suggestion that I should collect coins from the various countries that I fly through or visit and make a charm bracelet out of them. I think that is a stunning idea. So, while in Hong Kong I exchanged $5.00US and got some very colorful paper money and some cool coins. Thanks for the great suggestion David.

I really wasn't sure how I was going to feel touching down on US soil after my four month long sleep-over in Indonesia. I have to say, it felt really great to land in a place where you know how the money works, what is on the menu, people drive on the right side of the road and folks say ya'll. With that said, we did experience a tiny little bit of reverse culture shock while we were in Texas.

Living in a land where 88% of the population practice Islam, most woman are pretty covered up. We were a bit taken aback by all the cleavage and leg we saw just walking through the US airports. Here, there are short skirts on some of the young Indonesian woman working hard to attract a bule husband. But, it is a decided minority. Heck, you hardly see sleeveless blouses here for that matter. I've never been overly prudish about these things. It just caught me by surprise that in such a brief time shorts and tank tops would look strange to me. After a few days of getting re-acclimated, it looked pretty USish and I didn't stare in disbelief.

Since we haven't driven in four months, my local honey was worried that he would feel uncomfortable once behind the wheel. Well, it was not a problem at all. Sweetie pie got behind the wheel of our truck and motored us to all of our destinations with no problem. I, on the other hand, never did drive while I was home. I am now being accused of being a diva that will require someone to chauffeur me everywhere once we return to our native land on a permanent basis. Not so sure of that, but I have found it is kind of nice to not have to think too much about what the traffic is doing and being able to check out the action around me, roll down the window and poke the camera out for a quick picture, text message or just zone out until it is time to get out of the car.

The reason for our trip to the US was to share in the celebration of college graduation with our son. After four years, lots of bucks, and lots of growing pains (for all of us) we are the proud parents of a college graduate. It was a great day and we are all shocked that it really did seem to happen so quickly. Four years really flew by. I am in the "Holy cow. My son is all grown up." phase. I know we have other milestones to cross with him, but this is a biggie.

Having to leave him and fly back to a distant land was as difficult as the last time we did it. Not sure that will ever go away. A sobbing mom in the car at 5:30AM is a gruesome sight. But after an hour or so, I regained my composure and the promise of breakfast at the Waffle House made me feel better.

The last paragraph reminded me of a couple of other things that we experienced on our return visit. Since the days are pretty close to being 12 hours long all the time(you remember that is why my blog is named It's always a 12 hour day), you kind of forget that it is almost summer in other parts of the world and the days are getting longer. On one of the first nights in the US, we had dinner with friends and I looked at my watch and couldn't believe it was almost 8pm and it was still light! Who would have thought this would be such a marvel? Coming back to a place that is familiar but getting to rediscover things that have been so common place but are now so novel is a wonderful experience. It is like you've never seen this before and it is so marvelous but somehow so familiar. Almost the feel of waking from a long sleep and seeing the world with rested eyes.

The other thing is I can't believe how much bacon we tried to consume. Normally, we eat bacon only occasionally at our house. But for some reason we had to have it while we were home on this visit. I am sure it is one of those psychological things about desperately wanting something that you can't have. Please, no psych analysis in the comments about this post.

I am not sure I have discussed the most prevalent kind of bacon that is served in Indonesia. It is made from beef. Beef bacon is very low on my list of products that I ever want to consume again. It is on the list with octopus balls that I see advertised on a restaurant banner hanging in the mall(no comments again please) and the chicken feet that I see wrapped up in the much beloved plastic at the grocery. It is like someone couldn't decide what they wanted this poor piece of beef to be. It is like beef jerky gone horribly wrong. Therefore, we did indulge in a lot of pork products while we were home. It was delicious. However, I hope it will not become a habit on each return visit as my cardiologist will have a cow, and that would just lead to more beef bacon.

Suka duka happens

2010-05-01T21:12:00.014+07:00

Life continues to be full of surprises here in Jakarta. It seems at about four week intervals I am surprised at how far I have come, the new things I am accomplishing or trying to figure out how to deal with some new aspect of life that I have to navigate just by virtue being an expat.

First, I guess I should explain what suka duka means. Suka duka is basically good and bad. You know, ups and downs. I think suka duka is much more fun to say than ups and downs so I will be using that phrase whenever I can in a conversation. Maaf to those who live in Jakarta because I am sure I will wear it out. Another couple of new fun words are ibu and pak. I am called ibu (i sounds like an e so it is e-boo). Sometimes, they seem to shorten it a bit and it sounds like they are just saying boo. What makes this amusing is that we used to use the word boo with our son when he was just a little guy. So it makes me smile to be called this. Now, my honey lamb is called bapak or pak. That is basically sir. Pak carries a lot more weight than ibu in this culture. When he starts to act a little uppity, I tell him he is acting like a pak-head and to cut it out. So, there is your Bahasa Indonesia lesson for the day. Now, back to the story of happenings here.

This past Saturday, we were supposed to meet the realtor and the man who is going to make draperies for the house we will be moving in to at the end of May. However, that is not exactly how it played out. We arrived at the house and the realtor was waiting for us. So far, so good. As we waited for the drapery man, the realtor informed me that the landlord's wife would be coming by and along with her would be the landlord's mother. "Mom" is currently residing in Florida but is back in Jakarta for a visit. Hmmm. Me thinks this is a test.

The drapery guy arrives, and we discuss, through the help of the realtor, what things need to be made. In the middle of all of this, the landlord's wife arrives. She is alone. We talk of the things that they have done and discuss the things that still need to be addressed. So far, so good.

As we are finishing up with the drapery fellow, the landlord's mother arrives. With her is one of the landlord's brothers and the landlord's future sister-in-law. So at this point there are now 8 of us standing in the living area exchanging pleasantries, except for the drapery guru who didn't speak a lot of English and probably didn't care if we impressed "Mom" or not. As I had suspected, this was indeed the final approval needed for the completion of this rental agreement to go through. Everyone seemed to be watching to see what the Grand Ibu's reaction was going to be to the new bule tenants. Well, I guess we managed to pass with high marks. She was smiling as we chatted about Florida, our sons, the house, traveling, missing our sons when we are not near them, blah, blah, blah. My sweetie pie said I earned especially high marks when we compared notes about crying after leaving our sons to go to some distant land.

Finally, Mr. Drapery Man manages to extract himself from the scene and we are now down to 7. More chatting happens and the Top Ibu, shook hands with us and we proceeded to shake hands with everyone left in the room before the entire process was over. Also at this point the landlord's wife must have felt tremendous relief over passing her own little test as she got much more talkative and friendly too. In fact, she said she is looking forward to coming over for a nice long visit and maybe dinner. I have asked around and most folks don't even know who their landlords are. My friend Gail said her landlord is in some place other than Indonesia due to some kind of sticky financial situation with the Indonesian government that could put him in the slammer. Guess they won't be having dinner with him.

We also took on our permanent staff last week. We said a tearful goodbye to Nurdin, our temporary driver on Wednesday. This is the duka part of the post. I really didn't expect to get so attached to him. I bought him a very handsome long sleeved batik shirt, wrote out a card, included a cash bonus, gave him a letter of reference and presented the entire kit and kaboodle to him when he brought my hubby home from work. I could not believe how teary eyed I got. We all shook hands and we watched him drive away. God help me. I can only imagine what I am going to be like with folks I spend three years with when it is our time to return to home soil.

My cutie pie husband said that he thought we had imprinted on Nurdin like little ducklings do on the first thing that they see upon hatching from an egg. He was our first introduction to Indonesia. We had to struggle through the total disorientation one feels in a new city with him. We had to experience the terror of Jakarta traffic with him. We had to learn to let go and trust him to drive us around always realizing that our lives were very much in his hands.

He is very much the typical Indonesian. He laughs and smiles easily, he smokes clove cigarettes, he is just a slip of a fellow who is always eager to please and no matter what you asked him he always said yes. "Do you know where the immigration office is?" Yes. "Is there a grocery store near here?" Yes. "Should we go to this place first and then this other place next?" Yes. Even if the answer shouldn't have been yes, that is what you got. Bless his heart, he always tried to get it right and not disappoint you. He is certainly someone we will not forget.

May your days be filled with more suka than duka.

Life is a Shangri-La Part 2

2010-04-18T18:58:00.035+07:00

Honey bun and I had a change of venue just a few days ago. We moved from the Shangri-La Hotel to the Shangri-La Residence. To go from living in one hotel room for 11 weeks (well, one day short of 11 weeks), which is almost 12 weeks (one week short of 12weeks)to a three bedroom, four bath serviced apartment is a massive change. It felt odd to actually have more than two rooms to explore. You know it is time to move when you consider the bathroom a room to explore.

As mentioned before, things got a little close. However, with all of this space we now seem to loose track of each other. On the plus side, if nature calls, there is no urgent plea to please hurry up in there. It reminded me of a time during my childhood when there were six of us sharing one bathroom. With that many people sharing the bathroom, there was always lots of urgent banging on the door and lots of people yelling, "Hurry up in there."

We are living in what is called a serviced apartment. Let me tell you, that is the way to go. Every day, except Sundays and public holidays, housekeeping comes to your apartment. They strip the bed of its linens, take your used towels and wash cloths, clean the toilet, tub and shower, vacuum and mop all the floors, dust the entire apartment, wash the dishes if you didn't do them the night before, clean the kitchen counters and even wash the windows. Now that is what I call S-E-R-V-I-C-E!

We are renting this apartment month to month until the never ending stream of nonsense ends with our quest to find a more permanent place to live for the next three to five years. If the foolishness goes on much longer, I am going to say forget it and just live the life of luxury at the Shangri-oo-La-La.

The patio off the living area faces kind of South Easterly. We look toward lots of skyscrapers, high rise apartments, and over kampungs, mosques, busy streets and a cemetery. Kampungs are the local "villages." Some of them are clean an neat, some are really more like slums and rather grim. The kampung we look across has little shops along the street, a school or two and all assortment of houses. There are even a few folks who have goats, 20 or so in the herd, some geese and a few roosters. Several of them also have the bathrooms located outside the living areas. Unlike an outhouse, some of these bathrooms include a place to bathe as well. Bathrooms are called kamar(room)kecil(little or small)or small rooms. One of the reasons I mention this here is that even though they are small, they have an even smaller amount of roofing to cover the top. We have had the unfortunate timing of catching a few people answering nature's call, or like yesterday, someone trying to bathe. When we realized what was going on, we decided it was best to give them a little privacy and wandered back in to our apartment.

The master bedroom has a pretty spectacular view from the 17th floor (which really isn't the 17th floor because it is a Chinese owned hotel and residence and they are superstitious about the number 4. Therefore, there is no 4th floor, or 14th floor or 13th floor for that matter). The windows are from floor to ceiling. When you look out on a clear day, you can see the mountains in the distance. Not sure if they are old volcanoes, but it is pretty cool sight.

The master bath has a wonderful tub that you can fill at night to relax in while looking out at the sparkling lights of Jakarta. It has floor to ceiling windows as well. Therefore, just like out kampung neighbors, folks can see in so we have to make sure they don't get a lesson on how bules bathe. Unlike the photo-op at Tamin Mini - turn about is not fair play in this case. Since we are in the city and the residences are at a very busy intersection, there is lots of traffic noise. I think the next soak in the tub requires a little Balinese music to drown out the honking and motorcycles so I can attain Indonesian bliss.

Just like the hotel, the security is very good here. You still have to come in through the same main entrance as the hotel, so your car is checked out completely before they open the large metal gate to let you through. Once you finish that, you make your way toward the residences. The doorman opens the car door and the front door and you are greeted as you enter the lobby by polite staff, just not quite as completely as at the hotel - which by the way I miss along with those electric curtains that I hated to part with. Passing through the lobby you must go to the correct elevator bank to reach your apartment. An electronic key card and biometric finger print system are used to keep you from accessing anyone's apartment but yours. Once you pass that test, you are delivered to your floor and only your floor. When the elevator doors open, you step out in to a small entry way with your front door just waiting to be unlocked. Nice.

Downstairs, is a small, but nicely appointed workout room looking over a beautiful pool. There are lush tropical plantings all around. What is surprising is that just behind all that tropicalness is the kampung that I talked about earlier and an entire herd of goats. It is an incredible contrast. I know that I am immensely fortunate to live on this side of the wall even though the kampung next to us is above average and I am sure the people there feel pretty safe and lucky that they are there and not some of the other places they could be. Perspective is key no matter what side of the planet you reside.

Laugh, and the world laughs with you. Almost fall out of the dressing room and you most definitely will not laugh alone.

2010-04-14T08:27:00.053+07:00

This week I went on a shopping journey to try and find a Batik blouse or dress to wear to my son's college graduation. The Batik here is so stunning and I thought it would be fun to have something regional to wear for this joyous occasion.

A couple of things became apparent during this outing. First off, I am definitely not the same size, any way around, as an Indonesian woman. I am taller, which means that most dresses are too short for someone my age. Now my high school buddy, Debbie would tell you I wore very short skirts back then. However, it isn't a good look on this mature woman for sure. My shoulders are broader and so you have to really work to find something that you think you would be able to move in without ripping the fabric. Finding something that fits across the bust is also an issue. The fear of putting someones eye out after a button goes flying off your shirt when you take a breath is real. Forget about something fitting across the hips. Off the rack clothing makes most expat woman cuss under their breath I am certain.

I have been told that there are great tailors here. I have not ventured in to that arena yet, so there is hope for me still. Just not for this trip home. I have even heard that they come to your house and bring fabrics and all you do is point, pay and they do all the work. Sounds like heaven. If I could just get into a house so I could have that joy. But that is another story.

Back to the shopping story for now. I went to a mall called Pasaraya. It is an older, less visually stunning mall than some of the newer ones here. However, it has some very interesting features. The one pertinent to this post is that there is one entire floor where they sell EVERYTHING Batik. Table clothes, table runners, napkins, shirts, dresses, slippers, shopping bags, skirts, men's bathing suits, etc. It is pretty overwhelming. There are probably 40 to 50 vendors doing business on that floor. All selling Batik.

Since it is one of the upper floors of the mall, I had to pass through several other clothing areas on my way up. Some casual blouses caught my eye, so I stopped to take a look. I found a few items to try on and then tried to find the dressing room. A lovely young woman sees me and understands that I want to try on the blouses. She gives this sweeping motion to indicate "go that way" and I move forward. I am looking, and for the life of me I can't figure out where I a supposed to go. She continues to gesture and I keep moving, but it is just not clear where the dressing room is. Finally, we kind of end up in the middle of the sales floor and there is a U-shaped, metal rod attached to a support pillar with a curtain hanging from it. I realize this IS the dressing room. I stand in the middle of the area under the rod and she pulls the fabric around me. It was a quiet Monday, so I tried not to worry.

Now might be a good time to mention that many of the malls and stores are not air conditioned the way we air condition. Some are not air conditioned at all. Many times they do not turn the air conditioning on if there is no one in that area so you are often greeted with very still, almost body temperature air upon your arrival. Once on, it is still warm, just not as warm. The temps are beginning to reach about 95 these days so that should give you a clue that you are a tad bit uncomfortable when you wander around outside or in.

I stand in my dressing room and begin the trying on process. Not too much is fitting, so I go out and get another blouse and see an elastic waist skirt. That could work I think. Back into the shower stall, maaf, dressing room I go. I try on the blouse and it fits. Miracle of miracles. I then proceed to try on the skirt. Since the floor is bare tile and it is out in the open where large numbers of people walk, I decide to not take off my shoes before I slip out of the capris I have on and into the skirt I have hanging above me on the metal bar. Since I am a bit sticky from the heat, I am having to wiggle around a bit to get the blasted capris off. With the struggling and the warmth, I am getting more sticky. As I try to remove one of the capri pant legs off of my shoe, I catch my foot. Oh, dear Lord, I have horrible visions of pitching out into the store in a pile of fabric and metal with my pants half off. I am trying to find something to grab on to. My choices are the curtain or the bar. I know that I will most like pull the entire contraption down on top of me either way. So, I find myself hopping around on one foot trying to regain my balance. I can only imagine what this looked like from the outside. I am sure they can see my elbows and knee flailing and bumping the curtain. I hope they thought I was grooving to the music in there and enjoying the clothing I was trying on. However, God was smiling on me as I managed to get it under control, not rip everything down and expose myself. After all of that, the skirt was not a go and I then had to try and get out of it and back into the pants. Lesson learned: if in doubt, remove the shoes and stand on them.

With a new blouse in the bag, I am off to Batik heaven. I stroll around and spot a really lovely Batik sheath dress and decide to give it a whirl. The young woman directs me to the fitting room. This time, it isn't a curtain I am faced with. Instead, it is pretty much a wooden crate that is sanded and varnished. Hmmmm. Not looking too good and since I am higher up in the mall, it is even warmer. I go in and peel off my blouse, drop my capris to my ankles and try to slide the dress on.

Have you ever tried to put on a damp bathing suit? You know how it sticks to you and takes off a layer or two of skin in the process? Well, you get the idea of my dilemma only I am the wet bathing suit. Also, I am trying to do this changing routine in a box about the size a refrigerator would come in. Elbows are banging the wall, the door doesn't latch so I am once again at risk of flashing fellow shoppers and store clerks if an elbow or backside hit the door. Looking kind of like a cobra moving to the rhythm of a snake charmer's music, I get the dress on. Lovely and fits pretty well, but too short. Drat. Now I have to do the process in reverse. To say it was getting a little close in there is an understatement. Good thing I am not claustrophobic or I would have come screaming out of the box and ripped the dress off of me right there on the sales floor and not given a hoot.

After several vendors, I find two lovely blouses that fit. Checking the sizes, you try not to let it hurt your ego that in order to get it broad enough across the shoulders, one of them is an XL. It is like thinking about your age. It is just a number, right? So maybe the trick to fitting in to life here is to forget what normal is back home and just go with the XL life presented to me in this crazy place known as Jakarta.

Life in the fast lane. Surely make you loose your mind

2010-04-09T13:33:00.038+07:00

It is a left-hand side of the road driving adventure here. I must say it still feels a bit weird after all these weeks. Actually, the going in a straight line doesn't feel as strange, but the turning thing still feels totally odd. Don't assume that I think that I would be able to drive even in a straight line here. It is a frightening thought. I would cause untold numbers of wrecks if I tried to turn. It would be like a scene from The Blues Brothers. Just without Jake and Elroy.

It reminds me of my Aussie friend, Helen. She lived not to far away from me in my neighborhood in Texas. She would only make right hand turns. No matter where she was going. She planned her route out so she would only have to turn right. I now think that it was partly because she was used to driving on the left hand side of the road and turning left made her uncomfortable. It never dawned on me, before moving here, as to what the reasoning was behind that particular driving decision.

Just like in the US, people walk just like they drive. I go in a mall and walk around and I feel like a salmon swimming up stream. I am walking on the right and dodging people. This makes me look like a massive newbie bule. I have to make a conscious effort to walk on the left. Another issue with this left side of the road thing is with escalators. The up escalator is on the left and down escalator on the right. I go to the wrong one about 80% of the time. This is an improvement as it used to be 100% of the time. Whoo hoo!

Today, I learned a valuable lesson about elevator etiquette. If the doors open, you do not hesitate in any way, shape or form to get on. For if you do, the person in front of you will get on and push the close door button and take off as quick as a bunny. Today, I met hubby for lunch. After our lunch, we walked to the elevator to go from the ninth floor to the ground floor. A man walked up and waited with us. The doors open and being polite, we let him enter first. He apparently stepped in, pushed the floor button, and then proceeded to hold the close door button down with gusto. I step to the narrowing opening and try to get on, but the doors keep advancing. Being a little hesitant to stick a valuable body part in between the rapidly closing doors, I look at him. He stands there with finger joyously pressed on the close door button looking at me as the doors slam shut and leaving us in a proverbial trial of dust. I turned to my husband and said how rude I thought that was. He said he sees this happen a lot. Even if you get part of you in the opening, they won't take their finger off that highly valuable button and the door just continues to crunch you until you are able to get all of you inside. To be such polite people, this really caught me off guard.

Back to the driving topic. Some of the roads here require that you have 3 occupants in your vehicle during certain hours of the day if you want to use them without a fine. There are a couple of ways to attain this goal. One is through the use of a jockey. Jockeys are the people standing all along the sides of these specific roads and ramps on to these roads holding up one, two, or three fingers. They hold up the number of fingers to indicate the number of riders they will provide to help you fulfill the occupancy quota. They vary in age from young to old. Men and women. Women with babies in slings or children on their hip. The babies count as a rider too, so you get a twofer there. If you stop, they will climb in your car and you pay them a few thousand rupiah and off you go. No bothersome "polisi" waving you over if you've got a jockey on your side. My guess is you drop them off when you get to the end of the required occupancy level section and they then cross the street and go back the other way.

I made it absolutely clear to honey bunch that under NO circumstances was he to pick up a jockey. TB is still alive and quite well here. Don't want that kind of trouble. Not to mention that I would not stop to pick up a hitchhiker in the US. Why would I do it here?

The other way to achieve this goal, if it just happens to be you and the driver in the car, is to make sure you have a 50,000.00 rupiah note always at the ready. If you do get waived over, the number of occupants in your vehicle magically increases with the appearance of a blue colored bill with the number 50,000 on it.

So far, we have not tried out either of these methods. But that is how it is done we are told. Life in the fast lane indeed.

Hoppin' down the bunny trail

2010-04-01T20:00:00.016+07:00

It's Easter time here in Jakarta. There are no daffodils or Easter lilies. There do seem to be an abundance of orchids everywhere and beautiful roses in arrangements throughout the hotel. Haven't seen any rose bushes in Jakarta, so I don't know where they are coming from. But have seen huge arrangements with yellow roses and white roses mixed with assorted orchids, star gazer lilies and other tropical lovelies. Gorgeous!

Yes, it is true, and probably surprising to you, that Easter is celebrated here. Tomorrow is Good Friday and it is a public holiday. Christmas is also a public holiday. In fact, the Indonesian system for celebrating religeous holidays is one I kind of like.

First off, you must declare which religion you want to be affiliated with. You do not get to say, don't have one, don't believe in one, don't whatever. For those of you who don't know too much about Indonesia (and I was amoung your ranks before I found out sweetie pie and I were moving here)Islam is the major religion weighing in with about 88% of the poplulation. Christians make up about 8% of the population, Hindus about 2%, Buddhists about 2% and Animists about 1%. Going to have to look up what Animists are, but I feel sure they are not related to Greenpeace. These are not exact percentages so please forgive that it adds up to 101%. They are just guidelines anyway.

Now about those public holidays. These are also called "red days" because they are indicated in red on the calendars. Here are the holidays on my 2010 calendar. January 1 - New Year's Day, February 14 - Chinese New Year, February 26 - Birthday of Prophet Muhammad, March 16 - Hindu New Year, April 2 - Good Friday, May 13 - Ascension of Jesus Christ, May 28 - Buddhist Waisak Day, July 10 - Ascension of Prophet Muhammad, August 17 - Indonesia Independence Day, September 10 and 11 - Idul Fitri, Novemember 17 - Idul Adha, December 7 - Islamic New Year, December 25 - Christmas. As you can see, every religion gets some kind of holiday on the calendar, except for those pesky Animist. You also noticed, I am sure, that there are some holiday designations that you might not be familiar with. Since I am learning about these things too, I will fill in what I know or have found on line about them.

Buddhist Waisak Day - "This is a Buddhist holiday to celebrate the anniversary of Gautama Buddha, the founder of Buddhism.

This celebration is enlivened by religious and social activities in Buddhist temples around the country. In Indonesia, the largest Buddhist temples, Candi Mendut and Candi Borobudur, both located in the Magelang Regency of Central Java not far from Yogyakarta, are the focus of interest and attract those observing the holiday and tourists.

Three major historical events are celebrated on Waisak. The first is the birth of Siddhartha Gautama. The second is the acceptance of the divine revelation under the Bodhi tree. And the third is the journey of Siddhartha Gautama to heaven."

Idul Fitri - "Idul Fitri, more commonly referred to in Indonesia as Lebaran, is the celebration that comes at the end of the Muslim month of fasting, Ramadhan. The Arabic meaning of Idul Fitri is “becoming holy again”.

The dates of the ninth month of the Muslim calendar, Ramadan, vary from year to year, as the Muslim calendar (Hijrah) is based on a lunar cycle of 29 or 30 days. The exact date is determined by the sighting of the new moon. These lunar calculations lead to an official announcement by the government on the eve of Ramadan and Idul Fitri so that the faithful know when to begin and end the fasting month. To understand the significance of Lebaran, an understanding about the fasting month of Ramadhan is important. During the month of Ramadhan, Muslims must refrain from eating, drinking, smoking, marital relations or getting angry during the daylight hours. In addition, those fasting are supposed to refrain from bad habits - lying, getting angry, using bad language as well as to be more diligent in prayer and give to charities. It is believe that fasting heightens spirituality and develops self-control."

Idul Adah - Is kind of a small version of Idul Fitri, and is celebrated in the tenth month of the Muslim calendar.

The other holidays should be pretty self explanatory and some are celebrated in the US so none of my wonderful commentary is needed.

I saw a fair amount of Easter decorations in the malls and the grocery stores for the last few weeks. There were even egg painting contests listed at various locations. Egg hunting seems to be popular with folks who I don't think celebrate Easter for the same reasons we do. But they seemed to love it just as much. However, there are places on the island of Java where there are more serious religious participants. There are holy pilgrimages followed beginning on Holy Thursday, Good Friday, Saturday and conclude on Easter Sunday. There were several articles in the paper covering them and the significance of Easter to some of the folks who live here. I found that most interesting.

We joined friends at the Ritz Carlton for a wonderful brunch. Even though it was not specifically for Easter, it was delightful. Here at our hotel, they went all out for Easter. In the picture at the top of the post is a the Easter scene that was constructed on the lowest lobby of the hotel. Obviously, it is directed toward children. What makes this really unique is that the entire scene is made from chocolate. From the walls down to the green grass - all chocolate and hand made at that. They put up a rope barricade to keep us hungry folks from gnawing on the ears of those large bunnies sitting in the foreground or scooping up a handful of the green tinted white chocolate grass and chowing down as we would pass by on our way to the restaraunt. It smells so good. You just stand there and take deep breaths and feel like you are in Hersey Heaven.

Sorry Animist. Get your own holiday.

Paging Dokter Gigi

2010-03-23T09:22:00.027+07:00

Out and about on the teaming streets of Jakarta, I have seen signs that say Dokter Gigi. As you can probably tell dokter is the way they spell doctor here. The Dutch were the last folks to claim that the Indonesian archipelago belonged to them before the natives decided to take matters in their own hands and declare independence. That all transpired in the 1940's which isn't that long ago when you are in my age bracket. With that in mind, it is easy to see the Dutch influence that is still here. There are the spellings of words like dokter and taksi which are pretty easy to figure out what they mean. Some other borrowed words from the Dutch include, kantor (office), suster (sister), kamar (room) and hanger. Yes, hanger which is just what it is in English. According to one source, there are 3,280 Dutch words used in Bahasa Indonesia. The ones I have listed above, just about cover it for me. There is a Holland Bakery that I pass sometimes during my days out in the city. It has a little windmill on the top. Don't know how good it is, but it sure is cute.

However, Dokter Gigi was a puzzlement. After buying an Indonesian/English - English/Indonesian dictionary I discovered that Dokter Gigi is a dentist. I think this is a splendid title. Since many people dread going to the dentist, maybe they would feel better if they were going to visit someone called Dokter Gigi instead. Like how threatening is someone or something called Gigi? All you think about is Maurice Chevalier purring "Oh Gigi. Have I been standin' up or back to far?" You would go in with a smile on your face and hum away while the dokter is working on your teeth. My dearest friend Mary comes from a family of dentist. I think she should pass this info along to them. It just seems like good business practice to me to call your place of business something very non-threatening. Let me know how that works out for them Mary and tell them I expect dental care in return if their business increases.

Just like in most nation's histories, Indonesia has had many who have claimed them as their own. Before the Dutch, there were the Portuguese. Now as far as honey bunch and I are concerned, our lives would have been easier if the Indonesians had gone straight from Portugal to Happy Independence Day. Hubby has three years of Portuguese under his belt and I know more words in that language than Dutch or Bahasa Indonesia. The language transition might have been a little easier. Who knows? There is an island that is part of the over 13,0000 islands which make up Indonesia where they still speak Portuguese. We are not living on it.

The house hunting saga is coming to an end, we think, and I will expound upon that in another post. Right now I would like to discuss our happy little hotel. We are on a first name basis with almost the entire staff at the hotel at this point. Don't get me wrong, while it has a long time (8 weeks and counting) to live in one room in a hotel, it could be a lot worse. We stayed in a hotel once that was so bad that we slept with our clothes on, on top of the sheets and put a towel on the pillows. Desperate situation and no choice to do something different. Our accommodations here are extremely nice and we couldn't ask for better. It is just a little too much togetherness with my sweetie pie sometimes. I love you honey!

Once this housing situation all gets resolved, there are some things that I will miss at the hotel and the surrounding area. There is a railroad track across the canal in front of the hotel. I love hearing the little trains clickety-clack by and give a little blow on the whistle. Sometimes it is a commuter train with open doors and windows with people standing packed inside. Typically, it is 8 cars long and passes by frequently from its point of origin to its destination. Some of these commuter trains are silver and green, some are silver and orange and some are just very dirty. Guess the color is one way of telling where they are coming from or going to. Whatever color, and whatever direction, they are almost always 8 cars long. I have never seen one any longer. Occasionally, you will see higher end trains on the track. The windows are closed and there are air conditioning units on the top. It is a much more expensive train to travel on I am sure. I also don't think it is a commuter train. Other points on the island of Java are its destination most likely.

I will kind of miss the very energetic guard in front of the hotel who LOVES to blow his whistle to signal the cars to stop so folks can exit the hotel and merge or turn across traffic. You hear that whistle blowing A LOT especially on Friday and Saturday nights. Even way up in the air as we are, you can hear it. He takes his job seriously and I personally think he has an extreme fixation on that whistle. But, I still like him because he has helped us countless times when we have tried to get out. There would be no hope if he weren't out there blowing away and directing. Tip of the hat, but could you blow maybe just a little bit less continuously?

I will miss the production that you go through every time you get out of the car and pass through security. The doors are opened and there must be 10 - 20 people at the door and in the lobby saying hello to you. It feels like a constant wedding receiving line. Sometimes I almost start to giggle because I feel so silly passing through each and every time. Doesn't matter if it was yesterday, earlier in the day, or 20 minutes ago, it is the same every time. God bless their friendly, smiling faces.

I also cannot begin to tell you how much I am going to miss the electric draperies. I know that I have mentioned them earlier, but I have come to love them even more. Why this is such an attraction to me is a little odd. The sheer convenience of it never fails to please me. They better check my bags upon departure.

I will miss seeing my friend Herwig and his delightful wife. When I met her a few weeks ago, it was obvious that she is quite the match for him. She is an extremely fit woman, I guess you would have to be if you wanted to have any hope what-so-ever being married to a pastry chef. She swims for an hours every morning and then works out an hour and a half every afternoon. Jean Claude Van Damme (The Muscles from Brussels) must be somehow related to her. I am impressed and I am most definitely not related to Jean Claude.

"Oh my! People come and go so quickly here"

2010-03-16T08:04:00.002+07:00

One aspect of this assignment that I didn't consider is that people will be rotating in and out of your life on a fairly regular basis. Some of the new friends that I have made in my brief time here are being transferred to other areas of the world in April. Expat life is kind of like being in the military I guess. You learn to make friends fast.

So this post is dedicated to those wonderful individuals who have taken me under their wing, watched me wander around dazed and confused and stepped in to help, have gotten me from here to there one way or another, but will be moving on to other places and won't be part of my everyday life in Jakarta.

First there is my British friend. Her relaxed personality, wonderful wit, patients and all around spunky way of looking at the world is an inspiration. I can't believe I am not going to get to enjoy the escapades she is totally capable of getting us in to. She seems to have such a joy about her. I thoroughly love that.

Next is my wonderful friend who is a world class shopper. She is a remarkable resource for where to get whatever you need here in Jakarta. We have had some wonderful shopping expeditions and I am so sad that we only have a few more weeks to enjoy each others company. Along with shopping, she gives good advice without being pushy and her years of experience of living abroad has helped ground me during this phase.

I hope to have the pleasure of spending time with these two again at some future point. One just never knows who will come into your life to help change things around just when you need them.

Also included in this goodbye tribute is our temporary driver, Nurdin (FYI the correct way to pronounce Nurdin's name is Noor-din). At some point in April, we will begin using a permanent driver named Akil. He is a little older than Nurdin and has been driving for expat families for about 20 years. We like Akil a lot and think we are most fortunate to employ such an experienced driver. He is a quiet, smiling man who will take excellent care of us. We are such neophytes to this whole expat/Jakarta thing. We need absolutely all the help we can get. I hope he knows what he is in for.

Nurdin is kind of like a puppy. We have gotten attached to him. He is a very clever fellow who manages to find great short cuts when we are unbelievably stuck in traffic or in worse case scenarios, a demonstration. There are demonstrations on a pretty regular basis. It seems to be a very popular pastime. Guess there is nothing like a good rant.

Ol' Nurdin and I have seen some funny things while riding together. During these trecks off the beaten path, we have ventured down narrow neighborhood streets, past fish markets, farm animals (still in the city mind you), laundry hanging on porches, men shaving huge blocks of ice, men shaping wood and making all assortments of furniture, past school children in uniform, through various parking lots of hotels, businesses and today we even cut through the police station parking lot. That was a completely new one. I spend a lot of time riding in the back seat of the Toyota Kijang we are using observing all of this stuff and sooooo very happy that I am not the one driving.

I have noticed that Nurdin loves to really pour it on when there is an audience somewhere. When we arrive at our destination,if there are people out front, he will jump from the driver's seat to open the car door for me or my husband. I can't decide if it is a possessive thing as in "These are MY bules, back off" or if it is to show off in front of his peers. Which ever it is, I always get a chuckle out of it.

When you call him to ask him to pick you up he always says "I am coming now." The first time he said this to sweetie pie and to me we didn't know where he was or where he was coming from. We were a little unnerved as we weren't sure how long to stand there and wait. We have come to learn that is just the phrase he uses to let us know that we shouldn't worry, he has got it covered.

On occasion I have gone somewhere and called him to pick me up and I get the "I am coming now." phrase. I will be looking all around and down the street trying to find him. Then I realize that he is standing 5 or 6 feet from me holding his handphone against his ear and looking right at me while I am talking to him on the phone. One of the more embarrassing times this happened was when I was at a function at an expat's home. He was parked in her driveway and I walked right past the car. I'm talking to him on the phone and realize he is following me on foot because I wasn't observant enough to see him when I came out the door. Silly bule.

When honey bunch got back from his trip he had a Nurdster moment. Hubby is wandering through the Jakarta airport fumbling with his phone trying to dial Nurdin to let him know he was on the ground and getting ready to come out. He said he kept hearing someone saying his name. After several times, he looked around and there stood Nurdin - in the airport trying his best to pluck him out of the confusion and bring him safely back to me.

He is always waiting for us and I appreciate it tremendously. We are going to miss him.

I can see that your staff will become a huge part of your life. You depend on them so and spend large amounts of time with them. It is going to make it hard to leave them behind. I sense this already.

If I hadn't come here, I wouldn't have had the opportunity to add to my wealth of loving family and friends that we left temporarily on the other side of the world. So to those who are on that side, we have been blessed to find folks to fill in the voids we feel for those we love and miss. You aren't replaced by any means. But you do have well qualified people to fill in for you until we return.

Take me to your leader.

2010-03-08T14:29:00.034+07:00

It has been five weeks since sweetie and I set foot in the city of Jakarta located on the Island of Java . The first few weeks, as you may or may not have read, were pretty much a slam dunk to my physical and emotional state. I am happy to report that once I passed week four, things began to look better.

My honey bunch had to fly to a totally different continent for a business meeting at the beginning of week five. That also was the week during which my birthday was happening. At first I was a little nervous about being on the other side of the world, by myself (in a city of 13 million), where I still can't count past 10. Now, I have to say the thought of self pity over all of this was trying to rear its ugly head mingled with massive fear. However, I am proud I didn't give in to fear or pity. Instead, I went to a place where there are lots of other expat wives like me,except for the birthday part.

This outing turned into a pre-birthday lunch/jewelery fest and an all around very fun day. Thanks to all the ladies who helped me celebrate. Thanks also to those who thought of me all during that week. To my son who called and made me cry, to my family who called and sang Happy Birthday, and to my family and friends who emailed and even mailed me cards. You all helped me through and I am most appreciative.

Not to be left out, the hotel staff sent up an "Oh, my God how many calorie per slice cake" and my good friend Herwig, the pastry chef at the hotel, sent me hand made chocolates and a sampler of creme brulees (is that the correct plural?). Yes, it isn't a typo there were three kinds of creme brulee - vanilla, made with real vanilla bean, chocolate, and mango. My sweetie pie had a stunning flower arrangement delivered to me and I know that he is the one who orchestrated the things the staff did to make me feel special that day.

One of the things I discovered through those five days alone here is that you just have to keep asking questions, keep asking for help, and jump in feet first sometimes. I also learned that if I don't leave the hotel soon I will not fit in the elevator!

With that said, here is how I know that progress has been made. If honey bunch had gone on this same trip during the second or third week of being here, he would have returned to a half empty hotel room because I would have gotten Nurdin (who you met earlier) to take me and my things to the airport and stuff me on a plane bound for the US. Anywhere in the US. It would have been I love you, but I'll be waiting for you back at the ranch situation.

That is not to say that I understand the language any better, that I don't have to wander around a food court in the mall till I can find something to eat that I feel pretty darned sure of, that I still don't get a bit overwhelmed at times, and that I don't wish it was easier to figure all of the stuff out about getting settled. But I am beginning to feel like I can figure some of it out and I don't have to spend the majority of my time breathing into a Laundrette bag.

I am still learning and still exploring and still feeling like a baby trying to learn how to walk. But there are lots of incentives to bravely go where this little Tar Heel has never gone. To take steps and get back up after falling down and busting my behind.

Last week, I went to a place called Taman Mini Indonesia Indah. This translates into Beautiful Miniature Indonesia Park. It is indeed beautiful and a miniature representation of the major islands that make up the archipelago of Indonesia. My new found British friend and her sister invited me to explore it with them. We barely even scratched the surface. There are multiple museums, I would say at least 10 to 15, dedicated to many aspects of Indonesian life, culture, accomplishments, etc. There is a large lagoon near the center of the park in which the major, and many of the not so major, islands are outlined and planted with grass to help enhance the physical representation of how the chain is strung together. There are over 13,000 islands so they couldn't fit them all in or the lagoon wouldn't be a lagoon anymore. Even the volcanoes located in Indonesia are represented on these small, grass covered plots of land by life-like cement renderings. Think of Taman Mini (as everyone here calls it) as an Indonesian Epcot Center with no Mickey, Minnie, Donald Duck or Goofy. However, I did photograph two young Indonesian guys in fuzzy bunny costumes taking a break. Hmmmm. I assume they wandered over from the kids area, but one never knows here.

Back on dry land, the major islands each have large areas where there are houses or buildings, temples, sculptures, and items that give you a brief introduction to what each island looks like and what one will find there upon visiting. I was completely floored. The amount of detail in the stone work, carvings in wood, colors and icons are stunning. The picture at the beginning of my blog is part of the Bali area. I can't wait to see Bali. Looks amazing in miniature can only imagine what it is like in real life. Best of all it is only a little over an hour away by plane. Whoo hoooo!

Throughout the park are large monuments and one incredibly beautiful sculpted wall that represents all the people who have come to Indonesia helping shape it into who and what it is. There are three huge aviaries, a botanical garden, churches, an aerial tram to take you above it all, places to eat, green spaces and so much to see. It is going to be a place to come and visit multiple times. It is a photo book waiting to happen.

A funny thing happened while we were at Taman Mini. The weather turned rainy and we had to take refuge in the car. Once the rain let up, we got out of the car and began walking around again. Here, when it rains, enterprising young men and sometimes young women show up with umbrellas. For a small price, they will cover you with their umbrella and walk with you to your destination. Originally enough, they are called "umbrella boys." So, here are these three bule woman out wandering around in the drizzle, just ripe for the picking.

This very wet, young boy about 8 or 9 wanders up with this bright multi-colored umbrella. He is cute and we all decide to take pictures of him under the beautiful trees in the park. We snap away and then these two little girls show up with their umbrellas. Cute as buttons and also soaking wet. More picture taking. Then an adult shows up. I'm thinking that she is probably going to ask us not to take photos of her children. Then she starts thrusting this rhinestone encrusted handphone at me. I can't figure it out. Then she runs over to my friend and stands with her arm around her. The light bulb comes on. She wants her picture taken with one of the wacky bules. So, I snap a picture with her phone. The next thing I know she rips the phone from my hand, gives it to my friend and then glues herself to my side. She in her soft pink headscarf all of 4'11" and me in droopy capri pants and a tee shirt, at about 5'7". We smile for the camera and my friend snaps away. I guess turn about is fair play. One just never imagines themselves as being overly fascinating enough that total strangers would come up and want a photo. I am not sure if that qualifies me as Mickey, Minnie, or just Goofy.

After all of this picture taking we gave our impromptu models a small amount of cash. This then becomes a scene at the beach where you give a seagull a potato chip and all of a sudden there are 30 of them wanting the whole bag. Lots of kids appear and they all want their pictures taken too. We clamber to our car and tell the kids the photo session is over. They wander off only to reappear when we stop the car a short distance down the road. Hmmmm. Will have to rethink this strategy the next time I am out photographing. I guess I will also have to do my hair and wear nicer clothes as you never know when your own close-up opportunity will come knocking.

Tolong, bicara pelan-pelan. (Please, speak slowly)

2010-02-26T18:52:00.028+07:00

I got a comment from my friend Jean-Paul, yes he is French, about his experience as an expat in the US. This notion has crossed my mind on occasion as to what it must be like to experience America from another culture's point of view. Now, more than ever,it is a very relevant topic as I try to assimilate into the culture here.

One of the fun aspects of being an expat is that you get to meet lots of other folks who are expatriated from other places around the world and are also trying to figure out all things Indonesian at the same time as you. However, to add to the confusion of it all, you are also trying to figure out what they are saying to you as well because they are from somewhere else than your home country. Nothing like being stupefied in multiple dialects.

I have to say that I know that I have totally confused some of the folks I have met with my little "southernisms." I have really tried to go easy with that, but sometimes stuff just pops out.

For instance, the other day I had an absolutely delightful lunch with a British woman and her sister. This is the sister's first time in Indonesia and we were sharing jet lag stories, adjusting to the heat stories, adjusting to the money stories, etc. As we chatted over lunch, I was telling them about finally seeing the absolutely horrific picture that was taken of me at the Immigration Office 4 or 5 days after I touched down (you all remember that little story I am sure). It was one of those "as if I didn't feel bad enough already" moments when my honey bunch showed me the results of that faithful day. As I explained how I looked I said, "I looked like I was rode hard and put up wet." I wish you could have seen the expression on their faces. We all erupted in laughter. Me, due to the reaction I got from them and them from I assume was a where in the world is she from and what in the world did this crazy expat just say.

To digress just a bit, let's talk about that picture that even your mother couldn't love you in. I was informed that no matter what you do to make yourself look stunning for this annual ritual of the renewal at the Immigration Office you still look horrible. I really don't know what this guy does when he takes the photo, but he would make Angelina Jolie look like a bloated toad. My friend said she went to extra special trouble to do her hair and makeup before her last picture. It came back as if she had just stepped off the plane after 27 hours of travel and walked in front of the camera. I can hardly wait for my turn again.........

Back to the subject of assimilating. Everyone keeps telling me how easy the language is. All I can say is that I am blessed to be in a place where the people are patient and don't laugh at you directly to your face. You see bemused smiles and you know that they want to run to a different room, roll around on the floor and have a good belly laugh over what you just said or tried to say.

It reminds me of an occurrence when I was young. My siblings and I had gone to a wedding with my mom. Due to circumstances at the wedding, my brothers began to snicker. Then my sister and I began to snicker. My mother was horrified and she began giving us that evil eye that was passed on to me to give to my son. The point being that you could not laugh out loud. You were having to hold it in to the point of tears kind of squirting out of your eyes. You knew that you could NOT, under any circumstances, look at your siblings because you would burst into laughter that you would never, ever be forgiven. I feel sorry for the folks here, for I know I am making them agonize like this every day.

I don't know how some folks learn English. There are some out there who would doubt that I was a very good student of my native tongue after reading my blog. English has so many rules and exceptions to rules. Maybe for folks coming from countries where romance languages are king, it isn't too bad. We have so many root words that come from French, Old English, Greek, Middle English, yada, yada, yada. There is some hope for them to make sense of it all I guess.

Obviously, some people are just natural linguist. I am not among them. So, I hack through and hope something works out.

There is a wonderful staff member here named Eko. He is always trying to help hubbie and me with our language lessons. He has so patiently written stuff down for us. Telur mata sapi is the equivalent to an egg sunny side up. Telur setengah is an egg over medium. Telur matang is an egg well done. Telur rebus is a boiled egg. I get the telur out and then I have to leave it up to them to guess how I want it cooked. Is this my version of performance anxiety? I just freeze up. Any and all suggestions of how to address this issue would be appreciated. Otherwise, I might have to eat eggs however they want to fix them for the next three years.

If I feed it, will it follow me home?

2010-02-24T20:02:00.020+07:00

I have been eyeballing some of the things that are part of my life in Jakarta that would be outstanding additions to life back in the ol' US of A. Some are things for the public good and some would be for just me, myself and I. *Disclaimer - I know that some of these things may be part of other people's lives somewhere else, they just haven't been part of mine.

First up. Stoplights at major intersections have LED displays above them that count off the time the light will remain either green or red. I think it is an excellent traffic accessory and would help cut down on folks running lights and keep people from getting so impatient for the light to turn green. It also is good for allowing the driver and passengers know how long they can relax before all the chaos begins again.

Next, I like the public buses that slow down just long enough for you to jump on or off. It is a really efficient system. The buses don't have door on them and people kind of use a version of the magic hand (discussed earlier)to signal the bus they need their services. The bus slows down and people jump on board. They may board from the middle of the street or the side of the road and from either side of the bus. The idea is you come to the bus, the bus doesn't necessarily come to you. There is a man who wanders up and down the aisle and collects a fare once you are on board, a conductor of sorts. Then, when you want to get off, you just step off when the bus slows down. Since I haven't ridden on a bus yet, not sure if you shout out or wave or pull a rope to have the bus slow to an easy roll to disembark. It works surprisingly well.

Here is a "I want this for me" candidate. Electric curtains in your bedroom. The hotel has sheers (day curtains) and draperies (night curtains) that will open and close at the push of a button. Even better, this button is right next to your bed. I know of people who have window shades that are remote controlled, but they only go up and down. I am sure there are those who are reading this that may have these electric curtains in your home already. I have not. And I like them a lot and I want to take them home.

Next up are the two story grocery stores that are a great use of small plots of land. I went into a grocery store the other day and came around the end of the aisle; low and behold there was an escalator to take you and your cart to the second floor. These are not the style of escalators that you have at the mall or a department store. No, they are kind of like a cross between an escalator and a conveyor belt. The same grooved metal steps, mind you, but flattened out. The incline and decline are pretty steep and scary looking. You push your cart on and it kind of grabs it and holds it in place by magnetic force or something. Must inquire about that. You hold on to the cart until you get to the top and then you are free to roll it off. Coming down, you do the same thing in reverse and just kind of brace yourself to keep from sliding down. A little odd, but I think I am going to like it.

Handy too are the self-appointed traffic control officers. It is wonderful when things get really nasty out on the Jakarta streets with traffic; guys will just step out and start trying to unclog the mess. They motion cars here and there. Hold up their hands and have people stop so others can take a turn and get everyone around a round-about in pretty much one piece. They are not paid police men. Their ages run from young boys (who seem to love to have a shiny whistle to blow on while directing) to older chaps who must have a bit of a death wish (my mother told me not to stand out in traffic, but maybe the rules are different in North Carolina) and/or they are enjoying the opportunity of being in charge of things since much of life just happens without you getting much say.

Along the same lines, since parking is almost always an issue and streets are narrow in a lot of places, there is always someone to help you get in and out of the lot. Well, calling some of these areas to park a parking lot is just wrong. The spot in front of the store may be a car or two wide and you have to pull in nose first. It is kind of like trying to land a plane on an aircraft carrier, except the parking space is not moving unless there is an earthquake going on. Conversely, when you back out of the lot, you are backing directly into traffic. Some nice chap will motion you along and stop other cars so you can get out. They also will tell you how close you are to a wall to keep you from ripping off some valuable part of the car. They get cars so close to each other and the wall that you think they are going to collide or be seriously mangled. Have yet to see that happen. Miracle in my book. Sometimes there is money exchanged for these services,sometimes not. I have had many occasions in my own driving experience that I could have used this kind of help and paid a lot more for it than what I see exchanged.

Finally, and this is the number one thing on my list, some of the biggest, warmest smiles I have ever seen. They have some of the most adorable young woman who stand by the front door of the hotel and greet you with a huge smile, gloves that kind of dwarf their small hands, spiffy little hats and uniforms. They always say good morning or good afternoon or good evening and open the door for you. They inquire how you are. They make you feel happy no matter how hot and sweaty you are from being out all day in the heat and begin your day with such a contagious smile you can't help but smile back. As not to appear sexist, the valets who help you get in to or out of the car, the young men operating the scanner you have to run you bags through, the bell hops.....all greet you with a smile and an inquiry as to your disposition. WalMart - PAY ATTENTION - you are not even close.

As time goes on, I know I will find many other things that I will come to treasure and would like to bring home to improve life in my country. It doesn't seem quite fair that all I have to offer Jakarta is me and my snazzy little accent. In fact, the other day someone asked if I was from Spain. Well, for those of you who know and love me, you know there is no reason for this to be even a remote possibility.

After thinking about it, maybe while I am here I should just agree with whatever their guess is and become a seasoned world traveler without having to spend additional money for airfare. What a bargain.........Ole!

Weekly Reader lied to me

2010-02-22T20:43:00.008+07:00

You know, when I was in elementary school and junior high Weekly Reader and Walter Cronkite told me all the things to expect when I reached the age I am now. I was told we would be flying around like the Jetsons instead of driving cars, we would have robots for maids and you would push a button and food would appear. I was also told that the whole world would go metric.

Maybe I am being a little harsh. Some of those things did come true. You can push a button and out pops a drink from a machine or a meal from the microwave. We have Roombas that vacuum the floors for us. In Jakarta, cars don't fly but they do defy a lot of physical laws I once held dear so we are kind of close.

However, my world most definitely didn't go metric. I remember learning what conversion factors to use to go from feet to meters, pounds to kilograms, gallons to liters. I also learned about Fahrenheit and Celsius. I did use those units of measurement for many things since I majored in a science in college. In everyday life, not so much.

Now I am totally surrounded by metrics. Gas is sold by the liter, temperature is done in Celsius, mileage by kilometer. Heck, I had to try to guess what weight to enter on the treadmill in the gym the other day. Did not have a clue and just kind of guessed. It was obviously a wrong guess since I burned a lot more calories according to the "workout summary" after my walk than I believed. So, I got on the scale and weighed myself. I am pleased to announce that I like my weight in kilograms much better than in pounds. I haven't weighed this amount since I was in about 5th grade. Maybe Weekly Reader and Walter Cronkite were on to something.

To date, I am trying to learn Bahasa Indonesia (without a teacher so far), the metric system (which I haven't used since ???? (not telling that one), how in the world street names and house numbers are done (Jalan Kemang Dalam VIII No F17), not to accept or give things with the incorrect hand, and how not to be so BULE. What is a girl to do? It is a lot to ask anyone to learn all of these things in three weeks time, but a middle aged anyone is really pushing it.

My brain is fighting back every step of the way. I keep thinking how great this is for me since I read in my AARP magazine challenging your brain everyday helps to stave off Alzheimer's and dementia. I am gonna be dementia if I have to try to learn one more thing. Either that, or I am gonna be Albert Einstein.

I know I have mentioned the heat several times. Yesterday while I was out looking at houses, I was melting. According to msn.com, which I checked when I got back to the hotel, the temperature was 86 degrees Fahrenheit (thank you msn). However, with the humidity factored in, it felt like 96 degrees (thanks again msn). Maybe if I converted the temperature to Celsius I would have felt cooler because it would be a smaller number. Don't ask me what that number is. My brain hasn't gotten to the Einstein level yet. However, with the humidity, my hair has.

Location, location, location

2010-02-19T16:47:00.010+07:00

Friday was a day of looking at more houses in the mega-city known as Jakarta. We revisited a house that I liked, but just couldn't quite get a handle on the neighborhood. Looking for a place to call home is always an interesting experience no matter where you are.

The last house of the day was about the best combination of things we have seen and therefore told our realtor to inquire with the landlord about the possibility of renting it. Apparently, there is a lot of negotiating that will go on as far as rent; what they will provide, inspections to be made and such. Here, you must sign a two year agreement and pay all of the rent up front. It is not the kind of arrangement I am used to and it makes me uncomfortable, but that is the way it is done.

The houses are unfurnished. Since we were not allowed to bring any furniture with us, the landlord will provide a few pieces and then we will have to shop for the rest.

At this point I am unsure if a washer and dryer will be part of the package, so I guess our days at Laundrette are not over yet. We will break free from the plastic enshrined clothing syndrome one way or another. I promise.

I think a fridge comes with the deal and hip-hip-hurrah this house has a range. But, and there is always a big but, the kitchen is kind of divided in to a front kitchen and back kitchen. The front kitchen has a refridgerator, a large basin to wash hands or rinse fruits and veggies and lot of cabinets and counter space. The back kitchen area has a regular kitchen sink and range and counters and cabinets too. A little odd, but I guess there are some advantages. The back kitchen can be closed off from the front kitchen so if you are cooking or baking you could close the doors and keep the heat out of the rest of the house.

Almost every house we have looked at seems to have some unorthodox features or location. One just never knows what awaits behind the gate. See my previous post for a recap if you don't know what I mean.

The houses all have some form of walls around them. Kind of like the Indonesian version of the privacy fences that are so predominant in Texas neighborhoods. Some of the walls are made of cement, some of them the bottom is one material and the top three feet or so are corrugated metal or bamboo. Atop each wall are spikes, razor wire, barbed wire or the ultra chic jagged pieces of glass artistically arranged. It gives one the feeling of being in Huntsville, for my Texas friends, Alcatraz for anybody else who needs a point of reference. All of this lends an air of uncertainty as to exactly what your disposition is. I really try not to focus on why all of this is deemed necessary in every single neighborhood.

I know this sounds frightening to many of you who read this. It is frightening to me too. It was one of the more in-your-face kinds of moments when we began our search for a place to live. I hope to goodness that I never need to pluck anyone out of the wire because: #1. To do so would mean someone was trying to enter my yard without coming through the front gate which isn't a good sign. #2. It would be a very messy thing to have to encounter for many reasons. So, keep good thoughts if you wouldn't mind.

With that said, let's move on to more pleasant subjects.

The primary neighborhood in which we are searching for a home is called Kemang (pronounced Kuh-mong). It is a popular area with a couple of good sized grocery stores, lots of shops and restaurants. The nice thing about Kemang is that it is a walking neigborhood. One can get to many things on foot if you choose to.

The housing runs from big, elaborate expat housing, old very much in need of repair expat housing, down-right strange expat housing, little villages (as our realtor calls them) tucked in and around the expat housing. There are several mosques, a couple of international and local schools, gas stations, convenience stores, gyms, hair salons, furniture making places and pretty much all the things you would find in a neighborhood.

There are also lots of feral cats roaming around, butterflies, dragonflies, orchids, mango trees, multiple varieties of palm trees, guys pushing food carts selling all kinds of things that at this point I would not feel safe eating, guys with sewing machines mounted on carts so they can wheel them from location to location (I find them particularly interesting), people begging for whatever coins you will give them, school children dressed in uniforms going to or from school (which BTW they go to school 6 days a week from 6:30am to 1:00pm).

Once we are settled, if this deal goes through, we can say..."I had a house in Jakarta." Meryl Streep, forgive my poetic license.

I spy, with my little eye

2010-02-18T13:49:00.017+07:00

Over the last several days I have seen some animals you would not expect to see in a cityscape. Yesterday, I saw a man with this wonderful rattan, bell-shaped cage that was about 3 feet tall. There was no bottom to the cage and inside was a very colorful rooster (sorry Janet, I didn't get to take a picture before we passed him by). The assumed owner of the rooster was moving him from one area to another by lifting the cage just enough so the rooster could walk, but could not escape. He would nudge the rooster the direction he wanted him to go and then sit the cage down flat on the ground. Worked well and was a very practical thing.

Today as I was riding to the building where my husband works, we passed through a small, neat neighborhood that is just on the fringe of several very tall offices. In a large metal cage there were three monkeys looking out at us. Then on the way back to the hotel, there was a man with a sheep on a rope and a lamb following along behind. This was not in a neighborhood. They were just walking down the sidewalk of a busy street off to who knows where and who knows what destiny (the sheep and lamb, and I guess if you want to be really philosophical the man too).

After living in both New Orleans and Houston, you see some unexpected things, but these things were not among them.

As I mentioned in the previous post, we went to the mall over the weekend. We went in to a store that sold fish. I haven't really seen fish like these before. Many had disproportionate size heads or bodies or odd projections coming usually coming from the head. Not exactly what you want to walk in to the den and see first thing in the morning before breakfast. At the top of the post you will see the ping-pong ball fish that were in one tank. Yes, I made up the name, but don't you think I am correct? They were not very efficient swimmers. I think out in the wild their life span would be under 5 minutes.

There was an area outside the fish store selling all kinds of snakes and things slithery. Which reminds me. On our orientation tour, our guide asked us if we were up for extreme dining. Uhh Ohh! (My friend Karen told me before we left Texas that if they offer you the local delicacy you might want to decline.) I asked the guide what she meant by extreme dining. Apparently, in some location(s) in the city (don't know where or if I want to know) you can go and some very fast handed Indonesian will catch a cobra and kill it, skin it and slice it up and stick it on a skewer and cook it for you. Cobra Sate! Of course I asked what it tasted like and of course you know the reply......let's say it all together........it tastes like chicken. Chickens can be mean and aggressive, but I don't think that unless they are really lucky they can kill you. All of this took place before the cow brain in coconut milk encounter that I mentioned before and that seems extreme enough for me.

I am looking forward to getting more confident to get out and tour with my camera. I have seen wonderful faces, interesting activities, people going about life in a very public way that is so unlike my little suburban Houston neighborhood. It would be best, I think to do this with a companion of some sort. Not that I am overly worried about being accosted, even though I am sure an expensive camera could feed a large family here for a really long time. But, the space for footing can be narrow and not always a lot of room to negotiate without stepping into the street. Would need someone to keep me from getting run over or falling into an open ditch which would be a really nasty thing to have happen either way.

So, I do grab shots which are a bit unsatisfying when you know what can be. However, it is all I have at the moment and there are other things that I am supposed to be focusing on, like finding a house,learning a new language(which by the way Bahasa Indonesia is NOT one of the romance languages) and doing the metric thing (that is another blog entirely).

I have appreciated the comments folks are making in relation to my blog. I will do updates to my little life's journey so you know how some of the things I have experienced work out. Here is one for you now.

Several of you wanted to know if there was starch in the undies. Thank goodness the answer is no. Greatly pressed, but no starch. Two additional discoveries were made as well. Laundrette does not use safety pins or clips to attach slacks or capri pants to a hanger. They are basted on each side to the hanger. Can you imagine your dry cleaner or laundry taking the time to do that? They also seem to do some very odd things to tee shirts or jersey knit shirts. Our shirts are getting wider and wider with each pressing. They aren't getting shorter, just wider. Don't know how they are doing this. I speculate that they are trying to prepare our clothing for the bodies we will have after living in an area where rice is served at every single meal.

Today I read something in the news magazine that my son's college publishes several times a year. The newly appointed president of the college said "One of the pleasures of travel is the chance to "re-understand" the meaning of home." I thought about that a lot when I returned to the hotel and began typing up this post.

Living abroad is very different than being on vacation. On vacation you go, you see the tourist attractions, you send post cards to your friends and family wishing they were here (where ever here is), you sample the local cuisine, you buy art, jewelry, get a great tan and go home. To your home and all of its comforts and warts. Where you know pretty much how banking is handled, what to expect to see in a grocery store, how to ask someone a question and most likely not eat cobra on a stick.

However, as a tourist you don't get to experience how other people really live. How other cities function (or dysfunction many times). What may seem like poverty to us is a cultural way of life somewhere else. How commerce is really working on many, many levels. I am trying to be a faithful observer and figure out the rhythm of this place and try to synchronize with it. Till I get that rhythm, I watch, I look up words, I order food and get surprised and I am learning about life on this side of the world.

The zeros on the bus go round and round

2010-02-14T18:34:00.017+07:00

I think as much as the Indonesians love to have you sign things, they love zeros even more. What else could explain their currency. On Sunday, we spent about 30,000rupiahs for a round trip cab ride to and from the mall we can see from the hotel window. Sounds kind of like a cab fare in Washington, DC. In reality, it is a little more than 3 US dollars.

The current exchange rate is 1 US dollar equals 9348 Indonesian rupiahs (IDR if you are looking at a currency conversion table). For those of you who are math whizzes, you can multiply all of it out when someone tells you how much something costs and know what you are spending exactly in US currency. For the rest of us, you just move the decimal 4 places to the left and know that it is close.

It is mind boggling when you order a 17" pizza (I am taking this from the hotel room service menu) and it is 145,000 rupiahs. At first, it is so shocking for them to tell you something cost 100,000 units of anything you stand there looking at them with wide open horrified eyes. Then you try to calm yourself, and count to four. That would be four spaces to the left. I mean are there that many places where you look at a pair of shoes and the price tag has 1,000,000 written on it? I kind of feel like Dr. Evil with his ransom demands in an Austin Powers movie.

The money is pretty colorful. Red, green, fuchsia, tan and blue bills. The coins feel so light you would think that they are the chocolate filled, aluminum foil wrapped candy you buy at the grocery. They are about the same size, thickness and shiny silver color. Since I picked up laundry yesterday I am out of the red 100,000bills. Maaf.

I don't know why it is so confusing to me. When I go to pick up my laundry from Laundrette and they tell me that the total is 184,500 I need to go through all kinds of gyrations to give them the correct amount. I had to buy some cold medicine for my husband the first week we were here. Now keep in mind I was severely jet lagged. They told me how much and I panicked because I didn't have enough cash on me to pay for it. I went back to the hotel, got more rupiahs (like way too many) and just gave them a wad of money. It is a good thing they are honest people. They helped me straighten it all out, gave me a wad of money back along with some really stinky pills to give my honey bunch to help with the congestion he was experiencing.

These things will sort themselves out....I hope.

It is so strange to have everything that you are familiar with not there any more. There is the language issue, the hotel living issue, not knowing how much to tip in the country issue, not knowing where you are most of the time issues, even the ickiness of what major diet and water changes does to your digestive system issues. Jamie Lee Curtis, where are you with that Activia yogurt?

Today I went to look at houses. I actually looked at a nice modern looking house with a beautiful pool. Problem with it was there was no place to cook anything. No cook top, no oven or range in the house or in the staff quarters. The kitchen sink was a little bigger than a bathroom sink and there was one electrical plug in the entire kitchen. Most of the houses I have looked at are designed for expats like me and my husband. But this was totally amazing to me. Why in the world would anyone design a house without a range, cook top or oven? I guess the builder assumed that anyone living here would eat every single meal out and there would be no dishes to wash. That does not even rate as a "It seemed like a good idea" kind of moment in my experience.

I try to keep in mind that just as I am confused about who these people are and what kind of lives they are living, they feel the exact same way about me. This house was a complete tribute to that fact. Marble floors, sweeping staircase, lovely pool, and nowhere to cook a meal.

My life is so removed from a large percentage of the people who live in Jakarta. This current life for me is so removed from anything I have ever done before. I am sure there are possibly some of you reading this that have maybe never cooked a meal, or cleaned your own bathroom. If so, I think it would be someone who just randomly came across this blog for I don't know you personally.

But I am learning each day. I will be glad when I quit feeling like an idiot all the time. I am not sure when I will cross the line from idiot to D+, but I will be glad to get there. Till then, I am taking it one 12 day at a time, one house at a time, one word at a time, and one step at a time. No running just yet.

Holy Smokes B.A.T.S.man!

2010-02-12T09:57:00.017+07:00

There is a nightclub in the far recesses of the hotel called B.A.T.S. We haven't discovered why it is called this. Hubby says that is stands for Bar At The Shangri-La. I think it has something to do with the fact that this here area was called Batavia at one point. One of my husbands associates, Vincent - who by the way is French, came up with some other possible meanings which I will not publish here. There are fruit bats here, but of course you don't spell it fruit B.A.T.S. Enough speculating and on with the story.

Vincent is a young French fellow and he has told us many tails of B.A.T.S. after 10:00 at night. Being older and still adjusting to the time, if we make it to 9:00pm we feel pretty good about ourselves.

This week, Vincent moved from the hotel and in to a house. He got here a few weeks ahead of us and is further along in the process than we are. He insisted we come to B.A.T.S. for a "farewell hotel living" dinner and drinks on his last night. We agreed to meet at 7. For us more mature adults, we knew that time might give us an hour or two of still plausible brain function.

This was our first time going to the club. We wandered around and wound down stairs and noticed the walls were beginning to turn black. No, I wasn't loosing consciousness, it is the decor. I have my suspicions we are entering B.A.T.S.man's batcave. Security check before entering. Guess lots of outsiders come here to party. No frisking by a Russian woman here, just hand scanners waved over you and your possessions.

The place is pretty funky looking. Very hip with brick work, murals of various people that I feel like I should know since they were important enough to paint on the walls. Heck, they even had first names written under their pictures. Not sure if this is a function of my age or no frame of reference on this side of the planet as to why they are unrecognizable. There is a stage and a band is setting up. There is a bar area off to the side. That is the smoking area; kinda, sorta.

I cute little girl with her hair in a pony tail and black combat boots on her feet, that are about a size too big, hands us large metal menus. They weigh several pounds. Trendy and hip, but not overly practical. Lots of American style food. We actually took a break from sushi and Asian dishes and ordered a hamburger. I like my meat medium-rare. Hot pink is a good color. The waiter, who I don't think had on combat boots, asked if having my burger cooked well done was OK. I inquired if medium-rare was a possibility. Yes, he said....BUT I would need to sign a waiver, put in my room number, give them my passport information and swear that if I became deathly ill or developed mad cow disease I wouldn't hold them responsible. OK, well-done it is.

The band starts to play. It is two guys with guitars and an Asian woman on vocals. Very soft rock stuff. After I listen for a bit to the selection of songs, it transports me back to high school. "Country Roads, take me home. To the place I belong. West Virginia......." I feel 99% certain they do not know where West Virginia is. "You make me feel brand new." Holy Smokes B.A.T.S.man! What decade are we in, what century for crying out loud. Finally, she sings something a little more current. Sarah McLachlan "In The Arms of an Angel." One tiny little problem. It comes out sounding like "You're in the arms of an ANGLE; may you find some comfort here." Would that be obtuse or acute? As I mentioned in a previous post that space-time continuum is working me over. This is not helping. In all fairness I would hate to think what I would sound like trying to sing something in their native tongue. Not only would I slaughter the lyrics, but my musicality is limited. They are at +2. I am at 0.

As we sit and chat with Vincent, I can't figure out how this bar could work it up to "racy" based on old 70's tunes. However, if I could stay up past my bedtime I am reassured that I would be treated to a heavily tattooed New Zealand band with loud music and lots of gyrating bodies (many of which are for hire). No wonder none of us from the 70's can dance. We had John Denver walking us on a country road in West Virginia.

He tells us the band is good, but you have to be prepared for lots of inquisitive hands checking you out as you walk across the room. Who needs security when you have this kind of crowd?

About 8:30 we leave the B.A.T.S.cave and head for bed. Maybe we can check it out before we leave the hotel. I am not sure I am hip enough to participate in a B.A.T.S. after 10 experience. If I have to pass some kind of test to decode who those people are that are painted on the walls, I will remain in the 70's forever.

Two weeks and counting

2010-02-12T06:05:00.008+07:00

Today is Saturday(Sabtu for those of you learning the language with me). Sabtu means that we have completed two weeks of having our feet on Indonesian soil. Hard to believe in some ways and not so hard in others. I still have a hard time figuring out what day it is. Due to no real consistancy in my schedule yet, it is often difficult to tell what day of the week you are celebrating. No, "Gosh it must be Thursday because I hear the garbage truck crusing the neighborhood." The call to prayer is every day. Same time. Same channel. Motorcyclists, which are kind of like an army of ants, are always whizzing to and fro. The days are always about 12 hours long, hence the name of my blog.

The easier part is that some of the buildings and billboards are looking familiar. Not sure what I am going to do when they change the ads because they help me judge when we are getting closer to the hotel. I know we are close when a bevey of young models all dressed in white, using the pouty look that is the international symbol for hipness, stare at me in one intersection. They look like they are having a bad day in a cool sort of way.

I am still amazed at what I see on motorcycles. So far, I have seen crates of chickens stacked about 5 crates high and strapped to the back, a passenger holding a car windshield between he and the driver, a man holding a propane cylinder in one hand and a 4 foot ladder in the other (guess he was squeezing the driver with his knees to stay on)- Nurdin, let that one get WAY ahead of us, arm loads of dendrobium orchids apparently in some kind of baskets that I couldn't see on the sides of the bike making the rider appear to be cruising on a cloud of soft magenta colored blossoms, sleeping children wedged in between two adults, big blocks of ice which I am sure will be much smaller when they arrives at their destination, assortments of plastic tubes, boxes, crates, poles, metal contraptions, a heavy duty Hagen Daz delivery box -- Nurdin, follow that one!

Another observation, totally unrelated to motorcycle cargo, is that many of the Indonesians wear shoes that are several sizes too big. Not sure if it is a hand-me-down situation or that at the time of purchase it was the only size available. Most of the time the shoes look pretty new and like they intentionally bought them that way. Whatever the reason, it makes walking a bit of a challenge. The foot has to be raised and lowered more straight up and down so the wearer can keep the footwear on the foot or there is a lot of shuffleing so your shoe doesn't fall off. In some ways this style of walking or shuffleing isn't necessarily bad. Most surfaces here are stone or some type of tile. Not anything with a tooth to it so your feet don't slide. Think highly polished marble and ice skating. Not very safe for someone like me who is always rushing and walking fast. Maybe this life here will make me slow down a bit.

I have not started Bahasa Indonesia lessons yet, but have learned a few words. Some of my favorites are berapa - meaning how much, Jum'at - meaning Friday (I think it is fun to say but doesn't help me much), maaf - which means sorry (and I say that a lot), cuci ini - as you have already read in a previous post means wash this, apa kabar - means how are you and the answer to that is baik - which means good, fine, Okey Dokey. Some of the words I feel certain George Lucas has used in Star Wars movies. I see the word baru on lots of things. Wasn't that Luke's aunt?

As time goes by, I know the words will become familiar, the heat and humidity won't feel quite so bad, and I will be able to look at a menu and figure out what I am about to order. Speaking of which, the other day during our orientation tour of the city, we stopped at the mall for lunch. Our guide proceeded to give us a tour of the food court. Many places and nationalities were represented, including Burger King. We walked past each restaraunt and she discribed things that were obvious and not so obvious. We paused at one restaraunt and she said that it served traditional Sumatran food. Geography Lesson - Jakarta is on the island of Java and Sumatra is the island north and slightly west of us. I examined the food and asked what was in one of the chaffing dishes. It appeared to be some kind of vegetable in a creamy looking sauce. She confered with the man and he told her what it was. She said a word and then something to go with it - hmmmm...wasn't getting it. "Maaf what?" On the next try, the second word she said sounded like brim and then something about everything tastes better with coconut milk. "Maaf again." On the last try I got it - it was cow brain cooked in coconut milk. Okey Dokey. In my book coconut milk would NOT make that taste any better.

Excuse me! That is my underwear.

2010-02-09T07:37:00.016+07:00

Part of the blessing and bane of hotel living is that you don't have a washer and dryer at your disposal. This is a joy most of the time, but does have down sides. After looking at the price list of having laundry done at the hotel, we decided to look for an alternative.

There is an office building next to our hotel. On the second floor, in the back of the Starmart, there is a laundry called Laundrette. Their prices are about a third of what the hotel charges, so we thought we would give them a try for our cleaning needs.

After conferring with my honey bunch, we decided that undergarments were the priority items to test out Laundrette's skills. We sorted our unmentionables based on if they were light colored or dark and placed them in two bags for transport. On Friday, I carried the bags down to the ground floor, through the hotel, across the lawn and out the gate to the small street that separated us from April freshness. After crossing the street, I then had to go through security in the building where Laundrette does business.

I will stop here to explain something. Every building here has security. I don't mean Barney Fife style policing. The grounds of our hotel has a fleet of dogs and handlers, x-ray machines, metal detectors and a machine that sniffs inside the car when they open the doors and rear hatch. All of this policing begins the moment you drive onto the driveway. The car is searched. Mirrors on long poles look under the car and if the all clear signal is given, the large gate is opened to allow you to continue approaching the hotel. Once out of the car, you must place your purse, bags, jackets, umbrellas or whatever you are carrying on a conveyor belt to run through a scanner. This scene is re-enacted each and every time you come to the hotel, any shopping center or any large building for that matter. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the inspections as I would like to reach a riper old age than I already am.

However, upon reaching the front door of the adjacent building, I realized that my dirty laundry was about to be aired. I plunk down the bags and step through the metal detector. The young Indonesian man looks into the bags and declares it "laundry" before sliding it along to me. Nice English dude. Thanks for checking my drawers and declaring them safe.

I kind of thought the embarrassment would end there, but hold your horses. It ain't over yet. I go to the second floor, which by the way they call the first floor because the ground floor doesn't count as far as they are concerned, and go through the Starmart and back to Laundrette. A very soft spoken young woman stands at the counter. I approach with bulging bags of laundry and nerves of steel to try to make this transaction go smoothly.

Plopping the first bag of undies on the counter I ask "Cuci ini?" That means wash this. Of course I said it in such a way it was clear that it was a question and not a command. I am trying hard to learn useful words to help me along. I am a terrible language student. My North Carolina, Texas, and a little Louisiana accent totally roughs-up anybodies language. Maaf to everyone who has to experience it. Maaf means sorry. Indeed.

She shakes her head yes they can wash the clothes and begins to pull the laundry out of the bag and starts to sort things on the counter. Eeeek! Lots of counting of underthings, socks and the like. Ticking off items on a sheet and having to write in the ones that aren't on there. Oh Lord....I have two bags of humiliation to go through. Having your underwear sorted in front of a bunch of strangers in the back of a convenience store should be on everyone's bucket list.

Once the inventory ends, the signing begins. They love to have you sign things here. Giving them your name and number isn't enough. I have to sign the front of each sheet. Then I have to sign the back of the sheet. Why? Because she said so. I leave with a fist full of papers, two blessedly empty bags and a decision that I will run water in the bathtub, put in soap and pretend that I am Lucy and stomp my underwear clean the next time.

The weekend passed and the eagerly awaited pick-up date of Monday arrives. The same route was covered and we arrived at Laundrette with the copies of the four pages containing our laundry inventory. "No tickie, no undie," was the understanding I got before leaving my goods. I handed over the sheets and she located the four bags of the now clean undergarments, socks and sleepwear.

The same nice young woman indicates I must sign these same pieces of paper yet again. Why? Because she said so. The papers are handed back to me and we must go to the front to pay and then she will give us our clothes. I wait in the back with the clothes and hubby goes up and pays. Back he comes with the sheets and she takes them from us and releases our precisely packaged garments.

We carry the bags back through the hotel security. This time no one declared that it is laundry. I guess only when it is dirty it receives that designation. We get to the room and begin to check it out. I have never in my life seen such packaging, pressing and attention given to my underwear, socks and nightgown. Many of my husband's boxer briefs were individually packaged in plastic bags. The socks were paired up and beautifully arranged - all enshrined in plastic. All of it had been pressed! I swear even my bras were ironed. Everything appeared to be sorted by color before being bagged.

I never realized I was a complete slob. It never occurred to me that all of the things under my clothes should be so pressed and tidy. I realize now the shame I have brought to my family. Maaf dear ones.

I don't know what that is, but take my picture by it!

2010-02-07T14:58:00.008+07:00

There are lots of unknown, unfamiliar things here. For example, lunch today was a global smorgasbord. I had lots of things on my plate that were unrecognizable, but when sampled, were pretty tasty fare.

One of the restaurants down stairs is called Satoo. It seats over 400 people. It has has a buffet that winds all around and through the restaurant. If that isn't enough for you, you can order from a menu. There is a proverbial United Nations of food within its walls. Thai, Vietnamese, Chinese, Japanese, Indian, Indonesian, and European dishes to choose from. There is a salad station, a fruit station (with a juice bar), and a beautiful dessert station.

The sushi bar always has a long line. The Asian soup station is fun. You get a bowl, spoon in fixins' like, glass noodles, bits of chicken, various veggies, and sprouts. You then hand it over to a large Asian man who dumps it into a deep strainer type basket and places it into a vat of hot water. After warming and poaching your goodies a bit, he will then ask you what kind of stock you would like - chicken or fish. He then dumps all of the warmed-up bits back into your bowl and ladles the stock on top of it. If you want to jazz it up, there are all kinds of sauces to add. Some hot, some very hot and some "wholly cow, where is the milk?"

We have made friends with Herwig who is the Belgian pastry chef in Satoo. He is a really friendly guy and always stops by to chat with us when we are eating in the restaurant. Can't wait to meet his wife and experience where the chefs like to eat in Jakarta. He has a staff of 36 under his command. They produce yummy and beautiful hip expanding items. Thanks a lot Herwig.

Earlier in the week we reported to Immigration. Thursday was our let's go get our official papers day. We had some confusion about things and wound up at the wrong immigration office to begin with. Should have know in a country where the population fluctuates from 10 to 13 million, based on the number of immigrates coming in and out, one office would not work. On Thursday, we made the population 13million and 2.

The first office we reported to was most likely a satellite. Our driver, Nurdin, dropped us off and went to park the van. We entered the office and wandered around a bit. After not having a clue what to do and phoning the contact, Mr. Tono (who speaks only about 2 or 3 words of English) that we were supposed to meet at immigration, we knew there was a problem. We showed a guardish looking man sitting at a metal desk by the front door our email. He kept saying something to us and I think was trying to tell us to which office we needed to go.

We called Nurdin and told him we were coming out of the building and to start looking for us. We stepped out onto the sidewalk and began desperately looking for the van. One cannot fully appreciate Jakarta from a hotel room or the confines of a vehicle. Standing on a small patch of concrete, that was kind of like a sidewalk, while seemingly hundreds and hundreds of cars, motorcycles and motorized carts fly by and an endless flow of people coming and going around you, one gets kind of dizzy. The exhaust, grime, grit and sweat are clinging to you within seconds while you stand on the side of the road.

After I know what was only a 10 minute wait tops, but seemed about 10 times longer, we see Nurdin. Unfortunately, he is on the OTHER side of the road. Hmmmm. This is a problem. But he uses what my friend Laura calls "the magic hand" and makes his way across traffic. The magic hand is kind of a very low profile signal to the drivers that " I am a thrill seeker and I am going to cross the street no matter how many of you there are." He retrieves us and we make our way safely to the other side and hop in the van. After a brief discussion, and looking at our email, we are on our way.

I'll pause here and say that Nurdin is our temporary driver. He is small of stature and large of ear. My mother would say he looks as if someone left the cab doors open. He is a very sweet fellow and I am enjoying getting to know him as he negotiates us through the unbelievable traffic with patients and skill. He doesn't speak a lot of English, but then I don't speak much Bahasa Indonesia so we are evenly matched.

The second Immigration Office is much, much larger. We get out of the van and meet Mr. Tono. He is a young man who looks pretty annoyed that we have missed our scheduled time. And even though he doesn't speak a lot of English, we get the message. Up 4 flights of stairs we climb. We are deposited into hard plastic chairs and Mr. Tono goes and stands by a door that leads to our ticket to long term residency in Indonesia. As he stands and peeks in the room behind the door every time it opens, we are stuck in front of a television. I would say that TV advertisements must be pretty cheap here. Lucky Indonesians are bombarded with at least twice what we get during a show back in the US. They get increased volume and frequency to boot.

To one side of us is a plate glass window and a counter that are part of the room we will go into to get our papers. Typical government office stuff. Notices stuck on the glass. Most likely telling you what you can and cannot do, what they will and won't take. All of it is in Bahasa Indonesia, so I only get to speculate. The only sign in English is a large "NO SMOKING" sign. Too bad that isn't in Bahasa Indonesia because the guy sitting inside the room, right next to the sign, must have Phillip Morris stock.

At long last it is our turn. Mr. Tono signals us forward and we slip past the door. He disappears and we are left with a couple of Indonesian guys at two different desks. One at a time we are seated at the first desk and we scoot our chairs back and forth so the guy can get our picture. Next, we are electronically finger printed. Weird how it makes you feel guilty and all you are doing is sitting there sweating. You then have to sign an electronic pad with your name as it appears on your passport. Unlike at Walmart, the pad doesn't have a line, is not lit and there is no X to tell you where to begin writing. After making an attempt and then being told you guessed wrong, you try again. Two or three tries later they send you to the next desk. This is done with a head shake and a muttering of the word bule. Bule (pronounced Bu-lay) is the word for foreigner. That indeed is correct.

The second desk is where you get to take pen to paper. Five or six sheets to sign. What is on them, I don't know. Yep, you guessed it...not in English. I hope I did not sign away my son upon his future arrival for a visit. We are at long last finished and told that in about 3 working days we will have our passport with a shiny new KITAS and a multiple entry visa back into our hot little hands. Or at least I think that is what they were trying to convey to us.

Upon our arrival back to our own little Shangri-La, we go to lunch. I highly recommend making friends with a pastry chef. Mango creme brulee is an outstanding salve to immigrating almost anywhere.

It's Wednesday here, Tuesday there.

2010-02-03T15:32:00.003+07:00

Jet lag is not a pretty thing especially when you are middle-aged. Maybe that isn't true for seasoned travelers, but for this Little Tarheel/Texan now living in Jakarta, Indonesia you might want to avert your eyes.

I titled this post It's Wednesday here, Tuesday there. That isn't actually accurate at this particular hour. It is 2:35am in Texas, 3:35am in North Carolina and 3:35pm here - Wednesday in all of those places. We crossed over the Wednesday-Tuesday gap a couple of hours ago. I feel like I am in some kind of space-time continuum. This whole International Date line, below the equator thing works on your head.

The call to prayer is ringing out from several of the mosque that are near our hotel. It is a little odd since there are several mosque and they are all broadcasting over top of each other so it sounds a bit like you can't quite get the dial on your radio set to just one station.

Our arrival here came via a seemingly curious route. We left Houston, TX on Thursday at 4:45pm (that would be 5:45am Friday in Jakarta). Our 11.5 hour flight to Moscow, Russia was smooth. Yes, you are asking yourself; why in the heck did they fly to Russia to get to Indonesia. I can understand that. With more luggage than one would take just for normal vacationing, I wanted the fewest possible hands moving our bags from one plane to another. Going via Moscow meant that we would stop in Russian, get off the plane while it was cleaned and refueled and then get back on. No one told us we would be 5 degrees in the jetway and we would get frisked by a Russian woman who smelled of oranges before we could get into the terminal. But it wasn't overly invasive and she was a young, but serious looking blonde who was all business.

After enjoying the pleasures of walking around on a solid, non-moving surface, we re-boarded the plane and headed for Singapore. That leg of the flight took about 10.5 hours and we wandered dazed and confused to our connecting flight to Jakarta.

In case you should ever come to Singapore, please remember that you cannot purchase chewing gum here. It apparently is a contraband item. You can chew it, just can't buy it. I am afraid to think what they would do to you if you spit it on the ground somewhere. Consequently, we did not explore that and kept our gum to ourselves.

We touched down in Jakarta around 8:45am, Saturday (Friday in the US)and it was 81 degrees and very humid. Massive perspiring ensued and little airconditioning was happening in the van in which we were being transported to the Shangri-La Hotel. Little did we know more sweating would happen once we got out into Jakarta traffic.

It should have been an indication that mass mayhem is the norm when you notice that most of the roads have no stripes on them. Hmmm. Some of the roads we have been driven on would be about 2.5 lanes wide (going one direction) by US standards. Well, being the most enterprising people I've seen in a while, the Indonesians take those same 2.5 lanes and turn them in to a whopping 6 or 7 lane road going each direction. I don't remember who said that two objects cannot occupy the same space back many many physics discoveries ago, but they did not live here.

But I digress from the original opening comment about jet lag and middle age. In the 4 nights that we have been here, not too much sleeping has gone on. The first couple of nights we tried to go to bed at a normal time and managed to go to sleep fairly well. However, we were both awake at 4am. Pulling the curtains back from the hotel window and seeing a sparkling Jakarta below us and hearing the first morning calls to prayer, was kind of a "Toto. I don't think we are in Kansas any longer." moment. All this brain confusion has caused all sorts of issues. When I get stressed I cry. When I get sleep deprived I cry. So, between crying and sweating, I have had to consume a lot of liquids to keep from being dehydrated.

The mantra each day is "It's going to get better." Not only am I sick of hearing this from well meaning people, but also from myself. I love everyone who keeps telling me that and I do need to hear it, but when you are feeling like doggie poop it really doesn't make you feel any better. For those of you who may read this. Please don't take offense if you know you said this to me, because I know you really mean it with all of your heart and I love you for being concerned enough to say it. Just wish there was a better way to get with the program.

I never imagined that I would struggle so with this transition. I really thought that I would just slip right in and get going. Well, I totally misled myself with that premise. Unfortunately, I always think I can just jump right in there and do what needs to be done and get things going. This move has reduced me to a weepy blob of insecurity. Not pretty and not very effective when there is so much to do. I know, it will get better but I guess not quite yet.

It is very much like the stages of any major life trauma that must be passed through to make it to the end and get on with your life. Maybe instead of fighting it I need to embrace it and allow myself this time to adjust. It is hard for a stubborn person like me to let go and admit that I am struggling with it.

Over the course of the last few days, I have seen and experienced a lot. From seeing extreme poverty and squalor to beautiful exotic plants being sold from stalls lining the road. Patient Indonesian people who are always eager to assist you to inadvertently paying $800.00 for two phones that actually I didn't need to purchase. (Anybody who would like to buy one or two brand new Nokia E72 phones, please let me know)

This is my first attempt at a blog. So for folks who read this, "It is going to get better."