Monday, December 29, 2014

Shit the Help Says

I’m gonna start a new section call “Shit The Help Says.”  It is not meant to offend in any way.  I’m sure they could write a blog about my Indonesian. It’s just funny how the communication goes at the boundary between your native and non-native tongue.


I was in the car with the driver and we passed Monas.  The large park in the center of town with the very tall pinnacle commemorating Indonesian Independence.  There were scores of workers crawling over what looked to be a large, temporary sound stage.  


My driver says, “Oh!, They’re getting ready for the New Year’s party!”  


“What do you do on New Years, Pak?”, I asked.


“Oh, I’m too old.  I just send my kids now.  I used to go.  We’d listen to music, watch fireworks”  He formed his hand into a round shape and motioned it toward his mouth. “We make noise with the hore…”  


“I’m sorry?!” I said. Probably a little too loudly and too quickly..


“You know, a hore” And he made that shape and that motion again. “Toot, toot!”


“Oh, horN.”


“Yes, horn.  We make much noise”

I understood perfectly.

Friday, December 19, 2014

Levelling Up!!



To recap from our last episode, we sent our daughter off to her first Bacchanalia.  A post semester high school party scheduled to start at 11 pm.  Yes, 11 pm.  Far too late for any working parent to go spy or chaperone.

So, we sent her and a friend with our driver and a litany of warnings and do’s and don’ts and faith that she had enough common sense to come home safely.

And, she did!  

She came home safely within curfew.  Remember, this is a liberal drinking age country and she confirmed that alcohol was flowing freely.  We’ve never really hidden alcohol from our kids.  They’ve been offered tastes from a very young age and none of them have liked the taste.  Whatever taste we’ve provided has often been spit back out.

So, we counseled for years about the alcohol hiding in all those fru-fru drinks and how this is often a young person’s downfall.  “This tastes just like Kool-Aid!”

This advice, though, offered no preparation for the Indonesian way of nightlife.  The drink of choice for your typical teen here?  Vodka… shots.

And this, in a single moment, demonstrates the power of peer pressure.  

All the years when she’s been offered sips of beer or wine by her parents have been met with a screwed up face and gagging and sometimes spraying the offending agent back at us.  But, when a classmate offers her a shot of vodka?  Sure, why not?  Everyone else is doing it.

She said it tasted awful, and this is when, maybe, common sense kicked back in and she didn’t drink anymore.  She did get some interesting insights into how alcohol works in some of her friends.  She said this party was a lot like her catholic middle school dances, when everyone was sort of goofy and disinhibited because they didn’t know better.  Dancing and talking in clots and acting silly.  

3 or 4 years on, it is still the same; disinhibited but for different reasons.  Best of all, though, she had fun and would go again. And we will feel a little more comfortable with the idea.

On the other side of the family tree, our son passed his first semester at university and successfully navigated his way solo around the world through missed flights and lost luggage and nearly 24 hours sitting in a metal tube.  It is wonderful to have him back in our lives for a few weeks.

This week it feels good to be a parent. I swear last night I heard a deep, warm, computer-generated gong-tone and a deep voice that said,..

“Level Up! Congratulations! Adolescent knowledge attained.  You gained 50 experience points, 10 wisdom credits and 1000 grey hairs!”

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Watershed Parenting Moment

This is a watershed parenting moment.

When we first found out we were coming to Jakarta we were told so many good things.  We were told we would love the place and thus far, we’re pretty happy with where we ended up.

But, we were cautioned about a few things.  The traffic and pollution you've heard about.  The other thing was the school.  The school Z attends is an amazing facility and we've been happy for the most part with her teachers.  We think Z has been pretty happy as well. But we were warned a number of times about things that happen after school.  Namely, the parties.  

It seems that there is a pretty liberal interpretation of a drinking age here in Indonesia.  On the books, the drinking age is 21, but no one knows this.  In particular, the people who sell alcohol.  Apparently, if you look like you've entered puberty you can get alcohol.  Like so many of the rules, they’re overlooked until needed.

There is also a contingent of kids at school who come from significant means. Children of local magnates and executives.

What do well-off people like to do? Entertain. Which leads us to the parties.  Several times a year usually at term breaks, a group of kids rent out a local night club and invites most if not all of the high school.  These are not school sanctioned events The parties start at 11 pm.  They charge admission and I’m told they only allow kids from the school in. They all dress up and talk and dance to loud music,... oh, yeah, and they drink.  Reportedly, a lot.  Or some do anyway. There are reports of kids getting out of hand with their drinking.

The three of us have all been talking about this issue for months.  How to be responsible How to limit oneself. How to be safe. How resist peer pressure.  Maybe we just go out and buy her some drinks? No, thanks, Dad, that would be awkward. We wrestled with whether or not to allow this at all.

There was a party earlier in the year.  Z opted not to go and quietly Mrs. S.A.M and I were pleased, or at least relieved.

Which brings us to the watershed moment.

It’s the end of the school term this week, and tonight there is another party. This time our wee daughter has asked to go with a friend from school. And, so we reviewed all the things we talked about.  We tighten our sphincters and place our faith in our ability as parents, over the years, to instill some common sense and good decision making in her.  

We hope she comes back safely and pray that we haven’t sent her down a path of long term addiction and misery.  It’s going to be a long night.

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

The Stuff

We received the shipment of the vast majority of our household effects (HHE) this week.  For the uninitiated, when you move overseas you get to take 2 suitcases and a carryon with you.  You get several hundred pounds of stuff that you can ship by air and all the rest comes by boat.  This last part is your HHE.


If you heard faint gleeful exclamations in the night, that was probably Mrs. S.A.M receiving our boxes. Clothes, extra pots, the mixer, bulk quinoa, artwork.  You can probably read more about her pleasure here at AdventuresInWonderland4.Blogspot.com.  


I, on the other hand, am rather ambivalent.


Having started this big adventure 9 months ago, I’ve been living with a small amount of my own stuff for a while, and I gotta say it’s been pretty liberating.


Of course, there are things that I’m glad to have.  I’m really glad to have my camera.  I thought I could suffice with a cell phone, but there are a number of times I wish I could have had more.  I’ll never travel without one again.  


It was a great relief to get our Tempur-pedic mattress.  I hate to sound like a commercial or a grumpy old man,  but I have not had as good a nights sleep as I have the last few nights in months.  


I’ve been dreaming of having my Vitamix.  With so much tropical fruit around and a spouse who makes yogurt, it is the perfect place for a smoothie fan.


I’m  happy to see photos, too.  They’ll make the place feel more like home. Those and a couple other things, golf clubs, tools, a warm coat just in case, that is about all I’m glad to see.  


The other stuff, I wonder about.  There were two large crates towering in two smallish utilty trucks that rolled up and I wondered what was in there that I could possibly need.  


After months of living on minimal stuff and free of knick knacks and all the little bits that one collects and can’t get rid of, it was all back and this week I’ve suddenly felt heavy and weighed down.


Maybe it’s the fact that so many here lack and up rolls two trucks with more clothes and magazines and electronics and bedding and dishes.  Our pembantu, though was almost as excited as my wife.  Especially about the kitchen goods.  “What’s this? What’s it for?”


One of the boxes we received was labelled in large letters. “PARTS BOX”  This is the box that is supposed to have all the nuts and bolts that comes off of everything that you ship.  The bed parts, the dresser hardware, etc.  Our parts box had half the bolts to the bed.  The other were wrapped with the bed itself.  The remainder of the “Parts box” was filled with dog food, peanut butter, and... cranberry sauce.  6 cans of it.  Enough for three years of holidays.  


I had to ask Mrs. SAM if the men who packed our house were native English speakers.  She said they were and asked why?  I pointed to the two small heavy boxes labelled “Boozes”  filled with wine and liquor. I think boozes may be my new favourite non-word.  I’d encourage its use in your everyday lives.
I’m hoping all this feeling of heaviness dissipates when we get to our permanent house and everything gets organized and stowed.  When that happens we’ll have to have a party.  We've certainly got plenty of boozes.

Monday, November 17, 2014

How Frodo Made me a Local Tourist



This is how Frodo Baggins and company taught me to be a tourist.


As you may have surmised from last entry, I’m in New Zealand.  Most recently Wellington. I can’t imagine how it’s been the last 15 years, but the whole of the country is Tolkien mad.  They really have taken the whole “middle earth” thing to the extreme.  

The Wellington airport has a life size, animatronic Smaug head greeting you at the ticket counter. There is a vastly larger-than-life Golum in the departure lounge.  I mean it.  His head must be 25 feet across.   He’s there all googly eye scooping at the 15 foot trout swimming across the ceiling.  


There were two giant eagles from the film also suspended from the ceiling maybe bringing messages of your flight delay from Gandalf himself.  Recently one of them fell, so now there’s just a hole.   You get the idea.  They are middle earth mad.  


S.A.M used to life in Wellington some 16 odd years ago.  We were poor back then, but we still managed to see most of the country and more than many kiwis have seen. We met countless people who’d never been to the South Island, though you could see it from their front porch.  We saw the all the giant fruit sculptures, the giant sheep and giant trout that make this country great.   


I had thought we had seen most of the big local sites in Wellington, too until I took the recent Lord of the Rings location tour.


A friend and I got our inner geek on by signing up for a tour by www.FlatEarth.Co.Nz.  If you get a chance I highly recommend.  It was just he and I so it was our private tour.  We had Emma, who’d been giving tours for a couple of years.  


She displayed a bit of derisive amusement when I asked her if she’d please narrate the entire tour in elvish.  30 minutes into the tour, though, she admitted that she spoke Orc and actually was an Orc extra in one of the films.  Yeah.  They’re that kind of people.  


Anyway.  This is what I learned.  


I learned that the road to Brickleberry Ferry scene was shot just steps from downtown Wellington.  I learned that several of the river scenes were shot just minutes from our former home. Same thing for the scenes from Helm’s deep and Minas Tirith.  They were shot in a nearby quarry.  The film company actually paid the quarry what they would make in a year and they reserved the whole place for a year.


Sauroman’s garden and wood were also shot near by.  Rivendell and Elron's castle was just 45 minutes from my home.  Nearly all the shots took place in public parks and hiking trails.  And the parks were quite nice and I had no idea they were there. Hikes over rivers with swing bridges and native plants and trees and birds. I guess I sort of knew, but I never set foot in any of them and I could have.  I felt like I missed so much.




I’m sure I missed many such sites back home.  There are a number of local parks that I drove by every day, but never set foot in and I can’t help but think of what I’ve missed, opting to sit at home and watch TV instead.


So, it was this week that I decided to start living like a tourist when I’m staying close to home.


I’m going to try and find all the hidden walks and places to see in Jakarta.  I know I said there was no place to walk, but there must be some hidden away and magical spots to see even if it is in a fancy mall restroom.  I know the 4th floor Pacific Place Mall men’s room is particularly cool. It’s like you’re surfing inside a wave while you relieve yourself.  There must be more places like that at the very least.    


After all, we’ve got less than two years to see as much as we can.




If you’d like to read more about life in Indo-land, check out and subscribe to…


Also here are some interesting things that I’ve learned that I thought I’d pass on here. I don’t have any other place to put these factoids.


I learned that if you order a shot double shot of liquor, you will get less than a single inthe UK or the US.  That is just the way it is.  The got glasses here are smaller.  Beer glasses, though seem bigger to me.


I also learned that if you’re flying through the Singapore Airport, you’re not allowed to sleep in the terminal, because they have a hotel connected to the airport and you’re supposed to sleep there.  The police can be quite strict about this and will roam the terminal late at night and roust people who are sleeping.


If people are gruff or belligerent, as some people can be when you wake them after a 30 hour flight from somewhere, the police will consider this rude and inappropriate and will take them to the local psychiatric hospital claiming the person is behaving irrationally.  This is apparently not an infrequent occurrence.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Homecoming

What is that smell?  Could it be fresh air?  This week I’m in Wellington, New Zealand.  Returning here after an 11 year absence.  Despite the fact that NZ and Indonesia are in the same quadrant of the globe, today’s trip proves just how remote this country is.  15 hours from Jakarta to Wellington and that is without any real delays.  Just enough time for a coffee break and a phone call in between flights.  

A quick walk-about after arrival reveals a cleaner city than 11 years ago.  A lot less litter.  Electric Prius taxis are more available.  Natural gas buses, too. In general, just a sparklier place.  Lots of new restaurants and refurbished buildings around, just in the small area I saw late this afternoon.  

One great addition I saw was the adding of a motor home park right in downtown Wellington.  This is a great disadvantage to RV travel, that you can’t really park your mobile home in a city and get anywhere.  At least in the US.  Here, they’ve carved out a parking lot right by the dock, the buses and the train station.  They have power connections and a toilet/shower set up. No trees or picnic area, but definitely a place to spend the night. Mind you, NZ RVs are much smaller than those in the US.  More the size of a van, but the lot could probably fit 20 or 30 vehicles.  I think it’s an awesome idea.

Also, passed, curious though it may be, a build-your-own-sex-aide store. What? Was this Build-A-Bear gone bad?  I was confused and thought myself addled by jet-lag. I googled it and sure enough, that is exactly what it is.  A store where you can customize your sexual devices. Which got me wondering several things. What's the actual demand for this in a country of 4 million? How does one test one's designs? How does the conversation even begin?

Pimply faced salesperson/Tech:  (Hastily closing laptop) “Can I help you?”

Customer: “Um, yeah. I’ve got this, um, itch that I just can’t scratch.”

P.F.S.T.: Smiles “Don’t we all?”

Customer:  “Yeah, well, I’ve got some ideas that I’ve sketched out on this napkin.  Can you help me out?”

P.F.S.T.:  “Let’s see what we can come up with.”  (Turns on 3-D printer, grabs a 9V battery, #8 fencing wire and opens drawer full of Radio Shack motors)

Ah, Wellington, it’s good to be back in your freshening air, your streets that roll up at exactly 5:30, your lack of traffic, your population that would fit in a Jakarta city block, your crazy ingenuity. I’ve missed you.

Monday, November 10, 2014

The Temples

Took a brief weekend trip to the Jogjakarta and nearby Borobudur.  This area is on the south east of the island of Java.  


Remember when you were growing up and the Scooby Doo cartoons and others had the main characters wandering through the forest and they’d come upon a lost temple?  This has to be where that theme entered our collective conscience, for the place is littered with beautiful piles of rock that back in the early 19th century, people were tripping over. 


This area was a hot bed for Hinduism and Buddhism and there was competition for followers.  The competition, though was healthy.  Instead of forcing others to comply, they had what seems to be a temple building contest.   About 1200 years ago both branches started and built temples.  The Buddhists build Borobudur, the Hindus, Prabanam temple.


Both are wildly ornate and grandiose displays of stone laying and stone carving.  Borobudur rises 10 stories from the top of a hill.  A full ten levels, with hundreds of friezes depicting the life and times of their man, Siddhartha. At the base of the temple are a bunch of friezes about human condition.  They built that part and decorated it, then they buried it.   There are hundreds of Buddha statues and dozens of bell-shaped stupas.  2,000,000 hand cut stones.  It must have been amazing to see. The detail of the panels. The consistency of each buddha.  The walkway is an intricate random tetris-like pattern designed to be as difficult as possible to lay out.


Back before there were frequent flier miles and economy class seating, pilgrims came from China and India to walk and meditate around these temples, stopping at a few other temples along the way. 


Prabanam temple, too, is a massive complex of temples large and small. Each temple housing a
Hindu god or goddess.  What is lacks in imposing height and a hill it makes up for in sheer size. 12 hectares of temples, most of which have not been excavated.


For many years, these temples were under construction, then for 150 years or so, they kept them operating.  Pilgrims came, pilgrims went. Then there was a volcanic eruption and then the Muslims came in and forced out the other relgions and so the temples fell into a state of disrepair and were swallowed up by the jungle.


The British and the Dutch came by in the early 1800’s and like those Scooby Doo kids, “discovered” these temples lying under ash and trees and vines. Rather funny that word, “discovered.”  The locals knew full well there was something there.  They were using the stones as foundations for their houses.  At any rate, discovered they were,  and the process of restorations began and continue to this day. This despite further volcanos and other religions trying to blow up the temples and the difficulties with corruption that siphon off the money for restoration.


Today, they are UNESCO world heritage sites, which means that millions of tourists bus in to see them and thousands of hawkers try and sell them little replicas and t-shirts and glassware etc.  All the sites have a gauntlet at the exit many times worse than any museum gift shop.  Any interest shown toward some shiny bauble is seen as a sign of weakness and the haggling begins with the vendor following you ¼ mile back to your hotel.  How many times can I say no?  How many t-shirts are you going to give me for $8.00?  


We got there before dawn trying to see the sunrise. But, the clouds and mist kept it hidden. But, we were fortunate enough to miss the crowds and most of the hawkers, so it was worth the extra admit fee.

And sitting there in the dawn had me wondering how the world would turn out if if we didn’t proselytize, didn’t convert, didn’t kill in the name of our god.  Wondering what would happen if we channeled our resources toward a massive design and build contest  To each religion’s glory as they saw fit.

Thursday, November 6, 2014

Second Thoughts on Papua New Guinea

I was thinking about my last post from PNG and the crime and the violence that was reported and all the feeling of being cooped up inside.

On my way out of town, I caught a ride with a driver from the Highlands.  I think he heard my frustration when he asked what I thought about Port Moresby and I told him I thought the Crowne Plaza was a nice.  

He started pointing out sights on our way to the airport.  The seaport that was in the process of being moved down the beach a ways to make room for some waterfront development.  A new stadium being built for the South Pacific games coming next year.  He mentioned that there is actually an economic boom going on in PNG right now.  Lots a lots of people coming in and scooping up the resources and land, etc.  So, some people are getting pretty rich, but thus far it’s not really trickled down.  

My driver was from the Eastern Highlands and confirmed there aren’t any roads.  He said that most of the education opportunities are for people on the coast.  The people of the hills are at an educational disadvantage.  He said the ground and climate in the hills is perfect for growing things and there is a surplus of fruits and vegetables.  But, with no roads, products really can’t get down to where most of the people are, so it rots up there.  

It got me thinking that may there is such a grab for pigs and women, because that is all there is.  I wonder if the highland people would be so angry if they could just sell their broccoli?  I wonder if the coastal people would be less angry if they ate more vegetables?  I wonder if everyone would be more content if they realized some of the benefits from their resource rich country.

At the airport, I met some lovely shopkeepers who didn’t hack at me with knives or rob me.  They were inquisitive and helpful and happy to sell me an overpriced Coca-Cola.  When I go back I’m going back with an open mind.

Friday, October 31, 2014

Land, Pigs and Women

Where in the world is Secret Asian Man?  I’m sure you’ve been asking and checking in wondering about the latest events.

Well, right now I’m in the bar of the Crowne Plaza in Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea and I’ve been here for about 4 days now.  

What’s it like here?  Well that’s kind of hard to say.  The Crowne Plaza is nice.  They have nice and comfortable rooms.  There’s a gym and a pool and a pretty nice breakfast buffet.  The dinner buffet is ambitious, but mostly fails to impress.  The free happy hour in the evening is well attended by most all the guests.  There is a good selection of deep fried, yet cold shrimp and under-cooked chicken tenders.  The small cans of Pringles are nearly all broken to bits, but the cheese and crackers are first rate.  The beer and wine are free.

What’s that? You mean what’s the country like?  I honestly haven’t a clue.  Port Moresby is a high crime area and thus we visitors are confined to the embassy or to our hotel unless we can go out as a group. Most shops and other entertainment venues are off limits after 4 pm. We close at 4:30 pm. 

Carjackings, robberies and assaults are pretty commonplace.  Mostly there are crimes of opportunity and foreigners are an opportunity.  You have it. I want it. An Aussie was hacked up with a machete a few months back even after he gave up his wallet.  He lived.  

If you’re a woman, you can add rape or sexual assault to the list. 100 percent of rural women have experienced domestic violence.  In the city that number drops to a no more palatable 67 percent. Sexual assault of some sort runs at 50 percent.  

Violence in general is rampant.  The society here is strongly clan based.  The clan is the primary societal fixture.  If one makes money, it all goes to the family. If you need something it all comes from the family. In the country, arrows and spears fly if someone steals a chicken from your clan.  The main goal of the clan is to get more land, more women and more pigs.  It is remarkable to hear such stories in 2014.

Here’s an interesting story I heard about.  

It’s about a girl who looks after her younger sister and maybe her younger cousin, who likes a boy in another tribe.  She also likes a teacher in yet another clan.  She decided she liked the teacher more and so invited him to her house to spend some time.  

Wanna know what makes clan conflict worse?  Cellphones and text messages. Spurning at the speed of light.  

The first boy hears about the visit and he and his friends go to the girl's house and murder the teacher friend and ransack her house.  The teacher friend’s clan hears about this and become irate.  They go and lay waste…. to the girls village because they think she’s been playing games with everyone.  The girl dies, the other girls she cares for are chased from the village and then kidnapped by the clan of the first boyfriend.  That clan then offers those girls back to the teacher’s clan along with some money and 7 pigs as a peace offering.  

Land, pigs and women.  I’m telling you.

At least in the Highland areas.  A long time ago there were coastal people (papuan) and highland people (New Guineans)  They’ve never gotten along. The coastal people were colonised by the British and the highland people were colonised by the Germans. When later, the Australians took over they united the two peoples and formed Papua New Guinea, but the people didn’t really want to be united.  “Those Highland people are too violent!”  

Even in today’s paper there is worry about these people merging.  Outside the capital city there are only 200 miles of paved road in the entire country. None of the major cities are linked by road or rail.  Air or sea are the only way to get around. There are plans to link the two major cities by a highway, but the people don’t want the ease of access, because of these long standing conflicts.

You wanna know why I don’t leave the hotel. Well, we’re not allowed, but even the dogs are mean.  I heard tell of a dog who bit the testicles of a small boy.  The dog was punished by putting it on a leash.   
It is hard to find locals who are interested working or focused on a job. Again, the family rules, so if there is some need, the family comes first.  There isn’t much incentive to keep a job, since all your money goes to the family anyway.  From what I’m told there is limited ambition. Some local government offices are unofficially staffed only Tuesday through Thursday as no one comes to work on Monday and Friday.  There is a sign on the Police station door that says “Drunk Police Officers Will Not Be Given a Ride Home”

The police are an interesting issue.  There is a police force of 22 for a population of 220,000.  There are 4 police cars which are in various states of repair.  As the sign above indicates, you’re lucky if you get a sober officer when you call, if they come at all.  They’re often reluctant to get involved. Sometimes, too, I’m told, they’re complicit in a crime, shaking down victims further in order to get goods returned.

On a positive note, I was asked to give the local employees a talk about anger management.  I’ve wrestled with this for a month.  No amount of talk about breathing and counting to ten was going to touch land, pigs and women.  But, I offered a talk about communication and diffusing arguments and our own self regulation when we get angry.  And, about 9 people showed up and listened and took notes and asked for handouts. At the end we talked for 20 minutes about the best way to handle themselves and their families.

Maybe a small difference was made.

Monday, October 20, 2014

Language and Interpretation

Should you find yourself at the end of the line in Dili one day, you’ll likely need a place to stay.  There are only a few flights per day to and from the place, so if you land you’ll have to at least spend the night.

I highly recommend the Esplanada Hotel.  It’s owned by a nice Australian guy and right across the street from the beach.  It’s recently been renovated with nice clean and functional rooms.  Mini fridge and satellite TV if you like that sort of thing.  Most of the channels were news channels, though, so kind of a downer if you’re trying to escape the plagues, war and terror.

They’ve a great open air bar and restaurant open from dawn until about midnight. It overlooks the beach and there is live music most nights.  The staff is very nice and they try to please.  They have a hard time though anticipating and think outside the usual. 

For instance, I went to the restaurant to listen to the band.  Being in the tropics with reggae-like music playing, I fancied a Rum and Coke.  So, when the waiter brought over a menu, I waved off the menu and just told him, I’d like a rum and coke. 

“Okay”, he said.

He came back a few minutes later with the menu opened to the specialty cocktails section.  “What kind of drink did you want.”

“Oh, it’s probably not in this menu.  I just want a rum and coke.”  And away he went.

Minutes later another waiter came over, again with the menu.  “What do you want, again?”

I kind of laughed.  “A rum and coke.  Do you have rum?”  He nodded.  “Do you have Coke?” he nodded.  “Then there you go.”  And back to the bar he went.

Would you believe another waiter came over?  Yes, she did. This time with the other two waiters to back her up. “Sorry, mister.  One more time.  What you want?”

I almost broke down and ordered a froo-froo drink from the menu, but I bit my lip and persevered.  I’m sorry to say, I reverted to the age old tool…. Louder and slower.  “A Rum and Coke.  Do you have Rum?’

Nod.

“Do you have Coke?”

Nod.

“Do you have ice?”

Nod.

I smiled “Do you have a glass?”

Smile and a nod.

“Mix it all together. That is what I want.”  She and her henchmen again went a way to confer.  She returned with a great result.  So good, in fact, I ordered a second.



Look closely at this photo. What does it mean? I posted it elsewhere.  It is hung all around the hotel and I’d been puzzling about it for days. 

I asked friends for help in interpreting.  Response ranged in topic from men and women, to the Beatles, to Elvis, to Zombies to inflatable dolls. 

As I was checking out, I nabbed the assistant manager/maintenance guy and let him know I’d been wondering about this sign all week and he pointed out that they were Fire Exit signs.

“Yes, yes. I got that. But, what does it mean?  What is going on in this picture?”

“I don’t know really. A few months back the building inspector made us re-label all our exits and he picked out these signs because he thought they were quite funny.”


Which reminded me of another fact I learned earlier in the week.  70% of the population of East Timor is under the age of 25 years old.  These children are raising themselves.  You have to love a building code inspector with a youthful sense of humor.  

Saturday, October 18, 2014

Past and Future Struggles.

Spending the weekend in Dili, just exploring.  Decided to learn more about the resistance and the Timorese struggle for independence.  Having been ripped off in little niggly bits by cab driver after cab driver, I decided against better judgement and against the post-humous wishes of my mother and probably those of my wife I rented a scooter for the weekend.  


There is one place in the country that arranges such transactions.  It is a the end of rutted dirt road that looks nearly impossible to cross except for a motor cross bike, but I found my way there and picked out an under-powered scooter.  Nothing that would kill me too fast.  We arranged all the paperwork and exchanged the money and I was about to ride off when the attendant said, “How about you let us replace the brake pads before you go?”  


Dude, I was 10 seconds from hitting the road with one brake?  You think you might have mentioned this sooner? “Yeah, how about let’s!. I’ll wait”


Brakes done, I’m ready to hit the open road.  First stop, the Timor Resistance museum where I learn some interesting facts.  


Here’s the brief version on Timorese independence.  Portugal had been the colonial ruler for 500 years until 1974 when there was a Coup in Lisbon and the Portuguese found themselves kind of preoccupied with things in the homeland.  So, they decided to offer independence to the Timorese.  There was some movement at the time toward this anyway.


The Indonesians, though were kind of worried.  They were fine with the Portuguese being there, but without them they saw the area as kind of backwards, poorly resourced and unable to manage itself.  They thought that an independent state would fail or become prey for some bigger unfriendly country like China or some other communist country.  They decided to take matters into their own hands.  


In 1974, they invade in a full scale assault with paratroopers and landing craft, the whole works. The Timorese had a few guns, but also, bows and arrows.  They shot many of the paratroopers out of the sky and this made the indonesians very angry and they proceeded to shoot many Timorese who retreated to the hills.  By the end of the first year the 600,000 population of east Timor was reduced by 23%.


There was ongoing struggle and strife.  Protests, massacres, torture, and suppression, the whole playbook.  This went on for 28 years until there was enough pressure that Indonesia finally relented and let Timor have its sovereignty.  By the time all was wrapped up it is estimated that 400,000 were killed or displaced


I took a tour of a local international school and was rather dismayed to hear that the rate of illiteracy amongst local children is between 60 and 85%.  That is ⅔ to ⅘ or more of the population CANNOT read. I was also troubled to find that 25% of kids drop out of school after the 1st grade. Not the 10th grade, not the 8th, not the 6th, but the 1st grade!  

This particular school gives 10% of its slots to local kids on a scholarship, but only after age 10. The problem is that before age 10, these kids are not really getting much quality instruction and so enter school with such a deficit in their education that they just can’t catch up.  This is such a shame because these kids could be the future leaders of this country, but they struggle to verbalize a complex thought.


One of the issues is that Portuguese is the official language, but very few of the schools teach it. They teach in Tetum which is what many people speak.  All the laws and contracts are in Portuguese, but the common people can’t read it.  Plus, the deplorable literacy rate compounds things, so that the general population can’t possibly comprehend abstract thought well and so how are they able to appropriately choose their government or make decisions for themselves?   


The invasion by Indonesia was on the premise that these people couldn’t govern themselves, but the invasion destroyed 90% of schools, it set back reading and language and presumably most of the 400K who were killed were the ones who were many of the thinkers in East Timor.  My question would be, haven’t you just created the vulnerable, under-resourced population you were worried about in the first place?

The 28 year struggle ended in 2002 and Timor Leste born.  In 2006 Indonesia gave Timor Leste this 120 foot, bronze statue of Jesus Christ seeming to melt over the globe in a hot wax works, meets the Cat in the Hat. The Indonesians, maybe wanted to say, hey, no harm, no foul, right?  Here’s a Jesus!  Jesus Shaves!  Oh, we know you don’t have any money and we aren’t going to give you any money to keep up this work of art, so 8 years later it will look kind of run down.  Enjoy your freedom!

Friday, October 17, 2014

What's up Dili?

So, what’s up in Dili, Timor Leste?


You may or may not recall the revolution that came to a head here in the late 90’s-early 2000s when Timor Leste gained it’s independence from Indonesia.  It probably didn’t outshine the O.J trial or the Monica and Bill show at the time.  It seems that when Indonesia finally got its freedom from the Dutch, they assumed that Timor Leste would want to go along.  But, they didn’t


Way, way back the Portuguese controlled the eastern part of this island and so, the island is now some 90% Catholic compared with the rest of Indonesia which is 85-90% Muslim. They still speak Portuguese here, as well as a language called Tetum and some Indonesian and some English, but they strongly identify with their Portuguese roots.   Kind of funny, I think.  Inflating one colonial power’s roots to rebel against another’s but there you are.


Timor means “East” in Indonesian.  Leste means “East” in Portuguese.  So, we’re in East East today.  The Tetum word for the country is Timor Lorosae.  Which also means East-East. Linguistic creativity is limited.
So, the country has 200,000 people, or 2 million depending on who you ask.  I’ve asked several locals and haven’t gotten the same answer twice.  Wikipedia says they have nearly 1.2 million people. From what I’ve gathered, there has been a downturn in the population after the UN pulled out of its peacekeeping and development projects.  All the accompanying people have moved on as well. It’s a pretty quiet place.


Young children swim naked on the beach after school.  They really have a blast. Men row or wade out into the surf and pull in some fish, haul them up to the beach road and sell them strung off coconut leaves by the side of the road. Those that they can’t sell they roast over a fire at the market down the street.  A poor man’s carry out. Mom’s and children fan off the flies in the evening sun.


One of the first things you notice on the road on arrival is the taxis.  They’re yellow, just like many places in the world, but the similarities end there.  They are garish and amateurishly decorated with day-glo green painted wheels and all manner of external accessories. Spoilers seem popular, as do parking mirrors affixed to the roof.  Most comical are the decals/sunshades, like “Suck on it” and “F(*k  it” and “Awesome”.  Very few have working A/C and all through the town they troll looking for customers with a toot of the horn and a yell out the open window.


Met a man in a bar who is involved with helping this young government set up its medication procurement and logistics.  Figuring out why they have a 15 years’ supply of medication that is going to expire in 2 years’ time.  Figuring out how best to ensure the population is getting true medication and not just some knock-off because it was cheaper or because the supplier was a friend of somebody.  Figuring out how to convince the people in charge that the real issue is patient health and not just a well stocked supply cupboard.  He says, “I often go into meetings  and let people know that I make decisions based on three words.”  and he writes them on the whiteboard, “Will, ‘Patients’ ‘Die’? and I’m often looked at with a perplexed look.  What do patients have to do with anything?”


He’s done this sort of work for several countries in this neck of the woods and tries to guide governments toward the decisions that make the best sense for the general health of the population.  He has come to accept a rather disheartening conclusion that “It is the right of any sovereign nation to kill its people in any way it sees fit.”  This was a couple beers into the night, but a rather sobering thought.


Made the rounds of the local hospital.  Met one of three psychiatrists in the country.  One of them is leaving next month to return to Portugal.  So, if there are 1.2 million people, he’s one in a million. He did some training in PNG and Australia, but he’s fiercely proud of his Timorese heritage.  

“Send them all.  If any person needs me here, I’ll see them?"

There is a psychiatric nurse in each of the districts and they all consult with him if they have problems. Most of the GPs like many in the world are too uncomfortable seeing psychiatric patients.
He tells me they don’t see much in the way of behavior disorders in children, perhaps they’re the ones out swimming naked in the surf. But, later he said he’d received complaints from teachers and asked for referrals, but hadn’t seen any yet.  Mostly when he sees children, they have autism or developmental problems.  He doesn’t find there are eating disorders here either.  We’re all too hungry.


Depression is a problem, as are marriage problems.  Schizophrenia rates have been rising in his office. Some patients have had problems for years, but only now have come forward.  Curiously this coincides with the newly instituted government policy where patients with severe mental illness receive an allowance for care.  They can only get the money if they are certified by a psychiatrist, and so they all come to him to get their paper signed.  


He offers them treatment, but “they just want the money.”  The families take the patient back home and do what they’ve done with them for the past 10 years, which is shackle them to a wall or keep them in a cage to keep them out of trouble. It is sad, but one consolation is that family support is something many in the US don’t have, so homelessness and victimization of the mentally ill is less.


He’s a very spiritual man.  There are a stack of New Testament bibles on his desk and there may have been talk about asking for forgiveness when I walked up to his office.  There are only 7 psychiatric meds available in the country, all of them antiquated. And it will be some time before there are any more, so there would be an urge to turn to the spiritual, I suppose.

There may be some hope.  Plans are on the drawing board for a new acute care psychiatry wing. My colleague though has yet to be consulted for any input.