Shit My Staff Says, Vol. 3

I was riding to work one morning and after riding in silence for some time, my driver spoke during a pause in traffic.

“Excuse me, Pak. I’m sorry for the smell.”

I looked up from my phone. I didn’t smell anything.  “What do you mean?”  I braced myself.  As noted previously, given the ease with which people talk of bowel function here, I could be in for anything.

“Well, I have a sore on my leg…”  

Hmmm.  There definitely wasn’t the smell of a festering wound.  “Oh?”

Now, doctors are in strong competition with massage therapists here. They may be losing, too.  Massage therapists are the go-too folks for all sorts of ailments.  Sports injuries, aging, moderate traumatic injury.  All can be healed with a good massage.

“My massager tells me he can’t fix the sore on my leg.” Now, both the Mrs. and I work full time which means our driver is under utilized much of the time.  Several months ago, he asked if his “Massager” could come to our house to work on his leg as this massager was one of the best, but it was too far to visit our driver at his home.  So, we allow this to happen and apparently at undetermined intervals, this massager comes over and massages my driver on the floor of our garage.

He continued.  “My cholesterol too high. So, he make a...a...a paste with ginger and something.  It make my leg hot...and keep my, uh...uh…  hoses…clean.  So, then my blood flow better. But, there is a smell.”

“Well, I don’t smell anything, but do you need to see a doctor? Do you have diabetes?  I’m happy to pay for a doctor for you.”

“No, Pak.  I fine.  Just a sore, cholesterol and clogged hoses.”

The Donut Shop

A few evenings ago, I went to a wine tasting hosted by a group called Internations.org which is an expat group with chapters around the world.  People sponsor events and often you can find something like a dinner or movie or a travelling group so that one doesn’t have to go alone to things.  There is a pretty active group here in Jakarta.  Lots of local folks join as a way of networking.  If there is a group near you, check it out.

But the wine tasting….

It was all for beginners. No one there knew much of anything about wine and we worked our way through generous pours of 3 whites and 6 reds and very little food.

The group of us were sitting finishing our wine.  Myself, 4 Spaniards, 2 Chinese, a Japanese and 4 Indonesians.

I was speaking to an Indonesian woman. She asked.  “Do you know the Donut Shop?”

The music that had just started playing.  She spoke softly as many here do. The wine made me a trifle more deaf and the woman a little more slurred.  “What?” I replied.

She leaned in and asked again.  “Have you heard of the Donut shop?”  

We had been talking of restaurants earlier in the conversation, so I thought the conversation was continuing.  But, I didn’t know the place and said so.

“Donut shop and the Muslims?”

“Oh, Donald Trump!”

“Yes, of course, Donut Shop.  Can he stop all  Muslims from going to the U.S.?”

“Well, not yet.  He’s not President, yet.”

She continued. “I mean, I’m not worried.  I’m Protestant, but still I from Indonesia.  How will he know?”

Others joined in the conversation, firing question after question, mostly in an accusing fashion. “Do you support Donald Trump?  Do you actually know anyone else who believes as he does?  When is the election?”

“Next November.”

They all almost yelled in unison. “November? We’ve got another year of this?”  And then, “none of your choices of candidates are very good.”

I’ve mentioned this a bit before, but it’s at this point in conversations like this that you can see such apprehension on the faces.  America is the world leader. America the beautiful.  Truth, justice and the American way!  Land of the free. Home of Brave. Land of opportunity.

How does that reconcile with one man’s isolationist speech and media images of thousands of placards and postings supporting him? Civilians carrying arms in the streets. In foreign eyes, what does it mean for them when such paralytic divisiveness reaches the promised land?  What hope is there in the world?

I try and defend us.  I do.  “No, of course, we don’t all think that way!”  “Americans have lots of different opinions and we’re free to express them all, for better or for worse.” and “Guns are super fun to shoot!”

Over time, though I wonder about the chronic presentation to the world of such views and images. How will we be approached for help or to help?  Will anyone turn to America to go in on a business deal?

Regarding the recent Donald Trump statements, Spawn of S.A.M. #2 was asked earnestly by her Japanese friend at school the other day.

“Did you use to believe that before you got out of the country?”  This was from a young person.  Already our image may be changing. We may be turning away the world just when we need each other the most.

What Not to Wear

Mrs. Secret Asian Man said the other day “I hope you don’t mind.  I accepted an invitation to go hear Chinese classical music. ‘The Sound of Silk and Bamboo’”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I thought it sounded cool. We never go to these things and no one else wanted to go.”

“You wanna know why no one wanted to go?  Because it sounds like a nap. Have you heard Chinese classical music? It is sonorous”

So, three days later we head out from work a over to the event. She pulled out the official invitation from her purse.  The event was being put on by the Chinese Embassy and the home of a former president of Indonesia.  The dress code was “Lounge Suit”

“What’s lounge suit mean?  Is that more casual or more business casual?”  

“I don’t know”, said Mrs. S.A.M.

We rolled up to a very posh home and passed a woman in a long embroidered silk dress that looked very un-loungy.  

I’d left my jacket at the office.  I was, though, coincidentally wearing a tie I picked up in Hong Kong’s Stanley Market.  It was a more expensive one, too.  I distinctly remember picking it up off the 3 for 10 dollar rack instead of the 4 for 10 dollar rack. I hoped it made me look un-loungy.

We walked in and signed the guest book.  The lady there remarked, “Oh, you’re from the U.S. Embassy?  Will the ambassador be joining us?”

“Oh, no.  He couldn’t make it.  He sent us instead.”  That last bit was mostly in jest. I’m quite certain he had no idea who was coming.

We were early.  We mingled. We met a nice chap from a european embassy.  We met the father of a parliament minister. We met the head of the chamber of commerce. I was becoming only vaguely aware that this was a high falootin affair. All wore jackets or formal batik shirts.

The Chinese Cultural Affairs Officer walked up with a man in dark suit. It was the Chinese Ambassador to Indonesia.  

“Mr. Ambassador, this is Mr. And Mrs. Secret Asian Man from the U.S. Embassy.”

The ambassador looked at my Stanley Market tie with a hint of recognition, then held out his hand and looked me dead in eye and said, “There is some Chinese blood in you.”  

I could feel my throat closing.  He said it in the same tone the Darth Vader says, “Hmmm. The force is strong in this one.” 

And that was it.  My cover was blown. He said nothing else.  Merely moved to his seat and the program began with a warm and gloriously introduction of distinguished guests including from The United States Embassy.  

And it was at this point that I realized how many photographers there were, for they all pointed at us and would continue to do so for the remainder of the evening dousing any chance for a classically induced slumber.  If you google, “#HeDidn’tWearTheCheapestTie” I’m sure you’ll find us.

Clearly you can take the boy of the country, but not the country out of the boy.  I’m sure there were numerous other breaches of protocol and I’m looking for a crash course on finishing school and what not to wear or to wear.

Fish Kill

I was exchanging money the other day at the Embassy.  I waited in line behind one person who was chatting to the cashier.  When it was my turn the cashier started chatting to me as well.

“Doc, that guy who was just here he got so sick from eating the fish.  You know the fish?  He ate them!”

A side note here... the number of people here who talk openly of their diarrhea is astounding.  I can number on 1 or 2 handfuls a day, the number of acquaintances and total strangers who reveal their bowel issues.  Co-workers over lunch.  Money changers.  Cab drivers.  Waitstaff.  WAITSTAFF!?

And it’s not just the Indonesians. We all do it.  

“How was your night, Vickie?”

“Well, I was up a lot.  I was a little loose.  Actually, I was a lotta loose.”

“Eh….a… I watched “House of Cards”.

But anyway, a week and a half ago there was a fish kill. Millions of fish washed up onto the shores of North Jakarta. This happens around the world from time to time.  I’m not sure that they found the exact reason for this fish kill, but there was an announcement by the government in the media that the fish was not harmful to eat.  

“My husband and my son were both sick. All the guys on the 12th floor are sick.  I think all because they ate the fish.  Why does the government say things like that?”

I told her they seldom can tell what causes things like this to happen. Often it’s because of fertilizer run off causing plankton or algae to bloom and suck all the oxygen out of the water.  Sometimes it is some other toxic waste. Sometimes it’s sewage washing out to sea.

“However the fish died”, I said, “it’s never a good idea to eat something that washed up dead on the shore.”

“Aw, doc. How we gonna know?”

“Yeah.  I’ve sworn off fish for a few weeks.  Maybe you should to.”

Port Moresby Updates and More of the Same

I know you've been dying to ask, “Secret Asian Man, what's been happening in Port Moresby?”  

Well, let me tell you!

Since I was last there 7 months ago, they've put the finishing touches on their airport. The A/C works much better.  There is a shiny, new duty free store. The old bus terminal seats have been replaced with new bus terminal seats and are intermingled with couches and some bar stools.  It is now a much more comfy terminal.

There are several new airport eateries. And they even sell crepes!  Crepes! I saw no where else where they sold crepes in the whole country

Things around the rest of the country are improving at a slower rate. In fact, there's been a recent uptick in crime with more carjackings and robberies.  One man was relieved of his phone, wallet and car keys right on the putting green of the local golf course.  An expat woman was dragged from her husband’s car one afternoon and gang raped for three hours before being released.

The locals call this time of year “Mango Madness”.  When everyone gets a little more amped up. It's mango season and also the end of the dry season. It has been an extended dry season.  Reservoir levels are low.  Mines have closed due to lack of water, so many are out of work.  In addition, there was a late frost in the mountains that killed a lot of the sweet potatoes which many people eat. Plus, it's nearly Christmas.  So there are lots of pressures.

I read of a family feud involving a bus that they all shared.  Seems there was a dispute over who owned the bus and who was to help pay the loan and help drive customers, so they jointly drove the bus to the center of the village and set it on fire. Yes, conflict resolution continues to be a problem.

Do they sell crepes anywhere else in the country?  Who knows? Port Moresby is still not a safe place to be.  You still can’t go out without a solid escort and a plan and definitely not after dark. I don't really know if they sell them anywhere else. I kind of think they don’t, but hopefully one day, I can get out and find out first hand.

On Paris and Libtards

I woke up on Saturday morning to two bits of news. 

First, someone launched a grenade toward the front of of a mall on the outskirts of Jakarta.  It was in a mostly Muslim section of the city. Everywhere is. No one was killed or injured.  The attackers will likely never be caught and no one claimed responsibility.  This sort of thing happens not infrequently. They're very good at identifying what happened, but rather slow on the whodunnits. 

Then there was Paris which, as near as I can tell, erupted around the same local time as the local grenade.  

During the morning it was interesting to watch the sides form up.  Prayers came while I was in the shower. Speculation while I cooked breakfast. Blame came with the morning coffee. Blame Obama. Blame Bush. Blame the refugees.  Blame ISIS. Blame Muslims the world over.  One post seemed to advocate the nuclear annihilation of an entire religion. I know ther is fear and anger, but this seemed rather extreme.  

I learned those expressing compassion toward refugees were called Libtards by some.  What a difficult place one must be in to come up with such a term.  This has rattled around on my head all week.

Later that morning, Mrs. SAM volunteered me to participate in a conversation club whereupon I make small talk with total strangers in an effort to improve their English language skills. This is penance for a sin I'm not yet aware of.  

Nonetheless, I participated and there I found myself in a circle of vibrant people. A Lutheran, a Catholic, a Hindu and three Muslims chatting about the Talking Heads, Jane Austen, restaurant order mix ups where Muslims are served pork by accident and what we planned to do with our lives.   No one proselytized. No one threatened. At the end, a Muslim boy was exchanging numbers with the Catholic girl. If I had to choose which person or people to annihilate to save the rest of us I would have a difficult time. 

Thinking back over the last two months, I've seen the following:

I've written in the past of the call to prayer 5 times per day.  A solitary human voice over a mediocre PA system is often a beautiful thing.  It doesn't call me to prayer, but it does cause me to pause for a second and remember where I am, and maybe that's what prayer is at a basic level. 

In Manila, some 90% Catholic, there was a large sized chapel anchoring the local mall.  During prime shopping hours, it's pews were full with those seeking a quick mass.  The buses are emblazoned with scripture and air brushed Icons. 

In downtown Bangkok, the Buddhist Erwan shrine was bombed several months ago killing 22.  We stopped by two months later.  The place was spic and span. The main golden statue was so burnished it was difficult to look at directly. Aside from the guards, you wouldn't know there was a bombing there.  I don't know the draw, but sitting and watching you could see people walking by touching their hearts and saying a quick prayer in reverence. Even those high up on the subway cars took pause rolling by.  

Inside the shrine, those more in need of spiritual nourishment can stand in line and pay some money and  kneel before the shrine while musicians and Thai singers stand behind you and chant a prayer over you.  One by one they come. Kneeling and rising, singing and dancing.

In Samoa, they're predominantly Christian of several denominations, Mormon, Catholic, Assembly of God. Early one morning, I walked along the seawall and came upon a single guitarist and 2 dozen singers belting out great hymns of praise, keeping time with the waves as the sun rose.  I climbed the seawall to find seat and have a listen.  I thought it may be choir practice. In the water, I saw three church officials ministering to three adult worshippers. I thought perhaps it was a baptism, but Christianity is so ensconced here I find it hard to believe that babies aren't plopped right out into a baptismal font. The folks in the water were crying. Perhaps it was some sort of healing ceremony.

Which brings me back to Paris and my new circle of non-native English speakers. I think we all want the same thing.  We say it in all sorts of different ways and sing it in lots of different tunes, but the message is all the same.  We want things to be the best that they can.  We don't want to suffer. We pray for money, for comforts, for that little red-headed girl to notice us or for protection from the bogeyman.  Some may even pray for the bogeymen for they indeed must be suffering. 

Jeez, what a libtard!

Tusitala

One other thing that I did not know about Samoa is that it is the final resting place of Robert Louis Stevenson.  He of “Kidnapped”, “Treasure Island” and “Dr. Jekyll and Mr Hyde”   I completely forgot or, indeed, never knew, that he wrote “Dr. Jekyll”.  I guess I thought that it was sort of autobiographical.  But, anyway, Mr. Stevenson is here.  

He came here in the late 1800s in search of a better climate for his TB which he’d had for a ver long time.  He was here for just 4 years, but he must have made quite an impression on the Samoans, for they gave him their own name which was easier for them to pronounce.  “Tusitala” means story teller which I think is pretty cool.

Here are some other things I learned.  

His father was an architect who built the first lighthouse in Scotland.

He slept in a separate bedroom from his wife, but he cut a window in the wall between their two beds so he could talk to her through the wall.

He had a really nice office and desk, but he did most of his writing in bed because he was sick a lot.

He is responsible for introducing the pineapple to Samoa, bringing it when he came from Hawaii. 

His wife was responsible from bringing Samoa the cocoa bean which Samoa is know for.

And then there was this. We were got a guided tour of his house, set up like it was when he lived there.  We came down to the end of the tour and the guide was pointing out furnishings that were RLS originals.

Guide. “Original furnishings are the mirror, the chest of drawers and the painting of Christopher Columbus who was his very good friend.”

Me: “What?  Do you mean the artist was his friend?”

Guide:  “No,no.  Christopher Columbus.  He was the one who discovered America.”

Me: “Yes. In 1492.  When was Tusitala here?”

Guide:  “In 1869....... Okay, so I am actually a student at the University of the South Pacific and I’m doing these tours to get work experience.”

Me:  Yeah.  Check on the story about the painting. I think you may be a bit off.

So, really, all that other stuff I learned, may be wrong too. The pineapples, the bed, the window in the bedroom wall. All of it may be just made up.  I did read that he really did live there and died in 1874.  

He’s buried at the top of the mountain behind his house.  You can hike up there. Is quite a slog, but I figured, if Robert Louis Stevenson could do it with tuberculosis, I could do it, too. The view over the city is worth the hike.

Here’s what is inscribed on his tomb:

Under the wide and starry sky

Dig the grave and let me lie.

Glad did I live and gladly die,

And I laid me down with a will.

This be the verse you grave for me:

Here he lies where he longed to be;

Home is the sailor, home from the see,

And the hunter home from the hill.

Several days later, I was passing through the Sydney airport.  I needed some cufflinks  (Don't ask), so I asked the lady at an Australian souvenir store. She said "We have these aboriginal designs.  These here are a representation of a story teller sitting around a meeting spot.  

Seemed like a fortuitous tie-in so, I bought 'em.  A good end to the trip.

On the Edge of Tomorrow

It's been a pretty long trip this time.  I'm winding things up with a drop in on Apia, Samoa. Just near the International date line.  You can see me on the map to the left. I'm the little yellow pixel, just below the letter 'A' in Apia

Since mid-September, I’ve been to Ohio, Minnesota, back to Indonesia, Philippines, Thailand, Cambodia, New Zealand, Fiji and Samoa and then back to Indonesia.  I’ve changed my watch ten times.  Including my own, I’ve slept in 11 different beds. Now, part of this was with family and wasn’t work related, but I was on my own for a while.

Pre-mid life crisis, I used to dream of finding a job that would pay me to travel.  So here, I am.  Living the dream!

The upside, you can meet interesting people from all over.  You discover some unique and beautiful locations.  

A cab driver recommended this beach an hour so away. It was great to drive out and find it on a map and just camp out for the day.  Dozing in the shade of a fale, watching the waves far out on the reef. It's a great way to spend a morning.

He also recommended this waterfall. You can't hike to it, but you can pay the land owner $2 toview it from afar and imagine what it may be like to hike down to it.

Or there is this place, To Sua Ocean Trench.  Rated a “Place to see in your lifetime”  by someone who rates such things.  It’s an old lava tube that’s roof caved in.  The ocean fills it through an underground tube.  The only way down is via the ladder.  As swimming holes go, it is pretty idyllic.

You also stumble across some entertainment opportunities.  While out looking for dinner the other night, I found the Second Annual Samoan Jazz Festival, right there on the street. There was a solo, electric ukelele act who was simply wailing out the hits. Later there was a Cuban Salsa band and the night finished up with a Samoan/NZ Luther Vandross cover band.  It was amazing.  And throughout the evening. This was the view. Just a superbly unexpected evening.

The downside is the travelling by oneself. You don’t have anyone to share anything with.  No one to watch you dive into the deep blue hole No one to look at the sunset you’re pointing at. No one to shimmy with.

I guess this is long winded way to say, “Wish you were here!”

Shark Bait

Spent a weekend in Pacific Harbor, Fiji. Known as Fiji's Adventure Center. From there you can kite surf and horseback ride, zip line or go river rafting.  You can also go shark diving which is what I'd come to do.

There are a couple outfits that do this. I chose Aqua-Trek. For 165.00 US you get two dives, snacks and water, and gear which includes a shark repellent wet suit.  By shark repellant, I mean a plain black wet suit, which sharks are attracted to.  That was the line they were feeding us anyway.  

Here's how the whole adventure works.  They take us out to a site.  All the operations meet at the same place.  We get kitted out with gear and they give us extra weights.  We plunge overboard and they lead us down to a ridge where they have sit on the bottom.  Then they lower down two bins, one of which is suspended about 20 feet off the sea floor.  As you might imagine, after years of this venture, the fish all know what's going on and they are gathered by the thousands.  It's a swirl of color. Two divers then take big fish heads out of the bins and start waving them around, and, sure enough, the sharks come.  And they are pretty big, perhaps 10 or 12 feet at the biggest. I know I saw four different kinds.  They are all perfectly content to chow down on fish heads.

Extra divers swim behind us with big sticks, sort of riding herd over us snacks, but the sharks aren't too interest in us.

We finish after 30 or 40 minutes and take a break in the boat, then head down and do it all again. This time the sharks and fish have all gotten the message and there are more of them. The divers keep pulling out fish heads and the sharks keep coming.  Then just before the end, they open up the suspended bin and 60 gallons of fishy guts spills out, causing a frenzy of activity. If you can get beyond

the thought that fish guts are drifting slowly down upon your head, it is a quiet a sight.

Overall, it was contrived spectacle.   Like monkeys dressed as dolls begging for change in Indonesia, or genital table games in Bangkok,  the shark dive doesn't really show fish in their natural environment.  

It is,though, an interesting chance to see them up close, though.  If you get a chance, I'd recommend.

Siem Reap Top Ten Tips

Here is a list of ten things to know when you head toward Angkor Wat.

10. Don't eat Mexican food, no matter how cute the servers uniforms may be.  This is my longstanding rule, but I broke it and I regret wasting a coveted meal time on such disappointment.

9. Drink, but don't eat on Pub Street.  There look to be many other nicer, quieter and more authentic choices off the main drag in Siem Reap. Amok was great! Chauncey looked promising as did Terrasse de Elephant.

8. The Palm Village Resort and Spa is a nice out of the hubbub place to stay. A few minutes ride to the temples and to town. Quiet and comfortable. Staff are super responsive. Good food can be served in their dining room, in your room or pool side. They also have the perfect rendition of a dog the world has known. Please give Kiwi a belly rub from us when you see him.

7.  The end of rainy season is a good time to go. The rains are trailing off and it is not too hot yet.  What's better, the crowds haven't come yet and if what we saw was anything to gauge by, it could feel really crowded during high season from December to May.

6.  Read up as much as you can prior to arriving. This will help give the temples some context. Reading up on modern Cambodian history would also be helpful in interacting with the locals.

5. Even if you read ahead, hire a guide for at least the first day. The can help with orientation, navigation and have a good general knowledge.  30-40 dollars well spent.

4. Speaking of dollars, take lots of them and make sure they're small bills. The Cambodians have their own currency, the riel, but you won't need it at least in this area. Everything is priced in US dollars.  There are lots of ATMs around but they, curiously only dispense 50 and 100 bills, which no one can break.  You'll look like a jerk if you bargain for a 3 dollar pair of pants and hand over a 50 dollar bill.  

3. The Floating Village Boat tour should absolutely be avoided at all costs, no matter how quaint it sounds and "Templed-out" you may feel.  It is an utter and complete tourist trap and will leave you feeling dirty, manipulated and questioning of all NGO works and previous charitable acts you've ever performed.  The 20 dollars you're not going to spend here will be much better spent even if you blow it on Mexican food that I suggested you not eat in number 10.

2.  If given a choice between a car and a tuk tuk, take the tuk tuk. Here tuk tuks are rather ornate trailers hitched to the backs of motor scooters and they are the way to get around. If you can hire one for the day (15-20 bucks) it can come in handy.

1. Go. Now.  This is a fairly cheap, laid back and fun place to spend a few days or more.