On Topik

Walking to the fruit store late one afternoon, we found a much less trafficked, safer path. We passed several Kaki Limas parked on a street corner.

Kaki Lima means 5 legs, and is the name of of the food cart vendors that are ubiquitous in Indonesia.  With their two wheel, foot stand and a man’s two legs, from afar they look like they have 5 legs. They serve noodles, rice, tempeh and soup, just about any form of food. I’m told the food is good, but hygiene standards are often lacking.

One of the men on the corner called over to me like a hawker at the fair. This is kind of unusual as mostly when we walk by, we are regarded quietly, sometimes with a smile.

But this guy called out in loud English, in a gravelly voice shaped by far too many filter-less cigarettes. 

“Hey! Come get nice fresh coconut milk!” He was waving a young, green coconut and a machete and smiling.

We walked over. “I don’t know if we can. We’re American. We have the stomachs of wimps.”

“Oooh, America… Barack Obama”  

This is what everyone here says when you tell them you’re from America. “Barack Obama!  He love Nasi Goreng! He live Indonesia.  He love Indonesia!”  Bilateral relations between our two countries are going to suffer a setback when he leaves office. Trust me.

Anyway, he gravels on.  “Coconut milk, all clean, all natural, no water, no ice, all coconut!”  I’m telling you it was like being at the fair.

“How much?”

“For you? $0.90.”  I’m sure he was inflating the price, but I said okay.

He picked up his machete, whacks the fruit over a plastic container and poured out the water.  A cloud of flies scattered.  Gulp!  He scooped out some of the flesh into the container.  “This will help you when you’re tired or dehydrated”

Then he dumped the whole thing into a clear plastic bag.  This is an Indonesian thing.  Liquids like soups or drinks are all served in plastic baggies tied up with rubber bands. He handed it off to me “Enjoy!”

I asked, “What is your name?”

“My name? My name is Topik.  You know, when you want to have a conversation you need a Topik!”

Later, walking back from the store we passed by again. It was growing dusk.  

He called from across the street.  “Mister, you like my coconut?!”

I held up the bag.  “I’ll try it at home!”

“Yes, okay mister!  Try it after your walk. Then...you will seeee...the vitaliteee... of da Coconut!”

Oh, I Love Trash

This is a trashy tale. An tale of the refuse that leaves my house....besides this blog.

I'll preface this by saying this is purely an anecdotal tale, based purely on observation, nearly non-existent research, and lots of speculation.

As with many of the posters on the Internet, I don't have a lot of time to devote to digging for answers.  

I'm also lazy and illiterate in the local language. Which probably also applies to many things written on the Internet.

I don't know quite why, but I've been tuned into what happens to my trash since I got here. Maybe, because I'm surrounded by so much garbage, maybe because the system seems so efficient and horrifying at the same time.

This is the cycle of trash as I see it.   

The yards in most homes in Jakarta are walled and somewhere in the wall closest to the street is a 2'x2' metal door that leads to a 3x3 foot concrete box. Some of these boxes have lids, some do not. Mine does but it's rusted open.

It's into this concrete box that all my secret Asian trash flows. Paper, glass, plastic, food scraps, yard waste. If we don't want it, that's where it goes.  If it's been a busy week, the box overflows. If not, it fills half the box.  

Once a week or so, a man comes.  I think that I pay him $1.50.  He unlocks the door crawls through the 2’X 2’ door and pulls out all the trash.  

This is where the first sort takes place.  High value items like glass, metal, discarded gold bullion are taken here.  I know this because our pembantu has asked us to presort this stuff.  Cardboard is also valuable.  So much so that she keeps this and has her friend come get this separately. Yard waste is cleaned out of the box and piled on the curb outside.  Everything else is re-bagged and hauled away.  

The yard waste sits on the curb for an undetermined amount of time. Someone must come for it, because the pile ebbs and flows. Some must rot, some definitely blows down the street.

The bagged trash is taken down the block It is piled in the shadow of, and downwind from, a gleaming new office tower. This is where the next sort takes place. Extraneous food and food just beyond its use by date is taken by people.  That deemed unfit for humans is left for the rats. What the rats don't get, is left for the dogs and the cats.  That is the animal hierarchy in this concrete jungle.  What the animals don't eat rots in the sun.  

Paper is separated from the good plastic. Plastic like cups and bottles is good plastic.  That is all taken and recycled by whoever gets there first.  The, now often opened garbage bags, filled with unusable things like plastic bags and cellophane are sometime piled, but mostly they are strewn there on the road.  Winds come and blow it down the street.  

Once every week or two, someone comes along and scrapes what is left of the piles into a large dumpster and hauls it all away to who knows where. It is lost to me.

The yard waste and plastic waste that has blown away down the street ends up in two places. Neither of them are good.  

Some of it blows into drainage ditches, which lead to canals, which leads to rivers, which leads to the sea.  It blocks at choke points and stops the whole city up. It is a major cause of seasonal flooding. There are men whose job it is to clean up plastic from these choke points 24 hours per day.  For if it's ignored, the city will drown.  

The other place the wind borne detritus ends up, is the curbs and gutters where it is swept up daily by

neighborhood street sweepers into nice neat  and tiny piles and promptly set alight into illegal fires.

Flying in over the city one can spot thousands upon thousands of these tiny fires spewing blue, carbonized plastic smoke and filth into the air. Nanometer sized particles are inhaled by the millions of us who neglect to wear a mask likely accumulating in our lungs, blood streams and end organs, saved for further disposition until our likely untimely deaths. .

See what I mean?  Plastic to ashes, ashes to dust. It is totally efficient.

Lombok

Here is your travel tip of the week…

Go to Lombok.  Bypass Bali and head to the next island down the chain.

Why? Well, the island had been described to us as what Bali used to be like many years ago, and I’d definitely say it is more laid back.  

It is easy to find small villages of bamboo huts (and satellite dishes)  We stopped by one village that

had a weaving cooperative.  There was one woman weaver in her 50s who spoke no English and no Indonesian.  Rather she spoke a traditional Sasak language.  Indonesia has been an independent country for 70 years, so this woman’s been living remotely well enough and recently enough without any exposure to the national language.

Traffic is far less,so far.  The island is big, so it still takes a while to get places though.  The roads are small and wind through forests with troops of monkeys and at times are clotted with herds of water buffalo.

Wait, did he say water buffalo?!  Yes! Where do you see water buffalo?  Right there on the flipping road.  And, can I say that a baby water buffalo is pretty darn cute.  

They still use these animals to plow fields.  They are slowly being replaced by tractors, but because of the way water buffalo walk and how deep they step, the grass and the weeds grow back slower, so, though the tractors are easier and eat less, farmers have to spend more time weeding in the fields.  

Besides the beasts of burden, many people get around by cart and horse.  In true rural fashion, the cart and horse drivers sometimes gather on Sunday afternoons and drag race their horses and carts. In fact, on occasion they’ll hitch up their buffalo and race through the fields.

I am telling you. You gotta get here.

Now, if you’re not into scenes of pastoral weaving or machismo, they have standard island fare as well.  

Beaches are many and vast. Kuta Beach and Senggigi are nice and long and fairly clean. Kuta beach still has room at one end for motor scooter races by some of the locals.  It looks easy to find your own isolated beach with very few people.  

Surfing is good, as is diving and snorkeling.  We’re told it’s some of the best. Alas, a communication misfire kept us from trying, but we’re are headed back.

There is a nice waterfall hike that most people could do and the more adventurous can hike 2 to 3 days

to the top  Indonesia’s 2nd highest volcano.

But, get here fast!  It is not totally pristine.  Touts and tourist traps and karaoke dives are cropping up.  The dozing giant of development has one eye cracked open.  The Sheraton is there and it is pretty posh. It is just a matter of time, before others come.  

In one area of the island they’ve started illegally mining for gold, chewing up water resources and indiscriminately pouring mercury over the earth.  Everyone is aware of the damage this can cause, but in the words of our driver, “Safety is #10 in Indonesia.”  The government has come around and given out warnings, but there are no attempts to hide any of this activity.  

I don’t want to put anyone off.  My point is, before the rivers run dark and the weavers die off and the water buffalo babies move off to greener pastures, take the short ferry from Bali, or fly to Lombok direct and check it out.  Maybe we’ll see you there.

Here are some high points for you….

Coco Beach Warung.  Very nice relaxed place to enjoy the beach and the sunset.  Great food. Great prices.  Great staff. Could sit here all night.  Bring bug spray though.

http://www.tripadvisor.com/Restaurant_Review-g297733-d1199751-Reviews-Coco_Beach-Lombok_West_Nusa_Tenggara.html

The Studio Villa.  Up the hill from Sengiggi Beach.  A little hard to get to/from, but taxi’s are cheap and easy to get with staff’s help.  Nice views. Attentive Staff.  Fresh breakfast prepared in your villa every morning!  http://www.thestudiolombok.com/

Trisna Transport.  Fairly reasonably priced driver and tour service. English speaking guide.  Pretty knowledgeable about the surroundings. Very flexible and easy to work with.  Trisnatransport@gmail.com  or www.lombokpanoramatour.com

Scuba Froggy.  While we didn’t dive with them we had some dealings and they seemed fair and better yet, safety conscious which is good when there is no great medical care on the island. http://www.scubafroggy.com/

The Window Seat

I don't know if it's true, but TripIt.com, which I wholeheartedly endorse, tells me that I've flown 200,000 miles in one year. Over those miles I've developed some habits.  One habit is I always take a window seat.

I like windows because it allows a view into the inner fraternity of baggage handlers and ground crew. Into a world, I imagine, of sports talk and fart humor and carefree tossing of a world of other people's stuff.

I like windows because, depending on the direction of the runway and which side of the plane I'm on, when the plane pulls onto the runway, for a few short seconds, there is nothing but 2 solid, straight miles of lights and asphalt leading up to anywhere.

I like windows because of the view of homes and highways and ships.  And because one day I hope to see a large pod of frolicking whales like a National Geographic photo I saw when I was a kid.

I particularly like windows because of the extra 4 inches of personal space the afford.  A place where I can notch my pillow and cruise off to sleep.  Those extra inches must be what it's like to fly first class.

I don't really mind not being able to move. If I restrict fluids, I don't have to use the restroom too often.  I try and stretch or fidget enough to fight off the odd embolism.  I'd gladly trade climbing over a seatmate for the stream of people and carts ramming into my head and shoulder all night.

My window struggle, though does conflict with one thing… the handicapped.

Before general boarding, the handicapped and infirm are wheeled aboard and seated early.  It is as it should be.  But frequently they are seated in my row.  Thus when I arrive seeking my window seat and store my big bag in the overhead bin and clutch my small bag to place under the seat in front of me and I indicate to my row mate that I need to pass, they usually looked a little put out.  

Their look says "I just got settled after hauling myself out of a wheelchair and into this seat and now you want me to move?" They usually shrug and smile weakly and sort of shuffle their feet in a message of helpless desperation that says you'll have to climb over me. Which I am happy to do, drawn as I am to my extra 4 inches of freedom.  Usually though, the flight attendant appears to help the person up and I sidle on in to my seat.

While waiting for the attendant I give the person a look.  It's a look I've been cultivating. A look through which that I want to convey many things.

A look of friendship as we’re going to be sharing the same few square feet for the next several hours.

A look of apology for making them shuffle their feet helplessly and the get out of the seat they just fell into. Or for sliding my back side inches from their face.

A look of compassion for their infirmity. Their failing hip, their bulbosity, their knee replacement. I do feel for them. Flying is challenge enough for anyone let alone those who are immobile.

A look of inquiry that asks if they are aware of where the nearest exit is. Honest story.  I was seated in an aisle exit row next to a man who’d requested an exit row to allow extra room for his knee which had been replaced a few months before.  The attendant came and gave the customized spiel.  “Are you willing and able to help out by opening the door in an emergency?”  We all nodded, but when she walked away, the man with the bionic knee shrugged and said “I just wanted the extra space.  We’re all gonna die in a crash anyway.”

A look of hope that the knee that was replaced was of a good strong quality, because as compassionate I am now, in the event of an emergency, I’m gonna be stepping on it on my way out the door.

I polish my look of many messages with a gloss seeking forgiveness for any pain or broken hardware I may cause.