Sunday, August 31, 2014

Back to Work



I decided, when I started this project, that I would write much about work.  This line of work requires confidence, so there is not much to write about freely.  There is also the security issue.  We’re not supposed to talk much about rules and regulations and processes. So, don't read this looking for great mental health or U.S. insights.


But, after months and months of preparation and training in all things Foreign Service, I saw my first several patients today.


I was worried that I would forget a lot clinically, but it came back quickly.  It was nice to be able to get back into the swing of things.


I’ll tell you what I wasn’t doing, though.  I wasn’t clicking on a computer screen while a patient was in the room.  


Maybe you’ve seen this?  You sit in a doctor’s office and their nose is in a screen or in a tablet and their hand is on a mouse.  Clickety-clickety-tap.  I know often I was like that.  Just drove me crazy. I’d become a data-entry specialist.


And you couldn’t wait until the patient left, because the next patient was waiting.  Or you could wait until the end of the day, but I couldn’t remember things that long.  It was so much more fulfilling to establish a connection with someone without an electronic barrier.


So, that is what it was like for me. For the first time in a while, it felt really good.


Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Losing My Religion




There are two interesting thing that I have discovered since being here.  Well, there are far more than two, but these are the two that I will talk of now.  

The first is this.  Your religion matters here.  Even though 88% of the people are Muslim, one needs to proclaim this at very frequent and rather odd times.  Very foreign when coming from a country where one’s religion is often (should be?) none of anyone’s business.  

Where, you ask, does this matter?  Wherever your information is collected, that’s where.  Say, for instance, you’re buying a SIM card for your phone.  They ask your name, your address, your passport or ID number and then your religion.  

Or better yet, when you apply for a grocery store frequent buyer card.  I have no idea why it matters, but there it is on the form, right under D.O.B.  “What is your Religion?  They always have the same choices…. Islam, Hindu, Buddhist, Christian, Other.  If I’m Hindu and I buy hamburger, will I be reported?  

What is even more amazing and perhaps a bit scary is this.  The everyday, run-of-the-mill, counter clerk has the ability to gaze into your soul and tell what your religion is without even asking.  

Because, despite the question being on the form, they never actually ask it.  They ask about the DOB and the ID number but when they come to the religion question, they pause, they lift pen from paper and briefly gaze at you and then tick off “Christian”  Just like that. It is like they can sense the tongue of flame that burns above my head.  It is remarkable.  

I am bound and determined, though to get asked formally. I’m going to tick “Other” and write in Pastafarian.  Just to see what happens.  Extra discount on semolina wheat products, perhaps?

Sunday, August 24, 2014

The Help.


I hired a housekeeper today.


They are pretty common, not only among expatriate staff, but also many Indonesians.  They are called pembantus which means “House help”  Sometimes they even export themselves to work abroad.. Or they are exported.  I saw an article recently about how Indonesian housekeepers are a great source of foreign income , but some are not treated well, and live in indentured servitude in the middle-east and elsewhere.


I was skeptical about the need for one.  I mean we cooked and cleaned back home okay.  Not white glove, but our home wasn’t a hovel.  But everyone here has told us we need one.  Not only to help with cleaning and laundry, but to help with food preparation.  Vegetables aren’t always the cleanest and if you want them fresh they need to be soaked in a light chlorine solution and carefully peeled. They’re also helpful with knowing what foods are in season and how to prepare them. They can help with childcare and in general keeping the house occupied when you’re away and dealing with other workers and repairmen.  They can also run errands which is a great help when a simple task can take 2 hours in a car.


Everyone I’ve spoken to around here gives similar suggestions about what to pay.  All seem to struggle philosophically with the idea, but all suggest 2.5 million rupiahs per month and qualify this by saying that Americans pay the most for their staff.  Not because of any rule, but maybe because of some collective guilt.  


Anyway, if you do the math Rp 2.5m figures to be $217 per month, or, for an 8 hour day, less than a buck and quarter an hour.  I know, I know.  I feel your shame, believe me, I do.  But, if you ask around, this is apparently a living wage.  The mandated minimum wage is actually less than this, which perhaps explains why there are so many workers in the grocery stores and shopping malls. Almost every aisle has it’s own worker to keep things in order and answer questions.


So, I got my pembantu’s name through a classified ad. Her current employer was moving back to Hong Kong.  She had good references and spoke pretty good English. We arranged a time to meet.  


My guilt totally wrecked any ability to negotiate. I offered the suggested 2.5 million. She said she usually gets Rp 3,000,000 per month. Or, $1.50 an hour.   And was I really going to haggle over an extra 25 cents per hour?  No, I wasn’t.


Could she have Rp 400,000 ($40)  a month for transportation. A dollar each way for the bus? Sure.


She asked for Rp 400,000 ($40) per year (yes, per year) for clothing?  Of, course, I want my employees to look nice, so if $40 is what it takes, then consider it covered. .


How about noodles?  Would I cover the cost of a $1 packet of ramen noodles every day for lunch? Yes, I will keep the kitchen stocked with a choice of flavors of noodles.


All that, plus 300 dollars annually for a holiday bonus, 300 dollars a year for out of pocket health care expenses, and $2.50 cents per month for health insurance.  (Yes, you read that correctly, the affordable care act has nothing on this place)  She got everything she requested and I still struggled with it. I even sprang for the coffee we had as Starbucks.


Mrs S.A.M cautioned me not to give in so easily.  “You can’t let them take advantage of you.”  Which I’m aware of, but is the best place to establish the power relationship really over a packet of noodles?  We do have probation period, so we’ll see in two months how we work with each other and to see if I’m getting my money’s worth.

Normally, I really, REALLY enjoy comments and I’m interested in hearing from others about this, but I do publish this with some trepidation.  Please be gentle.

P.S. If you can't enough of this sort of stuff, read more from Mrs. S.A.M herself at AdventuresInWonderland4.blogspot.com.




Friday, August 22, 2014

Duck and Cover



Here is a primer on Indonesian politics as seen from a bule’s eyes. A bule is a foreigner or more specifically, a white person, but I’m assured there is no discriminatory connotation.  It is just what we are.


Presidential elections are held every 5 years.  The elections were held July 9th and certified on July 22nd.  There are two main candidates.  Jokowi and Prabowo.  They have longer names but around here most people mash up and shorten their names.  Many people just have one name


Jokowi comes from a rural community. He was mayor of a small town and then grew up from there. He was later the mayor of Jakarta and has been praised for trying to what is best for Indonesians.  Trying to tackle traffic and pollution.  One day a week, he took a walk around town for a few hours and listened to average people's problems.  When he could, he’d try to fix them. According to some locals he was offered personal money if he used Chinese buses as part of his transport plan.  But, the buses belch dirty exhaust and he didn’t want them and this is seen as proof of his incorruptibility.


Prabowo is a former general from way back when when long time president, Suharto, was in power.  He actually was married to the former president’s daughter. Way back when, he was suspected of ordering the killings of a number of students who were protesting. This was never proven.  He is a shrewd financial wizard and has amassed a fortune of hundreds of millions on a military salary.  Businesses  and developers love him.


So, the election was held in July and Jokowi won and he was certified as the new president. Prabowo, though contested this and filed suit citing ballot stuffing and other massive voting irregularities.  


Tensions have been rising around the city since the election. Over the last few days there have been protests here and there. Prabowo and his supporters have been making rather violent threats that if the decision doesn't go his way they will torch the courthouse and make all sorts of trouble.


The police have daily been caravaning around the town with sirens blaring  Buses and buses of them. Curiously, no one parts for the police. The police stand in the same traffic as the rest of us. Half my commute the other day was spent next to the same police truck with it’s siren just futilely wailing away while we puttered along at 5 miles an hour. .


They have a contraption that unspools razor wire from the back of a trailer creating an instant barricade around a building or group of people.  I imaging it looks a lot like Ferguson, MS.


Thursday was tense as the court decision was to be announced.  This was not an easy task. They started to read the decision around 1 pm.  Apparently they are required to read the entire thing or at least all the main parts.  I read later that the entire decision was some 4300 pages long.  They only read several hundred pages though. All the judges take turns reading.  It went on for hours and hours.  


Even before the final decision, the crowd got restive and they pushed on a police barricade trying to get into the courthouse.  Tear gas grenades were fired and people spread out. Streets were closed.  Veteran workers who've been here awhile seemed largely unfazed. A man I was meeting with looked out the window and shrugged. "Hmmm. Tear gas. So, anyway....."  

Miles away, Z was able to watch the whole thing on TV in the school library. I am a bit concerned about this. What if something bad had happened and all these diplokids are watching their parents under threat. IT could have been an emotional disaster.

For a few moments we were put on alert and there was chatter about how this was going to affect our commute and the best way to counteract tear gas.  But, everyone left safely and though traffic was diverted it was not the massive hassle I was expecting.


Prabowo supporters all wear white shirts and red bandanas.  And we could watch little clots of them moving around town getting orders from their superiors.  I’m told they’re all paid the equivalent of a ramen noodle lunch for their protesting.  Who knows, maybe they get a clean white shirt, too.


The police were quite well prepared.  Some 30-50,000 officers and military were on alert.  I saw several formations of police and troops on my ride into work. The were expecting the worst.  All told though, only 4000 or so showed up.  They did yell and chant and thrash their chest.  All the while, the judges kept reading.  The reading didn't end until well after dark.


Finally, they finished and threw out the case.  There was some minor skirmishing.  The Prabowo people called a press conference, but Prabowo himself went into seclusion.  His staff was left to voice their disappointment.  They held hands in unity and then walked off the stage.  They were pretty hollow in their defeat.

Then next day the sun came up and it was all back to normal.  The barbed wire was gone. The police were less evident and traffic was back to normal.  Every Indonesian I spoke with seemed greatly relieved at the result and spoke rather mockingly of Prabowo. They all seem really hopeful for some meaningful change.  I guess we’ll see how it goes.

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Greasy Palms



It was Indonesian Independence Day this past weekend.  To honor the day, the embassy relaxed and had “FUN DAY!”  An afternoon of games and snacks and music.  By games, I mean gunny sack races and tug of war and marble’n’spoon.  

There was also a game where a large cracker the consistency of styrofoam is tied to a ribbon and suspend.  Contestants then have to eat the cracker without using their hands.  In the afternoon breeze, it looked like quite the challenge.  

Secret Asian Man was secretly signed up by members of my staff for the gunny sack race and the marble and spoon race.  In marble and spoon, you hold a spoon in your mouth and carry a marble to the finish line. I ran two heats and took third place in the finals.  

All fun and games, right?  No. Not only were there photos, there is an award ceremony with prizes to be awarded next month.  

I did not hang around to try for a Grammy at Karaoke.

Out in the city there are lots of parades and speeches and community games including one where they put up tall poles, festively painted.  They put prizes on top and then grease the poles and then clots of people scramble up them at their own peril to try and claim the prize.

It was the first day of school and it was a little rougher than expected.  It is tough at this point in a high school career to jump into the adolescent fray. It is easy to feel left out when you’re thrust in a school that is 4 times the size of your previous school.  So many more people and so many more social obstacles, not know which group is which and whether you’ll fit in there or not.

The second day of school went a little better, I’m told.  Classes seem manageable and soccer practices are going okay.  Z has found a couple of kids who are new and all have the same common fears, so there is that in common.  Sort of sounds like a movie trailer.  “Theirs was a friendship born out of fear….”

Heard an interesting theory about the traffic and congestion today.  Seems that the big city has an astoundingly low amount of green space.  4 percent.  It used to be closer to 8 percent which still isn’t that much, though I don’t know how that compares to other cities.  

It seems in the last 15-20 years there has been an explosion of shopping malls.  Developers come in and want to put up a mall. Permits move quicker with greased hands and there are also fewer requests to offset development with green space or put up traffic modifications and so now there is a city where the only place to go and walk is the shopping mall.

On a smaller scale, I paid the last bill to get our dog shipped.  $700 bucks including $100 for a 14 day quarantine.  The quarantine is to prevent the importation of rabies into the country.  Into a country where rabies is rampant in some areas.  

I paid the bill and had heard about a home quarantine possibility.  I asked about this.  I was informed that it would cost another $400 for the get of jail fee.  This would be cash and would not be receipted and would not include a refund for my unused boarding fee.


And, this is the conflict with the greasy palms. Your dog is has already endured a strange kennel and the tarmac and the plane ride and jet lag. Do you really want to keep them in a kennel for 14 more days?  No.  So, you pay your fee and you perpetuate the cycle. Everyone expects something. The only one that feels good is the dog. Well, maybe not, but it does feel dirty.

Sunday, August 17, 2014

A Peaceful Home


We’ve a peaceful house.  Or so my daughter tells me.  We found geckos in our house.  Last night it was 2. Tonight it’s 5.  I can see one peeking at me right now from behind the A/C unit. Z says, if you have geckos in your home, you have a peaceful home.  They are cute when you see them expectedly, but disconcerting when you enter a room and flip on a light and they scatter.  Or, like last night, open the trash can lid only to have one leap out ferociously onto the wall.  I may have screamed like a little girl.


They mean us no harm, though,  and may be doing good by keeping the bugs down.  This is a help because, in addition to the large beetles of last week, we discovered tiny ants so small that they are only visible when light hits them at a certain angle.  At least to my eyes.  The faux granite countertops further disguises them. They have an uncanny ability to detect sugar from long distances.


Imagine my surprise when I gave my used glass of Coca cola a quick rinse and filled it with water for a drink.  Those ants that I didn’t gulp down leaped off the glass onto my chin and shirt.  This is most a most unpleasant sensation.


So, I am now obsessively spraying and wiping the counter tops with every pass through the kitchen. I’m hoping the geckos will come in handy.


Shopping at the Blok M shopping center.  This is less posh and more for locals.  It is full of small, individual shops with clothing and jewelry and cell phone repairs etc.  Bargaining is expected, but prices were already pretty good from what I could see. There is also a grocery.  We like the prices which are cheaper than the expat market.  But of course things are more unfamiliar and require some close reading of labels.  


Reading t-shirts that people wear is also entertaining, like the one we saw today.  “Michael Goes Plastic Surgery”  That’s it. No logo, no number, no website. Just black and white like those Frankie Goes to Hollywood shirts I knew in high school


Also, we came across a large display of Chocolate Sprinkles.  4 or 5 brands of them, varying from Dark to Milk to Festive.  In the world of grocery shelf space this was disproportionate.  Like 3 feet top to bottom of chocolate sprinkles.  Suggested uses include, ice cream, of course, but also, milk, milkshakes, cookies, dessert rice and toast. How are these people so thin?

Saturday, August 16, 2014

The Third 24 Hours




Nearly slept through the night.  We need to be up early anyway for a meeting at the school. We successfully navigate a taxi to the school using only the name of the school and some nods.


While we can’t yet speak to the actual education, we are amazed that the facilities here.  It is a big school.  4 times the size of Z’s previous school.  There is no risk of snow, so there are a series of buildings linked by covered walkways. Lots of outdoor sitting areas. A ping pong court. A huge fig tree. 

Maybe each subject has it’s own building.  They are working hard on a new history building. Both of us are impressed by the science building that bends around a covered outdoor amphitheater.  On the roof is an aquatics pond and hydroponic lab. We must see this.  Indeed, on the roof is a pond and Japanese bridge and a Buddha statue and a view of Jakarta.  There is a hydroponics area that is under renovation.


The whole school is like a small community college.  There are ATMs, as well as a bank and post office.  Your ID card controls the lockers. They aren't assigned. If you need a place to stow your stuff you wave your card and stow your stuff.  It remembers you when you come back and opens the right door.  The same ID card gets you food at the cafeteria or the cafe or the snack shop or the parent run “homemade food” area.


We get Z’s schedule sorted and it should be a challenge. 4-5 classes a day.  Classes don’t meet every day but rotate over a 10 day period. From what we gather, there is a lot of flexibility and the expectation that kids manage themselves and their time.


God bless guidance counselors for whatever magical authority they possess that can convince teens to try something using, verbatim, the same words that parents use that have, to date, been met with eye-rolls and ‘what-evers’.  Z has been convinced to try out for soccer.  A decision that has wavered hour to hour for the last 6 months.  Ms S, the is the matron with the mojo.


We rush home in the afternoon to wait for the cable guy.  I fear this can’t be good, but we find that cable and phone have already been connected in our absence.  Like magic!


So, finally, a chance to walk the new ‘hood’.  Whenever I go somewhere new, I like to walk, even if it’s just around the block, to get my bearings and find some landmarks. Thus far this week, I've not been able to do this.


We discover that a road near our house is “flower street”.  A long row of flower and tropical plant stalls.  One man beckons us to his stall from across the street. I want to say his plants are beautiful and so yell “Saya cintas.”  and then I wince.  “Oh no!, I think I’ve just professed my love for him!”


“Dad, we’re never going to be able to walk down this street again!”


We walk into the hotel across the street and find ourselves in the midst of their high tea complete with live grey- bearded flute player in traditional garb.  He plays a haunting and relaxing tune while covertly checking his text messages. A true five star spot. Seriously, you’ll want to go here.


The walk has turned into more of a hike. It is not a pedestrian friendly area, at least for the weak-ankled.  There are frequent divots and occasional gullies. The sidewalks alternate across the street and random intervals.  


On the busy streets, the pollution is palpable, internally and externally.  Our lungs and eyes burn.  We see the value in the masks that we've seen people wear,  This is less evident on the side streets.


Crosswalks are clearly marked, but totally ignored by traffic.  We did hear of a trick from an Indonesian earlier in the week.  “Show them 5 fingers! Find a gap, hold up your hand and walk with authority.”


This works!  Cars and scooters stop.  Or, rather, they clearly avoid hitting you.  Which makes us realize that for the most part no one here wants to hit anyone.  There is honking an swerving and squeezing, but there is no rage or indignation.  You go your way. I’ll go mine… with 6 inches to spare.


Along the way, we've found a few restaurants and coffee shops and even a gelato place.


Headed home, Z says, “I miss my friends, but rather than go home, I’d like them to be here to share this with them.”

Friday, August 15, 2014

The Second 24 hours



Fitfully resting since 3 am, I wake for good at 5 AM. We’ve a ride coming at 6:30.  I am fatigued. I’m not in tears, but I can feel them close.  I wake up Z. She grunts. She slept better than I did. Says she misses her friends.


Downstairs I try and make some toast. I receive an electric shock from the seemingly new toaster.  I begin to worry.  How am I supposed to provide support to people when I can’t even toast a piece of bread.


Today, we both must go to the embassy to check in and do lots of paper work. It sounds like another scavenger hunt.  Z comes down for her non-toasted bread.  I can see some fear and sadness in her. But, without being told, she has dressed herself very professionally.  I compliment her.  She says, “Dad, I’m going to the American Embassy.  I have to present well.”  It is a much needed moment of parent pride.  


We catch our ride.  Our sponsor gives us some more info on things.  We arrive at the Embassy and a mermaid beckons to us in the lobby.  There is a Starbucks.  I break my own travel rule (Never shop where you can shop at home) and agree to a cup of coffee.  It is refreshingly familiar.


I need to go to a meeting on the one floor and Z is offered access to the internet on another floor.  She drools and twitches and stumbles on her way to the keyboard.


I’m to be introduced to the staff at the meeting, but before I can there is fire alarm and we all must evacuate.  I think of my daughter upstairs and sprint up to find her still sitting at the computer, sirens blaring, lights flashing


“Hey, we should evacuate.”  


“Okay, but I wasn't done chatting.”  There may be claw marks on that keyboard.


Everything is okay, though. Someone was smoking in Starbucks.  We all go about our business.


Toward the end of the day we head to a Mall to get SIM cards and further plug back into the hive.  All malls have metal detectors at the entrances.  This is a rather false security though.  At work I was given a walkie talkie and some small boxes to take home for emergencies.  It is all bundled up in bag with the antennae sticking out.  Despite my concerns that it looks like an explosive device, we waltz through without a problem.


We achieve success in getting SIM cards and getting a new toaster.  There is more clarity in Z’s eyes now.  Her thumbs move instinctively while she walks.


We are finding more and more familiar items.  Bacon, and pork it seems, is not that hard to come by.  I know I keep mentioning bacon. I don’t actually eat that much of it, but I read that it would be hard to get.  Alcohol, too, I was told is not really common, but maybe that is only in outlying areas.  Here in the city, it’s in every store.  Along with Dunkin Donuts and KFC.  Heck, KFC sent me my first Indo text message.  There’s a delicious deal right now.  I can even order a bucket by text.


We make it home before sunset. On the equator the sun sets about the same time year round.  I head for the pool to cool off and unwind.  The din of traffic gradually quiets and the Muslim call to evening prayer commences.  We must live in the area of several mosques, for the song comes over loudspeakers from all directions.  It is quite nice to listen to, except for the guy to the west.  He’s a little flat.

I float on my back, the songs, the birds, the setting sun.  This could be okay.

Thursday, August 14, 2014

The First 24 hours



Holy, Crap!

On the ground now in Jakarta just over 24 hours.  My, oh, my. Overwhelmed doesn't begin to describe it.

Arrived from Hong Kong last evening and collected at airport by our wonderful sponsor and her daughter. They got us to temporary housing.Very nice housing.  Lovely marble flooring. And hardwood. Lots of storage and a very loud doorbell. Shared pool on the grounds with lots of flowers, plants and birds. There are a couple of decks and it is well furnished with furnishings that do not match the style of the home, but I'm told match every other embassy employee in the world. Comfortable and functional and...colonial.

We're given a brief run down in the place. Where things are briefly, and left on our own.

We explore our abode,  three bedrooms and an office with storage in the basement. We unpack. I find a 2.5 inch bug on my dresser and scoop him up with a definite squish and chuck him in toilet.
Seeing toilet reminds me tha I've not gone to bathroom since Hong Kong, or was it Tokyo? So, I do by business and turn to flush and to my brief horror see said bug crawling slowly and valiantly out from under the toilet paper.. He must see me, because when I stoop to flush he bursts into speed, trying to scramble up the slippery bowl. Not fast enough, though. I got him.

I see knob for the bidet on side of bowl. Being curious and never having used one,  I turn knob. A slender white plastic tube shoots out from under bowl and drenches the front of my shirt. Touché my buggy friend. Touché.

Wake next morning. I've been told that rather than having he day to settle in, I'm to go the British embassy for a meeting about child protection related to a rather high profile legal case that is going on in country now. So, I unroll a shirt and jacket and get dressed. A car arrives and off I'm whisked.

Traffic while congested, does seem to move smoothly. I’m struck by the thousands and thousand of scooters that whisk and zoom in and out of every conceivable space. If you've seen those movies filming blood cells in the bloodstream, this is how traffic moves. General movement in the right direction. There are lanes painted on the street, but these seem to be largely ignored. Traffic lights also seem to be a suggestion. Roundabouts are free-for-alls. Despite this I get to my destination early, after a 20 minute ride.

Despite the chaos, I think that I can live with the traffic. It seems manageable.

The afternoon rush though, may change my mind. The scooters in the afternoon seem to have multiplied if that is possible. Cars too. The same trip home takes thrice as long.
In addition to the vehicles there is frequently a pedestrian interloper walking down the center of the street.  One man sells snacks. The trip takes so long you may as well get some nourishment.

One man is selling a hello kitty bubble machine spinning on a string shooting out a continuous stream of bubbles into everyone's car. I can't imagine anything worse than being in traffic with a tired four year old who is now screaming for he bubble gun he just saw. A brilliant marketing ploy.
Yet another person is dressed in a “Despicable Me” minion costume which is inflated over his body. It is dusky and grey from soot. He shimmies to the tinny beat from the radio at his feet. U.S. panhandlers have nothing on these guys.

We arrive home and opt to go shopping. We're in need of supplies. Despite just recently getting home we head back out to the store via taxi. We're tired and hungry. So it's easy to load up on crap. We make a conscious effort to think healthy. We spend 3 million rupees.

The exchange rate is 11000 to 1. There is no bill larger than 100000 or about ten dollars. If you pay in cash the wad in my pocket will make you think I'm very glad to see you. We pay by credit.

We catch a cab home. We are told to use only taxis for one cab company and so we do. Our driver, though has no idea where we live. I, despite my three weeks of indonesian, and no idea where I live, cannot tell him. I do say we are staying near the Dharmawangsa hotel. I’m told it is one of the most expensive in the city and exclusive in the city.  He still has no idea. He stops to ask for directions not 2, not three, but 5 times. One time he stops dead center of the street and gets out to ask the guy in front of us. Another time he asks a motorcyclist hidden in the foliage.  I kid you not.

We do make it home and unload our groceries. I'm spent by the hour long odyssey home. The total fare is 55250 rupiah. I give him 60000. He tells me he doesn't have change and I'm initially pissed, then catch myself as I'm about to argue over 50 cents.  Taxis are cheap and I’m about to be cheaper.

I'm tempted to make a meal of the half dozen Kinder surprise eggs, but think better of it. Daughter Z is in full internet withdrawal and lazes listlessly on the couch jonesing for a snapchat from someone back home.  She's been a trooper so far.  I just want to fill the hole in her heart.

Phone doesn't work. We're told it will be fixed tomorrow. No cell service yet, so now way to reach in or out. We do feel very isolated.

I collapse into bed at 10 only to wake fully at 1am.  And thus I write this now.

On the plus side, we have found the American club and can see why this place is such an oasis. There is a. Commissary there and they sell lots of American goods, and also bacon which is hard to come by in the Muslim nation.

The other people we've met are very nice and have all seemed to have made the adjustment. Those who’ve been here 2 weeks say they love it here. Some have even extended their stay. This gives me hope.

Please don't show this to my wife. I'm fearful she'll cancel her flight and I need her here.  We both do.

Thursday, August 7, 2014

Jet Planes



All my bags are packed,
I'm ready to go….


We held a going away potluck/party. This was originally planned for our daughter, but quickly changed to a whole family event at a local park shelter house.


The wonderful thing about going away parties, is that you get to see everyone you care about and bask in the warmth and caring and goodness that is a relationship.


The bad thing about going away parties is that you see everyone you care about at exactly the same time.  This is tough for the more introverted among us. (Try this!) Feeling a need to spend time with everyone and really only skimming the surface with each. This doesn't really represent what a relationship has been all about.  At a party like this, there isn't time enough to say all the things you'd like to have said if you had time to have that cup of coffee or that second drink or maybe dessert.


Emotions, too, come into play later, forcing you awake in the middle of the night mulling over the things that you said or didn't say even when you did have the time.


If I had a choice to say goodbye, I'd like to buy my world a Coke. Not in perfect harmony, but rather solo, 1:1, for an hour or two each.



You may recall the sky lanterns from a couple entries ago. They made a return at the party.  

Z took the lot and gave 'em out to guests to write a message on. Then we did a mass launch.  It was a beautiful sight, watching them float away in the dusk.

A quarter of them failed to launch, though. One of them launched slowly and then plummeted into the trees behind a police station (!?!). My son exclaimed "Wait! That represented all my hopes and dreams!"  

Sigh... Are we doing the right thing?


The last two weeks as we approach departure have been filled with trepidation, if not terror. What are we doing? Why are we doing this? How am I going to do this? Will our marriage survive? Will our family survive? Will the dog survive? If it is the wrong the thing to do can I come back? Even after a party? I mean, what is the statute of limitations on a potluck?


Taxi's waiting,
Blowing his horn.
Already I'm so lonesome
I could cry.


I was 7 or 8 when I first heard that song.  At the time, I wondered why the singer would put themselves through all that obvious misery? There must be something pretty interesting at the other end of that plane ride. Obviously, it is hard for him to go. Here's to interesting thing at the other end.


So, the taxi, or UBER, rather, will be here in the morning and this needs posted. 

We'll have the same home phone number thanks to Magic Jack. We'll have Skype and WhatsApp and FaceTime and IMessage and good old fashioned email. The city of Jakarta generates some 80 million tweets a day, so I might even tweet. Plenty of ways to keep in touch.  Leave a message if you'd like contact details.  

Also, feel free to visit.  There's a Coke in it for you.



Photo credits to Cindy G.