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.”

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.

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.

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.

F.A.S.T Indonesian

I'm now two weeks into my F.A.S.T. Indonesian course here in DC.  I have now idea what F.A.S.T. stands for.  I know that it is 29 weeks shorter than the regular course.  Still, though, it is pretty intense. 5 hours in class per day, plus the expectation that one studies for another 2 hours or so. If you spend any time organizing your notes and reviewing online, you can get there pretty easily.

What I do know is that so far, it is enough to dredge up the remains of German and Greek from years before along with the crumbs of Spanish, Nepali, Italian, Fijian and French from travels or from  when I make the sexy-talk.  "ou est la bibliotheque?" 
(See the Lyrics here!!)  After seven hours a day I find it difficult to do anything but babble even in my own mid-west mother tongue..

I've been trying to remember, and I can't recall ever studying just one subject this intensely.  It is a different way of learning and I think there is something to be said for it, if the teachers can make it interesting.

You seldom address another person in Indonesian by their first name alone. It is always with Ibu (bu) for females or Bapak (Pak) for males. My class name is Pak S.A.M.  There is woman in our class from Thailand. Her name is Nanna and thus, Bu Nanna is a source of mild amusement for me whenever she is called upon.

We have two teachers (Gurus) for the six students. Both gurus stand less than 5'3" and are very patient. On day-one they talked about our learning styles and whether we were "highway learners" preferring to get our knowledge the most efficient way possible, or "open field learners", off blazing our own trails.

Bu Maria is the driver and the highway teacher, teaching us from on ramp to exit ramp. Pak Irwan is the open field teacher.  He is the “Mr Miagi” of instructors, always throwing us curve balls. After a few hours of practicing a rote dialogue he preaches mystically in his thickly accented English, "Don't answer the dialogue. Don't listen to the pattern. LISTEN to the question. The answer always lies in the question!" And we go on, waxing verbs and painting pronouns.

Instead of always reading dialogues, we often practice by writing our own “Dick and Jane” stories.  I sometime can’t resist throwing Mr Miagi a curveball of my own by pairing up Abdul with Bambang in a relationship.  

Mr Miagi sputters “What are you saying here, Pak S.A.M? Are they boyfriend and boyfriend?!”

“Ya, Pak. They are”

“Oh.”  He really is a patient man.

Our first two weeks culminates in a trip to the Indonesian Embassy. The Ambassador is throwing an end of Ramadan reception (Eid) and we are all invited. We spend several hours polishing up our conversations, so we are prepared for whatever questions the ambassador may throw at us.

We arrive and head to the reception line.  We shake hands and wish him well.  He thanks us and says nothing further.

We pass through the buffet and mingle amongst the crowd to practice our skills and quickly learn that we know 200 words of Indonesian and that is less than  three year old. Which is what I’m sure we sound like.  I got very good at saying, “I’m sorry I don’t understand” and “Could you please repeat that?”

I’ve got a lot to learn.

The Huggers

Sky lanterns are paper balloons with a wax fuel pellet suspended from the bottom.  You light them and let the paper balloon fill with hot air and then release it to fly away somewhere until the pellet burns out.

I bought some sky lanterns for my daughter Z.  It was near Christmas and it was Cyber Monday at that.  I hadn't really formed a list, but all the media were telling me that I had to buy something on Cyber Monday to get the best deals. So, I went shoppin’. (www.justartifacts.net/sky_lanterns)

Sky Lanterns came across my screen and I thought my daughter would like them.  She likes fire and outer space.  I figured it was a perfect gift.  I bought 6, thinking maybe they would make a good stocking stuffer.  At cyber-checkout, they told me I would get free shipping if I bought $50 dollars or more.  So, I bought 36 Sky Lanterns.  It was a pretty big box. Maybe Z would need a bigger stocking.

Though at first perplexed, she later thanked me for the gift and displayed her gratitude by stowing them in the basement.

Skipping ahead to summer, I was home from DC for the holiday. We gave the Fourth of July Fireworks a miss, so I asked Z that evening if she’d like to launch a few of the lanterns.

“I thought we’d go over to the high school down the street and launch one from the football field”

“Isn’t it locked?” she asked dubiously..

“Nah, I saw a deer on the 40 yard line the other day.  There has to be a way in.  Like Grandpa used to say, ‘Confucius say, if a dog is on the roof, there must be a way up!’”

I asked Mrs. Secret-Asian-Man if she wanted to go along, but she thought she’d better stay behind in case we needed bailed out of jail.

Off we walked down the street. Z was keen, but muttering under her breath about getting caught.

“Do you want to go back?  We could find another field. I just thought this one was closer.”

“No, no!  Let’s stick to the plan.”

We walked along the fence looking for a gap or another way in, because really, I did see a deer in the middle of the field. The deer must have been a jumper because we couldn't find any obvious holes.

“I guess we’ll have to climb the fence”, I said.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Z, we can go back if you want.”

“No, this is an easy climb.”  And, over the chain link fence she went.   “Aren’t we trespassing?” she asked, as she hit the ground.

“Actually, right now, YOU'RE trespassing.”

“Dad! Get over here!”

And, a’trespassing I went.

We walked out to the 20 yard line, unfolded the lantern and set it on the ground.  I lit the corners of the fuel pellet and through the papery lantern it cast a bright glow across the field, but it didn't appear it be in any hurry to float away.

We heard the clink of beer bottles in the distance, then a yell.  “Fire! WTF!”

Z hissed “Dad! There is someone over in the bleachers!”

“Yeah? Well, I’ve got a large burning object in my hands, so, it’s too late now!”  I steadied the lantern hoping it would heat up enough to lift off quickly.  While waiting I mentally checked my pocket for my phone to call Mrs. S.A.M for bail or help.

Then footsteps and voices approached.  “Sky lanterns! I love sky lanterns!”  Two wispy figures in long dresses traipsed into the glow.  “These are the best! We light them off at music festivals all the time!  Have you done this before?”

“No. Does it show?”

“You have to hold them up and be careful not to catch them on fire.  We want to help you with your first sky lantern experience!”

Yes, it did go on quite like that.  Wispy druids smelling of Corona and maybe Patchouli, removed of most filters, going on about all the musical festivals and the lanterns they’d lit and the tree that caught fire that one time (Yikes!)  We set off two more lanterns, the four of us in a small circle guiding each one on its way. 

Both women were named Calista (What’re the odds that both their mothers were Ally McBeal fans?). One went by Cali and the other, Cal.  They both were in dog training school. (Okay, this is weird. Two people named Calista in Dog Training school?)  A third druid, Olyvia, appeared.  She’d been waiting in the shadows.

Cali turned to my daughter and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Z”

“Hi, Z, I’m Cali and I’m a hugger” at which point she leaned in for a hug.

To me, “What’s your name?”

“Secret Asian Man”

“Hi, I’m Cali and I’m a hugger.”  Yes, so I’d heard.  We hugged. “Okay, so we’re headed out.”

I asked to be shown the way in and out as I’m sure these women in their long dresses did not climb the fence.  They pointed toward a gate on the far end of the field and said there was gap to slip through. We all headed that way chit-chatting.  

Z said, relieved, “I thought you guys were the police”

Cali said, “Technically, what we’re doing isn’t illegal.”

Z replied, neutrally, “Trespassing is sort of illegal.” Which received a shrug.

We all slipped through the gap, the wispy ones a little more easily than us, and said our goodbyes.  “Thanks for sharing your sky lanterns with us!

“Thanks for keeping us from setting the field on fire.”

And with that, Z and I walked home. “Why do huggers feel their needs outweigh others?  I’m not a hugger, shouldn’t I have a say in the introduction?”, she asked.

“That’s true.  Substitute ‘licker’ for ‘hugger’ and you might be dealing with a felony.”

The following day driving by the high school, Z said, “That was a lot of fun. I’ll never pass that place without thinking about the huggers.”

Parasite

Secret Asian Man has heard tell that’s he’s acquired some followers and is quite appreciative.  He’s also quite aware that he’s been negligent in keeping those followers informed.  

I’ve also heard inquiries about how one follows this blog without waiting on notification on Facebook.  That’s easy to do.  

Just click on “Follow by Email” button somewhere over here --------------------------------->

You’ll get notified every time something gets posted here. I promise I won’t sell your name to anyone.

One interesting aspect of all this training is that you get to go back and review things that you’ve learned in the past.  Or maybe look at things in more depth.  

Recently, we spent two full days in the Tropical Medicine Department at the Uniformed Medical Health Services Hospital in Bethesda looking about all the invasive lifeforms that can harm you.  Schistosomiasis, Leishmaniasis, Ascariasis, Malaria etc.

It was like going back to Medical School but “funner.”  And, I’m not sure why that was. Maybe it was the flood of information that was being presented at the time way back when.  Maybe I was too distracted trying to find Mrs Secret Asian Man.  It may have been the teaching materials.  

Way back when we had textbook and microfiche photos that we spend hours pouring over, but nowadays, there’s YouTube which really makes the material a lot more interesting.  

If you’ve got time here’s a cool video on Malaria…..

http://youtu.be/1UTJ38D0ukw

And, if you have the stomach for it, here’s a really cool movie of a worm being extracted from someone’s gallbladder.  If I may be so Buzzfeed, you will be amazed by what you see at the 4:45 min mark! Seriously, you won’t stop watching.

http://youtu.be/1XId87aphbQ

But, we also studied things the old fashioned way, which was a good way to reinforce the learning.  We got out the microscopes made our own slides and spent hours looking at samples, trying to spot things that could be seen out in the field.  It really was more fun than you could imagine looking at feces and blood.