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.

Ramadan III- An Airing of Grievances

Ramadan has ended. Coinciding with the next New moon and culminating in Idul Fitri, the blessed feast or festival.

As with the onset, there is some disparity about the end of Ramadan.  The government decreed it one day.  Another group decreed it the day after.  They issued a statement saying they meant no disrespect to the government astronomers, but how could they be sure they government observers got it right?  And, so they chose their own day.

The month actually went by really quick.  This is of course easy to say, I’m not fasting. It’s been interesting to watch from the outside.

There is spiritual reflection and quiet, but also a hustle and bustle like the period between Thanksgiving and Christmas as people buy new finery and gifts for their families back home in villages.  

Jakarta empties out in the week leading up to Idul Fitri.  They estimate 6-7 million people headed home this week.  The government provided free buses and trains to people.  The people who came to Jakarta are seen as worldly and wealthy and so are expected to bring in gifts from the big city.  Often they’ll return to the city with other family members who want the same chance at the big life and thus the city grows.  

This week, the city is quiet, quiet, quiet.  The three high-rises under construction down the way are dormant as are most places.  There is no 24 hour a day pounding and clanging.  Traffic has been a breeze!  My typical hour-long shuttle ride was just 15 minutes.  Very refreshing and very frustrating to realize how much time I’ve been spending in traffic in the last year.

With the big announcement there are parades and “convoys”  of flatbed trucks with mosques and loud speakers and drums.  The city erupts into a din of singing and speeches and fireworks for hours on end.  For a city with ⅓ of it’s population missing, there is an inordinate amount of noise.

With the exodus, so goes our house staff.  We’re remembering how to cook and take care of ourselves again. This is a good thing.  It makes us appreciate them more.  I texted them a “Selamat Idul Fitri” message.  "Happy festival."

Our Pembantu texted back "Mohon maaf Lahir dan Bathin" ...“Please forgive all my transgressions.’  

I thought this odd.  Maybe they’d been pilfering or they realized how much of my time they consume in the morning by buttoning up all my ironed shirts and now, one year on, it’s too awkward to say anything so we both button and unbutton needlessly.  

But, no.  This is the traditional greeting.  It is a time of atonement for the year’s past transgressions. Like at the Castanza household, there is an airing of grievances and apologies and forgiveness.

Seriously, what other blog will link a solemn holy month with a Seinfeld episode. You can read more about it here. https://youtu.be/c8g4Ztf7hIM

Ramadan II- The Exceptions to the Rules

We’re two and a half weeks into the month of fasting. I’ve learned some things.

There are exceptions to fasting. If you’re pregnant, you’re excused. If you’re sick or infirm, you’re excused.  If you’re a child, you’re supposed to be excused, but a lot of kids still fast.  Maybe it’s at the urging of their parents, so the parents aren’t tempted, or maybe the kids just want to go along.  

our office was planning a going away party a few weeks back and the issue of time came up.  With several Muslims in our office we didn’t want to schedule too early.  We’d need to wait until nearly 6 to begin.  We asked one of our staff if she minded starting a little earlier.  

“Oh, I won’t be fasting that day. I’m gonna be having my period.” She announced to the group.

That’s the other loop hole.  If women are menstruating, they’re excused. And apparently this co-worker is regular as well as, um, boundary-free. 

Several weeks on, I passed her in the break room and I asked how her fasting had been going.

“I woke up to good news, Doc! I got my period today.  I LOVE the color red! No fasting for me!” Did I mention boundary-free?

I led a smoking cessation group for local staff part way through the first week of the holy month.  It was all men.  I think that men are the predominant smokers here.  I went around the room. They all started around the age of 8 or 9.  All the marketing is geared toward kids.  Transformers and skateboarders are all linked to smoking here.

Anyway, the topic of nicotine patches came up.  They were curious, but also worried about putting something into their body during their fasts.. I asked if they could take medicine and they said that they could if they were sick.  I also asked if they were allowed to smoke during Ramadan.  “Well, we’re not really supposed to, but we can’t help it, plus we blow most of it back out.”  So I asked “what would Allah do?”

No, I didn’t.  Wanted to, but I didn’t.

Love Jannah

Cinetron is a national pastime here. It is the Indo version of the soap opera, but it comes on in the evening.  And all across the country people tune in.  If you see a road side hut or restaurant, you’ll see a bare lightbulb, a grainy black and white TV and a group huddled around watching the days drama unfold.  

I’d never really watched, but I’d flipped past off and on.  This month I noted more women on the shows wearing head scarves. I thought it was part of the story line, but a colleague told me that every year during Ramadan, the stories change from the usual “boy meets girl, girl stabs boy in back” stories to stories of peace and purity and other holy lessons.  All the characters dress more pure, too. 

Porridge Seller Goes on Haj

Then the day after Eid, it all switches back to the same old sordid tales. Apparently people can only be good for 28 days.

Sitting here in a hotel lobby bar in Surabaya, I asked the waitress how business had been.  She said it’s been swamped because it’s Ramadan and all the bars are closed, so no one can get alcohol.  “Everyone comes here to get a drink.”  

Apparently 28 days is too long.

Weekend in Singapore

I used the “force” a while back to get my non-existent scissors through airport security.  We were headed to Singapore for a long weekend.

Singapore is a stark contrast to Indonesia in so many ways.  It is fascinating how you can go so developmentally far in just a 75 minute flight.

This county is one of the most densely populated countries on earth with some 5500 people per square mile, and yet, they’ve nicknamed themselves “A City in a Garden.”  There is green space everywhere. Parks and sidewalks and pedestrian zones.  The mass transit system is clean, efficient and cheap.  The three of us spend 7 bucks on subway rides for the weekend.  Cabs were more expensive, but still fairly affordable. A 30 minute cab ride cost 25 bucks.

The roads are wide open. The cars are new and everything moves at speed.  The government discourages a lot of cars and the cars they do have are new.  I don’t think I saw a car older than 2010 all weekend.  They’ve got a sizable tax on cars that increases with the age of the car, so there is an increasing incentive to get rid of it after a while. That tax must also extend to motorbikes because there were far fewer of those.

Singapore is a maritime crossroads and at times has been occupied by a world of leaders.  Muslims, Indians, British, Japanese.  It is a hugely diverse country.  You can walk down a street and find a Mosque, Buddhist temple, Hindu temple, Catholic church and a Synagogue all within walking distances to each other.  Apparently they all participate in each other’s festivals, too.

Also, as a result of being at the crossroads is the food!  You need to bring a second stomach for the

amount and variety of food you can find.  There aren’t really a lot of food carts, but many areas of the city have a multi-story, semi-open building dedicated to food stalls selling the world’s great street food from traditional dim sum to dosas to pig’s organs soup. I don’t know what they rent a stall for, but it is comforting to know that each vendor has clean running water and a toilet near by.

Singapore owes its status to it’s long time leader. Mr Lee Kuan Yew.  He’s probably the closest one could come to a benevolent dictator.  In old fairy tales, we often read about “good kings” who ruled wisely and their people prospered. I’d often wondered if good kings existed, but this is close.

Mr. Lee rose to power in a quasi-communist movement back in the 50 and recognized after WWII that unless Singapore stood up for itself it was going to forever be trampled on by the powers of the day.

He set about making Singapore as self sufficient as possible.  When they realized that they were beholden to Malaysia for water, they secured new sources of freshwater and invested hugely into desalination plants.  They designed the city to be user friendly and Mr. Lee was an early advocate of the green movement. There was a strong rule of law and corruption of any sort was not tolerated.  He knew that there was a history of many different religions and cultures, so he melded them together and placed the state ahead of Islam, Christianity, Buddhism and Hinduism. English is the language of trade, but there are 4 official languages.

I’ve been told that if you don’t have a place to live, you’re given a place.  If you’re able, you’re expected to work.  Taxi driving positions are apparently reserved for those in need of a job. This does present a problem as your driver may be less than linguistically or geographically literate.

There is free health care up to a certain income and after that one is expected to buy into the national program. Same with housing.  There is an expectation that you’ll buy a house and there is a lending program through the post office to make this happen.  

Mr. Lee was Prime Minister until 1990, but was still an active in Singapore politics until this past February when he was in the office the day before he died.

But, enough of the promotion of Socialism.  I know you really want to know what to do when you’re there.  So, here goes…

Orchard Road is the big shopping area.  You can find nearly all the western goods you’d ever want here.  Shop after shop after shop.

If you want anything else, go to Mustafa’s.  Based in Little India, this would seem to have any product you could want from anywhere in the world.  I wrote a few posts ago about the wall of Head and Shoulders at Target.  Mustafa’s has several walls of dandruff shampoo from africa and the himalayas right next to their equally impressive H&S display.  Noodles, and spices and candy and fresh fruit.  Row after row.  Floor upon floor.  You will lose yourself here.

Little India itself is pretty impressive. Go on a weekend and it feels like you could be in Delhi, though cleaner.  And no cows in the street.

 

The Sri Veeramakaliamman temple is worth a look.  Just drop off your shoes and walk in.  Don’t take photos, though.  Right across the street is MRT. This is a long established dosa place with lines out the door at all hours.  You will often share a table with whomever comes in next.  The tastes were great.

 

Chinatown is equally active.  Lots of community activity and shops. If you go in the evening, there is honest-to-god C&W line dancing with honest-to-god Chinese cowboys at the community center plaza. The streets have the usual tchotchkes, but some great food and the Buddha’s tooth temple is an interesting sight. Lots of shiny gold statues.  

The Bugis Street Market is a great place to look for bargains and souvenirs.  There is a ton going on here.  Ladies, get your nails done cheap.

It was raining on the day we planned to go, but we hear the Botanical Gardens are a nice place to go for a walk and picnic.  It’s free and easy to get to on the train.  We saved that for next time.

Instead we went to Gardens by the Bay with the Flowerdome and Cloud Forest.  These are the largest green house and tallest indoor waterfall in the world.  They have really nice gardens and as a bonus, they’re air conditioned.  

Nearby is Marina Bay Sands, which is a pretty interesting hotel. You can see it in the photo up top.  If you stay there you can swim in the infinity pool at the top.  There is an observation deck that anyone can go see.  I can’t believe that there is not a way to bungee jump off the end.  That seems like a natural.

At night, you can see the Singapore Night Safari.  This is a zoo based on the premise that many animals are most active at night, so the place doesn’t open until 6 at night and closes near midnight. Admission gets you a tram ride with english speaking guide.  You can get on and off and walk around as well.  Indeed, there are lots of animals to see and they are well presented. They high point had to be the fruit bat exhibit.  A great opportunity to be 2 feet from and feasting bats.  There were bat fights and bat shenanigans. It was cool!  

Wanna know what’s not nocturnal?  Human children. Know that there will tantrums.  If you stay a little later, the place clears out and you almost have the place to yourself.  

A few miscellaneous tips, there are lots of vegetarian places to eat, so that shouldn’t be an issue. Take cash.  Despite Singapore’s financial prominence there were a surprising number of places that didn’t take credit/debit cards.  They did have a NETS system which seemed to be some sort of socialist payment system.

We were there for 2 nights and could have used more time there. Maybe on another long weekend.

Ramadan

Ramadan started this week.  This is the Muslim holy month of fasting.  I’m told life is going to change.

The Islamic calendar is a lunar one and Ramadan starts with the new moon. One would think that because the new moon is printed on calendars and that people have been figuring the position of the moon for eons, that they would have figured out when Ramadan begins.  Persians and Arabs were some of the earliest mathematicians probably for just this reason.  But, in this is a holy time and not a scientific time, so the scientists and the math wonks take a back seat to the more spiritual.

Because the new moons are printed on your calendar, everyone has a pretty good idea of the start of the holy month, but here in Indonesia the start is by government decree.  This decree came two days before the start. Apparently the government has a panel of 19 skywatchers from all around the country and they all look at the moon to see if it is totally invisible or not. Then they gather in a room and discuss and come up with a day to begin.  

There is a split between those who believe that the actual date should be when the moon is totally invisible and those who believe that the actual date should be when there is a sliver of a moon starting to show.  If you wonder what Muslims the world over fight over? It is stuff like this.

At any rate, the month has begun.  People have been stocking up and shopping and getting excited.  Food prices are creeping up.  We heard last week that even though it is a month of fasting, people actually eat more this month than usual.  They just eat it all at night.  The eat from dusk to dawn and don’t sleep and then work all day at their normal jobs.  By mid-July, they’re all a little fatigued.

We’ve been told that people just get a little bit squirrely with all the fasting and lack of sleep.  Sure enough I came home to a house that was just a tad bit off from usual.  Cloth napkins lying on the couch. Bathroom cleaning supplies still scattered on the floor.  Fried rice made with everything but the seasoning.  I don’t fault her.  She’s a mom and has probably been up since 2:30 AM cooking an early breakfast.

And here’s something I learned.  After everyone breaks their fast, the young march about the neighborhood banging drums and shouting and shooting off fireworks, entreating others to come to the mosque for the last prayers of the evening.  If this goes on nightly, it will be a long month for the dog.

I heard from my office staff that the last prayer of the day is a special one.  There is usually a special talk.  There is great debate about which mosque to go and who the best Imam is and which one makes you do and abbreviated 8 rounds of prayers instead of 23 rounds.  It’s too much up and down for many. They tried to explain, but I really don’t understand why it’s 23 instead of 24 or 20 or 25.  Something about perfection, but it was lost on me.

The other 10 or 12 percent of the population take a back seat here in Jakarta. Many restaurants close up during the day.  Those that stay open draw their curtains or put up a screen so as not to tempt any of the weak to eat.  We all try and eat respectfully.  There are hardliners who march about vigilante style trying to keep everyone holy.

It’s only been a few days. We’ll see how the month progresses. 

Down at the D.M.V

Not really at the DMV, but it sure felt like it.

After being here nearly a year, I finally got my Indonesian driver’s license. I’m afraid this blurb will not do the experience justice.  

From previous entries, you’ll recall that Jakarta is a city of 20 some million.  No one really knows.  And, while back in the states, DMV offices are branched out into the city, in Jakarta, there is one. Yes, just one office serves the entire population.

This city adds 1200 new vehicles per day. If just half of the 20 million people have or want a license and they need it renewed every 5 years and there are 220 working days in a year, that makes about 9000 people needing a license each day.  And, since they all know it will take a while, they all show up as early as possible. When one shows up at 9:30, you can imagine the line that has already formed.

The DMV here is not really a building, but rather a campus dedicated to the provision of driving documents.  It is massive and surreal. Large, tall concrete semi open structures seemingly built to hold heat.  The ceiling fans are distantly placed so as to be totally unhelpful. Rows and rows of hard plastic benches.  A fake, random and non-native maple tree with orange plastic leaves sits in the corner.  

Everywhere you look there are lines for various tasks required to get your license.  Getting a form line. Turning in a form line.  Eye test line. Pay your money line  Photo and fingerprint line.  Receive your license line.

Rows of holed windows line walls.  At intervals, official voices bark out names, volume unassisted. The sound trailing off into the space and the background noise. No one hears anything  An odd 8-bit chorded sound track is on auto repeat and plucks at the last nerve anyone has left.

There is one room labelled “Simulator room.”  Apparently this is a splendid boondoggle.  A former government official received a large kickback for allowing a contract of driving simulators that promised to allow everyone to take their driving tests without having to venture out into the the Jakarta traffic that they rode in on.  Alas, the software and technology were so glitchy that they are unusable and thus collect dust.

And, as always, all sorts of enterprises have sprung up around it it try and make some money.  ATMs offer a ready supply of cash to help grease the wheels of bureaucracy. There are photo copy booths. Food vendors line the streets selling food while you wait.  Hawkers even sell pencils that you’ll need to fill out forms.

The Indonesian government won’t allow open necked photos or t-shirts or photos of women with bare shoulders or, curiously, people wearing flip flops, though they only take a head shot. The result is a massive cavern of damp people and wallets full of the wilted photos.

I know many Indonesians can spend a day here just getting something done.  My pembantu, spent the better part of a day only to find she’d been in the wrong line and so had to go back the following day to finish up.

Fortunately, we had a facilitator.  Many expat companies hire these people to walk their employees through the process.  They handle the paperwork and know how to get things done.  Our guy worked for the embassy and seemed to know everyone.  We only had to wait in one spot for very long.  We were in and out in an expedient three and half hours!

S.A.M-Travel Insecurity

I read on the news wires recently about how the TSA failed to find some 90% of illegal items when inspectors tried to get them through.  

Here in Indonesia it seems they’re actually getting better.  Or at least their practicing to more stringent standards.

When I first started traveling from here, my bags would be scanned, but I was never sure if anyone was at the screens looking at the images.  I never took off my belt or emptied my pockets.  When I set off a detector, I was given a wand over that usually confirmed that I had some metal on me, but they never asked to see it.  It seemed like they just wanted to confirm that their big metal detector was working okay. They’d wave me on through.

Lately, though, they’ve made me take out my laptop and take off my belt and empty my pockets.  They even made me take off my, mostly plastic, watch.  This watch never sets off an alarm at any U.S airport. On a recent trip from Jakarta, though, it set off the alarm and they made me go back through.

There are still some gaps in the net, though.

On the same trip where I had to remove my watch and walk back through the magneto portal, I caught up with my baggage and a security guard waiting for me.

Guard:  “Sir, is this your baggage?”

Me: “Yes.”

Guard:  “Are there scissors in here?”

Now, it is hard to convey, through this written medium, the power of the “Force” at work in this situation.  But, let me tell you it was amazing!

Me: “No, there are no scissors.”

Guard: (To Monitor watching Guard.  In Indonesian.)  “He says there are no scissors here.”

Monitor watching guard:  “Okay. Let him pass then.”

Guard: (To me)  Okay, sir. Thank you. You may go now.”

And, so I moved on.  

This was all witnessed by my incredulous daughter who muttered all the way down the concourse.  

“We are going to die, we are going to die, we are going to die!  It would be so easy to do something.  I can’t believe anyone can just talk their way out of an inspection!”

“Is that a handgun in your bag?”

“No. It is not a handgun.”

“Okay. These are not the droids we’re looking for. Have a nice day!”