Indonesia

last modified 2/4/2017

Monika grew up in Jakarta, Indonesia. She emigrated when she was 19 years old. This is my first trip to her homeland. She's told me lots of stories. Soon, I will see for myself.

Saturday, 9/24/2016

We traveled 13.5 hours from LAX to Taipei then 4.5 hours to Jakarta with a 3 hour layover. The trip here was long but uneventful. We carefully researched chair dimensions from different airlines to accommodate my long legs and chose EVA. It's a good thing that we did. It was comfortable as economy goes but still too tight for 13.5 hours. Tilting the seat back is partially accomplished by shifting the seat forward. That presented a diabolical choice. I could save either my back or my knees. I mostly chose my knees. I arrived in Taipei feeling lousy but some laps up and down the exceptionally long Taipei concourse cleared it up. The next leg was much better. We somehow managed to score economy-elite seats for no extra cost. Also, the food was good. I think that I'll be putting tuna on my potato salad from now on (seriously).

We were nervous about passing through Jakarta customs. To declare or not to declare, that is the question! All answers are wrong. I'll show my work anyway. We were accidental bootleggers. The limit is 1 liter of liquor per person where liquor is anything containing alcohol. Old fruit juice probably qualifies. We were carrying 2 bottles of wine each totaling 1.5 liters per person. Monika's instinct was not to declare but she wasn't sure because she hadn't picked up rum running until coming to America. We used the sweet, sweet wifi at the Taipei airport to do some research and learned that the duty on bringing alcohol into the country was - please make a guess before continuing - a mild 150% of the market value where market value is defined as a routine bribe. It came down to either a guaranteed small bribe or a low probability large bribe if we got caught. Faced with corruption either way, we decided to take our chances. We got away with it. Phew!

Sunday, 9/25/2016

Deciding what is Saturday and what is Sunday is a little screwy due to Jakarta being 15 hours ahead of Los Angeles. Anyway, at some hour on some day Monika's father picked us up and drove us to his house. We got a whiff of traffic. Everything on YouTube is absolutely true regarding driving in Jakarta. It's bonkers. That was light Sunday afternoon traffic. Monday morning, heading back to the airport for a side trip to Bali was the live fire demonstration. If a car can squeeze in, it does. If it can't, 5 or 12 motorbikes do. The motorbikes are like packing peanuts. All available space gets filled to prevent movement during transit. Oh, and no seatbelt.

Bonkers is the feeling, anyway. Mitigated chaos is more accurate. Traffic moves and at incredible density. It's slow but the city is dense so if one thinks more in terms of services within a 30 minute radius it's not so bad. Nor does the crazy driving come from any type of aggression or selfishness. It's just really, really crowded. Sunday afternoon traffic is like exiting a movie theater. Monday morning traffic is like exiting a jet. Monika's father makes it look easy. He knows the edges of his minivan to the millimeter. He knows when you can turn in front of traffic and when you need to tip the suicide guards. The suicide guards are special crossing guards whose job is to attempt suicide approximately every 60 seconds. When it's too dangerous for vehicles to turn, you have to first send in the infantry. He will walk into traffic for you and block them so you can make your turn. The elite are armed with whistles and orange vests from which I've deduced that all Indonesians are color blind.

Monika's father seems like a sweet, kind-hearted man. He was excited and joyful to see his daughter. He is 62 years old going on 75, leaves housework to the women and lives alone.

After 24 hours of travel I was ready for a hot shower and a soft bed. Fuck me, right? Here's a short guide on how to construct an Indonesian water torture device. The first thing that you want to do is install the toilet in the shower and put the sink outside and down around the corner. The mirror should be positioned so that a 6 foot westerner can easily comb his belly button hair. The water should gently poisoned and the entire apparatus should be cleaned regularly once every 20 years. There should be a hose and spray head so that the prisoner may raise his hopes of rinsing off. It doesn't work, of course. It is a decoy. The second hose is the one that works but it is only long enough for a 6 foot westerner to rinse his belly button. I emerged clean.

Sleep: after 24 hours of travel and water boarding, one desires it. Too bad Monika's old USSR produced mattress had developed bed bugs. Oh well, tile floors are pretty comfortable if you're tired enough. Nothing a dingy couch cushion for a pillow and a pair of folded up corduroy pants folded under your hips can't solve. At least it was hot and humid enough not to need blankets.

Monday, 9/26/2016

I woke not entirely refreshed. Fortunately, there was coffee. It was traditional Javanese coffee which means no filtering. The aroma is good. The first sip is coffee grounds. Once you choke that down you get a few legitimately good quaffs then the bottom half is mostly coffee grounds. Oh well, how about a hot shower? Shit. No, wait, Monika had this one covered actually. She boiled some water for me on the stove and gave me a bailing cup. You scoop a little boiling water from the pot then a good amount of cold water from the bucket and play The Price is Right where the goal is to get as close to warm without scalding yourself.

We decided to skip breakfast and get something to eat at the airport. We were leaving for our Bali side trip. Apparently Jakarta traffic is unpredictable on Monday mornings, varying anywhere between terrible and unbelievably terrible so it's wise to leave early. The traffic was merely terrible and the line at the airport to check in was not long. There were only two couples in front of us. It took about 20 minutes because checking in for flights is not something they expect to happen at this particular airport. Also the computer system was intermittently down. We checked in.

Another thing that is not expected at this airport after checking in is to then walk to the terminal. The lines of people checking in back up leaving a 4 foot wide path to squeeze through. This makes an ideal place for Indonesian grandmothers to loiter, which I will henceforward refer to as motherships. Only 2 people can reasonably walk abreast or 4 unreasonable people. We squeezed through and things opened up. We passed a couple shops and restaurants and security. At least there is no TSA bullshit. There are just metal detectors and the luggage carwash machine. You don't have to take off your shoes or partition your explosives into 3oz bottles. Then we discovered that the shops we had passed were the concourse. It's on the wrong side of security. Oh well, we could eat in Bali.

The flight to Bali is 2 hours. We flew a Boeing 737 which is named for the fact that the Indonesian model has 737 seats. There are 3 seats on either side of the aisle, each designed for a double amputee. There is no business class. It is 100% economy. The pilot and copilot sit in the lap of the people in the front row. The tickets are really cheap so I shouldn't complain. We could have paid more and presumably got more leg room. The fact that this option existed helped us get to Bali. I will now complain. It was somewhat cramped. I sat at an angle and with my folded up handkerchief wedged between my knee and the seat in front of me to smooth the rough edges.

We arrived in Bali and caught a taxi. Actually, we passed the first line of taxis because Monika smelled bad prices. She waited at the second line of taxis and watched for a brand she could trust. She found one and flagged him and he gestured that he would stop a little ways ahead. This was confusing because there was no place really to stop and he didn't stop. Another guy walked up to Monika and started hard selling her to take his taxi. Apparently you had to have a special license to operate a taxi near the airport and the other taxi didn't have one so either we could take his taxi or he would call the police. Armed with the information that we needed to get a bit away from the airport to catch our desired taxi, we proceeded and/or were chased in that direction. We caught our taxi at a fair price with the only downside being that the driver seemed to have pneumonia. We made it to our hotel, the Grand Inna Kuta, which had a bed and a shower without a toilet inside. Best. Hotel. Ever.

We showered in that gently poisoned water and were glad for it. Then we walked out of our hotel into America, little America that is, also known as Kuta. If you were to drop a neutron bomb on Santa Monica then repopulate it with people from Ensenada then you'd have Kuta, Bali. Traditional dining options include Burger King, Pizza Hut and Tony Roma's. One difference is that it rains here, suddenly and in torrents. You have to build the best ark that you can in 15 seconds.

We were quite hungry. We ate some spicy noodles with chewy chicken and I tried a Bali beer. It looked and tasted like a cheap lager. Then we headed over to Pizza Hut. I thought I'd be safe and order a Coca-Cola which was silly because it was a fountain drink as opposed to bottled. We have returned to the hotel where I've typed this out while Monika sleeps. I "adjusted" to Indonesian time before we left by staying up all night programming. Monika is in the process of adjusting.

Let me backtrack a moment to what I saw while Monika's dad drove us to the airport. The bustle of the city is awesome. We passed hundreds of little shops and carts selling and offering all manner of things. One guy was transporting blocks of ice by bicycle. Every stall is packed up to the rafters with goods and goods hang down from the rafters. There is a continuum of price and quality from the very low to the very high all abutting. This contrasts with America where it's practically criminal to be poor. There is clearly rapid improvement in conditions, tremendous entrepreneurial spirit and a desire to westernize. One of these days they're going to discover efficiency and then they've got it made.

Tuesday, 9/27/2016

Today, we left little America to explore the real Bali. But first, breakfast. Hurray, it was everything that we could have hoped for! It was buffet style with everything available for a full English breakfast as well as rice porridge and some other local things that I can't pronounce. The dining room was on second floor looking over the jungle to the beach. We decided that today was the first day of the vacation.

Wayan, our driver and defacto tour guide, picked us up at the hotel in a nice, clean, roomy Toyota Avanza which is a crossover. We headed north, out of the city, up the mountainous hills. Bali is a volcanic island so it's essentially a mountain range poking through the ocean. The roads are quite narrow but good asphalt, for the most part. It is more road, singular, than roads, plural. There are junctions but few side roads.

Nearly every spot along the road is developed. Civilization is 100 km long and 25 meters deep. The developments range from crudely mortared cinder block hovels to minimarts that would be at home anywhere in America. Circle K is popular.

The developments front onto the road and have between 0 and 2 places for cars to park. Cars are forced to pull to the side of the road of which there is none. In order to pass, for whatever reason (and there are many) you must enter the opposing lane by about 4 feet. I reiterate that traffic is heavy since all traffic for the entire region uses this road, which I shall henceforward call Hell Camino. Stripes serve as visual cues to judge distance by but have nil regulatory effect.

To make the experience as much like a first person shooter as possible, Indonesians have placed exploding barrels along the side of the road every few hundred meters labeled Pertamina. A Pertamina is a gas pump connected to a single barrel. They also have racks of old liquor bottles filled with gasoline. Absolute Vodka apparently makes the best Molotov cocktails.

Drivers are supremely cooperative, far more so than in Jakarta, though they seem to grudge it. Signaling means "it's going to be a close shave on this side!" Tapping the horn means "I'm coming around a blind curve" or "maintain your speed and course or else we'll collide." Honking the horn means "You jerk! I almost hit you! You need to tap your horn before coming out of a side street going the wrong way carrying a 10 gallon propane tank between your legs."

We passed by the aftermath of a car collision. One man was injured but he looked like he'd walk away.

Our first stop was Pura Ulun Danu Beratan, a lake temple. The importance of a temple is denoted by how many roofs it has stacked on top of each other. The maximum is 11. This was an 11 roof temple, the whole enchilada. The temple is built on a small island several meters from the shore. I reckon that a channel was cut to create the island or the island was man-made. The grounds are beautifully maintained as a park and botanical garden. Every type of foreigner can be seen strolling around, taking selfies. They also had a family of exotic animals: deer. Actually, I doubt that they are exotic. It's more like they are important, not necessarily rare, or perhaps not very important, but cheap, and we use our imaginations to pretend that they are special in order to bring us closer together.

Our next stop was Air Terjun Git Git, a mighty waterfall. It's a 20 minute walk from the road along a paved path with many stairs. Every inch along the way is covered either by brightly colored, strikingly beautiful flowers or oompa loompas hawking their wares. Sometimes 4 year old children follow you for 50 feet being as pitiful as possible as they try to sell gum. And then, the waterfall! It is 100 feet tall, crashing down black rock with green jungle plants covering the canyon walls. It is exactly as you'd imagine it ought to be from a 19th century adventure novel. I made Monika come sit next to me on a log with our feet in the water and feel the rush of air and spray.

The primary purpose of travel is to take selfies and post them to social media. Every rock, tree, temple and ocean view is a selfy opportunity. Selfies are to tourists as feathers are to peacocks. Asian girls take a steady stream of selfies such that played at 24 frames per second they make a movie. Most have selfie sticks, either of the aluminum or boyfriend variety.

We arrived at our hotel mid-afternoon, the Padma Sari Hotel and Resort, a gorgeous place that would cost triple in the US. The dominant feature is an infinity pool, a pool where the water overflows the edge and is caught below. At the correct perspective, the edge of the pool is seamless with the ocean beyond. We started by walking along the black sand beach but quickly retreated to the pool because the beach was full of litter. Everything is full of litter except walled off, westernized developments. It's a tropical paradise but for being covered in shit.

We walked down the beach for a dinner of fish, fried rice and coconut. According to the Internet, fresh coconut is safe to consume because the tree filters the water. The coconut is the size of a small melon and green. The guy hacks at the coconut a few times with a cleaver then sticks a straw in and serves it on a little plate. The coconut then leaks water all over the table. I have seen bowls here. They have the technology but they're sticking with plates. The coconut water tastes good, much better than the brown hairy ones available in supermarkets back home.

Wednesday, 9/28/2016

We awoke at 5:00 AM to go dolphin watching. Wayan drove us to a bit of shore where the canoes tie up. He had already picked up his friend and associate who owned the canoe. A dolphin watching canoe has two outriggers, an outboard motor and seats 6 - 8. It was just the four of us today. After about 45 minutes we merged with the flotilla of two dozen or so canoes and started worrying that no dolphins would appear. Fifteen minutes later, dolphins were sighted. Two dozen motors started up and the race was on. Out came the cameras and selfy sticks. More and more dolphins showed up and the canoes spread out. I sat on the prow and came within 5 feet of dolphins from time to time. They led us back towards shore, as I imagine they do every day, saying "God damnit, Carl, they're lost again. Every god damn day we've got to lead them back to shore. I swear that one of these days I'm going to lead them deeper into the ocean. You hear me?"

We stopped near shore where the water is about 15 feet deep to snorkel. Monika and I opted to forego the snorkels and just use our goggles. The boatman threw crumbs to attract the fish. The water is clear enough to see to the bottom, which is covered with shellfish. The fish and ocean floor were neat to look at but I mostly just enjoyed swimming in the warm water.

We returned to the hotel for breakfast. I ate gourmet rice porridge with chicken and hard boiled egg. It was good. Indonesians don't really have a breakfast cuisine. The saying is true that the English made two great contributions to the world: rule of law and breakfast. The most common breakfast in the resorts is the American Breakfast which is accurate: fried eggs, bacon or sausage, toast, mushrooms and fried tomato.

We hit the road for the long journey to the biggest temple in Bali. I hoped to find something of mathematical significance, some message that my ancient mathematical friends might have left me, perhaps some prime numbers or a recursive sequence (10/4 there was no math beyond odd numbers).

We stopped for lunch at a buffet catering to tourists. It had a parking lot, O' Joyous Day. More importantly, it overlooked a valley and Bali's largest lake. The valley is fascinating because there was a lava flow through it not so many years ago. It is black and desolate with a few charred trees trunks burnt down to toothpicks. The lava flowed so far and then it's jungle again.

We reached Bali's largest temple and biggest hustle. The first step is to pay 35.000 for a ticket with a printed price of 30.000. However, it's vended by the Polisi so it's not worth complaining about. The second step is to dicker over renting a mandatory sarong, a piece of cloth that you tie around your waist as a long skirt. Third you dicker over hiring the mandatory tour guide. He is there to make sure that all proper reverence is observed. Ha ha, just kidding. He's just there for the hustle as he flicks his cigarette butts around the temple. Fourth you dicker over buying little paper cartons of flowers to offer to the gods. Fifth you stick said flowers behind your ears, on top of your head, etc. while a priest leads you in a prayer. Sixth you put additional money into your offering tray because just like Jesus, Vishnu needs money. Seventh you get harassed nonstop by the usual suspects to buy an umbrella:

"Umbrella?"

Ignore

"Umbrella?"

Ignore

"Umbrella?"

Ignore

"Umbrella?"

"No."

"Umbrella?"

"No."

"Umbrella?"

"No!"

...

"Poncho?"

At least it was actually raining off and on, as it does in the jungle. We took shelter under gazebos during the heaviest parts. I wanted to walk in the rain at least a bit to see what it feels like. It's quite refreshing but I could see it losing it's charm quickly. It doesn't make you cold but it does make you, well, wet.

The Balinese know a good place to build a temple when they see it. I'll give them that. The lookouts from this one have a majestic view of the jungle valley and ocean beyond. A temple consists of an engraved stone perimeter wall, gazebos and one or more towers with thatched roofs stacked atop each other. This was a temple complex, containing not only an 11 stack but also a 9 stack, I think a 7 stack and a fistful of 5 and 3 stacks. There are lots of stairs and stone carvings, just like the movies show. It's no wonder that foreigners think that American movies portray life in America accurately. They watch American movies about where they live and they're fairly accurate so why not believe America is one big car chase and shootout?

Wayan drove us to our hotel, The Canggu Boutique Villas and Spa, during rush hour. He turned down a street, which we would call an alley, which turned into an alley, which we would call footpath, which turned into a blocked road only accessible by motorbike. The DMV manual only talks about right turns, left turns, U-turns and 3-point-turns. The fifth type of turn is the 9-point AKA ninja turn. You might have seen Austin Powers make one in the tunnel of an underground lair.

Our hotel was a private villa with its own little pool. The water comes up to my chest, or Monika's forehead. The bathroom is outdoors under shelter. Bali makes for a prime resort vacation. The rooms are not cheap per se but they are fabulous for the price and they'll fry an omelette for you in the morning. I'll have to see if anyone wants to give me an advance to write the next great American novel when I get back home.

Temple Economy

One of my standing objectives is to observe the economy. My spine tingles a bit when I see people working out problems by spontaneous order. For example, in America we tip waiters and thereby secure good service. From a game theory standpoint, it would be difficult to predict tipping norms. One that I mentioned earlier was how suicide guards mitigate uncontrolled intersections. Human psychology is to crash into faceless vehicles but not run over people on foot.

Another spontaneous order is neighborhood security. Monika's father lives in a neighborhood with one access road. When you leave the neighborhood you hand the security guard a token that looks like a plastic business card. He hands it back to you when you return. If you don't have a token then he knows that you're an outsider. If you don't return by nightfall then you're missed (10/2 I have since confirmed that this system extends beyond the neighborhood).

Bali has templenomics. By 2037 Bali is expected to achieve buildout with 67% of the available space developed into temples, 23% into minimarts, 7% into exploding barrels and the remainder into Starbucks.

I started out excited to catch any glimpse of a temple that I could. Very soon, "What luck!" I think to myself as we pass by a stone wall with the ubiquitous carvings. There's another one a minute later and every minute or so thereafter. They are what we would call community churches. They are one roof temples. Balinese settle in family clans. The first thing that a family must do is build a temple. If the clan moves to a new location then they must build a new temple there. The old temples can't be destroyed so they pile up.

Every 210 days, because the Balinese have their own traditional calendar and apparently no traditional astronomers, the family clan celebrates. At least part of this involves parading down the street in colorful clothes with women carrying flowers or baskets of fruit on their heads and men carrying decorations or heirlooms. The 210 day are measured from when the clan established itself so on any given day any number of clans will be parading down the street. I reiterate that the streets are narrow (and not for the last time) so these parades shut down between half and two-thirds of the road. Men near the front and rear of the parade coordinate traffic control. Cars have to listen for their own good. Motorbikes don't give a damn. Everybody honks. Wayan jokes how these parades are a constant thorn in his side as a driver yet we are his last customers before he must race home to participate in his clan's parade.

Balinese Hinduism is very much alive and active. Fabrication of statues, molding, gilding, etc. is one of the hottest industries around. New temples are being constructed at full steam, now with poured concrete and rebar instead of masonry but it is not anachronism any more than American churches having drywall and fiberglass insulation.

Balinese routinely make offerings to the gods, often daily. The cheapest and most common is flower pedals and an incense stick in a folded paper tray about the size of a teacup saucer. These can be found everywhere one might logically step: sidewalks, doorsteps, apartment building hallways, and in front of cash registers. I'm not sure what would happen to me if I mashed one with my big white feet. Probably nothing but I'll keep doing my best to step carefully. Balinese believe in karma. One expression of karma is that one must offer to the gods or else they won't have anything to send back and the circulation of the cosmos will grind to a halt. Balinese must be hoping for spring rolls because they offer up a lot of partially eaten ones.

I am catching up on this journal a few days after the fact so I am able to compare the Bali to Jakarta. Jakarta looks more familiar on the surface. There is more money, more modern buildings and appliances, etc. The similarity gets downright creepy, in fact, like an android that looks too close to being human yet clearly isn't. Every sign, t-shirt, restaurant menu and shopping mall is doing it's best impression of America as shown in the movies. Nevertheless, I think Americans would feel much more comfortable in Bali. They have more respect for life and dignity. It comes from superstition, whereas for Americans it comes from the golden rule, but the result is similar enough.

Thursday, 9/29/2016

Thursday morning we took warm showers and ate omelets. This fulfills at least half of the criteria for a good day. Unfortunately, despite my diligence, gastrointestinal distress began (10/3 it has been manageable but a drag. Monika has also been affected and is now eating like me. Jimmy seems fine.).

Our new driver took us to Tanah Lot, yet another temple (YAT) carved into a rocky isle by the sea. Tourists may not actually go to that temple. We looked at it from the nearby short bluffs which are themselves developed into lesser temples, manicured grounds, lookout points and gift shops. I told Monika that I kept wanting to refer to the shops as tiendas, the Spanish word for little stores. She told me that the Indonesian word is tenda. Of course it is.

Next we visited the Water Blow, a natural tube in the volcanic rock that spurts water into the air when the surf comes in. We came at a bad time. The ocean was flat so the water blow was not blowing.

The trip was not a waste. The area is called Nusa Dua, a sprawling resort area. We're talking major money. This isn't something that Hyatt does. Hyatt would be one of a hundred partners. It's a planned community. It has a hospital. The beaches are combed for trash, the roads are wide and only one motorbike had somehow evaded the checkpoints to ride on the footpath. There are 4 and 5 star resorts all about and they charge full price.

From there we visited a (the?) monument park of Bali, Garuda Wisnu Kencana (GWK). It is under construction and will be for a long time. They currently have gigantic statues of Wisnu (Vishnu), the top deity, and Garuda, his eagle steed. Paths have been excavated 15 meters into bedrock, leaving a grid of huge stone blocks. I expect that the plan is to carve them into murals.

Next we visited Uluwatu, YAT. This one is on the coast and there are some monkeys about. A Hindu procession passed through, as they always are. There was colorful clothing, large quantities of goods carried by head, the usual stuff. I was pretty templed out by this point.

Islam is the competitor to Hinduism in Bali but it's very much the minority. The hills are 99% Hindu. We spotted one Christian church. Jakarta is dominantly Muslim. I hear the call to prayer 68 times per day including at rude hours. Christianity is the minority competitor but I don't see much presence. Or maybe I do. Muslims are very visible because the women wear head coverings. If they aren't wearing religion on their sleeve then they are like as not to be Christian. Indonesia has an easygoing Islam, at least as Islam goes. Monika says some Muslim women don't cover their heads at all. Many others do cover their heads while rocking skinny jeans and other western fashions. No faces are covered. I read that selling alcohol to Muslims is against the law but I can't see anybody having an interest in enforcing such a rule, nor how so many establishments selling alcohol could be in business if the majority of the population were never customers. I'm guessing that it's sold on a "don't ask, don't tell" basis.

Our driver took us to our hotel, The Open House, to check in and shower before dinner. The manager informed us that they had made a mistake with their software and the hotel was overbooked. However, she had taken the initiative to book us an upgraded room at another hotel, The Astari Villa and Residence, and one of her people would lead our driver there. It was professional and the room was indeed an upgrade, another private villa with its own little pool.

The doorman led us to our room, turned on the lights and A/C and told us the breakfast hours. Monika noticed a moment after he left that the A/C was out of order. I held up my hand, felt some cold air coming out and brushed her off. I said it was large volume to cool and we couldn't expect much after a minute but it would be fine when we got back from dinner. Monika turned out to be right, of course, and we wound up spending a stuffy night in a gorgeous villa.

I had tripped on the opposite side of a culture divide that usually trips Monika up. America has an invisible, instantaneous communication network whereby we make constant leaps of faith that if something is to be expected then it will be prepared for. For example, in America, I have never once seen a restaurant with the only toilet missing its seat, or a public restroom with marble floors and no soap dispensers, or an airplane ticket that says the plane will show at one of two possible gates, or a path for the blind on the sidewalk that leads into a tree, or a sign in the national mall pointing to restroom facilities that do not exist, or a cashier that did not know how to ring up a product with a barcode, or in this case a 4 star hotel in hot humidity that has let its air conditioner steadily fail over the course of years. I'm just visiting this bullshit. Monika grew up in it. I keep getting surprised when things don't work. Ever since meeting me, Monika has been breaking into cold sweats whenever I leap into the unknown trusting that it has been prepared and engineered.

We met Monika's friend Charlene for dinner at Gorgonzola, an Italian restaurant. Her name is not Charlene. However, I have taken it upon myself to mispronounce and nickname everyone. This entertains everyone except Monika which is perfect.

Charlene, like many people of the younger generation, speaks good English. They speak better Indonesian so I spend long periods of time waiting, smiling and thinking my own thoughts. But if anybody wants to ask me something or tell me a story then there is no difficulty. Monika's friend Eleony asked me if I felt excluded when they spoke Indonesian amongst themselves. I said, "Somewhat." She told me that that must be hard on me, made some Asian squeaking noises and resumed speaking Indonesian. I smiled imagining how much she would squeak when I wrote our exchange up later.

Friday, 9/30/2016

We took warm showers and ate omelets. Monika had the front desk call a Bali Taxi, a subsidiary of the reputable Bluebird Group, to take us back to the airport for a 2 hour flight on a 737 seat jet. The departure terminal is modern and shiny with the shops on the correct side of security. It overlooks the beach and makes you sad to leave. Being genetically American, I have been making increasing numbers of football analogies even though I don't watch football. Indonesians have a bad habit of carrying the ball 99 yards only to fumble. The confusion began when we read our tickets. They said that our plane would arrive at, "Gate 5 or 6." This was the ticket issued to us 15 minutes prior when we checked in. I'm trying to imagine Bali air traffic control. I see 3 oompa loompas loitering about smoking cigarettes, flicking butts on their consoles, telling the planes, "Look, just park wherever you can find a spot."

We checked the boards and discovered that not only does Schrodinger's plane arrive at multiple gates, each gate boards multiple planes. The plane before ours was on Final Boarding, ours was Boarding Now and the next one was Preliminary Boarding (or something to that extent). We followed the crowd and Monika asked one of the stewardesses if this plane was headed for Jakarta. The answer was yes. A few minutes later, leading into the airplane safety speech, the stewardess asked everyone to check their tickets to make sure they were for flight JT 0022. The expression, "You had one job!" comes to mind.

We spent the rest of the day at Monika's father's house.

Makes and Models

Almost all 4-wheel vehicles are Japanese makes. Toyota is the most popular. I see perhaps as many Toyotas on the road as all other makes combined. Datsun is still a make here. I somehow recognize Daihatsu despite not being able to recall having ever seen one. Wikipedia says it was bought out by Toyota. Suzuki makes cars and they are quite popular. The only American make is Chevrolet but so far I've seen more dealerships than cars on the road.

Monika's dad owns a Toyota Kijang. I recognize the interior as contemporary with my dad's 1989 Toyota Camry, however Wikipedia says 2003 as the oldest in his body style. I guess Toyota manufactures downmarket vehicles on older assembly lines. A Kijang is a crossover. The Kijang was one of the first automobiles sold in Indonesia and has evolved from a truck into an SUV into a crossover. Wayan drove us around Bali in a Toyota Avanza, a crossover heavily tilted in the car direction. It's more or less a rugged minivan. On our last day in Bali, we rode in a Toyota Agya, a hatchback. The most popular taxi is a Toyota Limo which feels like a Corolla (10/4 confirmed Limo is a rebadged Corolla in a basic trim). Small Mitsubishi and Daihatsu pickup trucks are popular. They have small cabins and large beds for their size. The trucks, both small pickups and medium delivery trucks, are snub nosed, with the engine located below the cabin rather than in front under a hood. I'm baffled by not seeing Priuses or any other hybrids for that matter. No where else is regenerative braking more needed.

I don't envision any American makes competing here. The driving environment is too different. American vehicles are matched with engines designed for merging onto the freeway, passing, cruising, towing and vanity. They are much too powerful and therefore expensive. American luxury features are designed around the driver but rich people in Indonesia have chauffeurs. Safety features are literally a foreign concept. They don't appreciate seatbelts here. It's a long road to caring about curtain airbags.

Motorbike makes are Japanese but diverse within that constraint. It's hard to tell who holds the plurality but I'd guess Honda. Yamaha, Suzuki and Mitsubishi are popular. I see Harley Davidsons on occasion but they are clearly vanity purchases.

Saturday, 10/1/2016

I slept on tile and ate fried rice for breakfast. I earned enough XP to level up my showering ability.

Today, I got to meet Monika's friends. We Ubered to Eleony's cousin's apartment. Her cousin lives in Singapore but keeps a tiny apartment in Jakarta. Aside from being a tight fit, the apartment is basically modern. I greatly appreciated the little water heater above the shower, electric kettle, grounded electrical outlets, tall ceilings and miniature barstools known in America as chairs.

I met Felicia, Inez, Affandy and Eleony. I had nicknames for Felicia and Eleony already but the crowd demanded that I come up with nicknames for all. They are Piano-Girl, Santa-Ynez, Alfredo and Pasta-Girl. Piano-Girl only came for dinner and sat at the other end of the table so we only said hello and goodbye. Inez and I barely spoke. Affandy listened to me but replied through translators. He was apparently embarrassed not so much about me hearing his English but his friends. He warmed up a bit by the next day and we spoke some. I mostly talked to Eleony and gave her another nickname Superball because she bounces around so much.

We went out to dinner at Luna Negra, a New York City themed Italian restaurant. It's not Italian themed, mind you. It's themed as an American version of an Italian restaurant. They had pictures of the Statue of Liberty, the Brooklyn Bridge, Broadway, Times Square and a hotdog stand so they did pretty well. The menu was in English as all cool things are. It was nearly perfectly written though I could still tell not by a native English speaker. They've got fake it until you make it down pat. The waitress struggled when I pronounced things correctly. Indonesians always point to the menu item that they want to order which I failed to do at first. The special board was written in English of a lower but serviceable quality. They had a couple of American motorcycles with a sign reading No Seat on top of the seats. It was typically surreal.

The bathrooms were excellent, however. I think the only thing missing was a way to dry your hands. Otherwise, it was the type of bathroom I'd imagine that you'd find at the UN: toilet paper and a bidet and a hose and three seashells and some kind of dispenser in each urinal that I couldn't figure out and was scared to try.

This giggling group of Asian girls took a ridiculous amount of time to order their food. They may benefit from reading Robert's Rules of Order before dining out again. It appears that every girl wishes to taste every other girl's food therefore order complexity rises according to the factorial function. The waitress must endure waiting for the committee to reach consensus and answer numerous questions. They don't tip here.

We returned to the apartment, drank wine, played cards and sometimes I was called upon to tell a story. They seemed to enjoy hearing a real live American say American phrases as seen on TV. Any hand holding or hugging between Monika and I was met by shrieks of, "PDA! PDA!" as in public display of affection. Eyes are covered and there is gnashing of teeth. This fear response was so fun to induce that I began singing Just the Way You Are by Billy Joel to Monika which prompted Affandy to run and hide in the bedroom.

The three girls slept on the bed, Affandy got the sofa and I got the spare twin mattress. For such a small apartment, it has some odd spare items, including an extra door.

Sunday, 10/2/2016

I drank coffee and took a warm shower. I finally got to experience Trans-Jakarta, the premium bus system, as opposed to Metromini. Jakarta accidentally mass transit and are playing catch up with a bus system with dedicated bus lanes, elevated platforms, extensive pedestrian bridges, electronic payment and highly paid drivers. It's a tremendous capital improvement project. It's a rotten shame that they ran out of money at the last minute before they could buy buses.

I was nervous upon boarding because I recognized the bus as something that I had read about. The Nazis had transported the Jews to concentration camps in cattle cars eerily similar. The way that you want to design your bus system is to reserve a lane on the world's narrowest, most densely traveled roads and then run like 7 buses on it. Any more would be redundant because everyone can fit on those 7 provided that they don't expand their rib cages by breathing.

We visited the Monumen Nasional (Monas). It is laid out in a big circle with a Washington Monument in a bowl at the center. The mall is itself at the center of the city with skyscrapers visible all around. An underground tunnel leads to lifts that will take you to an observation deck. The line backed out of the tunnel onto the surface packed dick to ass, dick to ass. The above ground line was being released in platoons to the tunnel so it's possible that conditions were sane underground. However, given the things I had seen, I wasn't willing to risk it.

We headed to Grand Indonesia, a gigantic mall for lunch. It had 7 or so floors of shops, every one of them packed. In America, I can usually count on the curtain section at JC Penney to take refuge at even during the Christmas season. People kept walking so close to me that my instinct was that they didn't see me and were about to run into me. I had to keep reminding myself that oompa loompas don't keep personal space. Then Superball Eleony bumped into me and I was really confused.

Nearly half the shops are transplants out of America. We sell Java to them at Starbucks at the same price as in America. It's shameless. On the other hand, American logistics compared to Indonesian logistics are such that it may be cheaper to move Java to Los Angeles than to Java.

According to my arithmetic, given median Indonesian wages, fixed costs of living and prices of goods, the median Indonesian has enough disposable income to purchase one spoon per month. I was expecting prices to be cheaper in Indonesia because of favorable currency exchange rates and cheap labor. In hindsight, this was not very logical. Indonesians are poor because goods are expensive. If goods were cheap then they would be affluent by definition. Imported goods, which are anything higher on the capital scale than mangos, cost 2 - 4 times as much as in the United States on incomes around one sixth. My cursory Googling leads me to obscene tariffs. It's not like things are cheaper in the US because that's where they're made. Indonesia ought to be able to import from China at least as cheaply as America. I assume free trade is not politically viable for the usual reason of entrenched industries.

I saw the aftermath of a second accident. A taxi collided with a motorbike. The motorbike rider looked like he would live but he would not be walking away. Nearby people had crudely splinted his leg with scrap wood and rope.

We returned to the apartment for chit-chat, sharing YouTube videos and dinner. Monika and I wanted to share some posts from reddit only to discover that reddit is blocked in Indonesia. I will setup a proxy when I get a chance. Monika also informs me that at 6:00 PM all television channels broadcast Muslim prayer time which lasts for half an hour. It's not enough apparently to blast it from speakers city wide like a nuclear attack is in progress. The thought police are real.

Monday, 10/3/2016

I slept on tile, drank coffee and ate pepper beef for breakfast. Not much happened today. I mostly caught up on this journal. We ate dinner at Hay Thien, a restaurant where the food is boiled at your table. I didn't understand how to order because the food is pictured raw on the menu. We ordered too much food and left stuffed.

With the help of Google Translate and Monika verifying translations, I was able to communicate directly with Monika's dad. We talked about cars and Monika. I shared photos and Google Streetview while Monika narrated.

Internet

Wifi and 4G Internet are widely available. The billboards advertise buying data per gigabyte, similar to buying minutes on calling cards. Monika says service plans are non-existent in the consumer space because Indonesians are not credit-worthy.

Everyone has a smart phone. Desktops and long-form typing are rare. Silicon Valley based social media apps rule the day. The camera-to-social-media pipeline is critical. The procedure is to rapidly snap several photos, look at them immediately, giggle and shriek, archive them to the cloud and never look at them again.

World wide web usage is low. Online shopping is undeveloped. I found a statistic claiming that fewer than 1% of commercial transactions are online. Amazon is not present here, nor anyone else to speak of. The largest online retailer is Lazada which resembles Amazon circa 2000. E-commerce is relegated to craigslist style classifieds. I can guess some reasons for the retardation of online shopping:

• obscene tariffs
• People will steal off your doorstep. Mailboxes are locked with slots for the mailman to insert letters. Parcel delivery is a riddle.
• undeveloped transport and logistics
• lack of credit due to lack of credit-worthiness

Tuesday, 10/4/2016

I slept on tile, drank coffee and ate more pepper beef for breakfast. I dreamt of chicken caesar salad. A fierce thunderstorm landed mid-afternoon. There is little to report as we hang about the house. If the rain lets up, we will go to a discount store to get some cleaning materials so Monika can tie up loose ends concerning her old room and possessions.

The rain did let up and we went to the nearby cheap mall where the first floor is Indonesia's version of Target. I like this mall, at least as much as it can be said that I like any mall. It reminds me of the Esplanade in Oxnard from some years back. The prices at Indo-Target are comparable to America, perhaps 25% higher on average. There are more low-end goods available so you can get out the door cheap if you need to. There are salespeople on the retail floor to answer your questions and try to upsell you. I don't speak Indonesian but they seemed helpful.

Monika went on a $110 shopping spree which made her dad a bit woozy. She bought an electric kettle for him and a new exhaust fan for the bathroom and a few odds and ends. I got to look at a range of appliances that don't exist back home.

The clothes washers are curious. They are manufactured by the usual Japanese makers: Sharp, Panasonic, Samsung. Indonesian homes are not typically plumbed for hot water so strike that from the features. The washers are rated by how many kilograms of clothes they can wash and how many watts they draw. A small washer is 7 kg at 330 w. The cheaper versions cost $175 and have the washer and "dryer" side by side. A dryer is a spin cycle. You still have to hang clothes to dry but not for nearly so long. This is important in a country where it rains so often, sudden and hard. The more expensive versions cost $250 and have a single chamber. They are miniature versions of the top loading washers that we're used to.

Monika administered a topical oil to my bug bites and it worked well. There are not nearly so many flying insects here as one might fear yet I still manage to get bit while I sleep. I have 2 or 3 bug bites at any given time.

I spotted rats as we returned home, oh my. These were big fellas. I don't think that housecats are going to cut it. I advise combined arms using eagles, bobcats and mortars.

Wednesday, 10/5/2016

Jimmy caught his plane back to California at 4:00 AM this morning. I slept on tile and drank coffee. Monika bought the big canister of instant coffee for her dad yesterday over his objections. Together with the electric kettle, he's going to be in heaven. I was free from bowel issues yesterday afternoon and evening but loose stools are back this morning. I don't have to exert myself so I'm fine but I can tell that between bowel issues and the lack of fresh fruits my strength is reduced. Air pollution is also taking its toll. I've developed an occasional cough and my nose is secreting more snot.

Monika bought an el cheapo $50 mattress from Indo-Target. It's worlds better than the thin red prison mat that I've been sleeping on.

We went out with Felicia, AKA Piano-Girl, so named because she earns money by giving piano lessons. She drives so she picked us up. We ate dimsum which is a la carte Chinese food. Most items are cooked by steaming. It was supposed to just be a snack but Monika and Piano-Girl went a little crazy with the ordering and it turned into a full meal. Piano-Girl was kind enough to mostly speak English so that I could be included in the conversation.

Piano-Girl drove us to the seashore to see the ocean view and the opulent houses. They are gigantic, having as many as 4 stories, and occupying their entire lot. The Jakarta building style is for houses to abut each other. They have their own wall but they literally are built against each other with no gap. These 15,000 square foot mansions with their marble columns share walls with their neighbors and have no setback other than massive, Lincoln-Memorial-style stairs leading to the front door. The gaudiness speaks corruption to me, or at the very naive least, new-money. Duct work and forced air is not a concept known here. These mansions have 15 or 20 air conditioning units attached to their marble facades.

I began feeling worse. I had already felt run-down but it was quickly turning into aches, pains and general uneasiness. The girls kept insisting it was dinner time though I was pretty sure that we had eaten only about 3 hours earlier. We headed to a restaurant district. I do not exaggerate. It is blocks after blocks of restaurants and long blocks at that. There are at least a hundred trendy looking restaurants though I'd guess closer to double that if you count the frozen yogurt. Naturally, we had to pass by every single one before choosing. Whatever, I wasn't hungry and increasingly despondent. They eventually picked Chir Chir, a trendy Korean fried chicken cafe. Obviously, it was themed American, with a nice New Mexico Route 66 sign, because everybody knows that the best fried chicken comes from New Mexico with sweet soy sauce.

The gurgling began. I made it home with that great force of will that everyone will empathize with. The diarrhea was bad throughout the night.

Thursday, 10/6/2016

I was in bad shape in the morning. I started to make my recovery with some medicine and electrolytes and was somewhat functional by evening. The anti-diarrhea medicine allowed me to make it to the spare apartment where I was able to get some sleep. I have had no fresh fruits and few vegetables for 2 weeks and loose stools, diarrhea or reduced rations (~1000 calories per day) for 10 days now (10/7). I've not slept well on tile, with call to prayer blaring over loud speakers beginning at 5:00 AM, with a couch cushion for a pillow that gives me a headache until noon or sometimes all day. Stiff upper lip and enjoy things as best as one can and all that but it's no secret that I'm excited to return home where I can enjoy not dying. I'm going to need a vacation after this.

Eleony returned with us to Monika's dad's house and Affandy joined us. They ate pizza hut while I hungrily watched and told stories. I eventually ate a little and held it down.

Friday, 10/7/2016

My diarrhea has passed but I've resolved to eat little until the plane flight. I ate a can of mandarin oranges and a can of pineapple. I took a risk and ate a light dinner and so far so good.

Eleony visited in the morning for a few hours. Monika spent the day going through her old stuff. I mostly played chess. Oh, I almost forgot to add bats to the list of neighborhood critters.

We will go to airport 10 hours from now but Monika and I will probably be up for a while yet. There's not much of a downside to being tired on a plane. It's more of an upside.

Would you recommend Indonesia to a friend?

No, it's literally coated in shit. The traffic is horrendous. Apples to apples it's more expensive than the United States. There are cheaper options if you're willing to compromise on heavy metals, etc. If you want a tropical vacation, go to Hawaii.

In Conclusion

Despite the above, I enjoyed a fair amount of the vacation. Bali had its highs. I had a particular reason for coming by way of Monika. Monika's friends are lovely company. I'd just rather socialize with them in my living room with a vegetable platter that didn't come from the little shop of horrors. I'm a curious enough person that for a brief period of time the bad can be interesting. That brief period having passed, I will not be returning.

Will the oompa-loompas make it in the end? I think so. The statistics point in that direction though one has to account for cataclysms. The statistics also say that the city is rapidly sinking. The lack of engineering and preparation combined with corruption makes it easy to imagine Jakarta being destroyed like New Orleans. There is intense, surreal desire to westernize but I'm not in a position to tell if it's more than superficial, a desire for western things but not the values that produce them. What do I know? I've been here for two weeks and I don't speak the language.

The first thing that I'll do when I get home is eat a salad.