Stampede

Jakarta Airport, today

Public Announcement

[Ding Dong]

"Dear passengers. A dark blue bag has been found outside the gate D2.

"Could everyone who own it, please come to the information counter beside immigration."

I was almost tempted to go there myself and lay claim to said dark blue bag.

Stingy

I leave for Africa tomorrow and have no time to prepare.

Things I haven't done:

• packed clothes - I don't own any warm clothes any more and haven't bought any
• arranged visas - I think I'll be fine
• looked into currency - I do hope they accept Indonesian Rupiah over there
• worried about health - vaccinations
• organised decent good insurance - this morning bought the first one that a Google search returned but I need to check if it's real or not I think it's Danish
• packed my bags - in any way shape or form
• printed out my flights and/or itinerary and/or
• done my washing
• left instructions for my maid

Things I have done:

• bought fake tan (blacking up for Africa, as it were ...)
• bought 3 pith helmets to blend in with the other pseudo colonialists
• bought Malaria pills. "Surely they have malaria in Indonesia," I thought to myself, followed by "and surely they won't ask me for a prescription".

Today while I was waiting for my take-away lunch I popped in to the chemist to buy malaria tablets. They didn't really understand what I needed but malaria is a common word. Before long, she (she with the green cross on her lapel) returned with a package that had a diagram of a mosquito on it. Good enough for me.

The instructions are in Indonesian but with Green's help we figured out that I must take 1 tablet today, then 1 every week "on this day".

The price for this medication came to 40 cents. That didn't exactly fill me with a sense of confidence in the drugs, or in Green's advice.

The mosquito image is compelling though.

I took my first pill whilst still in the chemist and they seemed alarmed that I didn't use water. It's now a few hours later I can feel a wave of something which has overcome me. I don't think it's a sense of protection. Or relief. Maybe it's just some old fashioned poisoning.

Idul Fitri

So today is called Idul Fitri, when the fasting is over and the fun begins.

I asked my boss what he and his family will be doing today and nearly fell asleep during the answer.

So get this: their today will have started this morning in his home town at 6am, or more correctly ... 6AM!!??!!.

The family will go through a whole bunch of bending and praying and apologising. Before now I had only ever heard this combination of verbs used for describing an old trolls in gay saunas, the who came out of the closet in his late 50's.

By 8.30am he and his immediate family will have completed over 2 hours of praying.

Clearly this is "little f" fun.

Next up, they will retire to some room and apologise to each other for any wrongdoings over the past year. To an outsider it all sounds very tedious and boring ... while probably good for your soul ... much like meditation. Or volunteering.

Today in Jakarta all the stores are shut and alcohol sales are almost non-existent. It's like Good Friday. Or "No-Good Friday", as I prefer to call it. Even Jesus would have to accept admit it wasn't one of his better days.

Unfortunately, some of us still have to work and I arrived at a deserted office tower this morning. The emptiness was unexpected and eerie. Tumbleweeds wouldn't have been out of place, like stumbling upon a deserted funpark during a road trip to Kansas.

I climbed over a boom gate (commando style), had my bag loosely checked by a security guard, had my hand shaken by a second, smiling security guard and was eventually led into an empty building by someone in jeans. I caught the lift up to my floor and tried swiping my card to gain access to the office. Nothing. I could see my desk through the glass door.

I didn't know what to do. On one hand, I needed to work. On the other, I couldn't get to my desk. It was just like Sophie's choice, albeit with lower personal consequences (or maybe similar consequences ... I mean ... Sophie was certainly quick about it all).

I eventually took the lift back down and slinked away from the office tower in reverse ... although this time I shook everyone's hand as I departed before finding myself on an empty street, hoping for a cab.

I called my team and told them not to bother turning up and to work from their home or hotel.

The cab dropped me at the Shangri La hotel - where I knew there was free wifi, comfortable lounge seating and decent coffee for the very attractive price of $6/cup.

I spent most of the day thinking about Allah and alcohol. Not necessarily in that order.

When I'm With Her I'm Confused

Fasting is a very misleading word because it actually makes you go slower. A lot slower.

I don't know who invented the word but it was probably those same bastards who put an "s" in "lisp" and placed all those "t"s and "r"s in "stutterer". Lispers and stutterers can't tell you what's wrong with them.

Being hungry also makes you forget meetings, miss deadlines and run late for things. F

I've been doing my own fasting during this period. For example, at lunch time I eat my rice extra slowly, hidden creatively under things like chicken, or a fork. I hardly notice myself consuming it, to the point where I now think smugly to myself "Oh, I don't eat carbs any more." Praise Allah.

In August hunger is the most popular excuse for tardiness, knocking traffic and sick children off the top spots.

The fasting month finishes tomorrow. It be briefly replaced by food, fireworks and a few public holidays.

For the past week the office has been slowing down to a grind. It feels much like Chrismas, albeit a hungrier version. Imagine Christmas at an under-funded soup kitchen and you get idea.

People also are starting to look happier and more relaxed, which is quite a challenge in Indonesia because those boxes are ticked anyway. Gifts are being given. If people weren't so weak there would probably be light dancing.

Everyone except Maria. She came up to my desk earlier and asked if there was any work I needed her to do over the holidays, that she hated holidays. I asked her why.

Maria: "... because i have nothing to do at home ... so if you ask me to go to work ... to do something ... it will be very good ... please Mr Anthony"

-- "What do you mean?"

Maria: "Just that I have nothing to do at home. I rather stay in office.Aat home my mum will ask you to do things like cooking and other things. cleaning things and doing things. so if you just say I have to work then I will work. So is there anything you need?"

-- "No ... but anyway you should have a holiday?

Maria: "No because I have to do the helping. I would rather typing or create a meeting id."

The interesting thing about all this is that when Maria is here, there is scant evidence of such enthusiasm and industry. I do my own typing and create my own meeting id's.

I won't get a holiday this year but am looking forward to some huge differences for a few days. They say there wlil be enough space on the roads to play backgammon. That's what they say.

And tonight we can expect all manner of rabble-rousing. This afternoon Maria warned me to leave the office early, just in case. I received the following chat message:

Maria: "hi, just want to inform you that near 6pm the street going to be crazy"

-- "thanks for the warning. i'll leave later then. maybe about 7.30."

Maria: "well, it's going to be crazy around here till night"

-- "why?"

Maria: "they want to have "takbiran" in the center of jakarta. so the streeet will be full of persons and cars"

-- "what is takbiran?"

Maria: "takbiran means "praise the lord" so they will 'scream' said 'Allahuakbbar" along the street"

-- "i'll look forward to it."

Maria: "yes so i must leave now OK so i don't get trapped here"

-- "ok. i wouldn't want to be responsible for trapping you here. have a good holiday."

Maria: "yes but tell me if you need help ok?"

-- "yes yes ... but no. be nice to your mother."

Maria: "is you mocking me?"

-- "no. i'm serious. be nice to your mother."

Maria: "hahahaha. bye"

Considering that Maria didn't even want any holidays, she seemed pretty eager to get it started.

Here's the thing: the longer I spend with Maria, the more she makes sense. Hers is a very slow, creepy brand of Stockholm Syndrome. Maybe it comes from one of those Stockholm suburbs where the lazy Swedes live, like Malmo. Or Bondi.

Big Bunny - The Eviction

Brunch, Ritz Carlton Jakarta

Sunday, 5 September 2010

We arrive at the front gate and our taxi is stopped by the security checkpoint. 

Thin men in dark blue uniforms inspect the car. Under the bonnet, in the boot, up the exhaust and even using mirrors on long sticks to hunt around the bottom – playing out their sexual fantasies in metaphor while circumventing Indonesia's strict anti-pornography laws.

A German shepherd pokes his head into the back seat and gives me a little sniff.

´Nothing to see here, Rex´ I assure him and reach for a pat. He ignores my hand and I withdraw it with a ´Fuck you too, Rex´ in a cowardly mumble.

We pass through yet more security at the front door and I mumble ´too little, too late´ so quietly that even I can hardly hear it.

We walk inside and are greeted by the restaurant hostess. She is nicely dressed in a well-tailored jacket and crisply-pleated skirt. Her hair is neatly pulled back and she resembles an ad on a billboard.

To her left is someone in a large white bunny suit. It's a little late for Easter but I still look around for eggs because in Indonesia all religions are ripe for a local interpretation.

The bunny suit is threadbare but clean; the result of a lifetime of being tossed into the washing machine by careless laundry ladies. Maybe the Ritz laundry is like a scene from Prisoner Cell Block H, where several bunny suits are imprisoned in muted lighting and occasionally molested by the prison lesbian hegemony. Washing machines hum in the background and a Ritz logo is on full display (product placement).

The suit is baggy around the arse and seems uncomfortable to wear, giving Bunny the vibe of an infant whose lazy parents have forced him to keep wearing diapers long past a dignified age. 'Just go in your nappy!' they hiss at his teary face before turning back to hunt for discounted diapers in aisle 7.

The Ritz hostess steps forward to show us to our table. As we pass Bunny I give him a sympathetic nod and I notice a slight flinch under his malting shoulders. Waves of hostility emanate from the suit.

We sit down to an enormous buffet of unlimited food and booze.

About an hour later I notice Bunny wandering aimlessly around the restaurant tables. Most of them are empty due to Ramadhan fasting. He appears disoriented and I assume he is very hot in that suit. Or hungry. Or drunk.

As the meal progresses, a second, furrier animal arrives on the scene. I suggest we call him ´Bunny 2´ but my brunch companions insist that he is a lion cub so we settle on ´Gladys´. Our lengthy argument (bunny vs cub) is a sure sign that we've already drunk too much; or not enough. Gladys seems less hostile than Bunny. Maybe she is more drunk, or more sober.

One of the tables which is hosting a children's birthday and a cake arrives. Singing starts. Bunny and Gladys reluctantly veer towards the relevant table and, on arrival, make no effort to engage with or entertain anyone. They seem to be happier to stumble around the edges and bump into chairs, startling the occasional child.

It all feels like a cheap version of Disneyland, where cost cutting has reduced the quality of costumes and reduced training.

Gladys makes a break from the kids and approaches our table.

I start to film her and the waiter decides that enough is enough and the last 2 seconds are priceless.

Bagian favorit saya adalah 2 detik terakhir ...

A Large Audible Sigh Of Relief

... is what I just breathed.

Over this.

I think this proves that God is not a complete fuckwit. As earlier suspected.

The Bowtie

Exciting news.

Last night I found out further information - first hand - about the Brazillian bowtie.

Firstly you are shown to a cubicle where you are greeted by a stripperella (their term). Said stripperella gets down to the business of waxing with all the efficiency and charm of a ... err ... stripperella.

This involves some general chit chat along the lines of "I haven't seen your friend Sarah here for a while?" and "Oooh - it's been a while yeah?". References to jungles are not uncommon. Each sentence from the stripperella is usually followed by a swish, a ripping sound and a muted gasp. Ergo her questions remain largely unanswered.

Once the waxing is complete, the bowtie cross-sell kicks in. When Stripperella has completed her task, you are discarded on the bench - the skin is raw and tender, with pores exposed. This is when she makes her final move. As it was being explained to me, metaphors like "prey" and "Serengeti" popped into my head.

As you lay there in a mild state of shock, Stripperella suggests that you may like a temporary tattoo of a bowtie to mark out the ground she's just cleared. Clearly, nothing would please you more.