Red Light Stop

This is a photo I took 10 minutes ago. I am in a cab with my colleague, stopped at the lights.

A shake of the head usually enough for Indonesian beggars, who are far less pushy than their neighbours. Probably because they are far less hungry.

This kid was persistent, though. Possibly because it was raining.

One important rule is to never - never - give money to begging children. It doesn't feed the child. It only feeds the system that plucks Oliver Twist out of school and dumps him in front of traffic lights, or a mall entrance.

In Indonesia--as with most developing countries--you eventually learn to ignore beggars. This means that about 7 seconds after the lights turned green I would have forgotten all about this kid.

When I was in the car he didn't seem as sad as he looks here.

Beyond The Pale

I Don't Heart Finland

I have worked with 2 Finns this year, a sample size which allows me to make the following conclusions:

a) Finnish people are lazy

b) Finnish people are fucking lazy

c) I hate working with fucking lazy Finns

Theirs is a lethargy so potent that it has been drowning my workplace in a swill of unreturned emails, overdue actions and incomplete documents.

My colleague, Dedi, used to work for Nokia Indonesia and he confirmed my suspicions. Nokia is not just mobile phones - Finland's largest company owns a big chunk of the market in telecommunications infrastruture - including GSM networks and mobile towers and the like.

Dedi told me that Nokia ruined Finland's work culture. For over 15 years they provided millions of well paid, cushy jobs to plump white giants.

Ironically, the sun shone for a long time in Finland. Nokia's products sold themselve and the Nokia folk in HQ were given highly paid jobs with little accountability. So says Dedi.

Whenever Nokia Indonesia needed to bring Finnish people onto their project, deadlines were missed and tasks were only half done. Although I find it hard to believe this was purely because of the Finns ... it sounds very much business as usual in these parts.

As with most lazy people, I quite like Finnish people on a personal level. They are always willing to participate in fattening things like eating peanuts, drinking beer and lying around. Unfortunately, they also combine this with minimal sun exposure which means that most Finns come off looking a bit Downsy.

Small Talk

I need to change my small talk. To find an alternative to "How are you?"

This morning I had one of those diarrhoea style encounters. Although this time diarrhoea took a back seat. As it is wont to do.

Rasi is one of my colleagues. I shared a lift with her this morning.

Me: "Hi Rasi. How are you? I haven't seen you for a while."

Her: "I've got chicken pox this week. You see?" [smiles while pointing to various scabs on her face.]

Bloody Herald

Interesting choice of photo by the SMH today:

It looks like they caught these poor tourists on their way down. At least on film.

My Rusti Indonesian

Saturday 19 March 2011, midday

Celebrity Fitness, eX Mall

Last week I decided to get a personal trainer.

It's not easy to find a bossy trainer in Indonesia, especially given their friendly and obliging way with foreigners which works very well at Starbucks but less so as an exercise regime for fat cunts.

A colleague who goes to my gym recommended an experienced trainer, one who sits at the bossy end of the bell curve.

"Ask for Rusti ... you know, like Salman Rusti!"

Rusti speaks very little English. While he can count to 10, he tends to skip the 4 or the 8 (sometimes both) This was demonstrated during our first session as he walked me through my weights, so I started counting audibly in Indonesian to shift him back to his mother tongue.

Rusti is not used to working with foreigners. He rabbits on to me at 100 miles an hour in Indonesian, using serious eye contact and an intense look on his face. In the beginning I kept asking "please speak more slowly" in Indonesian but it had no impact. Rusti would simply respond with a curt nod of his head and continue at full speed.

I decided to just stare back at him, squinting intensely as I hunted for familiar English words like "bicep" or "cardio". I managed to picked out the word "fat" quite often, which is both disappointing and accurate.

During my first session I pretended that fat was the Indonesian word for handsome and would smile weakly at Rusti, like a tranquilized housewife.

Saturday was my second session with Rusti and his first at full pay. I chose to start at midday to ensure that I didn't drink too much the night before.

Nevertheless, I arrived unshaven and hungover at 12:05 and the look of disappointment on Rusti's face was palpable.

For the next 15 minutes I squinted diligently as Rusti delivered the bad news: I drink too much, there is no core body strength, too fat, not enough flexibility, I eat my dinner too late at night and my attitude is very bad and on that note it is not just my attitude that is bad but maybe my whole spirit. Rusti certainly seemed to have identified a few things for us to work on.

"I think we are going to get along". I thought to myself while cringeing.

The session was very painful to the body, but at least it killed the hangover.

Rusti decided to finish up with some kind of abdominal exercise. He asked me to balance on a large fit ball, kind of hugging it face down and keeping my body straight. Due to the language barrier I had no idea what I was supposed to do. I couldn't understand the instructions and it left me awkwardly wobbling as I tried to balance while guessing what he wanted me to do.

I tried various things like using my arms and contracting my stomach, much like a press-up or an upside down ab crunch. Rusti kept saying the word "tahan" with increasing frustration. I had no idea what this meant but worked out that he meant "lower, lower" - the movement which would cause the most pain. So I tried move my hips down to extend my back. This made him say the word more frequently, in an exacerbated tone "tahan Anton! tahan!" so I moved back into position until the tahans slowed.

Learning new exercises is hard enough in English with a new trainer because often they make no sense at first, and often feel wrong.

For my next attempt, I tried a crouching movement. I bent inwards at the hips while pushing down on the ball with my elbows. This elicited even more "tahan Anton! tahan!" and I hoped it meant "good boy", knowing it couldn't.

Eventually my muscles couldn't keep me there any longer and I just slid off the ball, inelegantly landing on my left shoulder.

Rusti made me go through this exercise 3 more times. On each occasion the word "tahan" defined his frustrated mantra while I tried all manner of contortions to reduce its frequency.

Finally, Rusti concluded that my core strength was appalling and it would need to be our focus for the next 2 weeks. At the end of the session I signed a form I didn't understand and we parted ways, each of us a little disappointed in me.

When I got back to my blackberry I immediately looked up the word "tahan" in the dictionary. It means "hold". Then I realised. All the time I was guessing up, then down, then bent, then straight, then twist, then whatever ... Rusty was simply telling me to stay the fuck still.

Monday's Child Is Fair Of Face

Monday 21 March 2011, 8am

Starbucks, Wisma Mulia

The badges on his apron said that my coffee was being prepared by Charlee, the Barista in Training.

Charlee's sniffling and nose wiping indicated a mild cold.

He seemed to be working at slow motion, fondle all conceivable parts of a cup or lid that may one day come into contact with a customer's mouth. I figured it was part of his training and imagined that the frequent nose wipes are a kind of snot top-up, metered out to ensure that no customer missed out.

As is customary in Indonesia, the entire process was carefully supervised by a gormless colleague with nothing else to do. She seemed friendly and bored and I named her Gladys.

I gave Charlee some feedback as he handed me the coffee. I tried to speak discretely but the language barrier required me to perform a reenactment:

"It's not good to touch the nose like this [wipe, snort] and the cups like this [fondle fondle] then to the customers mouth [gulp gulp]".

Nevertheless, Charlee seemed quite receptive. So did Gladys, who maintained eye contact with me throughout the proceedings ... smiling warmly while picking her nose.

Entrevue

I must have done about 30 job interviews since arriving in Jakarta and it's been an interesting experience.

People here approach interviews very differently.

They arrive on time.

This is the strangest thing of all. Jakartans are never on time, no matter the occasion. I cringe as my colleagues wander into important client presentations 45 minutes late, casually smiling as they pull up a chair. Jakartansa are even late for their most important events like weddings, dinner or prayers.

If you ask them why, they just say it was "macet" (traffic jam) and all is forgiven.

So why is it only job interviews that make the macet dissolve?

They wear their worst clothes

I can't believe how badly people dress for the interview. Men are nearly always a short-sleeved shirt and a ratty pair of pants. I have never seen a suit or tie of any description. I have seen plenty of jeans and on one occasion, thongs.

This isn't wrong - it's just confusing. For those that are successful, the clothing they end up wearing on the job is much better than what they took to the interview.

Why would they dress in their daggiest threads when they are about to make an important first impression?

They never take notes

I have only ever had one person pull out a pen and a notepad. I was impressed until I realised he was only going to use it as an arm rest.

They blab.

Long, long, long answers to easy questions. The response to "How long did that project last?" can go for 10 minutes.

It could be nerves. It could be their confidence in English. It's easier to blab on and delay the next difficult questions from the white guy in a tie.

They sing

Ask them anything about their current job, or life, and you'll get everything back.

This birdy starts singing the moment it sits down.

Ask them anything about their company, revenues, strategy and they'll give it up. Luckily most of the personal stuff is already written on the CV so you don't need to pry.

Sometimes when I get bored I use the session to see how much gossip I can extract.

They tell the truth about their salary

This is a refreshing (if poor) way to negotiate salary. Even people who want a huge increase will tell you the truth.

"Well I've been earning 14 million for some time now, so I think I would like to earn 25 million for this job."

If I wanted to go from 14 to 25, I would tell them I was currently on 22 and expecting a pay increase soon.

As the interviewer, I often respond with something like "Do you realise that this is an 80% increase?" to which I get a broad smile and an embarrassed shake of the head (no eye contact) as they say "Oh yes ... OK but negotiable lah ..."

This happened in an interview I did this morning:

Each time I asked a question he would take a deep breath and hold it.

When I was finished he would smile broadly, let out a loud audible sigh ("aaaaaahhhhhhhhh"), lean back in his chair and chuckle as he rolled his eyes. It was endearing in an avuncular kind of way ... like he was about to recount his old schoolboy pranks.

When he finally rocked forward in his chair he would land with both palms on the table and look me straight in the eye.

This was followed by a very long, detailed explanation which did not answer the question in any respect.

Towards the end of the interview I asked him why he was looking for a job. He smiled and told me that he had recently accepted a job with another company so was no longer on the market.

I asked him why he came to the interview. After a suck, hold, aaaaaaah, lean, chuckle, roll, rock and hand-landing he explained how he had been called in for an interview my our recruitment person, Lina. That she had made the appointment with me.

Me: "So are you still looking for a new job?"

[suck, hold, aaaaaaah, lean, chuckle, roll, rock, hand-landing] "Not yet."

China Plates

Reuters: China has donated 30M yuan in humanitarian aid to Japan.

Let me get this right.

The world's second largest economy has donated $4.5M USD to help its neighbour.

The first joke to come out of this earthquake.

The Importance Of Planning In Indonesia

What I looked at for 2 hours today, as I waited for the workshop to resume after lunch.

Intermezzo

in·ter·mez·zo

[in-ter-met-soh, -med-zoh]

–noun, plural -mez·zos, -mez·zi

1.

a short dramatic, musical, or other entertainment of light character, introduced between the acts of a drama or opera.

2.

a short musical composition between main divisions of anextended musical work.

3.

a short, independent musical composition.

-----------------------------------------------------------

The first time I heard the word "intermezzo" dropped into casual conversation, it was during a catch-up with my CEO.

"If you would allow me a brief intermezzo ..."

I thought it was an lovely way to introduce an anecdote, even one that turned out to be boring.

Our CEO is very well educated and his English is excellent. I had images of him at the opera in Singapore ... it has to be Singapore because Jakarta has no opera. He turns to his wife at interval and says "Wasn't that intermezzo between Act 2 and Act 3 just delightful!"

Since then--once or twice--I've thought I heard someone say this word and assumed I misunderstood.

Not so this morning. During a meeting someone clearly asked me:

"Anthony do you mind if I intermezzo?"

There was no mistake this time. He had both used it and upgraded it to a verb.

Consistent with the CEO, he rouned it out with a long-winded, irrelevant observation which distracted the room.

Then I realised. This wasn't English. This wasn't even Italian. This was Bahasa. The Indonesians have taken this word and made it their own.

-----------------------------------------------------------

in·ter·mez·zo

[in-ter-met-soh, -med-zoh]

–noun, plural -mez·zos, -mez·zi

1.

a short, dramatic interruption to a boring meeting. Designed to distract the facilitator away from discussing anything important.

2.

a long winded, endless anecdote that comes out of nowhere. Often alludes to

photocopiers and printers.

3.

a form of Tourette's Syndrome, using allegories.

At this point I would like to intermezzo.

I just did a google search on 'Jakarta Opera' and found a review "The Magic Flute" from a local production, last November:

"Although using minimal stage props, the lighting and costumes made for a stunning visual experience."

Make no mistake - this quote was placed directly underneath the photo. I don't know which bit they were looking at.

I think that this opera business (and indeed this whole intermezzo business) is best left to Singapore.

Two Years

A couple of days ago I inadvertently missed my "2 years since I left Australia" anniversary.

I've passed a point where it would feel natural to be living there: Sydney seems distant.

Thinking about it now, I try to find a word to describe how I feel. I think I'll call it cinnamon.

I feel cinnamon.

Namasty

Most Indian restaurants can only survive in Jakarta by offering a Chinese twist to their food.

This is how my local home delivery outlet brands itself.

I particularly like the "& Sweet" afterthought at the end ... although if they have more late-landing ideas they will have to start using bullet points.

Normally when a restaurant brands itself across multiple countries, it means they do everything badly. Not in this case: the Indian options are good. Oddly enough, I use chopsticks for the onion salad and chicken tikka. They handle them better than other cutlery.

I'm going to start asking them to throw in some chopsticks with the order.