If you happened to read the previous post, I just want to tell that I did go to Lombok and dive in The Gilis. I also visited Mount Merapi afterwards, although I'm too lazy to write the details. What confused me was that I didn't feel great at the end. I've done everything that I am excited about, yet I was restless to be back to Semarang.
Not that I was bored. I have my job and friends here, I am more than happy to be back. It was just because for almost a year in Semarang, I didn't really achieve or do anything meaningful. I was practically messing about. I was busy to make myself busy. The only occasion when I feel like doing or learning something useful was when I travel. It explains why my mind was always somewhere else.
I complained to friends over the internet that I couldn't have real conversations with my colleagues and friends. Most of them are busy, settled and responsible adults. Therefore we have almost no common interest. I was tired of listening about our mundane daily life (Was it because I always want to be entertained? Generation Y tendency?). I still hang out with them, of course, but I know I was missing something. And it wasn't a marriage, like is always suggested.
A conversation that I usually have over a cup of tea or a plateful of 'nasi goreng' is often about kids, husband/male species, colleagues, work or money. I also talk about similar topics, don't get me wrong, but once in while I want to talk about something else. Not necessarily important, but new (at least for me). Like, does Luke Skywalker really exist? or why Spongebob is yellow? why time flies and slips through our fingers? I want to talk about stuff that I am interested in. I also want to get a feedback, apart from a strange look. Only recently I've found a drain. It's called 'doing my job'.
I know I love teaching. I enjoy standing in front of people and explaining something that draws their attention. I always be the person who does the speech, since I was an elementary student (I was in tears at that time, though, because everybody else could do a peacock dance and I had to talk instead. Not happy tears). In the past I had talked in front of villagers, peers, teachers and children. Once I also tried to be an elementary English teacher. It was quite enjoyable for me, yet it didn't fully explore my passion to teach. People join an English course as a 'supplement' education, something they do in their spare time. Either their parents ask them to join or they volunteer in the class to have fun. That's why sometimes it's hard to keep their attention. It's pretty normal that some students did text messaging when I was teaching! Furthermore, it wasn't quite easy with English. My students demanded a conversation class, which means to teach off the book. Which means, I have to think of myself what to teach. If it's too easy or too difficult, the result will be same: I'm losing them. I have to find out which is the perfect level for these teenagers, who play nintendo wii on their holiday and can't live without Blackberry messenger.
Fortunately, it is different in the lecture theatre. These med students come to learn, or at least they have to, if they want to pass the exam and graduate. In general, they have more attention and obedience. They even listen to me sometimes!
Only recently I have my own class. I don't teach "Biomolecular markers of breast cancer" or anything remotely cool like that, but I found out that I can talk about 'interesting stuffs' to my students. In fact, I can talk about anything to them. The things that I contemplate. Medicine. Poems. Books. Scholarship application. Languages. Research. Travel. Experience. Friends. Different ways of living. Writing. Or simply about people and culture. Instead of looking nerd, I am usually considered as a responsible lecturer, who gives education (you bet). When we do something that we love doing and are passionate about, the atmosphere will follow. In short, I'm so happy to do my job.
The best part of this is that I need no excuse to do it!
Minggu, 05 Desember 2010
Jumat, 22 Oktober 2010
Eat (good foods), Pray (that I have enough money to afford my holiday), Love (Bali)
I've stayed at Denpasar for almost 4 weeks now and I have a few stories to tell. But since I put everything off until now, those stories are getting stale. I'll write it anyway.
Three weeks ago I went to Ubud to visit Ubud Writers & Readers festival. I went there on a motorbike and I suddenly realised that Ubud is so unbelievably close to where I live, if only I had slightly better navigational skill and not got lost in Denpasar only to find the way to get out of the town. Anyway, I managed to get to Ubud safe and sound (eventually). I intended to see a play called "Conference of The Birds" based on story from a Persian poet, Farid Al-Din Attar. Frankly, I had no idea what it was about. I didn't bother because this is always my state of mind whenever I go to a performance. I love the element of surprise, you see. I expected to get information about the story on a piece of paper then I could read it in case I didn't get the dialogues from beginning to end, as usual. To my surprise, the piece of paper I got didn't have the priceless information I desperately needed. It only says about the actors; what their achievements, how long they've been on stage, where they graduated from and what they do for living, etc. Even worse, I bet the other guests had read the book from cover to back, or at the very least, they could recite it. There was a big banner for guests to sign on which people wrote some quotes from the book like, 'All praised the splendour of their distant king; All rose impatient to be on the wing;' or something like that. I was terrified with my ignorance of Sufi poems until I heard someone whispered from the back row, "Could you tell me again what is the story about?" It's amazing how relieved I felt to know that I wasn't the only moron in the room. Or we were just being normal, in fact. At the end of the show we saw singing and dancing and theatrical poem-reading before the background of misty foliage in a warm night at Ubud candlelit open air stage. This moment then, I was sure everyone understood the language of beauty.
I spent the rest of my staying at Ubud wandering around the village and town, knocking foreigners' doors in an effort to find a nice place to rest that night. It turned out to me that most people stay at Ubud for longer than one night, hardly any place to rent for a single night. It's understandable since this town/village is so serene, with lots of ashrams and yoga centre and all. One day I will stay longer at Ubud and perhaps learn to meditate (as if my hometown isn't as rural as Ubud).
Last weekend (the following week) me and a bunch of my colleagues rent a car to go to Central Bali. We visited Besakih, the biggest temple in Bali notorious for scams. We survived the scams, needless to say, but they managed to prevent us from getting inside the higher temple. My colleagues didn't mind at all, as long as we have this pretty picture of us in front of the temple. But I did. I mean, if I go to one place, at least I wish I saw most part of it, not the facade only. I did ask permission to climb on those flights of stairs and I was admitted. Only a few steps from the entrance, one of my colleagues called me and asked me to get down immediately. I knew there were some people did offering and praying inside the temple, but they were quite casual (they didn't even noticed me because I was wearing sarong, belt, rice on my fore head and flowers on my ears, because we were asked to pray a bit before entering the front part of the temple) so I was wondering why they sounded very hasty when asked me to leave.
"A guest who are not allowed to come in but still insists to do it will cast a jinx," they said. Yet when we were at the front door they'd already asked for 'donation' so that we could enter all parts of the temple. Yeah sure. Even god need money these days. I obediently followed my colleagues out of the temple and into the car.
It was muggy and raining when we arrived at Bratan lake. Last time I saw this place, I was 17 years old and for the first time I wore very short trousers in a public place. Well, I just want to say that this place is quite special to me (because I wore shorts. The first time. Very important indeed). I really wanted to see it again. I wanted to know how it looks now, whether it has changed a lot after years - although I actually only remember it vaguely now. Also the fact that we were there, after all. Unluckily, nobody wanted to get drenched in this very wet day. So we drove back to West Bali, to Tanah Lot to be exact, to a beach with better weather. As a matter of fact, the decision is understandable. Still for me, I really don't mind to get some mud and rain water especially after 2 hours drive to Bedugul, the area where Lake Bratan is. This area is damp and cool, a contrast to sunny and hot South Bali. But isn't this what we were looking for when we drove hours away from South Bali? I thought we want to experience something different, not just visit places in order to take good pictures of them (bad weather isn't good for pictures, legend has it). Yet since I traveled with many people, I thought it's wise to go with the majority.
Tanah Lot was no different from a packed street market that afternoon: so crowded and busy, hectic with tourists and people selling instant photos. You can barely make picture without random strangers in it. That's why I wanted to go to the other side. There is a piece of land surrounded by rocks further away from those bunch of people wearing sunglasses and carrying digital cameras. One of my colleagues showed me the way to get there, but it turned up that the undisturbed piece of land I desired was not entirely a public place. It belongs to a five-stars hotel nearby and it is actually part of their golf field. In my opinion, hotel is still a public place. It's open to the beach anyway and I don't think a human being like myself is a big threat for national security. So I wandered around and I managed to get to the rocks, the peaceful part of the island and stayed there for a while. Some of my colleagues followed me and I guess we liked this place a lot. Until my friend said that she wasn't comfortable being in a hotel area and it was better for us to leave. In fact, on my way there some people from the hotel had reminded me, "Beware of the golf balls," which is another way of saying, "Move away from this place or you'll have your head knocked by the balls" but I told him that I wasn't afraid of golf balls because they're smaller than goat's testis. That's how I ignored him and continued walking to my preciously tranquil land. At this point, when my friend acted as if a prefect, I was a bit annoyed. It spoiled the moment. But I didn't make it a fuss until later when someone added to me, "We have rules here, Ria. You can't just go wherever you want,"
Let me tell you: we indeed can go wherever we want. Especially if you have cash. But if not, a bit of boldness and smile can do the trick. You'll never know if you never try.
Coming back from this trip, I figured out that it was time to go on my own tailored journey. If I want to get all wet and all in, it's a bit tricky to involve all my colleagues. Usually when traveling, as am not the fittest person in the world, I mostly feel like an old lady in her 80s and I make note to myself to buy health insurance and write my will as soon as I can. But with my colleagues, I feel as though I am the sportiest girl in her twenties. Wait. I am a girl in her twenties. Anyway, I decided for the next day that I would go on a solo trip to Nusa Lembongan, an island in the east off Bali.
I quickly made friends with a family from East Java on the way to the island. The boat we were was so choppy that my new friends were busy vomiting along the way. But all was worth it. Nusa lembongan is probably my best snorkeling spot in this year. I wasn't very lucky when I visited Karimun Java on my last holiday, or Vietnam when I only saw jellyfish and some other snorkeling spots that wasn't as much to see as this one. I was swimming with various tropical fish (morish idols, snappers, angel and clown fish, surgeon fish and tiger fish) when I feed them with crumps of bread. I saw corals and seaweeds. I also did kayaking and saw sea caves along the island. Despite a bit of sunburn on my arms and face, in short it was such an amazing day. I chilled out on a resort and had a chat with an Australian grandpa (who managed to swim with his hat on and keep it dry the whole time!) who is also a volunteer for Rotary club.
Our conversation went like this:
Me : "What kind of job do you do for Rotary?"
Him : "Help eradicating malaria,"
Me : "What a coincidence! I also work in malaria field. Whereabouts do you work?"
Him : "Papua. There're so many people suffered from malaria, HIV/AIDS and malnutrition. People are so poor. Also in Africa, India and South America. Our work is prioritized in these countries,"
Me : "That's so cool. It's true, we need to combat these health problems," (pretend to completely understand and be deeply concerned)
Him : "Yes. And look at us! Dipping lazily in a resort pool and dozing on the beach in an island after lunch,"
Me : " Agree. What lazy bastards,"
He continued swimming with his dry hat.
I am planning to go to Lombok when I have time. I enjoy going with my colleagues and having a kind of holiday which includes more comfort and safety, but I'll make sure to have another kind of holiday which allows adventure, new friends and surprise. We'll see.
Three weeks ago I went to Ubud to visit Ubud Writers & Readers festival. I went there on a motorbike and I suddenly realised that Ubud is so unbelievably close to where I live, if only I had slightly better navigational skill and not got lost in Denpasar only to find the way to get out of the town. Anyway, I managed to get to Ubud safe and sound (eventually). I intended to see a play called "Conference of The Birds" based on story from a Persian poet, Farid Al-Din Attar. Frankly, I had no idea what it was about. I didn't bother because this is always my state of mind whenever I go to a performance. I love the element of surprise, you see. I expected to get information about the story on a piece of paper then I could read it in case I didn't get the dialogues from beginning to end, as usual. To my surprise, the piece of paper I got didn't have the priceless information I desperately needed. It only says about the actors; what their achievements, how long they've been on stage, where they graduated from and what they do for living, etc. Even worse, I bet the other guests had read the book from cover to back, or at the very least, they could recite it. There was a big banner for guests to sign on which people wrote some quotes from the book like, 'All praised the splendour of their distant king; All rose impatient to be on the wing;' or something like that. I was terrified with my ignorance of Sufi poems until I heard someone whispered from the back row, "Could you tell me again what is the story about?" It's amazing how relieved I felt to know that I wasn't the only moron in the room. Or we were just being normal, in fact. At the end of the show we saw singing and dancing and theatrical poem-reading before the background of misty foliage in a warm night at Ubud candlelit open air stage. This moment then, I was sure everyone understood the language of beauty.
I spent the rest of my staying at Ubud wandering around the village and town, knocking foreigners' doors in an effort to find a nice place to rest that night. It turned out to me that most people stay at Ubud for longer than one night, hardly any place to rent for a single night. It's understandable since this town/village is so serene, with lots of ashrams and yoga centre and all. One day I will stay longer at Ubud and perhaps learn to meditate (as if my hometown isn't as rural as Ubud).
Last weekend (the following week) me and a bunch of my colleagues rent a car to go to Central Bali. We visited Besakih, the biggest temple in Bali notorious for scams. We survived the scams, needless to say, but they managed to prevent us from getting inside the higher temple. My colleagues didn't mind at all, as long as we have this pretty picture of us in front of the temple. But I did. I mean, if I go to one place, at least I wish I saw most part of it, not the facade only. I did ask permission to climb on those flights of stairs and I was admitted. Only a few steps from the entrance, one of my colleagues called me and asked me to get down immediately. I knew there were some people did offering and praying inside the temple, but they were quite casual (they didn't even noticed me because I was wearing sarong, belt, rice on my fore head and flowers on my ears, because we were asked to pray a bit before entering the front part of the temple) so I was wondering why they sounded very hasty when asked me to leave.
"A guest who are not allowed to come in but still insists to do it will cast a jinx," they said. Yet when we were at the front door they'd already asked for 'donation' so that we could enter all parts of the temple. Yeah sure. Even god need money these days. I obediently followed my colleagues out of the temple and into the car.
It was muggy and raining when we arrived at Bratan lake. Last time I saw this place, I was 17 years old and for the first time I wore very short trousers in a public place. Well, I just want to say that this place is quite special to me (because I wore shorts. The first time. Very important indeed). I really wanted to see it again. I wanted to know how it looks now, whether it has changed a lot after years - although I actually only remember it vaguely now. Also the fact that we were there, after all. Unluckily, nobody wanted to get drenched in this very wet day. So we drove back to West Bali, to Tanah Lot to be exact, to a beach with better weather. As a matter of fact, the decision is understandable. Still for me, I really don't mind to get some mud and rain water especially after 2 hours drive to Bedugul, the area where Lake Bratan is. This area is damp and cool, a contrast to sunny and hot South Bali. But isn't this what we were looking for when we drove hours away from South Bali? I thought we want to experience something different, not just visit places in order to take good pictures of them (bad weather isn't good for pictures, legend has it). Yet since I traveled with many people, I thought it's wise to go with the majority.
Tanah Lot was no different from a packed street market that afternoon: so crowded and busy, hectic with tourists and people selling instant photos. You can barely make picture without random strangers in it. That's why I wanted to go to the other side. There is a piece of land surrounded by rocks further away from those bunch of people wearing sunglasses and carrying digital cameras. One of my colleagues showed me the way to get there, but it turned up that the undisturbed piece of land I desired was not entirely a public place. It belongs to a five-stars hotel nearby and it is actually part of their golf field. In my opinion, hotel is still a public place. It's open to the beach anyway and I don't think a human being like myself is a big threat for national security. So I wandered around and I managed to get to the rocks, the peaceful part of the island and stayed there for a while. Some of my colleagues followed me and I guess we liked this place a lot. Until my friend said that she wasn't comfortable being in a hotel area and it was better for us to leave. In fact, on my way there some people from the hotel had reminded me, "Beware of the golf balls," which is another way of saying, "Move away from this place or you'll have your head knocked by the balls" but I told him that I wasn't afraid of golf balls because they're smaller than goat's testis. That's how I ignored him and continued walking to my preciously tranquil land. At this point, when my friend acted as if a prefect, I was a bit annoyed. It spoiled the moment. But I didn't make it a fuss until later when someone added to me, "We have rules here, Ria. You can't just go wherever you want,"
Let me tell you: we indeed can go wherever we want. Especially if you have cash. But if not, a bit of boldness and smile can do the trick. You'll never know if you never try.
Coming back from this trip, I figured out that it was time to go on my own tailored journey. If I want to get all wet and all in, it's a bit tricky to involve all my colleagues. Usually when traveling, as am not the fittest person in the world, I mostly feel like an old lady in her 80s and I make note to myself to buy health insurance and write my will as soon as I can. But with my colleagues, I feel as though I am the sportiest girl in her twenties. Wait. I am a girl in her twenties. Anyway, I decided for the next day that I would go on a solo trip to Nusa Lembongan, an island in the east off Bali.
I quickly made friends with a family from East Java on the way to the island. The boat we were was so choppy that my new friends were busy vomiting along the way. But all was worth it. Nusa lembongan is probably my best snorkeling spot in this year. I wasn't very lucky when I visited Karimun Java on my last holiday, or Vietnam when I only saw jellyfish and some other snorkeling spots that wasn't as much to see as this one. I was swimming with various tropical fish (morish idols, snappers, angel and clown fish, surgeon fish and tiger fish) when I feed them with crumps of bread. I saw corals and seaweeds. I also did kayaking and saw sea caves along the island. Despite a bit of sunburn on my arms and face, in short it was such an amazing day. I chilled out on a resort and had a chat with an Australian grandpa (who managed to swim with his hat on and keep it dry the whole time!) who is also a volunteer for Rotary club.
Our conversation went like this:
Me : "What kind of job do you do for Rotary?"
Him : "Help eradicating malaria,"
Me : "What a coincidence! I also work in malaria field. Whereabouts do you work?"
Him : "Papua. There're so many people suffered from malaria, HIV/AIDS and malnutrition. People are so poor. Also in Africa, India and South America. Our work is prioritized in these countries,"
Me : "That's so cool. It's true, we need to combat these health problems," (pretend to completely understand and be deeply concerned)
Him : "Yes. And look at us! Dipping lazily in a resort pool and dozing on the beach in an island after lunch,"
Me : " Agree. What lazy bastards,"
He continued swimming with his dry hat.
Selasa, 05 Oktober 2010
Bali it is
I am on 5-weeks teacher training at Denpasar, Bali. When I tell/write friends this, somehow attention is drawn to the last word, which is "Bali" (Then followed by an urgently important message: bring me some souvenirs!). The truth is, "teacher training" takes most of the place and no, I'm not really on holiday. Still, I do my best to make it feel like one.
Apart from the religion, I don't think Bali is much different to Semarang (I'm living in a hotel with my colleagues from Semarang. That's explain a lot). I spend most of my time at IALF (Indonesia Australia Language Foundation), the institution who provides the training. It's quite a nice place apart from the fact that it's my work place. To be completely honest I kind of like this place, especially the library (they call it Resource Centre or something). There're lots of books and magazines, free internet, lockers, TV, videos, and a burning incense to add the Balinese atmosphere to the place. If only they have sofas, coffee maker, crisps, pillows and a massage service! There's also a pleasant cafetaria where I always have my delicious mango juice and feed the fish in the pond with my leftover food (don't do this at home!).
The training lesson is in general okay, but the most interesting part of it is -of course- the teacher. There is this teacher: a young, bariton-voiced, hunky English bloke who always put gel on his hair so it looks like porcupine. He also wears tight, fashionable T-shirt and delicately ironed trousers so he almost seems like an Armany guy who is in Bali for holiday but forget to bring his holiday outfits. Anyway, he makes an infinite source for our cruel jokes. In my spare time I will dip myself into a pint-sized swimming pool at the hotel where we stay until my skin gets wrinkled, or read 'Eat, Pray, Love' by Elizabeth Gilbert. I know it's so last year but I like to read something that suits the theme (or in my case, that's the only option I have. I only bring this book). Once in a while I'll see my friend Dyta who works at Sanglah hospital. We went to Kuta beach festival on the other day, where we had one litre of Balimoon (Balinese cocktail) for two of us only! We could not walk straight afterwards although Dyta had to be on call in the morning. I just loved it.
Weekend is the best part of my staying at Bali. Last Saturday, me and my colleagues went on a tour in South Bali. We did water sports in Tanjung Benoa, we visited some excellent, white-sand turquoise-water beaches, saw Kecak dance at Uluwatu at dusk and later had roasted-fish dinner at Jimbaran. Ok, this sounds like I'm bragging about my weekend but actually the best part of it is just the fact that we travelled in a bunch and therefore we'd got to know each other better. After all, this is what matters when you are stuck with a group of people for a full month training!
Apart from the religion, I don't think Bali is much different to Semarang (I'm living in a hotel with my colleagues from Semarang. That's explain a lot). I spend most of my time at IALF (Indonesia Australia Language Foundation), the institution who provides the training. It's quite a nice place apart from the fact that it's my work place. To be completely honest I kind of like this place, especially the library (they call it Resource Centre or something). There're lots of books and magazines, free internet, lockers, TV, videos, and a burning incense to add the Balinese atmosphere to the place. If only they have sofas, coffee maker, crisps, pillows and a massage service! There's also a pleasant cafetaria where I always have my delicious mango juice and feed the fish in the pond with my leftover food (don't do this at home!).
The training lesson is in general okay, but the most interesting part of it is -of course- the teacher. There is this teacher: a young, bariton-voiced, hunky English bloke who always put gel on his hair so it looks like porcupine. He also wears tight, fashionable T-shirt and delicately ironed trousers so he almost seems like an Armany guy who is in Bali for holiday but forget to bring his holiday outfits. Anyway, he makes an infinite source for our cruel jokes. In my spare time I will dip myself into a pint-sized swimming pool at the hotel where we stay until my skin gets wrinkled, or read 'Eat, Pray, Love' by Elizabeth Gilbert. I know it's so last year but I like to read something that suits the theme (or in my case, that's the only option I have. I only bring this book). Once in a while I'll see my friend Dyta who works at Sanglah hospital. We went to Kuta beach festival on the other day, where we had one litre of Balimoon (Balinese cocktail) for two of us only! We could not walk straight afterwards although Dyta had to be on call in the morning. I just loved it.
Jumat, 03 September 2010
Singapore Sling
"I'm at the airport. I'm going to Singapore. I have no place to stay. My flight will arrive at Changi at about...errr, 10 minutes after midnight. Could I crush to your couch tonight?" I desperately called my sister's friend, Richard, just a few minutes before boarding. I could not get into him via mobile phone. I was using a public phone in the airport which charged me a lot for every single minute.
Tick...tick...tick...
"No problem, I'll pick you up." Richard answered succinctly.
"Thanks a zillion," He had saved my nerves and money.
I waved to Richard in the arrival gate and he looked at me with a slight shock.
"Gosh, I thought you were a Vietnamese maid!" (Trust me, Richard never really sees any Vietnamese maid for whole of his life. He said that only because I was carrying a cone hat)
"Really?" Opposite of my expected reaction, I sounded especially proud. "I'm starving. Shall we go for food?"
"Ngg...yes, sure," Richard checked out the time on his wrist. "I'm surely up for an extremely-early morning breakfast. But it's much more expensive to eat here. Is it OK if we wait until we're near my flat? There's a good-priced food stall open until 4," he suggested.
"Cool," I said light-heartedly, but just before I saw the queue for taxi. Four planes had landed at the same time, leaving three rows queue snaking down for about ten metres long. God bless my stomach!
Still, it was a nice dinner (or breakfast for Richard).
"Last order!" the waiter cried. I thought his appearance was quite distinct: a long white bleached hair, a massive necklace chain (with a name tag?! Ex-prisoner?), tight polo T-shirt and shreded blue jeans. Put that altogether with a typical chinese face of a man in his 60s. Quite distinct eh?
"Hey, Richard, is he the guy in the banner?" There were four big banners in the food stall. Each had a big picture of someone: a cute girl dressed up like a pole dancer, a man with a football costume, the waiter guy and another pretty girl dressed like another pole dancer.
"No way. That banners are everywhere in food stalls," Richard said absent-mindedly, but then he looked closely to the banner then the waiter, and again, and repeated it several times.
"Oh yeah. You're right! And also those girls standing there next to the taxi!" He happily identified more people from the banners. The night was not young, the foodstall was almost closed but the girls still hovered around a taxi on the road.
"This place is a bit weird," Richard murmured when he finally gulped down last of his food. Yet I thought he's local.
"I have to wake you up at 8 tomorrow morning," Richard told me while preparing a makeshift bed in the livingroom, "My landlady will come tomorrow to collect the rent. It's coincidence, you come in the exact date. She always collects money on the 11th," he explained.
"OK," I said.
"She never allows a female guest to stay in this house. You see, I share this house with two other guys. One day the guy next to my room invited his girlfriend to stay a night. In the morning, the landlady told him off and posted a notification on the front door. She lives downstair,"
"Oh crap," I mean it. I hope Richard mentioned this earlier, because I don't want to make him in trouble, but I was also thankful for him to take the risk.
"So could you hide in the next room tomorrow?" he asked.
"No problem,"
It was a smooth escape for the landlady was only around for a few minutes. Richard knocked on my door and said that she's gone. I took out my rucksack and started doing my laundry. Well, actually Richard did it for me when I said I had no single clean clothes for the next day. Since I needed clean clothes desperately, Richard put my laundry out of the window to dry up under the sun.
"It'll be quicker," he said.
I agreed.
Then we went for a walk around Singapore. We had coffee, we ate, we talked and we scanned a CD store after a book store, before Richard got a phone call. From the landlady!
"I found knickers flying from your flat," she said coldly."I am wondering if you always wear woman underwear because I also found a flowery bra hanging on your laundry line,"
After making a lame excuse that his mother came visiting the previous day, Richard told me that it wasn't very clever to hang the clothes outside. As if we had not had enough trouble, suddenly it started raining so heavily! Then we knew that all my laundry must be drenched. And so were we when we tried to get home in a taxi.
We sipped another cup of coffee in Richard's flat. I had taken my laundry back in and we laughed at the landlady for caring too much about someone's laundry. Richard said she had nothing else to do but being a landlady, and that's what a landlady does: spy the laundry!
"I think I love Singapore," I said.
"Oh yes. You're very much welcome," Richard replied assuredly.
Tick...tick...tick...
"No problem, I'll pick you up." Richard answered succinctly.
"Thanks a zillion," He had saved my nerves and money.
I waved to Richard in the arrival gate and he looked at me with a slight shock.
"Gosh, I thought you were a Vietnamese maid!" (Trust me, Richard never really sees any Vietnamese maid for whole of his life. He said that only because I was carrying a cone hat)
"Really?" Opposite of my expected reaction, I sounded especially proud. "I'm starving. Shall we go for food?"
"Ngg...yes, sure," Richard checked out the time on his wrist. "I'm surely up for an extremely-early morning breakfast. But it's much more expensive to eat here. Is it OK if we wait until we're near my flat? There's a good-priced food stall open until 4," he suggested.
"Cool," I said light-heartedly, but just before I saw the queue for taxi. Four planes had landed at the same time, leaving three rows queue snaking down for about ten metres long. God bless my stomach!
Still, it was a nice dinner (or breakfast for Richard).
"Last order!" the waiter cried. I thought his appearance was quite distinct: a long white bleached hair, a massive necklace chain (with a name tag?! Ex-prisoner?), tight polo T-shirt and shreded blue jeans. Put that altogether with a typical chinese face of a man in his 60s. Quite distinct eh?
"Hey, Richard, is he the guy in the banner?" There were four big banners in the food stall. Each had a big picture of someone: a cute girl dressed up like a pole dancer, a man with a football costume, the waiter guy and another pretty girl dressed like another pole dancer.
"No way. That banners are everywhere in food stalls," Richard said absent-mindedly, but then he looked closely to the banner then the waiter, and again, and repeated it several times.
"Oh yeah. You're right! And also those girls standing there next to the taxi!" He happily identified more people from the banners. The night was not young, the foodstall was almost closed but the girls still hovered around a taxi on the road.
"This place is a bit weird," Richard murmured when he finally gulped down last of his food. Yet I thought he's local.
"I have to wake you up at 8 tomorrow morning," Richard told me while preparing a makeshift bed in the livingroom, "My landlady will come tomorrow to collect the rent. It's coincidence, you come in the exact date. She always collects money on the 11th," he explained.
"OK," I said.
"She never allows a female guest to stay in this house. You see, I share this house with two other guys. One day the guy next to my room invited his girlfriend to stay a night. In the morning, the landlady told him off and posted a notification on the front door. She lives downstair,"
"Oh crap," I mean it. I hope Richard mentioned this earlier, because I don't want to make him in trouble, but I was also thankful for him to take the risk.
"So could you hide in the next room tomorrow?" he asked.
"No problem,"
It was a smooth escape for the landlady was only around for a few minutes. Richard knocked on my door and said that she's gone. I took out my rucksack and started doing my laundry. Well, actually Richard did it for me when I said I had no single clean clothes for the next day. Since I needed clean clothes desperately, Richard put my laundry out of the window to dry up under the sun.
"It'll be quicker," he said.
I agreed.
Then we went for a walk around Singapore. We had coffee, we ate, we talked and we scanned a CD store after a book store, before Richard got a phone call. From the landlady!
"I found knickers flying from your flat," she said coldly."I am wondering if you always wear woman underwear because I also found a flowery bra hanging on your laundry line,"
After making a lame excuse that his mother came visiting the previous day, Richard told me that it wasn't very clever to hang the clothes outside. As if we had not had enough trouble, suddenly it started raining so heavily! Then we knew that all my laundry must be drenched. And so were we when we tried to get home in a taxi.
We sipped another cup of coffee in Richard's flat. I had taken my laundry back in and we laughed at the landlady for caring too much about someone's laundry. Richard said she had nothing else to do but being a landlady, and that's what a landlady does: spy the laundry!
"I think I love Singapore," I said.
"Oh yes. You're very much welcome," Richard replied assuredly.
Minggu, 22 Agustus 2010
I dream of Vietnam
Due to huge success (for coming back home one piece) in the first travel across East Java, I decided to make its sequel: "Travel 2: Vietnam feat. Seb and bunch of his friends (and second cousin)"
I arrived at Tan Son Nhat International Airport in Ho Chi Minh City in the evening. There's no time difference although my watch was 10 minutes faster in general (useful for checking in, waking up, etc). I didn't know how my host Kha Le looks like, so I looked for my friend Seb with his fantastically-popular curly hair. I found him with five other unknown people waiting for me. One of them is Kha Le. Then two other friends are my fellow couchsurfers, Andy and Lisa; the rest is Johnny, Seb's second cousin and Seb's Vietnamese friend (whose name I forgot immediately but I remember that the other girl we met the next day has exactly the same name. Vietnamese name usually consists of one syllable only, unlike Indonesian which has too many syllables!). Apparently Kha also hosted three other guests that night: two French boys, Yan and Clement, and an American girl named Sarah. The ten of us went for dinner together afterwards. I knew nobody but Seb yet we talked as if we were long-lost relatives (well, there's an element of truth here in Seb and Johnny's case). Lots of new people in one night, and that's just a start.
Day one.
I had no single đồng and had relied my life to the kindness of my traveling buddies. There was traveler's cheque but it seemed that this mean of money isn't very famous in Vietnam. We spent half of the day trying to exchange my TC. We got lots of hand waving, a 'renowned Vietnamese gesture' to say no, can't or not possible. We went sightseeing Saigon on foot and although I dislike big cities, Saigon was fine to me, thanks to its nice cheapo foods. We went to War Museum just before it was closed at 5 pm.
Day two.
Booked a tour to Cao Dai temple and Cu Chi tunnel. We teamed up with Andy and Lisa, our affable Austrian friends. Having stayed in Vietnam for almost a year, Seb was believed to know the most about almost everything. However he confidently predicted that the trip would only take about 30 minutes when in fact we arrived at the temple in a good 3-hours drive! I was lucky to find a Filipino girl called Nash, otherwise I would be left cold in the bumpy journey. We saw Cao Daists had their daily ceremony at the temple. I found the religion interesting because it combines so many famous entities. Cu Chi tunnel was overly claustrophobic: narrow, dank, tight and pitch-dark. I felt my breath was taken away, literally. In the evening we had dinner cum Seb's farewell party. There were some more foreigners turned up (aka Seb's friends)! I don't even remember how many people were there, but it was quite a nice bilingual che-drink party.
Day three.
We took an overnight bus to Da Lat, a town in the highland. Seb were talking to Johnny the whole journey, adding a buzzing-bee sound to my sleep. Despite the lack of sleep, we hit the cable car immediately. I met more foreigners again. Luckily this new friend, Vu Le, is not particularly xenophobic. Alas, he's engaging and hospitable. That night we ate rabbit cooked in many different ways. It was delicious although I didn't devour as much as my other four male counterparts. Later on, we visited night market where I met another foreigner, Kimitoshi, (another) Seb's friend from Japan.
Day four.
On the trip to waterfall we were turned back by a flock of Cao Daists. Vu said he was impressed by their ability to ruin our meticulous plan. We decided to go to the lake instead, but we mistakenly entered another attraction, which was a kind of amusement park with very random characters and a zoo filled with animals I suspected were contaminated by Agent Orange. There was a dance by an ethnic minority group that we happily participated. Then we took a stroll to The Valley of Love, where I don't think was the best place to visit with four indifferent boys ^_^. The silk embroidery exhibition was cool, especially for its free entry (but the tea was awful). We eventually had dinner with Vu's parents who are very sociable and speak fluent English.
Day five.
Johnny had left for Cambodia. We continued to Nha Trang, a beach city in the northeast of Da Lat. The view from Da Lat to Nha Trang was amazing! I wish I camped or hiked among those mountains and waterfalls instead of paying an entrance fee to a puny flower park. For sometime Seb was busy with his mobile phone because he had no place to stay that night. The reception was bad too. Fortunately everything was alright in the end. I made friend with my host Derek from Canada also Lena and her sister from Denmark before falling asleep in a couch (experienced a real couchsurfing at last!)
Day six.
I went to the beach with my CS friends very early in the morning to take some photos of the sunrise (I guess Seb would have loved this). On the way back I was lost and got barked by some dogs that I decided to broke into a stranger house to phone Derek. I was lucky to find a nice (and good-looking ;-p) French guy who lent me his mobile. Then the rest of the day was spent chatting and drinking by the sea (with another Seb's friend called Huang), which was indeed very pleasant and relaxing. I was full in a holiday mood. Yet the best part was the lovely spring roll dinner which still makes me drool even now.
Day seven.
Boat trip. I really love the feeling of jumping off the boat to have a cocktail while floating on the sea. Love the feeling of hopping with the waves when did a little bit of swimming with my new friends Zoe from China and Isis from Venezuela. In short, I love Nha Trang's sea. I will call it The Nice of South East Asia. Well, at least the coffee price is a bit like one in Nice (read: ridiculously expensive).
Day eight.
A strange day. Our bus annoyingly broken down twice and we spent twice as much time on the journey as we should have. However, Seb amazingly made more and more new friends during this accident (what a chap!). When we finally got to Quang Nam to attend someone's wedding, it was high time for lunch. This is my first time coming to a stranger's wedding the night before D-day and joining the groom's family. I suddenly felt 'familiar' with Vietnamese wedding.
Day nine.
The wedding. In fact, I wasn't quite sure what to do but it was rather...interesting. It was like the old days when me and my friends turned up in a strangers' wedding to have free foods. Anyway, after the wedding we went up to Da Nang, another beach city which is a bit off the tourist track. Dinner with three other foreigners who are also our hosts. We gorged sea foods and ice cream, before posing in front of a flashing neon-colored bridge that is kind of a landmark of Da Nang.
Day ten.
Hoi An. This ex-Champa city has plenty of art and craft shops littering on their charming old town. Seb had his suit made in one of the tailor shop and he became poor at once. We accidentally meet Dzung, another(!) Seb's friend from Hanoi and I intuitively decided to go to Hue with her the next day! Going around for a while, I immediately fell in love with Hoi An: free temples everywhere. Also, I had the nicest drink ever in this town. On the way back to Da Nang we took the super slow minibus, even two girls in a bicycle overtook us. Then we went night swimming on Da Nang beach which was surprisingly almost deserted after the rain.
Day eleven.
Hue. Went visiting the tombs. The entrance fee is more expensive for foreigners as usual, so I asked my Vietnamese friends to buy the cheaper tickets for me (because I am from a third-world country full of poverty, beggars, corrupted officials, malaria and all). It was a boiling hot day and I was tired of waking up so early that I heard nothing from the history the tour guide told us. I only could recall that the emperors were so lavish in their death, as seen from the ornate decor of their tombs. Perhaps they couldn't hardly wait to die. In the evening I went to a traditional Vietnamese song on the boat. The highlight is floating a candle down to the river. Afterwards my friends invited me to karaoke. I refused since I had not learnt anything from the singing performance on the boat.
Day twelve.
Dzung kindly took me for a rickshaw trip around Hue. At first I insisted to go on foot because I spent one sixth of my money in Hue only! But mostly my Vietnamese friends are so generous and they think a few thousands dong is nothing. Back in the tour again, I paired up with another Vietnamese for cheap tickets and made friend with two amiable Italian guys. I saw the majestic Citadel and thanks to my poor navigational skill, got lost in it. For the first time in Vietnam, I took a train. It was to Quang Binh. I wish I could tell more about Vietnamese train but I spent most of my journey sleeping like a baby pig after my wonderful Vietnamese friends stuffed me with foods at all times.
Day thirteen.
Seb planned to visit Phong Nha cave but apparently there wasn't any public transport going there regularly. So we rent a motorbike! It was fun because only a few days ago Seb successfully located the brake. After repeating 'Hail Mary' ten times in my heart, we boarded on a motorbike trip about 8 km outside the town. It worth all the efforts for the cave was above an underground stream runs between the undulating landscape. The boat paddled smoothly to the cave entrance, before it was suddenly surrounded by one boat after another. In the end it was getting more and more crowded that then was similar to a floating market in the cave. Awesome. We climbed to the upper part of the cave and started using our imagination to guess the shape of stalagmites and stalactites. The best was the one Seb named as 'stalagmighty', a stalagmite which 'sat on a throne'.
Day fourteen.
Hanoi. Last stop. During the first hour in this city, I'd already got told off twice. It was great because I don't understand a word. Like other big cities in the world, Hanoi is not exceptionally friendly, especially the traffic. Instead of pushing the brake, motorists will yell, blow horn, and keep zigzagging while avoiding to run you over everytime you try to cross the road. Standard. The best part about Hanoi is when I tried to cook with chopsticks. As a matter of fact, I don't really master how to use chopstick for eating, let alone cooking! Of course there are some nice things in Hanoi like the tourist information centre and the water puppet, but I was quite happy to get to the airport early to take my flight home on the next day.
I would like to thank everyone whom I mentioned in this post and lots more unmentioned. All would be impossible without your help and supports. Specially I thank Seb for making a highly organised itinerary although sometimes didn't work out very well ^_^ (but I really appreciate him for being a superb host). As if this post isn't long enough, I made a list of things I remember the most about Vietnam (apart from dozen bowls of phở, few glasses of che, scrumptious Vietnamese coffee cà phê sữa đá, bitter colorless iced tea and Johnny's Banh Bao):
I arrived at Tan Son Nhat International Airport in Ho Chi Minh City in the evening. There's no time difference although my watch was 10 minutes faster in general (useful for checking in, waking up, etc). I didn't know how my host Kha Le looks like, so I looked for my friend Seb with his fantastically-popular curly hair. I found him with five other unknown people waiting for me. One of them is Kha Le. Then two other friends are my fellow couchsurfers, Andy and Lisa; the rest is Johnny, Seb's second cousin and Seb's Vietnamese friend (whose name I forgot immediately but I remember that the other girl we met the next day has exactly the same name. Vietnamese name usually consists of one syllable only, unlike Indonesian which has too many syllables!). Apparently Kha also hosted three other guests that night: two French boys, Yan and Clement, and an American girl named Sarah. The ten of us went for dinner together afterwards. I knew nobody but Seb yet we talked as if we were long-lost relatives (well, there's an element of truth here in Seb and Johnny's case). Lots of new people in one night, and that's just a start.
Day one.
I had no single đồng and had relied my life to the kindness of my traveling buddies. There was traveler's cheque but it seemed that this mean of money isn't very famous in Vietnam. We spent half of the day trying to exchange my TC. We got lots of hand waving, a 'renowned Vietnamese gesture' to say no, can't or not possible. We went sightseeing Saigon on foot and although I dislike big cities, Saigon was fine to me, thanks to its nice cheapo foods. We went to War Museum just before it was closed at 5 pm.
Day two.
Booked a tour to Cao Dai temple and Cu Chi tunnel. We teamed up with Andy and Lisa, our affable Austrian friends. Having stayed in Vietnam for almost a year, Seb was believed to know the most about almost everything. However he confidently predicted that the trip would only take about 30 minutes when in fact we arrived at the temple in a good 3-hours drive! I was lucky to find a Filipino girl called Nash, otherwise I would be left cold in the bumpy journey. We saw Cao Daists had their daily ceremony at the temple. I found the religion interesting because it combines so many famous entities. Cu Chi tunnel was overly claustrophobic: narrow, dank, tight and pitch-dark. I felt my breath was taken away, literally. In the evening we had dinner cum Seb's farewell party. There were some more foreigners turned up (aka Seb's friends)! I don't even remember how many people were there, but it was quite a nice bilingual che-drink party.
Day three.
We took an overnight bus to Da Lat, a town in the highland. Seb were talking to Johnny the whole journey, adding a buzzing-bee sound to my sleep. Despite the lack of sleep, we hit the cable car immediately. I met more foreigners again. Luckily this new friend, Vu Le, is not particularly xenophobic. Alas, he's engaging and hospitable. That night we ate rabbit cooked in many different ways. It was delicious although I didn't devour as much as my other four male counterparts. Later on, we visited night market where I met another foreigner, Kimitoshi, (another) Seb's friend from Japan.
Day four.
On the trip to waterfall we were turned back by a flock of Cao Daists. Vu said he was impressed by their ability to ruin our meticulous plan. We decided to go to the lake instead, but we mistakenly entered another attraction, which was a kind of amusement park with very random characters and a zoo filled with animals I suspected were contaminated by Agent Orange. There was a dance by an ethnic minority group that we happily participated. Then we took a stroll to The Valley of Love, where I don't think was the best place to visit with four indifferent boys ^_^. The silk embroidery exhibition was cool, especially for its free entry (but the tea was awful). We eventually had dinner with Vu's parents who are very sociable and speak fluent English.
Day five.
Johnny had left for Cambodia. We continued to Nha Trang, a beach city in the northeast of Da Lat. The view from Da Lat to Nha Trang was amazing! I wish I camped or hiked among those mountains and waterfalls instead of paying an entrance fee to a puny flower park. For sometime Seb was busy with his mobile phone because he had no place to stay that night. The reception was bad too. Fortunately everything was alright in the end. I made friend with my host Derek from Canada also Lena and her sister from Denmark before falling asleep in a couch (experienced a real couchsurfing at last!)
Day six.
I went to the beach with my CS friends very early in the morning to take some photos of the sunrise (I guess Seb would have loved this). On the way back I was lost and got barked by some dogs that I decided to broke into a stranger house to phone Derek. I was lucky to find a nice (and good-looking ;-p) French guy who lent me his mobile. Then the rest of the day was spent chatting and drinking by the sea (with another Seb's friend called Huang), which was indeed very pleasant and relaxing. I was full in a holiday mood. Yet the best part was the lovely spring roll dinner which still makes me drool even now.
Day seven.
Boat trip. I really love the feeling of jumping off the boat to have a cocktail while floating on the sea. Love the feeling of hopping with the waves when did a little bit of swimming with my new friends Zoe from China and Isis from Venezuela. In short, I love Nha Trang's sea. I will call it The Nice of South East Asia. Well, at least the coffee price is a bit like one in Nice (read: ridiculously expensive).
Day eight.
A strange day. Our bus annoyingly broken down twice and we spent twice as much time on the journey as we should have. However, Seb amazingly made more and more new friends during this accident (what a chap!). When we finally got to Quang Nam to attend someone's wedding, it was high time for lunch. This is my first time coming to a stranger's wedding the night before D-day and joining the groom's family. I suddenly felt 'familiar' with Vietnamese wedding.
Day nine.
The wedding. In fact, I wasn't quite sure what to do but it was rather...interesting. It was like the old days when me and my friends turned up in a strangers' wedding to have free foods. Anyway, after the wedding we went up to Da Nang, another beach city which is a bit off the tourist track. Dinner with three other foreigners who are also our hosts. We gorged sea foods and ice cream, before posing in front of a flashing neon-colored bridge that is kind of a landmark of Da Nang.
Day ten.
Hoi An. This ex-Champa city has plenty of art and craft shops littering on their charming old town. Seb had his suit made in one of the tailor shop and he became poor at once. We accidentally meet Dzung, another(!) Seb's friend from Hanoi and I intuitively decided to go to Hue with her the next day! Going around for a while, I immediately fell in love with Hoi An: free temples everywhere. Also, I had the nicest drink ever in this town. On the way back to Da Nang we took the super slow minibus, even two girls in a bicycle overtook us. Then we went night swimming on Da Nang beach which was surprisingly almost deserted after the rain.
Day eleven.
Hue. Went visiting the tombs. The entrance fee is more expensive for foreigners as usual, so I asked my Vietnamese friends to buy the cheaper tickets for me (because I am from a third-world country full of poverty, beggars, corrupted officials, malaria and all). It was a boiling hot day and I was tired of waking up so early that I heard nothing from the history the tour guide told us. I only could recall that the emperors were so lavish in their death, as seen from the ornate decor of their tombs. Perhaps they couldn't hardly wait to die. In the evening I went to a traditional Vietnamese song on the boat. The highlight is floating a candle down to the river. Afterwards my friends invited me to karaoke. I refused since I had not learnt anything from the singing performance on the boat.
Day twelve.
Dzung kindly took me for a rickshaw trip around Hue. At first I insisted to go on foot because I spent one sixth of my money in Hue only! But mostly my Vietnamese friends are so generous and they think a few thousands dong is nothing. Back in the tour again, I paired up with another Vietnamese for cheap tickets and made friend with two amiable Italian guys. I saw the majestic Citadel and thanks to my poor navigational skill, got lost in it. For the first time in Vietnam, I took a train. It was to Quang Binh. I wish I could tell more about Vietnamese train but I spent most of my journey sleeping like a baby pig after my wonderful Vietnamese friends stuffed me with foods at all times.
Day thirteen.
Seb planned to visit Phong Nha cave but apparently there wasn't any public transport going there regularly. So we rent a motorbike! It was fun because only a few days ago Seb successfully located the brake. After repeating 'Hail Mary' ten times in my heart, we boarded on a motorbike trip about 8 km outside the town. It worth all the efforts for the cave was above an underground stream runs between the undulating landscape. The boat paddled smoothly to the cave entrance, before it was suddenly surrounded by one boat after another. In the end it was getting more and more crowded that then was similar to a floating market in the cave. Awesome. We climbed to the upper part of the cave and started using our imagination to guess the shape of stalagmites and stalactites. The best was the one Seb named as 'stalagmighty', a stalagmite which 'sat on a throne'.
Day fourteen.
Hanoi. Last stop. During the first hour in this city, I'd already got told off twice. It was great because I don't understand a word. Like other big cities in the world, Hanoi is not exceptionally friendly, especially the traffic. Instead of pushing the brake, motorists will yell, blow horn, and keep zigzagging while avoiding to run you over everytime you try to cross the road. Standard. The best part about Hanoi is when I tried to cook with chopsticks. As a matter of fact, I don't really master how to use chopstick for eating, let alone cooking! Of course there are some nice things in Hanoi like the tourist information centre and the water puppet, but I was quite happy to get to the airport early to take my flight home on the next day.
I would like to thank everyone whom I mentioned in this post and lots more unmentioned. All would be impossible without your help and supports. Specially I thank Seb for making a highly organised itinerary although sometimes didn't work out very well ^_^ (but I really appreciate him for being a superb host). As if this post isn't long enough, I made a list of things I remember the most about Vietnam (apart from dozen bowls of phở, few glasses of che, scrumptious Vietnamese coffee cà phê sữa đá, bitter colorless iced tea and Johnny's Banh Bao):
- Plastic chairs. It's lucky that there's not so many extremely fat people in Vietnam.
- Cacophonous horns. Who needs a brake when you have the loudest horn?
- Minibus for 10 metres/hour. It's always the same speed for this kind of transport (I took it twice!) I'm sure I can walk faster.
- When we drove motorbike without license, the advice was "Pretend you don't understand Vietnamese!" Well, I don't need to pretend, really. Despite my very Vietnamese look, I have zero linguistic ability.
- Vietnamese music video which is not much better than Indonesian's. Thank God.
- Seb's singing on the wedding. Nobody sang as close as in Vietnamese idol, but his painful face really said what he felt when singing (constipated). It's the highlight of my journey!
Minggu, 04 Juli 2010
A guy named "Liang"
I thought when I'm resting at home I will be absolutely free from cheap approaches, cheesy text messages, tacky flirts, silly questions as well as people trying to sell me second-class imported handbags, health insurances or credit cards. Little did I know!
One fine evening my Mom said that someone wanted to talk to me. I knew it must be quite important because she looked a bit hesitant. We have had a serious talk about matchmaking and we agree there will be no such a thing or my parents will have to pay for my round the world tickets =) So far, my parents were quite cool at turning down proposals for people asking their daughter's hand. I won't expect that this time will be different.
It was my Dad's business partner from Jakarta. His family visited my parents' house not long ago due to some business stuffs and my parents also visited them afterwards in order to sort these things out. Apparently there was also something else.
"I have a genteel nephew and it will be nice if you could meet him," he said casually. My Mom made a frantic gesture that it wasn't her idea at all. He sounded paternal and at the same time friendly so I wouldn't have any reason to pretend I suddenly had tummy ache or that I forgot to turn off an alarm. "I will held a wedding party for my daughter in September. Please come with your parents and I'll prepare a table for you,"
I really have no chance to say no. I completely understand that this man is an important person for my Dad's business and that he actually has a good intention, but I still think it's a bit unfair to match me with someone I have no idea whatsoever. I immediately missed door-to-door salesmen who sell fake perfumes, insurances or any cards (gym membership, DVD rental, greenpeace, bodyshop or perhaps Che Guevara fans club). They are surely easier to handle.
My Mom tried to calm me down by saying that this guy is a 187 cm hunky bloke named Liang. Despite having a name resembles a tea, he sounded very nice, polite, lovely and good-natured person; in my mother's opinion, in addition of being a hardworking young businessman and an owner of two storeys house. It was clear to me that he made a good impression on her (or perhaps he has handed her his CV?). She determined that it never crossed her mind to match me with anybody so RTW tickets is out of the question. I'm a bit dissapointed.
"So, do you know him?" I asked my Mom.
"He drove us around while we were visiting Jakarta. I've met his mother too. He talked a lot about his late father. He had to go back from US to take over his father's business,"
"I see," Yes. A very typical Chinese businessman.
I talked (read:complained) to my friend on dinner table about this since things turn out to be a bit too serious.
"I feel like I'm living in the19th century. I'm not in arranged marriage (yet), but I am pretty sure that marrying us is good for both parties in their business relationship. Otherwise, it's not. So, what's the difference?"
"You're over-reacted. Think of it as a blind date," she suggested, "Also, how if he turns out to be indeed good-looking? Your Mom's taste isn't so bad. Your Dad looked much better than any of your ex-boyfriends when he was young,"
"That's not helpful, thanks. Problem is, I don't know him at all. Moreover, he's Chinese. I'm not being racist but the Chinese are boring. They are stingy and only think about working, business, money and prosperity..."
My friend squinted at me, "But you ARE Chinese,"
"Yeah, but I'm a post-modern Chinese. Not pure-breed either. I don't think too much about money and I care about life quality," I defended, "By the way, you owe me for the last dinner so you'd better pay for this one. Don't forget to add 10% tax. I'll pay the parking ticket," I said generously.
A FedEx ad says, "There are thousands people named Chang in China, but we know exactly which one to deliver," or so.
One fine evening my Mom said that someone wanted to talk to me. I knew it must be quite important because she looked a bit hesitant. We have had a serious talk about matchmaking and we agree there will be no such a thing or my parents will have to pay for my round the world tickets =) So far, my parents were quite cool at turning down proposals for people asking their daughter's hand. I won't expect that this time will be different.
It was my Dad's business partner from Jakarta. His family visited my parents' house not long ago due to some business stuffs and my parents also visited them afterwards in order to sort these things out. Apparently there was also something else.
"I have a genteel nephew and it will be nice if you could meet him," he said casually. My Mom made a frantic gesture that it wasn't her idea at all. He sounded paternal and at the same time friendly so I wouldn't have any reason to pretend I suddenly had tummy ache or that I forgot to turn off an alarm. "I will held a wedding party for my daughter in September. Please come with your parents and I'll prepare a table for you,"
I really have no chance to say no. I completely understand that this man is an important person for my Dad's business and that he actually has a good intention, but I still think it's a bit unfair to match me with someone I have no idea whatsoever. I immediately missed door-to-door salesmen who sell fake perfumes, insurances or any cards (gym membership, DVD rental, greenpeace, bodyshop or perhaps Che Guevara fans club). They are surely easier to handle.
My Mom tried to calm me down by saying that this guy is a 187 cm hunky bloke named Liang. Despite having a name resembles a tea, he sounded very nice, polite, lovely and good-natured person; in my mother's opinion, in addition of being a hardworking young businessman and an owner of two storeys house. It was clear to me that he made a good impression on her (or perhaps he has handed her his CV?). She determined that it never crossed her mind to match me with anybody so RTW tickets is out of the question. I'm a bit dissapointed.
"So, do you know him?" I asked my Mom.
"He drove us around while we were visiting Jakarta. I've met his mother too. He talked a lot about his late father. He had to go back from US to take over his father's business,"
"I see," Yes. A very typical Chinese businessman.
I talked (read:complained) to my friend on dinner table about this since things turn out to be a bit too serious.
"I feel like I'm living in the19th century. I'm not in arranged marriage (yet), but I am pretty sure that marrying us is good for both parties in their business relationship. Otherwise, it's not. So, what's the difference?"
"You're over-reacted. Think of it as a blind date," she suggested, "Also, how if he turns out to be indeed good-looking? Your Mom's taste isn't so bad. Your Dad looked much better than any of your ex-boyfriends when he was young,"
"That's not helpful, thanks. Problem is, I don't know him at all. Moreover, he's Chinese. I'm not being racist but the Chinese are boring. They are stingy and only think about working, business, money and prosperity..."
My friend squinted at me, "But you ARE Chinese,"
"Yeah, but I'm a post-modern Chinese. Not pure-breed either. I don't think too much about money and I care about life quality," I defended, "By the way, you owe me for the last dinner so you'd better pay for this one. Don't forget to add 10% tax. I'll pay the parking ticket," I said generously.
A FedEx ad says, "There are thousands people named Chang in China, but we know exactly which one to deliver," or so.
I have never seen Liang. Neither has he seen me before. There must be a few Liangs at Jakarta. I hope I don't need FedEx to tell me which one is "the guy". Or I might be in trouble.
Kamis, 24 Juni 2010
My little accident
I complain a lot about why I never have a real holiday. Now I'm having one, thanks to a motorbike accident I got recently. Or should I call it "a bed rest"? =(
A few days ago I went dinner in a moped with a friend in a cafe with a big screen to watch Portugal and North Korea playing. I was very sad that the team I supported lose 7-0, but that's not the main story. The main story is, that the meal was ridiculously expensive that I would not go to that place again. Always watch football match at home for free and eat a cheap take-away instead! No, wait, I mean the accident. On the way home a motorbike overtook me from the right and then suddenly turned left which means, it blocked my way. I was in a normal speed, probably about 80 kmph but either I braked abruptly or tried to avoid hopelessly, the result is still the same.
This is the time when you see the flashback of your life like in a movie (perhaps "Tom and Jerry" or "Ghost" from the 90s but in black and white version). But since the accident happened quite fast, like in a few milliseconds, I didn't even get the title of the movie. In all of a sudden, I was lying on the street with sharp pain came from my right hand and knee. And a tooth on my mouth! (not to mention my immediately sexy swollen lips which had beaten those of Angelina Jolie).
Studying for a while of my wounds, I think we all should wear a proper motorbike clothing as above. I didn't hit the motorbike hard, yet I have scratches and bruises all over which get reddened and swollen. Day after day, they give me an annoying agony. This is the drawback of a motorcycle: you have no shield for your body. In other means of transport, you won't get bruises in a minor accident. Take an aeroplane for an instance.
My motorbike clothing was very much into Indonesian standard: a short T-shirt with a trouser similar to pyjamas and a pair of sandals. My helmet was not something even similar to those you see in MotoGP racing. It was actually a bonnet that looks a bit like helmet. You see, in the movie Pride and Prejudice, Keira Knightly is definitely kissable when wearing this kind of hat. This is the most possible explanation why I hit my lips first to the road when wearing this kind of helmet.
As usual when an accident happens, people will gather around to help or to watch. The same happened to me. At once, a few men helped me to stand up and everybody shouted, "Give her some tea!" Don't ask me why tea is extremely important to help a victim of motorbike accidents, but there must be an explanation. For example, because tea is a gesture of hospitality, because it has a relaxing effect, or because it's quite cheap and easier to get than mineral water or that they have no other ideas. I stood up and my friend started swearing in a language I could not understand (or did she pray?). She demanded the girl who had cut our way (she turned out to be okay) to bring us to hospital. My mouth was bleeding and although I hadn't felt the pain yet, I was startled to find out that two teeth were broken and my face was wounded.
"Do I look OK?" worried, I asked my friend.
She looked horrified for a minute, but after overcame herself and took a deep breath, she finally said,
"You're alright," suspiciously.
"What do you mean I'm alright? I asked you if my face IS okay,"
"You're fine. Your mum will still recognise you,"
I exhaled in relief.
It took a while for the girl to take us to hospital because she called her family first! I was feeling alright at that time (thanks to adrenalin and my friend's infallible confidence) so that I'd prefer to take myself to hospital with my own moped (it was okay too!) rather than to wait for any longer with my sweet ice tea. Fortunately, just before flies came over to feast on my open wounds, her family arrived. They took my moped back to my house and got us to dokter Kariadi hospital. Our colleagues at emergency room took care of us with a good laugh (OK, I did silly thing but it was still quite painful). After making sure there was no broken bones (no, broken teeth don't count. Don't ask me why), I was diagnosed with "minor injury, multiple VE" translated : "lots of iritating bruises but nothing serious to get you enough sympathy".
A friendly nurse cleaned my wounds and put some iodine. When she got to my face, I asked her,
"Can I still be a model?"
Bemused, she answered assuredly "No,"
I almost cried. "Is it that bad?"
"No, dear. You don't have the height of a model,"
Oh, thanks to remind me. I think I'll keep my job instead.
A few days later, my right hand got swollen. I couldn't hold stuffs perfectly and I suddenly became left-handed. Now I can type this whole blog entirely with my left hand. Perhaps that is something I learn from this accident!
PS. The photo was made in a laptop camera and it's a mirror image.
A few days ago I went dinner in a moped with a friend in a cafe with a big screen to watch Portugal and North Korea playing. I was very sad that the team I supported lose 7-0, but that's not the main story. The main story is, that the meal was ridiculously expensive that I would not go to that place again. Always watch football match at home for free and eat a cheap take-away instead! No, wait, I mean the accident. On the way home a motorbike overtook me from the right and then suddenly turned left which means, it blocked my way. I was in a normal speed, probably about 80 kmph but either I braked abruptly or tried to avoid hopelessly, the result is still the same.
This is the time when you see the flashback of your life like in a movie (perhaps "Tom and Jerry" or "Ghost" from the 90s but in black and white version). But since the accident happened quite fast, like in a few milliseconds, I didn't even get the title of the movie. In all of a sudden, I was lying on the street with sharp pain came from my right hand and knee. And a tooth on my mouth! (not to mention my immediately sexy swollen lips which had beaten those of Angelina Jolie).
My motorbike clothing was very much into Indonesian standard: a short T-shirt with a trouser similar to pyjamas and a pair of sandals. My helmet was not something even similar to those you see in MotoGP racing. It was actually a bonnet that looks a bit like helmet. You see, in the movie Pride and Prejudice, Keira Knightly is definitely kissable when wearing this kind of hat. This is the most possible explanation why I hit my lips first to the road when wearing this kind of helmet.
As usual when an accident happens, people will gather around to help or to watch. The same happened to me. At once, a few men helped me to stand up and everybody shouted, "Give her some tea!" Don't ask me why tea is extremely important to help a victim of motorbike accidents, but there must be an explanation. For example, because tea is a gesture of hospitality, because it has a relaxing effect, or because it's quite cheap and easier to get than mineral water or that they have no other ideas. I stood up and my friend started swearing in a language I could not understand (or did she pray?). She demanded the girl who had cut our way (she turned out to be okay) to bring us to hospital. My mouth was bleeding and although I hadn't felt the pain yet, I was startled to find out that two teeth were broken and my face was wounded.
"Do I look OK?" worried, I asked my friend.
She looked horrified for a minute, but after overcame herself and took a deep breath, she finally said,
"You're alright," suspiciously.
"What do you mean I'm alright? I asked you if my face IS okay,"
"You're fine. Your mum will still recognise you,"
I exhaled in relief.
It took a while for the girl to take us to hospital because she called her family first! I was feeling alright at that time (thanks to adrenalin and my friend's infallible confidence) so that I'd prefer to take myself to hospital with my own moped (it was okay too!) rather than to wait for any longer with my sweet ice tea. Fortunately, just before flies came over to feast on my open wounds, her family arrived. They took my moped back to my house and got us to dokter Kariadi hospital. Our colleagues at emergency room took care of us with a good laugh (OK, I did silly thing but it was still quite painful). After making sure there was no broken bones (no, broken teeth don't count. Don't ask me why), I was diagnosed with "minor injury, multiple VE" translated : "lots of iritating bruises but nothing serious to get you enough sympathy".
A friendly nurse cleaned my wounds and put some iodine. When she got to my face, I asked her,
"Can I still be a model?"
Bemused, she answered assuredly "No,"
I almost cried. "Is it that bad?"
"No, dear. You don't have the height of a model,"
Oh, thanks to remind me. I think I'll keep my job instead.
PS. The photo was made in a laptop camera and it's a mirror image.
Sabtu, 12 Juni 2010
East Java, from my little eyes
A couple of weeks ago when a friend I met in London, Seb, told me that he was going to have a holiday in Indonesia, I was thrilled. I'm very passionate about traveling and I just couldn't wait for a chance to finally hit the road again. Problem is, there is no real holiday in Indonesian calendar. It simply doesn't exist. People have holiday usually only during Ied, Moslem's new year. It means just once a year for more or less a week, but it seems alright since most people are more interested in making money in order to meet their family needs than having a holiday (which also means spending money). In fact, to have a holiday itself is so much a privilege that you might feel embarrassed to admit, because people tend to think that you're either very rich, spoilt, or irresponsible. I would love to say that I'm somehow filthy rich but unfortunately that's not the case. I am just quite determined and I don't mind making efforts to travel once in a while.
There are some places that I'm pretty familiar with, like Jogjakarta or Limpung ^_^, or Dieng highland, or Borobudur temple (which looked exactly the same from my 9th to 10th visit). Yet I intend to make this journey as interesting for him as for myself. This is also my trip. I don't want to act as a chaperone. So I went to a place that I hardly ever visited before: East Java. Actually I wanted to go to East Java because I saw in National Geographic traveler that we can see turtles laying eggs in their natural habitat (although this is not a good tourist attraction because this could endanger the turtles. When they don't feel secure, they will go back to the sea without laying eggs. We have to watch them very discreetly from a safe distance). I wanted to see Alas Purwo National Park, to pick coffee beans from Kalisat-Jampit, and also to see cactus collections in Mexico Park, Malang, apart from the apple plantations. I always have thousand of ideas but not necessarily a good planning. Apparently a week is not enough to see the most of East Java alone. Well, it was actually only 5 days because the sixth day I booked tickets to Karimun Java. I would say that we definitely need more time if we want to enjoy staying in some nice places for a while. What we did is more like going to one place after another and making sure that we would be back in time. We took public transports and we were in quite a limited budget. In short; we have so much to do, so little money, so little time. Perfect. But I was in a very good spirit. The journey started off on Saturday evening. We would begin with the overnight train from Semarang to Jombang.
I was so excited that I heartily boarded to a wrong train going to Jakarta! I once got a wrong train in France but at that time I understood nothing in French. This time I had no excuse since the announcement is in Indonesian and Semarang only has 2 (two) main platforms. One is going east, another is west. How wrong you could be? Still, I think the announcer talks like someone stuffs his mouth with a large piece of durian (unpeeled). I was amazed at how silly I am when I realised this is why someone took our seats (because they have exactly the same number as our seats). Luckily, somehow our train was delayed for an astonishing 2 hours. We got off in a little train post a bit outside the city, where we were surrounded by a nice, calm, pleasant rice field and a tiny mosque. I like it there than in the main train station, where you always have to pay Rp. 1,000 for toilet and with the loud durian-stuffed sounds in the backgrounds. The most scary-but exciting-thing is when we had to jump from the train since there is no ladder. I threw my backpack to Seb and he encouraged me to just jump because I hesitated for a moment and the train was about to leave! (My feet are like those of jellyfish's)
On the train to Jombang we were supposed to sleep yet we didn't have enough of it. The train was so cold because of the air-con, also we arrived at Jombang very early in the morning. We soon boarded to a bus (this is the beginning of an endless bus journey!) to Malang via Batu. This route is actually a pretty nice one because the view around Batu is lovely: very green with hilly landscapes and lots of rivers and the pointy high trees. But I was still tired of the overnight journey. I had no idea where to get off since I'd never been to this place before so when the driver stopped us in a road to Panderman peak, the highest point in Batu where you can see the town of Malang from above, we just went there (instead of my idea to go to plantation or whatever national park in the original plan). We hiked a bit to the top but stopped not even halfway through for we had no plan to climb any mountains in Malang. The view was beautiful although too many mosquitos accompanying us there. We were glad to say that we 'climbed' Panderman peak even though all we did is actually sitting around, killing some mosquitoes and eating ice cream, on the route to Panderman peak. We continued to Malang by another bus. In this bus we met a bunch of real climbers who had spent the night at the peak. We were quite content just to hear the story. We made friends with them. They even helped us to find a place to stay that night. That day, Malang was hectic due to a festival. I found a lot of nice traditional food stalls in the festival but I was again too tired and weary (We hadn't found any place to stay. Hotels were fully booked). We finally found a place and we skipped our plan to visit the festival in the evening with those climbers since we were pretty knackered and decided to have an early night. Yet mosquitoes and the distant sound of wayang performance late that night and a hard bed woke me up. I noticed that I don't really like spending the night in a town. My mood is always bad when I stay in the city, but I feel good when I wake up in the mountains.
We went to Probolinggo to hit Bromo the next day. By this point Seb had already asked me to phone ahead, in case we found another difficulty to get a hotel. The receptionist said, "Just walk in. We have enough beds for a whole village," This sounded more like Indonesia to me. The bus from Malang to Probolinggo was as slow as a slug with a deformed knee (I know, slug has no knee. Its feet are always deformed anyway). When we get there, it was a bit late to get a normal price to Cemoro Lawang village. We had to pay the minibus a la carte (which means a rip off). Fortunately, there were 2 couples also wanted to go up so we could share the price. Strangely enough they didn't talk to each other before we arrived despite the very same problem we had. Nevertheless, soon after the ice broke, we became a good team. We rent a jeep together, went up to the peak, did a lot of chatting in between and kept in touch afterwards.
Journey to Ijen plateau was more challenging. Since there is no public transport to Ijen, we were offered a tour. But we are confident backpackers and an expensive tour sounds very lame to us. We were surprised when we knew that from Bondowoso, the town closest to Ijen plateau, to get to Ijen is as expensive as the tour offered from Bromo. On facing this problem, me and Seb started to think differently, so different as west and east could be. Seb wanted to phone the hotel back in Bromo, in case we can get a lift if they have spare seats. It turned up that the phone number I got was not our hotel at all (believe me, this is quite normal in Indonesia. You called a hotel and ended up in another). Seb asked me to get this hotel's phone number from my friend who got internet. For me, all his plans don't make sense. When I have this situation I will think to just go with the cheapest price possible, even when it's expensive, because we are there anyway. Or ask a friend if they know anybody who can help us. This is Indonesian way, I guess. I don't think my idea is better either, but to do Seb's way in Indonesia is just so unnatural that I don't feel comfortable at all. In Indonesia, I can just go without knowing how to come back, because when I get there, I will ask around and see what turns up. Yet for Seb, he always has a plan (and a few spare plans) about how, when and where to go back. I think we got back in time partly because he has this attitude although it stressed me out to hear his plans and questions all the time (he didn't get stressed out of planning, by the way, which is a bit unfair). When I had my German friend as my travel buddy, he let me handle all and at the end of the day he missed his flight to London. He only had to reschedule it but I realised that I'm definitely not a good travel agent.
Ijen's view, however, deserves all the efforts. The turquois volcanic lake was so peaceful and tranquil that I could hear the echoes of the stones bounced from the lake's walls. On the way down we luckily met three belgian volcanologists and they even took us to a hotel in Kalisat coffee plantation! This evening was the nicest of all because I really enjoyed talking to these amusing people while we were having satay dinner in the foot of Ijen (like I said, my mood is good in the mountain!). One of them, a girl called Julie, explained to me about the colourful stones Seb named 'psychedelic rocks'. The red one contents iron which gets oxidated and the colours range from red to yellow (rust). The white one is rock that is destroyed by sulphur oxide. She told me more about silica and other compounds but I guess I didn't really understand but since I'm Indonesian I would always nod and smile as if I have got all knowledge in my little head.
After Ijen was the painstaking return journey. Thanks to my ignorance to train timetable and all, we ended up taking buses practically from Kalisat until Semarang! I don't remember when is the last time I sat for that long in an uncomfortable overnight bus, but three days afterwards, the pain in my arse was still palpable.
No more than 5 hours after that endless buses trip, we again were on the road to Jepara in order to take a 6 hours ferry to Karimun Java. I guess I was using my reserve energy because that morning I wouldn't even think to ever get up again. All I want was sleeping soundly in my bed for unlimited amount of time (until a frog prince comes to wake me up). Surprisingly, I enjoyed singing along with Seb's playing guitar on the ferry deck under a blistering heat (that made me brown. This is so unwanted for Indonesians!). I don't think the trip to Karimun Java was so bad either, although when I was busy snorkeling, my mind had already yearned for a good quality sleep.
I was upset when I came back instead of having my room and bed all for myself, I had my brother and Seb staying for the night. I guess exhaustion (and illness? and perhaps of the thought that I had to go to work the next day) had made my mood deteriorate badly. It was actually good that my brother accompanied me and Seb that night and the day afterwards. I went to my office in the morning and dealt with my professor for I didn't tell him in advance that I left work for a week. Seb kindly went to my workplace with me. It turned up that I was OK with my job and stuffs, yet my strength had not yet fully recovered. When Seb and my brother were off to my hometown, I instantly went dormant.
It was strange to go back to routine again. Since my trip was not actually a holiday (it doesn't exist, remember?), I had a bit of anxiety if I missed anything important. Suddenly I was nervous for my French exam. Really, traveling is so uncommon in my Indonesian life that I felt a bit guilty but at the same time a gust of thrilling sensation. When I close my eyes; I can see the volcanoes, the green hills, the trees, the yellow spider, the flowers, the mist, the sea. I wonder if I can ever quit traveling. Perhaps not in the near future.
On a different subject I regret a bit that I didn't bring a camera. I wrote about this trip in my Indonesian blog and some friends asked for pictures. I said I saved them in my subconscious mind. My friend insisted that she could not see my subconscious (neither do I. But at least I was there). By not taking any pictures, I won't be able to share with them what I saw. I must admit there is a reason why Indonesians think that pictures and souvenirs are important. It's because to travel for some people is just an impossibility. They are quite happy just to see my pictures and get my souvenirs while I think I would love to share stories so people might have chance to see it for themselves. It's too much a privilege. Unfortunately.
There are some places that I'm pretty familiar with, like Jogjakarta or Limpung ^_^, or Dieng highland, or Borobudur temple (which looked exactly the same from my 9th to 10th visit). Yet I intend to make this journey as interesting for him as for myself. This is also my trip. I don't want to act as a chaperone. So I went to a place that I hardly ever visited before: East Java. Actually I wanted to go to East Java because I saw in National Geographic traveler that we can see turtles laying eggs in their natural habitat (although this is not a good tourist attraction because this could endanger the turtles. When they don't feel secure, they will go back to the sea without laying eggs. We have to watch them very discreetly from a safe distance). I wanted to see Alas Purwo National Park, to pick coffee beans from Kalisat-Jampit, and also to see cactus collections in Mexico Park, Malang, apart from the apple plantations. I always have thousand of ideas but not necessarily a good planning. Apparently a week is not enough to see the most of East Java alone. Well, it was actually only 5 days because the sixth day I booked tickets to Karimun Java. I would say that we definitely need more time if we want to enjoy staying in some nice places for a while. What we did is more like going to one place after another and making sure that we would be back in time. We took public transports and we were in quite a limited budget. In short; we have so much to do, so little money, so little time. Perfect. But I was in a very good spirit. The journey started off on Saturday evening. We would begin with the overnight train from Semarang to Jombang.
I was so excited that I heartily boarded to a wrong train going to Jakarta! I once got a wrong train in France but at that time I understood nothing in French. This time I had no excuse since the announcement is in Indonesian and Semarang only has 2 (two) main platforms. One is going east, another is west. How wrong you could be? Still, I think the announcer talks like someone stuffs his mouth with a large piece of durian (unpeeled). I was amazed at how silly I am when I realised this is why someone took our seats (because they have exactly the same number as our seats). Luckily, somehow our train was delayed for an astonishing 2 hours. We got off in a little train post a bit outside the city, where we were surrounded by a nice, calm, pleasant rice field and a tiny mosque. I like it there than in the main train station, where you always have to pay Rp. 1,000 for toilet and with the loud durian-stuffed sounds in the backgrounds. The most scary-but exciting-thing is when we had to jump from the train since there is no ladder. I threw my backpack to Seb and he encouraged me to just jump because I hesitated for a moment and the train was about to leave! (My feet are like those of jellyfish's)
On the train to Jombang we were supposed to sleep yet we didn't have enough of it. The train was so cold because of the air-con, also we arrived at Jombang very early in the morning. We soon boarded to a bus (this is the beginning of an endless bus journey!) to Malang via Batu. This route is actually a pretty nice one because the view around Batu is lovely: very green with hilly landscapes and lots of rivers and the pointy high trees. But I was still tired of the overnight journey. I had no idea where to get off since I'd never been to this place before so when the driver stopped us in a road to Panderman peak, the highest point in Batu where you can see the town of Malang from above, we just went there (instead of my idea to go to plantation or whatever national park in the original plan). We hiked a bit to the top but stopped not even halfway through for we had no plan to climb any mountains in Malang. The view was beautiful although too many mosquitos accompanying us there. We were glad to say that we 'climbed' Panderman peak even though all we did is actually sitting around, killing some mosquitoes and eating ice cream, on the route to Panderman peak. We continued to Malang by another bus. In this bus we met a bunch of real climbers who had spent the night at the peak. We were quite content just to hear the story. We made friends with them. They even helped us to find a place to stay that night. That day, Malang was hectic due to a festival. I found a lot of nice traditional food stalls in the festival but I was again too tired and weary (We hadn't found any place to stay. Hotels were fully booked). We finally found a place and we skipped our plan to visit the festival in the evening with those climbers since we were pretty knackered and decided to have an early night. Yet mosquitoes and the distant sound of wayang performance late that night and a hard bed woke me up. I noticed that I don't really like spending the night in a town. My mood is always bad when I stay in the city, but I feel good when I wake up in the mountains.
We went to Probolinggo to hit Bromo the next day. By this point Seb had already asked me to phone ahead, in case we found another difficulty to get a hotel. The receptionist said, "Just walk in. We have enough beds for a whole village," This sounded more like Indonesia to me. The bus from Malang to Probolinggo was as slow as a slug with a deformed knee (I know, slug has no knee. Its feet are always deformed anyway). When we get there, it was a bit late to get a normal price to Cemoro Lawang village. We had to pay the minibus a la carte (which means a rip off). Fortunately, there were 2 couples also wanted to go up so we could share the price. Strangely enough they didn't talk to each other before we arrived despite the very same problem we had. Nevertheless, soon after the ice broke, we became a good team. We rent a jeep together, went up to the peak, did a lot of chatting in between and kept in touch afterwards.
Journey to Ijen plateau was more challenging. Since there is no public transport to Ijen, we were offered a tour. But we are confident backpackers and an expensive tour sounds very lame to us. We were surprised when we knew that from Bondowoso, the town closest to Ijen plateau, to get to Ijen is as expensive as the tour offered from Bromo. On facing this problem, me and Seb started to think differently, so different as west and east could be. Seb wanted to phone the hotel back in Bromo, in case we can get a lift if they have spare seats. It turned up that the phone number I got was not our hotel at all (believe me, this is quite normal in Indonesia. You called a hotel and ended up in another). Seb asked me to get this hotel's phone number from my friend who got internet. For me, all his plans don't make sense. When I have this situation I will think to just go with the cheapest price possible, even when it's expensive, because we are there anyway. Or ask a friend if they know anybody who can help us. This is Indonesian way, I guess. I don't think my idea is better either, but to do Seb's way in Indonesia is just so unnatural that I don't feel comfortable at all. In Indonesia, I can just go without knowing how to come back, because when I get there, I will ask around and see what turns up. Yet for Seb, he always has a plan (and a few spare plans) about how, when and where to go back. I think we got back in time partly because he has this attitude although it stressed me out to hear his plans and questions all the time (he didn't get stressed out of planning, by the way, which is a bit unfair). When I had my German friend as my travel buddy, he let me handle all and at the end of the day he missed his flight to London. He only had to reschedule it but I realised that I'm definitely not a good travel agent.
Ijen's view, however, deserves all the efforts. The turquois volcanic lake was so peaceful and tranquil that I could hear the echoes of the stones bounced from the lake's walls. On the way down we luckily met three belgian volcanologists and they even took us to a hotel in Kalisat coffee plantation! This evening was the nicest of all because I really enjoyed talking to these amusing people while we were having satay dinner in the foot of Ijen (like I said, my mood is good in the mountain!). One of them, a girl called Julie, explained to me about the colourful stones Seb named 'psychedelic rocks'. The red one contents iron which gets oxidated and the colours range from red to yellow (rust). The white one is rock that is destroyed by sulphur oxide. She told me more about silica and other compounds but I guess I didn't really understand but since I'm Indonesian I would always nod and smile as if I have got all knowledge in my little head.
After Ijen was the painstaking return journey. Thanks to my ignorance to train timetable and all, we ended up taking buses practically from Kalisat until Semarang! I don't remember when is the last time I sat for that long in an uncomfortable overnight bus, but three days afterwards, the pain in my arse was still palpable.
No more than 5 hours after that endless buses trip, we again were on the road to Jepara in order to take a 6 hours ferry to Karimun Java. I guess I was using my reserve energy because that morning I wouldn't even think to ever get up again. All I want was sleeping soundly in my bed for unlimited amount of time (until a frog prince comes to wake me up). Surprisingly, I enjoyed singing along with Seb's playing guitar on the ferry deck under a blistering heat (that made me brown. This is so unwanted for Indonesians!). I don't think the trip to Karimun Java was so bad either, although when I was busy snorkeling, my mind had already yearned for a good quality sleep.
I was upset when I came back instead of having my room and bed all for myself, I had my brother and Seb staying for the night. I guess exhaustion (and illness? and perhaps of the thought that I had to go to work the next day) had made my mood deteriorate badly. It was actually good that my brother accompanied me and Seb that night and the day afterwards. I went to my office in the morning and dealt with my professor for I didn't tell him in advance that I left work for a week. Seb kindly went to my workplace with me. It turned up that I was OK with my job and stuffs, yet my strength had not yet fully recovered. When Seb and my brother were off to my hometown, I instantly went dormant.
It was strange to go back to routine again. Since my trip was not actually a holiday (it doesn't exist, remember?), I had a bit of anxiety if I missed anything important. Suddenly I was nervous for my French exam. Really, traveling is so uncommon in my Indonesian life that I felt a bit guilty but at the same time a gust of thrilling sensation. When I close my eyes; I can see the volcanoes, the green hills, the trees, the yellow spider, the flowers, the mist, the sea. I wonder if I can ever quit traveling. Perhaps not in the near future.
Minggu, 16 Mei 2010
Flirting in Disguise
It destroys the meaning of friendship. It betrays the good intention of being a good companion. It makes simple things get complicated. It makes the right things go wrong. I just want to treat people like I want to be treated. That's why, in general, I am warm and affectionate to all my friends. I will do my best not to make them feel bad, rejected, annoyed or offended. But how if someone abuses my friendly gestures in order to get what they want? I feel deceived. "Flirting in disguise" is a cheap, pathetic, cowardly way to get a date.
If I am attracted to someone (and I can't be just a friend anymore), I'll say it. If he says no, it'll be fine for me, because I have the right to offer, he has the right to accept or refuse. It is fair. Yet in reality, some people like to make approaches to a girl (in the name of friendship), say nothing about their feelings but slowly push the boundaries so that he could get what he wants! What makes me upset is not the fact that they like someone, but the approaches. They are not honest. Their friendship is not sincere. This is selfish. They play safe: even though the girl isn't attracted to them, at least they can still be around. Moreover, they believe (I don't know where this idea comes from) that if they keep trying, eventually the girl will fall to their arms. This is such a non sense. The more they force their will, the worse their relationship will be. Really, before starting any relationship, at least we ought to respect other people's choices.
I don't tolerate people who have hidden agenda while I am trying to treat them well as friends. When I was very young I enjoyed people's attention and approaches. I felt like a pop star when my male friends flirted with me in disguise of being friendly. I didn't hang up the phone although someone I didn't fancy at all making some useless conversations for hours. I didn't leave when someone I wasn't in love with kept visiting me every weekend. I just felt good that I was attractive. But now I have better things to do. I know what I want and I don't need help to decide whether I am attracted or not. I have a strange feeling that people tend to think that a girl on her own is a target to catch. Like chicken or rabbit. Is it hard to think that this girl has the right on her own, has life, has choices, has brain? That she is not merely an object of interest?
People always say that I am arrogant when I complain about this subject. They said that I should feel lucky instead of angry. Lucky? I'm losing friends because they turn out to be fake. I can't be very outgoing and affable because I am worried that someone might misunderstand me. In one occasion someone told his girlfriend that he thinks I have a crush on him. When I heard this rumour, my first reaction was laughing. He must be joking, we only met once! But then I got upset because this rumour made the situation awkward although I didn't even know him at all. In another occasion someone kept asking me to go out only because I hang out with him (and another friend) once! Or kept texting/phoning me just because I had made a conversation. Do you still count this lucky? Worse off, when I start saying no, people will consider me a proud or vain person. This is because some people are not honest. They want something else but conceal it in a friendly way. They demand special treatment and confuse it between being nice or flirtatious. Sometimes, we are not sure whether this person is being a mere lovely friend or trying his luck. But I'd say: better safe than sorry.
If a friendship develops into something more, that's a different story. Sadly, more often than not, there is a false intention from the beginning: flirting in disguise. I will say that this kind of guy has so little confidence in him. This kind of guy deserves nothing but pity.
Sabtu, 01 Mei 2010
Only Indonesians care about how other Indonesians speak English
It's true. It's greatly annoying to be corrected all the time. We, of course, want to always deliver flawless English with sophisticated grammar and pronunciation, an Obama kind of speech. But let's face it: bad grammar sometimes happens to good people. I mean, even the queen of England makes mistake (well, I'm pretty sure about this). Again, the most important part is the message, right? When two people or more understand each other when speaking a language (or sort of a language), then what's the problem?
So, should we let people saying, "Thanks you very much" or "I can to swim" as long as we understand what they actually mean? I'd say, yes. Unless we are in the classroom and they pay you to teach them English.
I don't mind being corrected. I just point out that it's irritating to edit my sentence when I'm trying to put my idea across or to pour out my feelings. Imagine a situation like this:
Me : "I really like you. I think I love to you,"
Mr. Editor: "No, that's not how you should say it. It's 'I love you' without to"
Me : "Oh. You also too? You love to me too?"
Mr. Editor: "No, I don't mean like that. I mean you should say I love you, not I love to you. And 'also too' is not correct either. If you say also you don't need to say too,"
Me : *confused*"So do you do love me too also? Me love you too"
I bear in mind that in this case, he did nothing wrong, because he's Mr. Editor. He's just doing his job ^_^
In Indonesia, I guess people are very self-aware while speaking other languages. In my opinion this is quite normal since we always treat foreign languages like Math or Physics, with their rules and regulations. Thus, it's important to encourage people to speak or write in order to get them over their inhibition. Yet in reality some people tend to do the opposite. By criticising and pointing out mistakes, some people feel they know better and so that they are cleverer or more sophisticated. I assume that these people haven't learnt a lot therefore need acknowledgment from others. It's selfish because ones want to gain respect by making other people look inferior. If someone want to correct others, better do it in a classroom, where everybody is learning.
English is not for showing off. It's just a lingua franca, to bridge people from different native languages. I write in English because I want to speak to wider audience. To say a joke that perhaps can not be expressed in my mother tongue. On the other hand, to asses other people language ability when it's not an examination is rather impolite. Unless you have nothing else to do but to teach your parrot to sing Auld Lang Syne.
PS. I know I also too made mistakes in this writing. Please please please don't tell my editor or my English teacher. I haven't beaten him in scrabble games yet. Yet! =)
PSS. This post is also too (^_^) inspired by Vicky Laurentina.
Jumat, 23 April 2010
Here and There
People amazingly have complete different reactions/opinions toward a same single situation/thing.
Here, the southern hemisphere particularly in a little place I call my hometown, is where I was born, I grew up and live at the moment. There, is another hemisphere. A place that I once lived and still have its influence in my life. Especially for the fact that I am in touch with some friends. So, this is how it goes, from my friends here and my friends there. Spot the difference.
My friend there (T) : "Ha-ha. Have fun! Cool party huh? Have a great time! Enjoy!"
T : "Oh good. Have you tried paella? Don't try gazpacho. It's just a cold tomato soup with a Spanish name. Do you plan to visit Alhambra? Send me postcards from there!"
T : "Gosh. That's insane. You're 28! Tell him you have a right to decide for yourself,"
T : "That's my girl. Don't let him think he'll get a good night kiss or even a chance to drive you home. Get a taxi to a local bar and hang out with cool dudes only,"
T : "Don't tell him anything. She doesn't want him to get his custody, does she?"
T : "Well, if you know what you want, go get it. With or without support. Your Dad will understand eventually,"
T : "It's good to have friends but you need a space for yourself,"
Here, the southern hemisphere particularly in a little place I call my hometown, is where I was born, I grew up and live at the moment. There, is another hemisphere. A place that I once lived and still have its influence in my life. Especially for the fact that I am in touch with some friends. So, this is how it goes, from my friends here and my friends there. Spot the difference.
- Situation (S) : I phonecall my friend, "I am drunk,"
My friend there (T) : "Ha-ha. Have fun! Cool party huh? Have a great time! Enjoy!"
- S : I wrote an email saying that I'm having a holiday in Spain.
T : "Oh good. Have you tried paella? Don't try gazpacho. It's just a cold tomato soup with a Spanish name. Do you plan to visit Alhambra? Send me postcards from there!"
- S : My ex boyfriend visits me after we split up. We intend to go to a certain place in order to sort out our past and be good friends. Knowing this, my Dad asks my brother to accompany me. I agree but later on send my brother back home because I want to talk with my ex in private. My Dad gets very upset upon this and asks me to go home immediately.
T : "Gosh. That's insane. You're 28! Tell him you have a right to decide for yourself,"
- S : A friend arranged a date for me with someone she knew. He turned out to be completely boring and unattractive. I flied from the place at once, saying that I have an urgent 'woman issue'.
T : "That's my girl. Don't let him think he'll get a good night kiss or even a chance to drive you home. Get a taxi to a local bar and hang out with cool dudes only,"
- S : A friend of mine got pregnant with her ex boyfriend, who is with another girl now.
T : "Don't tell him anything. She doesn't want him to get his custody, does she?"
- I complained that my Dad doesn't support me to travel.
T : "Well, if you know what you want, go get it. With or without support. Your Dad will understand eventually,"
- About being a friend
T : "It's good to have friends but you need a space for yourself,"
- I'll add this list when I remember more. As a note, I don't go for either opinions. But as someone who stay in between and try to respect everyone, sometimes, this can be quite tricky. In the end I have to pick a side. Most of the time, I go to the third choice : never ask opinion. I can be a good friend without telling them my problems.
Minggu, 11 April 2010
another missing note
This is one mising note from my journey to Japan.
It was a damp winter evening in Hakata when I staggered along the alleys of the suburbs. My shoes were muggy, my hair was scruffy and I had three big rucksacks hanging on my body like apes in Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary. It is Indonesian culture to bring people souvenirs from travel, to indicate that we keep them in mind. “People” basically mean everybody who knows me. I held my crumpled map tight under drizzly rain, desperately navigated myself amid the Fukuoka prefecture’s winding narrow roads.
“Kanzakimachi wa doko ni arimasuka?”
I thought I spoke the language but strangely nobody understood me. They attempted to help but unfortunately I even went further to the dense part of the town. The air was as humid as after monsoonal rain in rice fields and I was starving like beggar.
When I saw a small, bright, dry and pleasant-looking restaurant loaded with people chattering in one corner of the street, I felt seeing a light at the end of a tunnel. Driven by the aroma, I stepped in. No single foreigner. I didn’t look like one either, until I opened my mouth.
“I want to eat,”
All of a sudden, everybody stopped talking. Men behind the counter stared at me, then to everybody else as if seeking for explanation. I anxiously glanced the whole room. There were long tables arranged in rows, few people busy preparing food, three notice boards in Japanese character displaying menu (I guessed) and a bunch of guests observing me back.
“That one, inside the…pan,” I gesticulated.
The pan was actually identical to a cauldron; it was big, stocked with yellowish liquid, boiling and sizzling. A chef kept putting more ingredients in. If it was part of wizardry, I wouldn’t be very surprised. I noticed most of the guests were men, wearing dull-coloured shirts and towels tied on their heads. One gave me his bowl, saying something unintelligible but I comprehended that he wanted me to taste his because the soup was spicy hot (signalled by pushing his tongue like panting hound and waving his hand frantically in front of his mouth). I hesitated. Never in my life had I eaten from a stranger’s bowl. What about hepatitis? Yet almost every heads in the house nodded in agreement. I didn’t want to let them down.
Everyone was watching when I pushed a spoonful of the fluid into my mouth. It was incredibly tasty: a thick savoury warm soup with meet broth, combined by fragrance of boiled vegetables, herbs like parsley and lemongrass, a hint of ginger, pepper, chilli and other flavour that I would never recognise.
“It is good,”
I did not exaggerate at all. Everyone was laughing and even clapping, as if it was an entertaining performance. I caught a glimpse of price on the boards, relieved by the amount of zero. I didn’t understand their number. I shouldn’t have been worried. Dinner that night was on them. I should just have known the name of the dish.
“Kanzakimachi wa doko ni arimasuka?”
I thought I spoke the language but strangely nobody understood me. They attempted to help but unfortunately I even went further to the dense part of the town. The air was as humid as after monsoonal rain in rice fields and I was starving like beggar.
When I saw a small, bright, dry and pleasant-looking restaurant loaded with people chattering in one corner of the street, I felt seeing a light at the end of a tunnel. Driven by the aroma, I stepped in. No single foreigner. I didn’t look like one either, until I opened my mouth.
“I want to eat,”
All of a sudden, everybody stopped talking. Men behind the counter stared at me, then to everybody else as if seeking for explanation. I anxiously glanced the whole room. There were long tables arranged in rows, few people busy preparing food, three notice boards in Japanese character displaying menu (I guessed) and a bunch of guests observing me back.
“That one, inside the…pan,” I gesticulated.
The pan was actually identical to a cauldron; it was big, stocked with yellowish liquid, boiling and sizzling. A chef kept putting more ingredients in. If it was part of wizardry, I wouldn’t be very surprised. I noticed most of the guests were men, wearing dull-coloured shirts and towels tied on their heads. One gave me his bowl, saying something unintelligible but I comprehended that he wanted me to taste his because the soup was spicy hot (signalled by pushing his tongue like panting hound and waving his hand frantically in front of his mouth). I hesitated. Never in my life had I eaten from a stranger’s bowl. What about hepatitis? Yet almost every heads in the house nodded in agreement. I didn’t want to let them down.
Everyone was watching when I pushed a spoonful of the fluid into my mouth. It was incredibly tasty: a thick savoury warm soup with meet broth, combined by fragrance of boiled vegetables, herbs like parsley and lemongrass, a hint of ginger, pepper, chilli and other flavour that I would never recognise.
“It is good,”
I did not exaggerate at all. Everyone was laughing and even clapping, as if it was an entertaining performance. I caught a glimpse of price on the boards, relieved by the amount of zero. I didn’t understand their number. I shouldn’t have been worried. Dinner that night was on them. I should just have known the name of the dish.
Minggu, 14 Maret 2010
Personal notes
Little did I know that my decision would change my whole perception later on. Working in a place that only could be accessed by small “Twin Otter” plane and only has a radio for communication device, I started learning that there is another world outside the world I used to know.
The society I was living in is far and away different from my own, although we are all Indonesians. They practise an odd way of treating disease when they get ill. I hadn’t even been trained to work in such a condition. I was quite surprised (no, I think the right word is ‘gobsmacked’). The awareness that I was the only doctor for the whole mountain was overwhelming. In the first 2 months, I struggled to adapt with my new environment. Everyday life, such as cooking, bathing, or washing suddenly became difficult things. I didn’t know how to make fire, I don’t know how to get water from source, I couldn’t take a bath in the river. Even staple food was difficult to get. They don’t eat rice but cassava. Cassava wasn’t very good for my digestive system. It produces a lot of gas in the intestine and makes my stomach bloated uncontrollably. So at the beginning, it wasn’t me who gave them treatment. It was them who gave me. I learnt to sleep in the hut, then next day I could fix my door and put a stove inside. In a few weeks time, I could say that I survived. But then came along other problems: I relied too much to interpreter that I couldn’t do an appropriate history taking, and also there were short of medical supplies and limited diagnosis tests.
In order to get reliable history, I tried to understand some important vocabularies, e.g. headache, fever, unconscious, diarrhea, bleeding, cough, cold, and three times daily. Then I could ask them further questions like: when it starts, what colour and how many times, etc. However, I wasn’t sure if I use the grammar correctly. Sometimes patients just nodded and laughed. With a help from a nurse, I also managed to store the supplies in order at last, but some of the drugs were apparently expired. To dispose, we had to bury these stuffs otherwise children or animals might ingest them (I had never buried drugs before, I felt like criminal). It took me longer than I thought to get my clinic operate “normally”.
When I decided to extend my contract for another 6 months, I was sure that I did the right thing. In my high ideal I thought I might bring about changes. But I was proved wrong. I wasn’t aware that many people strived before me to make condition better. But it was so difficult to change people’s mind. Before my contract ended, I was at my wit’s end. I started being impatient and frustrated. I felt helpless, disappointed and alone. I had a quarrel with my chief of health department. I had resentment to the eldest of the society who I considered as ‘conventional and stubborn’. At the end of the day, I didn’t accomplish my work triumphantly. As soon as my contract ended, I signed out.
I returned home and I wanted to do something else. I am rather happy with all experience I’ve got, but I also realised that I wasn’t very successful. Now I am still not sure what to do if I have the same situation once again. I want to study tropical infectious diseases so I might return to Papua again. But for now, I guess it might be helpful if I learn to deal with ‘challenging people’ in different circumstances. In my opinion, if I put myself to unfamiliar condition, then I will learn the most.
I lost most of my pictures during traveling, but not the notes! I'll publish them soon in this blog.
This one is from year 2006, during my first visit to London. I was mesmerised by the musical as I'd never seen live performance before. Now it sounds rather exaggerated but honestly, I still love musicals and theatre. The latest performance I really want to see is Monty Python and The Holy Grail but they'd already moved to Los Angeles =(
London’s Musical
What will I miss the most in London? It’s musical. Breathtaking, witty, amazing, fantastic and artistic are not enough words to describe these plays. I agree that not all musical are good enough for their standard, but here are some of the plays I certainly do admire (if you happen to see them, give me your own comment).
The Producer and Avenue Q are the most humorous of all. Surprisingly, they are both set in US. I assume American has better sense of humor. The Producer tells a story of a producer (of course) who want to make the worst play ever in Broadway. He and his accountant, the wanna-be producer, try their best to hire the worst scriptwriter, actor and director in order to make the most box-office flop. They wish that after the unsuccessful show they will be gone with a lot of money. The worst play unpredictably turn to be the most-wanted play, and the funniest part…you’ll see the rest by yourself. Avenue Q is the story of our everyday life, with unemployed BA degree called Princeton and those all people live in Avenue Q. This play consists of live stage performance of sex, unfortunately, by puppets. With songs like "It’s suck to be me" and "We’re little bit of racist", I’m sure you can imagine what kind of musical it is!
Chicago is likely the sexiest. If you have seen the movie with Catherine Zetta-Jones and Renee Zellwenger (ups, I don’t know how to spell her name, forgive me), don’t even think that you will be bored to watch this play again. It’s fabulous! The music is totally alive and the joke is much funnier. Roxie Hart, the main character of this play, really dances like a puppet. She’s not only hot but also very absorbing. Like to make fun of herself as well as entertain her audience. And with the orchestra as a part of the story, who doesn’t enjoy it?
What to do if You get stuck in Tokyo or Kyoto from the hours between 12-5 am
- Start the night right off. Go to the vending machines and buy a BLACK BOSS or go to Family Mart and get an energy drink {Y200 (up for 2 hrs)-Y1500(up for 2 days)}.
- Decide where you want to go. There are bars, clubs -stripclubs- you can hang out by a river or just drink from a vending machine.
- I suggest going to all you can eat/drink place for Y3000. Get drunk and hit a club. Kyoto (club metro, World, Ruba dub). Tokyo (BiasPanic or NUTZ). If you want to take a break, go to an arcade or the Shibuya Mc Donalds.
- Who you will find at Shibuya Mc Donalds. The second floor will be filled with smoke and Shibuya girls putting on make up and fixing their blonde hair. Some will be adjusting their high heels and long black socks. These girls are hot!!!!!! Everyone is eating Mega Teriyaki burger.
- If you are a Gai jin like myself then you have to pay 2500 yen to go to a club. Most likely it will be a Reggae club. Here you will have to face the DJ and dance. If you turn your back to them to dance with a girl it might be considered disrespectful. Just drink a lot and it will be a lot of fun. It will be tough to talk to girls so just give them your camera, ask them to take a picture of you and your friends. This will start a conversation. Just pray they know more english than you know Japanese. WAtch out for dudes from Ghana wanting you to go to stripclubs. Go if you want. Get on train at 4.30 am. Go home!!!!
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