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2/16/2006 Coming Home!Helloooo Singapore! And Hello to all of you who chose to read this travel journal. I had no idea what affect it would have on me, just to write them. I think it makes me more of a student of culture and a better traveller. Anyway, thanks to those of you with kind words to say; I'm glad you enjoyed the entries. You never know how people on a mass e-mail distribution list will react to an invasion of their time and space, so again, thanks for your indulgence. Icy Cubes
The first thing I noticed and reflected on when I got to Singapore was the ice. They actually had some! Indonesia had no ice. I asked. They called them “icy cubes” and asking for them was just “not done.” You would have better luck asking for their daughters. There’s nothing quite like sitting on the balcony of a restaurant on a 100 degree day in Indonesia; especially if you’re sitting out there because its “cooler” out there than it is inside. Things get surreal when, through sweat-stung eyes, you notice that everyone is drinking hot tea and coffee. Some of them are even wearing coats. Its like a twilight episode where I’m the only one aware that the heat index is 113. They serve cold beverages, but they have no ice and you’d better drink them quickly… after all, you’re sitting in an oven. I got ice once, in the bar at the hotel. I asked for it, and she gave me an iced tea from the refrigerator (no ice). I asked, “May I have some ice?” “Icy cubes?” She said. “I guess so, yes” was my reply. She left, went to the kitchen for quite some time, and brought back a small dish with a folded cloth napkin, and three perfect squares of ice arranged on top! So… I know they can make ice, but I never discovered the key to getting, say, a glass full of it. I’ll make it a goal for next time.
Bag Baggage
I have issues. For example, while I may not necessarily care if the living room or the bathroom is clean, it is paramount that my kitchen, my toolbox, and my garage workbench are clean, organized, and ready for action in case of an emergency. There are other demons that I struggle with (although I refer to them as “personal traditions”), and one of them involves my luggage. Nobody touches my luggage. Ever. Usually, baggage handlers in hotels respect a polite, “thanks, I’ll handle it” but not always. For some bizarre reason, a small minority of bellhops makes it their life’s mission to handle your bag. Even if it’s just to wheel your small roller-board 50 feet down the hall, or 10 feet to the curb. What are they thinking? “This idiot probably has no idea how to walk through a revolving door; I’d better take his luggage so he doesn’t hurt himself!” All I can think is, their managers must have some wicked meetings and/or they set ridiculous goals… 500 bags moved 2,000 feet per month; whatever.
Well, this trip is different. Most of my friends and co-workers are aware that I brought an umbilical hernia with me on this trip and I’m not supposed to lift more than 20lbs over my head. No, I’m not military-pressing my luggage through the lobbies of hotels around the world. However, I’m honestly trying to reduce the strain and I resolved to finally relinquish my bag to the nearest most responsible looking bellman. Or bellperson. Whatever, the point is; this is a big deal for me. Call it a “man thing” or a “Ken thing” but I lug my own luggage, thank you very much. So, at checkout time this morning I was walking toward the souvenir shop (rolling my bag behind me) to buy some rocks for my friend Dave. Dave needs rocks, it’s a whole different set of issues that I might address in a blog someday, but I digress. I was almost to the shop when I heard a frantic, “Mr. KEN! Mr. KEN!!” I turned to see a wiry hotel bellman sprinting across the vast lobby, leaping over flowerpots, deftly dodging the centerpiece and shouting, “Mr. KEN, YOUR LUGGAGE!!” For an instant, I thought my bag might actually explode, or worse, it had come open and my underwear was streaming out the back like a horrible trail of breadcrumbs. He reached my side and said, “I take your bags!” Whew. That was close. I guess. “Sure” I said. “You checkout today, Mr. Ken?” he replied with a knowing smile; “Yes, actually. I am.” “I watch for you!” Reluctantly, I agreed. I lingered though (a little too long) to see exactly where he was going. I bought Dave’s rocks, checked out, and do you know what? There was my new bagman standing right next to my new driver, guarding my bag with the diligence and focus of a hungry wolverine! He’d done WELL. He did not sell my possessions on the streets for ill-gotten gain like my inner-child told me he would. I tipped him 50k and he promised, “When you come back to Bandung Mr. Ken, I will take your bags, thank you very much!” I’m sure he will!
All Over the Nice Man's Car... "Always leave a good impression, son." That's whay my mother always said. Well, that and "Clean your room!" So when it was time to part ways with my host, Paul, who took such good care of me while I worked my butt off in Indonesia for a week... what did I do? Give him a gift from America? Pledge my future support of his project? Not me. I puked all over his car!! I didn't do it on purpose, of course, and I had the class to roll down the window first, but wow. THAT is an impression. From Bandung to the airport in Jakarta is roughly 120 miles. The "road" (and I put "road" in quotes for a reason) is a windy one, packed with traffic. Paul lives in Singapore and travels to Jakarta often enough to have a car service with a regular driver. He's used this particular car (and its driver) for over a year now. Paul trusts his driver. I hate him. For more than two hours we sped, weaved, dodged, accellerated and decellerated with all of the steady smoothness of a hardware store's paint shaker. All the while, Paul is calmly discussing the business world and corporate life at Stellent. "So Ken, how does Stellent position itself agains Documentum in today's compliance world?" "Sorry, Paul" I thought, "I'm fighting for my life here, buddy." I did the best I could. We talked about the ways and means of corporate content management, compliance practices in a hectice corporate financial center, the future of web development... and all I wanted to do was smack his driver, get out, walk into the nearest rice patty, and sleep for a little while. The best part is, I managed with all of my considerable strength to hold it together until we were literally 200 feet from the drop-off zone at the airport. The window went down, and breakfast and lunch came up; all over the outside of the car. I turned my ashen face to Paul and apologized profusely. He laughed and simply said, "Kleenex?" We parted ways, and had a laugh. All is good, and he promised me that his driver would do the cleaning. Sweet. The sickness stayed with me for about 24 hours. I believe I ate something that forced my stomach to say, "Dude, all week I've put up with this crap, but not anymore. That's it, I quit!" Still, the roller-coaster ride to the airport didn't help!
Made in China
I've always heard great things about Singapore. "You'll love Singapore, Ken. Its clean! Its Westernized, Its Modern," etc. Well, they were correct! They use technology here in such practical ways. Escalators automatically turn on when you walk up to them, room lights turn on as you enter and off as you leave while you meander around various buildings. At the museum of art, they give you a badge with a small chip in it that identifies you and your country of origin. If you wear the badge, various paintings and exhibits illuminate as you walk up to them, and you hear a soft 20 second "blurb" in your own language about the origin, artist, etc of the piece. The only thing I find strange about Singapore is the merge of Chines and Western influences. Everything (for the most part) is written in English. Most of the people here speak flawless English with almost no trace of accent. And Yet; the architecture, the food, the textiles, products, etc, are Chinese. As a child, I remember my father telling me that if the tag said, "Made in China" on it, then it was "crap." Well if that were true (and I believe it wasn't), then all of the "good stuff" found its way here to Singapore. It is LUSH here! Green, green, green. The freeways (speed limit 110km) actually weave their way around the city under a tunnel of live Oaks that often meet above the center line. Its like jungle meets beach meets the parks department. I love it. All of the hotels have these lush gardens on the roof with walking paths (I'm sitting on one now as I write this on their wireless network). See enclosed picture (its big, so you can zoom in and look around) to see what I'm talking about. Clothes Make the Man If you know me, you know I'm not a "clothes horse." I do have a very nice suit and I used to own my own tux, but you'll never find me in a high fashion clothier unless someone died recently, or my wife chooses to drag me to a charity ball. So, I surprised myself today. I went walking/shopping early this morning and found clothing shops with beautiful silks, egyption cottons, blends, all natural fibers. Bolts and bolts of the most beatiful and soft one, two, and three ply cottons, wools, cashmere you've ever seen; the kind of stuff you touch and have a hard time taking your hand away from. The weird thing is, they have nothing hanging on a rack anywhere to buy. Its a bit like walking into a small "Hancock Fabrics for High Fashion" store. When you walk in, they show books with pictures of coats, shirts, hats, suits, trousers (in fancy stores, they're "trousers," and not "pants," you know), all with various optional collars, cuffs, buttons, zippers, etc. to choose from. What would you pay in America for a two ply, herringbone weave, egyptian cotton, french cuff dress shirt (in Royal French Blue) that was personally tailored? $100? More? I have no idea, but in Singapore that shirt will cost you $40 in American greenbacks. I thought it was a deal, so I bought two. Then I felt guilty because Lisa wasn't here and I have no idea what all of her measurements are (I'm a guy... there's no way) but I wanted to get her something so... I hunted around and found an awesome set of ladies jammies. 100% pure combed silk, polished to a high sheen. Black with little black Chinese Dragons sewn in everywhere (matching top and bottoms). OK, maybe that gift was for me too, but I hope she likes them. OH, does anyone have a pair of silver cuff-links I could borrow? Signing Off Well... Goodbye. I don't know how else to say it. Its been quite a trip! I know I have a 16 hour plane trip to Portland, Oregon ahead of me with a brief stop in Tokyo. Then I have another 3 or 4 hour ride back to MSP. Is it still cold? Its balmy here. I'm on the deck of my hotel, its about 80 degrees, and the Muzak is a blend of Yanni and Kenny G. I *AM* in Singapore, right? Notes: -Kent, I got you a bottle of chili sauce. Its awesome, not too hot but a sweet fruitiness to it that you'll like. I bought it in Indonesia on the way home and you owe me 31 cents. -Dave, I got the rocks. Four of them. They're heavy. You owe me your life! -Donna, they made me give them my resume; I am NOT job-hunting in Bandung! -Scott B, I wish you could have come to the art museum with me. You'd have LOVED it. No pictures allowed, but plenty of gawking, pontificating, and head-shaking for all. -Lisa, I'm comin' home, babe! Pictures:
Go... Fight... WIN!"Meatballs meats should come from cow, yes?" Don’t get me wrong; most of the food here is first rate, as long as you get it at a resort hotel or 5-star restaurant. The food from carts in the street is to be avoided like the plague. In fact, it could probably start one! My taxi driver this morning asked me the question about meatballs. I told him, “Yes, in America meatballs are made from cow.” He smiled and said, “Here, not so much cow! Some cow, some rat, some snake…” I said, “Oh, that’s, uh… swell.” Note to self, do NOT eat meat in Indonesia. Ever.
Critters
There are several creatures sharing space with me at the hotel. There’s a family of geckos running around the walls, corners, and ceilings. They have cousins in the bar and restaurant area too! They’re cute little things, they eat mosquitoes, roaches, and other pests and are quiet enough, so I let them stay. Flash photography irritates them. Another creature that’s not quite as welcome was a cobra that was “reported” to be in the garden last night. I was trying to sleep and I heard a small child screaming “Cobra, Cobra…” from the swings in the garden. A group of hotel workers in rubber boots appeared and kicked and flushed the bushes but I’m not sure if they ever actually found the snake. Nevertheless, it’s another thing on my list of things to be careful about.
The rain stopped long enough to see the fruit bats come out! They say there’s a network of old lava tube caves in the mountain that they live in. From a distance, they looked like smoke! There must have been a trillion of them.
Sweets
Hmm. How do I describe, “sweets?” It’s more of a snack, really. It’s distributed mysteriously to the students in the classroom at 10:15 and again at 3:00. I’m told that it’s a corporate thing that they do or people in long meetings. A small white box (4x6” and 3” high) is delivered and it contains three small “dumplings” or other delicacies that are referred to as “sweets.” They’re anything but sweet. My box had a shrimp ball (complete with a small shrimp perched on top, eyes staring right at me), a potato or rice ball wrapped in a banana leaf, and a bright green biscuit that resembled a “10 minute biscuit” that was only in the oven for three.
Lunch is served also, which is quite convenient. White lunch boxes are delivered every day with interesting meals called “Gudeg” (pronounced “GOOD-egg”). There’s an egg inside alright, and it is anything but “good!” It’s a chicken egg, boiled in ketchup and water for so long that the egg white turns a reddish brown and it flakes off in layers. Even the yolk (long since “firm”) has a brown ring around the outside. Gudeg also includes a shredded beef and bean concoction that is fairly tasty, some rice, a small wedge of chicken and some fried tofu. Dave, I’ll bring an egg home for you if you want… it couldn’t possibly spoil any worse than it already is. I think it’s mummified! See enclosed picture!
Motivation
Go, Go, Go… Fight, Fight, Fight… Win, Win, Win! This company has a mascot named “Be-Bee.” They pronounce it “Buh Bayyyyyyy” the way Pepe LePew used to say “baby.” He’s a bee. A big purple one. He’s pictured all over the office space and his catchy motivational phrase is “Go, Go, Go… Fight, Fight, Fight… Win, Win, Win! I have no idea what that means in the corporate telecommunications world. Also, they recently held a contest for employee’s kids to draw or illustrate messages that reminded employees to “be safe” on the internet. I included a couple of shots of my favorite ones.
Morning Call to Prayer
4:00am. Morning. Still dark. I’m sleeping DEEP. Then I hear it. I knew there was a Mosque near the hotel, and I was aware that they use an amplified tower-installed speaker audio system to broadcast the call, but seriously. IT’S FOUR O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING. I piled the pillows on top of my head and kept repeating “I’m a guest in their country, I’m a guest in their country, I’m a guest in their country…” It wouldn’t be as bad if it weren’t such an off-pitch, rhythmless, ghostly cry in the dark: “ALLAHHHHHHHHHHHAAAACKBAAAAAAAARRRRRRRR UMBULeeaAAAYYYYaaAAAAHHHOOOOOOMMMMMmmMMNNNNOOOooohhHHHHaaaaaAAAA.” Wow. It continued until 4:30am. My head hurt for quite a while.
Death and “Taxis”
All modes of transportation in this country share the same road. Taxis, cars, buses, horses, scooters, goats, burros, pedestrians, bikes, you name it. The painted white lines are a general guideline. My taxi went “3 cars wide” in a one lane road this morning a couple of times, and we nearly hit a man on his donkey. I asked, “Do people get killed in the streets here?” He said (with a casual air that was damned scary) “Yes, all the time.” If I’d asked him, “Does it rain a lot here?” He’d have given me the same answer, with the same lack of concern or consideration for the importance of the topic.
Garbage In, Garbage… Out?
The picture included says it all. The pile gets bigger every day. I have no idea when they empty it, if ever. They might just let it compost right there in the street. The nasty thing is, the garbage heap is right in the middle of the farmer’s market. I could find healthier food in the dumpsters of American restaurants than these poor folks are buying from their local market. Its unbelievably sad.
Notes:
Kent, tonight was “Full Thai” night at the buffet and I thought of you. The chef at the cook station asked “would you like it spicy?” In MN, that answer is always an immediate “hell, yes” but here… I was afraid he’d burn my lips off. I said, “yes” of course, and he did burn my lips off. It was great!
Dave, I thought about looking for some agates down the hill a-piece (there’s an old rock slide down there) but with orangutans and cobras (even if they’re mythical cobras) in the jungle, I changed my mind. Sorry.
Donna, can I expense a deep tissue massage? A full hour is only $11 USD!
Susan, if you see this… I’m still hoping and praying for the best possible outcome. Take good notes during your stay at the hospital because I might be right behind you!
Pictures:
Toilets, Balls, and Ralph LaurenLee reminded me, "WHAT little green balls of nuts?" Well...
Tonight at dinner, I ordered Ginger tea to drink. It was delicous. What I didn't anticipate were the little green balls bouncing and floating around in the tea. They were gelatinous, slimy, weird, and as big as a standard pimento stuffed olive. I furtively glanced around and decided they were supposed to be in there, so I ate one. SURPRISE, they were filled with a sweetened crushed peanut goo inside! I hope they don't come back to haunt me later! The toilet mystery has been solved. Today I learned that Indonesia installed its first sit-down toilet in 1986. Saints be praised. Prior to that time, they literally squatted over a hole in the ground or over a bucket or similar device. According to Henry, even though the modern joys of toiletry are upon them, the more "mature" members of society don't trust them. They prefer "old school methods." So... standard procedure is:
1. Enter stall, remove pants, hang pants on hook.
2. Stand with feet squarely on the washboard ridges provided around the toilet hole. (I assume the washboard ridges and the grip they provide are also a fairly recent and modern addition, but they've apparently gained acceptance where other innovations have failed.)
3. Squat to a comfortable position and relieve yourself. (Shudder)
4. The flush handle is purely decorative, so... use the bucket and ladel to rinse in and around the hole.
5. Refill the bucket for the next patron.
6. Put your pants back on, but roll the cuffs up to your knees.
7. Wash your feet (for reasons that should be obvious) in the foot trough next to the sinks. Yes, NEXT TO THE SINKS! (Shudder; Shiver)
8. Thank the good Lord you're allowed to wear flip-flops to work. I also forgot to mention the outlet stores. There are several. Strangely, they all correspond to the names of stores we're familiar with in the West. Also, they're synonymous with the names of Western stores who've been in the news regarding child labor laws and third world countries. There's a Ralph Lauren store not 10 miles from here AND it is connected to a Ralph Lauren Textile Manufacturing Center. As tempting as a set of king-sized Polo sheets for $5 would be, I could NOT in good conscience walk into that store, look those folks right in the eye, and walk away with an item they worked HARD on; for what I'd pay for a snack at McDonald's. Some $10 pinpoint cotton oxfords maybe... but never $5 for sheets! Little green balls of nuts...Hello and goodbye from Bandung! This is the last travel-log from Indonesia as I head out for Singapore and the long road home tomorrow.
Ways and Means
More on Muslim culture… I reported earlier that the first call to prayer is at 4:00am. That’s nothing! During the 40 days of the Holy Ramadan, they’re allowed one large meal at breakfast and they fast for the rest of the day. To have the time to eat with their families, they adjust the call to prayer to 3:00am (THREE o’clock in the morning). Mosques send trucks with loudspeakers on them throughout the local neighborhoods to blast them awake with chants and prayer. Sounds to me like the “Ice Cream Man from Hell.” Forty days of that. In a row.
Remember the goats in the picture yesterday? Yea, well… their days are numbered. I was told today that January 10th is a holy day of sacrifice for the Muslims here. They are buying goats and other animals to bring to the temple for sacrifice. As sad as I am for the goats and sheep, I wish I could stay to watch it. Apparently, it’s a scene right out of the Old Testament with scores of pilgrims marching to the temple with sacrificial animals in tow. It would be an interesting sight to see. Stinky, but interesting.
Mr. Ken
Perhaps I was a bit too quick to judge when I told my friend Kent that this was a beautiful place but not a good place to vacation... You can "rule the world" here for $20 per day! If you're a nature enthusiast, its a great place to hunt for semi-precious stones (jasper, agate, feldspar, amethyst), to hike around volcanic caves and craters, to see forests of teak wood, or to see a variety of indigenous animals. The best part is, you can do it all for almost nothing! For example, we had dinner tonight at a very fancy restaurant. Parking was 1,000 Rupiah (ten cents). Each of us had our own personal server and the entrees were between 7 and 25 dollars. Western hotels have caught on however, and they charge similar prices to what they do in the U.S. I guess the trick is to get away from the hotel when you can, but you have to be mindful of security. On several occasions, I’ve tipped a concierge or a waiter at the hotel $5. That’s 50,000 Rupiah. To me, it was 5 dollars on a 30 dollar tab or whatever. To them (I have recently discovered) its almost three days wages! Word has spread throughout the hotel that the man in room 442 is either generous or crazy and apparently has tip money. Everyone here from the housekeepers to the pool-boy smiles broadly and greets me with “Good Morning, Mr. Ken!” “Good Afternoon, Mr. Ken… Nice to see you Mr. Ken”! Its good to be the king. The taxi fare for a 15 minute (8km) drive to work every morning runs between 80 to 90 cents. Day one, I paid with three 1,000 Rupiah notes and the driver gave me a card with his private cell. He’s been a great driver for me all week! I call, he comes… I hope Lisa understands that I will expect this kind of service when I get home.
The Long and Winding Road
To get to the restaurant this evening, we had to drive up a long mountain road to the top of the volcano. It switched back and forth many times and was stressful riding to say the least. The road is barely two cars wide on the safer parts and in the hairpin turns, it’s only one car wide at the most. It’s not paved, it is muddy. It was dark. The drop over the side of the mountain was pretty spectacular. It was raining. Every time we came to a turn, we honked or we waited. I asked the driver through the group’s interpreter, “Why do you honk sometimes?” He told us that whoever reaches a turn and honks first is entitled to the right of way. Excuse me? So… it was a quiet ride up! Once, we took a spur off of the main road and he moved to the center and accelerated. I looked at Henry (our interpreter) and asked “Why the sudden hurry?” He spoke to the driver and told me, “This is a one way street, it is safer.” I said, “Oh. There are no signs anywhere, how does he know?” Henry asked, the driver said, “Instinct.” I decided that something MUST have been lost in the translation.
Teak
Teak wood is so plentiful here; they actually burn it for firewood. If you go to the building supply center for a few 2x4s, the cheap stuff is teak. Its beautiful, it holds up very well to the moist environment, and I guess they’re lucky it grows like weeds in the mountains. I learned at dinner that more than 80% of the world’s supply of teak wood comes from Indonesia and Malaysia. Unfortunately, only 40% of the teak that leaves Indonesia was harvested legally. I’ve never heard of “tree poaching” before but it’s a real problem. At any rate, the array of teak deck chairs around the pool here is enough to make the Waldorf Astoria jealous.
Pictures:
Monkeys, Bananas, and WORK!Hello from Bandung, Indonesia!
I *LOVE* this place. Bandung would give Hawaii a run for its money in the “pretty to look at” category. Wow. It’s a true hidden treasure. Bandung is a 2-hour drive from Jakarta. We left at 6am to make the drive. I learned a lot about the place on route. For example, as little as 5 years ago there was no road so you couldn’t drive to Bandung, you had to fly. Flying was extremely expensive for the local people so most never did. In fact, Bandung has roughly 2 million people in it and I learned that fully 95% of them have never traveled out of the city to visit Jakarta… much less out of Indonesia. Its too expensive for them. The road was built to allow access to Jakarta during the Asian summit a few years ago. Humidity, monsoon rains, and erosion have taken their toll. Several times on route we had to slow to a crawl to make it over and around the holes in the road.
The fortunate few of the local folks who have transportation drive a small scooter or small motorbike. The “super rich” have cars. The vast majority of them walk or take city buses. I was told not to tip cab drivers or waiters more than 5,000 Rupiah (about fifty cents) or else I would look “suspicious.” Hmm. I’m already a head taller and a hundred pounds heavier than everyone here so I figure I’m already “suspicious.” I tip 5 bucks (50,000 Rupiah). I’ve made a lot of friends (I have a regular “driver” now), and 50kR probably feeds a family for a week so…
The topography here is breathtaking. Once you leave the city limits of Jakarta, the pollution abates and you see nothing but mountains, epic waterfalls, and green, green, green. The hotel is under the shadow of the volcano, and the mountain side is littered with wild banana trees and cocoa-nut palms. There are also wild orangutans wandering the forests so we’ve been advised not to take unsupervised hikes. The bananas are as sweet as ice-cream and I should probably cut back to less than 5 per day!
So… When I checked into my room this morning and saw the blue and yellow silk bathrobe and matching slippers, I thought to myself, “this is too much!” I’ve been pampered in business class and super hotels and I was just starting to feel spoiled;
However…
Today, I earned it. Wow. Today was my first real “day at the office” over here and it was 13 hours long. It was arguably the toughest training day I’ve ever had. The language barrier isn’t nearly what I thought it would be. The people are positively sweet, polite to a fault, and wonderful to talk to. The environment that they work in however, is awful. The halls and rooms are very dimly lit, it hovers around 85 degrees in the office space, computers are very old, and to flush the toilet you have to use a ladle to dip water out of a bucket on the floor and pour it into the toilet until the weight of the water is enough to force a flush (you have to refill the bucket when you’re done with the handy spigot on the wall). Its enough to make you want to “hold it” all day. My contact here (Paul) warned me not to eat anything at the office because precious little of the foodstuffs here are prepared in clean or sanitary conditions. He told me he’s had food poisoning “lots of times” here in Bandung. So… I’m in paradise, but I’m eating bananas and powerbars (from home) for meals. I’ve enclosed a picture of my students and the classroom. The class is going fairly smoothly despite the conditions.
There are several 30 minute mandatory breaks throughout the day for Muslim prayer. The company has gone to extraordinary lengths to allow for prayer time. When employees enter the building in the morning, they hang their coats (yes, they’re really “cold” in the morning because its only in the 80’s) and stow their shoes in a locker and take a prayer mat and flip-flops to use throughout the day. The bathrooms have foot washing troughs (you can’t flush a toilet, but you can wash your feet) to purify the soles of their feet prior to stepping onto their prayer mats. Its so loud during prayer time that the walls in the classroom vibrate a little. There’s lots of cantation and wailing and an honest “passion” in their prayers. Christians who are taught from the bible to “pray without ceasing” could certainly learn a lesson here. I learned that 98% of the population of Indonesia is Muslim. Strangely, the other 2% is Christian. I’d have guessed Hindu or Buddhist given their proximity to India and Asia, but that’s not what the demographics say. Note to self: Convince boss I need to wear flip-flops all day at work because of “religious rules.”
Notes:
- Dave, I found an ENORMOUS agate for you today. - Lisa, I will NOT bring a monkey home even though they’re for sale in the street, and they’re trained to pick bananas (and they’re cute. And cheap) - Donna, I will never complain about the training room temperature again - Kent, the vegetable curry on the breakfast buffet was unbelievable. I was still sweating two hours later... The Rotie is awesome too. - Cordell, don’t even ask because I will NOT bring you a monkey. If I can’t have one, YOU can’t have one either. Elephants, cocoanuts, spiders, and water...Hello all!
Today I made my first non-stop 13 hour flight! I changed into my jimmies, watched a couple of movies, slept for a few hours, woke up to a hot breakfast and watched CNN before landing (I changed back into my day clothes, too). Actually, it’s not too much different than a Saturday night or two I’ve had at the house!
First stop, Kuala Lumpur (Malaysia). It’s an interesting place, especially from the air! You look out and see miles and miles and miles of cocoa-nut groves. Once in a while, you spot an elephant in a field working (I presume) to move the old wood out of the groves. There’s something poetic about sitting in a 747 and looking out the window at elephants moving trees. I felt like I was in a time machine or something. A flight attendant told me that they train monkeys to scamper up the trees and to spin the cocoa-nuts loose so they fall to the ground to be harvested. I think I saw that on the Discovery Channel once, but it would have been a “hoot” to see it live.
Malaysia is also home to the world’s largest spiders, scorpions, and beetles. They were actually selling them in the airport, live as well as “mounted.” Some of the scorpions were 12” long and that’s no exaggeration! One rhinoceros beetle I saw was every bit as hefty as a tennis ball. My wife would freak out if I described the various spiders, let’s just say you’d think twice before you rode your bike over one… OH and Dave, I found you an agate. They carved a shot glass out of it!
Next (and final) stop, Jakarta (Indonesia). Wow, that’s a long flight but I made it and I’m 13 time zones ahead of Minnesota, and south of the equator too! The first thing you can’t help but notice from the air is the tsunami damage. “Extensive” is not a powerful enough adjective. I have enclosed a picture; notice how far offshore the waves break. Also, the flooding appears to be a permanent new addition to the landscape. Its awesome and its sad at the same time. I also enclosed a picture of a tanker that was disabled during the tsunami. There’s still a ridiculous amount of cleanup to do. Our plane had 80 palettes, 10 feet high, loaded into the cargo hold; and most of it was food from Europe to aid in the tsunami rebuild. The navigator and I were talking about the 747 and its hidden compartments, bunk beds for the crew, and its unbelievable capacity to haul cargo… We had 427 people, their baggage, a full crew, 80+ tons of cargo on board, fuel to push us 7,000 miles AND a case of champagne to celebrate the “mid-air new year.” We averaged 600mph.
When I arrived, I think I walked 50 feet from the jet-way before the humidity in the air (100%, it’s monsoon season) and the sweat from my body met somewhere in the fibers of my sweatshirt. Good grief and golly is it hot here. To complicate things, my driver was nowhere to be seen. This presented an unusual problem. I was told NOT to accept taxi rides from the locals and yet, there must have been 20-30 of them following me around for the 45 minutes I looked for my iForce driver (who was supposed to be at the gate with a “Mr. K Walker” sign). I think the only English word they knew was “Taxi?” The biggest one probably weighed a scant 100lbs (less than ½ my size) and when the entourage got to be unbearable I finally stopped, turned, and “had a meeting.” Picture this, you all know me. I’m hot, tired, a little irritated, and I’ve sweated through all of my clothes. Honestly, I have compassion for these people and I understand that a substantial cab fare would probably feed their family for a few days. Still… I held my hands up and said, “I DO NOT NEED A TAXI.” They stood their ground. Looks were exchanged, battle lines drawn. “I HAVE A DRIVER.” Well, they’re certainly not stupid, they looked at me with a universal facial expression that simply asked, “then why are you walking in circles around the airport?” Finally, I pulled 50,000 Rupiahs out of my pocket (about 5 dollars) and quietly asked the closest one to me, “can you take me to the hotel information desk?” He grabbed my arm and away we went! Everyone else assumed they’d lost.
The hotel desk sent for a car and only charged me 117,000 Rupiah ($18). When the hotel car arrived at the Marriott, we went through a security gauntlet the likes of which I’ve never seen. We drove through some construction that is left over from the LAST time the terrorists blew up this hotel (2003) and arrived at a gate. The driver and I had to exit the vehicle while they (and their drug sniffing dogs) went over it, inside and out. They even had mirrors to use to check the under-carriage. They waved us through and we drove up to a fence with razor wire and guards with machine guns. Another check of our passports and visas. Finally, and at last, I made it to the room.
Data:
Total travel miles so far: 14,734
Average speed overall: 580mph
Hours in the air: 22
Best sign of the day: “Welcome to Indonesia, where drug traffickers get the death penalty.” I’m not making it up!!
Pictures:
Out of the Gate...Hello All!
Well, the first leg of the “Round the World” tour is over and I find myself safe and sound at the Airport Hilton in Amsterdam. I’ve learned some things:
First and foremost, the NWA’s new Business Class seats rotate 180 degrees to “full flat” for sleeping. They have adjustable lumbar supports, AND they have upper and lower back massage units. I can never fly coach again… $50,000 for the upgrade? I’ll pay it! Yep, I was the guy in the front row going, “AAahhhhh.. yeaOHOHOHooh!”
Street names in Holland are just ridiculous. How do you give traveler directions to the grocery store when it sits on the corner of, “JanVanDerPutten-Keizersgracht” and “Kunsthandel-Pappot?” It would take you 15 minutes just to get started. Even better, my GPS abbreviates those extra long names to things even more impossible to decipher. I find myself looking at street signs and musing, “I THINK I’m here… if you take all of the vowels out of that sign, it looks something like what my GPS says.” It only takes 1 inch of snow to cripple Amsterdam’s public transportation (see photo).
The museum district is only 20km or so from here, but it might as well be back in Minneapolis. The trains aren’t running, and the few cabs that are brave enough to risk it want 50 euros for the one-way trip to the museums. Lots of stores and public places are closed early today so it’s likely that I’d pay roughly $120.00 to see absolutely nothing. Sorry I don’t have more pictures or stories, my brief stay in Amsterdam will be an uneventful one. I only have 30 hours here before leaving for Jakarta tomorrow and that’s not enough time to wait on the weather.
Healthwise, I seem to be holding together fairly well. I’m sleepy, but my heart and my belly seem to be “status quo” and I’m thankful for that. As always, your thoughts and prayers are appreciated.
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