Indonesia Part I

Wednesday August 24, 2011

I know what I’m about to describe is not what most people would envision as utopia.  In fact, I’m sure the greater majority of the downtrodden would even raise an eyebrow in curiosity, questioning my heterodox blissful emotions evoked from my recent aerial transportation.  Lost?  All I’m saying is my plane ride was the closest thing to heaven I’ve experienced in the last 12 weeks.  Employing the internet as our travel agent we secured the cheapest flight available from Malaysia to Indonesia on none other than KLM Airlines.  We too were perplexed how a Dutch airline could possibly have a route in SE Asia but we would later learn the history of Indonesia is heavily tainted by the presence of Dutch colonialism. 

We boarded an airplane bigger than our guesthouses with more carryon luggage under our eyes than in our arms and found our seats in the rear.  After the misery of cramped minibuses with goats at our feet and chickens in our laps the leather seating seemed surreal as we sunk into our thrones.  As if they hand fed the calf that was killed to cover my seat; I felt like royalty while I smelled like a peasant as my head leaned back, my mouth dropped open and a sigh emanated from somewhere deep within.  The flight was a brief four hours, an amount of time I had become accustomed to existing only to define the completion of “the first part” of any other voyage I had been taking.  They saw to it to feed us as well and aromas wafted up as small trays of local food were set forth.  Without questioning the contents, items were beheld only momentarily before being inhaled, creating a storm of plastic forks and Indonesian spices.  In any other point in my life I would have described it as just another loathsome plane ride fraught with the cacophony of crying babies, snoring men and the pestering dings of seatbelt reminders.  And yet all hyperbole aside it was decided by us both that our plane ride truly was the most comfortable experience we had experienced since landing in Asia.

The fun stopped shortly after our arrival in Jakarta though.  We stayed only briefly in this behemoth of a city after spending a day walking the city center and discovering little else than a hot sun, noisy traffic and a layer of smog settling somewhere in our lungs.  For its size Jakarta offers little for the common backpacker, having only but a small section with few streets where hostels are located.  Prices were not any lower than other places and food options were somewhat limited.  The best thing that Jakarta could offer us was its title as our gateway into Indonesia; an opportunity to display for us what this new country might have to offer.  We had been warned to some degree as to the potential dangers within this country and were curious to see if they held true.  Being a country with a population in the world’s Top 10 and spread over thousands of islands its citizens are nearly 90% Muslim.  Natural disasters have plagued this country in recent history and terrorism is known to exist throughout this archipelago.  We would have to keep our guards up perhaps even more than in the lackadaisical countries we had recently visited.

Thursday August 25, 2011

Our arrival into Indonesia spared little time in presenting us with the realization that we were in an Islamic country.  Yet, it wasn’t the sight of traditional clothing, the amplified orations resounding from the Mosques or even a tangible cultural shift.  It was the prices.  You see, we made the unfortunate error of traveling to an Islamic country during the celebration of Ramadan, a holiday that seemed to act like a tax of mammoth proportions as we discovered that “cheap” no longer existed and “expensive” was the new norm.  Ramadan itself is a lengthy holiday but the celebratory affect takes hold somewhere around a week before the final day and lasts until about a week after.  Of course we were not to exhibit any luck as we had just arrived at the nascent of the celebration, a full one week before the final day of Ramadan.  Our desire to travel by train became an experience unto itself as we discovered that thousands of Indonesian’s shared our intention.  It became quickly realized that our typical advantage of being earnest was nearly trounced by the local’s simple ability to comprehend the quizzical dealings of the train station.  After being shocked to realize that there existed a Customer Service desk, had it not been for the dear soul who worked there whose pity was derived because of, not in spite of, us being foreign, we certainly would never have made it out of that sordid city.

We ultimately secured two reserved seat tickets on a train just one step up from a cattle car.  When we boarded we found our seats in the sweltering jungle of flesh and limbs only to find a man sitting on a bucket in the same spot where our feet had intended to rest.  The seat itself had been described as bus seats, typically conjuring images of seats on a greyhound, but these were more like oversized seats from a school bus.  You know, the ones that children typically occupy.  Our window goaded us as it failed to open beyond a tempting crack and the temperature continued its ascent as more passengers found “seats” in the aisles and doorways.  There was no room to walk and yet there was a relentless stream of hawkers that would board at every stop and create such a racket that it was impossible to sleep.  Departing around 8 pm and scheduled to arrive around 4 am our ears were constantly harassed by screaming vendors. At one point when most people had found enough space to lie, forming more like a sleeping Twister Mat than anything, here came a man screaming and banging a cowbell where in fact stopped and before us in hopes to showcase his talents.  His blasting anthem aroused such deep malicious thoughts within us that had it not been for our predawn lethargy we surely would have showed him a new, more fitting place, to keep his bell.