The Purple Tux

With just enough education to perform.

Reflections 2: American Eyes Take No Chances

I was always wary of going back to Indonesia. I’ve heard how dangerous it can be for foreigners, especially Americans. Plus, there’s always been tension between the native Indonesians and the Chinese Indonesians, and my family is part Chinese. And every so often I keep hearing about these riots and other violent things that happen there. So when we got to Surabaya, I insisted on checking in with the U.S. Embassy. Somehow, it just makes me feel better knowing that someone connected to my country knows where I am and what I’ll be doing… You know, ‘cause in case anything happened, at least it’d be a little easier to identify my remains or something. So first thing we did right when my dad’s cousin and his daughter picked us up at the airport was head on over to the U.S. Embassy.

It never really occurred to me that something awful could happen before we even reached the embassy.

I have no idea if this is common in all Asian countries; I’ve never been to any others (well, other than a couple of airports, I guess). The streets, to my American eyes, were mildly chaotic. To start off, the streets have lanes, but nobody stays in them. People just weave in and out as they please. I even saw people driving on the wrong side of the road, going against traffic. There are no stop signs and traffic lights are rare. I’ve noticed that I’ve switched verb tenses in the middle of a paragraph. The anal part of me wants to go back and properly edit my writing. But the rest of me just doesn’t give a crap. Guess you know which side of me wins. Ahem. There aren’t crosswalks, so people just cross the street whenever they can, and sometimes they hold out a hand with palm raised outward, as if to tell oncoming cars to stop in the name of love. To top that all off, seatbelts aren’t standard issue in the cars there (most of which are cheap models that aren’t sold in America).

And there’s the motorcycles. Everyone has a motorbike there. I saw 15 year old Muslim girls wearing those Muslim head cover things (as you can see, my knowledge on world religions is quite detailed) riding motorbikes. I saw 65 year old grandmothers riding motorbikes. Apparently, you only need to be 14 to get a driver’s license in Indonesia. Later, my cousin told me that you can also bribe the officials, and they will give you a license if you are 12 years old. (That’s what he did.) There’s no need to be tested or anything, it’s all about having Rupiah. Money talks louder than principles in Indonesia… But I suppose that’s probably true of any country, eh? (That “eh,” by the way, is an allusion to Canada. Pat yourself on the back if you noticed my intricate and layered writing.)

The motorcycles are insane. At intersections, there were around 75 motorbikes just swarming all around us. And of course, they took the weaving in and out to a whole new level. I was seriously concerned about getting into an accident. As if several dozen motorcycles on the street zipping around isn’t enough, there are also normal bikes and trishaws. (I think they’re called trishaws- you know, bikes that have a seat connected to the front of them, so they can ferry extra passengers. These are really common in Indonesia, the poor man’s taxi.)

Also, people really pile it on when they ride their motorbikes. There are people transporting things such as fruits, freshly baked chips, and other various objects. Sometimes these packages are so large that there is absolutely no way that the rider can see anything useful in his rearview mirrors. I never saw anything like it until I was in Surabaya.

Families also ride on motorbikes together. It looks very dangerous. More times than I could count, I saw small five year-olds sitting in the front of the bike, and then the father would be driving it, with his wife behind him, and the wife would be holding a small baby. The exact same thing, many, many times. I guess motorbikes and mopeds are cheaper than cars, so everyone has them.

When I’m chillin’ in America, I like to go for walks. Partly because it’s a nice way to take in some fresh air and sunlight, partly because it’s decent exercise and beats sitting around the entire day, and mostly because I’m too flamin’ lazy to go for a jog and do some actual running. You can’t really go for walks in Indonesia, unless you live in the countryside.

Sidewalks are rare commodities, and even when there are sidewalks, chances are they are cracked and beat up all to hell. If you aren’t careful, you can sprain an ankle or fall into the exposed sewer. Speaking of which, sewers are generally exposed, which really makes the filth of the city all the more apparent. No wonder there are so many killer mosquitoes and crap over there, with all those spawning pits. So if you wanted to go for a walk in an Indonesian city, you’d have to constantly be on the lookout for cars. No stop signs, weak sidewalks, exposed sewers- not very relaxing.

We eventually made it to the embassy and registered, after a surprisingly thorough search from the security guards. I felt a lot more confident about the whole situation knowing that if I were to get my throat slit by an angry, militant Muslim, at least someone would know I was missing. Well, that was the only part of the plan that came together. Everything else unraveled soon enough.

I’m still not too clear on the concept of “culture shock.” But I guess it doesn’t matter because the city doesn’t care.

Reflections On Indonesia 1: The First Departure

I went to Indonesia with my folks for a couple weeks. It was my first time going there since I was about six years old. I also went to Indonesia when I was two years old, but I don’t remember too much about either of my two earliest visits. For the first time, I went to Indonesia with a decent-sized mental capacity. Although sadly, I must admit that my two year-old and six year-old selves probably spoke Indonesian a lot better than I can now.

We left San Francisco in the early afternoon on Wednesday, April 19^th. It was a long flight. The first leg of the journey was something like 12 or 14 hours (I can’t remember exactly and I lost track of time anyway) to the airport at Seoul. From there, after an hour, we left for Singapore. What was absurd was that we had to spend almost 7 hours in the Singapore airport (Singapore local time: 11PM-6AM) before our next flight to Surabaya, our first destination in Indonesia.

Fortunately, the plane was nice. I don’t know what kind of Boeing we flew in, but it was spacious and had plenty of entertainment- even in economy class, everyone got this entertainment system that allowed you to watch movies and TV programs, listen to music, and play computer games. What was extra nice was that for the first leg of the trip, from SFO to Seoul, the plane only had something like 35% of its seats filled, so we could walk around the plane and sit just about anywhere or even lie down on a row of chairs for sleep.

It’s just nice when there aren’t too many passengers on a plane. You can really enjoy your flight and you don’t have to worry about bumping into people or waiting to use the toilet. When a plane is that empty, it actually doesn’t feel too constraining to have to be in it for 14 straight hours.

I hardly slept at all during those first 14 hours to Seoul. I think I tried sleeping a bit after the first 8 or 9 hours, but it was just too hard for me. I might have dozed on and off uncomfortably for two hours, but that was about it. Other than that, I mostly read a couple of the novels I brought with me and listened to music on my iPod. I also played around a bit with the plane’s entertainment thing, and watched a few random things.

I brought a lot of books with me on the trip. But on the plane, I brought maybe four books, thinking that it would only take me a few hours each to read them. I didn’t take into account the fact that I would eventually get tired. Not only that, I forgot that I can hardly do the same action nonstop for 14 hours. I love videogames but even I can’t play Xbox for more than like four hours in a row. So I’d read for a few hours and then take breaks.

During these breaks, I’d listen to my music and just start thinking about things. I thought about Indonesia, and what it would be like. Would I be very bored? What could I possibly do there, especially seeing as how I didn’t know the language well? How weird would it be to arrive there for the first time after 16 years? I didn’t remember almost anything from my previous trips. (However, I think my earliest vivid memory is from when I was 2 years old. My parents went to a cemetery or someplace and left me with one of my aunts while I was napping. When I woke up, I got scared because I didn’t know where my mom was so I started crying. Then my aunt heard me and picked me up and held me for a bit. I calmed down for a while, until I realized she was my aunt, not my mom. This made me continue crying again, harder and louder. It’s embarrassing to think back to that moment, but that truly is perhaps my earliest vivid memory.)

It’s an interesting experience being on such a long journey. Especially when you are on a plane and there’s no real chance of you getting lost or going on a detour. There isn’t much scenery to look at, either, because for most of the trip you’re so high up that everything looks the same. Also, no matter whom you travel with, it’s probably almost impossible that you’ll have a conversation that lasts 14 hours. As a result, you find yourself generally alone with your own thoughts, and everyone else on the plane is pretty much the same way. After a while, it doesn’t even feel like you’re traveling anymore. Rather, it’s as though you are an animal living inside a comfortable cage, completely used to your limited surroundings. I find this thought to be somewhat poetic, if a bit clichéd.

A few seats away from me, I noticed a young pair of people. There was an Asian male traveling with a white chick, both of them probably about my age. I wasn’t sure if they were boyfriend/girlfriend, but they might have been. They had what seemed to me to be an ease of communication with one another, as if it were effortless for them to be in each other’s company. It’s possible that they could have merely been good friends. It doesn’t really matter; the plane trip was long enough that I started making up a story about them in my mind. I have no idea if other people do this sort of thing, but sometimes I just look at people and create my very own narrative about them in my mind.

I imagined that they were indeed, a young couple in love. (Maybe my subconscious came up with the idea, because whenever I see Asian Male + White Girl, I got to respect the Asian brother. We all know it’s almost always White Male + Asian Girl, so when it’s the other way around, I can’t help but root for my own kind.) I imagined that the dude was some foreign exchange student who came to America for his studies, and the girl met him in a study group, and eventually they came to fall in love with each other. Now, in an effort to better understand his culture, or perhaps to meet his family, or maybe just for the hell of it, the girl was going with him to the homeland. If it seems bizarre that I think of things like this, perhaps you’ll understand if you sit in a plane for over a dozen hours.

So, when we landed in Seoul, we only had to wait an hour for the next flight to take us to Singapore. The Seoul airport was nice enough, and now I guess I can say that I’ve been in South Korea. I guess the young couple must have disembarked there because they didn’t get back on the plane when we left. From Seoul, I think it was another 3 or 4 hours to get to Singapore. There were much more people on the plane this time, as well- the plane was full. Being in the same plane with so many more people made me less comfortable, to be honest. I suppose this is like what I meant when I said that being on a plane is like being an animal in a cage. If there are too many animals in the cage, it starts getting a little crowded, even if none of them bother you. You just can’t help wishing you had more space to yourself, but you understand the situation and you tolerate it because there is nothing else you can do. I tried to sleep, but I couldn’t really rest.

Singapore has one of the nicest airports I’ve ever been to. I mean, I am no world-traveled expert, but the Singapore airport has got to be in the Top Five. My parents and I had to spend around 8 hours there. We touched down around 10PM local time there and the next flight was around 7AM. That was absurd. But we got to become somewhat familiar with the clean airport. Because it was the middle of the night, the airport was pretty empty and almost lifeless, other than some other people who were also on layovers.

The airport had free high speed internet, rest areas, and super clean bathrooms. (I definitely enjoyed a nice dump in one of their many spacious and spotless Western-style toilet stalls.) There were also a great deal of restaurants (cheap and fast food as well as sit-down type places) and a ton of stores. Most of the restaurants and stores were closed because it was late. For the first couple hours, we just kind of wandered around a bit, enjoying the impressive airport. Walking around a foreign, deserted airport in the dead of night is kind of creepy but it really helps you appreciate the effort that goes into maintaining such a large structure. Eventually, it became morning and we ate at an airport restaurant before we boarded our flight to Surabaya.

The third leg of this trip wasn’t as comfortable as the first two. Singapore to Indonesia is a shorter trip, and we flew in on a smaller plane. There wasn’t much to do on the plane other than read a book, but after so much lack of sleep I was having trouble concentrating on any particular task for too long. Plus, all the flying and changing time zones and stuff was messing with my internal systems. When we left our house for SFO Airport, it was Wednesday morning. When we arrived in Surabaya, it was Friday morning. It was like one long day. With only 7 hours of darkness. Very strange.

As soon as we stepped off the plane, we were assaulted by the heat. I still have vague memories of how hot it was when I was a kid, and how sometimes it was so hot I would get bloody noses. Plus, the humidity is just intense. You get off the plane, and even before you really start to feel the heat, you just start sweating.

It’s always the heat that gets to you. The plan was to arrive in Surabaya, stay with some of my dad’s relatives for a couple of days, and then fly again to Makassar (on a different island) to see my mom’s side of the family. But plans, like promises, are all too easily broken, as we would be reminded shortly…

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