Expatriates are an interesting group. Most have carved out a life of traveling from country to country, exploring, growing and enjoying all the world has to offer while working for a company willing to pay them to live abroad. Others move to a new country and make that their temporary home for a decade or more. Anyone who has been an expatriate for any length of time is likely to have an interesting story to tell. This is one of them of a person I’ll call Luke.
Luke arrived in Jakarta early in 1998 working for a large multi-national as a software consultant. In May, then president Suharto was struggling to maintain control of his 20 year reign of power. Rioting was common throughout Indonesia and students began demonstrating to demand Suharto resign. Before one such demonstration could begin, armed police shot several students from an overpass at a university. This lead to some of the worst rioting, pillaging and genocide in Indonesia’s history as plain-clothes military and police stormed through Chinatown raping the women and burning their shops and homes.
The multi-national company he was consulting for evacuated all expats and senior management to Singapore on a chartered plane. He was not on their evacuation call list because the company assumed the consulting firm had him covered under their evacuation plan. Unfortunately for Luke, the consulting company’s evacuation plan assumed the multi-national would evacuate him. He didn't even know an evacuation had occurred.
In the midst of this turmoil and confusion the system he supported crashed. His boss in the US, who was unaware of the situation in Jakarta, contacted him and asked him to go to the office and restore the system from backup tape. Unencumbered with family obligations, and braver than I would have been, he took the risk of going into the office.
He hailed a cab and, laying below the windows in the backseat, told the driver where to go. Other than tanks, very little traffic joined them as they navigated the main thoroughfares of Jakarta. After restoring the system, he chose not to return home. Instead, he checked into a hotel with a tank parked out front figuring that someone important must be holed up inside and it would be a safe place to spend the night.
Undeterred by the two days of rioting, Luke remained in Jakarta, married, and began a family. In 2004, radical groups were making a lot of noise throughout Indonesia. It had been two years since the Bali nightclub bombings that killed 202 people. In recent months terrorists had thrown bombs over the walls of various Western embassy compounds and the homes of the ambassadors. Expatriates were once again on high alert and Western embassy were issuing travel advisories (some of which remain in effect today).
Luke was working in a corner office on the top story of a building across the street from the Australian embassy. The building was undergoing renovations and, as a result, he was asked if he would mind swapping offices with another manager. He would be moving from a corner office with new wood furnishings, to a standard office with older furnishings. When he agreed to the move, the manager said he couldn’t believe Luke was willing to give up such a choice office.
Luke’s reply: “You won’t be saying that when they bomb the Australian Embassy.”
Two weeks later, Luke’s offhanded sarcasm proved prescient. Noordin Top, the mastermind behind the recent bombings of the Ritz Carlton and JW Marriott hotels, sent an operative of his Jemaah Islamiyah organization in a small delivery van filled with explosives to attempt and blow up the embassy . The blast did very little damage to the embassy itself, but Luke’s original office was destroyed. The new occupant had a severe gash in his head as the glass from the windows came crashing in. He was fortunate that he was not facing his computer, which was placed near the window, at the time of the blast. Instead, he was facing away from the window reviewing some papers. Had he been at the computer, he likely would have lost his life.
Luke was now at an office at the rear of the building. The shock wave from the blast took out the windows in the rear of the building and knocked the ceiling tiles loose. He was on the phone when the blast occurred and climbed under his desk. He remembered from the Bali bombings that the first bomb blast was to scare everyone into the streets where they set off a second bomb that achieved the most casualties. He wasn’t moving until he felt certain the bombs were done. He remained under the desk for several hours as everyone else evacuated the building.
Today, Luke remains an expat in Jakarta. He took the recent hotel bombings in stride: “been there, done that, sent the postcard, have the T-shirt”. His heart still races when a small delivery truck drives near his car, though he has stopped asking his driver to either speed up or slow down to avoid being next to it. One day he knows he will return to his homeland. For now, Indonesia is his home, for better or worse.
Discussing his story with him recently reminded me of a conversation I had with one of our expat friends who makes frequent trips to Pakistan as part of his business. We asked him if he feels safe with all the recent bombings. He said he did and shared a conversation he had with a Pakistani local whom he had asked the same question. The local answered:
“You know, I’m 58 years old and have lived in Karachi all my life. I see the reports in the press today of the ‘new security situation’. What is new about it? This is the way life is here. I’ve never known anything different.”
How we perceive and react to the events in the world today are, in large part, formed by the history we’ve seen and experienced. What I’ve learned in the last several months it that safety is a relative experience. Every place has hazards – earthquakes on the U.S. west coast, tornadoes in the Midwest, New Yorkers in the east – and everyone in those communities feel they are safe. So it is in Jakarta with bombings every few years.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Yogyakarta beach
Waves at the beach in Yogyakarta. Notice the bathing suits of the people at the beach.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Sunday in Yogyakarta
Sunday, we tried to make up for lost time. To a large extent, we shouldn't hvae bothered.
In the world of tourism, there are sites that you absolutely must see: Grand Canyon, Machu Picchu, Eiffel Tower, Pyramids of Giza. Prambanan and Borobudur, to me, qualify in the list of "must see" destinations, especially if you are in Indonesia.
There are also the sights that everyone sees because, well, that's what all the travel sites and travel agents and chambers of commerce tell you people see when they visit that city. Even your friends tell you to go. They didn't like it, but they were told to go there, so they tell you to go there. You won't like it either but, like a chain letter, you feel guilty if you don't keep it going, so you'll tell others to go. I think sometimes people do it for the comfort in being part of a large group of people who were duped. Some will even pretend to like it - you know, like Romantic Comedies - because everyone else claims to like it. No one likes it.
Well, that's how we spent our Sunday prior to our flight - seeing sights no one really likes, but everyone goes to.
We checked out of the hotel at 11 AM and visited the Sultan's Palace. As I mentioned in a previous post, Yogyakarta is a separately governed province of Indonesia with its own royalty. The current Sultan is #10 in his bloodline. A line that stops with him, as he has had five daughters and no sons. He's the first sultan to practice monogamy. The prior sultan had 25 wives and 71 children - including many sons. Maybe there's a link??
The Sultan's palace is another place where they require you to use one of their guides. The guides for the sultan's palace are all relatives of the sultan. Nepotism at its finest. We were lucky enough to arrive as the daily dance celebration was wrapping up. It's a common Javanese dance with the traditional music.
The tour then takes you through a small portion of the palace grounds and then the Sultan's private "museum". The museum was more a history of the Sultanate - gifts received from foreign dignitaries, the baby spoon used by Sultan 3, the soccer medals won by Sultan 9, the rules for making Batiks. I'm sure this is the highlight of the year for some people. For me, it felt like an antiques garage sale. It didn't help that my daughter kept asking when were going to meet the king and the princesses. Of course, we never did. The grounds were pretty nice, though.
After the Sultan'sGarage Sale Palace, we went to another place everyone said we "had" to go to - Bird Village. Bird Village is really just a portion of a street where they sell birds and bird cages. We drove through it without stopping.
Then we went to the Leather Puppets "factory". The "factories" and "villages" are just shops. The "Batik Factory" was a place for us to buy the batik artwork. Sure, they make it there, so I guess it qualifies as a factory, but the intent is to sell. The puppet factory was more about getting us to buy their product than teaching us about the artistry or entertaining the kids. I'm sure the Silver Factory, had we gone, would have been trying to get us to buy silver jewelry. The puppet factory likely would have been more interesting if my daughter wasn't throwing a fit....but not much.
We had five hours before we needed to be at the airport, my daughter was in a foul mood, and we had no interest in going to another "factory". So, we asked about the beach. The beach in Yogyakarta is not a place to swim. Our guide told us the waves were "uneven" and had odd currents. Many people have drowned over the years, so no one goes swimming. A city of 3 million people on the ocean doesn't have any fisherman. That should give you an idea on the extent of the oceanic tumult. I had to see this.
The drive to the beach took an hour. The beach was the best part of the day. The waves - unlike any I have seen. High, uneven, crashing. It was a bright, sunny day and the ocean looked like there was a hurricane on its way. I would not have attempted to swim.
It was quite crowded for a beach with no swimming. There were, however, many people splashing in the surf but not going more than knee deep. Of course, this is also a conservative Muslim city, so everyone was splashing fully clothed. Not a swimsuit in sight - men or women.
My daughter had been asking all day to ride the horses. The beach had a horse-drawn buggy ride so her and I rode together along the beach. This is when I noticed that people do get to swim at this beach, it just isn't in the ocean. Just on the other side of the high tide line the beach is dotted with shallow swimming pools. There were at least 20 of them - most of them empty.
We completed our Yogyakarta vacation with a visit to a local restaurant for some good local cuisine.
It was an exhausting trip. Physically exhausting we were expecting - climbing temples is strenuous work. Mentally exhausting we were not. I'm sure it would have been better had my daughter not been sick and fussy. We would have enjoyed the hotel more, spent more time at the temples, and had less frustration.
To top it off, when we returned home we discovered we had lost my contacts. The $350 per eye contacts. Ouch!
In the world of tourism, there are sites that you absolutely must see: Grand Canyon, Machu Picchu, Eiffel Tower, Pyramids of Giza. Prambanan and Borobudur, to me, qualify in the list of "must see" destinations, especially if you are in Indonesia.
There are also the sights that everyone sees because, well, that's what all the travel sites and travel agents and chambers of commerce tell you people see when they visit that city. Even your friends tell you to go. They didn't like it, but they were told to go there, so they tell you to go there. You won't like it either but, like a chain letter, you feel guilty if you don't keep it going, so you'll tell others to go. I think sometimes people do it for the comfort in being part of a large group of people who were duped. Some will even pretend to like it - you know, like Romantic Comedies - because everyone else claims to like it. No one likes it.
Well, that's how we spent our Sunday prior to our flight - seeing sights no one really likes, but everyone goes to.
We checked out of the hotel at 11 AM and visited the Sultan's Palace. As I mentioned in a previous post, Yogyakarta is a separately governed province of Indonesia with its own royalty. The current Sultan is #10 in his bloodline. A line that stops with him, as he has had five daughters and no sons. He's the first sultan to practice monogamy. The prior sultan had 25 wives and 71 children - including many sons. Maybe there's a link??
The Sultan's palace is another place where they require you to use one of their guides. The guides for the sultan's palace are all relatives of the sultan. Nepotism at its finest. We were lucky enough to arrive as the daily dance celebration was wrapping up. It's a common Javanese dance with the traditional music.
The tour then takes you through a small portion of the palace grounds and then the Sultan's private "museum". The museum was more a history of the Sultanate - gifts received from foreign dignitaries, the baby spoon used by Sultan 3, the soccer medals won by Sultan 9, the rules for making Batiks. I'm sure this is the highlight of the year for some people. For me, it felt like an antiques garage sale. It didn't help that my daughter kept asking when were going to meet the king and the princesses. Of course, we never did. The grounds were pretty nice, though.
After the Sultan's
Then we went to the Leather Puppets "factory". The "factories" and "villages" are just shops. The "Batik Factory" was a place for us to buy the batik artwork. Sure, they make it there, so I guess it qualifies as a factory, but the intent is to sell. The puppet factory was more about getting us to buy their product than teaching us about the artistry or entertaining the kids. I'm sure the Silver Factory, had we gone, would have been trying to get us to buy silver jewelry. The puppet factory likely would have been more interesting if my daughter wasn't throwing a fit....but not much.
We had five hours before we needed to be at the airport, my daughter was in a foul mood, and we had no interest in going to another "factory". So, we asked about the beach. The beach in Yogyakarta is not a place to swim. Our guide told us the waves were "uneven" and had odd currents. Many people have drowned over the years, so no one goes swimming. A city of 3 million people on the ocean doesn't have any fisherman. That should give you an idea on the extent of the oceanic tumult. I had to see this.
The drive to the beach took an hour. The beach was the best part of the day. The waves - unlike any I have seen. High, uneven, crashing. It was a bright, sunny day and the ocean looked like there was a hurricane on its way. I would not have attempted to swim.
It was quite crowded for a beach with no swimming. There were, however, many people splashing in the surf but not going more than knee deep. Of course, this is also a conservative Muslim city, so everyone was splashing fully clothed. Not a swimsuit in sight - men or women.
My daughter had been asking all day to ride the horses. The beach had a horse-drawn buggy ride so her and I rode together along the beach. This is when I noticed that people do get to swim at this beach, it just isn't in the ocean. Just on the other side of the high tide line the beach is dotted with shallow swimming pools. There were at least 20 of them - most of them empty.
We completed our Yogyakarta vacation with a visit to a local restaurant for some good local cuisine.
It was an exhausting trip. Physically exhausting we were expecting - climbing temples is strenuous work. Mentally exhausting we were not. I'm sure it would have been better had my daughter not been sick and fussy. We would have enjoyed the hotel more, spent more time at the temples, and had less frustration.
To top it off, when we returned home we discovered we had lost my contacts. The $350 per eye contacts. Ouch!
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Saturday in Yogyakarta
According to the tour package we purchased, this was our busy day. Borobudur, bird market, Sultan's palace, silver market, puppet show. Alas, it was not to be.
We started our morning eating a 6 AM breakfast at the hotel. By 6:45 we were on our way to Borobudur. The drive took nearly an hour. Our guide provided background on the city, the government, and the geography. We did our best to stay awake. The drive presented several photo opportunities - a water buffalo plowing a field (with farmer in tow), steam coming from the active volcano that towers over the landscape, beautiful rice plantations. Of course, I didn't take any pictures.
We arrived at Borobudur shortly before 8 AM. The national park and world heritage site requires we use their guides, so our guide handed us over to a park guide and we were off. Well, almost off. It was time for my son's feeding. Instead of climbing the temple in the early morning, before the crowds and the heat, we finally got started around 9:15. By then, crowds of school children had arrived. Apparently, their teachers had instructed them to practice their English by bothering interviewing tourists. They seemed to prefer my father-in-law over any of the rest of us. They kept stopping him to interview him, take pictures with him, ask him how well they spoke English.
In the middle of the night, we noticed our daughter had a fever. We woke her and gave her some medicine, and that brought it down. We gave her medicine again in the morning - the last we had with us - when it had returned, and it went down again. When we were finally ready to climb the steps - the one hundred or so steps - to the top of the temple, her fever was back and she was lethargic. The sun was hot. She was hot. Everyone but her was sweating, so we knew her fever was back. Climbing the stairs of Borobudur is strenuous.
Carrying a three-year-old child as you climb the steps is even more difficult. Doing it while you are also carrying a baby in a sling is next to impossible. Good thing my wife has been working out!
Kidding. I carried our daughter, my wife carried our son. Half way up, we stopped so my wife, daughter and son could sit in the shade and my father-in-law and I completed the climb and the tour. This time I took great pictures.
Legend has it that inside one of the bells atop the temple is a lucky Buddha. If you make a wish and reach your arm through the hole and touch his middle finger, your wish will come true. If you touch his foot, you will have bad luck. Most people's arms are not long enough to reach the fingers. My simian arms (that reach my knees when I'm standing upright) were long enough to reach the middle finger. I'll let you know if my wish comes true.
My daughter was still burning up - and still not sweating - so I called my admin and asked her to find out if there was a doctor in the city I could take her to. Our medical service advised us to take her to the Jogja International Hospital. We went to the emergency room and, just like in the US, 30 minutes later we saw a doctor. They said she had a fever and head cold symptoms. They assumed Dengue Fever, but said to wait another two days and if the symptoms persisted, get a blood test to confirm. They immediately gave her medicine for the fever, and provided us prescriptions for continued treatment of the fever and the head cold symptoms. We filled these in the hospital pharmacy. Total cost of this side trip: $12.
Yep, $12. Emergency visit was $5 for the doctor, $0.70 for the adminstrative fees. The prescriptions were $3.50 each. Who needs insurance at those prices?
The hospital was enough for the day. We returned to the hotel for lunch and spent a boring afternoon at the hotel with my daughter banned from swimming by the doctor, so she missed out on the pools.
This time I got the massage while everyone else took a nap. We had an early dinner and, once again, went to bed early.
In the middle of the night, we noticed our daughter had a fever. We woke her and gave her some medicine, and that brought it down. We gave her medicine again in the morning - the last we had with us - when it had returned, and it went down again. When we were finally ready to climb the steps - the one hundred or so steps - to the top of the temple, her fever was back and she was lethargic. The sun was hot. She was hot. Everyone but her was sweating, so we knew her fever was back. Climbing the stairs of Borobudur is strenuous.
Carrying a three-year-old child as you climb the steps is even more difficult. Doing it while you are also carrying a baby in a sling is next to impossible. Good thing my wife has been working out!
Kidding. I carried our daughter, my wife carried our son. Half way up, we stopped so my wife, daughter and son could sit in the shade and my father-in-law and I completed the climb and the tour. This time I took great pictures.
Legend has it that inside one of the bells atop the temple is a lucky Buddha. If you make a wish and reach your arm through the hole and touch his middle finger, your wish will come true. If you touch his foot, you will have bad luck. Most people's arms are not long enough to reach the fingers. My simian arms (that reach my knees when I'm standing upright) were long enough to reach the middle finger. I'll let you know if my wish comes true.
My daughter was still burning up - and still not sweating - so I called my admin and asked her to find out if there was a doctor in the city I could take her to. Our medical service advised us to take her to the Jogja International Hospital. We went to the emergency room and, just like in the US, 30 minutes later we saw a doctor. They said she had a fever and head cold symptoms. They assumed Dengue Fever, but said to wait another two days and if the symptoms persisted, get a blood test to confirm. They immediately gave her medicine for the fever, and provided us prescriptions for continued treatment of the fever and the head cold symptoms. We filled these in the hospital pharmacy. Total cost of this side trip: $12.
Yep, $12. Emergency visit was $5 for the doctor, $0.70 for the adminstrative fees. The prescriptions were $3.50 each. Who needs insurance at those prices?
The hospital was enough for the day. We returned to the hotel for lunch and spent a boring afternoon at the hotel with my daughter banned from swimming by the doctor, so she missed out on the pools.
This time I got the massage while everyone else took a nap. We had an early dinner and, once again, went to bed early.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Friday in Yogyakarta
Friday morning my son, daughter, wife, father-in-law and myself hopped a plane for the short, 55 minute trip to Yogyakarta, a city on the southern coast of Java. I have been looking forward to our Yogayakarta trip since we arrived. A city of approximately 3 million people, Yogyakarta is the home of Batik artistry, stone carvings, a ruling monarch (the Sultan, who acts as the governor), an ancient Hindu temple and, what I was most looking forward to, the largest Buddhist temple in Indonesia, and the oldest in the world.
Our flight arrived without issue, and our guide, "Bobby", met us just outside baggage claim. First order of business was to visit Prambanan Temple, a 9th century Hindu dedication to the Trimurti, located just a few minutes drive from the airport (I'll let Wikipedia provide the detailed history). Arriving at the temple shortly before noon, we walked the sacred grounds in scorching heat and enjoyed every minute of it. Our infant was in a sling on my chest and I carried an umbrella to block out the sun. We took photos, video, played on the swings at the nearby playground (that they did NOT build in the 9th century), and enjoyed causing the "shy lady" fuchsias to close when we touched them - our daughter liked this part best.
There were two other temples on the same grounds that we did not visit. Our son needs to eat every four hours. He eats at 4 AM, 8 AM, noon, etc until 8PM when we put him down for the night (yeah!). Because we arrived at the temple so close to noon, he needed to eat. When he needs to eat, he lets everyone know. Loudly. Without prejudice. So, we scurried back to the car with tremendous haste after entering just one of the temple's dedicated structures.
We left the temple and went to a famous Batik artist's studio. While my wife fed the baby, and my daughter slept, my father-in-law and I learned the painstaking process of making a Batik and viewed many of the tapestries - silk and cotton - for sale. I was shocked at the price (it was much lower than I was expecting) so I bought three.
I always enjoy the bartering aspect, though I truly don't know if I'm getting ripped off or getting a good price. I guess if we're both happy with the price paid, that's all that really matters.
When our son was fed (and in his afternoon siesta), I asked my wife to come look at the one I liked, and see if there were any she wanted. They quoted us prices of $250, $200 and $30. I told them I was willing to pay $250 for the whole bunch - a little more than half. Of course they said no way, just one of them was worth that much. I thanked them for their time and walked away. They countered with $300 for the group. I countered with $275. They said no, $300. I hesitated, pretended to consider it, then said $280. They agreed.
When they started to complete the sale and entered 2,800,000 Rupiah in the Visa POS terminal, I told them that wasn't correct. In Indonesia, to keep math simple, most people use 10,000 Rupiah as the conversion rate. The actual rate - and the one Visa will charge me - is around 9,250. They were trying to pick up the rest of their $300 counter-offer by hoping I was not aware of the current exchange rate! These guys are smart. Travelers have to be smarter to get a good deal.
After the Batik shop, we checked in to our hotel, the Hyatt in Yogyakarta. Our driver pulled the van into the hotel turn-around and a young woman in traditional Batik greeted us with a sweet smelling, white flower lei. The porters unloaded the luggage and, as we walked on the teak-wood deck over the koi pond, the hostess banged a gong, announcing our arrival. We checked into our rooms only to discover they were not adjoining, and both had King beds - two beds, 5 people. My father-in-law got one room, the four of us took the other. I did manage to procure a crib for our son to sleep in.
Our flight arrived without issue, and our guide, "Bobby", met us just outside baggage claim. First order of business was to visit Prambanan Temple, a 9th century Hindu dedication to the Trimurti, located just a few minutes drive from the airport (I'll let Wikipedia provide the detailed history). Arriving at the temple shortly before noon, we walked the sacred grounds in scorching heat and enjoyed every minute of it. Our infant was in a sling on my chest and I carried an umbrella to block out the sun. We took photos, video, played on the swings at the nearby playground (that they did NOT build in the 9th century), and enjoyed causing the "shy lady" fuchsias to close when we touched them - our daughter liked this part best.
There were two other temples on the same grounds that we did not visit. Our son needs to eat every four hours. He eats at 4 AM, 8 AM, noon, etc until 8PM when we put him down for the night (yeah!). Because we arrived at the temple so close to noon, he needed to eat. When he needs to eat, he lets everyone know. Loudly. Without prejudice. So, we scurried back to the car with tremendous haste after entering just one of the temple's dedicated structures.
I always enjoy the bartering aspect, though I truly don't know if I'm getting ripped off or getting a good price. I guess if we're both happy with the price paid, that's all that really matters.
When our son was fed (and in his afternoon siesta), I asked my wife to come look at the one I liked, and see if there were any she wanted. They quoted us prices of $250, $200 and $30. I told them I was willing to pay $250 for the whole bunch - a little more than half. Of course they said no way, just one of them was worth that much. I thanked them for their time and walked away. They countered with $300 for the group. I countered with $275. They said no, $300. I hesitated, pretended to consider it, then said $280. They agreed.
When they started to complete the sale and entered 2,800,000 Rupiah in the Visa POS terminal, I told them that wasn't correct. In Indonesia, to keep math simple, most people use 10,000 Rupiah as the conversion rate. The actual rate - and the one Visa will charge me - is around 9,250. They were trying to pick up the rest of their $300 counter-offer by hoping I was not aware of the current exchange rate! These guys are smart. Travelers have to be smarter to get a good deal.
After the Batik shop, we checked in to our hotel, the Hyatt in Yogyakarta. Our driver pulled the van into the hotel turn-around and a young woman in traditional Batik greeted us with a sweet smelling, white flower lei. The porters unloaded the luggage and, as we walked on the teak-wood deck over the koi pond, the hostess banged a gong, announcing our arrival. We checked into our rooms only to discover they were not adjoining, and both had King beds - two beds, 5 people. My father-in-law got one room, the four of us took the other. I did manage to procure a crib for our son to sleep in.
I took a nap with the kids, my father-in-law went to the pool, and my wife went to the spa for a massage. We ate dinner at the main restaurant in the hotel and, after a brief walk around the grounds, called it a night. We were leaving for Borobudur - the Buddhist temple - at 6:30 the following morning and needed to get our rest.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Weird guy at the club or interpretative dance?
Admittedly, I'm not the foremost authority on the "finer" arts. Sidney Pollack's work looks like blood spatters from a violent crime. In a German art museum, they hung a 12 ft by 18 ft white painting. I thought it was a blank canvas. Nope, someone had put on a coat of white paint. They were selling it for $45,000. I still don't get it.
My evaluating skills are no better at dance. I know what I find entertaining, but ask me to explain the difference between a "grande jete" and a "plie" and you'll find me running for wikipedia. I've been to a few ballet's in my day - more than ten, less than twenty. I fall asleep during half of them.
On Saturday night, my wife and I, along with two other expat couples, attended a ballet performance that included our daughter's teacher. There were three "movements". The first one left all of us asking ourselves if we had made a mistake.
In the first movement, a solitary male - the choreographer for the evening - spasmodically jerked, alternated between fear and curiosity, and really just looked like the weird guy at the dance club who believes he is a really good dancer but is really providing comedic material for the rest of the club goers. From the brief article I read about the ballet prior to attending, and my ever improving Indonesian, I understood he was playing the part of a schizophrenic. It was a bad "interpretation". I don't know what he was trying to accomplish, so he may have succeeded - as long as entertaining the audience wasn't his goal. There was little more than polite applause when he finished.
The second movement was better, enjoyable even, though the constant giggling induced an urge to throw something. I'm glad I didn't have any fruit - or a Nerf ball. Two dancers, young lovers. He wanted sex, she wanted to wait. Frustration, anger, convulsions, crying, further rebukes, and finally, reconciliation, played out on the stage with fluidity and grace. If they eliminated at least half of the giggling, I probably would not have had a bad word to say about it. Our daughter's instructor gave an excellent performance.
At intermission - after the second movement - we half seriously, half jokingly, discussed leaving. We'd seen the person we came to see and we weren't terribly entertained. If we had left, we would have missed an excellent third movement.
The premise of the third movement - again, based on my limited Indonesian and how I interpreted the dance - was mortals versus gods. The main character asked his lover to choose between himself and Arjuna, an incarnation in Hindu mysticism. There was a young version and an old version of his lover and I never did quite determine the significance.
To start the third movement the main character and his young lover performed a very erotic dance in the shower. Had I been falling asleep, this dance would have woken me. No nudity, but the woman's costume did an excellent job inferring the idea of nudity. Later, either Arjuna himself, or a chief warrior in his entourage battled the main character in a very compelling battle dance. The movement ended with the demons of hell consuming both versions of the female - the younger one being blindfolded.
Though I would recommend the ballet, I'd advise people to arrive late. Only one member of our party fell asleep - and it wasn't me.
After the ballet we went for drinks at Sky, a bar up the street from our house in Kemang. Sky is on the top floor of an all-glass building and has an outdoor patio with an excellent view of the city. The band for the evening was "Flying Syrup", a British Pop band. They covered several Oasis, Beatles and U2 songs, and did so quite well.
Spending an evening out, with other adults and no kids is a rare treat for us. I hope we'll do it again soon.
My evaluating skills are no better at dance. I know what I find entertaining, but ask me to explain the difference between a "grande jete" and a "plie" and you'll find me running for wikipedia. I've been to a few ballet's in my day - more than ten, less than twenty. I fall asleep during half of them.
On Saturday night, my wife and I, along with two other expat couples, attended a ballet performance that included our daughter's teacher. There were three "movements". The first one left all of us asking ourselves if we had made a mistake.
In the first movement, a solitary male - the choreographer for the evening - spasmodically jerked, alternated between fear and curiosity, and really just looked like the weird guy at the dance club who believes he is a really good dancer but is really providing comedic material for the rest of the club goers. From the brief article I read about the ballet prior to attending, and my ever improving Indonesian, I understood he was playing the part of a schizophrenic. It was a bad "interpretation". I don't know what he was trying to accomplish, so he may have succeeded - as long as entertaining the audience wasn't his goal. There was little more than polite applause when he finished.
The second movement was better, enjoyable even, though the constant giggling induced an urge to throw something. I'm glad I didn't have any fruit - or a Nerf ball. Two dancers, young lovers. He wanted sex, she wanted to wait. Frustration, anger, convulsions, crying, further rebukes, and finally, reconciliation, played out on the stage with fluidity and grace. If they eliminated at least half of the giggling, I probably would not have had a bad word to say about it. Our daughter's instructor gave an excellent performance.
At intermission - after the second movement - we half seriously, half jokingly, discussed leaving. We'd seen the person we came to see and we weren't terribly entertained. If we had left, we would have missed an excellent third movement.
The premise of the third movement - again, based on my limited Indonesian and how I interpreted the dance - was mortals versus gods. The main character asked his lover to choose between himself and Arjuna, an incarnation in Hindu mysticism. There was a young version and an old version of his lover and I never did quite determine the significance.
To start the third movement the main character and his young lover performed a very erotic dance in the shower. Had I been falling asleep, this dance would have woken me. No nudity, but the woman's costume did an excellent job inferring the idea of nudity. Later, either Arjuna himself, or a chief warrior in his entourage battled the main character in a very compelling battle dance. The movement ended with the demons of hell consuming both versions of the female - the younger one being blindfolded.
Though I would recommend the ballet, I'd advise people to arrive late. Only one member of our party fell asleep - and it wasn't me.
After the ballet we went for drinks at Sky, a bar up the street from our house in Kemang. Sky is on the top floor of an all-glass building and has an outdoor patio with an excellent view of the city. The band for the evening was "Flying Syrup", a British Pop band. They covered several Oasis, Beatles and U2 songs, and did so quite well.
Spending an evening out, with other adults and no kids is a rare treat for us. I hope we'll do it again soon.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
A few quick pictures
I've already written about all of these pictures, just haven't uploaded them. The first is me giving a watermelon to an elephant and what she enjoys doing with it.
The Singapore zoo has a children's play area that includes a zip line. Sometimes things are just scary fun...
The Singapore zoo has a children's play area that includes a zip line. Sometimes things are just scary fun...
Rainy season means mosquitos
The rainy season is upon us. If you can't see the sky, it means it's raining. If you can see the sky, it means it is going to rain in an hour or so.
Local say Jakarta has two seasons - wet and wetter. I agree that it has two seasons, though we would differ on the classification. For me, the seasons are mosquitoes, and no mosquitoes.
I went ten months without a mosquito bite. I now get one or two a night. We've installed mosquito netting over all of the beds. This has limited the feasts to our living room. We're also trying to use the purple mosquito zapping lights, which makes for some interesting shadows and not much reduction in mosquito activity. I think the mosquitoes of Jakarta have evolved with "light avoidance" genes.
Local say Jakarta has two seasons - wet and wetter. I agree that it has two seasons, though we would differ on the classification. For me, the seasons are mosquitoes, and no mosquitoes.
I went ten months without a mosquito bite. I now get one or two a night. We've installed mosquito netting over all of the beds. This has limited the feasts to our living room. We're also trying to use the purple mosquito zapping lights, which makes for some interesting shadows and not much reduction in mosquito activity. I think the mosquitoes of Jakarta have evolved with "light avoidance" genes.
I've heard the rainy season can also bring flooding. My first day on the job ended in enough rain for my car to leave a wake. I've heard stories of the grocery store by my house having the first floor completely submerged with security transporting customers to dry land by having them stand in the shopping carts as they wade through chest-deep water in the parking lot. This year, we seem to be getting less rain than normal. Must be that global warming I keep hearing about.
Two more rounds of visitors on their way. My father-in-law arrives on Monday and stays with us for two weeks. My wife's aunt will arrive five days after he leaves and stay for a week. Can't miss home when home keeps coming here...
Monday, January 11, 2010
Santa misplaces things
Over dinner a few weeks ago, my wife and I discussed our mutual disappointment with the paucity of yule-tide givings we had provided for our daughter. There were many reasons - so many visitors, so little knowledge of where to find what we wanted, how long it takes to do anything in this city. The list continues. I reminded her she was obdurate prior to the holiday when I recommended we buy more gifts as she did not want to cloy our child to spoilage. She demurred, initially, but eventually acquiesced to my assertion.
Upon agreement, we had to posit the real question - what do we do about it? Do we buy more gifts without a real reason? Do we wait until her birthday in June? We vacillated for several days, and finally, last week, agreed we should buy her more legos - the Duplo variety.
That's when the fun began. Borrowing from the chimerical, though arguably antediluvian, ideals represented by our good friend St. Nick, I fabricated a ruse under which we would present the gifts to our scion. I called my wife and asked her to write the following note:
"Dear Gabi - When I returned home, I found these under the seat in my sleigh. They were meant for you. Sorry they are late! - Santa"
Historians, when they author the biography of her life, will undoubtedly elucidate on her elation more assiduously than I. Suffice to say, she was happy.
As for myself, I thought of an excellent route to making the most of the after Christmas sales. What if Santa had a surplus as a result of last minute transitions from the Nice list, to the Naughty list? He would need to dispense this largess to those whose approbation and amiability exceeded any others, right? So now I get to give gifts late at a lower cost, while simultaneously edifying my children on the consequences of disagreeable behavior! Not bad.
Was that fun to read? Now you know why academics are so BORING! Just say that you felt bad about not giving your kid enough for Christmas so you thought up a story about Santa finding some extra gifts. That helped you think of how you can use the guise of Santa taking presents from bad kids and giving them to good kids as a way to buy the toys cheaper and giving them later (maybe even when they are back in stock). Requires fewer words.
Upon agreement, we had to posit the real question - what do we do about it? Do we buy more gifts without a real reason? Do we wait until her birthday in June? We vacillated for several days, and finally, last week, agreed we should buy her more legos - the Duplo variety.
That's when the fun began. Borrowing from the chimerical, though arguably antediluvian, ideals represented by our good friend St. Nick, I fabricated a ruse under which we would present the gifts to our scion. I called my wife and asked her to write the following note:
"Dear Gabi - When I returned home, I found these under the seat in my sleigh. They were meant for you. Sorry they are late! - Santa"
Historians, when they author the biography of her life, will undoubtedly elucidate on her elation more assiduously than I. Suffice to say, she was happy.
As for myself, I thought of an excellent route to making the most of the after Christmas sales. What if Santa had a surplus as a result of last minute transitions from the Nice list, to the Naughty list? He would need to dispense this largess to those whose approbation and amiability exceeded any others, right? So now I get to give gifts late at a lower cost, while simultaneously edifying my children on the consequences of disagreeable behavior! Not bad.
Was that fun to read? Now you know why academics are so BORING! Just say that you felt bad about not giving your kid enough for Christmas so you thought up a story about Santa finding some extra gifts. That helped you think of how you can use the guise of Santa taking presents from bad kids and giving them to good kids as a way to buy the toys cheaper and giving them later (maybe even when they are back in stock). Requires fewer words.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Challenges of working abroad
We are all products of our environment and our experiences. I often wonder which has the greater impact on behavior – past or present experiences. I would argue that with people we know, we tend to weight the past more heavily than the present, overlooking minor slights, or major improvements, if past history reflects a different reality. With the unknown, however, I think primacy is the overriding factor. If we recently had a death in the family, we’re more likely to say we believe in ghosts, or the afterlife.
In medicine, and science as a whole, they follow a principle known as Occam’s Razor. Simply put, the simplest explanation is the most plausible and likely explanation. More colorfully put, when presented with symptoms, think horses, not zebras. Last week, at our mine site, we received another frantic call from a driver who was part of a caravan of vehicles in the jungle. While driving down one of the more remote roads, he heard a loud pop, and the windshield cracked.
He hit the brakes and dropped to the floor, grabbing at his radio to make the frantic call. Police, security, and military personnel converged on the scene to investigate. Their findings? A rock from the leading vehicle had flown through the air and hit the windshield. Occam’s Razor. Experiential inference, however, whispered: “Gunshot!”
I understand how the driver feels. Having experienced two earthquakes, and witnessed a city in distress – almost in a panic – after the hotel bombings, I, too, am more jittery than usual. Case in point – air conditioning. In our building, it is loud. When the compressor kicks on, and the vents open, I hear the deep “boom” and feel the change in air pressure. It’s exactly what I imagine a bomb blast would feel like, and what an earthquake does feel like, and I jump every time. Speaking with other expats, I’ve learned I’m not alone. Anyone who was in the building when a bomb exploded outside the Australian Embassy some years ago talk of being scared of moving vans, delivery trucks, and, yes, air conditioning for months, some until today.
A severe case of the jitters is not the only oddity one can enjoy working in Indonesia, especially at our mine site. We have a particular individual who stopped showing up for work over two weeks ago. Per our policy, we accept a three-day, unexcused absence as a voluntary resignation. One would think after two weeks we could post the position as open and fill it with a new person. Not so. Because this individual is a native to the island, we must obtain approval from the local tribal representatives. Technically, per policy, this is not a requirement. The labor agreement we have with them does not require it, either. The board that approves posting positions, however, will not allow us to fill it until the conversation happens.
Another example is when a local resigns or changes positions in the company. As soon as the local tribal representatives learn of a position vacated by a local – even if that local voluntarily transferred to a new position – they call to verify our intentions are to fill the vacancy with yet another local. Mayhem ensues if we do not.
Our annual report to the various national and local labor boards include itemizing the percentage of expats, percentage of Indonesians, and the percentage of Papuans. We have specific targets we must maintain of each classification. This should sound familiar to anyone who has ever heard of Affirmative Action.
Finally, and I have to be cautious how I word this for feel of being sent to jail, the application of the electronic defamation laws in Indonesia are interesting to observe. Back in June, I posted about a woman who went to jail for complaining about her hospital visit. Now, a TV host turned soap opera star used twitter to complain about entertainment journalists and has been reported to the police for defamation.
What an interesting world we live in.
In medicine, and science as a whole, they follow a principle known as Occam’s Razor. Simply put, the simplest explanation is the most plausible and likely explanation. More colorfully put, when presented with symptoms, think horses, not zebras. Last week, at our mine site, we received another frantic call from a driver who was part of a caravan of vehicles in the jungle. While driving down one of the more remote roads, he heard a loud pop, and the windshield cracked.
He hit the brakes and dropped to the floor, grabbing at his radio to make the frantic call. Police, security, and military personnel converged on the scene to investigate. Their findings? A rock from the leading vehicle had flown through the air and hit the windshield. Occam’s Razor. Experiential inference, however, whispered: “Gunshot!”
I understand how the driver feels. Having experienced two earthquakes, and witnessed a city in distress – almost in a panic – after the hotel bombings, I, too, am more jittery than usual. Case in point – air conditioning. In our building, it is loud. When the compressor kicks on, and the vents open, I hear the deep “boom” and feel the change in air pressure. It’s exactly what I imagine a bomb blast would feel like, and what an earthquake does feel like, and I jump every time. Speaking with other expats, I’ve learned I’m not alone. Anyone who was in the building when a bomb exploded outside the Australian Embassy some years ago talk of being scared of moving vans, delivery trucks, and, yes, air conditioning for months, some until today.
A severe case of the jitters is not the only oddity one can enjoy working in Indonesia, especially at our mine site. We have a particular individual who stopped showing up for work over two weeks ago. Per our policy, we accept a three-day, unexcused absence as a voluntary resignation. One would think after two weeks we could post the position as open and fill it with a new person. Not so. Because this individual is a native to the island, we must obtain approval from the local tribal representatives. Technically, per policy, this is not a requirement. The labor agreement we have with them does not require it, either. The board that approves posting positions, however, will not allow us to fill it until the conversation happens.
Another example is when a local resigns or changes positions in the company. As soon as the local tribal representatives learn of a position vacated by a local – even if that local voluntarily transferred to a new position – they call to verify our intentions are to fill the vacancy with yet another local. Mayhem ensues if we do not.
Our annual report to the various national and local labor boards include itemizing the percentage of expats, percentage of Indonesians, and the percentage of Papuans. We have specific targets we must maintain of each classification. This should sound familiar to anyone who has ever heard of Affirmative Action.
Finally, and I have to be cautious how I word this for feel of being sent to jail, the application of the electronic defamation laws in Indonesia are interesting to observe. Back in June, I posted about a woman who went to jail for complaining about her hospital visit. Now, a TV host turned soap opera star used twitter to complain about entertainment journalists and has been reported to the police for defamation.
What an interesting world we live in.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Books
As a new - and growing - family, we are starting to define our traditions. One tradition we've had for a while is each year my wife buys me a book by my favorite author - Jeffrey Archer. This year, the book was "Paths to Glory", and Archer once again reminded me why he is my favorite author. He has a way of telling a tale, even a familiar tale, as if you are hearing it for the first time.
"Paths to Glory" is the story of Sir George Mallory, one of the greatest mountain climbers in the history of the world. A man on whom history cannot agree if he was the first to conquer Everest. In Archer's fictional account of this true history, I learned much about the type of man it takes to complete those quests as yet unfinished by another human. It is compelling.
I first found Archer in high school, when I read "As the Crow Flies
", the book that sparked my interest in business. I tried several other books of his: A Prisoner of Birth
, Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less
, The Prodigal Daughter
, Kane and Abel
, False Impression
, The Fourth Estate
, Cat O'Nine Tales: And Other Stories
, Sons of Fortune
, A Quiver Full of Arrows
and Honor Among Thieves
...to name a few. Not a bad book among them.
Though Archer is by far my favorite author, he has not written my favorite book. Probably not even in my top five. The best book I've read thus far is The Shadow of the Wind
, an absolutely fabulous story about a book - yes, a book about a book - set in Barcelona. The imagery, plot, and concept of this story is just amazing. A close second is A Conspiracy of Paper: A Novel (Ballantine Reader's Circle)
. If you read "Conspiracy of Paper", you will never look at paper money the same way again. I did not research the historical accuracy of the story, though it all seems very plausible given the history I do know.
If being more well-read is on your list of New Year's Resolutions, you cannot go wrong with any of those. Me, I'm starting the year reading the complete, unabridged work of H.G. Wells (thanks to a reference in Paths of Glory). The science Wells was describing in his 19th Century novels is eerily predictive of our current advancements. I keep waiting for the time machine.
"Paths to Glory" is the story of Sir George Mallory, one of the greatest mountain climbers in the history of the world. A man on whom history cannot agree if he was the first to conquer Everest. In Archer's fictional account of this true history, I learned much about the type of man it takes to complete those quests as yet unfinished by another human. It is compelling.
I first found Archer in high school, when I read "As the Crow Flies
", the book that sparked my interest in business. I tried several other books of his: A Prisoner of Birth, Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less, The Prodigal Daughter, Kane and Abel, False Impression, The Fourth Estate, Cat O'Nine Tales: And Other Stories, Sons of Fortune, A Quiver Full of Arrows and Honor Among Thieves...to name a few. Not a bad book among them.Though Archer is by far my favorite author, he has not written my favorite book. Probably not even in my top five. The best book I've read thus far is The Shadow of the Wind
, an absolutely fabulous story about a book - yes, a book about a book - set in Barcelona. The imagery, plot, and concept of this story is just amazing. A close second is A Conspiracy of Paper: A Novel (Ballantine Reader's Circle). If you read "Conspiracy of Paper", you will never look at paper money the same way again. I did not research the historical accuracy of the story, though it all seems very plausible given the history I do know.If being more well-read is on your list of New Year's Resolutions, you cannot go wrong with any of those. Me, I'm starting the year reading the complete, unabridged work of H.G. Wells (thanks to a reference in Paths of Glory). The science Wells was describing in his 19th Century novels is eerily predictive of our current advancements. I keep waiting for the time machine.
My Anthem
My wife reminded me today that I have an anthem...a theme song, if you will.
I have to agree that the words are a perfect fit. If it were a Rock n Roll song, I'd definitely agree it is my anthem. Maybe Guns N Roses will cover it.
As blogspot won't let me upload an MP3, so I've linked a YouTube video that has the song. The video is insignificant (for my purposes), just the song.
The lyrics for those of you whose ears bleed when you listen to country:
Folks call me a maverick
Guess I aint too diplomatic
I just never been the kind to go along
Just avoidin confrontation
For the sake of conformation
And I'll admit I tend to sing a different song
But sometimes you just can't be afraid
to wear a different hat
If columbus had complied
Then this old world might still be flat
Nothin' ventured, nothin gained
sometimes you've got to go against the grain
Well' i've been accused
Of makin' my own rules
There must be rebel blood
Juat a-runnin through my veins
But I aint no hypocrite
What you see is what you get
And thats the only way I know to play the game.
Old Noah took much ridicule
For building his great ark
But for forty days and forty nights
He was lookin pretty smart
Sometimes it's best to brave the wind and rain
By havin' strength to go against the grain
Well, there's more than a few
Who share my point of view
But they're worried if they're gonna sink or swim
They'd like to buck the system
But the deck is stacked against them
And they're a little scared to go out on a limb
But if you're gonna make a difference
If you're gonna leave you're mark
You can't follow like a bunch of sheep
You got to listen to your heart
Go bustin in like old John Wayne
Sometimes you've got to go against the grain
Nothin ventured, nothin gained
Sometimes you've got to go against the grain.
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