The People on the Bus

A look of shock horror set upon my face as the driver opened the door of the packed van that was to take me on the three hour drive to surabaya. The only seat left was next to a elderly Muslim lady dressed in a dusty pink full body dress and matching hijab. The  lady suffers from the disease which makes the victim lose pigment in their skin, appearing like they are gradually becoming white. I once saw a child in India that had the same disease, it had completely covered the child’s body so that he appeared albino. At first I thought he was a foreigner but then I noticed the tattered clothes and lack of shoes. Its a strange sight to see this old women, her hands were almost completely white but for a few patches a brown. On her face a huge sprawling white splotch covered the right side including her bottom lip. The rest of her face was tanned brown. To look at her from the side you may not know. It was not so much that I didn’t want to sit next to her, but I just didn’t know if it’s contagious or not. I tried to quickly disguise my shock . But to my surprise when I had made eye contact with her, I saw that she was staring right back at me with the same look of shock horror. I am sure I looked like a sight to her, a foreign women with oversized sunglasses, iPod headphones blaring music, a sleeveless blouse and short skirt, make up, red nail polish and fashion jewellery. I think in that moment, that second of eye contact we both acknowledged something about our shared feelings of foriegness, so I just sat down.

Overtaking on the Left

The company driver, a Timorese man named Eustace is an hour and a half late to pick us up, the departure time was already put back several times that day so it’s nothing new. Its 10.30pm by the time he comes, I was originally told noon. I am being taken to Tuban, 100km from Surabaya which is where I’ll be teaching and living. Two of the office girls are coming along, I am not sure why since it’s a Friday night but I guess the boss told them to accompany me. My allusive boss Fera is the daughter in law of the company’s director Irawati, a spritely little Chinese lady who is appears very pleasant but I can tell she is a savvy businesswomen. She calls us native speakers or sometimes just speakers for short, like a commodity being traded around brokers. I guess our prices are low right now which is why nobody has bothered to even go over the contract with me, let alone give me my schedule. A week in and I feel that a trend of empty promises and being kept in the dark has only just begun.

Anyway we set off into the night and instantly I am wondering how this man could be a driver, because he clearly doesn’t understand how to use the clutch. The old jeep jars and bounces along the inadequate excuse for a highway, in the backseat we are kept in a constant state of jolting backwards and forwards, as he suddenly takes his foot from the accelerator and slams it back on. He drives maniacal like we are in downtown Baghdad and it would be dangerous to slow down or even halt for a minute. Over taking lanes are nonexistent here but that doesn’t stop him passing the large and numerous ambling petrochemical trucks, if there’s oncoming traffic that’s no problem he’ll use the left shoulder instead, that space in the road never intended for overtaking but it is possible here, leave enough room and cars and motorcycles sneak past at any opportunity. I think that’s a good euphemism for Indonesians, overtaking on the left, everything is done the way I never expect they sneak past your blind spot without any confrontation. I am sure the company are by passing me now with longer work hours I didn’t expect.

We stop at a roadside shop, an open air convenience store/cafe/the owner’s house. I jump out to have a smoke, the driver invites me to sits down, he says he is having coffee because he needs to stay awake. That’s a good idea I tell him, hoping the coffee is strong. The glass must be too hot because he pours the coffee from the glass into the saucer and drinks it that way. Berapa jam ke Tuban? How far is it to Tuban? I use the opportunity to practice a new phrase. He answers in English, its 3 hours to Tuban. Great, I say but he doesn’t catch my sarcasm. Fera had told me it was only 1 to 2 hours away, once again I’ve been passed on the left.

As we continue along the highway there is a constant stream of trucks moving all sorts of goods, the north coast of Java is rich in agriculture as well and minerals and natural gas. The tired drivers must amble all through the night on these terrible roads moving at snail’s pace to wherever be their destination. Its 1am by the time we arrive, he made pretty good time, but I shudder to think how long the drive will take on a Friday after work without a maniac driver.

The Nasi Goreng Experience

The humble street vendor on the corner of the busy street stands awaiting the night’s hungry customers. His tanned face is heavy set in deep lines which tell of a busy hardworking life. His little mobile cart is all setup, the vegetables and rice, the stove, the chopping board; everything is in its place, each space filled efficiently for its purpose. His giant wok sits atop the orange flame flickering in the wind. He is chopping onions and garlic and I can hear the oil beginning to sizzle just ready for the ingredients. I place my order behind three others “Satu nasi goreng” One nasi goreng, despite my lousy Indonesia he smiles anyway in appreciation of the effort. Nasi goreng or fried rice it’s his speciality and the only thing on the menu. Afterwards I realise I could have said it much nicer “Boleh saya minta satu nasi goreng” May I have one nasi goreng? Oh well next time I’ll remember.

He scoops out a great heaping of fluffy white rice and puts it aside. First the onions go in to spit and hiss around in the heat of the oil. Next a mixture of different sauces I can’t recognize but guess to be fish sauce. The rice is added and he skilfully stirs it around the wok just like a master chef. The mix folds over and over again so that it is never burnt. More sauces, more vegetables, more stirring and stirring and sauce. The rain is falling lightly at this point and we are all hoping it won’t pour down before we get our food. I can see the wafts of smoke and steams rising from the cart, the flavours are flying and spreading out to fill the night air. It smells of Indonesia. In five minutes it is cooked and he prepares the standard thick brown takeaway paper on which he places our portions adding a side of sliced fresh cucumber and whole green chillies. The orders are folded up quickly and neatly like he has done this a million times. I pay and it’s a squeal at 8000 rupiahs – 90 cents. I hurry back to the apartment clutching the warm bundle eager to eat, and smile because suddenly I feel more comfortable is this great big city.

The departure lounge

Flying high on a Virgin 737 across the barren central Australian landscape. I am filled once again with that familiar mix of emotions. a sense of loss for the life I have left behind, a tinge of regret and guilt for leaving my family and friends once again. If only I could be in two places at one time. But I feel that excitement of embarking upon a new adventure alive, and struck in anticipation of what is to come next. That’s the life of an occasional ESL teacher. And it’s the worst part. I cant handle the goodbyes.

After spending a stint in South Korea a year ago I’ve decided to pick up the chalk again and put off finding a “proper” job for a little while longer.

I am on my way to Bali right now with a plane full of Australians in holidaymaker mood.  Surabaya is my final destination and I couldn’t be more happy with the place. I’ve visited Surabaya for an afternoon so I don’t know that much, but it seems like that perfect mix between modern Asia and chaotic Asia. A city that is enthralling, pumping with a million sights, sounds and smells. That typical incessant honking of the traffic, the vibrant colours on the streets of fruits and vegetables, and the smells of the food stalls and pollution. A buzz with people and mixed in with that sticky, humid, sultry tropical heat. A feeling of being completely foreign yet familiar and reassuring. I know its not everyones ideal but for me I just can’t wait to start living my life is this city.