What to do when your Taksi driver removes his glasses to eat fried rice.

Oh, wait.  That was supposed to be a question.  What do you do if your taksi driver removes his glasses to eat fried rice?  On a busy highway?  Without a fork?  I just sat there and hoped he understood my directions.

I was going to write a post about money, but my ride home made me change my mind.  See, I’ve been having some difficulties getting home.  Going to work is never a problem.  I walk about 3 blocks to the nearest major intersection, passing an alley full of food stalls and lines of ojeks (motorbikes).  The ojek drivers call out to me, asking if I need a ride, and I just smile and yell “Hallo!” back to them.  NO WAY IN HELL am I getting on the back of one of those death-traps, with or without a helmet.  Granted, the traffic probably never exceeds 30 mph, even with the ojek weaving between lanes, and traffic accidents are very rare in Jakarta (which amazes me, considering that Jakartan drivers squeeze an extra lane or two out of just about any road and considering that traffic lights are non-existent), but I can’t get past the idea.  I’ve read a few ex-pat blogs where the writer swears by his or her personal ojek driver.  I’ll pay the extra fifty cents for a taksi.

So anyway, I walk to the nearest major intersection.  Here, in lieu of a traffic light, you will find a teenager directing traffic.  Seriously.  In exchange for about ten cents, he will literally stop three lanes of traffic to hail you a cab.  He’ll do it for nothing, actually, but the ten cents goes a long way in traffic karma.  The only cabs you should trust are Bluebird (blue in color) and Express (white in color).  This morning, I made the mistake of simply accepting a blue cab, and I realized about halfway to work that it was not a Bluebird, only blue in color, by noticing the way the meter jumped randomly. Bluebird drivers will never ask you to go “off meter,” and the charges are based on mileage rather than time (which goes a long way in crazy Jakarta traffic).

There are two major differences between the ride to work and the ride home.  First is the cost.  A ride to the Mall takes between 5 and 25 minutes, but the price will only be about $1.20 because the ride is only 1.2 km.  The ride home takes between 20 and 30 minutes, and because of the road design, is 5.8 km or $3.00.

The second and more annoying difference between the ride to work and the ride home is the directions.  The ride to work is easy.  I get into the cab, say “Mal Taman Anggrek, silakahn,” and away we go.  Once we get to the mall’s entrance, we pull into a security stall, the driver pops the trunk, and a guard checks for God-knows-what.  After that, I say “Matahari!” and point to the department store entrance because this cuts about 5 minutes off of waiting in line at the entrance.  The driver crosses three lanes of traffic without a light, and Bob’s your uncle.

The way home, on the other hand, is a beast in itself.  I’ve had a printout of my address to show drivers, but many drivers look at the address, shake their heads, and then drive off.  I have to approach an average of 4 drivers before one will shake his head but still give me a ride.  Last night, my driver explained that the address is written wrong.  He explained what I should write, but he explained in Bahasa, so I have no idea what he said.  I am nothing if not innovative, however, so today at work, I went on Google Maps, printed the route map very large, and wrote the address as it appeared on my Kost’s webpage.  Ingenious, right?  Yeah, except for that my driver looked at my map and then looked at me, and then back at my map, and then back at me. 

He didn’t know how to read a map.

He pulled over a total of three times during the trip to look at my map and scratch his head, and I kept pointing at the main road, repeating, “Tomang Raya,” and saying “maaf” (sorry) when he would ask me questions.  He pulled over to ask questions, mind you, but he did not pull over to reach over to the passenger-side glove-box (which is the left-side, by the way), take out his rice, remove his glasses, and begin chowing down.

Luckily, I was able to convey the name of the large road by my Kost, and once there, I was able to point the directions home. 

Well, that’s my taksi post.  Any suggestions for a future post?

That post about how I’m an introvert…and how did I get a blood blister on my hammertoe?

It’s Monday evening, so a week ago at this time (ignore the time difference in my math for a more compelling memory) I was entering O’Hare airport, about to board a flight to Singapore with a layover in Dubai.  I was surprisingly calm, which is funny because right now I have tears in my eyes wishing that my little brother was still just a phone call away – no Skype, no Whatsapp, etc.

If anything, I was looking forward to some “me” time.  24 hours of flying where I didn’t have to talk to anyone.  36 hours in Singapore where I didn’t have to talk to anyone.  It’s true; I used to go weeks without talking to John or Aunt Joann, but they were always there.

I’m an introvert.  No secrets about that.  I have some extrovert tendencies, like that I have a Type A personality and can speak in front of large groups, but the bottom line is that I’m an introvert.  It’s nothing against you, but I will count the minutes until the check arrives at dinner and we can retreat to our respective vehicles – each minute between that last bite and the credit card swipe is holding me hostage.  Of course I love you and I want to know how you are, but not now.  I will pretend like I didn’t hear the phone ring.  I will never just send you to voicemail because that’s rude.  I’ll just pretend like it must be someone else’s phone (and how rude that they don’t silence it!).  I will say I want to see you, and I genuinely do, but I will cancel last minute.  Like I said, it’s nothing against you.

I know what it means to feel alone in a room full of people.  I look forward to parties where I know there will be pets, because there’s no one I’d rather talk to at a party than your golden retriever.  Hell, I’ll settle for your goldfish.  At some point, I’ll make a big deal about getting something out of my car and then disappear for the rest of the evening. 

If anything, being in a foreign country with a language barrier is great for my introversion because I can just blend in (as much as a white girl with blonde hair and blue eyes can really blend in, which is not at all).  Still, I don’t have any social obligations.  I did make a couple of ex-pat friends before arriving, but I don’t feel as though I am being rude by not reaching out at this point.

So what do I miss (besides, of course, my family)?  Television.  Introverts love clearly defined relationships with rules and barriers and limits.  I’m not worried about the Dunphys dropping by unannounced or an uncomfortable phone call with Dr. Mindy Laheeri.  I know that after half an hour, my friends will go away – no uncomfortable goodbyes or hugging – and I won’t have to see them for a week.  This, in fact, makes me want to see them more.  I love binge-watching episodes, breaking my own rules and boundaries with characters who don’t know any better.  I love the principle of OnDemand and DVR, which allows me to change the limits at any time.  It’s convenient.

So, here I am in Jakarta, and I think, “Great, I can watch all of my latest episodes on ABC and NBC and Fox.”  And I gather my computer, find my headphones, and walk 15 minutes to the nearest Starbucks because I know that the internet at my Kost will not accommodate streaming video. 

Except for that I forgot my headphones.  Damn.  But wait, my Bluetooth!  It will suck, but I can cover my ears and figure out how to link it to my Mac.  Oh, and except for that, much like Netflix, the major networks are not available in other countries.  (World-wide web my ass.)  So I try Hulu.  Amazon.  Nada.  The government has even blocked Pirate Bay because of the porn (not, ironically, because of the stealing).  Finally, I come across a subscription fix/country override for Hulu, and I think “worth it!” and I subscribe. 

And there, in all her glory, is my friend Rayna James.  For about 30 seconds.  And there she is again!  And there she isn’t.

This, mind you, is almost 4 hours later.  The connection at Starbucks is just too sucky for streaming video. 

So, if anyone can download copies of Modern Family, Nashville, Parenthood, Big Bang Theory, and The Mindy Project, then figure out some way to get them to me that doesn’t involve streaming or mail, I’d be eternally grateful.  PLEASE.

Also, how does one get a blood blister inside of the callus on one’s hammertoe? 

OblOgatory Post…get it?

Okay, okay.  I’m an English major.  I think this shit’s funny.  Sue me.

I can’t believe today is Friday already.  I’d like to update y’all on everything I’ve had going on, but that sounds like a lot of typing, so you will get a very abridged version with minor expansions on the parts that I feel like telling.  If you have questions, just ask, and if I skip over something, let me know.

As of last night, I finally landed in Jakarta at around 10 pm, so that is where I am writing this.  More specifically, I am typing this in my room at the Kost (boarding house) where EF is putting me up until I choose my housing.  I will have the opportunity to stay here (where it is cheaper), or move to an apartment.  Honestly, I doubt that an apartment will be much less expensive, as the Taksi (I think y’all can figure that one out) rides from here to my center are a little pricey, at least in traffic.

My room has its own bathroom (sans hand sink, and the shower is right above the toilet), a queen-sized bed, a television that I have yet to turn on, a desk, and a wardrobe.  The floor is ceramic tile.  There is an air conditioner that I’m told is very nice.  The only downfall, besides the lack of a hand sink, is that the room reeks of moth balls.  Like, nauseatingly so.  I found the “air freshener” culprits and double-bagged them.  I also bought some Orange Glade at Hero, the local grocery store.  Let’s just say that I don’t quite notice it anymore, but whenever I enter my room, the smell hits me like a wave.

Benny and Ardi, two Indonesian men from my Center picked me up from the airport last night and then brought me to the Kost, where my room is on the third floor.  They were wonderful, not letting me carry my own luggage, and making sure that the internet, shower, air conditioner, and door lock worked before leaving.  Benny read me the rules for my room, as they were in Indonesian.  I am not allowed to have a pet, play my tv too loud, use a blow-dryer or microwave, or entertain guests of the opposite sex.  I broke the blow-dryer rule this morning, and quickly learned my lesson when I killed the power to all three stories.  I guess I don’t want to know the repercussions to the opposite sex rule.

This afternoon, Jennifer, the DoS (Director of Studies) from my Center picked me up.  She commented that my Kost is much nicer than hers was, so I guess I shouldn’t complain about much.  Jennifer had a taxi waiting, and we went to the Mall Tamananggrek where our center is located.  Yes, this is like a normal shopping mall, and there are stores for pretty much anything you might need.  Mall Tamananggrek is four stories and has department stores, a grocery, a skating rink, a movie theatre, at least 6 bank branches…oh, and an English First Center.  Mall Tamananggrek is right next to Central Park, another large mall of multiple stories.  From what I gather, Jakartans love their shopping.  Kind of brings me back to ’95 when hanging out at the mall was the thing to do.

After my brief orientation, Jennifer had a placement test to administer, so I was given the choice to wait, or to try and run my errands on my own.  I chose run my errands, and I only had to return to EF once to ask for help!  Of course, I didn’t have to leave the mall, but shush. 

First item of business was spending money.  I was pretty convinced that I only needed to find an ATM, but Indonesian ATMs only give money if you have an account, so that was a wash.  I did find a currency exchange in the bank section of the mall, so I was able to trade the US dollars that I brought with me for Indonesian Rupiah, or IDR.  At the currency exchange, two middle-aged Muslim women let out a giant “Squeee!” when they saw me, and took turns taking their picture with the Bule (white person).

Next, I needed to find an electric converter, as my travel converter had only two of the three female parts needed for my laptop.  Jennifer mentioned that I could find one at Hero, and I kind of doubted her, but there it was!

I also needed to find some sort of dinner.  Benny and Ardi recommended that I didn’t walk around my neighborhood at night, and I don’t have a fridge or a hot plate, so I settled on some salami, cheese, and crackers.  I also bought some liters of water, as the tap water in Indonesia is impotable, and most importantly, I bought toilet paper, which apparently doesn’t come with the room.  Thanks to Heather O’Dell, who gave me travel toilet paper when I moved to Ohio ten years ago.  I’ve packed it with every move since for some reason, and I thought to bring it with here.  Life-saver, that was.

This post is becoming a bit long, so I’m going to wrap it up.  Perhaps I’ll regale y’all of my trip to Singapore and my last days in the U.S. over the weekend when I have nothing to do.  Until then, maaf.  (Maaf means “sorry” and it has probably been the most helpful word I’ve learned thus far.)