A Good Day

Two weeks after we left the comforts of home, we had our first really good day in Indonesia. The veteran Canadian teacher and his wife invited us to lunch. We ate at Sushi Tei, which debunked the doctor’s warning about not eating sushi—something that Dennis was bitterly disappointed about. I don’t think we would have been comfortable eating at a sushi place on our own, and I have a feeling that we’ll be going to Sushi Tei often. More importantly, he really put Dennis’ mind at ease about teaching. I think that this was the first time that Dennis felt that everything would be fine. I’ve been trying to reassure Dennis, but sometimes he needs to hear it from someone else.

They were also gracious enough to welcome us to their home and to meet their two daughters. The girls are so adorable and had us visualizing days with our twins. It was also good to see that larger apartments do exist in Jakarta. Even by western standards, their place is large. I also have to admit that I was pretty envious of their walk in closet—I so, so miss my closets. Granted it’s quite expensive, but it’s nice to know that there are options.

We also explored Taman Anggrek Mall and learned that there’s a money changer there. This was actually the first mall we visited for our first dinner in Indonesia; we just didn’t realize it was the same mall (the ice skating rink on the 4^th floor was a dead give away). We were even comfortable enough to take a taxi on our own. It felt good to expand our little bubble of existence even if it’s only to the next mall over from the mall next to our apartment.

“I Got My Mind On My Money And My Money On My Mind”

In the 10 years that Dennis and I have been married, we’ve never really had to think about money. It’s not to say that we have all sorts of money, it’s just that money was basically out of sight, out of mind. We were paid by direct deposit, paid most of our bills online and used credit cards for everything else. We rarely ever used cash.

Now every time we leave our apartment, I ask Dennis how much money he has. We haven’t opened a bank account nor have we exchanged money. Each time we asked about exchanging money, the principal designate kept on lending us money. The first time it was 1.1 million rupiah (Rp) to buy a cell phone and essentials for the apartment. Then it was another 5 million to cover expenses until we exchanged money.

I honestly have never felt poor until we got here. The sad thing is that we had money; it was just useless in dollars. I didn’t realize how difficult it would be to exchange money here—I just thought that it would be like the Philippines where you could exchange money at SM or with some lady in Santa Cruz. Dennis and I would walk around the mall and need to buy something completely mundane like towels or a blanket, and have to count how much money we brought (many times not enough as it’s more expensive here than we anticipated).

In the US, we’d buy hundreds, sometimes thousands of dollars worth of stuff and not bat an eye. We certainly never carried more than $100—even $50 in our wallets—but we knew we had enough money when the credit card statement came. I cannot imagine having to deal with the stress of money on a permanent basis. It’s another one of those things that I never had to worry about, and I completely took that for granted.

At the time of our doctor appointment, we were advised that the appointment would cost around Rp 250,000. We brought 1 million just in case (I don’t even remember if we had more than that in rupiah). The appointment was about Rp 250,000, but the blood test was 1.4 million. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.

They wouldn’t take dollars but asked if I had a credit card. Yes, but they’re not Indonesian credit cards. Nope, US credit cards are no good either. We didn’t know what to do. I had to get the blood test done. What about money changers? Any money changers near by?

Lucky for us, a couple overheard our dilemma and offered to exchange money for us. The wife got on the phone to find out the exchange rate (frankly we didn’t care what it was), and the husband had to go to the ATM to get more rupiah. We exchanged $200 (Rp 1,700,000), which came in handy since we still had to get my prescriptions.

We still needed to exchange money and open a bank account, but everyone seemed too busy to show us. We certainly didn’t know how to go about it ourselves. At one point, I asked again. The principal designate’s response was to lend us another million to tie us over a weekend. When I went to see her, she came out with a stack of Rp 50,000 notes. She hands it over to me and says, “Okay—Rp 5,000,000—that should be enough for now. Is it okay?”

I take the stack of money and say, “Yes.” I didn’t even know what to do with it. I was still having a hard time with all of the zeros. Seriously—5 million? I know it’s not even $600, but it was weird having so much cash. How do I even carry it? That and all I could think about was how we now owed Rp 11,100,000.

A Blast From The Past

At the hospital, I was given a number and told to “please wait”. Women were called into a small room and come out a minute later to wait some more. When my turn came around, they took my weight and blood pressure and sent me back out to wait.

Dennis was watching soccer on TV and I was trying to drink more water for the ultrasound when I turned to Dennis and said, “I bet that’s the doctor.” We looked each other, our smiles almost turning to full-out laughter.

The “doctor” reminded me of an 80s Chinese Kung Fu villain. He walked with a slight limp most likely from age—not from fighting—and wore a dated suite with a collared shirt (unbuttoned of course). His eye glasses could have seriously been from the 80s though I’m sure they’re still available in stores. The best part was his hair. I don’t know how else to describe it aside for it was big and had plenty of volume—it framed his face the way a lion’s face is framed by that golden, glorious mane.

When we were finally called into the examining room, the Chinese boss was indeed our doctor. He looked over my prenatal records and asked me questions mainly about why there are no results for Toxoplasma and CMV screening. He explains that Toxoplasma is common in Indonesia and can be contracted by eating raw vegetables/salads from restaurants as they have been washed with tap water. I tell him that maybe the test wasn’t done because there is no need for it in the US. I asked him what the potential complications are for the babies: (1) blindness, (2) water in the brain, and (3) heart defects. I’m sure there’s more that those 3 were enough freak anyone out.

He explained that I needed to get tested in case I contracted it in the past 9 days we’ve been in Indonesia. Frankly, I knew I wasn’t as careful as I could have been, so it was somewhat comforting to know that effects of Toxoplasma could be prevented with antibiotics. According to the doctor, Toxoplasma is normally discovered in the 1^st trimester. I was already my 2^nd trimester, so it was important to find out as soon as possible. He told me to get a blood test after the examination.

He suggested the following:

1.     20-minute walk every day at around 4 o’clock in the morning to avoid pollution

2.     Classical music for the twins via earphones at the highest volume 5-6 times a day 15-20 minutes

3.     Stop taking my allergy medication, which he did not refill (I was down to 5—he prescribed 10 Claritins instead)

4.     Drinking more water and “mother’s milk” available at grocery stores to supplement the prenatal vitamins, iron and folic acid he prescribed

5.     Eating fresh fruit specifically papaya to help with constipation

I asked him how you say papaya in Bahasa. He looks at me in the eyes and with a straight face slowly says, “Pa-pa-ya.” Dennis and I just about died laughing.

We also saw the twins in the ultrasound. It seemed a lot more crowded in there compared to the first ultrasound. They were swimming around, kicking and turning, and it was hard to get good photos of them. Both pictures were of their backs and were not nearly as clear as their first photos—perhaps I should have drank more water. The doctor said it may still be too early to tell their gender. I told him I didn’t want to know. Dennis, of course, made his preference for twin boys known. The doctor teased that he could tell Dennis, but he didn’t have to tell me. I said no.

"Please Wait"

Our top priority when we arrived here was to find a good doctor and hospital for the twins. I started to inquire about it and was informed not to worry—the Board of Management’s brother is part owner of Pantai Indah Kapuk Hospital. A Canadian teacher also referred us to his Indonesian wife’s OB at PIK Hospital. She had both of their girls there via c-section.

The day of the appointment (07 July 2011), Dennis went down to the lobby at 7:45 am to tell person on duty that we needed a taxi at 8 am. When we got down to the lobby, there was no taxi. By 8:15, we were getting anxious. Dennis’ inquiries was always answered with a smile and “please wait”. So we waited. Taxis would drive by but did not stop, and we couldn’t figure out why none stopped for us.

When 8:30 and 8:40 rolled around, we knew it would be nearly impossible to make it in time for our 9 o’clock appointment. Dennis stood outside waiting—protesting each time a taxi drove pass and practically running after them. He was getting frantic, and I think he was beginning to scare the staff that kept telling him the same thing: “please wait”.

At one point, he was talking to the girl on duty with his eyes glued to the front doors. When he saw a taxi drive by, he rushed to the doors slamming his body against the glass and cursing as the taxi kept driving away. I thought he was going to lose it, and for the sake of completely freaking out the sweet girl at the desk, I went to ask her about the taxi myself.

I ask her if the taxi is coming.

“Taxi have people inside. Have to wait for no people. Please wait.”

Makes sense. I tell her Dennis came downstairs at 7:45 to get a Blue Bird taxi. Why hasn’t it arrived?

“Taxi have people inside. Have to wait for no people. Please wait.”

Okay—I got that part already. I ask her if she ordered the taxi. She takes out a ledger with all kinds of telephone numbers on it. She points to the one that says Blue Bird taxi.

“So you didn’t order the taxi?”

“Blue Bird taxi,” she says pointing at number.

“Okay—so I have to call to order taxi? You did not order the taxi.”

“No, Miss. Have to order.”

Dennis was visibly upset when I tell him the taxi was not ordered. It was 8:53 by the time the taxi arrived to pick us up. Fortunately, the taxi driver knew the exact location of the hospital. We took the toll and arrived at the hospital at 9:07—probably record time.

We Can Say...

We went to Puncak on 05-06 July 2011 for a staff retreat. We drove past Bogor where there is a famous botanical garden and “safari”—too bad we didn’t get to check it out. It was quite a drive, but the fresh air and great views of the mountains was well worth it. We got to know our colleagues better as well as the school’s 3 thrusts. Many of the teachers are actually from the Philippines. There were also team-building games, which is always fun.

The next morning, Dennis played soccer with some of the teachers. One of the PE teachers actually played for the Indonesia soccer team, and the new soccer coach was a professional soccer player for 14 years if I remember correctly. He played for ~10 different teams/countries including his homeland Cameroon, Malaysia, Thailand, Indonesia and a slew of others that I cannot recall until an injury ended his professional career. Needless to say, his skills were far beyond anyone else’s on at the school.

He reminds me a lot of Dixon from Alias. Similar faces with a seriousness that’s quite intimidating until he smiles. I think the main difference is in height. The character in Alias is probably taller, but our coach is by far more muscular. I swear it looks like he’s about to bust out at the seams—he is pure muscle. That and Dixon was always in a suit while our coach is always decked out in Adidas soccer gear. I’d love to see his closet; there’s probably coordinating soccer outfit in every color. I once commented that Adidas must be his favorite. His response was that it’s part of his national identity—that in Cameroon, Adidas is what people wore. On the surface, you’d never suspect that there’s a surprising gentleness about him. He’s soft spoken and kind-hearted.

I don’t know how many games they played that morning or exactly what went down on the field. What I do know is how thrilled and proud Dennis was because he blocked one of the coach’s shots that saved a goal. Granted whichever team the coach was on won (and Dennis tweaked his ankle for the 100^th time), but now Dennis can say that he blocked a professional soccer player’s shot.

We also learned a phrase on our long bus ride back to Jakarta. Why this particular one? We’ll leave that to your imagination (though for once Dennis was not the culprit).

Bahasa:        Siapa kentut?

Chinese:       Shui fangpi?

Tagalog:       Sino’ng umutot?

English:        Who farted?

It’s the 1^st phrase we know in 4 different languages. The only question is: Why didn’t we learn how to say this in Japanese?

For completeness, we’ve used Google Translate: Dare ga farted? Apparently, Google will not translate “farted” to Japanese, but the word for “fart” is “onara”. We’re okay with “Dare ga onara?” To our friends who speak Japanese, please feel free to correct us.

I Wouldn't Play Chicken

Movies totally glamorize the game of chicken and give it a false sense of safety. I’ve never seen a clip where the cars collide head on or the wreckage that follows. Jakarta traffic is pretty much a huge game of chicken where every vehicle—from large trucks and buses to economy cars and small motorbikes—participates. To add to the excitement of the game, other elements are added: overtaking any vehicle at anytime, pedestrians and street vendors with their carts. To announce their presence, there’s constant beeping of the horns and flashes of headlines, which can mean anything:

“I’m right on your bumper and I’m going around you!”

“You better get in your lane ‘cause I’m not slowing down or stopping!”

“I know you’re coming but I’m turning anyway!”

“There’s room for me to go around if you just move a little!”

“Why aren’t you turning/moving?!?”

It’s a wonder that people seem so calm despite all the stress of driving. I don’t think people in the US would be so calm and collected if a Grey Hound bus decided to do a U-turn in the middle of a busy intersection, or if someone decided to turn a two-way street into a one way because they just felt that they could go around everyone else.

On a normal day, the commute to school is 20-30 minutes. On a bad day? Over an hour or so. I’ve always commuted about an hour to work, so 20-30 is not bad at all especially since I’m not driving. Dennis, on the other hand, only had to go 10 minutes with hardly any traffic even with construction along the way.

It’s hard to describe the sheer volume of motorbikes and how no rules seem to apply to them. They weave in and out of traffic many times around other vehicles and each other—it’s really quite a sight. At first I thought of ants, but the comparison is not appropriate since ants are so orderly and follow each other is a single file line. Someone else compared them to cockroaches because of the way they scatter and claim every bit of empty space on the road.

Imagine having to stop behind a few vehicles at an intersection. Before long, motorbikes surround your vehicle and use the foot of space between the bumpers to cut to whichever side there is space or movement. They continue to go around your vehicle until there is no space for them to advance, and you sit there wondering how many children you can sandwich between two adults on one motorbike (for the record we’ve seen one standing in front of the driver, another two between the driver and the adult passenger who by the way was holding a baby—how they can maneuver around all sorts of traffic is beyond me).

There also must be an understood rule that whichever direction has more traffic gets to occupy one lane of the oncoming traffic. Of course it’s the motorbikes that utilize that extra lane. Going against traffic, the motorbikes remind me of the scene at the end of LOTR Two Towers where Gandalf leads the cavalry down that big hill. Wave after wave of motorbikes head towards your vehicle and you want to scream before they swallow you.

The craziest part is that people walk the way they drive—they cut in front of you and hardly ever walk in a straight line or in any predictable path. Dennis and I were discussing whether or not they’re just completely oblivious, don’t know any better or just don’t care. Perhaps someone nailed it on the head when he said, “They don’t care about anyone but themselves—when they’re on the road anyway.”