Continuing the previous Jakarta Chapter…

I had to look at the photos I took in Jakarta to jog my foggy memory. Here's a brief of the rest of the journey:

Day 2 (25th January 2009) - Leaving the Newly Weds

After the solemnization, Kakak and KH went in to change clothes. They then sat at the “pelamin”. I soon learned that the newly weds and their parents are expected to sit there to meet everyone that came. Visitors shook hands and congratulate the newly weds and their parents.

I can’t seem to remember what was served at the wedding. And I didn’t remember to take photos of the food served. So I have no clue to help with my memory. I do, however, remember that I couldn’t really eat the food because they were spicy – including the ‘somay’ (something like fishball served with spicy peanut sauce).

Since I was part of the ‘bride entourage’, I had to stay on until the day ended. We packed our things and were ready to call for a cab home (home in this case is Cibinong). The groom’s family asked us to wait. They wanted to drive us home.

And so we waited, and waited. By the time everyone was ready, we cramped into the awaiting Toyota Unser (or known as Kijang in Indonesia). Some how we managed to fit 10 people (Mutiara and her 7 family members, me, the driver and his co-pilot) into the car.

We arrived Cibinong around 10 p.m. Mutiara’s family invited the driver, and the co-pilot in for a drink. Bejo, the name they called the co-pilot, and Adhit, the driver stayed for awhile and chatted. I soon found out the Bejo is KH’s younger brother. I also found out that most of the groom’s family (including Adhit and Bejo) didn’t realize that I wasn’t exactly a family. They just thought I have a weird Indonesian accent.

Day 3 (Monday 26th January 2009) – Plans Shelved

We had wanted to spend the day out. The plans included a lunch at a restaurant. We were about to leave the house when Kakak called informing that they were coming over. And so we changed our plans. We rushed to the super market. What fascinated me was that there was a section of the supermarket selling live fish. The fish was caught, smoked and packed. We did a last minute shopping and return home.

By the time we reached home, Kakak, KH, his mother, Bejo and Adhit was already there. They were picking fruits from the trees around the house. While they were busy picking fruits, I helped Mutiara to prepare the food – smoked fish, roasted chicken, salad and rice. The simple food was delicious. We chatted. Before we knew it, it was already dark. It was time for KH’s mother, Bejo and Adhit to leave. Kakak and KH would spend the night in Cibinong.

Day 4 (Tuesday 27th January 2009) – Happy birthday and Farewell

It was Mutiara’s mom’s birthday. It was also my last day in Jakarta. Early that morning, Mutiara called her mom’s office informing that her mom won’t be going to work. Since my flight was late that evening, we planned to go for a lunch outside and go for some last minute shopping. So I packed my bags, and we all headed out to wait for the Angkut.

After hopping on and off some Angkut, we finally reached Bogor. We headed to Pizza Hut to celebrate Tante’s birthday. Mutiara then took me to a shop selling traditional Indonesian ‘junk food’. I bought plenty of it for people back home. We met the rest the family at the mall next to the shop. We found a digital photo shop. We decided to have some photos from my camera printed. The photo was ready just in time before I had to leave.

The whole family walked me to the bus station. I could sense tears welling up Mutiara’s eyes. After a hugs and quick goodbyes, I hopped on the bus. Not long after that, the bus made its way to the airport.

Not sure where to get down, I asked the bus conductor to help. I told the him that I wanted to get down at international terminal for Air Asia. The bus driver nodded. About an hour or so later, as the bus neared a building, I recognized a sculpture. I think it was the same sculpture I saw when I first arrived. I was about to go down when the bus conductor stopped me. We had a little argument. He told me to get down at the next terminal. If the driver didn’t interfere, the conductor might not have let me alighted the bus.

Later, after I’ve checked in and was waiting to board the fight, I realized that the bus conductor must have mistaken me as a fellow Indonesian trying to catch domestic flight out of Jakarta.

(p.s. By the time of this entry, Kakak is already a few months pregnant.)

New chapter

While Kakak waited to begin a new chapter in her life, I went outside. Unlike Malaysian wedding, where there would be tables and chairs at the dining area (in this case the tent area), there weren't any tables. The only tables around was at the reception area - complete with 'receptionist'!. On the tables were guest books, and lo and behold, a collection jar. At the junction leading the to the house, was a decoration made of coconut leaves called "janur".

Day 2 (Sunday 25th January 2009) – Solemnization
After waiting for a few minutes, the "juru nikah" (the person who register the marriage) came. They brought the Kakak and KP out to the front porch. Everyone took their seat. The ceremony begun with all the neccassary paper work. It was read, signed and verified by the Kakak's father and a witness. Then the KP gave the Kakak the "mas kahwin" (dowry).

Before the solemnization, the microphone was given to the Kakak. She read a very touching speech. She thanked her parents for their love, time, and money in raising her up. She asked the blessing and permission from her father to be married to the man she had chosen. The speech was so touching, that it drew tears from her mom.

Kakak's father shook KP's hand. They both read out the "akad" from the cue card. Once KP agreed to be married to Kakak, he was officially Kakak's hubby (and thus, from now onward KP will be known as KH). After a short 'doa' (prayer thanking God for the smooth solemnization), KH read out the "taklik". "Taklik" is sort of a pre-nuptial stating the conditions when Kakak entitle to ask for a divorce and when KH entitle to divorce her.

Once KH finished reading the "taklik" KH and Kakak exchanged wedding ring. For the first time, Kakak shook KH hand as his wife. Then they both went around to shook hands (and hugged) their parents. It was during this time that the women folks in the house fussed over something.

They brought out a chicken dish. The newly weds were asked to pull the chicken apart. According to custom, the amount of chicked each side get represent the amount of give/take each will undertook in the marriage. Whoever get the chicken head represent who actually heads the family. Due to this, KH might have been very glad to find that he got the head!

A new day

Day 2 (Sunday 25th January 2009) – Early bird

Though I dozed off almost immediately, I did not sleep well (as if that is some thing new). I am known to have sleeping problem every now and then. Further more, the ‘ambiance’ that night was not much of a help. Some one snored. Some one talked in their sleep. And some one’s baby cried most of the night. It was around 5am when I finally left the bed.

Thinking that there will be a long queue once everyone woke up, I headed straight to the bathroom. As I tiptoed pass people sleeping in the living room, I realized that there are too many people in the house. Perhaps more than what the small house could fit. It might have caused the temperature inside the house to become a little hot.

The cold water was a welcomed change. As I hadn’t iron my clothes, I changed back into the clothes I slept in. It was way too early to dressed up anyway. After the refreshing bath, I decided to catch some more sleep. I was glad that I did. I managed to get a short but very deep sleep.

Eventually everyone woke up, and the house was a buzzed. I got to know more of Mutiara's family - her dad, Nini and Teteh (I later found out that 'teteh' is an Indonesian dialect for 'elder sister'). Final preparation for the wedding ceremony was on the way.

Day 2 (Sunday 25th January 2009) – Final Preparation

It was around 7am. The make-up artist was already in the house. The lady had already finish ‘working’ on Mutiara’s mother. Her assistant was working on another lady. Kakak took her seat. The make-up artist began to work her magic on Kakak.

I’ve seen people make up brides before. But this time it was somewhat new to me. The amount of work she did, was outrageous. It was as if she was going to perform a plastic surgery. What with the razor blade, the measurement, and the markings! Then there were layers and layers of powder (or was it called ‘foundation’? – I’m totally at lost when it comes to make-up jargons). Two hours later, she was still working on Kakak’s eyes. Growing bored and beginning to feel a bit stuffy, I went out to get some fresh air.

I tagged along Mutiara, M and D to a salon just a few metres away from the house. While the ladies were having their face done, I wandered around the area. There was a kind of a decoration to mark the wedding ceremony. In Malaysian Malay wedding, there would be a ‘bunga manggar’. I’m not sure what the decoration is called.

Then there were the tents in front of the house. Unlike so many Malaysian weddings, there were no tables under the tents, only chairs. I had noticed this when I arrived the previous night but I had thought they would take out the table today. I was very much mistaken. The only tables that were taken out, were tables for two ‘reception’ areas. On the tables were a huge jar (or what ever you want to call it), and guest books. The tables were manned by four lovely ladies. An online acquaintance had mentioned that it is polite to bring an ‘ang-pau’ (some money sealed in an envelop) to be put into the jar. Unfortunately, I forgot about it.

I went into the house, and got dressed. By then (almost four hours after she started!) the make-up artist was almost done with Kakak. Kakak already had her face and hair done. She was already wearing a lovely off-white ‘kebaya’. On her hair was some fresh ‘melati’ (I think it is also known as jasmine). The smell of fresh ‘melati’ filled the room. And Kakak looked different.

Me: Wah, cantik amat. Sampe nggak kenal ni! (translation: Wah, very beautiful. I don’t recognize you anymore!)
Kakak [jokingly introducing herself] : Yah, kamu. Kenalin, saya ….. (Oh, you. I’m … Nice to meet you)
Me [follow suit] : Ya, kenalin, saya ….. (Yes, I’m … nice to meet you too)

And so she waited for her new day and new chapter in life to start.

(p.s. A little trivia: If you are a lady still waiting for your other-half, you should try to steal at least one little 'melati' off the bride's hair. It is believed that it would speed up your love affairs.)

Journey into the night

Day 1 (Saturday 24th January 2009) – Returning home

No, I wasn’t about to return home. At least not my home (where ever that is). I was returning to Mutiara’s house

From the busy junction, with MP leading the way, we crossed the road, walked underneath an overhead bridge (which was actually the highway) to the other side of the highway. There we got on an ‘angkut’. The ‘angkut’ was quite full. Somehow we managed to fit in. Mutiara sat opposite me while MP sat next to me. Mutiara chatted. And unlike the previous visit, I could understand most of her chatters.

Along the way, some passengers got off. Leaving us with plenty of space. Before long we too got off and changed to another ‘angkut’. I recognized the ‘danau’ (a reservoir) that I had passed almost a year ago. I recognized a few buildings. Until finally Mutiara and MP yelled to the driver:

Mutiara & MP : Kiri, bang (To the left, Mister)

The ‘angkut’ stopped at the familiar junction in front of the gate to Mutiara’s house. We went through the gates. The same buildings greeted us. In the small wooded house was the same man I’ve met last year. He recognized me. We exchanged formalities before proceeding to Mutiara’s house.

Mutiara opened the door to her house. The living room remained the same. However, instead of showing me into the guest room, we went straight up to the upper floor. Everything was the same as my previous visit, except for one thing, they now have a computer corner, complete with a colour printer.

Mutiara introduced me to her cousin, D. From the living area, I could hear a lady singing in the bathroom. Mutiara told me that voice belongs to her younger sister, M. While waiting for them to get ready, I ate dinner. They also ‘fed’ me ‘pisang aroma’ (translated into fragrance banana). It’s actually fried banana wrapped in thin crispy pastry (similar to spring roll casing).

It was around 9pm when we – Mutiara, MP, D, M and me - finally left the house.

Day 1 (Saturday 24th January 2009) – Hopping

Hopping is the best word to describe what we did that night. No, we didn’t not go for club hopping.

The plan was to hop on a bus from Citeureup to UKI. From UKI, another bus to Bekasi, and finally, a taxi to the final destination, the groom’s house. And so we began our journey by hopping into ‘angkut’ back to the busy junction at the Citeureup. There we were, the five of us, waiting for the bus to UKI. Unfortunately, it was already late, and there’s no more bus to UKI.

MP decided that we need to hop on another ‘angkut’ to get to another place that would possibly still have bus. I lost track of the number of ‘angkut’ that we hopped on and off until we eventually got on a bus. I didn’t think we took the bus in UKI. Anyway, the five of us, finally got on a taxi and on our way to the groom’s house. It was almost 12am when we reached our destination for the night.

I had been on the road for almost twelve hours. I was tired and ready to turn the towel in. I dozed off almost immediately after my head landed on the pillow.

The journey continues

Day 1 (Saturday 24th January 2009) – Damri

After collecting my small pack, I headed out the arrival gate. I stopped by the rows of money changer and change a hundred Ringgit into Rupiah. I asked the man behind the counter where can I get a Damri. He gave some direction and off I went, brushing away taxi and ‘ojek’ touts.

What exactly is a Damri? It’s a bus service to and fro the Bandara (short for Bandar Udara also know as airport). It seemed that the first mode of public transport that you would see after passing the touts is car rentals and taxis. I had to ask a few people where was the Damri. I walked towards what seem to be the end of the airport. Until I finally found the signboard and eventually the ticket booth.

As instructed by Mutiara (via online chat and again, sms), I bought a ticket to Bogor. It cost me IDR 30 000. I sat on the bench and waited for the bus. Busses to all destinations seemed to have come, except to Bogor. I waited. And waited. I ‘sms’ed Mutiara telling her that I was still waiting for the bus. Not long after I sent the text, the bus arrived. It was probably around 5.30pm (sorry, on this journey I didn’t bring my Tungsten T5 to jot things down).

I sat next to a man.

Me: Maaf pak, bisa bantu nggak? (translation: Excuse me sir, can you help me?)
Man: Ya bisa. (Yes, of course)
Me: Bisa bantu turunin saya di Citeureup? (Can you help me to get off at Citeureup?)
Man: Ya bisa. Ntar kasi tau sama abang tiket. (Yes, of course. Later [we’ll] tell the ticket man)

That simple request helps to break the ice. His name is Nur. He works in a bauksite (the thingy used to make aluminium) mine somewhere in Kalimantan. He was on his day off to see his three children and wife in Sukabumi – about three hours bus ride from the airport. Though he didn’t look educated, he sounded educated. We talked about various things ranging from demographic in Malaysia, education system in Malaysia to guessing my age and even a little ‘personality reading’ of my name. According to him, my name indicates that I am a good leader, and I more often than not, do things my way. I’m not sure about the first part, but I sure do things my way quite often.

An hour and a half later, the bus exited the highway to Citeureup. I bid my goodbye to Bapak Nur. I secretly thank him for without his constant chat, I might have doze off and missed the stop. I gather my bags and got off the bus, on to the roadside. The bus continued to Bogor.

Day 1 (Saturday 24th January 2009) – Reunion

It was 7 pm and already dark. Unsure where to wait for Mutiara, I tried to telephone her. The call did not got through. I smsed her. Almost immediately she replied. She would be a little late because it rained. I was asked to stay put. And so I did. I stood at the corner of a chaotic road.

There were small stalls along the corner. The small stall on my right was selling some deep fried food. The stall on my right sold drinks, buns and cigarette. There were other stalls, but I couldn’t see what they were selling. The stall on my right was manned by a lady. She had two benches – one on each side of her stall – and two plastic stools.

My feet began to ache. I wanted to sit at the bench, but I felt guilty seating there for free. Feeling a bit thirsty, I bought a bottle of mineral water from the stall on my right.

Me: Berapa, bu? (How much, madam?)
Lady: Dua setengah (Two and a half)

Assuming that she meant IDR 2 500, I gave her IDR 3 000. True enough, she returned a little piece of coin – IDR 500 - to me. I sat on the bench and drank the water. I observed my chaotic surrounding. There were men helping to guide the traffic. Amazingly, even without the men, vehicles just knew when to stop (often at the nick of time). I regretted not putting my fisheye lens on the 400D beforehand. Taking out the camera and changing the lens by the roadside wasn’t really an option. I didn’t want to attract unwanted attention.


After waiting for about thirty minutes, I got a sms from Mutiara, asking my where-about. I replied and immediately stood by the roadside, just in case she had hard time finding me sitting down. I look left and right, unsure where she would come from. Turning my head right, I finally saw her walking with MP from across the road.

Unlike the first time we met, this time we forgo the formal handshake. Mutiara and I hugged like old friends.

It has begun

The invitation

Somewhere in December, Mutiara told me that Kakak was getting married to KP. Yes, thanks to the internet, we still keep in touch. She invited me to attend the wedding. But the dates weren’t set yet. In the weeks that followed, eventually the date was set and Mutiara got busy with the wedding preparation. I on the other hand, got busy with work and at the same time preparing for the trips (saving up money and scouting for the best air fare).

I wasn’t sure my boss would approve my leave. Nevertheless, I booked a flight ticket online. As the date drew nearer, I finally realized that it would be a long weekend break due to the Chinese New Year Holiday! So I just had to apply a day leave and to my surprised, it was approved with no question asked.

And so began yet another solo trip to Cibinong on Saturday 24th January 2009.

Day 1 (Saturday 24th January 2009) – Earful

I had initially wanted to take the bus to the airport. Unfortunately, I was caught in an unexpected traffic jams in my small town, while I was running some errands. Not to mention that I accidently left my international-roaming-enabled-phone on my bed. I had to turn back to pick it up, and by then, it was probably too late to take the bus. I had to ask mom to send me to meet my brother half way to the airport. Mom, only to be told about the trip two days before departure, grudgingly drops me off at the rendezvous point.

It was 12.30pm. I was calm. My flight is at 2.50pm. and the check-in counter closes 45 minutes before the flight. There were still plenty of time (but might not enough if I take the bus). But my brother was furious. He told me that I be in the airport two hours prior the departure time. He lectured me about the security check and clearance. In my previous travel to Indonesia, I never had any problem with security checks. Half an hour later, we reached the airport.

I got my bags scanned and queued at the check-in counter. The lady behind the counter was surprised that I checked-in my small pack instead of my big backpack. I told her that I have liquid in the small back. She understood and expressed her concern that the small pack might get damage or lost. To which I told her it’s okay, the bag contains only liquid in a plastic bottle. It’s my big backpack that I can’t afford to loose.

I got my boarding pass, got through another security check and in a few minutes, got cleared by the immigration. There were many people at the boarding hall. I still had plenty of time to kill. I found a seat, sat down and began to switch on my laptop. I still have plenty of downloaded e-mails to read. Then I realized that I need a power point if I still want to use the laptop onboard the airplane. I looked around and saw another westerner scouting a power point. We booth couldn’t find any near the seating area. I decided to save my battery for the two hours flight and switch off my laptop.

It was around 2.30pm when we started queuing to board the plane. I sat at the window seat, next to a Korean mother and son. The plane took off around 3.20pm, 30 minutes delayed from the scheduled time.

Day 1 (Saturday 24th January 2009) – Killing time in the sky

I had planned to watch some film downloaded into my laptop. Unfortunately, I forgot to take out my earphone. Among the cabin noise, the sound from my small laptop speaker was drowned. I couldn’t hear a thing. So I decide to continue reading my e-mails. And write offline replies. I also got started with some office documentation that needed to be done. However, I had to stop a few times. The flight was a bit bumpy. Perhaps due to some bad weather. Reading while in a bumpy ride caused me to have a little bit of a headache.

The Korean boy next to me dozed off almost throughout the two hours flight. The mom on the other hand woke up during some of those bumpy ride. She noticed the photo on my computer desktop. She commented how cute the little girl. Sensing her skepticism of the girl being my daughter (thought I’m old enough to have a school going child), I explained to her that it’s a photo of my little niece.

I continued with my work. The Korean lady took out a brown exercise book (the kind that have “Rukun Negara” written at the back cover), and began reading. Every now and then she took out an electronic dictionary. I glanced over and realized that she’s learning English. There’s a lot of commonly used English sentences written in the pages. I could make out some of the sentences. It wasn’t the simple basic English sentences. She’s probably in an intermediate level.

Before we knew it, it was time to land.

Day 4 (18/3/2008) - Delayed

Yes, I know the ending for Jakarta enteries is very much delayed. I promise, this is the last entry for Day 4. No, the taxi to the airport did not caused me to be delayed. In fact the taxi ride was uneventful. No “macet” nor road accident along the way.

It was a wonderful drive to the “bandara” (translation: airport). I chatted with the taxi driver (actually the taxi driver did most of the talking). Thanks to Mutiara, according to the taxi driver, I (finally) sounded like a local! Since I was speaking fairly slowly, the taxi driver had to follow my pace of talking. Hence, it gave me ample time to understand and then, participate in the conversation using the ‘formal’ Bahasa Indonesia.

I didn’t have any luggage to check-in. So by 4.30pm, I had safely passed the immigration check. I had almost two hours to kill. I did a mental arithmetic. The flight should take about two hours to get to Kuala Lumpur. Kuala Lumpur time is one hour ahead of Jakarta time. That would mean touching down in Kuala Lumpur at approximately 9.00pm Kuala Lumpur time. Great! I could take my dinner in Malaysia.

As I wandered from one airport shop to another, to kill my two hours (or so I thought), I found an electronic information board – the one that displays flight information. I was horrified to discover that my flight was rescheduled to 8.10pm! Coincidently, I had a dead mobile phone (I wasn’t sure if it was because I dropped it or because the charger was faulty). Tried the public phone at the airport, but for some reason I couldn’t get through to the people back home.

After a few futile attempts to contact those at home, I resigned my fate to the Almighty. Surprisingly I did not panicked at all. I contemplated on telephoning Mutiara to inform her of the ‘delay’ but decided against it. What could she do. She couldn’t ask the airplane to leave early just for me. Besides, I didn’t think I could talk to her without bursting into tears.

Another quick arithmetic made me to conclude that it would be too late to have dinner in Malaysia. So I headed to the food court. Nothing on the menu seemed to grab my appetite. At the end I settled for a cup of hot chocolate and two slices of smoked-salmon sandwiches. I ate only one slice of sandwiches and emptied my cup of hot chocolate. Packed the other slice of sandwiches into my backpack and continued to wandered at the terminal. Bought some souvenir for people back home. Like most shops in other airports, the prices were a bit more expensive if compared to shops at outside of the airport.

Tired of walking, I headed to the boarding gate. I spotted a row of chairs near the gate. A lady in her late forties or early fifties was sitting alone. I went near her:
Me: Maaf, bu. Ada orang? (Excuse me, ma’am. Is the seat taken?)
Lady: Nggak. Silakan. (No. Please sit.)

By then I was hungry again. So put down my backpack, and sat on a chair next to her. I took out my remaining sandwiches
Me [being polite]: Jemput makan, ya bu. (Have dinner ma’am.)
Lady: Terima kasih, silakan. (Thank you, enjoy your meal)

Once I finished my sandwiches, we somehow went into an engaging conversation. I was glad she understood English for my brain was kind of tired translating my thoughts into formal Bahasa Malaysia. Quite frankly, I don’t use formal Bahasa Malaysia in my daily live. She on the other hand, admitted that certain Bahasa Malaysia phrases sounds funny to her Indonesian ears. And so we chatted mostly in English.

The lady, HM, is a headmistress visiting her engineer sister who resides in Malaysia. Judging from my simple-no-brand clothes, she was surprised to find me able to speak fluent English with little difficulties. She thought I was still in high-school! I assured her that I was old enough to have a school-going child (which I might have if I was married). She was also surprised that I was bold and brave enough to go for a solo-backpacking trip to Jakarta.

Before we knew it, it was almost 8pm. We made our way to the boarding area. There was a short queue for a final security check. A few minutes later, we were in the boarding area, only to discover that the flight was further delayed! We took two seats facing each other and continued chatting. Near us was a loud group of Malaysian family – Mommy, Daddy, Aunty, teenage son, and two young sons.

The loud family were returning from a big shopping spree in Jakarta and Bandung. They asked us a few questions. But they were more interested in indulging themselves about the things they bought. I could see from HM’s face that it was somewhat hard for her to understand what the Malaysian family was saying. I told HM that it was a local Malaysian dialect.

The loud family was commenting on how cheap things were. And how they had spent at least RM 1000. They also discovered that some executives earn merely IDR 2Million (roughly around RM700). I quietly told them, after my ‘home-stay’ with Mutiara, IDR 2 Million, is a lot of money. HM too, agreed. In lower voice, HM and I doubted that their hired driver would have take them to similar places that I had been (the non-touristy places).

Weary of the loud family, we were glad when the boarding gate finally opened. We were taken on a bus to the waiting aeroplane. Since it was free seating, HM and I sat next to each other and continued chatting. The aeroplane finally left the tarmac around 9pm.

We reached Kuala Lumpur LCCT around 12am (Malaysian time). I gave my phone number and bid adieu to HM. After a little drama, I finally reach my brother’s place around 2am. With that, my four-days-trip finally ended!

Day 4 (18/3/2008) - Jamsostek

“Jamsostek” is short for “Jaminan Sosial Tenaga Kerja”. Our destination was the branch at Selemba area. We got off the “angkot” by a busy road and walked a few metres into the building compound.

The building itself was an old one storey building sandwiched between newer multiple storeys building. Not old as in dilapidated and run down but as in if-it-was-in-KL-it-would-be-torn-down-to-make-way-for-new-ones. Even thought it was old, it was well maintained. The relatively fresh coat of paint made it looked respectable.

The wooden door opened to a standard setting of counters-and-waiting-chairs. There were three counters. In front of each counter were two chairs. The rest of hall were rows and rows of chairs for people to sit while waiting for their turn.

‘Their turn’, as I quickly discovered, was not determined by any numbers nor queue. When we arrived, Mutiara’s second friend, T, was already seated at the counter for her ‘turn’. L quickly sat on the second chair next to T. While waiting for the two ladies, Mutiara explained to the concept of “Jamsostek”. From what I understood, it was similar to Malaysia’s Employee Providence Fund (EPF).

Some time later the two ladies joined us. They discussed something. They were too fast for me to understand. Then Mutiara went to the counter to check how much money was under her name. It seemed that among the three ladies, L has the most. Unfortunately, like Mutiara, L, didn’t have all the papers with her.

After a little suggestion (or more like persuasion) from the other two ladies, L decided to get the papers and get everything done that day. So we left the “Jamsostek”. It was a hot noon. Surprisingly no “angkot” for our route passed by. Since time was of the essence – we need to return to the office before the counter closed – suggested that we take a taxi. Mutiara stopped a taxi. She sat at the front seat. I sat behind the driver with L on my left and T at the other window.

The girls were very ‘chatty’. I gathered that they haven’t seen each other for quite a while. Again, they were all too fast for me to understand. Besides, they weren’t using the formal Bahasa Indonesia, which made it even harder for me to comprehend. They girls were very animated, so much so, eventually the taxi driver joined the conversation.

Again, Mutiara noticed that I seemed to listen more than I seemed to talk. She told everyone in the taxi about my comprehension problem. Actually, even when I did understand the conversation, it was kind of hard for me to reply them. I had to construct my sentences in the formal Bahasa Malaysia, which I don’t really use except when writing formal letters. Had I used the my daily Malay, I doubt they would understand me as well as they did.

Anyway, we dropped L somewhere in an area near to her house. From the point where we dropped her off, she would have to take other public transport to actually get to her house. The three of us continued in the taxi and got off at a shopping complex, Gajah Mada Plaza. While waiting for L, we managed to squeeze in a little last minute shopping. As much as I dislike shopping, I needed to buy something for people back home.

Before we knew it, we were done shopping with plenty of time to spare. We headed to “Gloria Jean’s Coffees” near the entrance. The girls decided that we should have some drinks and seat at the coffee shop while waiting for L. I couldn’t agree more. I haven’t had any good chocolate drink since I arrived in Jakarta. The one I had in “Dunkin’ Donut” the previous had more sugar than chocolate. Without hesitation, I ordered a cup of hot chocolate (that came with a marshmallow). Mutiara ordered a glass of mango juice and T, a glass of what looked to me like an ice-blended. I “traktir” them. And to my surprise, everything cost only around IDR 42 000 (with my hot chocolate making half of the price). That would roughly converted to less that RM 15.00 which if in “Gloria Jean’s Coffee” Malaysia could probably buy my hot chocolate only.

I was finishing my heavenly cup of hot chocolate when L finally arrived. We took a taxi and made our way to the “Jamsostek” only to find that the counters were closed for lunch. Left with little choice, we went for lunch at the business complex next to the “Jamsostek”. The air-conditioned restaurant looked exclusive. It was the kind of restaurant that the waiter would greet you and ask how many people dining. Seeing the ‘look’ in the waiter face (except for L, we were more or less not dressed-up), I can’t help but spoke in English: “Table for four, please”.

There were plenty of empty tables. So we picked a table next to the window. I ordered “Nasi Uduk”. I can’t remember what the girls ordered, but they all ordered same kind of meal. Theirs arrived at the same time while I had to wait a little longer for mine. “Nasi Uduk” turn out to be something similar to Malaysian “Nasi Lemak”. Among the “lauk” was chicken (which I passed to Mutiara’s plate), egg, and vegetable. We had earlier told the waiter not to put “sambal” (sort of hot spicy side-dish). The rice was good, but unfortunately I couldn’t each much because the harmless-looking-vegetable was actually laced with burning-hot chillies.

After lunch, we returned to the office. Mutiara and I left the two ladies around 3pm. We made our way back to MP house. I had a 6.10pm flight to catch. I should be at the airport 2 hours before the boarding time to settle all the check-in and immigration stuff.

A short rest at MP house was followed by goodbyes. Mutiara and I hugged goodbye as if we were old friends. As I hugged her, I could feel her ‘trembling’. I knew, I should made it a quick goodbye, otherwise we would both broke into tears. And so I hopped into the taxi and left.

Day 4 (18/3/2008) - T-shirt and Jeans

That was what Mutiara wore. MP and I had just finished checking out our driving license when she arrived. I had expected her to be formally dressed. She had mentioned that the errand was some sort of paper work at a government office. Unfortunately she couldn't run her errand because of some incomplete documents. I could see in her eyes that she was kind of agitated. She could have stayed over the night had she know the documents weren't ready yet.

Anyway, we were still going to the government office. We were going to meet two of her friends. Leaving behind my big hiking bag, we left MP’s place. At the main road, we got on an "angkot". I lost track of our route. We soon arrived at a busy crossroad. There seemed to be cars, motorcycles, van, buses, and "angkot" from every direction. Above us was a new and huge pedestrian bridge. We waited at a bus stop under the bridge.

Soon, a lady with a very fair skin and long straight hair, walked toward us. She could be considered attractively dressed. Not like the two ladies out-of-fashion-magazine previous day, but nevertheless "cakep". I met Mutiara’s first friend. L, as she would be known from now, is an Indonesian Chinese – which explained her fair skin.

After a brief introduction by Mutiara, the three of us made our way to an ‘angkot’ across the road. I thought we would be using the pedestrian bridge above us. I should have taken the cue when Mutiara held my left hand. Immediately after one of the traffic lights turned red (there seemed to be many traffic lights at the crossroad), we dashed across what seemed to be 6 lanes road! We crossed yet another road (a smaller one) and hopped into an ‘angkot’.

As I sat, I could felt that my heart was still racing, even though my legs had stopped running. Eventually I calmed down. Mutiara chatted with L. I fell into my habit of keeping quiet. Mutiara noticed, and she told L that I couldn’t understand them if they talk too fast. I laughed. I explained to them that it was sort of my habit to just keep quiet and just listen. Before long, we reached our destination.

Day 4 (18/3/2008) - ‘Checking out’ and ‘Check out’

‘Checking out’ is like looking and examining something. ‘Check out’ is what I had to do on the morning of Day 4. After tossing and turning, it was finally time to get off the bed and hit the shower.

Then I went down to the coffee house for breakfast (of course after properly dressed!). Except for a guy at reception, the lobby was kind of deserted. The coffee house was dark. I went to the reception and checked if I got the right place for breakfast. Yes. Perhaps I was early. I returned to the coffee house then realized that there were some waiters behind the dimly lit counter. And the breakfast 'buffet' already 'spreaded' on a small table.

The breakfast ‘buffet’ was simple – fried rice and porridge. There was nothing wrong with the rice but it was kind of ‘hard’. I prefer my rice to be ‘soft and fluffy’. I ate a few spoon-full. I should have eaten the porridge before the fried rice because the porridge actually tasted better. Could have eaten more (of the porridge) if my stomach wasn’t already filled with the fried rice.

I returned to my room. As in Mutiara’s house, I looked around the room a few times to make sure I didn’t left anything. Satisfied, I went down to the reception and checked out of the hotel. During Mutiara visit on the previous night, we made new plans. I was to meet her at MP’s house. I would leave my luggage there. We would meet her friends, run some errants and go for a last sightseeing in Jakarta. She gave me a piece of paper stating the location of MP’s house. Even after rehearsing the pronunciation, I didn’t think I could pronounce (hence remember) the name.

I got out of the hotel gate, onto the sidewalk of the main road. After a short while I saw ‘bajaj’. I hailed (more like waved) for it. It stopped. I showed “Abang Bajaj” (translation: the ‘driver’) the paper. I tried to ‘negotiate’ the price. The fact that I wasn’t a local must be obvious - I was in front of a hotel with a hiking backpack and my cheap-looking-canvas backpack. He drew a hard bargain. Couldn’t get the price suggested by Mutiara. I only got as low as IDR 10 000. I agreed to it anyway. Off I went on my solo ride in the 'bajaj'.

Similar to the train ride previous day, I got to see life ‘unfolded’ in the morning. Children in school uniforms. People going to offices. I took out my DSLR and began snapping a few photos. Later on the flight homebound, I was told it was sort of dangerous to do so. I ran the risk of being mugged by dubious characters that might lurk on the road. That really explained the weird face of “Abang Bajaj” reflected by the side mirrors.

I reached my destination without any untoward incidents - still oblivious to the risk I just took. I returned my DSLR into my cheap-looking canvass bag before I alighted the 'bajaj'. I gave MP a call from a nearby wartel (that’s short for “warung telefon” or telephone kiosk) where instead of putting coins, you pay at the counter after you use the phone.

I waited MP in front of a small grocery shop. The shop owner invited me to sit on a stool next to his shop. Not wanting to look very lost, I chewed on a bun I bought from the shop. I didn’t know where to look. Wondered where he would come from, left from the many houses, or right from the main road where a church stood.

Three bites into my bun, I saw MP coming towards me. We walked to his house, stopping at a lady selling local patries or “kuih-muih”. He greeted the lady and picked a few “kuih”. To my amazement, we left without paying. It was only while continuing our walk that he told me that the lady was her aunt.

When we reached his house, I was introduced to more of his families. No thanks to my quietness and reserve-ness, MP and I fell into some awkward silences. Somehow the conversation turned into cars. I told him that I have a second hand ‘kapchai’ and a second hand car. From him, I discovered a shocking truth: if our math was right, my second hand car is about the same price of a Mercedes (I can’t remember what series) in Indonesia!

Besides that, it is cheaper to get a driving license (for motorcar and motorbike) in Indonesia than in Malaysia. However, renewing a Malaysian driving license is cheaper due to the fact all class (motorcar, motorbike, lorry etc.) is on the same license. Indonesians have separate license for each class. Imagine how thick you wallet would be if you have license to drive five different classes of vehicles!

We ended up ‘checking out’ each others driving license. I have to admit, my laminated pieces of license looked cheap and fake next to his thick, bar coded, license or what they call SIM, short for “Surat Ijin Memandu” (loosely translated into: permission letter for driving). Even so, I much rather have my cheap and fake looking license, because it is thinner and fits nicely in my wallet.

Day 3 (17/3/2008) - Kantor

A few minutes of uneventful ride in the bajaj was all it took to get to Mutiara’s “kantor” (that’s Indonesian’s for office). The office is situated in a business centre in Kemang. The area, as told by a taxi driver later, is a favourite spot among the expatriates. Houses there are predominantly occupied by expatriates.

Her office is located on the first floor (that’s second floor if you are using American system) of the two-storey building. The office is simple and neat. There is area for administration, a training room, and a reception area. The reception area doubled as the library. Plenty of books. I had a great time browsing the books there. And could have continued the whole day. Unfortunately three nights of sleeplessness finally caught up with me. I began to feel a little dizzy.

At first I thought I felt dizzy because I hadn’t had lunch. But when the dizziness continued even after lunch. I knew I had to lie down for a while. Mutiara accompanied me to the main road and helped to hail for a ‘Bluebird’. I got on the taxi and off I went to the hotel. We planned to meet at the hotel later.

As the taxi drove, I traced our route in my little map. We passed Malaysian Embassy. We also passed the famous Monas (that’s short for “Monument Nasional” or National Monument). As we passed the Monas, I can’t help but compare it with Malaysian National Monument (also known as “Tugu Negara”). Here in Jakarta, the Monas was visible from the main road. ‘Tugu Negara’ on the other hand, is tucked away on an almost remote hill away from any public transport lines.

Anyway, after a little guessing game with the taxi driver – we didn’t know whether the hotel was up north or down south of the road – I safely reached the hotel. I thought of doing a little unpacking and taking a little nap before heading out to see more of Jakarta. Unfortunately that plan had to be shelved. By the time I woke up, it was already dark. Mutiara came to the hotel but couldn't stay over. So I spent the rest of the night trying to get the much-needed sleep.

That restless night, reminded me of my travelling companions who at one point of our travel together, drugged me to sleep (with flu medication). I wished I had brought something similar to Jakarta.

Day 3 (17/3/2008) - Singing in the train

It wasn’t a typo. I typed ‘train’ and not ‘rain’ because I wasn’t referring to an old film (‘Singing in the rain’). Someone did sing in the train. We were making ourselves comfortable on the bench when I heard a soulful female voice singing an Indonesian Oldie. Then there was a male voice. It was a duet accompanied by simple strumming of a guitar. I couldn’t remember the title, it was a sad song.

Then I caught the sight of the couple at one end of the coach. A blind couple. The woman’s voice was great. I couldn’t help but think that if they have good looks, they could make good money singing instead of busking in the train. The blind couple walked on to the next coach (I did enjoyed their rendition of the song, hence I paid them when the passed me).

Passengers began to pack the coach. Mutiara sat on my right. A few feet on my left was the open door. I was really glad that there were some men between the open door and me. I didn’t think my heart could endure the pounding and the suspense from seating next to the open door. The funny thing is that some years ago (what now seemed to be a different lifetime), I used to have no problem standing at the open door of a speeding train with my little hands holding on the railing near the door.

The train had just left the station. While chatting with Mutiara, I noticed a guy across the isle, handing out small packets of what looked like shampoo. I thought he was handing out free sample as people normally do in Kuala Lumpur. But I was puzzled when the same man return to collect the ‘sample’ and passengers voluntarily returned the sample. Mutiara explained that passengers are free to examine the sample, and pay if they decided to keep the sample. To this I replied that in Kuala Lumpur, if people give (as in put in your hands) small ‘sample’ packets, most of the time it’s free.

At some point of the ride, two beautiful ladies stood in front of us. Both were impeccably dressed in black (or at least in that same tone). One was wearing pants and the other skirt – or more like a little black dress. Their fair skins were accentuated by their black clothes. The lady in the pants had a paper bag bearing the word ‘MANGO’

Nothing wrong with them, but among the ordinary looking people in the coach, the two “cakep” (that’s attractive in Indonesian) ladies looked out of place. They looked like they came out of a fashion magazine. Thanks to fashion and brand conscious friends, I know that ‘MANGO’ is the same with ‘MNG’ in Malaysia. I don’t buy anything from the shop, correction, boutique, but I do know that the clothes from the MNG probably cost one-month salary of some people in the coach.

Anyway, about the same time the “cakep” lady in skirt got off the train, a lady with a small girl boarded the train. They stood near the open door. The little girl practically clung to her mother. Fearing the safety of the little girl, I immediately stood up and surrender my seat to them.

It was while standing did I really look out of the window. It was sort of an assault to my senses. The houses were built very close to the railway track. So close that I thought the train could scrape off some roofs or walls. I was worried for the house dwellers. Again, Mutiara assured me thing were as normal as they should be.

The lady and the little girl got down. I got my seat back. A few stations later, we got off the train. I think it was at Pasar Minggu Station. After being disoriented for a few minutes at the station, Mutiara managed to lead the way to a busy road where we got on an “angkotan”.

Then we got off at a less busy road and waited for a “bajaj” (a three wheel motor taxi). We could have taken an “ojek” (a motorbike ‘taxi’) each as there were plenty waiting. But pillion-riding motorbike with a stranger is a strange (no pun intended) concept to me. So we patiently waited for a “bajaj”. Jakarta might have one of the best-connected networks of public transport because before we could break into sweats, a “bajaj” came along. And off I went with Mutiara on my first ride in a “bajaj”.

Day 3 (17/3/2008) - Suicidal

My mental capacity was (and I think, still is) intact. I wasn't about to commit suicide. I’m not a pious person, but in my religion, suicide is a big no-no. Imagine how I felt when I saw people, including teenagers (or “abege” in Indonesian, short for “anak baru gedek”) in school uniforms sitting in the middle of the rail track!

I told her, if someone does that in any Malaysian railway station, not only the police would come. They’ll bring the ambulance too. Instead of ending up in the police cell, that person might ended up in a sanatorium for some psychiatric evaluation. Mutiara assured me that they weren’t suicidal. Everything was as normal as it should be. Those were just how things are.

A few minutes later, true to her words, those people on the track scrambled away when the train arrived. We boarded the non-air-conditioned coach. There were two bench-like seats lined against the two sides of the coach. We managed to get a seat. The doors remained open throughout the journey. There were passengers sitting at the doors, with their feet dangling outside, despite the sign on top of the door forbidding people doing so. There were people peddling snacks (and even vcds) in the coach. There were also people begging.

Above the noise, Mutiara explained to me that we were heading to Bogor train station (opposite direction of Jakarta). It was sort of the end of the line. From there, we would take a train to Jakarta - just to make sure we would get a seat. I told her that I used to take train to work too. But my town is at the end of the line. So, I had no problem in getting a seat. But I had problem in retaining the seat. I tend to give my seat to elderly people, pregnant ladies, and all sort of people. Due to this, I got tired of taking the train and changed my mode of commuting to express buses.

I think two stations later, we reached Bogor. We got off the train, onto the concrete platform. We had to buy the tickets to Jakarta from the counter at the other side of the track. Like the previous station, there were people on the track. I looked around to find overhead bridge to cross the track. None. When I saw Mutiara walking down the stairs toward the track, I realized that I need to walk across the track to get to the counter. I looked to my left and right a few times, then, with heart pounding, I tailed Mutiara across two railway tracks.

She bought the tickets to Jakarta and asked the ticket man which platform would the train be. It was the same platform we came from. And so, with the same anxiousness, I followed Mutiara, crossing the track. The same train we were on, was heading to Jakarta. We shouldn’t have gotten of the first train because by then, it was full.

Not wanting to stand in the train, Mutiara decided that we should wait for the next train. We crossed the track, again, and headed to a “Dunkin Donout” kiosk. I “traktir” (that’s Indonesian for ‘treating someone for a meal’) Mutiara for breakfast. I was about to finish my tuna croissant when the train arrived. Mutiara packed her muffin and we rushed across the track and into the train. Thanks to polite Indonesian men who move aside to make room for us, we managed to sit.

As I sat, I quietly thank God for giving me a strong heart, otherwise it would not be able to handle all the pounding so early in the morning. I was also glad that we had eaten our breakfast. At least I have a full stomach should we need to do more ‘suicidal attempts’.

Day 3 (17/3/2008) - Monday blues

Just like the previous night, I had trouble sleeping. Remembering that it was a working day for the rest of the family, I tiptoed out of the room and headed to the bathroom downstairs. I didn't want anybody to be late for work just because there was an extra person queuing for the bathroom.

Monday in Malaysia would mean that I have to leave home extra early for work. Otherwise I would be caught in the massive Monday morning traffic jams. The same rules applied to my host family. By 5am, Kakak, KP, and Mutiara's mom were ready to leave for work. Unsure whether I should hug them, I settled for a universal business-like-handshake for goodbyes.

I returned to the guest room and continued with my packing. Thanks to MP’s excellent bargaining skill, I bought a few clothes from the “pasar kaget”. Since I only brought a small bag, I had to carefully pack and fold everything to fit into the small backpack. While I was busy packing, I heard MP leaving the house.

Once I fit everything into my small backpack, I looked around to see if I had accidentally left anything. Close friends would know that I have a tendency to leave things behind – which included myself at an international border during some point of our travels together. I checked and double-checked. Satisfied, I went upstairs to wait for Mutiara.

There she was, getting ready for work. I was kind of anxious for her. It was, after all, a working day for her. She had mentioned earlier that normally MP would send her to work on Mondays. However, since I was around, she and I would go to Jakarta together. I didn’t want her to be late because of me. She assured me that it would not be a problem. She took her time, said her morning prayer, and if I wasn’t mistaken, changed into three different blouses before finally settled for the one that she like.

It was around 6.30 am when we left the house. Before closing the door, Mutiara asked whether I had everything with me and left nothing behind. To this, my answer was, if I did left anything, it would be hers. We walked to the main road and hopped on an “angkutan”. Instead of heading toward the Cibinong Terminal, we headed the opposite direction. The “angkutan” picked up and dropped off passengers along the way. We chatted throughout the ride. My weird accent might have drawn the gazes from fellow passengers. Not to forget, my bulging-backpack. I must have looked like someone running away from somewhere.

Mutiara and I got down by a roadside. She had mentioned that we would be riding "kereta" (in Malaysia that would meant a 'car' but in Jakarta it means a 'train'). But I couldn’t see any railway station. With Mutiara leading the way, we walked through a small damp lane sandwiched by little shops on both sides. It wasn’t much of a lane. More like a walkway. The shops sell mostly groceries, and foodstuff (such as vegetables and onions). The shops’ roof shaded the walkway from direct sunlight, making it a little dark. I felt like walking through wet market.

At the end of the dark was light. Cliché. But that was how I felt. There it was, the railway station. It wasn’t a big station, more like a platform. Something like “Hentian Putra” of KTM commuter but at the same time nothing likes it. The scene I saw, resembles nothing of the usual scene in any KTM commuter station. I thought it was because of ‘Monday blues’. No. According to Mutiara it was a normal scene. And yes, I was “kaget” to see what I saw.

(p.s. This post was written earlier than the next post. But due to writer's block, it was not published earlier. Sorry for the delay, and stay tuned to know what I saw.)

Day 2 (16/3/2008) - Lesehan

"Lesehan" s the place they picked to eat breakfast. In the previous entry I mentioned that I was"kaget" with their choice of place to eat. Mainly because as similar as "pasar kaget" with "pasar minggu" in Malaysia, I've never seen similar concept as "lesehan" in any of Malaysian "pasar". Among the stalls at the "pasar kaget" were stalls selling cooked food. What so different about the foodstall when compared to the ones found in Malaysia?

The first thing that caught my attention was the size of the stall. It was very small. It was more of a pushcart. Most probably half the size of a standard "gerai burger" in Malaysia. I would say, even stalls selling drinks in Malaysia is bigger than the foodstall in the "pasar kaget". Each stall sell one type of dish.

Mutiara picked a stall selling "somai". Behind the stall was a young lady. She order three plates of "somai" for herself, MP and me. Kakak and KP were to join us later. I didn't see any table or chairs for us to sit. With Mutiara leading the way, we walked passed the pushcart. There, behind the pushcart, on the side walk, beneath a big shady tree, was a mat. On the mat were a few cups of mineral water, neatly arranged. We sat crossed leg, circling the mineral water.

While waiting for our food, I told Mutiara that there's foodstalls in Malaysian "pasar minggu" too. However, we don't eat on mats. Food stalls in Malaysia have at least plastic foldable tables and chairs for the customers. If there's not enough tables, patrons would have to shares table with stangers. Soon we were joined by Kakak and KP who bough two bowls of rice porridge from a stall nearby.

Thanks to Indonesian Sinetron airing in Malaysian television, I've heard the word "somai" a few times prior coming to Jakarta. I've always curious to know what it was. When a plate finally arrived, I looked at it curiously. It was totally covered with peanut sauce. I poked it to examine what underneath the sauce.

There were rice cakes (Indonesian called "ketupat" while I would call it "nasi impit"), white noodles, and bean sprout. As I was on non-spicy vegetarian diet, I think Mutiara's plate would have some meat and chili paste. The peanut was grinded till it was really smooth. Unlike Malaysian "kuah kacang" that still need some chewing, the peanut sauce in the "somai" was very smooth that you could just drink it. Accustomed to 'soft' noodle, I couldn't stomach the hard white noodle. I didn't eat much of the bean sprout either. Perhaps beacause both (white noodle and bean sprout) appeared to be a little uncooked to me. Normally at home, I would eat the bean sprout. But not wanting to get sick while travelling, I avoid eating dubious food. I finished off the "ketupat". And washed everything down with a cup of mineral water.

How much did three plates of "somai" and three cups of mineral water at a "lesehan" cost?: IDR 14 000.

While that might be a fair price to pay for locals but for someone who has been living in Malaysia, that was very cheap! IDR 14 000 is roughly less than MYR 5. The same amount of money would probably buy a breakfast for me, alone, at the office cafeteria.

After breakfast, we continued walking and window shopping at the market. The "pasar kaget" must have been the most happening place in the area. With families bringing their children. House wives shopping. Everyone was in their relax and casual attire. When some one smartly dressed passed by (we only saw two groups), they immediately stood out of the crowd. With my simple clothes, I blended in well - except when I started to talk. Try as hard as I did, I couldn't hide the fact that I was not a local.

Before we knew it, by the time we return 'home' we had spent more than 2 hours at the market. Mutiara's mom was already busy at the kitchen preparing lunch. I saw a wok of boiling coconut milk. In it was some peanuts. I enquired what she was cooking. She did mention the name, unfortunately what I can't pronounce, I can't remember. I also asked if she needed any help. She told me that she was okay and insisted that I hang out in the living room.

Initially Mutiara had wanted to take me out to somewhere after lunch before sending me back to the hotel. Unfortunately it rained. So we chilled out and unwind at 'home'. Actually it was more of MP and I who were chilling out and did nothing. Mutiara, on the other hand, sort out her laundry (ironing, folding) while at the same time chatting. Kakak and KP went out (on a date). And Mutiara's mom went for her evening Sunday mass.

The rest of the day was spent chatting and watching television. And of course Mutiara trying to entice me into eating some local dishes which included "pisang coklat" (spring roll filled with banana). I spent another night at Mutiara's house.

Day 2 (16/3/2008) - Kaget

"Kaget" is an Indonesian word. In Bahasa Malaysia it is "terkejut" (loosely translates into suprised / shocked). My day started at 4.30am. Not because I was suprised / shocked. Neither were there anything wrong with the mattress nor the room. It's just that I tend to have sleeping problem every now and then. I tossed and turned, trying to get some more sleep. Everyone else were sound asleep (Mutiara's mom didn't let me sleep alone in the guest room downstair). So there I was, tossing and turning, but at the same time trying hard not to wake the rest of the family.

I finally tiptoed out of the room when I heard the call of Subuh prayer from nearby mosque. In fact from the echoes, I think there were a few mosques nearby. I went down to the guest room. I took a bath. The water was cold. I was chilled to the bones. As I lay in bed to get myself warm, I heard the sisters leaving for their Sunday mass. It was probably fifteen minutes to 6am.

I must have dozed off. The next thing I heard was Mutiara's mom sweeping the house compound. Thinking of helping her, I went out. However, by the time I saw her, she had already finished sweeping. She offered me the drinks that she had prepared earlier before continuing with her laundry. Before I could drink, I started coughing and coughing. I retreated to the guest room. Lucky for me I brought Mr Puffer along. I lay down in bed while waiting for Mr Puffer to do its magic. Before I knew it, I fell asleep.

I was awaken by the sound of Mutiara's anklet. She came into the room to check me out. I think her mom told her about my coughs. She was smartly dressed - wearing a blaus and a skirt. She enquired if everything was okay. Naturally I would say yes because by then I had stopped coughing. We would go out for breakfast after she changes her clothes. And so we did. The five of us - Mutiara, her "pacar" (who from now on will be known as MP), Kakak, her "pacar" (KP) and me. Mutiara's mom didn't come along. According to Mutiara, her mom wanted to go to the market.

We walked out to the small main road. Then we proceed to walk along it. 'Along' is not exactly the right word. It was more like we hogged one whole lane. I was sceptical. I walked at the leftmost side of the road (closest to the sidewalk). I asked Mutiara if it was okay to walk in the middle of the road and why weren't we using the sidewalk. She said it was okay because it was a weekend. On weekdays, they use the side walk. No sooner than she finished her sentences, we were honked by a MPV-kind-of-van.

Mutiara was kind of angry with the van. She gave the driver a dagger-like-stare. She was saying some thing along the line that driver was the guilty one (of course the whole time it happened, the driver had the window closed so whoever in the van couldn't hear us). At the back of my head, I couldn't stop laughing the irony of the situation. It was us who hogged the lane. The van had every right to honk us!

After a few minutes walk, we reached our destination: "Pasar Kaget". According to Mutiara, this 'instant' market place only happened on weekends. Stalls were set up along some roads. Various things were sold. Clothes, accessories, cooking utensils, and even pets. But no raw ingredient (like meat, and vegetables). I told Mutiara that in Malaysia the markets that happen on weekends are called "Pasar Minggu". Then there are markets that happen at nights ("Pasar Malam"), and markets specially for farmers to sell their produce ("Pasar Tani"). The scene in "Pasar Kaget" greatly resembled the scene of "Pasar Minggu".

While walking through the crowd, they made sure that I walked in the middle of them and not got lost or left behind. I saw some familiar "kueh" (pastry). "Kueh ketayap" as it is widely known in Malaysia, is called "dadar unti" (I think I got the name right). There were a few unfamiliar things that I saw. But I was more "kaget" when they finally picked a place to eat!

Day 1 (15/3/2008 evening) - Into the unknown

After our brief introduction, Mutiara immediately took me to the terminal next to the department store. It was not a bus terminal. But terminal for "angkutan". To my untrained eyes, all "angkutan" looks the same - blue low-cost-non-air-condition-MPV converted to ferry more people than the conventional MPV. I followed her into an "angkutan". Apparently each MPV has numbers that correspond to certain routes. Very much like the pink mini buses that used to ply various routes in Kuala Lumpur. So there I was, following a 'stranger' into an "angkutan", clueless as to where exactly we were heading.

I only told the hotel front desk that I was heading to Cibinong. I 'sms'ed my brother in Malaysia telling him I was heading to Bogor (Cibinong is least likely to appear in any tourist brochure). The thought of being kidnapped and never to return home did crossed my mind. But if I'm fated not to return home, it could even happen in Malaysia. So I let the Almighty decides. Besides, the young lady gave me no negative vibes (I tend to pick up vibes from people I met, good or bad, imagined or otherwise).

Mutiara is a petite young lady. No taller than I, she could pass as a high school student. Her friendliness helped in breaking the ice. I was really glad that she was talkative. Otherwise we would have fallen into awkward silences for I'm a quiet person. She did most of the talking in the "angkutan". Amidst the noise in the "angkutan", her fast paced Bahasa Indonesia was lost to me. I couldn't exactly understood all her sentences. I think she was telling me how worried she was for me. But what the ears couldn't hear, the eyes could see. I could see sincerity in her face.

A few minutes later she asked the "angkutan" to stop. I soon found out that the word to say is not "berhenti (stop)". To stop, the locals say "kiri (left)". We got down by the road side. It was small two-lane road. But motorcycles, cars and "angkutan" seemed to drive fairly fast. We sort of dashed across the road.

Mutiara opened a gate (about the height of my waist). We walked along a short driveway - enough to fit a car. Then we came upon another gate. This one is higher and I couldn't see what was behind it. She slided the gate to the right. Just enough to let her petite body in. Normally the such ajar opening could fit me too. But that day I was carrying a backpack. I had to push the gate open. It was heavy. And earlier Mutiara did it effortlessly!

The gate opened to two houses. The big white house on the right seemed to be the main house. Opposite it was a small one room wooden house. We stopped for a while to meet a man whose name sounded like mine, his wife and his toddler. I assumed that he either rent there or worked there. At the porch of the big house was a man, fiddling with his bike. Mutiara briefly introduced me as her friend from Malaysia when we walked pass the man. We walked along the pathway, around the big house and through a small gate.

The gate and pathway lead to a huge lawn full of various trees. In the middle of the lawn is another big white house. The lawn could easily fit two medium-cost-KL-terrace-houses. My house could probably be half the size of the house. Mutiara opened the wooden door to reveal a simple living room with teak furnitures. She showed me the guest room. Though the furniture was simple - a single bed on the left, a study at the middle, and two cupboards - the room was big. Perhaps equivalent to my living room at home.

Mutiara introduced me to her elder sister, who came down from the upper floor (and whom from now on will be referred to as Kakak). Mutiara continued with her chores (sweeping, dusting etc.) while her sister chatted with me. Quite frankly I was glad that they were the ones who did most of the talking and asking. Otherwise, I wouldn't know what to talk about. They asked me about music and local (Indonesia / Malaysian) band. I admitted that I don't follow the entertainment scenes. Among the few update that I could give them was that 'Amy Search' won a million ringgit suit against a label company.

Once Mutiara was done with her chores, they both got ready. On our way out, we stopped by the small one room house. A lady was frying what Malaysian called "rempeyek / tempeyek" (local 'chips' with ground nuts on it). I told the sisters that in Malaysia there's a few variation for the 'toppings' - small red beans or small green beans or lentils. I had a hard time describing lentil to them. It is widely known as 'dal' in Malaysia. We couldn't find the Indonesia word for it. Only on my flight home did I finally discover that it is called "kedelai".

We walked a few metres to the main road. Not even five minutes later, an "angkutan" arrived. The three of us got on to it. We chatted and chatted. It is lost to me what we talked about. But they were both warm and friendly. Before long, we got down. I thought we had reached our destination. But no. We hopped into yet another "angkutan". As in the earlier bus in Cibinong, busker got into both "angkutan". They sang a short song and got off before the "angkutan" continued its journey.

Soon we reached the small town of Bogor. We went into a 'mall'. We stopped at a booth near the entrance. The booth specialized in selling MP3s for cellphones and printing photos from cellphones. The counter doubled as computer table. There were four monitors under the clear glass top. Customers use a mouse to preview the songs. The holes at the side of the table allowed sound to escaped from a concealed speaker. I thought the sisters wanted to buy the MP3s for the phone. I was mistaken. Turned out they were actually printing some photos from their cellphones.

Kakak asked me if I want to buy anything. As I don't normally shop, I couldn't think of anything to buy. Mutiara explained to her sister, that I, similar to Mutiara, don't like to shop. And so we proceed to do the next item on the list - buy a VCD. I had earlier told Mutiara that I wanted to buy "Denias Senandung Di Atas Awan (Denias Singing in the Cloud)". Not wanting to be caught 'importing' pirated VCD, we went to a proper VCD shop. I bought the original. The cost? It was about RM10. Other originals CDs and VCDs were equally cheap (when compared to Malaysian market price). But me being me, it never occurred in my mind to buy them.

Once I got my VCD (by the way, it is in Bahasa Indonesia, without subtitle), we went to a small lane across the road. The girls were careful to walk with me. They ensured that I was in between them and not left behind all the time. The word "Petaling Street" crossed my mind the minute we were in the small lane. Except for the fact that it was only one lane, all the other ambiance mimic that street in Kuala Lumpur. Kakak stopped at a stall to buy "VCD bajakan (pirated VCD)". I shall not reveal the title, but according to Mutiara, it is a film currently being screened in local "bioskop (cinema)". Later I told the sisters that most of the time I buy original VCDs if they are from local artists / producers. If the VCDs from "bule (foreigners)", I don't mind buying pirated copies because the foreigners are already rich.

We returned 'home' the same way we came. By "angkutan". At the place we switched to another "angkutan", Mutiara stopped to buy some "kuih" (loosely translates as pastry). She bought donuts. At the shop, I saw the sign "murtabak". In Malaysia "murtabak" would be a mixture of egg and beef (of chicken) wrapped in thin dough. I didn't see any familiar looking cooking utensil. What I saw was only a hot pan and a bowl of flour mixture. Mutiara noticed my curios look. She inquired if I would like to buy it. No. But I asked her what it was. She described it. Once she was done, I told her, in Malaysia, we called it "apam balik". Then proceed to describe her how "murtabak" looks like. To that she replied, "Itu murtabak telur (that's murtabak telur)".

By the time we reached her house, it was time for dinner. We stopped by a "Padang" restaurant. I ordered white rice with squid (or what they called "cumi") and tapioca ("singkong") shoot. The sisters didn't eat. I didn't really know why. Perhaps it was still too early for them to have dinner. A funny thing happened when the waiter took the order for my drink:
waiter: Mau minum apa mbak? (what would you like to drink, miss?)
me: [on the way to the sink to wash my hands, looked at the waiter] Air kosong. (plain water)
waiter: [stared blankly back at me]
me: Air suam. (warm water) [continued to walked at the sink]

I didn't realized my blunder. Later, at home, that night, when we were joined by Mutiara's "pacar" (steady boyfriend), Kakak's "pacar", and Mutiara's mom, did it was revealed to me. Locals call 'plain water' as "air putih". When I said "air kosong" everyone thought I was asking for an empty glass! I explained to everyone the rationale behind the names:
1. Air Kosong - because it is colourless. At least that is what it should be anyway.
2. Air Suam - because of its temperature - warm.

I also told them that "air kosong" sometimes come with ice. We laughed.

That prompted the best topic for ice breaking throughout the night - translation of commonly used Indonesian phrases into Malaysian phrases. Good thing both Mutiara and Kakak know sufficient English to translate certain words that we failed to describe in Bahasa Indonesia / Malaysia. Perhaps Mutiara's most favourite phrase is "tikus baiki labu (mouse repairs a pumpkin)". The phrase refer to a person who likes to fix things only to make it worst. She said the term aptly describe her "pacar", thus began calling him "tikus". I apologetically told him that I was sorry to give a bad influence on Mutiara. They just laughed. No one was offended.

I have to admit, they seemed to have no problem in remembering and pronouncing the Malaysian phrases. I, on the other hand, could only pronounce and remember few. Quoting Mutiara: Bahasa Malaysia seems to use full, longer and more formal words when compared to its sister, Bahasa Indonesia. The night continued in similar manners - laughing, comparing things, translating etc. - before we retired to bed.

Day 1 (15/3/2008 evening) - 6 Degree

After a few futile attempts to nap (no, not because it was 6 Degree Celcius), I packed a few things into my smaller cheap-looking-backpack. Enough for a night stay. I went down to the lobby and handed my keys to the front desk. As if a sign from the Almighty, a Bluebird was already waiting at the hotel door.

Feeling a little like Asha Gill of Discovery Travel and Living Channel (minus the good looks and British accent), I hopped into the Taxi. As directed by Mutiara over the phone, I told the driver: Uki. The traffic was heavy. Very much like a working day in KL. In Jakarta, it is a chaos. Not to say that in KL it is not as chaotic, but in KL it is somewhat an organized chaos. While on the taxi, I chatted with the friendly driver. The driver asked, which part of Uki was I going, he mentioned something about university. I told him it was my first time in Jakarta and I need to catch a bus to Cibinong to meet my friend. As he drove the taxi, I trace our route on my Jakarta map. Some time later (note to self 1: need to buy and wear cheap watch) we arrived at busy bus stop. With the help of the taxi driver (who actually stop to ask a policeman where exactly the bus and then stop the taxi in front of the bus), I got on the right bus to Cibinong.

The bus has 5 seats in a row. The three-seater are the ones behind the driver and the two-seater are the ones on the left. I sat on one of the two-seater. In front of me was an old man. Across the isle was a man wearing a white skullcap. In front of him were a family of three - two women and a young girl. A man sat behind me, reading newspaper. There were other passengers, but I didn't take notes.

As confident as I could be, I asked the bus conductor (bc):
me: Cibinong Terminal berapa ya? (translation: How much to Cibinong Terminal?)
bc: Empat ribu (Four thousand)
me: [fumbling with money and managed to find IDR 20k]
bc: Ngak ada duit kecil? (no small change?)
me: Ngak (no)

Bc took the money and walked on. I was puzzled. Where's the ticket? Where's my change? Was I cheated? He went on collecting money from other passengers. Once he got enough small change, he returned my IDR 16k.

Then a man with a guitar stood up in the middle of the bus. He belted out 2 songs. I didn't catch all his words, but the two songs was somewhat about his pleas and frustrations towards the government. Then he took out a plastic bag and began collecting money. Seems that this method of busking is widely accepted in Jakarta. As much as I wanted to capture the whole scene in a photos, I refrained myself. My plain clothes had allowed my to blend in with the crowd. Taking out a camera might attract unnecessary attention. (note to self 2: need to learn sketching so that such scenes could be captured)


The bus took a highway heading towards Bogor. I had looked at the map earlier. Cibinong is halfway between Jakarta and Bogor. Though we were on a highway, the bus wasn't speeding. I didn't think it could. Other vehicles didn't seem to be speeding either. Then a few cars zoomed passed us via the emergency lane.

After awhile, the bus exited the highway. Unfortunately I couldn't remember the exit name. At a junction after the exit, the bus turn right. I spotted a signboard, yes, we were heading to Cibinong. One after another passengers began to alight from the bus. Passengers wishing to stop moved to the seats near the driver and asked the driver to stop. No bells or buzzer like those in Malaysian bus. When the family of three moved to the front, I moved to the seat near them.
me: Ibu, numpang nanya, Cibinong Terminal turun di mana? (Madam, excuse me, where do I get down to Cibinong Terminal?)
woman: Di depan sana nanti (Later, in front)
me: Makasih ya (thank you)

A few hundreds metre later, the woman told bus conductor:
woman: Mbak ini mahu turun di Terminal (This Miss wants to stop at Terminal)
woman: [turned to me] Mbak turun di sini
me: Makasih ya, bu.

The bus didn't exactly stopped. It was still at the main road. It was more like a halt. I wasn't sure if I was suppose to wait for the bus to actually stop, or just jump out.
me: Turun di sini? (Get off here?)
Bc & bus driver: Yes
me: Makasih ya (thank you) [looked for motorcycles and cars. Safe. Then jumped on to the tarmac]

I called Mutiara. She told me to wait at a department store - Ramayana. I looked around. All the other building were like small shops except for one. I headed to the biggest building. Yes, it was Ramayana. Next to it was what looked to me like a wet market. But the one thing that gave me a cultural shock was the river opposite the Ramayana entrance. Both sides of the river bank were filled by rubbish. So fulled that the rubbish practically covered the banks. There were three men scouring the rubbish for usable items. I thank the Almighty for sending a soft breeze. Otherwise the smell would be too much for me to bear.

Before long, I spotted a young lady wearing shorts, white shirt, and a denim jacket. She walked towards me and smiled. We identified ourselves and shook hands for the first time. I'd found my sole contact in Jakarta. And so began my 'six degree' of separation adventure.

p.s. Please bear with me as I collect my thoughts and put them into words.