Thanksgiving Odyssey
Thanksgiving was a much needed long weekend out of Malang and into the two largest cities in Java—Surabaya, the regional capital of East Java, and then back to our old stomping ground Jakarta, where we stayed for a month when we first arrived in Indonesia.
Before I start this entry, I have to back up and talk a little about lumpur panas, more commonly known as hot/toxic mud. For four months now this mysterious mud has been pouring out of the ground in Sidoarjo, a province near Surabaya. The oil company Lapindo has been accused of causing the mud flow with their drilling, but the company is refusing to take any responsibility for the natural disaster. SBY and the Indonesian government didn’t comment until the third month of the mudflow, and then the decision was made to start dumping the excess mud into the ocean and rivers (?).
Sidoarjo is right in between Malang and Surabaya. There’s a toll road, but you never know when it’s going to be open. Unfortunately for Layne and I, the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving the toll road was definitively closed. The two hour ride ended up taking almost six hours in our horrible little van, which in theory was supposed to pick people up from their houses in Malang and drop them off directly in Surabaya two hours later. In practice, I sat the whole way with my feet the level of my eyes because the only place for my suitcase was right in front of me, we took back village roads, and the driver almost flipped the van using some vertical mud path as a shortcut. Once we arrived in Surabaya, the driver took another two hours to find everyone else’s addresses before finally dropping Layne and I off at the Sheraton. I guess that’s $4 transportation for you.
We were staying with Mary Beth, a government employee who works in P.R. and tries to make sure none of the ETAs in East Java kill themselves or make anti-American comments. She lives in a fabulous apartment in the five star Sheraton, and Layne and I were only too happy to stay there for free. Shortly after we got there, Mary Beth got a call on her “duty phone” that there had been an explosion on the toll road. The pressure from all of the mud had pressed on a gas line until it finally snapped, and I can just see someone throwing a cigarette butt down unwittingly (EVERYONE smokes here) and lighting the whole thing on fire. Eleven people were killed, and the roads were completely shut down. One of the other ETAs, Amanda, was en route from Probolinggo and no one could get in touch with her for about an hour, so they were pretty frantic. Fortunately she had just been asleep while stuck in traffic and was fine.
Thanksgiving morning we went to a home for orphaned and abused children, many of whom had lost their parents to trafficking of some sort. They ranged in age from about 2 until 15 or 16, and they seemed pretty happy that we were there. After Mary Beth spouted some propaganda on the “Thanksgiving story,” we gave them lunches and passed out goody bags. The kids almost killed one another grabbing for the bags, and it was really sad to see how frantic they were to get something of value. They didn’t really want it for the goodies themselves, since most of them probably sold everything in the bags as soon as we left, but they were so scared that they were going to get skipped over and not receive anything. We watched a video and left after about an hour. It was a pretty good trip but distressing at the same time.
After the orphanage we went to Claire the Consular General’s house for a Thanksgiving lunch/early dinner. When she was working in Vietnam she adopted a little boy named Luca, who’s now 4. That kid was adorable, and I don’t like kids. He was very well mannered and polite, and although he started off shy, he had turned into a big flirt by the end of the afternoon.
Claire cooked an absolutely fabulous meal—turkey, real cranberry sauce, stuffing with bacon, gravy—everything you could ask for. I ate as much as I could possibly stuff in and then enjoyed some of the homemade pumpkin pie. One of the guests was the US government worker in charge of the lumpur panas, who told us that the explosion had knocked open the dams holding the mud, which was likely going to take out the train tracks in a few weeks. Great news. There were also some former Peace Corps volunteers and a man who worked for USAID, as well as the Regional Security Officer for Surabaya, who was NOT a man I'd want to mess with. Most of the people there had been working security and P.R. at George Bush's visit earlier that week, so it was really interesting to hear all the behind-the-scenes details.
Right after lunch, Claire offered her car to Layne and I and we headed for the airport. We took off for Jakarta, where there was a driver waiting to take us to the Hotel Dharmawangsa, by far the nicest hotel I’ve ever been in. Layne’s family friend Gary had arranged for us to stay there for the weekend, just relaxing and being girly. We hung around our lavish room in bathrobes, got a half-day spa treatment, and trusted Indonesian hair stylists to put bleach on our heads (which actually didn’t turn out half bad!).
The second night in Jakarta we went to another Thanksgiving dinner, this one at the home of some American expats who were in Indonesia working in oil. Again, great food, great company, and an opportunity to meet some really interesting people. Someone made a deep-fried turkey that was so delicious (and yes, I know that’s white trash of me to say so) and I just ate my little heart out.
Other luxuries we indulged in in Jakarta: Silver Bird luxury taxis, chocolate martinis at the Dharma, Sumatran coffee, and a movie theater with adjustable recliners and blankets where butlers bring you food and drinks. I’m sure the new James Bond movie is good anywhere, but in that setting I would have thought any movie was an Oscar contender.
I left Layne heading to the golf course with Gary on Sunday morning as Nick and I went to the airport. Back to reality: I waited standby for three different flights to Surabaya, where the general rule seemed to be whoever pushed to the counter hardest got the seat. There was no list or ranking. I’m ashamed to say I became a stereotype here: The American Who Gets Frazzled In Airports And Yells At People.
After I missed the second flight after three hours because some Japanese chick elbowed me out of the way and got to the counter first, I was very cranky. By the time another hour had passed and I was standing again in standby, I knew the drill. I cut two Dutch men and demanded the last remaining economy ticket. The two men poked me and complained that I had cheated them, and were treating to me screaming in their face that I was a teacher and had to work in the morning. They talked about me angrily in Dutch for a while, but must of concluded I had a mental illness and it was best not to mess with me. The airline tried to check my bag, but since it was 4:52 and the flight left at 5, I sincerely doubted the Indonesian golf cart would get my luggage into the underbelly of the plane in time. I ran to the plane and got into another fight with the flight attendant, who of course refused to let me take my oversized suitcase on as a carry on:
Flight Attendant: “You must check that.”
Me: “No.”
FA: “Yes, now.”
Me: “No. I don’t trust you to put it under the plane.”
FA: “Give me that bag.”
Me: “I’m not going to let the plane leave until I see you put that under the plane.”
FA: “GIVE ME THE BAG.”
I finally made it to my seat at 5:10 (yes I delayed the whole flight, how important I am!) only to find an Indonesian man there. He very gentlemanly offered me the middle seat between him and his smirking companion, and got a cold glare in return and a barked order to move over. He didn’t talk to me again after that. His companion did tell me that if I took a bus to Malang it would take eight hours because the roads were overrun with mud, and I would be looted and raped numerous times. I paid $30 and took a taxi, which took less than two hours and ended with the cab driver trying to hussle me for 50 more cents at my front gate. God, it’s good to be back in village life.
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