A Once in a Lifetime Experience

      This week we moved to Bandung, which apparently is bahasa Indonesian for sweet sweet paradise. Although, to be honest, anything would feel like paradise after Jakarta’s smog and specter of death waiting at every crosswalk.  We arrived at the Sheraton Bandung to a chorus of Javanese dancers and a giant taj-mahalesque cake. Needless to say I cried a little at the realization that never again will I live so beautifully with my humanities degree and love of artistic non-materialistic men.  After spending the day swaning around the pool and partaking of the chocolate fountain  (yes, there is a chocolate fountain!!!?!) 

       I  decided too abandon all of my black woman sensibilities to go “trekking”. Let’s just get something clear, I am not a “hiker” nor do I “trail run” or own things made out of “gortex”. However I was told that I would get to lounge in some hot springs , so I was all up for a nice weekend jaunt into the mountains. Little did I know at the time that my first hot springs experience would consist of eating crackers while soaking my feet in the “hot spring” that existed where my shower and/or a toilet should have been.

After waking up at 2:30  by the call to prayer that basically took place outside of my hostel door, I preceded to brush my teeth outside because our room lacked a sink.  I bid farewell to the “serious hikers” who wanted to leave at 5 am to make it to the top of the mountain, and my new friend Judith and I preceded to go on a leisurely jaunt around town 3 hours later. After jaunting up a sweat, we met my new friend Brandon (who got the runs and therefore missed the serious hike) at the legitimate hot springs. While communing with nature and volcanically heated water was nice, slipping into the cool embrace of the Sheraton’s king sized bed 9 hours later was pure heaven. 

One Night Stand With Singapore

I never thought that Singapore and I would spend our first night together wrapped in a nude embrace. However this is what happens when one neglects to pack ANYTHING of use in one’s carry on. I also never thought that I would be feverishly hiding gum in my cheek like I was carrying a contraband crack rock. This is also what happens when one forgets that one is entering a country where gum chewing is illegal. And this fact isn’t remembered until one is zombie-shly gnawing on the stuff in front of a police officer touting an ak-47 at 2 in the morning. Singapore is, however, one of the most eerily beautiful places that I have ever been. Everything is perfectly manicured and clean. Riding through its streets, it’s hard not to think of Disney World, where all the trees have managed to grow to the same height and malls have the audacity to stay open 24 hours a day.

             I have now spent about 2 days in Jakarta and I have one very profound observation. Indonesians, or at least the residents of Jakarta that work in fancy hotels, love R&B slow jams. Specifically Brian McKnight, Boyz 2 Men and Craig David. I know this because the lobby of my new home has experienced an almost constant rotation that makes me want to make babies or at least sip some Alize. I’ve been experiencing Jakarta in snippets and snatches. The early morning notes of the first call to prayer, the smell of sewage (powerfully reminiscent of my time in Chennai) and young kids running around yelling “halloo buleh!” (Hello foreigner!). There's a distinct possibility that I will develop acute asthma before I leave Jakarta on Friday.  Only those who have spent time in the smokestack that is Beijing  can understand the trail by fire that I am now putting my lungs through. Coupled with this fact, today I learned about everything, person, plant and animal in Indonesia that can kill me, or at least bring me to my knees at the foot of the porcelain god.

Next week Bandung.

What do you mean you don't take insurance?

So I’ve been mulling for a while now on what exactly my inaugural post would entail. Because this, as we all know, will not only set the tone for every update to come, but also my future career as a blogger and therefore my get rich quick plan C.

I thought about discussing my alternative version of Dante’s consecutive circles of hell.  I’ve come to realize in my short life time that there are few places on this earth more soul crushing than Detroit’s airport, any DMV anywhere at any time, the post office on 113^th between Amsterdam and Columbus and finally the place that all of these locations aspire to be…. The Mobile Department of Health.

The Mobile Department of Health smells like death. It has that acrid musty smell that sticks to most nursing homes. Every time I return I think that this is it, this will be the day that I get useful service with a smile, like at a Chick-Fil-A where everyone is eternally happy to help you. But no, the MDH is the McDonald’s of health establishments

Besides getting vaccinated I thought I would maybe spend my last days doing really American/Southern things like hunting and frying.

Instead I have found myself doing the most American thing of all…buying tons of shit I THINK I need for this trip but that I’ll probably never use.

Extremely ugly hiking sandals-check!

Exercise bands-check!

DEET-check!

In other news it is exactly one week till d-day and I am STILL without a visa and now “anxiety help” is following me on Twitter.

*Special thanks to Nicholas Palmaro for providing me with my brilliant blog title