The Real Road Warriors

The two William J. Landerses, Feb. 7, 2009, Jogjakarta, Indonesia.

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I “stick out” in this Jogjakara neighborhood, and not just because I am a big, white galoot; more remarkable, I am a pedestrian – sometimes the only one in sight.

Most locals get around on motorcycles and the rest bike, drive, or pedal a becak (a bicycle-powered taxi). Sidewalks, if they exist, are an uneven, up-and-down step-aerobics course, and much of the time you are hugging the muddy edge of the street to avoid the whizzing blur just inches from your elbow.

But here’s the deal: for all of the crowded roads and “crazy” driving, nary a vehicle shows a dent or ding. What’s more, road rage seems non-existent. Asian motorists appear to be guided less by rules than by etiquette. They speed, pass on the wrong side, and jockey for position like nothing you’ve ever seen – but they do it so politely! A honk means no more than “I am here.” Busy, uncontrolled intersections are approached en masse, but there’s a kind of protocol about it, a mildly assertive give and take. This supposed “chaos” is what traffic looks like when you remove ego and territoriality.

And you know what? It works. Justin and I pedal up to a local warung for a late lunch of goat satay, cozying right in among the buzzing swarm.

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The house that Justin shares with Jeannie and the two Carlas is big in that mid-‘70s residential construction sort of way, before architects gave much thought to usable space. Tucked away down a side street in a cluster of upscale-looking homes, it might be the nicest student housing I’ve ever seen.

And yet, it has some uniquely Indonesian touches.

For example, against one wall of the living room is an enormous bathroom sink, which would make more sense in the bathroom behind it, which has none. This is not some goofy error, a friend of Justin’s reports the same setup in his house. The kitchen is way in the back of the house, down a breezeway closed off by a lockable door; off the kitchen is an Asian squat toilet and a stairway the leads to tiny rooms between the first and second floors. Jeannie explains: the house was built to accommodate a live-in cook … which this week is the role I am trying to assume.

Also: my camera’s resolution is insufficient to show the 10 trillion ants in any of these house pictures. They are everywhere but mostly benign so you just live with the little suckers. The cockroaches you stomp.

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The Islamic call to prayers is creeping me out, here.

At any hour of day or night, the calls are blaring from loudspeakers connected to every mosque in town, each with its own singing imam or ayatollah or whatever. They’re all free-forming it at once in this disturbing, dissonant call-and-refrain, like coyotes.

Another Indo-noise: the wail of the neighborhood feral cat, a filthy and friendless creature. Tail grotesquely twisted and broken, loose folds of skin hanging off a cadaverous body, sickly yellowed demon mouth – an awful wretch that cries to Justin’s landlady next door, who chases it away with a broom.

A more amusing sound outside is the cry of the mysterious Uh-Oh bird, which is this: “Uh-oh. Uh-oh. Uh-- … ohhhh.” I ask Justin what it looks like and he informs me that it is in fact a lizard and they only call at night, and he’s never seen one.

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Roti bekar, a total guilty pleasure sold by street vendors around town. You take a loaf of white bread, slice it lengthwise so that it resembles the pages of a book. Slather all sides with butter, and for the inner “pages” spread chocolate sprinkles and drizzle with evaporated milk. Grill on all sides, slice into servings and smear all over your face. Yum!

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Justin is a student and a teacher, of English. His qualifications for this position at a private language school are: he speaks English, he is a fine young fellow, and his students like him, which means they keep signing up for lessons.

He makes up his own curriculum. There are no success metrics or review processes. Basically he is winging it. But the pay is double his living stipend from ISI and a guy’s gotta eat.

I am invited to sit in on a couple of classes, the Basic and the Intermediate. In Basic today’s assignment is to “describe your basic routine,” in which everyone in turn gets to share the excruciating details of their boring-ass life. In Intermediate the topic is “Indonesian politics,” which devolves into “corrupt Indonesian politics,” and then a promise from the teacher to choose a happy topic for next session.

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Claire used to say this about visiting relatives and fish: after three days, they both start to stink. Here with Justin, Jeannie and Carla I am on Day Five. “Uh--… ohhh.”


NEXT: Bali, hi.