So what impressions do I take away with me of Indonesia, having spent the longest time there (5 weeks or so) than we will in any other country?
This question was obliquely but pointedly put when we met Mick Stevens - Hon. Consul, Australian Consulate, Medan. Before even asking the purpose of our visit (voting - it appears we can’t) he printed an Age/SMH article by an Adam Gartrell. In brief, Gartrell slams Medan (where I was (Will had pissed off again to see Lauren, in Thailand this time) for about ten days to arrange shipping, flights, car service etc.) and nominates it for Worst. City. Ever. The article is scathing of this large sprawling city of about 3 million (“…traffic, pollution, heat, noise, chaos, the stench of human waste”). [Mick, who apparently has been struck off voting rolls twice due to previous indiscretions! then filled us in on that weekend’s AFL scores (did Melbourne really beat Sydney?) and finally overviewed the test cricket collapse of Australia in UK (88 apparently scored against Pakistan)!].
Yes, Indonesia, for us, was chaotic traffic (Medan, for example, was a shocker for most of the day, and macet (grid-locked) at times), and certainly vehicle pollution, like a smoke screen blown in a woolly edged envelope around roads is just suffocating with clouds of thick, particulate heavy solar (diesel) spewing from trucks mixed with the fug of motor bike exhaust (motor bikes make up the vast bulk of Indonesian traffic (in number, if not in menace)). This black, swirling haze closes car windows, calls up the air(con) and causes one of us to lunge desperately for the ‘recirculate’ button. Elsewhere, it is a near impossibility to get clear of cigarette smoke (while no longer an issue at home, it bothered me everywhere, even in my hotel room (people outside chain smoking)). It pervades, for example, the simple trestle tables of cafés, the cramped and awkward stalls of internet warnets, and ferry sleeping decks and lounges, to the point where you just have to leave the area to try to get some ’fresh’ air (in many instances there is no such thing due to traffic fumes). Cigarette advertising almost blankets the eaves line of the front of the tiny, packed jumble of somewhat humble little shops which line every town main road from Kupang to Medan (‘Quit‘, where are you?).
I won’t bother you with further confirmation of Gartrell’s thesis (he was robbed by the way, which perhaps has coloured his opinion of Medan).
So are these thoughts all I am left with as we leave the kaleidoscope which is Indonesia and enter the next geographic phase of our protracted and at times fascinating journey? Far from it. My overwhelming impression can only be one of vague regret at departing such a universally welcoming country, one where many people who clearly have so little material wealth, smile, laugh and want to talk to us strangers (me and my ‘friend‘, as Will is almost universally referred to!, or ‘misterrr‘, or occasionally ‘bule‘ (pronounced BULE-aye) which means foreigner, which we were greeted with numerous times each day wherever we went). Even the apparent street kids (many are clearly well under ten years old) and who group on road dividers at traffic lights trying to sell useless trinkets we refuse, newspapers we cannot read, small bottles of aqua (bottled water) which we don’t want (we buy by the box), or who occasionally strum a mean little guitar to probably make some discordant noise we cannot hear (we’ve never actually heard a sound from these, even with windows part down, due to the burble of ’bike exhausts, and the roar of trucks, which is a constant while driving) smile and want to talk, even after our refusal, Their smile is spontaneous and quite unexpected given the circumstance.
Late one afternoon I was, as usual, ‘forced’ out of an internet café I frequented, due to the combination of heavy cigarette smoke emanating from most booths occupied by kids, exhaust fumes wafting in the open front from the traffic clogged road outside, the heat, and intolerable sound level of the techno-crap that blares at every one of these places (not to mention the impossibility of getting comfortable while sitting on the floor of the cubicle, gangly legged, for a long time). I can usually stand all of this for about 45 minutes, and then have to go. As I was putting my shoes on the ‘manager’ of the Café smiled and wanted to talk. Fauzi is 16 and proudly runs his micro business (possibly with one or two others of similar age). After asking his questions he finished with his usual ‘please come again’ - I did. I liked speaking to him and his interest in hearing from me was genuine despite the age and cultural gaps.
Earlier that day I had been having the car serviced and was being looked after by Anderson (he asked of my religion, as ones does!). While this was a fairly mundane commercial transaction happening within a very large Toyota sales and service business in Medan, I was treated in a way I felt almost humbled by: Anderson looked after me almost as he would a best friend, I was taken into the workshop (at my request) to see the car being serviced - five or six very young ‘men’ proudly worked away, while I watched, Once their part of the service was complete, they broke out into a cheer, and were clearly so happy with the job they had done, I felt I was lucky to have been there with them. After quality coffee and cakes (apparently provided for all customers) the car was test driven and finally cleaned and washed. What can I say?
Following the car service I was at our hotel for the return of our Carnet (this is like a car visa, but really is a universally recognised document guaranteeing customs duty should a car not be taken back out of any country - in effect one cannot take a car abroad in many countries without it). Our shipping agent Mr Sudri from PT Burkah Infinity turned up in person, returned the Carnet and proceeded to run through arrangements for shipping the car to Malaysia (see next blog). At Inftnity’s suggestion these arrangements extended to include organising car servicing for us in Klang (near entry port in Malaysia), but not now needed, booking flights (also not required) but also arranging hotel accommodation for Will and I in Klang (we took up). This is service in a third world country?
Indonesia, from our very limited experience, has daunting problems (one reads about the more noteworthy of these in the press at home), however I left with some very different impressions to those canvassed in the Age/SMH article.
I hope the people we are to meet in our travels ahead are like so many Indonesians we have met or been assisted by along our way, or who have given us service so far beyond expectations. Time will tell, but for now I say thank you, Indonesia.
[Photos: Mesjid Raya, central Medan; mean houses on the banks of river Sungai Deli, central Medan; cigarette advertising is everywhere in Indonesia (here in southern Sumatra)]
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