Day Three

Today is Saturday. I woke up around eight thirty and was in the shower when my housemates got home. I went to dinner with them last night, but chose to come home afterwards because I was feeling a little bit tired from the jet lag. On reflection, I think this was a wise choice. They are a fun group, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep up. Even in the days when I was going out three or four nights a week, I was always home before the sunrise.

It was raining heavily when I woke up this morning, so I lounged around, reading and writing until 1 o’clock. My housemates were all still sleeping so I decided to take a walk. The picture above is a small park at the end of my street. Much of what I’ve seen so far is green, but the streets outside of my neighborhood are not nearly as pristine. It’s a big city, after all.

Yesterday afternoon, I managed to take a trip to the mall to pick up a few things. One of my housemates took me over in a little bus/taxi thing called an angkot. It’s only a five minute ride, but it’s not practical to walk because of the traffic and, in the middle of the day, the heat. The angkot costs about 30 cents. It’s kind of like a small pick up truck with a canvas cover and two long seats in the back. Taxis are also available and cheap. That’s how we got home from the restaurant last night. It was maybe a ten or fifteen minute ride and it cost about a dollar and thirty cents. Suck it, New York.

We got to the restaurant in a very nice minivan with a driver because my English housemate knew some guy he ran into in a bar who lent him the car and driver to transport us. They were chatting and he mentioned that he had to meet some people for dinner. So, the guy just gave him his car. Things definitely work differently here.

The most challenging part of my day yesterday was crossing the street. There are six lanes of traffic and no stoplights. My housemate left me at the mall because she had to go to work. She said that some people she knows wait until an Indonesian person shows up at the crosswalk to follow across. It was good advice and, lucky for me, just as I was getting to my first crosswalk, an Indonesian woman appeared. I stuck close to her—like three inches away close to her—and watched what she did. She took a step out into the street, held up her hand toward the cars, and waited until it looked like one would slow down for her. Then, she stood between the first and second lanes and did the same thing, and so forth. So, I was able to cross the street to and get on the correct angkot back to my neighborhood.

I couldn’t see very well out the windows, so I missed my stop. Fortunately, I realized it within a couple of blocks, so I didn’t have too far to walk back. But I did have to cross two more streets without any local assistance. I was so proud of myself.