Clean Up, Aisle 9

Asia loves its grocery store competitions. A decade ago I was on the receiving end of a 5 kilo bag of rice after entering a drawing at the Carrefour in Singapore. That was second place. First place was a rice cooker.

Today, Indonesia raised the bar.

During a routine grocery stop, John and I came upon a real-life Supermarket Sweep about to go down in the Bali Gourmet. An employee asked John if we wanted to participate. I took one look at the brochure showing a man pushing a shopping cart while his female companion rode inside, and said: absolutely.

The game, in fact, did not involve riding in a shopping cart, but it was still awesome. We were ushered to a side of the store where six other couples - all Indonesians mind you - were lined up behind numbered shopping carts. An excited MC was explaining the rules of the game, which we sort of figured out to be: each couple will have a grocery list, whoever fills their basket with the items and returns to the starting area first wins. Important: one hand from each participant has to be on the cart at all times. No divide and conquer. This is a couples’ race.  

The rest of the story is best told through video. In case you cannot tell from the footage below, we are shopping cart #5.

Before the checkered flag was up, John said, "you realize the shopping list is going to be in Indonesian, right?" Good thing one of us has been listening to those boring Indonesian podcasts that seem to always be playing in our living room! I sure haven't been!

The list consisted exclusively of packaged, processed food. Had it involved selecting and weighing produce - nearly half of which we don't recognize - we would have been screwed. But, boxed pancake batter and fake sugary coffee drinks? Who knows processed foods better than Americans? Welcome to our wheelhouse, Jakarta.

I took a look around. We were killing it. We grabbed our last item - a bag of bbq chips, brand name: Chitato - and made an empassioned dash for the finish line. It was probably unecessary to do the flying leap over the stacked wet wipes display, but we did it anyway.

As the MC checked our basket of items against our shopping list, a small group formed. How did we do?

 Do you even need to ask? We crushed the competition. It wasn't even close.

The second team to come across the finish line actually had to be sent back because they picked up a wrong item. We might as well show the footage of that trot of shame:

In the official post-win interview (conducted by, er, moi), John reports that "he's still got it":

After our impressive win, we were ushered to the red carpet for photos with our winning shopping cart. And we were given prizes: oven mits and serving spoons (also known as the stocking stuffers I now don't have to buy).

But wait! There's more! It turns out our win qualifies us for the final event, a cooking competition, to be held in one week. For that event, contestants will be given a budget and then will be asked to shop for and prepare a meal to be judged by a celebrity chef. The grand prize is a ~$200 credit at Bali Gourmet. A two-part, multi-week grocery store competition? I love this country.

Unfortunately, we are scheduled to be out of town during the finals. We are seriously considering altering our holiday vacation in order to participate. Dominating mall-based grocery store antics promises a whole new genre of activity for us. This could realistically turn into how we spend all our weekends: searching Jakarta for yet another supermarket game. Now accepting suggestions for what to prepare during the finals.....

Licensed to Make It Happen

Here's a terrifying thought: I'm now licensed to drive in Indonesia.

Is it even scarier that I've been driving unlicensed? Well, now I'm official.

The whole family ventured off to one of two DMVs that services the approximately 25 million people of Jakarta. That's right. Two DMVs. Sometimes countries achieve impressive technology leaps and skip entire generations of development steps, like how many Indonesians first accessed the world wide web via a cell phone and not a desktop computer. The Jakarta Department of Motor Vehicles is not one such example. It is the crowded, queued-filled experience that we have all come to know and dread.

Not that we really got to experience that here. We employed alternative means to, er, acquire our licenses, which involved jumping to the front of all the lines and walking out, license in hand, within an hour of parking the car. We had a fixer. Someone else arranged it. I know nothing. 

Absent from our experience at the DMV was any sort of demonstration that either of us was at all equipped to handle a motor vehicle. Missing from the list of questions that nobody asked us was whether or not we'd ever been licensed to drive or confirmation that we understand traffic signs. Heck, no one even said, "how many fingers am I holding up." So all of this made us feel a lot better about the company we'll be keeping on Indonesia's roads.

Most notable about our trip to the DMV was just how unremarkable it really was. A DMV is a DMV. It's an unattractive government building full of people who would rather be doing anything but what they are currently doing. It's endless waiting rooms. It's take a number and find a counter.

We arrived at a room with darkened windows. Our fixer told us to go inside and sit down and wait for our names to be called. We sat on a bench at the back and watched as folks were called to the front of the room, asked to verify name and address, provide a thumb for a print scan, and sit for a photograph. After 3 or 4 of these cycles, two things were abundandtly clear: under no circumstances was there to be any smiling and the angle of this photo was undoubtedly going to favor the underside of my chin. Basically my worst possible side.

In other words, drivers license photos in Indonesia are just as bad as everywhere else.

Happy motoring!

 

Does This Car Come with a Floation Device?

 

Pulling out of a mall parking garage after lunch, we came face to face with RAINY SEASON.

 

Just when I thought we'd made it home unscathed, we turned down our street to find this blocking our path:

Wind knocked down trees and braches around our neighborhood and three of the four streets that lead to our house were blocked by debris. But we finally found a way in. Fortunately, we live next door to a police station and the chainsaws were hot as soon as the rain stopped.

Guest Blog: 90 Minutes in Heaven

 
Two Years Up Front is pleased to share our first guest blog post! John's parents have been here for a week and have let us drag them all over the city in search of a good time. Here, John's mom Chris recounts her experience at the spa down the street from our house.

Today I experienced one of the wonders of the world--a 90-minute foot and leg massage at a Jakarta spa. It began with a foot bath in warm, lime-scented water. A tiny Indonesian man washed my feet and then let them soak while he massaged my neck and back. After drying my feet he led me to a dark room with giant lounge chairs. John and I relaxed side by side while they reclined our chairs. We were each outfitted with a neck pillow, which mostly served as a vehicle for a trio of hot stones.

Here the ecstasy began. My lower legs were thoroughly worked over followed by the careful massaging of my feet. Each toe was tenderly stroked and rubbed before moving to the mid foot. Finally the heel was lovingly manipulated until it cried "uncle." Now it was time for the hand and arm massage. John's snoring was somewhat disruptive so they served ginger tea to wake him while they re-massaged our neck and back. At this point we were both glowing. What a way to spend your afternoon. We couldn't wait to get out to the desk to book tomorrow's treatment. I have a whole new respect for Indonesia.

The best part is this 90 minutes of pleasure cost $9.75 … each. No tipping please! I think I will stay in this paradise!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Happy Thanksgiving 2014!

Wishing everyone a very Happy Thanksgiving. Here are some shots from our celebration, which was made special by the visit of some very dear people: Miles' grandparents!

Thanks for coming all the way to see us Mimi and Poppy and for breaking in our guest room!

Our Meal: We feasted on Indonesian-Chinese fusion including: prawn and chicken  dumplings, coconut-honey prawns, chicken satay, sauteed morning glory with garlic, and sweet tamarind sirloin.  

 

And for dessert we had deep-fried banana with butterscotch sauce, apple spring roll with vanilla ice cream, and some beverage that involved fresh coconut, passion fruit and unidentifiable green jelly things that were the consistency of Swedish Fish. I failed to photograph it, which is a shame, because it was a site.

 

Miles enjoyed mango-carrot puree and nine ounces of milk.

 



Road Champ

Oh Jakarta...sweet land of the traffic jam. We can't have a blog about living here without at least one post on the traffic situation. But how to convey just what it's like to live in a city that adds roughly 1,100 new vehicles to its road per day? (Yes, PER DAY.) How does it feel to be surrounded by 5.5 million motorized vehicles?

[Note: these are conveniently staggering numbers that I found following a google search for "how many vehicles are in Jakarta". I have no idea if they are accurate. If we go on "feel" alone, I'd say they are conservative but that's because - at certain times during the day - stepping outside kind of feels like french kissing an exhaust pipe.]

Traffic anecdotes aren't going to suffice. If you want an authentic Jakartan traffic experience without physically coming here, we need something else. So, I give you the "driving-in-Jakarta Simulator"! Get your driving gloves on! Simulation begins in 3....2......1

Seatbelts on. Remember how to drive a manual? Good - now just reverse everything you remember about your hand-foot coordination so that you are shifting with your left instead of your right. And don't forget, you drive on the left-hand side in these parts. There is zero tolerance for forgetting that rule so opt to remember it. Driver should always be closest to the median. No problem, right? (Talk to me after your first right-hand turn). Easy does it into that first intersection. Stop signs don't seem to exist in Jakarta. The four-way rule only sort of applies. It's not exactly first come, first move in a clockwise fashion, it's more just who ever moves first. Moving along, here we go. Time to merge onto the main highway. Don't forget your blinker! No, no, no, that's your windshield wiper...other side, friend. The blinker is on the other side. Whoa! Mind the crazy scooter drivers! I know, I know, they come out of no where with no warning. But if you hit one, it will be your fault because fault lies with whomever can afford the repairs and since you are a foreign passport holder, that means you.

It's rush hour, did you forget? You can't be on this highway unless there are three people in the car. C'mon, it's an honest attempt to reduce traffic congestion during the busiest times of the day. What are you going to do? a) Suck it up and pay the $20 fine (don't be fooled: the cops wait on the entrance ramps and will pull you over), b) turn around and attempt to find another route or c) be a local, pick up two of those people standing on the side of the road waiting for just this purpose and pay them $2 each to be your extra passengers. Remember: moms with babies count as 2!! That's right, the correct answer is C. Whatever you do, do not attempt B. Attempting B will murder the rest of your day and you will likely end up in another city, possibly on another island, altogether.

Ok, so now we have our "professional" passengers earning an honest wage, we are on the main highway in the direction we want to head and so now we .....wait. I know it's only another half mile until your exit, but do you know how long it could be before you get there? Put it this way, you could probably do your taxes and finish with spare time. You won't be getting out of first gear, that's for sure. This, my friends, is why everyone in Jakarta who can afford it has a driver. Because spending hours in the car is a huge waste of time. So, instead, you can do more important things from a passenger seat, like reach level 44 on your phone's version of Super Jewel Quest. I hope you remembered to pack a snack and some water. I hope you remembered to go to the bathroom before you got into this car. I hope you weren't in a hurry.

Note to you: if you are in a hurry, a better option than a car is an "ojek", i.e., the back of a scooter. You can find Ojek drivers on most street corners. You haggle a price, they hand you a helmut that smells like a sleeping bag after a summer at sleep away camp, and away you go. The simulator for the ojek is an entirely different Jakarta traffic experience. Namely, it lacks air conditioning and might involve you losing a kneecap. The brilliance of a scooter is that it fits in places that cars don't. Scooters cut commute time in half. They also make vehicular homicide something car drivers need to be concerned about.

Back to our car and our traffic. You've found a break in the congestion and things are moving at a decent clip. I know it's hard to stay in your lane when, at any given moment, your lane disappears or is divided into two. Never mind that when you were driving on this street yesterday there only seemed to be two lanes of traffic. Today there are four lanes because that is what is needed. Do what I do and just follow the guy in front of you. Oh, crap. You just missed your turn. Yes, yes you did. The street signs here are perpendicular to the streets, not parallel. I know. It doesn't make any flippin sense but it is how it is and now you need to turn around. Don't fret! See that guy standing over there who looks like he's just randomly hanging out in the middle of about six lanes of traffic? Well, he needs a job and so he's created one for himself and if you just lean out the window and hand him 50 cents, he will single-handedly create an opportunity for you to make a U-turn. Go ahead. It's a very empowering experience.

Now that you've got your blinker figured out and your street located, here you are! Just get yourself parked! Given the number of vehicles in this city, it continues to shock me that parking is never an issue. Either there is a garage or another entrepreneural Jakartan ready to find a spot for you. I've even seen front-row "ladies parking" at one mall. There are no meters. No street cleaning. If someone doesn't want you to park in front of a house or business, they just put a concrete-filled pot in the space. It's a very direct way to communicate the rules.

Congratulations! You just made it to Wednesday's infant play group! This is not a small accomplishment! Seriously, the first time I did it I was left feeling like.."man, anything else I get done today is just icing."

Almond Crispy Cheese

Indonesians are no slackers when it comes to souvenir shopping. If you hit the road in this country, you better bring something home to show for it and it better be representative of where you've been. This is so much a custom that this kind of gift has its own name: oleh-oleh. And Indonesians are so serious about their oleh-oleh that airports feature oleh-oleh stands so you don't miss your chance to buy the perfect gift before heading home.

Oleh-Oleh are always location-specific and are usually food-orientated. Given that Indonesians are snack maniacs, they typically represent local snacks (usually fried). Sometimes there are even restaurants near the airport that wrap-up their specialty dishes for plane portability. (Wrap your head around the smell of that if you can).

With that background in mind, allow me to share with you my first oleh-oleh experience.

John returned from two nights in Surabaya this week. Surabaya is the second largest city in Indonesia and the capitol of the province of East Java. It's known for it's hot weather and straight talking people. Before boarding his return flight to Jakarta, John approached one of many oleh-oleh stands and inquired, "what is the most famous oleh-oleh from Surabaya?"

Without hesitation and with an emphatic gesture, he was directed to a box of "Almond Crispy Cheese". (Does it feel like a word is missing from that title? I thought so too.) Almond Crispy Cheese: a most surprising snack to represent any place in Indonesia given that Indonesia produces neither almonds nor cheese. But there it was - clear as day on the box - "Oleh-Oleh Khas Surabaya," followed by a list of all five locations within the city where Almond Crispy Cheese is made.

If you were to hand me an Almond Crispy Cheese and ask me what country it comes from, Indonesia would be the absolute last country that I would pick. No part of it involves a tropical fruit. No part of it is fried or involves noodles or rice. No part of it is covered in chili sauce. Instead, the Almond Crispy Cheese is a delicate biscuit that is neither just sweet nor just salty, but instead a wickedly splendid marriage of the two, with just the right amount of baked-on grated cheese and a flake or two of almond. In all honesty, this is the best damn combination of almond, crisp and cheese I've ever had. I'd eat these things all day. As far as snacks go - check. As far as cheese flavor goes - check, check. As far as sweet-meets-salty - check, check, check.

The discovery of the Almond Crispy Cheese means the world of oleh-oleh has no limitations. It means cheese can be found in this country. Where do we go from here? Well, which part of Indonesia snacks on Parmasean cheese? That's where I want to go next.

What a Steal

Big time at the grocery today. These treasures were on the 50% off table.  $7 Cheetos and $9 Tostitos now available for $3.5 and $4.5, respectively.

It only dawned on us once home to think about why such a big discount. They're six months old.

We've never been so happy for preservatives.

Asia Lite: Part I

Filipino Jeepny

Greetings, from the Philippines!

While John is off bringing this island nation clean water, Miles and I are on something of a field trip. Weeee!

In true tag-along fashion I do no homework to prepare for the trip and know next to nothing about Manila, except it's one "l" not two. We stay in Bonafacio Global City (BGC), one of several newish developments in the capital city. When I say "development", what I mean is "an actual city". I count twelve high rises under construction within eye shot of our hotel. Manila is booming.



Bonafacio Global City

In BGC everything feels new and - I quickly realize - oddly familiar. It turns out Filipinos have an affinity for the United States and all things American, the legacy of a brief stint as a U.S. territory following the Spanish-American war. It's not just their crisp English (which is heaven-sent after two months spending most of my mental capacity struggling to be understood in Indonesian). I stop on a street corner and realize I'm standing between Old Navy and IHOP. It's like Tampa here, with sky scrapers. The roads are laid out in a grid. There are functioning crosswalks. The locals LOVE basketball. Bacon appears on every menu. A bar's chalk board reads: "Alcohol does not make you Fat! It makes you Lean...against tables, chairs, floors, walls & ugly people." Nope. We are most certainly not in Jakarta any more.

Asia-lite. That's how John describes it. I'm a little surprised to find myself very, very excited about all of this. Was I homesick and didn't know it? Armed with some local currency, the first thing I buy is a bag of Cheetos.

But Manila really endears itself to me when - after purchasing a local SIM card at a little telecom store - the lady clerk says to me, "I like your nose, ma'am". Oh, where were you when I was 14!

Of course, not all of Manila looks like BGC and not all of the Philippines looks like South Florida. This is a country, afterall, that televises cock fighting.

I'm determined to emerge from the Americana bubble and see some of the city. But Manila is massive and I'm dealing with the attention span of a five-month old. Where to start? I let my priority-compass guide us, which is how we end up in Marikina City, Manila's shoe district.



Shoe Museum

We search out the Marikina Shoe Museum because I think it's important to Miles' development to see Imelda Marcos' shoe collection. About 800 of her 3,000 pairs are in the museum. It's a tiny place; you can see the entire collection in about 10 minutes, especially since the majority consists of duplicates of the exact same pair in every color. I count about 40 pairs of house slippers...in blue. But the museum also has shoes donated from various politicians, even a ballerina. It's kind of adorable.

We find a little cafe. I order a giant plate of deliciousness. I admire Manila's wide array of motorized transportation options, most of which I won't experience because that would make me an irresponsible parent.



Single serving

There are amazingly colorful buses called Jeepnys, classic American Jeeps extended like limousines and painted like they were featured on MTV's Pimp My Ride. And there are "tricycles", or motorcycles with steel side cars for 2-4 people. Based on the clearance of the side car roofs, they are decidedly not meant for tall people.

Miles and I call Edmund, the taxi driver who brought us to the museum. He is sweet to Miles but is surprised that I only have one child. He lets me know he has five. I feel my uterus cry a little. But Edmund is lovely and shows me a name painted on his cab comprised of letters from the names of his kids. Also adorable.

Our trip to Marikina is our only cultural excursion for the week. I spend the remainder of my time in Manila popping into Lush because I've forgotten face wash and buying John a new moleskin notebook at the giant bookstore that looks just like a Barnes and Noble. Oh, and I stock up on Ziplocks, because a box costs $10.99 in Jakarta.

The furry undercarriage of Indonesian coffee production

Indonesia produces high quality coffee - or kopi in the national language. In fact Indonesia is the world’s 4^th largest coffee producer by volume after Brazil, Vietnam, and Colombia. The country is blessed with everything you need to grow good coffee: steady temperatures, sunshine, rain, and most importantly, fertile soil. Volcanoes create fertile soil, and Indonesia has a lot of those. There are 130 ACTIVE volcanoes in the archipelago, making it the hottest spot of all in the Pacific Ring of Fire. 

You're probably familiar with Indonesian coffees from the major islands. Perhaps you’ve sampled the earthy, smoky beans from Sumatra. Maybe you’ve tried Javanese or Papuan beans. But the smaller islands produce coffee as well - places like the former Portuguese trading centers of Flores and Sulawesi, as well as everyone’s favorite beach getaway, Bali.

Of all the locally-produced coffees, Indonesians may be proudest of Kopi Luwak. This particularly prized cup of joe is produced by harvesting coffee beans that have been eaten, digested and shat by the Asian palm civet.

Excuse me? Yes. You read that correctly. A little raccoon-like critter forages the best berries from the coffee bush. Then, his gut works some kind of amino acid-related magic. When the beans come out the back end, they are collected, roasted, ground, and French-pressed into some primo, grade-A coffee. 

I sampled the civet coffee once. It undoubtedly has a unique flavor. And it’s priced accordingly. We’re talking $50 per pound.

Many people are disgusted when they learn about this unique approach to coffee production. But not everyone. Some see an opportunity. When my father-in-law learned about the price of Kopi Luwak and the civet's important role, he remarked, “What's the civet’s cut of the profits? I’d like to apply for that job. I’m going to make an appointment with my proctologist and get my CV in order.” 

Mosquitos 1, Moyers 0

Making a house a home in Indonesia: Sheets, towels, dishes. Electrically-charged tennis rackets for mosquito combat.

 

We have learned the hard way that no home is complete without one.

Mosquito bites are no joke here. You meet the wrong skeeter and it will put you flat on your ass with Dengue fever.  Indonesian critters, in general, are aggressive. The other day I walked into the bathroom and saw a giant cockroach. I didn’t know what to do with it because I was pretty sure that, unfortunately, cockroaches come with the territory when you live in the tropics.

Hence, we purchased a Racket Nyamauk Elektrik. Its features include: a LED flashlight and, according to the packaging, “a handle and a mesh surface beautifully making the product much more perfect.” The best part about this devices is that you plug it into the wall to charge it.

Since we brought it home, John is suddenly like McEnroe, swatting and swearing all over the house. “The problem with this thing is that it’s never in the room when you need it,” he lamented, followed by, "I need some kind of holster.”

It should be noted that we've yet to actually kill a mosquito with this thing. Mosquitos 1, Moyers 0.

Oh Baby!

INDONESIANS LOVE BABIES. Many people made this remark when they learned we were moving to Jakarta with an infant. I always thought it was an odd thing to say; who doesn't love a baby? But it turns out there is something to this, because Indonesians really do love them some babies.

It's not just old ladies either. It's the taxi drivers and the waitstaff and the entire employ of the nail salon. Even customs agents! In fact, Miles is turning out to be the best passport possible....literally. At passport control, after entering the wrong line, we were passed through with a friendly wave "for the baby". And Miles is quickly learning the value of flirting and the currency of charm. Pretty much every person I've met in this country so far is because of Miles. Thanks, buddy.

For evidence of Indonesian baby love one has to go no further than your local eatery, where, in a matter of minutes, your child will be swept away by a hostess or waiter and entertained for the duration of your meal. We'd been prepped that this was a chief bonus of having a baby in Indonesia. Still, it sounded a bit like an overblown, one-time experience of someone on holiday. Maybe resort waiters looking for a tip hand out free childcare while also serving you chicken satay, but that's not how people roll on a daily basis, certainly not in the capitol city. 

So, imagine my delight when, out of the corner of my eye, I spied the outstretched arms of a waitress in a little Japanese restaurant where we were enjoying lunch. Swoop! She picked him up, overjoyed to have this fat little baby in her arms, like I'd just handed her a sachet of gold. Before I knew it, Miles was no where to be found. But it took a moment to realize this because there was this gorgeous plate of vegetable tempura in front of us accompanied with a side of peace. and. quiet. Eventually, though, I needed to do the responsible thing and locate him.

Locate him I did, in the kitchen, where he was holding court with the entire staff. He'd been passed off to the restaurant manager, and she was holding him up for all the cooks, servers, busboys, and dishwashers to admire. And he was loving every minute of it. This scenario has been repeated nearly every time we've gone out to eat. 


We sit. We ponder the menu. We nearly decide which delicious fruit beverage concoction to order when some waitperson appears, motioning, "can I hold your baby?" And then off he goes to have his photo taken with everyone in the establishment.

It's impossible not to be tickled by this phenomenon. After all, it's hard to imagine something similar happening in the United States. Picture it. You're sitting in the food court at the mall. Shall we have Sbarro or Auntie Anne's? Suddenly, you notice the guy manning the Jamba Juice holding out his hands for your baby. I believe the correct response here would be a call to social services.

But not in Indonesia. Here, it's standard practice. I can't really explain it. All I can say is that I'm very pleased we found a country where the babysitting is free. 

Stanley, An Alaskan Malamut, and Fong Fong Mary

Stanley Mortimer is in Jakarta.  We’ve received many enquiries about his status and so thought this a good forum to share his journey. Also, we used all of Miles’ college fund to pay for Stanley’s trip, so it would be good if we could get a bit of mileage out of the story.

Without question, getting Stanley to Indonesia was the most complicated, time-consuming, logistically-nightmarish aspect of our move. Because of the distance involved (i.e., essentially the longest flight path possible) and the time of year (i.e., the hottest), we decided to route him through Europe where he could stopover at a KLM’s designated animal facility and drink from a cucumber-laced water bowl. But this meant he would have to fly without us. For budgetary reasons, only one family member could fly through Europe. It might as well be the dog.
Since it was decided that Stanley would travel on his own, we thought it prudent to go first and send for him a week later, that way we could get things set up for him. And, now that our move basically revolved entirely around the dog, might as well make it as comfortable for him and complicated for us as possible. Our estimation that one week was sufficient time to a) move to a new country, b) find a new house, and c) get moved into that house really speaks to our lack of sleep as new parents. It took more than one week for us to do all that. It took us three weeks. Meanwhile, our dog was en route and we had no place for him to go.
Stanley’s importation into Indonesia was six months in the making. It involved special rabies tests, Indonesian Government import permits, and numerous health certificates, including one that is only good for five days. Within those five days, the health certificate had to be mailed to Richmond and back for extra special US Department of Agriculture stamps AND the dog had to arrive at its final destination. To help with all the paperwork and bookings, we had dedicated animal export/import consultants in both the US and Indonesia.
Aside from a 3AM call from the USDA alerting us that we had underpaid for their stamping services (they charge a different amount for the health certificate stamp depending on the destination country  – what?), things went smoothly on the US side. On the day of Stanley’s arrival to Jakarta, everything was going according to plan until, that is, we could not get a hold of the handler. Where was he? Who would meet Stanley’s flight?
We sent frantic emails until Themmy (our contact) informed us that he was actually out of the country. At a dog show. In Finland. Don’t worry, he said. His mom was on the Stanley case and would board him at her house until we could take him.
We did worry and those worries were not assuaged when we were unable to communicate with her by telephone. Or when we were told that she was at the airport and needed us to tell her who was the registered sender of the pet. Did she not have any of the paperwork associated with this ordeal? Was she just looking at a room full of dogs guessing which one was ours? What kind of monkey circus was this?!
Finally, Themmy’s mom (a woman with the email handle of “FongFong Mary”) sent us a photo of Stanley safe and sound on Javanese soil. By the time we could arrange to visit him, Themmy’s father – Deddy – was also involved. It turns out the entire family revolves around show dogs. They import them, they show them, they board and presumably train them.

There are dog shows in this country? I’m so confused.

It gets better.
Deddy showed us into the family room where Stanley was chilling in a gated enclosure by himself. He was a bit worn from his journey; he’d clearly been barking since DC because he’d lost most of his voice. But Deddy and FongFong Mary had been kind to him. They said that they sometimes let him run around the house and showed me the place in the kitchen where he had been terrorizing a mouse or some such rodent. As we discussed their dog showing business, Deddy led us to an air-conditioned room and opened it to reveal a cacophony of barks – dogs everywhere. There were no fewer than 8 Chihuahuas, a beagle, a corgi, some sort of poodle concoction, and a bull dog. All I could think was “I have got to get Stanley out of here as soon as possible.”
But the best part was when Deddy opened the bedroom door to reveal the family’s prized animal, a giant Malamut. If you are not familiar with this breed, then know that not only does a full grown male weight 85 lbs, but it’s an animal with a fur coat designed for the arctic. Basically, it’s the exact opposite of a reasonable canine companion in Jakarta. This got us thinking. How many Malamuts could there possibly be in Indonesia? I mean, when this dog arrives to a local dog show, does he automatically win his breed because there’s no competition? These people are on to something. I wonder how many dachshunds there are here…..
Stanley spent two weeks with Deddy and FongFong and the room full of Chihuahuas. Finally, our rental was ready and we arranged for him to be delivered. That was yesterday. It took exactly one walk through the neighborhood to know that bringing him was WORTH IT. There he was, trotting along, winning hearts and minds! He’s already made friends! But the best part was watching Stanley discover his back yard (it has a koi pond!). We can’t get him to come inside.

Before we close the case of Stanley’s travels, we want to say a very special and heartfelt thank you to our dear friends Holly and Chris who took care of Stanley on the DC side, took him to the vet, ushered his paperwork around Washington, and escorted him to his flight. We really, really, really appreciate your help! You are good friends!

Indonesian Living: A Haiku

Miles goes to the mall
And poops all over the place
Now he is shirtless

Happy Birthday, Indonesia!

Today is Indonesian Independence Day. The country is 69. That's about all I know on that subject since we spent the day at a mall (the sales!) and - randomly - a Suzuki car expo.

Also, we ate salad for the first time in two weeks.

The expo - or Pesta Otomotif Mobil Suzuki - was held in a giant air-conditioned tent in the park across the street from our hotel. The park is actually a sports complex comprising Jakarta's main sports arena, a baseball diamond, and a driving range. And next to all this, a tent full of cars. We checked it out because we were on a walking mission to get our baby to finally take a nap.

It was quite a scene. Hired models in outrageous stilettos and aggressive fake eye lashes mingled with the more modest crowd in head scarves. The big draw was a raffle for various smart phones and, of course, suzukis. We sorta pretended to shop for a car. Really, the only thing we learned on this outing was that Miles really likes loud techno trance for sleeping, the one sound not available on his baby sound machine. Our bad.

No better way to celebrate independence than with consumerism. With a baby fresh off his nap, we set out on mission number two: buy some sheets. We barely managed to learn the word for "bolster pillow" when the power of our incredibly adorable, blue-eyed baby took over. Within a matter of minutes every employee in the department store was cooing over him on one of the bed displays. Here we learned a valuable lesson. The best way to handle aggressive sales people is to just hand over your baby. Just hand him over. It turns out he is irresistible and then you can browse in peace.

I really hope the salad wasn't a mistake.

Selamat Ulang Tahun, Indonesia!