Happy Trekker: Pelabuhan Ratu

CT and I finally got connected with Java Lava - a very successful Jakarta-based trekking club catering to both expats and Indonesians.  Their trips are low-key, inexpensive, and coordinated by volunteers. Each month they organize a weekend trekking trip somewhere in Indonesia.
Usually it is up a volcano, thus the "Lava" component of the name. The "Java" comes from the fact that Jakarta is on the island of Java, in case you were not aware.

This month, the trip was a two-day beach and hill walk in the Pelabuhan Ratu area, with the overnight in a pleasant but basic beachside bungalow "resort".

I can not begin to describe how good it felt to get out and spend my weekend active in the outdoors again.  I miss this so much.  I felt so rejuvenated after hiking for hours two days in a row, in the company of many like-minded, fun, kind, and interesting people from around the globe.  It was also a real pleasure to get to explore another very un-Jakarta-like corner of my host country. I will definitely be doing more Java Lava trips in the future.

Me enjoying fresh young coconut juice and a new fruit! Say hello to the soft spiky red rambutan.

Bundles of fresh latex. Super stinky!

Rubber tree dripping latex into a coconut bowl

The New Roommate

Today I was rather disgusted to find this creepy little translucent lizard thing scurrying around my floor.  I was able to grab my cellphone and snap a quick pic before he finished scampering up my kitchen cabinets and disappearing in a crevice behind my stove.

I hope he re-emerges later tonight and eats some of the ants that have also recently moved in.

Please don't crawl over or nibble on any of my food.

Kota / Batavia Cafe / Taman Fatahillah

Thanks to the gawd-awful traffic, I generally avoid going anywhere in Jakarta except my residential complex, office complex, and the shopping complex in between, all walkable.

I would be hard pressed to identify where I live on a map.  Or to name or point out any key landmarks or neighborhoods of this city.  As far as I can tell, there's little reason to be able to do so. Whenever I ask people where I should go or what I should do here, they rarely offer me anything other than a list of shopping malls.

My 908-page Indonesia Lonely Planet has only about 3.5 pages of sights in Jakarta. This is limited to a town square, another town square, a former governor's home, an old bridge, 6 museums, a church, a port, a Chinese neighborhood, a temple, the national monument, a cemetery, a mosque, some government buildings, and a mini Indonesia theme park.  I haven't been in any great rush to tick these things off the ol' list.

That said, this is all extremely uncharacteristic of me, and so despite my genuine lack of interest and motivation in this particular case, I do tend to feel guilty and obliged to venture out and explore this ugly and uninviting city a bit more when I have free weekends.

Consequently, this past weekend CT and I traipsed over to the Kota neighborhod, which was once the "hub of Dutch Colonial Indonesia".   There we had brunch at historic colonial Batavia Cafe, moderately famous despite its mediocre food.  Afterward we meandered about the weekend market in the central cobblestone square (the first mentioned above), Taman Fatahillah.  Despite the fact that we spent over 3 hours in a taxi roundtrip to make this journey, it ended up being a fun little excursion.

Busy day at the market

You could find everything from Spongebob....

to colorful rental bikes...

to carnival style games....

.... to switchblades, ninja throwing stars, and brass knuckles.
(Just a teensy bit unnerving.)

I'm not sure why exactly, but adolescent Indonesian girls are
obsessed with asking bules if they can take their photos with us.
This is usually a drawn-out event, as each wants a shot with
her own cellcam, sometimes with several unique poses.
This time I added mine to the mix.

Another group opted to conduct a very official-seeming
interview with CT after the photo shoot

From the window of the cafe I watched the guy with the green
bicycle cart tediously grill dozens of thin banana leaf packets.
I became extremely curious what was inside of them and also
felt bad that during the entire time I watched not one
person made a purchase.  So I vowed to buy one and try it
after brunch.

A close-up of the mystery snack being prepared. Will it be
fruit, vegetable, or possibly (please no) meat?

Google Translator was no help in identifying this substance.
Utak Utak apparently means "tooling tooling".

Purchased and ready to be eaten.... Can't wait.

Digging in!
In reality I took only one tiny cautious nibble.
What looked like banana ended up being an extremely tough
meat-like substance that was very difficult to chew.
Not really my cup of tea.

SHIT!
It later occurred to me that "utak utak" might actually be "otak otak".
Brains?!?
What kind of brains did I consume?
And how the hell can that be safe considering each packet
was only grilled for a little more than a few seconds on each side.

Fish Brains...
 according to Wikipedia.
Actually, given my location, probably just fish paste.
Phew.
Only fish paste.

How bad can that be?

All in all, a fairly successful outing.  

And one key Jakarta destination checked off my list.

Worse than eHarmony

My apartment complex has a small gym that is almost always completely empty.  It's the perfect place to do yoga, with a small wooden studio floor, wall of mirrors, tons of natural light, and views of lush greenery outside.  I love it.

Most of the time if anyone comes in it is to watch the television rather than actually exercise, so I nip that in the bud by commandeering the only remote before I take over the entire front wall.

See the pic below.. isn't it lovely?

The other day, however, my zen was interrupted by an alarmingly attractive western-looking guy about my age who came in to actually work up a sweat.  I did my best to (pretend to) completely disregard his presence while I finished my routine, however it became obvious we were both keeping tabs on each other.  This was inspiring since it's rare that western men here pay me any attention. They usually have either come with a wife and/or are completely consumed with their Indonesian girlfriend(s).  It's quite an, uh, interesting expat culture in that regard.

Anyway, as I was rolling up my mat we struck up a conversation, exchanged vital facts, and decided to meet up again at a later date in normal clothes.  Normally I avoid socialization at the gym at all costs.  I similarly avoid socialization with excessively attractive men, because as we all know ladies, they can be trouble.  
Desperate times call for desperate measures, however.

Luckily I did not have to wait too long before our next encounter.  Because it would have really sucked if I'd wasted any more energy fantasizing about future vacations with
THE ONLY PERSON ON THIS PLANET I PROBABLY HAVE LESS IN COMMON WITH THAN PARIS HILTON.

It turns out this guy is really, really, into:

• talking about his wealth and how much he spends on things and why his life is superior to those around him in so many ways, 
• flying around the world to exclusive clubs to party, 
• name-dropping
• .... and that's about it.  

It was a painful dialogue.  Aside from the initial attraction, which seemed to take little time to fade,  there was zero connection.

On the bright side, since he's so often out of town for his important business trips and clubbing jaunts, it's unlikely he'll be interrupting my private yoga sessions again anytime soon.

All mine.

More Elevator Fun

The elevators in my apartment building are nothing like the elevators in my office building that I described a few posts earlier.

These could not possibly get any worse.  There is no ventilation or air conditioning, they smell like garbage and diaper rash cream (thanks to the "air freshener" dispenser), they travel at a speed of approximately one floor per minute, and at least one of the three of them is usually out of service.  Nearly 40 floors, at least 10 units per floor, and only two elevators.   I HATE these elevators.  And I can't take the stairs because they always have the damn doors locked.  

Today my elevator ride was enhanced by the sudden onset of fear of plunging 30 stories to my death.  

By the time the elevator arrived at my floor it was so full I could barely get on.  We continued down a few more floors and then four more people squeezed in.  

I wondered if I could hold my breath all the way to the bottom.  

The doors slowly closed.  

And then the word "Overload" appeared and began to flash vigorously. 

Now I don't know about you, but if I were an elevator designer who wanted to incorporate a flashing "overload" signal, I might just possibly design it so that the light comes on in time to be useful.  

Like, perhaps, before the door closes and the elevator begins its unbearably slow descent to the bottom level.  

In fact, I probably wouldn't allow the door to close and the elevator to move until someone shuffled their fat ass back off of it. 

Just a thought. 

Luckily, I survived.

Good to know.