I've made it

     As a blogger, I've made it. I finally got paid. I have a few different blogs, the most popular is/was the one on Afghanistan. I haven't updated that in years, because I haven't been there in years, but it still gets hits. The piss bottle http://bagrami.blogspot.com/2013/12/the-piss-bottle.html still is quite popular.
     I've written about medical tourism and living in Kuwait and life after work (mostly this blog) and finally thought I'd insert ads that if people click on them, I'd have a few coins thrown my way. That's really the way Google and Facebook work - they know who you are, what you do, what you're interested in and when you click on something I write, they offer you ads that you're interested in. If you click on them, they get money, and I do too. I know this, because I just got paid.
     Per Google's policies, I'm not allowed to say click on the ads. So I don't. But because I'm so flush in cash, after getting paid, I don't have to.
     After making it, I still plan to write. About my most recent trip(s) to SE Asia.

About my most recent work gig on Kwajalein, about life after working. Which again, is going to happen in January. But what am I going to do with my pay out from blogging? I'm going to squander it. All $100.03 of it. 

Corruption

     I think you’ll find corruption no matter where you go in the world, but in some countries, it’s more endemic (or tolerated) than others. In Vietnam, for example, tourists on motorcycles are routinely shaken down (or at least I was) for not having a Vietnamese license. Okay, it’s illegal to ride a motorcycle without a Vietnamese license so you know there’s a risk. But motorcycles are freely rented out to anyone with a drivers license, passport and enough cash and it seems to be only the Western tourists who are pulled over. There is a ‘fine’ to be paid then and there. The police were obviously not impressed with my Marshallese drivers license, which does have a motorcycle endorsement, nor would they accept my international drivers license.

Unimpressive, evidently.

There’s really no point in arguing, you’re in their country, so you’re wrong. At least that’s the way they see it. I just pull out my fake wallet which has my Marshallese drivers license, an expired credit card and 20,000 dong in it and tell them it’s all I have. That’s about 86 cents for those not interested in doing the math. You know you’re going to get fleeced, just smile and enjoy the feeling of fleecing the fleecer. Then I ride down the road, stop, put another 20,000 dong bill in my fake wallet and carefully hide my real wallet.
     Corruption. In 2005, I was sent to a 12 week course in Hawaii at the Asian Pacific Center for Security Studies. There were 105 high ranking military and diplomats from Asia and the Pacific studying regional and global security issues and ways to enhance security cooperation. It was an interesting group and some of topics covered were transnational crime, transparency in government, illegal drug production/distribution patterns around the world, human trafficking and reducing corruption, to name but a few. Small groups were given complicated problems to solve and then present the solution to the entire class; ours was to find the best way to curtail opium production in Afghanistan.
     Right after the lectures, there were always two individuals who raced to ask the first question, one was Colonel Chris Weiker, Canadian Forces and the other would blow into the microphone to ensure it was on before announcing, “I am Trachean, from Bhutan.” There were a few more who enjoyed hearing the sound of their own voices, but those two ALWAYS had to ask a question. As an introvert or what I feel is a more accurate description - a JOMO (Joy Of Missing Out) see link here:  https://www.economist.com/business/2019/01/31/the-two-tribes-of-working-life I was not one of the questioners after lectures. Ever.
     Our team was composed of bright, well educated, articulate and talented individuals who were completely capable of presenting our solution. Even though I obviously wasn’t one of the chatty Cathy’s of the course, when time came to discuss who would present our findings, there was no discussion. Every index finger pointed at me, the sole native speaker of the group. As a JOMO’s JOMO, I don’t people particularly well. But I have a switch somewhere inside me that I can turn on and rock a presentation. And I did. When I was finished, a Colonel in the Cambodian Police who I knew fairly well stood up and said, “Your presentation was well thought out, excellent and thorough. But you forgot one thing.” “Yes sir, what is that?” I replied. He said, “Look at my uniform. Look how many pockets it has. Your budget forgot to put something in my pockets.” His uniform did indeed have six pockets. Now that’s some chutzpah. Here was someone attending a US funded course espousing good governance and anti corruption and he was suggesting our plan would fail because we didn’t include bribes as part of our budget.
     He was right of course, but I think it still took some courage to say that in front of everyone. I clumsily explained that the US Government does not participate in nor condone bribery as part of their foreign policy outreach. But without the help and support of local officials on the ground, any plan to curtail opium production would be doomed. There’s really only one way to get the help and support of local officials in Afghanistan, and that’s by putting something in their pocket(s).
     I’m in Cambodia now, and that Colonel in the Cambodian police I met in Hawaii is now a Lt. General. That’s three stars for those counting. We had dinner last night and then went to one of his families homes.

Sok Sareth, 16 years later. He still looks the same. 

We had a good chuckle over him calling me out all those years ago because I forgot to include bribes in our budget. We caught up on other colleagues, where they were, what they were doing and talked about the price of real estate in Cambodia and what it takes to buy real estate here. Cambodian citizenship is what it takes. Taiwanese pay $500,000, Chinese $250,000 and then there is a lower cost (and longer process) cut rate price of $70,000 for that passport. We talked about new visa entry requirements for the US under the Trump administration (spoiler alert - it’s a lengthier and more complicated process) and he said that from his perspective, China was ascending in world affairs and America was on the decline. Great discussions and an interesting night.
     I have a few more days left in Phnom Penh. While I don’t go into sketchy establishments where you are practically asking for trouble,  trouble can still track you down in Phnom Penh. I’ll be on a bicycle the next few days in this crazy city traffic, so it’s  reassuring to know I have his card and phone number should anything happen. ‘Cause there’s still just a wee touch of corruption in Cambodia.
   
     

My identity

     I am who I am, there’s never been any ambiguity about that, until now. When I was a kid in school I was Al or Alan. As I got older, I worked construction every summer and Christmas on Kwajalein in the late 70’s and early 80’s when I came home from college. The workforce was primarily from Hawaii, so I was haole boy. My boss, Chige Sakamoto seemed to revel in barking out, “Haole boy! Come!” I was the only haole around, everyone knew, it was just who I was. Haole boy.  When I lived on Kili Island in the Marshall Islands, I was ri belle to the kids, or to the youngest, simply belle (ri belle is Marshallese for white person or foreigner). The entire year I was there, every time kids who weren’t in school saw me, the would yell out, “Belle, belle, belle, belle, belle!” My retort was, “Majol, majol, majol, majol, majol!” (Marshallese, Marshallese, Marshallese, Marshallese, Marshallese!) But it was okay because that’s who I was/am. A ri belle. In Saipan? I was just another American. I remember sitting around with our Chamorro family one Friday evening and they were complaining about Americans on island and how they didn’t respect the local culture. I raised my eyebrows and looked around the group and someone suddenly said, “Oh, but not you guys. You’re okay.” Whew. That’s who I was/am. Another American. I’ve been in Vietnam for a few weeks and have been to some out of the way places where they’re not used to foreigners of any type showing up. The gasps are audible, people whisper and point and then shyly come up and either try to practice their English or ask for a photo with the foreign devil. I have no idea what they call me, but that’s what I am in Vietnam, just another foreign devil. A nice foreign devil, but still.
     But not here in Nha Trang. It’s a weird demographic. There are primarily local Vietnamese, Vietnamese tourists, Chinese and Russians. Russians. Lots and lots of Russians. From 1978 to 2002, Cam Ranh bay, a deep water port about 50 kilometers south of Nha Trang was leased to the USSR Navy. Russian military families migrated up to Nha Trang, which has a lovely, curving beach and started to create a Russian community there. There are now direct charter flights that disgorge even more Russians directly to Nha Trang.

Store for???

     Back to me. Al, Alan, Haole boy, ri belle, belle, just another American, Mr. Dragon (see last blog), foreign devil and now...I’m apparently Russian. I’m clearly not Vietnamese or Chinese. I stay in $25 - 30/night hotels, so I’m not taken for a ragged Western backpacker, clearly, I must be Russian.

Pretty sure they’re Russian

When I go into a store to buy something, they say, Spasibo (thank you). Da. Nyet. But this is what I say to let them know I’m not Russian: Я не голосовал за Трампа. Translation: I didn’t vote for Trump. Reclaiming my identity! Reclaiming my identity!

Mr. Dragon

     I was first exposed to dragon fruit in Phnom Penh, around 1998. I have a pretty good knowledge of tropical fruits, but dragon fruit was brand new to me. I was teaching 4th grade in Saipan way back then and a former teacher from Kwajalein, who was teaching at an international school in Cambodia got in contact with me through a mutual friend. He was interested in coming to Saipan and wanted to know if I’d answer a few questions about working and living on Saipan. We had an AMA (Ask Me Anything) session via e-mail and I gave him what I perceived to be the good, bad and ugly about living and teaching on Saipan. After a few more work/life discussions over e-mail, he told me he was taking his middle school class to Angkor Wat for a field trip and asked if I wanted to tag along.

1. I repeat. He was taking his class to Angkor Wat for a field trip. Wow.
2. I asked my wife for permission (really, I begged. Angkor Wat was on my bucket list) and she generously gave me a kitchen pass.

     Before my wife could change her mind, I quickly made reservations and within a few days I was on my way to Phnom Penh. The visa on entry process, including a payment of $20 in US cash, was interesting. Process is not exactly the right word. It resembled a rugby scrum, with everyone waving their $20 in a semi circle, trying to push their way forward to get the visa raj to take your money and stamp your passport. I eventually made my way to the front of the line, got my visa and floundered out into the hot, sticky air of Phnom Penh.  David’s wife Nam had kindly offered to pick me up at the airport.  I hopped on the back of Nam’s moto (the ubiquitous 110cc motorcycle in SE Asia), and silently thanked myself for being a light traveler - I had a small duffel bag, she put that between her legs and I held on for dear life as she beeped her horn and weaved in and out of the chaotic Cambodian traffic.  She took me to their apartment, where I met their daughter, Tu. David came in a bit later from school and Nam quickly prepared an unbelievable meal. The food was excellent, but every aspect of the multi course meal stood out because of her exquisite presentation. Things that seem special to me (cutting chile or green onion, putting it in ice water so it would curl like a flower, for example) were normal for her. Every plate had the exact amount of garnishing in the same place, and perhaps because I’m not a gourmand, it was quite impressive. At the end of the meal, she plopped down what looked to me like big chunks of Gouda cheese on a plate for dessert. Red skin on the outside, yellow on the inside. I experienced a moment of cognitive dissonance, after such an incredible meal, the dessert was these huge hunks of cheese? But no, that was my introduction to dragon fruit. The fruit itself didn’t overwhelm, it wasn’t an OMG moment like the first time I had mangosteen or rambutan, but it certainly piqued my interest. There were seeds in the yellow flesh and I asked about them, how the plant grew. Both Nam and Tu told me that dragon fruit did not grow from seeds, like a banana, you had to take the shoots and transplant them. When they said that, I started taking those tiny black seeds out and putting them on the side. Challenge accepted.
     The trip to Angkor Wat with those rascally middle schoolers is another story, but Angkor Wat did not disappoint.
     I’m in Vietnam right now and it seems like every fruit - mango, longan, lychee, rambutan, the queen of fruits, mangosteen and the king, durian - are all in season. There is also no shortage of dragon fruit. I took an 8 hour train trip from Ho Chi Minh City to Nha Trang a few days ago and saw where all of the dragon fruit in the world is grown. At least that’s what it looked like to me as hours and hours passed with nothing but dragon fruit plantations on either side of the train. Seeing all of the dragon fruit brought back fond memories of David, Nam and Tu and the humorous dragon fruit discussions we had. Nam and Tu were adamant that you couldn’t grow it from seed, I said I’m going to try; they had a good time teasing me saying that it wasn’t possible.

    More dragon fruit than you can shake a stick at. 

     I had no idea about how it was grown, didn’t even know what type of plant it was. But I’m a curious fellow (and a little stubborn as well) and gave it a shot. When I got back to Saipan, I was able to start and grow some dragon fruit plants. They even flowered, but they never fruited. When David, Nam and Tu finally came to Saipan, we had them over and I casually led Nam and Tu over to my dragon fruit plants and said, “Oh, what are these? Where could they have come from? Are these dragon fruit plants?” They were stunned. We had made an agreement in Phnom Penh. If I was able to grow dragon fruit from seed, then they would have to call me something other than Alan. And for the rest of the time they were on Saipan, Nam and Tu honored the deal and  called me by just one of the many names I go by..Mr. Dragon. 

Weird year

     This has been one long, weird year, and then some. It started with us living in Arlington, VA, where I’d cycle into DC every day weather permitting (I’m very much of a fair weather cyclist). That’s right, January, 2017. I’d circle around the Capitol, think about Trump and Obama walking down the steps and usually stop on the other side and gaze up to where Trump would give his inaugural address. It was all just...weird. Very few people, myself included, gave him any chance of winning the Presidency. It seemed as if every week, there would be a collective, “He can’t survive that gaff,” and somehow, he did.

Obama and Trump. They walked down those stairs together. Still can't believe it.

     Then I got a call asking if I’d like to phase in a contract in Qatar and Kuwait and could I leave tomorrow? I said sure, packed up and got on a plane. That’s kind of the way my life is these days. And, it was conveniently right before the inauguration, so I managed to avoid that whole scene. I was in Qatar for most of the time, staying in the same hotel Gwyne and I stayed in when we were getting our residency done for Kuwait. Staying in the same hotel, eating at the same Dairy Queen (where I took Gwyne for her 50th birthday), and then going to Kuwait, seeing the same cast of characters I used to work with, going to my favorite Sultan Center in Fahaheel, eating the same Chicken Briyani. It just felt weird.

Some restaurant in Qatar - I'm a big Biriyani fan

     That wrapped up and I went to Indonesia for a month. I started out in Java and went to a few places I hadn’t been before, Jakarta, Semarang and Jepara, but that adventure lasted a week, then I went right back to one of my happy places, Ubud, Bali. It seems as if the Eat, Pray, Love folks have discovered Ubud, but so much of Bali and Ubud remained the same.  I’ve been to Ubud so many times, starting in 1991 when it was a sleepy town, walking up and down Monkey Forest Road and Jalan Hanoman, the experience just felt surreal, searching out the familiar and noticing the changes. The very first place we stayed in, the Frog Pond Inn (at the princely price of $1.50/night, mosquitoes were included at no additional charge) was still in operation. Many other places had closed down, but it was that odd sense of I've been here before, mostly because, well I had. So many times before.

Drying rice in Ubud, before it's husked. Nice to see some things haven't changed.

     Then I started working part time for a company about two miles from where we lived in Texas. When I was there, I went to the same Kroger we used to shop at and drove streets we used to drive on and stopped by the house we used to live in. Someone else lives there now. Weird.
     How much weirder could the year get? Well, we moved to Huntsville, Alabama. I'd like to know who wrote that script because I'd certainly like to have a little chit chat with the writer and suggest an edit.  I spent a week at Space Camp when I was the teacher of the year from the CNMI. One of the things that is visible from many parts of Huntsville is the great big rocket, the Saturn V replica at the Space Center. Now I lived there. I'd cycle around on my bike, as a resident this time, and look at that rocket, remembering my time here in 1997 and just shake my head, wondering how I got there. Really. How did this happen?

Huntsville? Yep.

     I went back to Texas and got ready to go phase in another contract. And that contract was Kwajalein. Yeah. That government contract. Spent a night in Honolulu, headed to Kwajalein. Saw folks at the airport in Honolulu, people I knew getting off the plane and then checked into a BQ and had a tour of Kwajalein given by the new PM. I was traveling with three DynCorp employees who had never been to Kwajalein before, so the PM, who had been on Kwajalein for a grand total of 7 days gave us a tour. "You can see the island of Ebeye from here. Ebeye is where the most of the Marshallese live." Granted, I'd been gone for seven years, but c'mon. Wanna talk weird? Having someone give ME a tour of Kwajalein. I spent three surreal weeks on Kwajalein, walking or cycling around, bumping into people wherever I went. How about giving a bunch of briefings to Marshallese employees in Marshallese? Been there and done that, just didn't expect to be there and do that again, yet somehow, there I was.

I had a day off when I was there. Coral Sands.

     2018. Time to settle down for a while, right? Not exactly. I gave Huntsville a fair 4 months and right after the Kwajalein work gig, I got on another plane. I'm in Dubai right now, visiting old haunts, eating at familiar restaurants, taking long walks and enjoying the cosmopolitan nature of the Middle East. I used to come to Dubai all the time when I lived in Kuwait and when I worked in Afghanistan - it was and is a comfortable place for me. I was pleasantly surprised to find 34 dirhams on my Metro card, more than enough to whisk me pretty much wherever I want/need to go in Dubai. 

Spice Souk, DXB.

     But why Dubai? I'm here because I'm headed back to Afghanistan for another as yet undetermined amount of time, partly out of boredom (did I mention I live in Huntsville, AL?) and partly due to my boundless greed, but also because the work there is really interesting. After I get my visa, I'll fly out again to what may be a sense of normalcy for a while. Who knows? 

Tendrils

     After a month in Indonesia, a hellish 40+ hour trip back, two days in the US, I turned around and got on a plane two days later, to Istanbul (overnight) and then to Nuremberg for a river cruise down the Danube to Budapest. That all went swimmingly, so to speak, but at the end of the trip, Gwyne wanted to spend some time in Prague, and so we did. 

     One thing I noticed, both in Indonesia and Europe are the tendrils of travel - thin lines of well worn paths where everyone seems to go and few seem to veer off of, myself included. There are, of course, good reasons for this. Sometimes, it's the method of transportation, whether it be trains, planes, automobiles or boats that take you to where the popular kids are. Other times, it's just because some places are more interesting than others. There are villages in the middle of nowhere in Java, Bali, Hungary and the Czech Republic that no one really wants to go to because, well, they're in the middle of fucking nowhere. I don't know of a lot of people who like to ride the turnip truck out to a tiny town in the middle of Central Europe and dig up their own potatoes for dinner. That just doesn't seem that interesting (or fun) to me, or evidently, to most other people. 

     Gwyne selected the hotel (after all, I had done all of the logistical work on the river cruise - all of the stops, translators, tours, room, food and such) and we ended up in a 15th century building/hotel that had a unique view of the Prague castle. We had two tiny windows, from which we could see the castle and the Starbucks right next to the castle. The Starbucks was what interested me. As I looked up, there was someone perching precipitously on one corner of the Starbucks wall, spending 5 - 10 seconds having their picture taken. Then someone else would jump up on the wall (there was about a 40' drop below them) and pose. The city of Prague was the background, but what was fascinating to me was the never ending stream of people having their picture taken in the exact same location - 5 - 10 seconds, then the next person in line would hop up on the wall and pose. All.day.long. WTF was going on? I looked on the internet, it said that location was one of the most photogenic in all of Prague (I really don't think it is - the whole city is unbelievably photogenic and there are much better city views, in my opinion). But someone on the internet said this is the place to have your picture taken in Prague. It turns out there was something else going on as well - it was one of the locations for a Korean soap opera filmed in Prague. That explains the higher than normal number of Korean folks getting their picture taken from the same spot, but what about the poses? I've watched over the past few days, from our hotel room, and from the wall across Starbucks. There seem to be three main poses: the staid, look at the camera, fake a smile and then get off the wall. Then there is the looking out over Prague, you can either have a profile picture, looking pensive or have your picture taken of your back while the photo subject looks outwards. Who knows what the expression on their face is? We all assume they are taking in the majesty of the history and architecture. No one needs to know what they really thinking, which is probably nothing about majestic views, history or architecture. Finally, there is the pose with your back to the camera and both hands raised in the air, sometimes, the occasional peace sign. Not sure what that's about. I've looked for the last three days and haven't seen any variation to those three poses.
     I do, however, enjoy the twist to pose #1, the fake smile. It involved the photo subject berating their photographer, pointing, directing, frequently scolding, brilliantly smiling and then quickly resorting to a scowl after the picture has been taken and checking to see that they looked sweet and happy in the picture, all within the 5 - 10 second window. Those were my favorites. Nobody likes an unflattering picture of themselves, but c'mon.

     The other thing that interested me in Prague were the Chinese pre-wedding photo shoots. In the morning, one location they can reliably be found is on the Charles Bridge at around 0600. A few hours later, and the bridge is barely passable, kiosks set up with people trying to separate you from your money (none successfully in my case), musicians playing, tour groups touring and an all around zoo. But the brides to be at that time are fully made up, their hair is done, they're dressed in elegant gowns and grooms are in their suits/tuxes. The bridge is lovely to start with, the morning light accentuates the beauty of the bridge/city and the only people that seem to be there at that time of day are the youngsters, stumbling drunkenly home from an all nighter, the Chinese pre-wedding photo shoots, and a few oddball early risers, like myself. What was all of this hullabaloo, I thought? Once again, the interweb came to the rescue. It's a big deal for those with resources, traveling to exotic locations, dressing up in their wedding garb and having a professional pre-wedding photo taken. The interweb says that Chinese weddings have a fairly rigid structure, which make it difficult to schedule time for wedding pictures, so they get them taken in advance. That also allows them to be plastered around the hall when they are actually married. After reading about it, I can see why they do it, but t's not for me. I'm an enormously practical fellow. My idea of a good wedding is giving the bride/groom a ladder and a chunk of cash. The ladder is for them to elope, the cash is to help them start a new life. Whatever works for you is what works for you. I just enjoyed walking down to the bridge in the am to see the next group of brides and grooms to be posing for the camera.

     The bike ride portion of the trip (and there's always at least one of those) was great for me, I took the bikes the river boat tour provided at most of the stops and pedaled aimlessly around, sometimes getting lost, frequently seeing a lot of nothing burger and occasionally running across something spectacular. After one stop in Germany, I let Gwyne know that on the next day my gaze would be lingering longer than was appropriate, and she jumped in, "At the sex shops?" No, I said, at the bicycles. My ride in DC was stolen, so I'm in the bike shopping mode. I looked, my gaze lingered, I wiggled my eyebrows, I even licked my lips. There are some über hot bicycles in Germany, and without shame, I lusted after them. And now it's time to satisfy my cycling urges, buy a new bike and enjoy the fantastic cycling around DC before moving, again.

     

Java

     This has been a different trip. For one, it was ill planned. We had another life changing event (we're moving again, and although it was kind of in the works it popped up suddenly) and I looked at frequent flyer dates and thought it would be a fine idea to go to Indonesia for a month, with a departure date four days away. Ill planned. Didn't check when Ramadan started (May 26th, I leave on the 27th). Didn't check when rainy season was (I came in at the tail end, still low season). I lucked out, again. I wanted to spend some time in Jepara, Central Java. My flight took me from DC to Zurich, Zurich to Bangkok and Bangkok to Jakarta, total flying time 23 hours, 31 hours total. The return flight would be just as hellish - Bali to Jakarta, Jakarta to Seoul, Seoul to Beijing and Beijing to DC, 40 hours + of travel time.

     I contacted on old colleague from a course we took in Hawaii who is Indonesian and lives in Jakarta - it was great to see him again, he picked me up from my hotel and took me to a water/seaside resort where we had a fantastic lunch. I love logistics, and asked him about the shared motorcycle services. They were branded, Uber, Go Jek and Grab. The drivers wear jackets with  the company logo and the passengers wear branded helmets. There's a couple of Go Jek motorcycles in Semarang. I asked Rujilanto how it worked, and it's essentially a copy of Uber or Lyft, but for motorcycles that have the ability to weave in and out of traffic that routinely chokes Jakarta to a standstill. Rulijanto commented that it was actually illegal to use motorcycles as public transportation and I asked him if someone was getting paid off or was the public transportation so bad that the government just looked the other way because they clearly weren't trying to hide anything. He looked ahead and said quietly, "I'm the Chief of Customs." The answer was clear, that wasn't his area of responsibility.

 

     To get to Jepara, you have to go through Semarang, and I decided to take the train there rather than fly because I had the time and I like trains. Booking was straightforward, all online and all in Indonesian. I speak enough Indonesian to get through that and what stumped me, Google translate took care of like a champ. You can travel ekonomi, bisinis or exkseutif class, and no, the rest of Indonesian doesn't have nearly as many cognates. I took the exkseutif class, which set me back $23 for an extremely punctual and comfortable 6 hour trip. I decided to lay up in Semarang for a day rather than push through to Jepara for the same reason I travelled exkseutif class - why inflict any unnecessary pain on myself? Although I have the emotional maturity of a 10 year old, my body frequently reminds me that I'm 57. I also wanted to visit Lewang Sewu, the historic headquarters of the Dutch East Indies Railway Company. I love history and this building was pretty cool - totally worth the 74 cents admission cost. Although Semarang is a city of more than 2 million souls, it's not exactly on the tourist path, and once I broke the ice with my Indonesian pleasantries, it  seemed as if everyone wanted a photo of the nice foreign devil. 

     I had to figure out how to get to Jepara, and the Google machine told me I had a few choices: 

1. Take the local bus.
2. Charter a car.
3. Take a scheduled mini bus.

     Number one was out, I did that kind of shit when I was in my 20's. Number 2 was a bit more than I wanted to pay, so I shelled out $3.74 for the scheduled mini bus, got in the front seat so I could direct the ac at my sweaty white face and enjoyed the ride. There were only three passengers and the conversation was all in Indonesian. When they asked where I was from, I told them and the young kid immediately gave me a thumbs up and said, "Donald Trump!" Turned out to be a conversation killer for me.

     So Jepara - why Jepara, a gritty industrial city in Central Java? We're having a house built in Huntsville, Alabama and all the furniture we have in the world came from IKEA to furnish our 699 square foot apartment in Arlington, VA. IKEA furniture is functional, but more suited for college students or folks in their 20's. We're going to need to have someplace to sleep, someplace to sit and well, you get the idea. If you've been to Bali, you've seen beautiful teak and mahogany furniture lining the road from Kuta to Ubud, but it's most likely made in Jepara, the center of the universe for handmade, solid wood carved furniture. There's a fantastic supply chain with wood grown mostly in Java, and the trade that everyone seems to be born into in Jepara is carpentry. Semarang is a deep water international port and a mere two hours from Jepara. If you want, you can sit at home in your underwear and order a container of teak furniture to your liking, custom made in Jepara and have it delivered to your front door wherever you are in the world. Or, you could do something impulsive and get on a plane and wend your way down here for no other reason than it's interesting. I did some half hearted research, and there's a lot of information out there and a gazillion websites. I could either poke around myself or hire an agent and pay them a commission. The standard commission, by the by, is $100/day when being ferried around to various companies and then 10% of the sale, minimum price of $10,000. The smart thing to do is hire the local agent, who knows the best companies, speaks the language, helps with shipping and is your agent on the ground after you go back to wherever the hell you came from, right? Yeah, I didn't do that. I e-mailed the owner of one of the better sites, told him what I was looking for and he said he could do it. I specifically mentioned moisture content and told him I'd be bringing a moisture tester with me - there have been quality problems with the proliferation of furniture companies in Jepara and using wood that has been not kiln dried or dried very much at all. As it dries back in Europe or the U.S., it warps and cracks. I visited one of his factories and asked to test the wood, he didn't blink. So far, so good. Abdul Salam and I got along famously, my order is in, and it will be a few months before someone drives up to our house, and drops it off in our driveway.

     I decided to post up in Bali for a while because the business part of the trip is pretty much done and Bali has been one of my go to happy places since 1991. I took the mini bus to Semarang and thought I gave myself enough time - 2 hour trip, I had 2.15 hours wiggle room. The driver started a little late, there was traffic and the usual weaving in and out between the trucks and motorcycles and then we stopped dead in traffic. It's okay, plenty of time, I can still get there an hour before the flight, I thought. We started up again and then hit some flooded roads. Didn't move. The time, well, that kept on moving forward. I looked at my phone, used Google Maps to let me know how little time I had to get to the airport, figured all the contingencies on where to stay in Semarang, how to get the ticket extended - there was nothing I could do. I got to the airport at 2:00 pm for a 2:15 flight. And the plane was delayed, I waltzed right in, got on the plane and had a nice chuckle to myself about that adventure. 

     The cycling in Bali was around local villages on rented steeds, weaving in and out of traffic, exploring back roads and stumbling on interesting and sometimes, just rather mundane Balinese lifetime activities - fun stuff. After a delightful three weeks in Bali, it was fitting to watch Eat Pray Love on the last leg of a 5 movie flight on the way home. I found out my bike was stolen while I was in Bali, so I'm bicycle shopping so I can keep myself amused on a bicycle the last few months in DC - one of the best places in the world to explore on a bicycle.