Around Bogor

 The Worker's Village as Seen From Above

Massive Growth

Even the Foliage Sport Dreds in These Parts

Jungle Drapery

Brilliant Colors Abound

Stray Cats Roam Incessantly

In the Shadow of Volcanoes

My Immediate Neighborhood (For Now)

In Bogor the Jungle is at Your Door

Lushness

Jungle Garden

Despite Evidence of Pervasive Poverty Some Homes are Nothing Short of Stately

I Swear The Balcony on This House is Larger Than My Efficiency in Seattle

Boyz in the Bogorhood

Pet Crocodile.  For Realz

Funky Growth

New Digs

 The Lush Grounds of My Boarding House

This Little Grommet Tends the Garden

1/28/2012 Concerning My Second Night in Bogor

Stuffy boarding house room.  A miniscule bathroom off to the side, proper western toilet, shower head onna hose.  A foul mattress, with what appears to be the sweat of many stained deep into the fabric.  A small, rough pillow.  Tiny desk.  That's all.  No kitchen.  We are not amused.
 
After sleeping for about 24hrs straight I moseyed over to work to see if anybody could show me around.  Just about everybody was going to be busy with classes until 9pm.  Sleep some more.  Meet up with Elder Pete who's agreed to show me about but seems more interested in eating at home.  I hop on the back of his motorbike and we're careening through the dark, wet streets of Bogor, dodging in and out of traffic with the bloke's long hair whipping my eyeballs.  A fine introduction to new life if ever there was one.  We stop briefly at a street vendor to stock up on Arak (a kind of syrupy rice wine.  Oddly enough, sounds like Aragk, the Mongolian fermented horse milk.)  The lady funnels the stuff into thick plastic bags and we roar off into the night.
 
Pete's crib is a bit away from the city center.  Quiet and cleaner.  He's got a large house, two floors, two bedrooms, two balconies.  He draws up some BassDrive live streaming radio on the introwebs and we shoot the shit over diluted glasses of the rice liquor.  It's sticky and still quite viscous despite the addition of water.  Turn's out Pete's an interesting character.  Spent a good chunk of time in Seattle during the early '90's/Grunge era before moving to India where he set up a foundation to aid at risk youth through music.
 
Before long I'm feeling exhausted again.  Jet lag has a special way of clinging tenaciously.  Fortunately Pete's got an extra bed so I can pass out on a proper mattress.  Despite my torpid state I'm up before dawn.  The mullahs at the mosque are calling devout muslims to come out and pray.  I have no religious inclination but I find the song compelling.  They carry a foreign chord progression that sounds exotic to my ear.  Sometimes vocals sound better when the lyrics are not deciphered.  Then the voice becomes an instrument rather than a communication device.
 
The next day we scout around town, gathering simple necessities to make my stay more comfortable.  Back at the crib and I've now got clean sheets, bath soap, toilet paper, and power strip for electronics.  I bid adieu to my benefactor and set about making my space livable.  My employer is putting me up for the month, after which I must pay my own way.  Hopefully I can find a spot of my own (This just in: I haven't.  Moved out at least.  However I've put a down payment on a place in the worker's village.  It's actually quite large.  I'm eager to move out, but that probably won't happen until April.  Furnishing my new digs will surely lighten my wallet.  Oh boy.)  Around here they take a year's rent upfront and by the looks of it a decent place and furniture will require around two grand (USD.)  Despite the large overhead it will be nice to have the place paid off in full from the begining.  Afterwards only utility bills are of concern, though I'm told such costs are minimal.  Perhaps I'll have enough to hire a maid.  Yeah.  Bourgeois living, Bogor style.  We'll see.

2/12/2012 1st Impressions

I've been here nearly two weeks and I must say the settling in process has been more of a challenge than Mongolia. In fact I'm finding myself comparing everything here to my experience there. Perhaps not the best practice but it's a subconscious process. Difficult to suppress. For one thing the food is far superior. Lots of spicy peppers, peanut sauce and fried noodles. Great stuff. And the people are all smiles, very polite. That's certainly an improvement. I guess the real problem is my accommodations. I'll get into that shortly. First off, my arrival:

The flight from Madison to Bogor was largely uneventful. No HazMat Bio-quarantine team in search of Swine Flu to delay the process. My flight outta SF left at 12am, 2am Madison time. Pressed against the window for 13hrs in a metal tube, the claustrophobia produced insomniac tendencies that would last long after my arrival. Upon landing in Jakarta at 9am local time the sun was blazing and the plethora of jungle flora was just soaking it in. 22hrs of travel from the icy grip of midwestern winter to humid tropical heat. That alone was shock enough. I stepped onto the plane in Madison in a hoody sweatshirt and chef coat. However, I had planned ahead. Immediately upon my arrival I unzipped the legs of my UFO pants below the knees, zipping the two sections together and pulling closed the ankle drawstrings I was now in shorts and equipped with an ample satchel for bulky shoes, chef coat and sweatshirt. Brilliantly functional garments them UFO pants. Ha! They should pay me for such endorsements!

I was relieved to be picked up by a fellow Boulé (Indonesian for "honky"), albeit a Limey from Sheffield. We jumped into a car and proceeded to join the chaos that is Jakarta traffic. We discussed life in Indonesia, internet access and such. I was surprised how chipper I was feeling, considering the travel quality. However, the stimulus was overwhelming. I was taken to my new office, met a bit of the staff and then deposited in my new digs.

By now jet lag had gotten the best of me. I didn't even notice the stained, stiff mattress or the rough pillow. I was out like a lamp.

Cyclocross Nationals with New Camera

Door County with Old Camera

"Manity (not Manatee) Plate"

Are we hard or what? WHAT?!

If I were in a rap crew...

Door County looks straight outtuhva storybook.

Back to the Blog 1/25/12

Hola, faithful readers. Once again I must report it has been a long time since I posted last. Frankly no new adventures have cropped up since my visit with Jason in VT. That was nearly nine months ago. However, as I write this I'm once again bound for foreign lands to teach English. This time someplace warm. And humid. A place with beaches and jungles. Indonesia! Bogor, in fact, a suburb of Jakarta on the island of Java.

But first, to summarize, a few slight escapades of note:

My friend and Ultimate Frisbee teammate organized a camping trip to Door County (for those that don't know, it's the "thumb" of Wisconsin. Nice area. Attracts a lot of tourists. Grow some mean cherries up that way, so they do.) Four of us fellas, high school buddies, myself, 2e, Fair, and Zach were to car pool. Zach calls me the day of with problems. Brakes in his whip probably won't make the trip. However, a solution. We can take 2e's sister's family van, if we clean it out for them. Sounds reasonable. However when we arrive there's one fluke, the van's licence plate clearly reads "Man Van." *Whap* Four dudes rolling cross country in the Man Van. Just sounds douchey to me.

I'm glad we cleaned the thing out though. The kid's bathing suits were hanging to dry throughout the vehicle. I can only imagine the conversation when the police officer pulls us over, "No sir, I cannot explain the child's underwear strewn about. I swear we've had no contact with any minors within this automobile." Right. A likely story.

Anyway the camping was enjoyable enough. The men sat about the fire and carved pointy sticks while the women complained about our lack of creativity. But seriously, what else am I supposed to make out of a stick if not a brutal cudgel? Sheesh.

Before I begin the real story of my Indonesian adventure I wanted to share some images taken with my new camera. I've decided to up my photography game. I hope it pays off. Above are some shots of our day at the cyclocross races. Enjoy and stay tuned!

disConnect

For those that know me.....

I'm in Singapore, strung out from lack of sleep. My employer sent me to Jakarta for a 6am flight. Work Visa stuff. I'm not entirely sure how it works or how it could possibly be legal. I met some dude in a McDonald's, handed over my passport. He'll be back in a few hours, and then it's back to the airport for a return flight. All in all a pretty strange day. I'd like to see this city a bit more but as I said I'm a bit knackered and I really don't wanna get lost. Being late could spell the loss of my passport and then I'd be effed royally.

Besides I've got hours to kill and a decent internet connection, something I've been lacking ever since touching down in Bogor a month ago (has it been so long?) I find my self constantly comparing my experience here to my time in Mongolia. Looking back on old posts I realize I was anxious to be blogging immediately upon arrival and distressed for lacking connection as well. Only then my woes alleviated within a week. In Bogor I'm still waiting for a proper residence. The school is putting me in some kind of boarding house for the first month. Place is dicey, and that's being generous. No fridge, sweat stained mattress, had to buy my own pillow and sheets. Fuckin' lame man. For all my complaints about Mongolia at least my employer had the class to provide suitable housing. What a mess.

Anyhow that's the basics. I wrote some journel entries in anticipation for this day. I think I'll post them now (see above.) Hopefully I'll get around to securing a proper home with reliable connection. All I can say for the time being is hold tight lads and lasses. I'm as eager as you, or perhaps more so, to see this blog progress. Forward!

Late Post

Oh man. I don't know why I do this. It's been about two and a half months since I left Jason in VT and I haven't yet finished recounting the tale. Bad blogger! Back in your cage!

With my train home scheduled for Friday we had a couple of days left to explore before taking my leave. We decided a brewery tour was in order and traced a route towards Burlington so as to maximize our exposure to craft brew. The passage north proved blandly rural but it was nice to be rolling steady again, just watching the world blaze by. We stopped at a brewery called Otter Creek that offered, among other things, a sample of my first dark IPA. I'm not normally a fan of IPAs, too hoppy for me but it was a nice treat. The bar keep lined up a round of 6 4oz samplers of our choosing, ranging from an organic honey wheat through mild nut brown and into deep chocolate stout. We drank them a bit quickly, not realizing that we just quaffed the equivalent of two beers in a half hour. We stepped outside where I realized I was a bit tipsy. Wooooo!

Next stop, Bobcat Cafe, in a small town whose name I've now forgot. Quaint little place built into the slope of a mountain. As luck would have it we sat down directly adjacent to the Brew Master, a kindly fellow who had plenty of insights into his own craft (no shit.) I told him of my love for nut browns which prompted him to tap a cask of product in progress. He explained how this shit here was settling with that shit there or something that was completely lost upon me but, awesome, I was treated to a unique and personalized beer sipping experience. Can't ask for much more. Again we drank a bit fast. This time, however, upon leaving the joint our step was drowsy. Jason decided he needed to cool it a bit before taking the wheel again. We walked down to the river, hopped around on the rocks, and sang songs at the top of our lungs into the roaring water. By and by we returned to the road.

We pulled into Burlington just before sundown and promptly set about exploring the place. Burlington is a shining example of the kind of hippy towns scattered across the nation that draws out the freaks. Places such as Madison, Eugene, and, allegedly, Austin TX that cater to a young, free thinking crowd that wants live music, organic grub and head shops. As night falls we decide some live music is in order. We duck into a promising spot and settle in. It turns out to be some kinda electro-psychedelia. Not bad. Upstairs a rowdy crowd moshes to some drunken irish type rabble rousers with an accordion, a violin, and other such non-sense. All fun and games but at the back of the mind we ponder where to sleep.

Eventually we settle on sleeping in Jason's truck. Drunk as we are we manage but damn was it cramped. One of the most uncomfortable nights of my life, no offense Jason. He sprawls across the front while I pack into the narrow back seat. I can't wait for dawn. Eventually light creeps through the window. We're in the parking lot of an apartment complex. It seems pretty obvious to me that two bums just spent the night in a truck, but the locals don't seem to mind. Perhaps their used to this behavior. By the look of things, transients are a common sight in these parts. We spend the majority of the day walking about, stopping in various shops and visiting local brew pubs. They're nice, have good repertoires, but none exceed the quality of Bobcat. Well enough. With train leaving Rutland early tomorrow we decide to take our leave. Better to spend the night down there than to have to drive early. In Rutland Jason knows of a unique little community that runs a restaurant/hostel called the Back Home Again. Inside the interiors are creatively accentuated with wild root forms and leather. It has a warm, cozy atmosphere despite its size. The food is generous, affordable, and totally satisfying. The staff are friendly but strangely cultish(?) They're really interested in explaining their particular perspective on life. It's neat, but more in an anthropologic way, I want to understand their take on life but have no interest in joining. With some clever finagling we manage to arrange a work-for-stay situation. Jason and I tag team the floors, sweeping and mopping, which affords us a night in their bunk house. Much better than sleeping in a truck.

Up bright and early and the pleasant fellows have breakfast prepared. Omlettes, rendered perfectly. I am truly thankful. A short jaunt to the Amtrak station and I'm off. A short but sweet trip I will not soon forget. The train schedule lays me over in lovely Schenectady for seven hours. Ugh. What to do? Hang out in the public library for a few until I've exhausted my intronet needs, then a walk through the dreary ghettos before settling in for a movie. Sucker Punch. It was atrocious but totally fitting seeing as how I was in fucking Schenectady. Finally the train departs and I'm homeward bound. Too bad I couldn't have stayed longer.

About Tuesday (3/29)

Tuesday, slept in late and I'm still feeling the hurt. Jason wants to take me to ride the mountain but I'm apprehensive. I'm not sure that an ailing knee is the correct condition for trying a new sport. Decision time. I think I ought to consider returning to Madison. The tourist season is almost over in VT. Most seasonal (read: catering to tourists) jobs are over until after summer. I don't own a car, which renders me almost completely dependent on Jason. This is not a recipe for an extended stay. So I make the call. I will catch the train outta Rutland early Friday morning.

With the rest of our day Jason and I take a short hike to Equinox pond at the base of Mt. Equinox. It's a mostly flat trail located in a sweet nature preserve directly adjacent to the wealthy section of town. To think there's a high school right outside the park. Jason and I agreed that if we had attended this school in our earlier days we would've skipped class in favor of the park often.

About Monday (3/28)

Monday and my bum knee is illin'. Jason calls it my Bitch Knee. He suggests I "beat the bitch out of it." Not sure if that will work. I limp about Monday. Jason takes me on a driving tour of the surrounding areas in order to run a few errands. He keeps a P.O. Box in the town he lived prior to Manchester affording an opportunity to see his winter stomping grounds. I neglected to bring my camera, a blunder as rural VT is gorgeous even during this unpleasant time of year. I like the low stone walls and the covered bridges. Everything is rustically charming.

Our main destination is a cheese factory in Grafton, a small town with rich history stretching back to revolutionary war times. Though the cheese store was neat the little history museum was of most interest. They sported a fine collection of historical glass bottles and an impressive photo archive in the back.

We continued onward. Jason has a habit of stopping in just about every country store just to see what's selling and chat up the locals. Being from rural areas I suppose it's just second nature for him. I myself, hailing from urban environments, am never so bold. City folk seem to be too busy to be bothered, over the years I've learned to keep conversation to a business minimum.

Monday night is cheap pizza night at Bella's, the restaurant immediately adjacent to Jason's abode. We gorge ourselves on pizza and beer, passing out early. I guess we're still feeling that hike.