In Uncharted Waters

I'm standing knee deep in flood water in the middle of an Indonesian village. The water is a dark brown and moves alarmingly quick. Plastic bags stick to my legs as other bits of trash and debris float past, including a whole watermelon. Two Indonesian women sit in their flooded homes holding a magazine over their heads, staring out the window, not surprised or fretful, but resigned. This happens every year. But it's new and confronting for me. What the hell am I doing here? 

Contrary to popular belief, I am not wearing Kylie Minogue style hot pants.

I'm here on a research trip for work, trying to gain a more complete understanding of the 'banjir' (floods) that hit Jakarta every rainy season. Is it an infrastructure problem? Is it the rain? Is it the trash that clogs up the river? Or did they just build a city in the wrong geographical spot? It's a combination of these things, but this project, PetaJakarta.org, is about resilience. PetaJakarta.org is a community-based web platform to map the floods in Jakarta using geo-located tweets. Citizens tweet #banjir to report instances of flooding, and their report is placed on a real-time evolving map which can help increase the capacity of Jakarta's disaster response teams. I'm here in Jakarta for two weeks with a team of nine University students to see first-hand how the city evolves during this rainy season - and also to make sure that the students don't die.

This tree marks the height the river reaches every time it floods. The sign with the red border marks where the flood hit two days before this photo was taken. 

Many hotels and malls in Jakarta have signs at their entrance that strictly forbid anyone from bringing a fruit called 'durian' onto their property. Durian is a large, thorny fruit that emits a notoriously awful, rotten odour. Ironically, Jakarta's nickname is 'Big Durian' and I can see the similarities. Jakarta is big and intimidating, with a strong smell but on the inside it can be really sweet. The Big Durian does have its charms.

Yes, the traffic is infuriating and the air pollution is intense but the moped drivers perform such feats of balance and dexterity in transporting their goods that it has to be admired. It's not uncommon to see a family of four huddled up together on a moped, with a cage of chickens strapped on the back and a gas bottle between the driver's legs. The taxi drivers consistently get lost or try and scam you - for example, pulling over on the side of the road and telling us we need to wait ten minutes because the road was closed until 11am, as other cars flagrantly streamed past us on the clearly open road - but the meter starts at 75 cents and the fare only ever rises to about $2.

Most of all, the people are gracious hosts, and over the past two weeks we have met people from the disaster management agency, members of local NGOs, and other researchers tackling the problem of Jakarta's floods, and they were all committed to sharing their knowledge, sharing their city, and ensuring that we were safe, happy, and well fed. However, we had to adapt to being racially profiled every time we walked down the street. The nickname the locals have for foreigners is 'bule' which translates to 'ghost' or 'albino.' I don't think it is intended to be offensive, and indeed we did find it hilarious when village children would spot us, shout 'bule', and giggle. Sometimes they would follow us down the street and try and sneak a few photos of the bules. However, there were times when we would visit busy local markets and the vendors would shout 'hey bule' in not-so-welcoming voices and we couldn't help but feel a little vilified. And then I remember that the Oscars completely snubbed black actors this year and I feel like a privileged white boy again.

A slum area affected by flood

Our days have been busy and unpredictable, often jumping between visiting evacuation shelters in the field, to meetings at the local government offices to discuss flood modelling, to attending community meetings in a slum, to inspecting flood infrastructure. For example, the other day we spent the morning listening to a presentation from the Humanitarian OpenStreetMap Team and the Indonesian branch of Wikimedia. We then grabbed some lunch and caught the train to Condet to visit a branch of the Ciliwung Institute, a collection of activists who live by the flood-prone and trash-filled Ciliwung river. We trekked through the muddy and mosquito filled riverbed which had flooded earlier in the week and saw the remnants of a recent landslide. We then hiked back to the train station, got lost, saw a cat get run over by a moped, eventually found the station, and caught the train back into town to go straight to the premiere of a film about flooding funded by the Australian and Indonesian governments. As we were there as guests of the Australian Embassy and we wanted to look nice, we quickly got changed into some formal clothes in the bathroom and carpark, praying that the deodorant would cover up all traces of mud and sweat. Following the film, we managed to snag a few group selfies with some of the cast, and they were gracious enough not to visibly recoil from our collective stench.

The Indonesian Cate Blanchett (maybe?)

Snapped from the red carpet 

Thankfully, not all days are this hectic and we have had the possibility to engage in some non-flood related cultural activities. My favourite is karaoke. Asian karaoke is the best. They do that thing where you just rent out a private room and sing in front of each other. Let me tell you something, Indonesian people can SING. They did justice to power ballads from Beyonce, Whitney, and Mariah - meanwhile, I made a semi-passable attempt at Fergie. The songs that were on offer, however, were a bit confusing. For example, they didn't have Jesse's Girl or Don't Stop Believing - two classic karaoke hits, staples of The Harp on a Sunday night - but they did have Paris Hilton's 2006 runaway hit Stars Are Blind. The Indonesian taste in music may not be up to par.

With Yantri, colleague and karaoke partner

We were also lucky enough to visit Jakarta' sixth district, the Thousand Islands,  a tropical paradise just north of the city. Two facts about the Thousand Islands:

1) There are actually only 128 islands but that doesn't sound as impressive.
2) The dressing did not come from here.

Here, we got to have one glorious day away from Jakarta's intense madness, snorkelling, swimming, and sunsetting. However, to get there we had to leave from a port that doubled as a pungent fish market and board what I can only assume was a repurposed refugee boat. This boat had two crowded levels, both about 1 metre in height. To fit, most of the Indonesian passengers lied down next to each-other. We were packed in like a tin of sardines, if a tin of sardines were trying to seek asylum. But it was worth it.

Thousand Islands, Jakarta (Not The Refugee Boat)

I'm very thankful that I was able to go on this work trip and it has definitely expanded my understanding of the intricacies of this project. Whether I'm in the mud, the ocean, or a traffic jam, being in the field is undoubtedly much more exciting than being in the office. If only I could get paid to travel more often. Somebody set that up. 

Hawaiian Holiday

Upon returning from my latest backpacking tour of Europe and the US, I was resigned to the fact that I now had to settle down, get a job, and save money. I had enjoyed a year of carefree fun and it was time for me to buckle down. Well that mentality lasted all of two seconds, and within a month of non-strenuous part-time work, I was ready for another holiday.

Jess and my cousin Emma had booked to go to Hawaii for the Christmas / New Year break, and just like communism in Asia, the dominoes started to fall: Caitlin and I booked, then Mum decided that she couldn’t miss out, and then Nanna decided to tag along as well. We left on Boxing Day for a week of relaxing by the pool, eating over-sized portions of food, shopping, and (hopefully) getting lei'd.

While the main purpose of the week was to relax, the trip started out more stressful than I had intended. Coming in to New York last August, I was flagged to the issue of sharing a name with a criminal on the do not fly list. Customs at JFK airport told me, “your name is gonna get you in a lot of trouble, boy” and then waved me through (I think he didn’t want to to delay what he probably misinterpreted as a Cousin Honeymoon with Nicole).

This time, in Honolulu, Nanna and I were going through border control together and we obviously had no romantic charm to fall back on. Nanna’s passport was processed and he called her ‘Big Mumma’ and it was all very jokey, then he started processing my passport and his attitude dropped. He got up, went to talk to someone, came back, and then attached my passport to a bright red folder. Now, I don’t know much about airport protocol, but I do know that red means bad. He told Big Mumma to meet me downstairs and that he had to take me to questioning. Luckily, Caitlin was there as well so Nanna didn’t have to wait alone, worrying that I would be the next David Hicks.

They held on to my passport in that ominous red folder and took me to an empty room and told me to wait. I was seated facing two posters: a small one that said ‘no phones’ and a bigger poster that said in bold writing, ‘there are worse ways to lose your life than dying.’ OK, so what the hell does that mean? They made me sit staring at that poster for what felt like ages as I tried to decipher whether it referred to prison, deportment, or teen pregnancy. I wasn’t too intimidated because I knew I wasn’t a terrorist, but I was also silently preparing myself to be waterboarded or at least cavity searched. I also knew that I wouldn’t be able to hold-up under torture - I just don’t have the constitution for it. After a minute of questioning I probably would’ve confessed to being a Saddam Hussein body-double.

They asked me a few questions about where I was from, what I did, and how long I would be in Hawaii. Thankfully, Wollongong doesn’t sound at all like a made-up place. It turns out there is someone out there with my exact same name and exact same birth-date. I don’t know if it is an unlucky coincidence or my identity was stolen when I bought that Shake-Weight online, but the customs officials have assured me that they have now done everything they could to ensure it won’t happen again.

Regardless, we were all able to make our connecting flight to Kona and fit in a Pumpkin Spice Latte from Starbucks on the way. A word on Pumpkin Spice Lattes: every white-girl instagram and tweet about these beverages are true - it is indeed the nectar of the yoga-pants-wearing gods. It’s delicious, it’s addictive, and it will probably kill you. While ordering, Caitlin asked for low-fat milk, and the barista laughed and said, “that’s not possible with the pumpkin spice” and then I laughed and said “yes I will have cream on top, thanks.” But, when drinking Starbucks, you don’t really have to worry because you aren’t drinking the calories, Kayla and Neehan are (that’s how the baristas usually spelt our names).

Take a look at this delicious treat and how it will kill you, suck it Kayla and Neehan:

Kona, also known as the Big Island, is a laid-back place. While some of the girls went on dinner cruises and helicopter rides over volcanoes (Jess had learned from Greece and was determined to never attempt to climb a volcano again, her inner-thigh would never forgive her) we spent most of our days lounging by the pool. The hotel had private cabanas positioned around the pool area and we became obsessed with renting one. When we asked the pool desk, we were told that you had to book a cabana days in advance. We would stare forlornly at the empty cabanas all day, our eyes burning into the little reserved signs. We knew that if we never secured a cabana we would regret it for the rest of our lives.

On our second day, Caitlin boldly splayed herself across a cabana for a quick and stealthy model session. I sent the photo to the other girls, who were about to head in to the town to explore, and they came rushing to the pool, abandoning all plans, to come and enjoy the cabana. They were not impressed when they found us on regular pool beds like common peasants. Of course, this culminated in Emma bullying the pool desk staff into reserving us a neglected cabana, and Nanna Kay slapping down the $50USD to cover the costs. Reclining on that cabana sent more endorphins through my body than any exercise I have ever done. From her position on the cabana, Nanna Kay was primed to hit on every waiter that walked past.

Nanna and her cabana boy

Yes, Kona was a relaxing few days. It is the kind of island where nothing ever really changes. We asked a taxi driver how much it would cost to get back from the town to our hotel and he told us it would be somewhere between $25 to $25.40. Sure enough, when we arrived back at our hotel the meter clicked over to $25.40. He does that route up to five times a night, he told us, and the fare is always within that 40cent window. He also told us that he used to be a skateboarding stunt-double in Hollywood but he moved out to Hawaii to chase a girl. He didn’t end up with the girl, and most of his other friend’s have families now, but that’s ok because he has been focusing on his career as a taxi driver. The American Dream is alive and true.

After Kona, we hopped a flight back to Honolulu for a few nights on Waikiki Beach, including New Year’s Eve. Honolulu is where the demon that lives inside Jess’ brain and tells her to buy everything she sees came to life. That voice inside her head spoke so loudly that, evidently, Emma and Mum could hear it too. As soon as they checked-in, the girls went off to the shopping outlets. They came back with what is technically classified as a shit-tonne of shopping. Jess bought three pairs of Nike Kicks because she couldn't decide on what colour she liked best. She doesn’t even run!

The next day, Jess and Em went back to the shops - not to return any unnecessary items, but to buy even more stuff. I went with them because I wanted to go to Walmart and pick up some over-the-counter teeth-whitening products because all the pumpkin spice lattes had started to turn my teeth Oompa-Loompa orange. Walmart is K-Mart on crack. It has books, landscaping equipment, electrical, a pharmacy, alcohol, groceries, clothes. The only thing Walmart doesn't have is enough staff on the check-outs. For me, what seemed like a shopper’s paradise quickly descended into hell. Picture a room filled with clones of Honey Boo Boo’s mother, all bearing coupons, all pushing trolleys loaded with jumbo tubs of Cheetos.That same day we heard reports that a woman was shot and killed inside a Walmart when her toddler pulled a gun out of her own handbag. America is crazy and Walmart represents both the peak of American capitalism and the decline of humanity - but at least everyone has really white teeth.

The big cultural activity for Honolulu was a trip to Pearl Harbor to visit the USS Arizona Memorial and the USS Missouri, site of the Japanese surrender. It was quite a moving memorial and it was eerie to see the submerged battleship still leaking oil 73 years later. You could tell from being there that the Americans have such an intense reverence for the place. For them, the destroyed Arizona was where the war started and the Missouri docked next to it is where the war ended. While we all felt the weight of history that morning at Pearl Harbor, I was deeply concerned about two things:

1) It drove us crazy that we couldn't remember the name of the actress from the film Pearl Harbor.

2) Caitlin, the history major, seemed to be more impressed and awe-struck on the way back to the hotel when we drove past Dog the Bounty Hunter's Office.

But at least we didn't take any tacky selfies at the memorial. I mean, yeah, we did pose in front of the battleship wearing army helmets, we're not completely void of spectacle.

Suns out, guns out

With all the shopping-induced stress, the legacy of the War in the Pacific, and a two-hour wait to get into The Cheesecake Factory, Waikiki wasn’t as relaxing as I had hoped it would be. I still got to swim and nap, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was staying at a beefed-up Surfers Paradise where the only difference is that here you have to tip. At least I got to make some fun memories with my family and my surrogate girlfriend, and really, what better way is there to start the year off right?

Coincidentally, it is exactly a year since I left for Asia and started this blog. While it does looks like there will be less 'global gallivanting' from me in 2015, on Saturday I will be flying to Jakarta for a work trip. Or, as I'm referring to it in my head: Asian Humidity vs Nathan's Curls, Round Two.