Some things I learned about Bangas while I was there. Add these to your Quiz Night list!
*
Bangladesh used to be part of India (as was Pakistan) and was called
West Bengal. When Pakistan split from India in 1946, West Bengal went
with it.
* In the Liberation War of 1971, the catalyst
of which was a government-imposed law that Irdu must be spoken across
the country – which was rejected by Bangla-speaking people – Bangladesh
became independent from Pakistan.
* The country is one of the smallest but most populated countries in the world, and is predominantly Muslim.
*
Bangladesh is home to the Sundarbans, the largest mangrove forest in
the world. The word Sunderban is Bangla for ‘beautiful forest’. It’s
home to the last remaining population of endangered Royal Bengal tigers,
of which there are only 400 left.
* Bangladesh has a
lack of rock for construction, and therefore there are hundreds of brick
kilns with massive chimneys scattered across the country. Once the
bricks are fired, they break them up into ‘rock’ to use as aggregate for
construction.
* There are no plastic bags in Bangladesh.
*
Jute is traditionally one of Bangladesh’s biggest products, but it is
now becoming less economical; nevertheless, you can see large quantities
of it being grown and processed in the rural areas. The jute looks like
teepees as it dries.
* All the auto-rickshaws in Dhaka
run on LNG (thank God – I can’t imagine how bad the pollution would be
in addition to that spewed out by all the cars and dodgy old buses!).
* Bangladeshis are the friendliest people on the planet (well this isn’t a fact, but I think it’s true).
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Dhaka – made it, finally!
It was great to finally reach Lorinda and Andrew, who are
working in Dhaka as teachers at an International School. Lorinda studied
at uni with Ange, and the two of them had been there for about three
weeks. They were awesome hosts, letting us stay at their place, eat
their food, wash our clothes and helped us get oriented. They live in
Baridhara (which we immediately renamed BazzaDazza, along with a local
shopping centre, Pink City, which became Pink Bits), a diplomatic zone
surrounded by embassies and ex-pat accommodation. I didn’t realise how
many foreigners resided in Dhaka, or how many countries are officially
represented there. BazzaDazza is some distance from the old town, but is
quiet, pleasant, leafy oasis amongst the craziness that is Bangladesh’s
biggest city.
We spent our nights hanging out with L&A and their teaching mates and during the day while they worked, we explored the city. The first day we asked Rasheed, L&A’s favourite rickshaw driver, to take us around the neighbourhood. We wanted to go to the old city but it was too far by rickshaw, so we were content to just go on a random adventure. Random it was too. In the end we just cruised around and ended up right on the outskirts of the city, where it looked like a lot of new construction had been planned but never eventuated out in the swampy, reclaimed land. There was almost nothing there, and we found it curious that he’d taken us all the way there to show us pretty much empty swampland. But I must admit, it was nice and peaceful and we came across fishermen in the swamps, brick crushers, lots of birds and, curiously, lots of big black 4WDs with tinted windows just cruising around. Not sure what sort of dodgy deals were going on there. We also took a walk around Gulshan Lake, which is at the centre of BazzaDazza and is a beautiful place to walk, not to mention take part in a local cricket game with the kiddies, who were amazed that two foreign women knew how to bowl!
The next day we wanted to get to the old town, so off we went in an auto rickshaw, a little 3-wheeled green number with a cage around the driver. There seems to be a generally accepted rule about where drivers are prepared to go; the guys on the bicycle rickshaws won’t go too far as it’s tiring, but because of traffic the auto rickshaw drivers are reluctant to go longer distances (ie to the old city!) unless you pay extra. We managed to find one who would take us, and not long afterwards we totally understood. Dhaka’s traffic feels like it’s peak hour all day long. Congestion central!
First stop was Lalbagh Fort. Not that we got to see it; it was closed for the lunchtime break and prayer time. Oh well, plenty more to see. So we walked down and got our first taste of the crazy labyrinth that is Old Dhaka. It was cool to just wander and see how the place worked. Thousands of little shopfronts and streetside-sellers lined the winding roads, selling everything from stationery to beads, Dhallywood jewellery to saris, newspapers to spices, phone cards to toothbrushes, mung beans to kitchen goods. People hurried around carrying all sorts of random items. You name it, you could buy it. Interspersed with these were numerous eateries and streetside stalls with flat breads cooked in front of you along with fried snacks, curries, fruit, dried fish and sugary delights.
And the traffic! We were constantly jostling for space with rickshaws, pans (rickshaws with flat wooden trays for carrying things), wooden carts pulled by cows, trolleys pushed by fruit sellers, trucks laden with goods and people carrying items on their heads. Many non-descript buildings were the remains of the colonial Dhaka, with beautiful facades and domes now crumbling from a lack of TLC; many were ugly, dirty grey concrete boxes with upstairs offices for government agencies or companies.
We had just been to see one of the old city’s beautiful mosques when we were randomly approached by an effervescent local, keen to invite us into his office for a cup of cha. In the end we accepted, perhaps to escape the madness for a while! Mr Bablu ran a cooperative business giving out small cash loans to the poor, and was very keen to tell us all about it. He ushered us into his office and introduced us to all of his staff, all the while talking about his business, asking us whether we understood what we were telling him and what we thought of the whole thing. Of course we thought it was great; but then curiously he asked us to put it in writing, so we signed and sealed a written statement to this effect. Then the usual niceties – the asking for our contact details, a photo and for us to keep in contact so that he could visit when he came to Australia. Let’s just say we got very good at writing fake email addresses for people we didn’t want to keep in contact with, and promising to send photos! (the latter which I’m happy to do…). Eventually after a cup of cha and a biscuit, we managed to get out of there and again, escape the madness…
This aspect of wandering Old Dhaka – the constant attention we drew wherever we went – was a blessing and a curse. People watched us intently from the moment they saw us to the moment we were out of their sight; anyone who could speak a word of English wanted to use it on us and those that could, asked us a million questions; people called out to us to say hello; we were invited to numerous shops and street stalls for cha, from every angle; and any time we stopped, even if just for a minute, we were almost instantly surrounded by a crowd of people. It was all done in genuine curiosity and with the greatest friendliness, and while it was extremely tiring answering and asking the same questions, we enjoyed it (most of the time).
We spent most of our time in Old Dhaka looking for landmark mosques, palaces and temples, but in the end we were just swept along with the moving feast of sights, smells and sounds of the old city, becoming increasingly lost and not finding most of what we were looking for! One really interesting thing that we found was the street lined with sculptors, headstone carvers, instrument makers and conch-shell jewellery carvers. Inside one sculptor’s workshop were the partially completed likenesses of various Hindu gods and goddesses, which were amazing – just as amazing as the looks on the faces of the sculptors, who obviously rarely had the experience of two foreigners entering his workshop.
On the Tuesday we went to visit our friend from the bus trip, Hossein. Hossein is the owner of a shoe manufacturing company that exports leather shoes around the world, and as such, is a very educated and well-travelled Bangladeshi. After we arrived and met his family, he proceeded to show us his wares. He was very proud of his business and carefully unwrapped each pair of shoes for us to be admired (which we did with appropriate ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’!). At first we thought he was going to try and sell us some shoes, but in the end he just wanted to show us his products.
We enjoyed a lovely lunch cooked by (but, to our disappointment, not eaten with) his wife and mother-in-law, and got another proud showing, this time of all the pet birds on top of his apartment (random!). Then he took us to the National Botanic Gardens where we spent the afternoon wandering in the shady surroundings. It was lovely there, another oasis discovered, but we also wanted to get back to visit L&A at their school. By the time we went out the obscure back exit of the gardens, which took us again to the outskirts of the city, waited around for a cab (there were none!) and went back around the long way to avoid the horrible traffic, that idea went out the window. But we still had a nice dinner for Ange’s birthday with L&A and the crew for our last night in Dhaka.
We spent our nights hanging out with L&A and their teaching mates and during the day while they worked, we explored the city. The first day we asked Rasheed, L&A’s favourite rickshaw driver, to take us around the neighbourhood. We wanted to go to the old city but it was too far by rickshaw, so we were content to just go on a random adventure. Random it was too. In the end we just cruised around and ended up right on the outskirts of the city, where it looked like a lot of new construction had been planned but never eventuated out in the swampy, reclaimed land. There was almost nothing there, and we found it curious that he’d taken us all the way there to show us pretty much empty swampland. But I must admit, it was nice and peaceful and we came across fishermen in the swamps, brick crushers, lots of birds and, curiously, lots of big black 4WDs with tinted windows just cruising around. Not sure what sort of dodgy deals were going on there. We also took a walk around Gulshan Lake, which is at the centre of BazzaDazza and is a beautiful place to walk, not to mention take part in a local cricket game with the kiddies, who were amazed that two foreign women knew how to bowl!
The next day we wanted to get to the old town, so off we went in an auto rickshaw, a little 3-wheeled green number with a cage around the driver. There seems to be a generally accepted rule about where drivers are prepared to go; the guys on the bicycle rickshaws won’t go too far as it’s tiring, but because of traffic the auto rickshaw drivers are reluctant to go longer distances (ie to the old city!) unless you pay extra. We managed to find one who would take us, and not long afterwards we totally understood. Dhaka’s traffic feels like it’s peak hour all day long. Congestion central!
First stop was Lalbagh Fort. Not that we got to see it; it was closed for the lunchtime break and prayer time. Oh well, plenty more to see. So we walked down and got our first taste of the crazy labyrinth that is Old Dhaka. It was cool to just wander and see how the place worked. Thousands of little shopfronts and streetside-sellers lined the winding roads, selling everything from stationery to beads, Dhallywood jewellery to saris, newspapers to spices, phone cards to toothbrushes, mung beans to kitchen goods. People hurried around carrying all sorts of random items. You name it, you could buy it. Interspersed with these were numerous eateries and streetside stalls with flat breads cooked in front of you along with fried snacks, curries, fruit, dried fish and sugary delights.
And the traffic! We were constantly jostling for space with rickshaws, pans (rickshaws with flat wooden trays for carrying things), wooden carts pulled by cows, trolleys pushed by fruit sellers, trucks laden with goods and people carrying items on their heads. Many non-descript buildings were the remains of the colonial Dhaka, with beautiful facades and domes now crumbling from a lack of TLC; many were ugly, dirty grey concrete boxes with upstairs offices for government agencies or companies.
We had just been to see one of the old city’s beautiful mosques when we were randomly approached by an effervescent local, keen to invite us into his office for a cup of cha. In the end we accepted, perhaps to escape the madness for a while! Mr Bablu ran a cooperative business giving out small cash loans to the poor, and was very keen to tell us all about it. He ushered us into his office and introduced us to all of his staff, all the while talking about his business, asking us whether we understood what we were telling him and what we thought of the whole thing. Of course we thought it was great; but then curiously he asked us to put it in writing, so we signed and sealed a written statement to this effect. Then the usual niceties – the asking for our contact details, a photo and for us to keep in contact so that he could visit when he came to Australia. Let’s just say we got very good at writing fake email addresses for people we didn’t want to keep in contact with, and promising to send photos! (the latter which I’m happy to do…). Eventually after a cup of cha and a biscuit, we managed to get out of there and again, escape the madness…
This aspect of wandering Old Dhaka – the constant attention we drew wherever we went – was a blessing and a curse. People watched us intently from the moment they saw us to the moment we were out of their sight; anyone who could speak a word of English wanted to use it on us and those that could, asked us a million questions; people called out to us to say hello; we were invited to numerous shops and street stalls for cha, from every angle; and any time we stopped, even if just for a minute, we were almost instantly surrounded by a crowd of people. It was all done in genuine curiosity and with the greatest friendliness, and while it was extremely tiring answering and asking the same questions, we enjoyed it (most of the time).
We spent most of our time in Old Dhaka looking for landmark mosques, palaces and temples, but in the end we were just swept along with the moving feast of sights, smells and sounds of the old city, becoming increasingly lost and not finding most of what we were looking for! One really interesting thing that we found was the street lined with sculptors, headstone carvers, instrument makers and conch-shell jewellery carvers. Inside one sculptor’s workshop were the partially completed likenesses of various Hindu gods and goddesses, which were amazing – just as amazing as the looks on the faces of the sculptors, who obviously rarely had the experience of two foreigners entering his workshop.
On the Tuesday we went to visit our friend from the bus trip, Hossein. Hossein is the owner of a shoe manufacturing company that exports leather shoes around the world, and as such, is a very educated and well-travelled Bangladeshi. After we arrived and met his family, he proceeded to show us his wares. He was very proud of his business and carefully unwrapped each pair of shoes for us to be admired (which we did with appropriate ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’!). At first we thought he was going to try and sell us some shoes, but in the end he just wanted to show us his products.
We enjoyed a lovely lunch cooked by (but, to our disappointment, not eaten with) his wife and mother-in-law, and got another proud showing, this time of all the pet birds on top of his apartment (random!). Then he took us to the National Botanic Gardens where we spent the afternoon wandering in the shady surroundings. It was lovely there, another oasis discovered, but we also wanted to get back to visit L&A at their school. By the time we went out the obscure back exit of the gardens, which took us again to the outskirts of the city, waited around for a cab (there were none!) and went back around the long way to avoid the horrible traffic, that idea went out the window. But we still had a nice dinner for Ange’s birthday with L&A and the crew for our last night in Dhaka.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Bangas and Mash :)
Or ... how to get to Dhaka - the long way...
After our little altercation in the Laundromat, we were relieved to get out of Medan. Our final destination was Dhaka, the Bangladeshi capital, but we’d booked tickets to Kolkata because it was cheaper and had planned to go overland. Our flight actually stopped in Kolkata first, then flew to Dhaka - so if we’d stayed on the plane we could have gone directly there. D’oh!
We were a bit worried because we were totally unprepared for our arrival – we had no information or money and didn’t know the best way to go – stay overnight in Kolkata or go directly there? We both usually do our research beforehand, but in this case we’d both been slack/too busy in the lead-up and hadn’t even got any maps or guidebooks to help us. So when we arrived to no money facilities at the airport and a dodgy-looking taxi driver who wanted to put us in his van and drive us to the border, we were pretty reluctant to do so, especially as it seemed very expensive (and we hate getting ripped off!), we’d arrived later than expected, his van looked like a piece of crap and we didn’t know if we could get a bus over the border that night. But in the end, we decided to trust the driver to not kidnap us and get us to the border.
It was strange to arrive at night because we didn’t really get a good idea of what Kolkata was like, except for the lit-up billboards and traffic around us. Interestingly, but to our detriment, there was a Hindu festival happening to honour Shiva, and involved pilgrims walking on foot for 50km to Shiva’s temple. They were walking along the road carrying metal containers of water on the end of poles. Not the easiest thing to carry for 50 bloody kilometres! But it gave the journey a nice carnival atmosphere. Unfortunately it also made it verrrryyyy slow, and by the time we got to the border it was too late, the border was closed, and all the bus companies had shut up shop for the night. So we had to stay in (what we thought was) an overpriced hotel nearby and cross the border the next morning. All in all, we started off our journey feeling like everyone was trying to rip us off!
We crossed the border the next morning and jumped on the first bus to Dhaka. We shared our journey with a lovely man called Hossein, who befriended us and helped us out with directions to our friends’ place in Dhaka. He was so helpful and friendly, and even invited us for a meal at his family home – a common thing for Bangladeshis to do, as we soon learned – which we accepted. He even accompanied us to our friends’ house, and then made his way home from there, which we later found out was quite far, so we were very appreciative of his help. The bus journey was massive, taking the whole day, especially because the traffic was so shite when we reached Dhaka city – we sat in it for over an hour, as well as in the line-up for the ferry which we used to get across a huge river before reaching the city; it was amazing to get out and stand on the top of the ferry and look out over the water; the biggest river I’ve ever seen. It was like a huge muddy ocean!
The scenery of rural Dhaka was beautiful. LOTS of water: rivers, creeks, ponds, and very green. Fishermen in canoes, working with nets. Brick kilns with huge chimneys scattered around the countryside like archaeological digs. People slowly riding along the road on bicycles, hitching a ride on a rickshaw, or waiting on the roadside for the next bus. Small towns with busy local markets. Rice padis, cows (no water buffaloes) and goats. Crops of cassava and jute. Interestingly, jute is prepared by soaking it in huge ponds; after stripping the stalks from their sheaths, it is arranged in tee pee-style bundles to dry before being processed into products like rope and furniture. It was a great introduction to the country, and in the end we were glad we’d taken the overland route.
After our little altercation in the Laundromat, we were relieved to get out of Medan. Our final destination was Dhaka, the Bangladeshi capital, but we’d booked tickets to Kolkata because it was cheaper and had planned to go overland. Our flight actually stopped in Kolkata first, then flew to Dhaka - so if we’d stayed on the plane we could have gone directly there. D’oh!
We were a bit worried because we were totally unprepared for our arrival – we had no information or money and didn’t know the best way to go – stay overnight in Kolkata or go directly there? We both usually do our research beforehand, but in this case we’d both been slack/too busy in the lead-up and hadn’t even got any maps or guidebooks to help us. So when we arrived to no money facilities at the airport and a dodgy-looking taxi driver who wanted to put us in his van and drive us to the border, we were pretty reluctant to do so, especially as it seemed very expensive (and we hate getting ripped off!), we’d arrived later than expected, his van looked like a piece of crap and we didn’t know if we could get a bus over the border that night. But in the end, we decided to trust the driver to not kidnap us and get us to the border.
It was strange to arrive at night because we didn’t really get a good idea of what Kolkata was like, except for the lit-up billboards and traffic around us. Interestingly, but to our detriment, there was a Hindu festival happening to honour Shiva, and involved pilgrims walking on foot for 50km to Shiva’s temple. They were walking along the road carrying metal containers of water on the end of poles. Not the easiest thing to carry for 50 bloody kilometres! But it gave the journey a nice carnival atmosphere. Unfortunately it also made it verrrryyyy slow, and by the time we got to the border it was too late, the border was closed, and all the bus companies had shut up shop for the night. So we had to stay in (what we thought was) an overpriced hotel nearby and cross the border the next morning. All in all, we started off our journey feeling like everyone was trying to rip us off!
We crossed the border the next morning and jumped on the first bus to Dhaka. We shared our journey with a lovely man called Hossein, who befriended us and helped us out with directions to our friends’ place in Dhaka. He was so helpful and friendly, and even invited us for a meal at his family home – a common thing for Bangladeshis to do, as we soon learned – which we accepted. He even accompanied us to our friends’ house, and then made his way home from there, which we later found out was quite far, so we were very appreciative of his help. The bus journey was massive, taking the whole day, especially because the traffic was so shite when we reached Dhaka city – we sat in it for over an hour, as well as in the line-up for the ferry which we used to get across a huge river before reaching the city; it was amazing to get out and stand on the top of the ferry and look out over the water; the biggest river I’ve ever seen. It was like a huge muddy ocean!
The scenery of rural Dhaka was beautiful. LOTS of water: rivers, creeks, ponds, and very green. Fishermen in canoes, working with nets. Brick kilns with huge chimneys scattered around the countryside like archaeological digs. People slowly riding along the road on bicycles, hitching a ride on a rickshaw, or waiting on the roadside for the next bus. Small towns with busy local markets. Rice padis, cows (no water buffaloes) and goats. Crops of cassava and jute. Interestingly, jute is prepared by soaking it in huge ponds; after stripping the stalks from their sheaths, it is arranged in tee pee-style bundles to dry before being processed into products like rope and furniture. It was a great introduction to the country, and in the end we were glad we’d taken the overland route.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Washing instructions :)
Alternative title: how to get yourself held hostage in a Medan Laundromat
1. Take yours and your sister’s clothes to the "5 a sec" Laundromat in Medan.
2. Scoff at the ridiculously high price (300,000Rp - approximately A$40) for washing 20 items of clothing, but put them in anyway because you can’t be bothered washing them, and you want to get out of Medan.
3. Return early from Berastagi in order to collect your clothes before the closing time of 6pm.
4. DO NOT RINSE IN HOT WATER
5. Take your ticket in for collection of your clothes, and then wait around for 45 minutes for the staff to process all other customers’ orders before yours.
6. While waiting additional time for them to dig up one last item, have a quick look through your clothes to see how well they were washed.
7. Become rapidly shocked because a couple of items are just as dirty as when you put submitted them for washing.
8. Agree with your sister to refuse to pay for a service not rendered.
9. When you finally get served, inform the staff of this and show them the evidence (ie filthy clothes).
10. When the staff call over their manager because they clearly have never had anyone refuse to pay before, begin a discussion (in Bahasa Indonesian) with him about not paying and why.
11. Begin to get a bit frustrated when he says that you must pay the full amount even if the clothes are not properly clean
12. Dismiss the the manager as he points to the ‘disclaimer’ board on the wall that states that the company will not take responsibility for clothes that are not properly cleaned, if there is a risk that harsher washing techniques will destroy them.
13. Stop them from trying to clean your clothes further in store, and watch in surprise when they begin to shut up shop and lock the front shutters, effectively locking you in the shop.
14. Disagree with their suggestion to wash them again and return them to you the next day – because you have to get an early morning flight to Singapore.
15. DRY CLEAN ONLY
16. Suggest to only pay for clean clothes. Go through every item and discover that only ten of the twenty items are clean. Offer to pay 50% of the cost.
17. When the manager refuses and continually insists that you must pay the full amount before letting you leave the store, decide to discontinue the now heated discussion and employ the ‘wait him out’ tactics of playing the card game ShitHead on the floor of the shop. Enjoy the interest shown by the staff and their bemusement at the situation as you play.
18. Observe the discussion turn into a full blown argument (did I mention how difficult it is to argue/get mad effectively in another language?!).
19. Decide that the manager is a f*@#ing wanker.
20. Inform them that they cannot hold you hostage in their premises, and ask to use their phone to call the police. When they refuse to give you the number, call directory assistance and your hotel to find out.
21. Get more frustrated because none of the numbers you have are working and the line is constantly busy.
22. Begin to explore other avenues of escape, including upstairs and the rear exit. Keep arguing with the manager in the meantime.
23. Convince the staff to call the police using their phone when you can’t get through.
24. Manoeuver yourself to the rear alleyway of the shop and try to push past the manager and security guard, unsuccessfully avoiding being manhandled.
25. Continue to try this tactic while attempting to keep hold of the bag of clothes, and eventually give up in exasperation and anger at being blocked and manhandled by the security guard and manager.
26. However, maintain your stance and eventually win a moral victory when the manager finally succumbs and agrees to let you pay half.
27. Walk out of the store in triumph, and refuse to give your phone number to the cheeky (but cute) staff member who first asked for it on behalf of his (not-so-cute) colleague and then for himself (out of pity for the first guy, even though you are tempted).
28. Run into traffic police 20m up the road and try to report it to them, but then decide to ‘stuff it’ when they tell you to go to the metro police station instead.
29. Laugh about it for a number of days to come.
30. WASH WITH LIKE COLOURS ONLY.
1. Take yours and your sister’s clothes to the "5 a sec" Laundromat in Medan.
2. Scoff at the ridiculously high price (300,000Rp - approximately A$40) for washing 20 items of clothing, but put them in anyway because you can’t be bothered washing them, and you want to get out of Medan.
3. Return early from Berastagi in order to collect your clothes before the closing time of 6pm.
4. DO NOT RINSE IN HOT WATER
5. Take your ticket in for collection of your clothes, and then wait around for 45 minutes for the staff to process all other customers’ orders before yours.
6. While waiting additional time for them to dig up one last item, have a quick look through your clothes to see how well they were washed.
7. Become rapidly shocked because a couple of items are just as dirty as when you put submitted them for washing.
8. Agree with your sister to refuse to pay for a service not rendered.
9. When you finally get served, inform the staff of this and show them the evidence (ie filthy clothes).
10. When the staff call over their manager because they clearly have never had anyone refuse to pay before, begin a discussion (in Bahasa Indonesian) with him about not paying and why.
11. Begin to get a bit frustrated when he says that you must pay the full amount even if the clothes are not properly clean
12. Dismiss the the manager as he points to the ‘disclaimer’ board on the wall that states that the company will not take responsibility for clothes that are not properly cleaned, if there is a risk that harsher washing techniques will destroy them.
13. Stop them from trying to clean your clothes further in store, and watch in surprise when they begin to shut up shop and lock the front shutters, effectively locking you in the shop.
14. Disagree with their suggestion to wash them again and return them to you the next day – because you have to get an early morning flight to Singapore.
15. DRY CLEAN ONLY
16. Suggest to only pay for clean clothes. Go through every item and discover that only ten of the twenty items are clean. Offer to pay 50% of the cost.
17. When the manager refuses and continually insists that you must pay the full amount before letting you leave the store, decide to discontinue the now heated discussion and employ the ‘wait him out’ tactics of playing the card game ShitHead on the floor of the shop. Enjoy the interest shown by the staff and their bemusement at the situation as you play.
18. Observe the discussion turn into a full blown argument (did I mention how difficult it is to argue/get mad effectively in another language?!).
19. Decide that the manager is a f*@#ing wanker.
20. Inform them that they cannot hold you hostage in their premises, and ask to use their phone to call the police. When they refuse to give you the number, call directory assistance and your hotel to find out.
21. Get more frustrated because none of the numbers you have are working and the line is constantly busy.
22. Begin to explore other avenues of escape, including upstairs and the rear exit. Keep arguing with the manager in the meantime.
23. Convince the staff to call the police using their phone when you can’t get through.
24. Manoeuver yourself to the rear alleyway of the shop and try to push past the manager and security guard, unsuccessfully avoiding being manhandled.
25. Continue to try this tactic while attempting to keep hold of the bag of clothes, and eventually give up in exasperation and anger at being blocked and manhandled by the security guard and manager.
26. However, maintain your stance and eventually win a moral victory when the manager finally succumbs and agrees to let you pay half.
27. Walk out of the store in triumph, and refuse to give your phone number to the cheeky (but cute) staff member who first asked for it on behalf of his (not-so-cute) colleague and then for himself (out of pity for the first guy, even though you are tempted).
28. Run into traffic police 20m up the road and try to report it to them, but then decide to ‘stuff it’ when they tell you to go to the metro police station instead.
29. Laugh about it for a number of days to come.
30. WASH WITH LIKE COLOURS ONLY.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Banda Aceh, Pulau Weh & Brestagi
After another flight upon which Bradey was eternally paranoid
(gold!), we arrived in Banda Aceh and stayed at Lhoknga beach, home of
Banda’s famous surf break. The next day we hired a labi-labi (local van)
and cruised around, doing the ‘tsunami tour’ of the city, which
includes a number of monuments such as fishing boats and
power-generating barges deposited on people’s houses. It’s amazing to
see and really gives you an idea of the scale of the destruction. Not
every day you see a boat on someone’s roof.
In the afternoon we caught the ferry over to Pulau Weh for a few more days of R&R at the lovely Iboih Beach. Picture beach bungalows, hammocks, snorkelling, and beautiful tropical islands. And Dan in a skirt (don’t ask). We made the big swim across the channel from Pulau Rubiah, where the best snorkelling is, back to our cottages, without any casualties J. Later though, there were almost three casualties when the lads went monkey-hunting; the hunters became the hunted after the monkeys turned feral! I don’t think they’ve ever run that quickly in their lives…! "Awww, ain’t they cuuuute! NO! Arrrgghhh! Ruuuunnnn!!!"
We met Aussie travellers Rohan and Robyn, and a Canadian working in Medan, Wendy, with whom we spent most of our time hanging out. Our adventures included a Bintang-fueled night at Mama’s restaurant, which resulted in a beer tower, loud music, local rocket fuel, a broken chair and which, right at the end, got a bit silly and a punch-up between a troublesome local and a bule ensued. The next day we had to apologise about the disturbance and pay to replace the chair. The troublemaker was apparently a serial offender who easily got jealous about female tourists, and after a community meeting the next day, the community leaders banned him from Iboih. Sexy times!
Again, we sadly left a lovely spot and nice people as the boys’ time in Indo was almost over. :( We cruised back to Banda Aceh and spent the afternoon perusing the markets, along with going to Mesjid Raya, the famous mosque in Banda Aceh with the beautiful black domes. Later in the arvo we saw off the boys to KL; Ange and I headed back to Medan.
And then there were two.
We had a couple of spare days before our flight to Kolkata, so we decided to cruise to the nearby city of Brestagi, which is a ‘hill resort’ set amongst volcanoes. ‘Resort’ isn’t the word I’d use to describe dirty, dishevelled little Brrestagi, but it’s the term they use for settlements that are located in high elevations to escape the humidity of Sumatra! And Berestagi certainly isn’t hot…
The bus journey there took us a bit longer than planned, because we initially made our way to the wrong bus terminal in Medan … but the journey through the countryside is beautiful. We had planned on climbing Mount Sinabung, the largest of two volcanoes in the area, which requires a whole day. But we had put our laundry in to be cleaned in Medan, which needed to be picked up before 6pm, so climbing a volcano and getting back to Medan with local transport would be pushing it! So we opted just to cruise around and explore Brestagi’s markets, the town generally, its iconic cabbage monument in the main street which represents the major vegetable-producing industry in the Karo Highlands (hilarious – who thought up that one?!), and the lake near Mt Sinabung. It was a nice day out just wandering around, and we made it back to Medan with plenty of time to pick up our washing. What happened next, well, let’s just say we didn’t expect…!
In the afternoon we caught the ferry over to Pulau Weh for a few more days of R&R at the lovely Iboih Beach. Picture beach bungalows, hammocks, snorkelling, and beautiful tropical islands. And Dan in a skirt (don’t ask). We made the big swim across the channel from Pulau Rubiah, where the best snorkelling is, back to our cottages, without any casualties J. Later though, there were almost three casualties when the lads went monkey-hunting; the hunters became the hunted after the monkeys turned feral! I don’t think they’ve ever run that quickly in their lives…! "Awww, ain’t they cuuuute! NO! Arrrgghhh! Ruuuunnnn!!!"
We met Aussie travellers Rohan and Robyn, and a Canadian working in Medan, Wendy, with whom we spent most of our time hanging out. Our adventures included a Bintang-fueled night at Mama’s restaurant, which resulted in a beer tower, loud music, local rocket fuel, a broken chair and which, right at the end, got a bit silly and a punch-up between a troublesome local and a bule ensued. The next day we had to apologise about the disturbance and pay to replace the chair. The troublemaker was apparently a serial offender who easily got jealous about female tourists, and after a community meeting the next day, the community leaders banned him from Iboih. Sexy times!
Again, we sadly left a lovely spot and nice people as the boys’ time in Indo was almost over. :( We cruised back to Banda Aceh and spent the afternoon perusing the markets, along with going to Mesjid Raya, the famous mosque in Banda Aceh with the beautiful black domes. Later in the arvo we saw off the boys to KL; Ange and I headed back to Medan.
And then there were two.
We had a couple of spare days before our flight to Kolkata, so we decided to cruise to the nearby city of Brestagi, which is a ‘hill resort’ set amongst volcanoes. ‘Resort’ isn’t the word I’d use to describe dirty, dishevelled little Brrestagi, but it’s the term they use for settlements that are located in high elevations to escape the humidity of Sumatra! And Berestagi certainly isn’t hot…
The bus journey there took us a bit longer than planned, because we initially made our way to the wrong bus terminal in Medan … but the journey through the countryside is beautiful. We had planned on climbing Mount Sinabung, the largest of two volcanoes in the area, which requires a whole day. But we had put our laundry in to be cleaned in Medan, which needed to be picked up before 6pm, so climbing a volcano and getting back to Medan with local transport would be pushing it! So we opted just to cruise around and explore Brestagi’s markets, the town generally, its iconic cabbage monument in the main street which represents the major vegetable-producing industry in the Karo Highlands (hilarious – who thought up that one?!), and the lake near Mt Sinabung. It was a nice day out just wandering around, and we made it back to Medan with plenty of time to pick up our washing. What happened next, well, let’s just say we didn’t expect…!
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Lake Toba adventures...
Monday morning we jumped on Susi Air and headed to Medan. We then
proceeded on the 4-hour drive to Lake Toba, much to the horror of the
Scotts who couldn’t believe the suicidal over-taking manoeuvres of our
driver. Gold! We met up with Juan at the ferry at Prapat. He works at
Christina’s guesthouse in Tuk Tuk peninsula on Samosir Island, right in
the middle of Toba, and set us up in awesome Batak-style accommodation
right on the lake. Best views in the house!
The next few days were spent doing the following things:
* cruising around on motorbikes to see the sights of Samosir, which included hot sulphur springs and lakeside beaches
* relaxing over copious quantities of big Bintangs
* playing pool and dancing at the little nightclub down the road
* washing our clothes in the lake
*testing the effects of the local special fungus
* eating tacos (the Indo version, which are more like vegetarian calzones) and fresh fish caught from the lake
* chasing a big rat out of the walls of our bungalow, which ate our clothes!
* shopping at the markets, and
* playing never-ending amounts of our favourite card game, Shithead.
Bradey and Searle continued their obsession with water buffaloes by (unsuccessfully) trying to ride one (they were too scared of the big gentle creatures!). The best souvenirs purchased were a fluorescent, inflatable pink cow, which immediately became our mascot and the subject of a number of random photographs, and a massive Batak mandolin, which we saw being carved and finished by a couple of local instrument-makers. Making Bradey try, and seeing his reaction to, the local food was also loads of fun. Ha!
Searle and Dan both managed to come off their bikes… resulting in appropriately serious scratches, cuts and bruised egos, particularly from Searle who managed to crash his bike into a ditch at about 2km/h when taking off from a U-turn. Dan’s injuries were a lot worse, as he was travelling at quite a high speed when he swerved to avoid a broken bridge and had a major stack! There was lots of blood but fortunately not much serious damage.
And in pure Australian form, right from the beginning there was an onslaught of swearing, which blew me away, considering I hardly hear (or say) a lot of filthy words here in Simeulue! So to try and combat this, I decided we should have a contest to see who could restrain themselves the best. The loser’s task was to swim from our jetty to another one about 100m away. Let’s just say Bradey ended up the winner by a huge margin (a world record of 16 f- and c-words in one afternoon) and reluctantly set off on his task, with Dan in tow for back-up, much to the amusement of the locals when the two figures emerged from the deep! The water weeds in the lake, which they had to swim through and which kept grabbing at their limbs, completely freaked them out. It didn’t affect the swearing though, which skyrocketed the following day to normal levels, and I must admit, I was the first offender…
We could easily have spent our whole time there just relaxing, and time seemed to escape us for a majority of our days in Toba. However, there were other destinations on our itinerary, so we returned to Medan in the death-cab for our onward flight. Next!
The next few days were spent doing the following things:
* cruising around on motorbikes to see the sights of Samosir, which included hot sulphur springs and lakeside beaches
* relaxing over copious quantities of big Bintangs
* playing pool and dancing at the little nightclub down the road
* washing our clothes in the lake
*testing the effects of the local special fungus
* eating tacos (the Indo version, which are more like vegetarian calzones) and fresh fish caught from the lake
* chasing a big rat out of the walls of our bungalow, which ate our clothes!
* shopping at the markets, and
* playing never-ending amounts of our favourite card game, Shithead.
Bradey and Searle continued their obsession with water buffaloes by (unsuccessfully) trying to ride one (they were too scared of the big gentle creatures!). The best souvenirs purchased were a fluorescent, inflatable pink cow, which immediately became our mascot and the subject of a number of random photographs, and a massive Batak mandolin, which we saw being carved and finished by a couple of local instrument-makers. Making Bradey try, and seeing his reaction to, the local food was also loads of fun. Ha!
Searle and Dan both managed to come off their bikes… resulting in appropriately serious scratches, cuts and bruised egos, particularly from Searle who managed to crash his bike into a ditch at about 2km/h when taking off from a U-turn. Dan’s injuries were a lot worse, as he was travelling at quite a high speed when he swerved to avoid a broken bridge and had a major stack! There was lots of blood but fortunately not much serious damage.
And in pure Australian form, right from the beginning there was an onslaught of swearing, which blew me away, considering I hardly hear (or say) a lot of filthy words here in Simeulue! So to try and combat this, I decided we should have a contest to see who could restrain themselves the best. The loser’s task was to swim from our jetty to another one about 100m away. Let’s just say Bradey ended up the winner by a huge margin (a world record of 16 f- and c-words in one afternoon) and reluctantly set off on his task, with Dan in tow for back-up, much to the amusement of the locals when the two figures emerged from the deep! The water weeds in the lake, which they had to swim through and which kept grabbing at their limbs, completely freaked them out. It didn’t affect the swearing though, which skyrocketed the following day to normal levels, and I must admit, I was the first offender…
We could easily have spent our whole time there just relaxing, and time seemed to escape us for a majority of our days in Toba. However, there were other destinations on our itinerary, so we returned to Medan in the death-cab for our onward flight. Next!
Monday, August 11, 2008
SEXY TIMES! in Indo…
Ahh so the adventure begins. I have been waiting for this for such a
long time! And what an adventure it turned out to be. So let’s start at
the very beginning, a very good place to start…
Pulau Simeulue
Ange Pange arrived at the brand spanking new Lasikin Airport in Simeulue on Thursday 5 August to a massive hug from me. I gave Ange a bit of a tour of Sinabang and my favourite waterside coffee establishment, and we awaited the arrival of the boys on Friday, anticipating that, based on recent experience, Dan probably wouldn’t make it. Hehe! However there was a spanner in the works. Dan rocked up as planned on Friday, but the Scotts didn’t…. so much for that theory.
Early Friday morning I received an sms saying that they wouldn’t be making it on the Friday Susi flight. Their flight from Singapore to Medan was cancelled and email notification sent to Searle, but he didn’t realise it was a cancellation and it only happened a day before they were due to leave, so it would have been very difficult to organise a flight to Medan in time. So in a nutshell, numerous sms later, at all times of the morning, a number of Susi flight reschedules and additional cost, meant that they didn’t arrive until Sunday afternoon… and we were due to fly out of Simeulue on Monday morning. So the boys spent their weekend trudging around Medan, managing to fit the both of them and their luggage on death-cabs (becaks), avoiding offers of women at their hotel and kisses from crusty old men. Ha ha! (I said, Ha Ha!)
In the meantime, the adventures continued in Simeulue. Friday afternoon, Dan, Ange and I strolled down to the tennis court for the usual afternoon game with my local tennis buddies. I was surprised to see they’d specially set up the court with food and there were a lot of people milling about. Apparently this was the registration for the annual Simeulue tennis tournament. They wanted me to play, as a Sinabang tennis club member… and had even typed out an official invitation for me. To their disappointment it was bad timing, as I of course had other plans with Dan and Ange. But that was ok – I could still participate – and play my first round – now! If my doubles partner and I won, it would be problem for the next round – but I could always be replaced! If we lost, no problem. Hehe… I love it. So we strapped on the tennis shoes and got out on the court; our opponents were the two youngest and best players in the club. So it wasn’t looking good from the start. In the end we were gallantly defeated 6-2, but it was fun anyway and there were lots of laughs. There were even more laughs when Dan got on the court and proceeded to try and belt every single ball he received, and Ange played in her usual vocal style…
The next day we took the boat out to Pulau Siumat for a day’s spearfishing and snorkelling, along with some beach lounging. Our trusty captain Chigusa spear-headed the mission, and first-mates Sendhi and Shir Shar came along for the ride. It was an awesome day, apart from the ripper sunburn we all managed to get (Ange’s boardies left a permanent tan line and Dan’s legs are still peeling!). My siblings managed to spear a couple of fish, to the dismay of Chigusa who had been trying for ages but had been a little unsuccessful to date. Beginner’s luck, we said.
Sunday I took Ange and Dan on the road to Salang – with all the f*$#ing around with tickets, I didn’t have time to show them my project, but we went part of the way and stopped at Putra Jaya, where there’s an amazing waterfall. It has seven levels and you can climb all the way to the top. It’s beautiful there. Sweet!
We made it back in time to pick up the Scotts from the airport and do a whole bunch of catching up. Bradey was still suffering from the shock of flying in such a small plane (we intentionally didn’t tell him so that he’d actually come here) and everyone wanted a pet buffalo after the initial drive to my house, which was soon dubbed ‘the mansion’. We then went to Willie’s – the surf resort – and enjoyed one of Ibu’s legendary dinners and a few beers. So, the Scotts’ “tour” of Simeulue was over in less than 24 hours. Short but sweet?
Pulau Simeulue
Ange Pange arrived at the brand spanking new Lasikin Airport in Simeulue on Thursday 5 August to a massive hug from me. I gave Ange a bit of a tour of Sinabang and my favourite waterside coffee establishment, and we awaited the arrival of the boys on Friday, anticipating that, based on recent experience, Dan probably wouldn’t make it. Hehe! However there was a spanner in the works. Dan rocked up as planned on Friday, but the Scotts didn’t…. so much for that theory.
Early Friday morning I received an sms saying that they wouldn’t be making it on the Friday Susi flight. Their flight from Singapore to Medan was cancelled and email notification sent to Searle, but he didn’t realise it was a cancellation and it only happened a day before they were due to leave, so it would have been very difficult to organise a flight to Medan in time. So in a nutshell, numerous sms later, at all times of the morning, a number of Susi flight reschedules and additional cost, meant that they didn’t arrive until Sunday afternoon… and we were due to fly out of Simeulue on Monday morning. So the boys spent their weekend trudging around Medan, managing to fit the both of them and their luggage on death-cabs (becaks), avoiding offers of women at their hotel and kisses from crusty old men. Ha ha! (I said, Ha Ha!)
In the meantime, the adventures continued in Simeulue. Friday afternoon, Dan, Ange and I strolled down to the tennis court for the usual afternoon game with my local tennis buddies. I was surprised to see they’d specially set up the court with food and there were a lot of people milling about. Apparently this was the registration for the annual Simeulue tennis tournament. They wanted me to play, as a Sinabang tennis club member… and had even typed out an official invitation for me. To their disappointment it was bad timing, as I of course had other plans with Dan and Ange. But that was ok – I could still participate – and play my first round – now! If my doubles partner and I won, it would be problem for the next round – but I could always be replaced! If we lost, no problem. Hehe… I love it. So we strapped on the tennis shoes and got out on the court; our opponents were the two youngest and best players in the club. So it wasn’t looking good from the start. In the end we were gallantly defeated 6-2, but it was fun anyway and there were lots of laughs. There were even more laughs when Dan got on the court and proceeded to try and belt every single ball he received, and Ange played in her usual vocal style…
The next day we took the boat out to Pulau Siumat for a day’s spearfishing and snorkelling, along with some beach lounging. Our trusty captain Chigusa spear-headed the mission, and first-mates Sendhi and Shir Shar came along for the ride. It was an awesome day, apart from the ripper sunburn we all managed to get (Ange’s boardies left a permanent tan line and Dan’s legs are still peeling!). My siblings managed to spear a couple of fish, to the dismay of Chigusa who had been trying for ages but had been a little unsuccessful to date. Beginner’s luck, we said.
Sunday I took Ange and Dan on the road to Salang – with all the f*$#ing around with tickets, I didn’t have time to show them my project, but we went part of the way and stopped at Putra Jaya, where there’s an amazing waterfall. It has seven levels and you can climb all the way to the top. It’s beautiful there. Sweet!
We made it back in time to pick up the Scotts from the airport and do a whole bunch of catching up. Bradey was still suffering from the shock of flying in such a small plane (we intentionally didn’t tell him so that he’d actually come here) and everyone wanted a pet buffalo after the initial drive to my house, which was soon dubbed ‘the mansion’. We then went to Willie’s – the surf resort – and enjoyed one of Ibu’s legendary dinners and a few beers. So, the Scotts’ “tour” of Simeulue was over in less than 24 hours. Short but sweet?
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