Bandung

       I had my first rough day of traveling yesterday.  I rode a bus from Bogor to Bandung to then venture out to a kopi luwak farm that was supposed to be close to the city.  My hostel host in Bogor gave me directions and wrote down what I needed to say to the farmer to ask if I could sleep, eat and work with this family for the day (and have a  cup of his coffee in the morning).  Kopi luwak is Indonesian coffee beans that are digested by wild civet cats that somehow enhance the flavor of the coffee.  I’m not sure of the chemistry behind it but I was told that it is the most expensive coffee in the world.  One cup in the states goes for upwards of $100.  I’m in, where do I sign up?
I made the error of thinking I had enough time to try and find a battery for my dying watch which turned out to be the only white person walking around this enormous designer mall, full backpack and looking like the tourist that I oh so don’t want to be.  Oh well, I probably will play that roll many, many times over.  Get used to it.  The bright side is that when I’m getting stared at through every walkway, all I have to do is flash a grin and I’m rewarded with giggles from little girls and old men trying to find out where the hell I have come from.  I’ve seen only three white people other than myself walking around Indonesia (outside of the hostels) so far.
As soon as I knew I had failed to find the battery I checked to see how far it was to the farm.  Eeka, from my last hostel gave me the impression that it was close… Nope.  At least two hours away to the north.  It was already 4 o’ clock and trying to kick the tourist costume and rudely show up in the evening when the farmer may be winding down for the evening, I bagged it.  Luckily they had a Starbucks so I could buy an over priced cup of coffee and struggle with the internet for an hour or so trying to find a bed for the night.  Finally coming across a hostel that wasn’t all the way on the other side of town I called and booked the night.  Pinisi Backpacker Hostel.  Sounds about right.  I hailed a cab and off I went.  In the wrong direction.  In circles.  Lost.  Both me and the cabbie.  Ok, stay positive.  Ping. Ping. Ping.  And the meter continued to rise.  Google is telling me that my hostel resides in a very dingy, busy part of town.  The driver and I continue to look around but he keeps wanting to take right turns.  So I took over.  Kiri. Lurus, Lurus. Kenan.  Kiri!
       I finally got us back in the general area and got out, both of us chuckling at that ridiculous and slightly stressful ordeal.  Walking down a busy road  I started asking the locals where I might find my hostel and everyone was very willing to point me in a direction though none of the directions seemed to be the right direction.  I’ve never done this before but I stopped into the police station.  I have to say, this was the best decision of my day.  They offered me tea, water, coffee, cigarettes.  Politely declining in my very limited and broken Indonesian, they sat me down and asked all sorts of things about America.  It turned out to be a great experience and in the end they gave me a free motorbike ride by a tiny little man half my size..  Finally…
        Saying hello to the owners, staff and all their friends sitting around chatting, I dropped my things into a locker and headed straight out the door to walk and unwind.  What is that?  A a neon Bintang sign?  You bet.  It turned out to be a very high end restaurant lounge where the non muslim business men gather.  Also a very eccentric lady named Kiki.  Cruella de Ville hair, braces and thick framed glasses sat beside me… staring.
       “Hello”
       “You American?”
       “Yep, from Idaho.”
       “What’s Idaho?”  It turned out to be a very rewarding conversation where each of us learned everything we could think to ask about the other culture.
       This is a proud culture.  The Indonesians are very loving on the island chain they inhabit.  Many are very poor.  Very, very poor.  But no matter who I ask each and every person, young or old, poor or rich will tell me that there is only one country they want.  Indonesia.  Many have told me their government is corrupt and their leaders make decisions to better themselves, regardless of the welfare of the people.  I’ve been told that the wages are very small and they can afford very little.  The poor from the U.S. can hardly touch the lack of money, clean water and opportunities that many face here.  The one thing that no one has been without in my travels however is at least a smile.  I’ll admit that my attention seems to makes them excited and curious and some can’t help but laugh and jabber on to me about who knows what, always with a smile.  There may be a deeper discontent that I’m not picking up on.  For now, it seems that their good nature is engrained into their big cities and small villages alike.
       I had the chance to talk to my hostel host the next day to find out a little more of everyday life.  He spoke a little more english than most that I had met so it was easier to take down the language barrier.  Inu is the same age as me and owns and operates five different businesses.  He has an MBA from the university in Bandung and with that he started a massage parlor and with the profits he built his own factory to make clothing for adults and children, which he distributes to Jakarta, Bogor, Bandung and Yogyakarta.  He then started a delivery system for fresh produce and meats on scooters.  After that he opened the Pinisi Backpacker Hostel.  And the night before when I arrived to him and his friends playing cards, that was actually a casual meeting for the consulting firm that his college friends and him created that operates on all the islands of Indo.  They meet five nights a week to discuss business and clients.

       I figure that if you have the right business mindset in this country it is like the wild west of entrepreneurialism.  Inu has been able to pay off his $10,000 of college debt, purchase all of his buildings in cash and built his home from scratch in a nice residential community, pool and all.  I began to notice that so many have entrepreneurial attitude to make their living.  Every food cart, market booth, warung and hostel are people that haven’t had the opportunities that I’ve seen in the states so they take matters in their own hands.  I’m still not quite sure how they do it… Every warung on the streets are selling basically the same product and there can be more than a dozen on one block.
It’s made me pretty grateful for the privileges  that I’ve been given in the U.S.  If I had been born in Indonesia rather that Idaho and had middle class parents that were still willing to give me everything they could to see me be successful, I would probably not be even as close to a successful career path as I am today.  I’m feeling pretty lucky to be from the states and have the things that I do.  But for today I’m feeling even more lucky to be able to spend even a small amount of time with these amazing people.