I wake up early after having one of the worst nightmares in months. Hours later I’m still rattled by it. The scooter I was going to rent today has broken down and the hotel makes no effort to get me another one. I get the feeling that they don’t want to be responsible if I have an accident.
I would have liked to rent a car, but they only come with drivers. I’ve asked for a regular rental car at several hotels, but the staff seem incredulous. Why drive yourself when you can clearly afford a driver?
As I’ve driven myself through France, Jordan, Egypt, the USA and Iraq, I know that self-driving is by far the best way to see a country in it’s true filth and glory. But not here.
Instead I head for the train station, where I plan to jump on any train in any direction. I’ll get off after an hour, walk around, have lunch, and go back. But the train station is modern, with electronic tickets and turnstiles – I can’t even get close to the trains.
With large signs displaying unknown destinations, suddenly riding the train has turned into a project. When a man with bad teeth asks me for the third time if I need a taxi the Loud American within me emerges and tell him to leave me alone or I’ll call for police! He gets it.
A table in the shade at some food stalls becomes a refuge. Coffee, tea, some fried food, chocolate milk and a cigarette. I tell myself it’s ok because when I come home I will go on a diet of coconut water and kale only. A cat jumps up in my lap.
It seems to be one of those days when I can’t get started.
A few tables away, a woman spoon-feeds her grandma in a wheelchair. The older woman is confused, but opens her mouth wide every time she sees food approaching. Clean and well-dressed, she is a tiny bird in her chair; her hands arthritic claws reaching for the spoon she can no longer grasp.
A third woman at the table is spoon-feeding two kids. I think they’re all the same family. The kids look to be 6 and 8 years old, healthy and able-bodied. Why they’re being spoon-fed is beyond me.
When a man joins them, and I almost expect him to begin spoon-feeding one of the women. And then the kids can spoon-feed him, and they can all shove food down each other’s throats in one big incestuous culinary orgy!
I suck on my straw. The chocolate milk is sweet. I miss my mom.
I try to imagine the old woman young, active, working, a strong mother feeding her own children. Now all of Indonesia’s history is written in her face.
I go back to the hotel where I doze off; my mind still dwelling on the dream. At dusk I drag myself across the street for a mind-numbing Tom Cruise movie. This day is wasted anyway.
