Indonesia or bust 8
Party on my lord!!
Grit your teeth and run as fast as you can. Discover that ven though your arse is ready to dribble its contents down your legs you can almots break the sound barrier as you barge into the nearest loo, shove the Indo off the squat toilet and explode everywhere. Nice!
Now grab that paper which just so happens to be a printout of my last email.
You have guessed it, its that time of the months when Ben gets to rant about all the lunacy that goes on in the land of no alcohol.
It's Indonesia or Bust number 8. Rock on!
The entire group is suffering from a terrible illness, this illness makes you meloncholy and seem fatigued. It is none other than Post-MPR mount bromo sickness. You see we had the fun, excitement and surreal times and now it is back to work, and no play here in Malanag. The place where VSO wont allow you to evencross the road as we are not insured and it is too dangerous. I am gtiing annoyed with all this beaurocratic bollocks really. I did so many hair raising things in Africa that VSO would have had a heart attack if they could have seen me naked with the tribes. But here its a whole new story and I feel to be frank too old and travelled for this programe. I hate the feeling of being trapped in this city. Indonesia is so vast ans holds so many treasures that would make your eyes light up like Southend sea front on a chav convention. But we are not allowed to see them. Borobudur, the worlds largest and mots monumentally impressive Buddhist temple has been deemed too far. Too far my prevervial backside! I could bet there and back easily in two days, but will we be allowed, will I f#*k!
I hate to maon but its just gets to me that I could do som much and cant. Work for the Red Cross is now getting on my nerves. They asked me to write a proposal to Geneva and the International Red Cross and Red Creseant movement HQ pleading for funds. So I wrote a 6,700 plus word ducument for them. I used their computers and saved it. The next day that document and only that document, not the photos that I had saved in the same file had been deleted. The recycle bin emptied to boot. Someone obviously deleted it on purpose or by accident. Now I can noarrow it down to one person as it was their in the morning and they asid they tred to open it. That means the silly Indo actually deleted the f**cking thing and hasnt the gall to admit it to me. So with that I was annoyed and went off to work with the mobile blood donor unit. This in itself is a joke, but at leasdt I learn how to put needles in random peoples arms!!
The Indonesians in the group are now getting odder and odder by the day. Not only do they think that when a group of Brits including myself sneak off t the only bar tht serves Bintang beer, that we are all having a giant orgy, but they also are scared of me. Absolutely petrified. They feel that if I am not smiling then I am scary and unaproachable. Other than that they also think we are alcoholics and drug abusers. They are influenced by American movies and the sex thing absolutely stuns me as Indonesians are all virgins until they marry and have no concept of sex at all. I know this as I sat in on a sex eductaion talk. They used in that talk pictures of plants and polluntaion to explain reproduction, not a condom was mentioned!
Let me now get away from my moaning and tell you about something that made me want to cry. It was 2am and my alarm went off. I walked out of my house and sat on a blanket in the sreet as a old man wheeled out a rustic looking television set and plugged it into a long extension cable. The extension cable sparked and vibrated as though mice had chewed holes in it, but the TV kicked into life and then Jens Lehmann was sent off. My heart sank, but when Big Sol scored I was up at the early hour and running around shouting 'BIG SOL I LOVE YOU'. All the Indonesians who were up seemed to be supporting Barcelona and also none of them had not got a clue about football. They didnt even care as they mostly all left at helf time. But why support Barcelona. They all copied the commentators words and came accross as bad parrot impersenators. 'Henry, Eto'o, Almunia', parots the lot of them. BUt my dream of seeing my beloved Arsenal reign in Europe was cruched by the cruel goals which would never have been conceeded if Sir Jens was still on the park. When the final whiostle went then people who had wondered off then decided to come back and start celebratibng. The basterds ran up to me and danced around me. How I didnt windmill in and dish out Glasgow kisses to all involved I will never know. The rest iof the night I couldnt sleep, not because I wa upset about the resul (which I was) but Miftah's snoring in the room has got to an all time high. He snores like there is a bloody train going past your window. I now know what sleep deprivation feels like.
Apples, cockrels and naughtiness....
A few intrepid exploreres went to the 'Apel' gardens where I was amaized to see cider. Oh it couldnt be so good could it, real cider in Asia. But alas it wa piss weak apple juice with a hint of alcohol! But before we went off to steal bag loads of fruit (my host family never gives me any fruit or veg, no wonder he is a diabetic)we had an infamous team meeting!
this meeting was where we could all air our opinions about the 'team'. I waited patiently for my turn and then let rip. But I let rip in the mots subtle and restrained manner. I juts said that I do not believe taht the team can get any better and we are all forgetting one major fact. We are all individuals and no matter how much bloody bomding you do, there will never be a united Global Xchange team which the Indos think it will become. You wil aways have two groups: Adventurous Brits and boring Indos. The Indonesians actaully said that when we get to Glasgow they expect that as it is in Britain we wont want to see anything at all and will sit at home. Not on your nelly you plimpsole fools. We will be even more active as this time we dont have to have you lot transalting (badly) for us. If we could speak Indo then qwe would have done so much. The Indonesians also forget that they have learnt English from a very young age, we do not earn Indo as it is not a predominant world language! That was basically a small part of my rant, not too harsh and fully justifiable. The Brits all agree with me, although they did smile as I went off on one of my forced posh voiced rants with cockney thrown in for good measure.
Bt the worst thing about the Indonesian way of life which I juts canot and never will understand is the fact that all they seem to want to do id go home and sleep. Us Brits want to explore all the sights but even though they are in a city far from home they dont want to explore and see anything. They also take so many really poor photos of everything. For example no Indo went into a waterfall when at the MPR, but they all took photos and posed in front of the water for the camera. When asked why they didnt go in, they said that it is because it is juts not exciting fotr them. But when questioned further it is more like they are all shit scared of water and cant swim (they are also scared of dogs too) and none had ever een to this waterfall before. I juts dont and never will understand it!!!!
So then the Batu apple gardens. Batu is a city near malang , well re of a big town really and it is high up in the mountains. So not only was it a lot milder, but it was raining elephnsts and rhinos when we got there. The plan was to enter and steal as much fruit as physically possible. So off I went and filled my bags. But as with all places where people go in Asia, they had forlorn looking monkeys in cages juts asking to be set free. Well the monkeys were rabid looking and had padlocks on their cages, but I set the hoghorn leg horns out and gave a big boy his freedom.
Then two of us on our pilfering challenge stole two animal signs in the chicken area!!!
Day 53 Thurday 25th May
It has been a long time since I emailed or wrote a blog. So today I will sit down and write all that needs to be said.
I would like to now rant on about those litle tings that makes me want to scream at Indonesia and educate them all. The first item on my rant is known as the communal toilet comb. Yes this disgusting scalp and nit infested comb can be found in all toilets in Indonesia. Why dont they juts say hey lets spread our disesases. I am so put off my this as it is a prime example of the Indonesian blindness. TYhey are mostly all Muslims and have to wash over and over again before praying, but they dont mind sharing hair germs with each other. They juts miss the point compleatly! No wonder the Dutch handed this odd country back!
I am getting rather pissed off with the backwards attitudes in this country, mostly they all span from Religion that rules their every movement. Not only does it control, but it prevents anyone from having fun. When we go to Glasgow the Indo's will get one massive culture shock and declared that we are in Hades!
For example in Indonesia you can go to prison for buying cannabis. In Britain we juts conviscate it and say 'naughty, naughty'. But here in Indoland an ustralian woman is facing 8 years in prison for attempting to buy an ounce. That is for only attenmpiting to buy it. Bloody hell imagine the punishment if you were peddling it. But as all drugs are bad monsters in the eyes of Indonesians they do also miss the point yet again. One of the Indo volunteers said to their British counterpart that cannabis can be medicinal as it makes you hungry. Ever heard of the munchies love!!! Thye indonesians do not stop at drugs when they have their weird opinions. They also think that tampons are evil. Yes they use masive granny pads and many of the UK girl contingents have expressed their shock when an Indonesian girl asked where it went and then proclaimed loudly 'how can you do that to yourself' and 'does it hurt', I have never met suc a backwards race!
But on a lighter note they have a packet of crispc out here called 'happy toss', they do taste rather salty!
So let me now move away from my rant and onto what has been going on in the life o Ben. Yesterday was the Red Cross event called the Konser Bhakti, this is a massive fund rasier and all those who join in raise money to fund the Red Cross within the city of Malang. The event had a thing on the stage called the 'Gayo Ben show'. This turned out to be the worst possible bands i the world ever. It roughly trnaslated as comedy bands and they mullered songs by Quens. They didnt even know the lyrics and thought that they were Finnish monster rockers. Of course the comedy bands were all dressed up and looked atrocious. One lot were all dressed in drg. This is odd as bands in drag, ladyboys, but no sex education at all. Three of us went to the cinema the other day and when a woman on the screen showed off a bit of flesh the men mear us went 'ooooooohhhh' like they were creaming their pants. So very odd! The other two bands were all dressed up in flouresecent loud flares and the lead singer tried o strutt like Jagger but all his did was look like a chicken with hemeroids. It wasnt my cup of tea at all. The only people who seemed to enjoy it were the kids who ran to the front of the stage as the poor poor bans were giving out sweets.
The nest part of the days activities wre a massive work out. Suddenly all these pink clad people ran to the area in front of the stage and two complete dicks let a work out lesson where they made them all do air guitar!
Tis was too much for me but as soon as I had though that I had escaped getting involved Rudy and the Red Cross ladies dragged me into the frenzy. I couldnt believe it as some people were really going for ir. A woman in leopard skin leggins as shaking her arse so violently taht It could have taken an eye out. Also the men in lycra was juts sick and wrong!
The reason that we were at this event was to fundraise for the upcoming CAD's. This was done by all sorts of little sideshow stalls. We had a beat the keeper competition, facepaints by the resident artiste Ben who I hasten to add had cool braided hair. I muts have painted so many faces that day. They all wanted little Indo and Brits flags on their cheeks. Then some group were obsesed with some drug bottle logo and wanted up their arms. Then they had the audacity to say tat it wasnt green enough! Oddly enough for a country that hates Japan so much, many people wanted the flag of the rising sun! We sold cakes, had a guess the sweets in the jar competition and also sold off my final London 7op snowglobe and my final London teddybear. Intotal we made a shedloads of cash. It wasnt a lot but Indo money is near useless so it was a lot of paper!
Also for an EAD about conservation we all went to the pictureques waterfall of Cuban Rondo. The waterfall means widow falls as apparantly two ancient warriors battled to the death leaving their widows behind them, therefore widow falls was born. After a long and bumy trip where we discovered that the Indonesian name for pine tree is 'penis' we arrived and stretched our legs.
Cuban ondo is a large managed park and guess what? It had two elepahnts that I fondledand got in some good trunk fiddlign action. When an elepahnts blows at you it is almots enouight to make you stagger backwards. I have seen elephnats in the wild and they are massive powerful and destructive beats, but I have never touched an elephants until now. I felt so sorry as they were both chained to the groud and their keepers were beating them to sit down and stand up etc. Indonesians are really cruel with their animals. But even thought they tie up elephants, beat them and also makes monkeys dance. They still find it in themselves to complain when I kicked a cat that made me drop loads of glass all over my feet!
The actual waterfall itself was too shallow to swim in and the water falling from above was so powerful that it looked like it would cut you open if you got too close. Of course I dipped my feet into the cool rfreshing waters, but as it was cold and we were up at a higher altitude where the temperature had dropped that was about as adventurous as I would go.
We had some sort of crystal maze challenge to find some hidden fags. One was hidden in a puddle and another on top of a rock in the river. I spotted it and raced accross the rocks to vistory! Oh what a game!
So that concludes my 8th installment. I am actually geting tired of all the bolocks in this country. I get told off all the time for doing things that are so small but they upset epeoples religion. For example I had my boxer shorts on the line drying. Therefore as they cover the penis they are evil and should be kept ut of sights, this causde Miftah to lodge an official complaint about me. Now how the f**k am I supposed to know that when no bugger tells me what is good and what is bad! I thyink Indonesians need to drop the religion and live a little. Glasgow will freak them out. Or as Miftah put it 'I am prepared for Glasgow as I went on a course" nice one!
So I will leave you all with the news that some bright spark deleted all my wrk opff the Red Cross computer. So obviously they didnt want the money I was trying to raise for them. Well done Indonesia, another fine mess you have gotten yourself into. No wonder the Dutch washed their hands with you.
Sleep tight my cheubs
Peace and Love
Ben
xxxxxx
Indonesia or Bust 7
Indonesia or Bust 7
Horses, Volcanos and hypothermia!
Aim ready fire! Its that time again so sit down make yourself a moch-locha-poker-achino and sip it gingerly. This one is truly fruity!
I decided after one hell of a weekend away that my diary entry and my writings online will be combined for the first time and probably only time as I am feeling the following:tired, lazy and slightly weather beaten. Therefore thsi number 7 is my actual diary account so its going to be a full throttle no holds barred afair. So lay on McDuff...........
Day 40 Friday 12th May 2006
the entire group met at Kwarcab in the eveing and we waited in anticipation for our two hired buses to arriev and scoot us off to the wonders of the Mid Project Review (MPR). This of course is only the Indonesia phase MPR and therefore as the powers that be, or the no fun crew as I like to call them ruled out a trip to either of the B's (Bali or Borobudur) as apparantly it is too far and we may get mauled by a badger or something. So instead of our preferred destinations we awere off to Mount Bromo national park.
I was eady and waiting making things burn to a chrisp on the BBQ with my newly bleached blonde Germanesque hair and when the cars arrived what should some bright spark do? Well that idiot put all the big people in the smallest car and the little ones all got the masssive bus thing. Yes I am one of the big people and outr journey Itlain job stylie up the mountain was nothing than bloody uncomfortable while the bright spark in question rode shotgun. Sometimes Indonesians possess no common sense at all. Many of the little weeny Indo's were curled up in a ball like cats in the bloody bus.
So let me get off the rant and on to our arrival after a vomit stop for one of the British girls. We arrived at about 4 am in the freezing cold of the elevated height of the national park. Of course us Brits being hardy buggers coped admirably with this sudden change from hot to cold. But the poor old Indo's, well that couldnt cope with anything. We had peole wearing every item of clothing that they had and they still cried because it was cold. Bt even at 4 a on our arrival there were little men tying to flog you stupid looking wooley hats. I of couse like to wind these people us a great deal and get them to rummage to the bottom of their tray and find th oddest scarf or whatever they were selling and then say that I dont want it.
So after a sleep and the realisation that the hostel thing that we were staying in could not add up we didnt have enough beds to go round. But we were tired and bumpy from the journey so thought sod it and I slept in two beds pushed together in an Indo sandwich.
The sun arose on the Friday morning and the site that met my esyes was astonishing and awe inspiring. A vast plain lay in front of us banked on all sides by looming ominous looking mountains. There on the very far side stood out a large mountaisn which name escapesme, but I am more interested in the thing next to that. Mount Bromo. The giant volcanioc crater pummelled out giants plumes of smioke into the air reaching high up into the atmosphere. Oh waht a site and I stared accross the arid volcanic dust and sand plain laeding to the feet of Bromo. Behind bromo but not visable to the eye except for an every 15 minutes like clockwork puff of smoke loomed mount Semeru. Semeru is another volcano and to see the two towers of smoke rise fom the gates of hell made a shiver run dow my spine.
But in true Global xchange no fun, oh we can look but not touch style we had a day of what can only be described as nimd numbing bollocks, boredom, painful activies and shiteness. Basically we had to do loads of sessons such as 'how can we get more out of our volunteers plavemsnts', 'any problems with our counterpats, host homes and other isues'. I kno it all has to be done, but fuck me sideways with a broomistick is it dull. Especially when you have a view like the one which I described outside smiling at you and begging you to com hither. What enticed me more was the Hindu temple at the foot of Bromo. The place froma distance was teeming with horses, large off roaders and people all milling around in the distance. Horses ferried people top and fro and all the local people all decked out in balaklavas and arctic tundra attire loked remarkably like sherpas from Nepal. It must be the weather beateness.
I wont bore you with the sessionms that we had as one I cant remember them and two sod all actually funny or worth writing home about occurred. Except two things. Firstly a local nutter woman wearing painted on moustache and sideburns in a police hi vi jacket and a oficers hat accosted me. No she wasnt a police officer, juts the local nutter. She followed me into the dining room where we were holding all our meetings and sudenly this large Papuan man from behind the reception desk/bar/jacket hire/burlesque house literally chucked her out. He had her off the floor and through the air in under a seconds. Bye bye crazy lady! She would l;ater re-appear but this time she had found more prey to attack in the form of small children with their parents. The second thing that is worth a jot down was the fact that we had to do a conselling session where you do a listen to peoples problems about their counterparts (I apparantly dont eat enough bloody rice according to Miftah!) but I got one of the young Indo girls. The one who is most definately the oddest of the lot. This one )no names mentioned) wont eat while walking as 'animals do that', but contradicts her no animal actions atance by only shitting with the door open!!! This is the same Indo who thought that Valentines day in Britain was a day of free love for all where we all shack up with anyobe we come accross and when talks sounds like a robot. So I shout 'exterminate' and try to look for a plunger! Anyway she was giving councellor Ben some bollocks of a story about how she hates explaining things to her British counterpasrt who only naturally asks questions about the many ideocrncracies of Indo culture. I changed this whole session to indoctrinating her to belive that one of the Indo boys loves her and that he is the Adam to her Eve, he is the Sampson to her Deliah, he is the kid to her Gary Glitter and she is the throbing to his loins. This last bit confused her even more and she ater was crying. But honestly it was nothing to do with me. Any sexual inuendo fired at an Indonesian goes right over their heads. I know I therefore shouldnt do it, but in the words of Miftrah 'I love it'. Only today diid I ask Miftah that if he loved his girlfriend would he give her a 'pearl necklace' an did he belive in big gay bears! He said yes to both!
That day we also had to fill in a nominations sheet for a series of awards whivh were to be handed out in some lavish presentation ceremony that night. I was later told that I was co -presenting the awards so camped it up on the red light lit stage on the microphoen cracking all the Billy Conolly and Eddie Izzard jokes that I could remember ad basically abusing people. I was in my element! The nominations were in and the awards were for the grand titles suvh as: Queen o scream, The bottomless pit award, ther eaten aliv award, the cmots likely two to get married award. Well I co-presented wthe awards with Daisy and Miftah ran away with 4 awards (including future presdine tof Indoland) his acceptance speches were hilarious. his cathcphrases basically are: 'aaaah never mind', 'I love it very much' and 'what, what, what'. When we counted all the awards we made sure that everyone had won at least one award so it was fair. But I won two therefore one was given up. I won and was awarded with the most likely to go insane award! My acceptance speech caused riotious laughter between the Brits but bemused yet again inuendo over their heads expressions fromt he Indonesians. I said 'Thankyou for this award, I think I am three quarters of the wayu to insanity anyway. Only yesterday did I wake up wearing nothing but Miftahs smile'!!! He then shouted 'what, hwt, hweta' and we all giggled, but I guess you had to be there. But the award whivh I did win but had to present to Anhah was the most likey to be a Bond Villian award. I really wanted that and rightfully won. So in my mind I am Mr. Scaramanga!
All the time I kept referring to our houise band and getting a blast from Hugh in my Dick van Dyke hat on the bongos. It really was a classy affair!
With a day of pure mental work and questions, writing and more flip chart paper than I ever want to see again it was Bintang time. So the Cheeky Bintang club of me, Katie, Daisy, Fae and Hughie no show all stayed up drinking illicit bintangs from our personal stash and the guinness that Hugh had nucked from the bar. The funny thing was that when we went for dinner we started to randomly steal hings or rather Katie, Hugh and I did. Katie wanted this little penguin pot thing sdo in my pocket it went (its all rubbish crap but funny). but before the end of the weekend was out e had managed to sneak away with the elephant ashtrap and the amaizingly placed breats with glazed nipple in hand cuppage candle holder. Katie nicked it under a blanket but when I got home the cheeky mare had put it in my bag, but a finger had afllen off!!!
DAY 41 Saturday 13thy May
It was a cold cold night and many people resulted to going to bed fully clothed and snuggling. Rizky was in betwen Hugh and I in our room and we scared the poor boy to death. We kept saying things like 'Hugh hold him down its my turn' and 'is that your hand lover boy', the result was that he was so freaked out and couldnt sleep a wink while Hugh and I had a good nights rest. We still managed to wake up early however and see the sunrise over the distant mountains. As soon as the actual ball of sun pops its head over the horizon it was like a nuclear exlosion of lights filling the landscape. The only thing that ruined it for us as Hugh, Katie and I stood wrapped in mildrew riden blankets was the mental dog barking at us all the whiel. But after I threw some random scrapnel that was on the ground at it, the mangy thing hot footed it off.
Once again the view of Bromo called to me. Come here Ben it was saying. Or take me now as I enterpreted it!
But things changed this morning. The no fun gang suddenly had a dayu off and we were given free time and all our personal two to one discussions were re-scheduled and other stuff was moved around to accommodate the fact that the Hindu temple which I mentioned was having a festival. Now we could get there by one of three ways. Walking, in a jeep. Or the pierce De resistance, go by horse. So horsey times ahead it was for me.
What a great day and time we had. The jeep lot all crammed in and sped off accorss the plain leaving a trail of dust in their wake. Some people didnt bother to go so no one walked and the others well let me tell you. The people on horse back went and found the horse which corresponded with a name written on a back of a cigarett pack that soem dirty old man holdin whip with a fag between his yellow teeth and one eye gave to us. I was on some horse with a silly name beginnig with S. But when I rounded the corner ad found him, it was a bloody pit pony. Sod that I thought and refused to get on the little thing. All the horses were ill tretade mal nourished gaunt buggers and many of them didnt have any shoes, where their hooves should have been were a rounded stump o many. Well anyway I kicked up a fuss and wouldnt get onthe little bugger, even though he had the biggest bollocks for a horse I had ever seen. So I swaped with Bex. She took little Shergar and I jumped up onto some big balck beats called Kuat (strong). This turned out to be an inspired move as not only was mine full of hoof and a big strong lopoking bugger but he was obdient and easy to handle and manipulate. Then my second fuss kicked off as every one seemed to have a man with a dirty jacket and wrapped in blankets leading them by a rope. Blow that I though and said 'Tidak' to the man who approached me. Then using all the skills from a childhood spent on horses walked down the steep slope perfectly, rains held in the correct manner, leaning back conrolling the horse. The n onto the plain. I saw loads of the others ahead of me as they had had a head start fdue to my changing horse shennanigans. Bex was thrown off by the big bollocked little bugger to boot. I then looked around and assessed a clear area with no motor bikes with local youth doing doughnuts or big jeeps hell for leather tearing accross the plain. Then one crack of the crop ad a good kick and I was off. I went into a trot, then canter and then full out gallop. The man who wanted to lead me thought 'shit he is going o die'. But he hadnt banked on the horse majesty of 'The Whateley' as I am caled by Katie out here. Soon I was tearing past the other shouting abuse and then loopg round the pass them again. This inspired a few of them to come with unce Ben and off we went galloping all over the plain. The back drop could have been Nepal or the Himalayas, but Bromo in Indonesia juts looked so amaizing viewed from a galloping horse. The vest bit about this and Naomi has a wonderful picture that I will copy to prove it was that I was in my trusty cowboy hat which made me look like clint Eastwood and John Waynes love child. I gallped up to these large sand dunes and stood gazing into the distance and Naomi took the mots amaizing picture postcard photo of me. I looked so cowboy fantastic. I also had shorts on so by the end of the day when I had finally adjusted the styrups to the rigts level so I didnt have to ride the ball destroying Westerb style and the more poncy Ebnglish style I got huge chaffing blisters or war wounds on my calfs!But the little pain was woth it as I had ages of true independance on a horse and juest gallped anywhere I wanted to. I even said howdfy to these ladies on tour who all giggled (maybe my flies were ope again).
The Hindu temple was a bit of an anti-climax for me. The entire thing from a distance looked old and rustic in a perfect juxtaposition with the beautiful and looming to use personification Mount Bromo. But up close it was a concrets and breeze block hideous statue laden monstrousity. Even so I still waleked all over except to the bit where brightly dressed people were coming out as it was for Hindu's only. I was then told off for standing on a wall, so went up the tower to avoid all the Indonesians trying to take photos of me as though I am a five cocked man in a circus freak show!
We would not be going up to Bromos top today, that was for later. So I galloped around for about an hour exploring the dune sea and the volcanic landscae before the light dulled and I went back up the steep path to meet the others stinking olf old shabby horse. God job I had some mints handy for my trusty if not now knackered steed! I loved the activity and to gallop in front of a volcano pumping smoke into the air was juts our of this world. I wish I could do it again.
That evening We gethered around an old tv in the restaurant/disco/love den/ wrestling ring and watched as Mount Merapi about 7 hors drive away from us spewed molten lava out and down its sides cau\sing people to evacuated the towns. So the South East Asian ring of fife is off. How long before the chain recations hits us I wonder!
The evenings activties were a quiz organised mby myself on global issues. I tried to re-create the pub quiz feel but only 3 of us sipped beers through out. I read the questions out anf then Jessica transl;ated them foe me. What surprised me was the lack of knowledge the Indo's have about their own country. For example Indonesia Invaded East Timor in 1975. All got it wrong except one and then all protested that each and every one of the wrong answers were right!! It was suppposed to eb a 50 question quiz but time was ticking away and dinner was coming so it whittled it down to 25. This was a more fun activity and everyone even though some looked baffled at my questions, I think all enjoyed it.
Dinner came and I pised myself laughing at what we got. Pigeon. But this was Indo pigeon. What they do is get an entir pigeon lightly pluck it and chuck the entire thing into a fryer. The resuly greasy pigeon head , feet and all. I was dared to bite the head off so did and then oput it in one of the penguin toothpick holders so when you pulled off the penguins head it bacem Darth Vader penguin. This caused all the gilrs to either scream or give me dissaproving looks. Once again the evening was spent drinin beers and copius amounts of coffee as we huddled togheter around ads of candles. When bed came I found Rzky tking up all of the two beds so a bundle ensued!
DAY 42 Sunday 14th May
I went to bed for two hours to get up at 1am so we could all get bussed to this mountain top vilage full of hat stalls and coffee shacks on stilts to watch the sun rise over the volcanic plains an mountains. The trouble was yet again Indo organisation let us down as it was supposed to be a 3 hours trip, ego we left at 1am. But we were there in 45 minutrd or so? Gary goodopne whoever worked that out. Therefore we all were up some mountain with nothing but bitty Javanese coffee and a tiny fire with tramps around it for company. I fell asleep on a table in a canteen (The indo version of a greasy spoon). Fnally the time was nearing so we all climbed up to gt a better view. Then my heart sank. I imagined a nice hiltop deserted and over looking the plain. But there were about 100 people including a white man with an uber mounstache that was waxed and piointed and curled upwards there. Sod this I thiough bu we managed to get a spot in the crowd and wrapped in blankets we watched as the sun slowly and then suddebnyl wham illuminated the horizon. The sight was beautiful, but slightly ruined by the men wlking around trying to sell bright pink and green I have been to Bromo hats. Coincidently mots of the Indonesian volunteers purchased the hideous things!
I was a bit annoyed a in true Indonesian fashion no one told us that it was a tourist attraction. I was led to believe it was a scared and isolated spot. But many things are lost intranslation and they dont see thinsg the way we do.
The sun was up and the temperature was slowly increasing. Then we drove down ionto the plain and had the choice again of how to go up t the craters edge and top. Horse for 700 tiny yaers or an extreme walk over the rocks. The rocks won and the Brits headed off. I was utterly shocked to see the state of the Indonesian volunteers fitness as we ascended the crater. All of them had to stop for multiple breathers and looked exhauted as they clutched their stiche in their sides.
Wow, wow, wow. I got to the top and then looked down on a massive crater. It was ike looking down into a stadium where a hole in the ground billowed our thick white smoke. I ws off. Katie and I went exploring as all the volunteers seemed to emalgamate around the area where the pathway climaxed. But not us to intrepid explorers (minus Hugh who said he would come but didnt, hense Hughie no show). We traveresd the craters edge sometime perilously cose to falling down into a smi\oky doom. We wanted to circumnavigate the entire crater but time ran out and the others from the far side could juts be heard shouting for us to come back. But we went the furthers and stood gazing out at the landscape formed by lava flows and liquid magma from ancient eruptions. Nature at its mots powerful, destructuve best. I was awe struck. The shear size of the crater, it was also great for loud shouted echos that rang around the valley!
The other volunteers were dots i the distance to where we were standing, as we were now dirstly half way and the dots were lots behind te bilowing smoke. I wanted to try and get down into the crater as I found a pathway which even though looked perilous could be done I think. But alas after more time than the no fun crew allocated us (the cars had to be back) we returned with beers in hand smoking a cigar between us to celebrate our coquest of the volcano.
When we got doen and past te men shouting 'horse' at us and random old women throwing flowers into the pit and trying to sell them to un-suspecting French backpackers for 5000 rupiah, e discovered that many had left to go back already. Some on horse back for an inflated whiteman prce some in the bus. So it was the small jeep fo us. But even though the driver wouldnt let me drive it I hung off the back as we bumped alsong past the Hinu temple blasting out music accross the plain back to the awfully bad but fantastically awful Hotel Permaii, which was our home.
By the time I arrived dusty and sweather beaten back all the lunch had been devoured and so I managed to get some hot water and have my first hot wash in ages. It wa a strange feeling to be honest. Now the time had come for us to go. But before the hustle of Malang beckoned we would be popping by a place recommended by Mr. Bing who randomly turned up with his little mini Bing daughter, we were going to a waterfall where you could 'apparantly' swim in it. But as with all things in Indonesia I wasnt expecting anything. They say 'oh yes we have 3 beds' then there is two in a room for 5 girls. They dont exactly invite my confidence. Especially the man called Coco who is apparantly filming ou weekend aweay. But he missed all of the horse riding, the Bromo climb and instaed films fucking trees out of the window, please excuse my French. I flatly refused to tip him!
Well anyway we drove to this watefall where you walked along a path that followed the flow going upstream of a winding rock and boulder filled river. Suddenly I rounded the corner and loads of people decended upon me trying to hire an umbrella to me so I wont get wet! Its a bloody waterfall, getting wet is essentail. So Hugh, Daisy, Katie, Emma, Ibby, Lucy, Naomi, Fae and I (all the Brits) stripped down to our skivvies and waded up stream past the umbrella hawkers following the thundering of the noise of a mass of falling water. We were drenched by the time we had navigated up and over and round these massive boulders and reached the waterfall. The river downstream was in a raveen and now we came to a clearing with the roar of tons o water hitting the surface of a pool where massive logs had collected after a fall from the top.
Once again it was only thr Brits who were willing to risk the extreme cold and altitute temperature water and plung whole heartedly in. I giggled and thiougth what a bunch of plums as the Indos under a brolly tried not to get wet at all and made their way behind us screaming when a drop of water tiuched them! They are juts so uneadventurous and comical that it pains me to think about it, let alone type about how they went 'oooh ooooh ooh scream' every time they had to traverse a bloody rock! Meanwhile Hugh and I had swam to behind the water fall and climbed the rocks and were plunging through the falling water screaming (manly screams) into the incredibly deep water. As we jumped through the falling water it stung like hell, but was funny anf un. Two concepts alient to many Inuendo oblivious Indos. The cold was so biting that I soon lots the power of speech and my body shook violently. My teeth chattered so hard that I was sure I would need the dentist and it was hard to move as my muscles contrated for warmth conservation. We couldnt spent long there as the cold really got to you and we had a long walk semi naked and dripping wet back to where our clothes were. Then on the way back a frog jumped out on me and I dropped and smashed my amaizing 3 quid sunglasses, but no matter how hard I tried I culdnt catch the bugger!
So that was my weekdn o fun and boy did I love som of it. The bits where we sat around talking shop bored me. Especaially those 'team' exercises such as if the team where a car what would you be? Also we played this game where you had to pass a string to someone an say why you respect them, then they do the same and so on. I then announced 'Oh what a tangled web we weave, when we first choose to decieve' this amongts many of the Ben comments have caused eye brow raises from the project supervisors. Especially when I critise our insuranmce where we are only just covered for breathing and going to the loo. Its all to bloody over protective, that why I made a point of galloping around on my horse for all to see. ying 'go one break the rules' and be mad ad enjoy yourself, have bloody fun while you can. Dont let rules and insurance spil your life. Hnang off the back of cars, out of angkots and traveres those volcanos. because one day it may be oo late.
So then where ever you are or whatever you are doing. Have a bloody good one.
Have a Bintang!
Take care my lovelies
Ben
xxxxx
Oh it is official. I am scary and cannot be approached by the Indonesians. But they also reckon that all the Brits are sleeping with each other. All the time, proper nympos and all. That proves that they are not the mots perseptive of peoles really!
CHECK OUT MY PHOTOS
CHECK OUT MY PHOTOS
Whats the matter afraid you might like them!!!!!!!!
Indonesia or Bust 6
'English Fun with Mr. Ben'................................
Grab your red flags, don your matching headband and on mass storm the parliament building. Yes it is that time of the month where you get the full on discharge of Ben's antics in South East Asia.
Hold on tight and put pressure on that wound as it is time for Indonesia or Bust number 6.
Aftre a hard days work there nopthing like returning home to see your host father having his arse massaged by a small child. This is I am afraid normal culture here in Indoland. Not content with the little boys hands Pa Agung has invested in some bizarre massage machine. I hough it was best not to ask and retired to my hovel of a room where Miftah my counterpart lay in his camo pants snoring like a trooper on his bed.
So tahts set the sene then. Let me tell you of the lovely adventures which I have embarked on and the tales of intrigue mystery and surreal bollocks.
I will start at the first of the Month May Day. Traditionally people like to protest on that day. Here in Indoland they are no different from any other country. But as I watched the news after a day working for the Red Cross as riot preventative forst aiders. I looked at the cities onthe box and saw that Germany had a few cases of Argy bargy, in Thailand they set thing on fire, in Manilla they went mental and juts smashed things up. But here ......well they protested like a bunch of wantaway schoolkids going their maths work.
No the point of a mass protest is becase ou havnt got the right ears to whisper our political persuasions into. Therefore as you cannot lobby the rite people you protest on mass to bring a city or country to a stand still. Only if you protest with full belief in what you are doing and strong to boot will people watche and most importantly listen to your cries of outrage and demands. So the moral of this is if you have to protest do a big one and bring the city, area, region or province to a standstill. But here in Indonesia they havnt quite gathered that.
I watched the comedy of Indo errors unfold in front of me as some of the marchers decided to block the main 4 lane road into the heart of the city. But the dumb dicks couldnt fathom out that if they blocked more than the one land they were occupying they could bring the traffic to a standstill. But they stood there and shouted at the cars for serving round them. They obviously thought that they were being wronged by this. Then some bright spark must have suggested that they block the lame that the cars were swearving into. So they all moved and the cars swerved into the lane which they had juts vaceted! Good one!
Therefore looking bemused and bafled a group of protestors stood in the middle of the freeway surrounded by cars. Then they all got scared at this ad ran off. I stod next to the police all decked out in riot shileds, helmets and massive batons. But when they saw that the art of the protests was lots on these poor souls, they juts laughed, took off their helmets and went home also. So all i all it was the worst protest I have ever seen. the people in the parliamenst building which they surrounded muts have been pissing themselves with laughter. I must give them credit for turning out in such large numbers, buts thats all the credit I can give. All they did was wave a flag or two, walk around in a trance and wonder what to do next. Occasionaly some tool on a megaphne would start singing to only be met with a few mumbled responses. It was juts plain and simply bloody pathetic. I had nothing to do all day. No first aid to administer, no riots to get involved with and no fun at all. For goodness sake pull your socks up!
So with me doing a lot of sitting around and hoping that the protests will turn into riots I have had some free time on my hands. Mostly this has been spent with the Brits sneeking off for what we like to call the 'cheeky Bintang club'. Basically its a time to unwind with a cool beer and get away from the madness and boredom which Indonesia offers.
This week I also gave a lecture to the students union and Red Cross cadets at the Islamic state university of Mlang. This was an odd thing as the lecture I gave ended with the students asking for me to give them something to remember me by. I though 'oh bugger' as I didnt bring any of my postcards or London nicknacks to give away. But all they wanted in the end was for me to sing to them. Oh what joy. I rattled off a few ditties and quirky numbers with actions and inuendo ridden movements. Oh how I love to get the sexually unaware doing thrusting dances! The funny thing is if any westerner saw this they would laugh their balls off, but the Indonesian's weel they havnt a clue. When I got to the lecture hall there was a board on the wall with the upcoming agendas for the Students union and a few events. What made me really giggle was the fact that on the days date was the title and I quote 'English fun with Mr. Ben W Harris from London'. I giggled at this and even though I explained that actually I am from Essex they all in unison said 'london'! Apparantly England is London and London is England. Its a bit like trying to explain to a Yank that England is part of Britain anf that the George Cross is the English flag and that Scotland is not a city!!
But this week the best thing to happen was the dance spectacular which was the Maduran Islamic festival in the tiny village of Kasin.
We were invited to the festival in the Malang regency and soon the group of plucky people who wanted to go were on these Yellow angkots heading into the countryside. We passed massive oxons puliing ploughts through amaizingly cultivated and patterned fileds, bamboo planatations that stretched for as long as the eye could see and lush palm infested countryside.
As we drove along, I climbed out of the angkot and hung from the side. This of course was the most radical and risky thing any of the Indos had ever seen ands they almost wet themselves with fear at my antics. I would love to make one of them bungy jump! When the yellow angkots rocked up to the village we were taken to a house. Now this house was somebody's. But the somebody who owned it turned out to be related to someone who was someones uncle who had had an affair with someones nephew who ate the dog of someones Dad and thus this was someones house of the uncle wh ate a kid and owns birds. I dont know who's house it was but who ever it belong to they made us green cake!!
As I sat around waiting for the proceedings to start buying ice cream from a man who also sold pink birds in cages, one of the Indonesians approached me and via the aid of a translator I was asked if I would dress up in traditional maduran attire for the day. Rock on I said and soon I was decked out and looking hot damn sexy in a silky black number. This consisted of some incredibly baggy trousers that had to be rolled up in a certain way so that they didnt fall down. But when I later went to the toilet I undid the specialist knot and couldnt get them to stay up. The top part was an open silky large cuffed jacket. With this you went barechested under neath an on my noggin was a large purple bandana folded and tied juts so. Oh I looked a dapper treat, with my aviators sunglasses combo I took the village by storm. The trouble was that as I was dressed up like some sort of kung fu man I acted like one and chopped around all over the sho. 'I have a blackbelt in cookery' I cried; 'I can kill you with one chop'!!!!!
Suddenly out of nowhere a massive bullock was led into the village and the streets started to fill up with colourful people in costumes galore. This bull wasnt to be scarificed but was to lead the procession. Therefore it was embellished with muslim prayer mats on its back, ribbons and a Arema Malang football scarf. As I was close to the giant testicledbeats the man holding the rope tthat was attached through the beats nose beckoned to me to come over. Before I knew it I was holding the bloody thing by the rope and the painted faced man stood there and laughed. This laughter caused the thing to go mental. The bloody bull started to toss its head back and forth and poor Ben pulled on the rope trying to calm the massive beefburger down. It eventually calmed down and took this opportunity to do some kung fu poses to show how I comntrolled the bullock, all the locals gasped at me. I thought wow I am a hero to them, but then realised that this was because yet again my trousers had fallen down to my ankles and revealed myself to the masses. Then I spooked the beats for the second time by grabbing its horn and declaring that I was horny!!! I am such a child!
Soon the strets were filled withdancers, women in bright yellow dresses twirled and spun aroundin sync with each other while men in wheres wally jumpers beat on drums and wooden hollowed out bamboo canes. A large lorry appeared on the road and the whole back of the truck was covered in massive speakers pumping out danduk music with a random man standing on the cab roof shouting 'oooooooooohhhhhhhh' loudly into the microphone. This was very sexual and made all the Brits wet themselves with laughter, but once again the joke was lost on the Indonesians. Oh coincidently I taught some of the youngst Indonesian volunteers the words 'gimp', 'pimp' and 'backrub' the other day!
Soon a group of curley knife wielding male dancers appeared in the street. At this point I realise why I had been dressed up. I wasnt dressed up to watch the carnial parade and procession. I was to be in the bloody thing. Suddenly a man with painted on sideburns and a stuck on wing commanders moustache grabbed me and shoved me between loads of old women dancing as if they were doing bad breaststoke and hip swings. I had to at first copy them and then have some sort of dance off with a bloke who was the height of fashion combining the wheres wally top with what I was wearing. What a dude! I had to perform low dances, one legged spins, some sort of tai chi on acid manouver and also lots of odd big fish, little fish cardboard box dance manouvers. Oh how I loked like the western fish out of the pond. But I did it with a massive smile on my face and the crowd loved the bizarre dressed up white man. I got a big cheer when I started to make up my own manouvers and did some sort of MC Hammer manouver combined with a moonwalk, riverdance and to top that off the David Brent dance. This caused much hilarity imist the crowd and I have never had my photo taken so much. The dancing bule was in town and people flocked to see him.
The pared/procession started to move off. The massive bullock led the way and at one pint went beserk again and caused some kids to jump a fence. Then a man holding a large stick with money pinned to it walked behind the bullock, following him were the female dancers, then me. Behind me boomed the music lorry and ,many times it had to stop so someone could prop up the over head cables over the road with a long bamboo stick so the lorry didnt collide with them. The procession seemed to go on for ages with no sign of ending. I had to dance myway down country tracks and winding roads lined by palm tress and bamboo fileds. I still danced and danced and every now and then a chubby four chin possessing lady would grab me and make me dance correctly. My goodness for a big and old lass she could move. Then more dance offs with the random guy followed. Everytime we pased a large section of crowd he made me do some silly ornamental dance thing.
By this time it was raining and the parade had gone for a mile and seemed never to end. I was then dragged away by the other volunteers so we could go back to an area where a main stage had been erected and a large canopy. The moment we got there a massive torrential down pour ovvurred, one of the likes that we never see in Britain. It took an hour of us sheltering under a dripping canvas before the parade returned and did the final leg. All the dancers still swayed with the beat but they were soaked to the skin and the instrments when struck sent off a shower of water at each beat. The woemn still pulled off very gracious dance routines which they must have taken an age to learn but their make up ran and the speakers on the lorry were now covered by sheets which made the sound muffled. But to top ot off the man was still shouting 'oooooohhhh' down the microhone in now a violently sexual manner!
But the parade had somehow on its journey into the unkown picked up loads of taggers on. The taggers on were in the form of two more massive speaker acrrying lorries with yet more two 'oooooohhhhhing' men and loads more dancers. There were loads of new recruits and suddenly as they all in file went down the road past the main stage a large commotion erupted around ,e. Oh what have I done this time I thought, but as it transpired I was being summoned to danced on the stage. I ran to the stage through the rain. It was onyl twenty yards but by the time I got there I was soaked to the skin. I jumped up and stage and alomst went through the floor. The stage was so rickety that you had to treat gingerly. But soon I was made to dance and some bloke wileding a broken umbrella danced with me and waved it angrily at kids who tried to get on the stage to get out of the rain. As the procession filed past a few rep[resnetatives from each band, group of dancers joined the jolly fat man and I on the microphone. Suddenly a entire brass band appeared and played a marching tune aith an electro organ accompanyment. This was most odd and I giggled at the women on stage trying to dance electro!
The stage was filling up now and the floor boarsd under foot creeked and moved with every new body that came up the steps of destiny. Why I was still on stage I caouldnt image, it really was like I had hijacked their festival. Soon mots of the other Brits were up there two and it was like a look what we have found show and tell session. I brought some Brits to day to school miss!
Then as the rain still pelted down a group of extra scraggy woemn apperade dancing on the stage. But oh no, wait a minute. They are no woemn. Bring on the lady boys. Yes the mangina, pant package, are they boobs or padded out bra brigade danced in the rain. Their make up ran and they hair was all over the place. But you could tell instantly that they were of the he-she type. The stubble and the big hands gave it away. Oh how funny I though and then they all invaded the stage, started groping the jolly microphone wielding fat man and danced and sang out loud. Then the man who had made me do the spontaneous dance combustions with him in the procession joined us and made me dance with the lady boys. They loved it. The ladyboys faces lit up and soon I was being fondled and rubbed up by man things. Soon all the Brits were dancing on a stage with a group of soaking wet lady boys. These are the things that win awards for surrealness. But even though I pinched mysefl and closed my eyes, when I opened them there they still were. Ladyboys dancing and moving in a way that onoly ladyboys can. I know some people have ambitions but mine was never to dance on stage in a lady boy show, but I have done it now and have a phot to prove it. My goodness you could see their stubble and some had even fogotten to shave their legs. But the man things shone through. The prominent adams apples, the big hands the bulges and the hairy legs. But they all had boob lumps. I tried to see if they were mearely transvestites with padded out bras, or were they actualy he she it thing jobbies with all the bits? But I was dancing so wildly and uncontraollable that I counldnt see.
So there you have it. An Indonesian dancing legend is born. I only made one kid cry with my moves and am now folklore in those parts. When the yung children who saw me grow up and have kids they will say, 'I remember when the dancing white phenomena came'.
Alas time is running out and I muts leave you all. Tomorrow is back to work and then a trip to the tea plantation beckons. Followed by a weekdne trip away to an active volcano where I will make model castles out of magma!
For now I must fly my pretties. Take care and have fun.
Pecae and love
Ben the dancing sensation (available for all good weddings, funerals, bahmitzvas and birthdays)
xxxxx
Indonesia or Bust 5
Turn the key and let the engine roar into a life of fire, oil and pistons pummelling inside a metal case. Listen as she humm and the reverberating sound is music to your ears. Buckle your belt as you slip into first and floor the best before doing a magnificent hand break turn and at full speed head straight for the launch pad.
Yake one last deep breath when at 60 you hit the ramp and rocket into the ri wearing your white leather with go faster red nd blue stripes. You fly though the air and suddeny as you open your fear closed eyes you realise where you are. Its Ben's Indo Adventures. Indonesia or Bust number 5. Good job you are wearing your seatbelt as this edition is going to be a bumpy landing!
Welcome my dear readers and followers of Ben's hedonistic fun loving and sometimes just damn right naughty tales from over 9000 miles away from London town and the surrounds. So far I can proudly say that even though I have teken every delight in breaking, or shall we say bending the rules here I have so far escaped cleanly and havnt got into the charecteristic trouble which normally follows me around like an overprotective shadow. So then let me tell you my first litte act of naughtiness. It is against the rules for anyone on the VSO GX programme to go on a motorbike at anytime whatso ever in the programme. Let me juts say that a wee jaunt thought he city wedged inbetween the large bulky frames of Miftah ad Mr. Ame on the back of his Honda when he took us to his house is my fist indescression. But as none of you will tell the project supervisor then I am claen and can get away Scott free. We even drove down a flight of steps to get to his ouse, I kid you not. Wedged inbetwee two chubby men, I wanted to scream and really flet like I was being digested alive!
Anyway that my first act of naughtiness. The other is that to be honest I have discovered the secretive place where we Brits can go to divulge in the anciet and practised art of beer drinking. Or Guinness foreign export drinking as I like to call it. As we are white and therefore considered rich we are allowed into a local hotel to use the pool. So in we go with a bag full of cans and in the sun drink til the locals look gorgeous. Then with a swagger leave the place without spending a penny. Well thats a lie we have to paid about a quid to use the pool for the entire day. But the pool is a safe haven away from the cries of 'hello mister', 'where from you', 'you Dutch mister' and the best of all 'are you married' or 'is he wife'! yes id HE wife. I havnt worked out what they mean by that. But here as they call to you in pigin English I like to reply in my pigin French or German jts to confuse the fellows. So far many people in my street think that I am Benoit from Paris and am an artist looking for inspiration. Whether they belive me is another think coming but they all know that if they kick their football towards me once more while I am writing I will not juts shout 'have it' and pelt it over the fence to where the chained monkey roams, but will feed the ball to Miftah.
Well let me start properly and tell you about the mots bizarre yet intruguining week that I have had so far here in Indonesia.
Work started awfully this week as I have developed the dreaded Bird flu. Or the common cold as it is properly known. I woke a big bag of snott and no matter how long I stay in the searing sun it refuses to burn off and bugger off back to whom ever gave it to me. But out of the British volunteers I think I have had a good deal as many of them have been really constantly sick. I am juts Mr. Nose blow at the moment. Thats ok jbut toilet tissue is few and far between. It got so bas that I stole tons of tissue paper from the hotel!! So work started quite mindnumbingly boring with me and the Miffy man being on blood donation duty with the roaming blood bus. We spent a mindnumbigly boring day at the University of Mlang with the mobile bllod unit. I was harrassed all day by these studets who had no idea about life in general who wold not leave me alone. I muts have been asked over 100 times if I was maried, am I a muslim, am I Dutch and the pierce de resistance 'do I want to arm wrestle them'. Everywhere I go people want to arm wrestle the bloody toke white man! Why? Are they trying to overthrow the memory of Dutch colonial \ism by taking on the whiteman at arm wrestling and I hasten to add always losing!!!
I am getting rather pissed off to be perfectly frank with being the token whiteman whos sole job it is to coax people top give blood. That is such an easy job as all I do is stand there and a crowd appears a\rund mr. white. Why am I so amaizing to them? I have counted 78 white people to date in Mlang. Albeit each one was middle aged and Dutch but Indonesians have western tv, movies, magazines, newspapers and the intenet. So when they see a white man, why the fuss and hassle to run up and in most cases ask bloody annoying questions and occasionally reach out and touch him! Some man today when I went to a festival got full cuppage of me! The touching I can handle, but the holding on and staring is just freaky. But not as freaky today as when I returned to my host home to find a small child massaging my host fathers bottom with an automatic elcronic massage machine!!!!!! He is juts odd and he has a very incestious relationshiop with his 17 year old daugheter. She also massages his bum! But who's child was it and why are there always so may random people at his house?
Anyway I digress. Where was I? Oh yes, people holding on to you. The Indonesians juts love to come up to you and as though they are Mr. hake-hands-man from Banzai hold on to you for as long as physicaly possible. Now this becomes quite funny when you give their hand a good crunch as the Indo way of shaking hands is like a small child caressing a frog. Its too gentle o be considered normal quite frankly and to watch them wince is a great oy to me, although rather sadistic I know but so much bloody fun.
Work with the blood donor team does on the bright side take me all over the city and as the red cross is a rather large ornagisation we have different areas within its walls that we can wor for. So when we are not working for the blood team we are either disater relief or ambuloance crew. As there is a lack of disasters at the momen but everyone seems really on edge as the volcanoes in the Asia ring of fire are hotting up and smoke is on the horizon literally they are all on tenterhooks. So with disaster looming but not actually happening we go out crusiing with the wind up siren from a 1920's Al Capone ganster film and patrol the city. Althoigh sometime you meet things in the job that sober you up instantly. For example on Friday Miftah and I along with a man ionly known as the war hero (an ancient man with more wrinkles tha actual skin and no teeth to boot) had to deliver a dead bosy to the cemetary for burial.
When they said dead bopdy I juts assumed in my minds eye an old man. bUt when we got there and a stern looking uncle carried a five year old boys body wrapped in ornate batik fabrics ltying draped in petals and essence on a reed woven mat into the back of the ambulance my heart fey weak and limp. This poor lad, only 5 years. No age to die. He hadnt live yet. I asked how did he die but the language barrier only responded with an asnwer of 'he sick'. The procession to the Islamic burial ground was a short one. We arrived and the the body was laid wrapped in a white sheet bound round the head with arms folded facing west as is their custom. I stayed sober and thoughful for the rest opf the day but the only thing to sj\hock me was that when they had put juts a couple of inches of soil over him they stamped the eart down to compress the soil. I could sence the poor body being crushed. The smell was so overwhelming, one of intense insence and that now familiar small of decay. Now I am not squeemish or any stranger to seeing death, but a child is another matter.
Away from that sobeing entry as a team we have been doing our EAD's each week on the Wednesday. This is an Educational avticty day. Each counterpart pair has one and they all must be justifiable as educational. Miftah ad I are plannign a massive trip to seethe oran-utans at the recue centre to learn about the illegal trade in what translates as man of the forest. Other are taking us to see the tea fields, a trip to a Buddhist temple to see the shoalin (kung fu deadly) monks and many more. But this Wnesday gone we had a day of autism awarness and went to a speacial centre. One unique for Indonesia where they cater for the special needs that autistic children require. I learnt an awful lot that day. Not only the tell tales signs of autism and how to interact with children with the illness but I also got to put into practice wht I learntand had a fantastic time playing wiothn the most adorbale kids I have ever met. There was a little fat one who sat on Miftahs lap and we all laughed and said that they looked like father and son. He got offended at that. But apart from autism there was a down symdrome boy who would copy all movemtns I made. That was good as I did a brain gym session with them where I acted out movemetns. Simple obnes like touch your nose with your finger to stimulate brain activity and get them all to copy.
I have never before been moved so much by six kids. You had to handle and approach them in the correct manner and speak simple Bahasa Indonesian to them btu it was so rewarding working with them. There was one little boy who came up to me and held on to my leg. So I stroked his shaven head and it sent him into a trance. What a little star he was.
When we left the autism centre we wre quite far outside the city in Mlang regency so we decided to all utilise that fact and go to this reound mask place. We wre not dissapointed as we discovered up a dirt track an amaizingly rundown house where an old deaf man in a wheelchair carved these fantastically ornate and decorative masks. Of course the impetus was us to buy them, I couldne resist and when I bought mine it was blessed by the old man who looked at me through watery eyes and through translator Rizky in his batik shirt he told me never to put the mask on the floor and walk over it. For this mask will protect me. The blessing or whatever it was was his muttering to himself and waving his hand repeatedly over the mask. I am glad I have anauthentic mask and know the actual place where it was carved with rudimentary tools and blood sweat and tears by an old man from a time and tradition long lost. That day we also visited the new Hindu temple outside Mlang and I was told off for standing on a sacred prayer stone. I immediately jumped off and apologised but qwhe I turned round so was evryone else so I watched my footing from now on as I wandered around the Vishu and Shiva looking down at me from large podiums carved in black stone that glinted in the brilliant sun.
In the first part of this little tale I mentioned that I went to a festival. Indeed I have been and what happened there I would never have imagined that would hapen to me. I have been to the festival grounds twice. I went during the day and on the opening night. The grand opening was a trenendous schene. The festival to selebrate the 92nd birthday of the founding by the Dutch of the city of Malang was a grand old thing. Streets galore were turned into a mass parade with many people dressed up in colonial attire with the large British armyesque hats seen in the film Zulu. Old cars drove up and down and the streets were a mas of bodies. Everyone in this city seemed to have turned up to see what was happening. The military, the police even mobile dentists where all out in force. There were about 5 stages with different music being played. Traditional music taht sounded very oriental, operah and the worst excuse for a rock band I have ever seen. I explored the stalls selling antiquities, masks, all sorts of food and batik clothes that even a clown would turn his red nose up at.
The sounds and smells weer an assult on my sence. The road was heaving with peolple and the pedi cabs and horse drwan carriages that are common on the strets of Malang were a hindrance as you tried to navigate though the throngs of people to see the sites. The foods and exotic (non alcohlic) drinks on offer were incredible and I sampled so much diferent kinds of the most delicious and moresome coffee in the world.
But when I went there in the day time with a group of us he fun began. The rain had started and we were cowering under a verandah drinking street coffee when suddenly the skies cleared and the sun gazed its eye down on us. So we followed the flow of all the pople ad avoidin a spooked horse pulling a gold orbate cart and a horse painted with spots we found past the performing monkeys that I am secretly planning to free under the clak of darkness, a stage.
Everyone seemed to be forming a large rings around the stage and the ground in front. I did the typical ting and barged to the front which would later tur out to be a mistake. From this point I witnessed barechested men soaking and covered in street filth diving elabortale on to the ground in a fight dance while fire breathers were locked in their own flame besotted dance. Soon the barechested men had stopped pretending to be dragons and now were riding around on reed woen and bamboo horses. This is know as the Kala Lumping or in English the Horse trance. They road around in mock fight ad battle with their horses falling into puddle sand themsleves rolling on the floor as if an unuly and u broken wild stallion had chucked them off their backs. All the time fire still was blown into large plumes into the air with gasps from the crowd.
The they men on their horses ran straight into the crown and a group of about 5 white faces stood out like a sore thumb. As it transpired they wanted two volunteers to dance with them. Of course muggins here was shouted at and thrust forward as Hajrah laughed haughtily at me and they othere chanted my name as I walkled ouy. Face was also picked and with the dirt and grime covered man holding my hand he led to to juts in front of the stage. The crowd went silent and looked at me what where they expecting I wondered. Then I was presented with a whip and a wicker horse . There was a man in the centre of the circle with fag protruding from his lips crackign a whip that had bangers on the end. His Indiana Jonesque cracks could be heard a mie off. By my whip was a mini runt of the litter version and the fiorst time I cracked it I wholloped my self with it accross the back and forehead. Good one Ben!
Soo I had to copy eleborate dabnce manouvers and this odd thrusting action. Then I was made to run around acting as though I was really on a horse. For on moment Iin my vest and cowboy hat I really thought that I was a cowboy and I bucked ad reared and charged at the crwod. Allt his kids gasped and backed away as I charged reared up and generally pissed around. Then I had some sort of grass shoved in my mouth. It tsated vile and was probably some sor of ndonesian date rape drug but I chewed the sour tasting greenery and swllowed the lot.
I had to copy these fancy foot movements and by now my antics had endeared me with the crowed who shouted, laughed, gfas[ed. jeered, heckled and gae all sorts of noise to me. My ears were bombarded my the nopise. Not juts from the crowd but from the drummers and percussionists on classical Indonesian instruments who accompanied us. Then I was made to stand in the middle wavingmy whip around my head doing this thrusting action. This caused many girly screams from the crowd not to mention out little section. I was like a girating bunny rabbit on speed with a wicker and reed bamboo horse. Oh look at me go. The there was move fancy footworkd manaouvers and suddenly without warning the man I had to copy who had blood ouzing from his mouth where he had burn t it with all the fire breathing leapt on the floor in some silyl role and leap up again onto his gfeet. Then signalled for me to copy. So as I am sensible or rather didnt want to be covered in bird flu infested street filth and rain slosh I did a beautifaul leap into the air, a spin ad landed on my feet to applause from the crowd. The man of course did another roly poly thing and wanted me to copy, so I replied with an Eric Morecombe leap and heel clap. This caused much laughter and then the geezer gave up. I was paraded around the circle and then did a large bow. Claping all round met me and I couldnt resiet shouting 'thankyou Mlang, I will be here all week'! Very corny I know but it was spare of the moment. Then I went pack into the crowd to watch the next act which was bizarre mulitaion ats doe in a trance by a heavily tattooed man who must be come druggie caner.
The moral of this story, dont let me go in the front row as you know I am game for a laught!
The masochistic acts which followed as this tattoed man road around on a wicker bamboo wild boar where glass eating. Yep the nutter and head case eate big clunks of glass and when he chewed them blood pored down his chin onto his chest. He then ripped open coconuts with his teethc and head butted them before he randonly put his head in a puddle and ate stones. What a weirdo, but great viewing fund. Suddeenly on the same stage a band started up. They started to play really shit rock music that sounded like man man with wooden spoons for fingers was on the lead guitar and this masochist went mental and tarted to throw things at them. All [part of the act but even tough the new band had matching pink hair and shirts they lots me and I went off in the newly started drizzle to explore more.
Well thats it realy. Tomorrow is a Sunday and I will go to the part and drink beer like a 13 year old. What a life style. I feel naughty all te time out here. I am too rebelious for Indonesian culture but I was filmed dancing with a silly hobby horse inbtween my legs thrusting all over the shop by Mlang TV. So tonight I many be on the box. Fame at last. Soon I will be singing autographs and posing with the Indo elite.
Year right!!!!
Take care all and where ever you are do a horse trance dance for me. The thrustuing part is actually really fun (especially if you are naked)!
Enjoy
Peace and love
Ben
xxxxxxxxxx
Added extra
Monday 1st April 2006
May day is upon us and juts like in the UK the Indonesians like to ornaise a protest march. But unlike us it isnt the anti capitalist marches that harass London year after year. Here in Indoland they were protesting about making May day a public holiday. I was working today for the Red cross and our duties wre to be the first aiders on site if there were any violent clashes between protestors and the police. But apart from one pick pocket being chased by several beige clad gun ho police officers before recieving a beating and a large meat wagon jobby with a huge water cannon, the day was uneventful.
I looked at the protestors filing past my vantage point where I stood by the side of the road in my Red Cross uniform and thought to myself 'how pathetic'. They had no idea about how to organise a rally, march or protest. They milled about walking slowly silent only for a few dicks on megaphone singing inane songs. Occasionally some joker would drive by screaming from a sepedor motor. But apart from that the entire parade and protest was awful beyond comprehension. I stood in an area with loads of policemen all running their fingers over their batons in apprehension and the fire brigade who had taken their 1960's engine our fof retirement for one day. I couldnt belive my eyes to how lacklustre the protest was. Was there really any point in this protest at all? I mean if you have something to get off your arse and complain about and organise a protest about, then make it one that the government will look at and think 'oh our fellow countrymen are passionate about this, we may change it'. But the way they protested was so awfully mundane that anyone in office will just laught at them and think, 'well if they cant be bothered to protest properly then we wont chnage anything'. I wanted to run at them and incite anger and violence in the crowd. But they were so pathetic that I mearly laughed loudly as they passed. It was a far cry from when a load of tweed clad country folk got a battering in London!
Finally after the mundane and boring parade had passed and dispersed all the coppers along with the fire brigade and us lot wearing our red and white red cross adorned unifroms had to make our way though the city back to the police HQ for a ceremony. This poxy ceremony was held in full throttle rain that made my clothing stick to my skin and drips fall off my nose. We had to all line up and stand to attention, then at ease and then at attention again. Then some random Indo copper said that I looked like Chuck Norris!!!! Chuck Bloody Norris, no I sodding well dont!
Finally after a pointless ceremony and a bit of gay marching we buggered off to piss around back at the hq.
Last night
Last night I made the mistake of staying for far too long at the closing ceremony. Therefore after a puppet show where I got a sharp elbow in the ribs for mouthing my own version of what the Indonesian traditional puppets were saying I had to walk for two hours avoiding the many ladyboys who come out after dark to get home.
One of the other volunteers loves puppets, well adores them to be more precise. I am not sure why but I am sure she has had an orgy with the cast of Fraggle rock and is in a fierce love traingle between Captain Scarlet and Basil Brush. But she sat next to me watching these puppety things do their business. I was bored out of my tiny mind so do what I normally do when I am bored. Make up the story which was in some traditional Javanese language. A sueeky voivced kid sat on a stage talking in his hight pitch tones into a microphone while an orchestra of gong players banged about and created the atmospherics in front of him. I found my self telling the story to some of the other volunteers delight about how the puppet with the gold crown had slept with the zebra striped puppets brother and that because their Mum had gone to Iceland all hell had broken lose and their dad had slaughtered the cat and all the other puppets were the cast of Eastenders except Pat as she was off in Las Vegas having a sex change (yes into a woman)! This was enough for a series of sharp elbows.
So after the puppet show whoch had no hard core team America sex scenes in which I was very dissapointyed about I decided that I really should get home. But as all the bloody angkots had decided to stop running I did the long trek accross the city.
This trek is quite a hazardous trip. Not as hazardous as running the gauntlet of fear,but the lady boys come out to play and if you pass them by unknowingly then you get full cuppage!!!! So I walked home doing a series of the most elaborate roll dodges I have ever executed and with such athleticism that it made the ladyboys more wanton!!
So to end this account, remember tis one ladyboy rule.
Wink at them so they blush , and when their head is pointed down and they are fidgeting their feet in some girly manner like they do in rubbish films, RUN AWAY!!!!!!!!!!!!
Tickles and kisses
Ben
xx
I have been here about a month now and am loving it. But I really miss alcohol. At least in Africa you could get drunk and then kiss Dutch girls. The problem out here is that they are all so religious that alcohol is seen as eveil. You can buy it and it is the same price as in Ghana but not as good .
I miss Africa a lot, I really preferred the wild rugged back to basic harshness of African life. The people were wilder and more fierce, here they are all wimps and I am the biggest man in town. If there was a fight out here I would win it hands down all the time.
In truth I had more fun in Africa because at our work placements we could go off and travel, go up North and all over the cou try. But here they want us to stay in the city where we work. Its not fair and I am rather pissed off about it. I have seen many Buddhist ancient temples here. But I want more. I want to go off in search of wild tigers, konodo dragons on exotic Islands and island hop to see tribes untouched by western culture.
But the bloody organisation I volunteer for are too scared to let me do anytthing as I may get injured or hurt. I could die crossing the road in Britain, here I am free juts let me go off and explore. I long to wonder the islands and see the sights that I dream about.
Thats my moan off my chest. Now I can go out and void all the dangers which they are so overprotective about. Such as old women with piercing stares and ladyboys with wandering hands. Oh the hardship of life out here!
