We stayed in a sweet hotel room that we would have never gotten on our own, but since we had it, we lived it up. We spent our time lounging in bed in white robes. We even watched the Rose Bowl.

Nice room.

Mike got sick on the first day in Bandung and couldn’t eat, but I could. The second day it was the reverse.

After two days in Bandung, what I will remember most is the hotel room, the breakfast buffet, and the back seat of the car.

The whole ‘having a driver’ business is new to us: Mul didn’t even mention Alex, sitting behind the wheel, when they picked us up at the airport. After a while we understood that it’s normal to ignore the drivers, maids, nannies and cooks, to talk as if the person that’s there is not there. When we went for a drive, Mul said it would be just the four of us – him and Michelle, me and Azure. Alex drove us.

On that first day in Jakarta, Azure needed a dress for New Year’s but the mall’s parking lot attendant didn’t like that our car was trying to force its way in through the service entrance. Mul can handle any problem, though, and he ignored the workers’ NOs and used the service entrance anyway. Another time he told us it was illegal to drive in the bus lanes, people got in big trouble for it, then he did it anyway. We asked what would happen if he got pulled over and he said nothing would happen: he knows the police chief. He said that success in third-world countries is determined by who you know.

Mul runs a number of businesses, his main income coming from cell phone products. In addition to running phone auctions, he sells ringtones and wallpaper, so he’s constantly using his two phones – one was a really nice Blackberry. They had an extra phone for us, which was really convenient, and Michelle had two phones as well. So many phones!

One time Mul was on the phone as he drove us through the gates of his complex. His maid was waiting farther ahead at the curb and he waved her across to the driver’s side of the road. She hesitated to cross in front of his moving car, but he waved insistently, so she went, assuming he’d stop. He didn’t, and he almost ran her over, still talking on his phone. She handed him whatever we were there to pick up, and as soon as it was in his hand he pulled away and almost ran her over again. She had to jump back. I don’t know if he saw her.

Mul and Michelle were very generous, taking us out to some very nice meals we wouldn’t have experienced otherwise. The first night we had a Korean BBQ dinner that he said cost $400 – the meat was amazing and the service spectacular. The next day we went to a hole-in-the-wall noodle joint that he said cost $40 for the five of us. He said it was too expensive, and I agree considering you can find noodle dishes everywhere for $0.50. These noodles were very good, and Mul again generously paid. Sometimes the kids came with us and had their own simple food – Azure noted that Sebastien, the youngest, craved the same thing kids in the US crave: fish sticks and french fries.

When the kids got loud or fussy Mul & Michelle would pass them off to one of the nannies who would take the kids away to eat. Though it’s certainly foreign to us, my impression was that the kids’ needs were being met all the time. At restaurants the nannies sat at a different table and ate food brought from home. A number of nannies sat in the lobbies, all dressed in similar ill-fitting pastels made for dirty work, taking care of kids for the busy parents inside. When we tried to talk to one of the nannies they were surprised and usually didn’t answer. They were the background.

The kids’ nannies live at Mul’s apartment and spend all their time with the family, on call 24 hours. I asked if the nannies had families themselves and he said, “Of course,” but I’m not sure how that works. The nannies eat what Mul buys for them. In-home helpers are cheap because Mul provides a room for them to stay. He said a nanny costs $80 a month.

Mul said his bar tabs sometimes reach $1400 on a big night, but that’s the price of playing the game among the Jakarta elite. “It’s who you know,” he says, and Mul knows a lot of people. On drives Mul would point out the latest immense real estate developments and he would drop for us the owners’ names. More often than not, Mul knew the owner and had done business with him or was somehow related. Mul instructed his driver to take us past the mall with the most cell phone sales in Southeast Asia.

Mul is really excited about getting into the mining business. Mul knows which companies are successful and why. He’s ambitious, quoting a Chinese proverb that says, “Above every sky there is another sky.” He said everyone cares what brand of clothing you wear, what cell phone you use, what cars you have, what neighborhood you live in. Mul rolls with the high rollers, everyone he hangs out with is someone important. In Jakarta, they practically worship successful companies and brands.

Mul said his family is Christian. They are Chinese-Indonesians and retain strong Chinese traditions, living in the city’s “second Chinatown,” the most exclusive gated community in Jakarta. The stunning houses soar, standing testament to the community’s business success. Apparently, in 1998, Jakarta’s Muslim majority rioted because they believed the Chinese-Indonesians controlled all the wealth and withheld it from the rest of the country. Mul retorted that there are poor Chinese-Indonesians, too. He said, for example, that their driver is half-Chinese, and he only makes $150 a month.

Mul put us up in the brand-spanking-new, $130-per-night Bandung Hilton. The pure white sheets attracted me, they were so clean and luxurious. Azure and I never stay in hotels like the Hilton. Mul obviously appreciates the luxury, service and respected brand name. While rain rolled off the floor-to-ceiling self-cleaning windows, we watched the Rose Bowl on a flat-screen tv and I took a very hot shower. The next morning featured the most extensive breakfast buffet I’ve ever seen, broken up by cuisine. Az and I eagerly sacked the American section’s eggs, waffles, cereal and toast. The Chinese section had noodle soups, hum bao and other stuff I didn’t recognize. There was Indonesian, Japanese and even an ice cream bar for kids of all colors.

We ran into Michelle’s family at breakfast. They’re very genuine people – her dad develops organic fertilizer and is lobbying the government to endorse its use. Her cousin is helping. This was encouraging to hear.

Mul and Michelle skipped breakfast because the maids dropped off their kids and they’d played late into the night, the maids returning to their own hotel across the street. I imagine that hotel is filled with the maids for families staying in the Hilton, all dressed in ill-fitting pastels. The kids seemed tuckered out the next morning, and the maids accompanied them with their grandparents while the five of us toured Bandung with Mul’s friend.

We had a wonderful Sundanese (people of Bandung) lunch in a stunning, unique restaurant called the Leaf Village. We ate in outdoor huts that wandered up the misty hillside among enormous ferns and leafy trees. Azure was sick, so she layed down in the hut while the rest of us enjoyed the food without her. Afterwards, Alex drove us to a lookout where we watched the sun drop behind some nearby mountains. This part of Java is magical. I hope Az and I get a chance to tour the countryside someday.

On the next-to-last day Mul had a special treat for me – he took me to a gorgeous spa with four different pools, temperatures ranging from hot tub to icey. We relaxed in the steam room, jumped in the ice bath, then shivered to the sauna. After I brushed my teeth and shaved we got hour-long massages. Mul treated me to the whole evening and I appreciate his generosity.

The next day Az and I were on our own so we went to Pizza Hut, desperate to rebuild our stomaches with some Western food. Michelle joined us shortly after, having put her daughter down for a nap. Michelle is interested in photography but doesn’t know how to use an SLR, so we treated her to a tutorial, introducing ISO, aperture and shutter speed, and how they affect a photo. She seemed to appreciate the instruction, I hope it could start to pay back their generosity.

Mul showed up and we finally said our goodbyes. They were off to a surprise party, so they had their driver take us to the airport. On the way I tried to ask him some questions, remembering a conversation we’d had with a taxi driver in Bali, but it didn’t go anywhere. I don’t think he felt comfortable talking freely with his passenger.

The scene inside the market

BBQ worker

Azure caught cheating

Shrimp guy

Lobster guy

A local girl

Selling

I went for it, belting out words far outside my range: I set my voicebox free, unrestrained by keys or tones. And though my timing was good I wouldn’t blame anyone for failing to recognize the song. It was horrible-good, I was smiling, and I proved I could shed self-consciousness to fit in with the new group. Even dancers in the club down the hall probably wondered who was this singer with so much misplaced confidence. That’s what it takes, I thought – show them you can be loose and play.

I put the microphone down. I looked around the table but nobody would make eye contact with me, people were kinda quiet. Instead of applauding, some stood to get a drink while others had already left the room during the song. Azure’s face was in her hands. “What the hell?” I thought.

The following performers ranged from good to spectacular, Mul leading the way with a soft, skilled voice that I didn’t even notice because I thought it came from the karaoke track. Other guys sang well, too, and the women were impressive. The highlight of the night came from a Chinese woman whose performance was so captivating that it snapped me right out of the slog of pretending to enjoy myself. Her style was completely un-Western, a high-pitched, nasally song that might be folk Chinese, performed with the kind of talent that deserved a nationally televised concert on a patriotic holiday. It was like her voice was stretching glass. Friends applauded and cheered. I had totally misjudged the values of this group, a social strategy that’s quickly becoming my signature.

Mul leaned over to me, “She was Miss China a couple years ago.” What?

From the second Mul’s driver opened the door for us, this whole night – our first in Jakarta – would surprise us. Miss China was married to the guy who handed me the microphone, an oil company founder and the Secretary of State’s son. The guy on the other side of Mul was head of Citibank Indonesia. Mul himself is related to, among others, a former head of Lehman Brothers who now leads Barclays Japan. Mul’s uncle owns a distribution company in Indonesia with 60,000 stores, something akin to 7-11, and the uncle’s other company produces 70% of the products available in those stores. Another friend owns Forever 21 and someone else is head of the largest mobile phone service provider in Indonesia, a country with 200,000,000 people, fourth most populous in the world (after China, India and the US). Some guy’s dad is running for Governor of Seoul, South Korea. Another guy has a $50 million credit at a casino in Macau.

The numbers he threw out were staggering. The most staggering, maybe, was the story about his friend’s wedding. It wasn’t the fact that 3,000 people attended, though that dropped my jaw. It was that they hired a world-famous florist to fly from LA to Jakarta to do the flowers. The price: $500,000.

Not surprisingly, I have some opinions about this that I’m going to have to let cool before pouring them on the blog. Can a blog melt? For now, I’ll just say that this was only a preview of the status-pursuit that would be put on display for us over the next five days.

We landed in Ubud to find an artsy town that had succumbed to tourism as well, though not in the dirty-grime, back-alley drinking sort of way that the affordable areas of Kuta are. Ubud has tons of touts on the main (Monkey Forest Road) drag. We followed one to a hotel and rented the scooter that would be ours for the next three weeks.

Had we not done this, I would have been on my mother’s doorstep again this Christmas. I’m sure of it. But we did rent it and the very next morning (our second morning in Bali), we rode up and away from Ubud. We took risks, turning down roads we knew went nowhere, that turned into poorly paved, or unpaved trails through the hills and the rice fields and we really never came back. We would spend hours away from everything that we would have been sitting in if we had not had the scooter. We did stay in Ubud, but we would wake up early and see what we found to be the most beautiful time. It was the time when the Balinese people were still untainted by tourism. The women went to the markets early to buy and sell produce, kids walked to school, men and working women carried their scythes in their belts and walked or biked or scooted to the rice fields. There was no one shopping in the Polo stores or eating in the cute, upscale cafes. The people who walked at this hour did so without shoes and without mixing with us at all except to wave or smile as we passed by. We didn’t change them and that felt good every time.

I know now that Colombia probably wasn’t that bad. Fred claims that Colombia is still his favorite country that he’s visited. This could be a result of it being the first of his big trip or it could be that he got away from it more than we did. I’m not sure.

Writing this next part, I know that many of the things that I will say are probably wrong, but I will write them anyway. Bali and Colombia are both what we would consider third world. The average person makes about $4/day in Bali and I would assume at least that in Colombia. Bali and Colombia were both colonized, Colombia by the Spanish and Bali by the Dutch. However, it seems obvious that the hold the Spanish had on Colombia was much stronger than that of the Dutch. There are very few traces that they ever existed on Bali at all, save for the fact that there are brick houses in some places, and one building in Munduk appeared to be slightly European looking. Other than that, the hold the Dutch had on Bali outside of the main city, Denpasar is non-existent.

I see this island more like Corsica than I do like other colonized places. It still holds its own values and traditions despite the populations that have held it, including Indonesia. It is Bali.

The people here seem happier than they did in Colombia. They wave and smile as if we are a funny novelty riding through their towns, which we are. They are very peaceful. At no time have we felt at risk here, not even when we took 20 wrong turns and ended up in towns without electricity or running water. Violence does not appear to be in the blood of the Balinese, not with animals, not with children, not with us. There aren’t guns here like there are in America and it feels safer because of that. Also, no drugs.

Whereas I was very angry that the Colombians didn’t take care of their people or grow enough food to support the population, the Balinese do. Not with health care (it is very similar to the USA in that respect), but within communities it seems like they make do. There is an abundance of food growing here and people work with and in it all the time. They eat.

The frustrations that I had with Bali were the social level issues that I would probably have with most 3rd world countries. They are the ones that I expressed in my post about Iluh. Why can’t people create work, why is the education so lacking. Why don’t they figure out how to rise above 3rd world status and charge what they are worth?

I know these are entitled thoughts. I can’t help it. Lately I have thought to myself as the 13 year old girl hands me my rice and gives me $.20 in change, KEEP IT! This rice is worth more to me than what you are charging. But, those are the things that I find so endearing about it. Most people are so honest. When we got off the tourist path, we would pay $2.00 for both of us for dinner. We saw everyone else paying the same.

Breakfast was the most depressing meal of the day. We ate at the hotel because it was free and who are we to pass that up. It was depressing in the same way a retirement home is depressing. Not that everyone there is old, but we were slow. The Bali around us was colorful, fast and dirty and so unlike us, sitting, sipping tea and talking about what we’d do that day — sit at the pool or go to the safari park. We wanted to get out and get going as fast as we possibly could.

Sometimes when we came back from the market we’d do a jalan jalan (tour) through town. It was sort of a victory lap through the main streets of Ubud to look at the people sitting in restaurants eating and drinking and not ever knowing what Bali looked like. They sat in colorfully lit open air restaurants that we were suckers for in real life, but couldn’t seem to stomach when they charged the equivelant of 5 days wages for the wait staff for one meal. We could never resolve our feelings about such extravagence. We’d been to a restaurant for dinner three times. The first two nights we were in Bali, we ate out, not knowing where else to go. The third and final time we ate out was on Christmas. Restaurants aren’t real here, MAYBE in Denpasar, which is a legitimate city, but not in the rest of Bali. If you see one, it is for tourists or tour buses to stop. Once for lunch we drove for about 2 hours our into the rice fields. To our joy, we found a cute roadside joint. The menu was in English and the prices were high. “Do tourist buses stop here?” Mike asked. “Yes, of course,” the girl said. We ate there anyway because we were really hungry, but we didn’t stop anywhere again. We spent that lunch talking to her about how Balinese men were “playboys.” It was one of maybe 300 words she knew in English and I found that funny.

Instead of restaurants, they have food stalls and push carts. Sometimes they will have mini restaurants on the backs of scooters that stop to sell small plastic bags of homemade snacks to workers in the fields. This is where people eat, if not at home.

The Balinese live out in public in ways that we don’t. Whereas PDAs are not ever seen here, it is not uncommon to see naked people bathing in the river at sunset or washing their clothes in front of their houses in the mornings. You see people eating in the foodstalls, with their hands (this is traditionally how it is done, Aviva showed us how before we left). You can see people napping in the roadside stands that are really covered huts with platforms. These things made me uncomfortable at first. I was taken back by the privacy that I was invading each time I saw someone doing something that we do behind closed doors at home, but eventually I realized they didn’t mind and neither should I.

When we left for Jakarta, we were happy with our time spent on Bali. We couldn’t say that we ever went to the beach. I never went in the waves or got a tan, but we were satisfied with what we had leaned of Bali. We got to see people who worked hard, long hours and who worked with their families. They worked together to make their lives function and I really felt that we got a back-end view of Bali. I thought we understood what it would be like to be from Indonesia.

When we got to Jakarta everything changed.