Hum-Drum Routine is Happiness on Stick with Sugar on Top

Well after being here over 5 weeks (5 weeks argh- time has actually grown wings and is flapping wildly in my face before flying by) I can proudly say that I have settled into some sort of a groove, and have, shock, a routine (!) which is becoming relatively consistent. I honestly never thought it would happen so I feel compelled to share. Hum-drum it is then.

So usually I wake up, somewhere between the hours of 6.30 and 9. Usually closer to 9.  Depending on the mood of my fellow kos girls, I might wake up to hear someone shrieking at the top of her lungs across the kos, someone revving their motor bike for half an hour (usually after it has rained overnight) or someone inconsiderately blasting their stereo for all to hear. More recently, there has been someone staying in the house (quite possibly a relation of Ibu Kos) who enjoys playing the piano, about 5 metres from the door to my room, at indecently early hours. His saving grace is that he is a rather accomplished musician. At least, this is what I tell myself when I am laying in my bed, counting to 10, wishing I was still asleep and wondering how I am going to conceal the bags under my eyes when my MAC concealer runs out……!

Oh, and occasionally I wake up to hear the rare and precious sound of nothing. Occasionally.

After crawling out from under my sarong (that’s what I sleep under) I grab my coffee cup (tall, yellow, plastic) and a sachet of Nescafe 3 in 1 (sugar, milk, coffee) and go to the communal kitchen. I make my coffee. I say hello to Yuti, who is one of the Pembantu’s/house-help here. I grab a bowl and spoon from the rack and return to my room to eat cereal of some description. Of course, this is Indonesia, so that description usually includes obscene amounts of sugar. Often I eat out in the sitting area, where Ibu Kos has a daily warung/food stall. If I eat that food for breakfast I will usually consume white rice, some sort of vegetable dish, and a fish or chicken disk. If it is fish it is usually whole- like a sardine or something. Its’ eye stares up at you from the plate. You get used to it. 

The other morning I also tried something new for breakfast, bubur hijau, green porridge- it is a runny green porridge with coconut. And at 1500 rupiah, what a steal. Enak sekali. Delicious. Only thing is I have to walk down and eat it in the warung down the road. So while that in itself is no problem, it has interrupted the flow of my current treatise on daily life….

After that I mandi in my kamar mandi. The psychology of mandi-ing is fascinating to me, and worthy of an entire post at a later date. Indonesian’s take their bathing very seriously. Often in my kos “belum mandi” is used as a conversation starter. It means, “you haven’t had a mandi yet?”. Sometimes I feel like retorting with a smart-alec comment in English. Not sure how much satisfaction I could derive from it though, when most of the kos girls wouldn’t uinderstand. I am developing a minor paranoia that I have a permanent appearance of being dirty. This is despite the fact that I mandi three times a day.

Anyway, terus, moving on- after brekkie and mandi I think about what I am going to wear, whether it has come back from being washed, hope that I have a clean collared shirt to wear to Uni (that is a non-negotiable- same with wearing rubber thongs- no-go on kampus), throw my various books into my bag and walk out to Jakal (the big road) and get a bus.

It may or may not surprise you to hear that Yogya buses are the polar opposite of for example, O-Bahn buses in Adelaide. To begin with you can catch them from anywhere, there are no bus-stops. You just stand on the side of the road and then as a bus approaches, you edge your way into the traffic. The reason you do this is that the bus doesn’t stop, it just slows down. You have to be adept enough to board the bus while it is still in motion. This is challenging. You then sit down in a seat close to the bus-driver- this is for safety and for avoiding pick-pockets. You then hold on for dear life.

I am not 100% clear on the go with the bus system, but it goes something like this. Buses follow a set loop, and do not follow a timetable. They have to make a certain amount in fares before they get back to the depot. “How do they do this?”, I hear you asking. Well, they do it by driving like psychopaths and overtaking other buses at high speed to attempt to collect the fares that lie ahead, that is, poach them from their fellow buses. In Yogya, if you are catching a bus, where possible avoid catching the second in two consecutive buses that are less than 100m apart. My rudimentary calculations have shown me that your chances of dying on the bus increase 10 fold if you catch the second bus. The ride on that bus may or may not involve driving at 80km/hr into oncoming traffic and indeed, other buses.

You may be fortunate/unfortunate enough to be serenaded by a Pengamen whilst aboard the bus. These are the buskers who scratch together a living by playing Top 40 Indo Soft Rock. Often they are very good, in fact the other day I had an excellent one. Other times you want to pay them to shut up. It is hit and miss. In addition to this, I once caught a bus that played techno music all the way to uni. I am yet to catch that bus again. It was much cleaner than the average Yogya bus, which I doubt have been cleaned since their manufacture in 1963.

Techno bus, where are you? I know I can wear white, board you, and end my journey without marks on my shirt……..

Anyway, then I get to Uni after about 5 or 10 minutes. The time frame depends on the extent of the driver’s borderline personality disorder and how strong his penchant for collecting fares at any cost. I leave the bus, trying not to get hit by a passing motorbike or fall flat on my backside after slipping down the stairs. I walk about 300m to INCULS for my classes, grab another coffee from the coffee room, find my buddies and go to class.

Now I think I might have to do installment 2 of this story at a later date as I know that the psychology of many of you will be “oh it’s too long I am not reading it!” So in anticipation of your laziness, I will end here.

However before I go, for your amusement, let me tell you a funny story.

I Did Something Funny on Thursday. A couple of my male friends had modeling photo’s taken here a few weeks back, and I happened to meet their ahem “agent” at dinner 2 weeks ago. He gave me his card and asked if I would be interested in doing modeling. He liked my hair and “proportionate” figure (it sounds a bit euphemistic no?). I pretty much laughed in his face and explained that the notion of me being a model in Australia is not only preposterous but wholly unrealistic as well and no, under no circumstances was I interested. I thought I had done enough to repel him.

Not so. He rang me 3 days later, insistent that he wanted to show me his portfolio and tee up an appointment. I dragged Alana along, and happened to rope in Esther and Zoe too. And to cut a long story short, we had a three hour studio photo session on Thursday night. We selected our photo’s for retouching and portfolio and pick up the finished product next Monday. The ironic thing in all this is that we can’t be paid for our work here because of our visa conditions, so it is all for a laugh. But our photo’s turned out really well, and if nothing else we have them. But Berend (agent dude) seems to think we are going to be asked to do jobs as SPG’s- special presenter girls (or something).

Anyway, many of you would be well aware how seriously I take myself when it comes to things like this, and how hilarious I find it all. But nonetheless, I thought what the hell, had a crack, and had a great time. So stay tuned for my profesh photo’slah.