Tuesday, April 05, 2005
AOTGA - Act 11
My sacrifice to the project was my birthday. I lost it crossing the international date line. It felt strange not to have a birthday that year.
We were all sick on the plane due to the anti-malaria tablets we had taken. Oddly enough, we were sick every Monday for over a month before we grasped the reason. From then on, we took our chances with the dreaded anopheles mosquitos. But on the plane we hadn't received that revelation as yet, and the sicker I got, the more Dramamine the stewardess obligingly procured for me.
When we checked in at the hotel in Tokyo the otherwise courteous desk clerk appeared to be staring at me. It wasn't difficult to guess why when I peered into the mirror in our room: the face looking back was waxy yellow and the eyes were glassy with pinpoint pupils. I also walked with a piratical lurch. The clerk probably thought I was having a bad trip -- and in a sense I was.
In happy anticipation we had spent some time before we left the States discussing which exotic Tokyo restaurant we would favor with our presence. The airline gave us tickets for free dinners, but we tumbled into bed in the early afternoon and slept through until 1:00 AM when I sleepily muttered, "Does anyone want to eat dinner?" They both agreed that they did and we all promptly went back to sleep. The next morning we had a delightful breakfast of fried fish and Japanese melon before we departed to putter around the airport before our departure for Hong Kong. It was there we had raw fish and other interesting delicacies. Believe it or not, we heartily put our stamp of approval on raw fish.
Elmer Darnell met us at Hong Kong International Airport and we really needed him. We obviously were not seasoned enough to be trusted alone. Richard kept trying to force two American quarters on the Chinese redcap who wheeled our luggage to the taxi stand. The fellow vociferously refused to accept them and complained bitterly in both Cantonese and pidgin English to all passers-by that we were defrauding him of one dollar Hong Kong, which was approximately sixteen US cents. Fortunately Elmer arrived with a Hong Kong dollar and rescued us from what appeared to be imminent incarceration.
Elmer was a whiz. Somehow or other he stuffed the four of us and the mountain of luggage into two taxis and we were off to Waterloo Road in Kowloon, to the apartment of a Chinese minister named Edwin Lee, who had volunteered to accommodate us for five days. The apartment was comfortable by Asian standards and it was there I saw my first Oriental cockroach which impressed me deeply as it was red and sported what looked like fancy carvings on its back. Leave it to the Chinese to have everything elegant. But during the next four years, all of the other cockroaches I saw appeared to be the plain Occidental variety except that they were much more robust.
It was October, which is the season with the friendliest weather. We found everything interesting, but Elmer had some sort of compulsion to exhibit all of Hong Kong to old friends personally. After several days of it, my feet could not stand any more; so Suzy and I stayed home and loafed and sent the men to journey back and forth on the Star Ferry and see the rest of the sights without us.
Elmer had arranged a speaking engagement for me in a Chinese Pentecostal church, despite the fact that people were saying it was not very safe for Americans and Europeans to be out and about, as the Communists were exploding bombs in protest of something or other.
The church had a Chinese pastor, but the real power behind the pulpit was an elderly American missionary. After I spoke she asked me to pray with people to receive the Holy Spirit. Since she was translating for me I had to depend upon her to transmit my instructions. As no one was receiving the Holy Spirit, I realized she was not doing so. Finally I found eight Chinese who could speak a little English and who desired the Spirit. Richard and I talked to them privately and they received. Later, in her car, the missionary informed me that I didn't understand the Chinese people. She said they could not receive the Holy Spirit easily as "we do" because they have a lot of cleaning up to do -- "they lie a lot."
I pointed out that if God had forgiven these people and accepted them into His Kingdom they could receive the Holy Spirit at once as it was a gift, free and unmerited, and was not a reward for good behavior. Her nineteenth century mind could not accept this and we parted mutually unsatisfied.
The night before we left for Indonesia, we all three dreamed about chickens -- golden chickens newly hatched. We wondered if it was significant.
The trip to Jakarta was lengthy and wearisome as we had to change planes at both Singapore and Bangkok. We finally arrived in the evening and were met by a Chinese gentleman named Tan Ik Sing. He had been requested to take care of us by the missionary, who was off in the bush. He took us to spend the night as guests of the local Episcopal priest, but it developed that the priest wasn't there and had left no instructions with the servants, so our first night was spent at the Council of Churches' guest house, which was expensive. The three of us were given a long room in which were three hard beds. The accommodations seemed somewhat primitive, the heat was terrific, the mosquitos were ravenous, and we found the bathroom facilities confusing.
We strongly felt we should go to East Java as soon as possible, so we took the first train out. This was the Bima. The air-conditioned train was a delightful contrast to the oppressive heat of Jakarta. The food was difficult to eat, there was only one sheet on each bed, and the sanitary facilities lacked something; but Suzy loved the three berths in our compartment and when they welcomed us by name (somewhat garbled) over the loudspeaker, her cup was running over. We watched the scenery from the window until it was too dark to see. It was green and lush and fabulous -- the most beautiful landscape I had ever seen.
I don't want to go to hell if it's anything like Surabaya. As we alighted from the train early the next morning, the meltingly hot, humid air engulfed us. The city was dirty and noisy, and the bugs bit viciously. The few other non-Javanese had disembarked long before we arrived in Surabaya, and we were the only white faces in a mass of screaming Javanese -- all attempting to wrest our luggage from us. No one spoke English, not even the men in charge at the station. The amount of money they intimated they wanted for taking us to Malang was unbelievable. By snatching our luggage away from them and attempting to appear as though we were not dependent upon their mercies (which we really were) Richard bartered until the sum was only twice as much as it should have been. During the tedious transaction he found it necessary to draft the services of two Javanese girls who spoke a few words of English -- badly. For this boon we promised them a ride to Malang. This meant that the three of us, the two Javanese girls, the driver and one of his friends (we had adamantly resisted more friends) and the luggage were all welded into what had once been an automobile of remarkably ancient vintage, now serving as a taxicab. The windows wouldn't budge, so the heat of our bodies was added to the sticky heaviness. I really didn't think I would last the sixty some miles to Malang.
About forty-five minutes out of Malang, our vehicle came up with a flat tire. Actually it was rather remarkable that it didn't have four flat tires. The sun beat mercilessly upon us and various brands of insects gobbled at our pale flesh while the tire was painfully being repaired.
We had been told that upon arrival in Malang we should go to the house of Tan Ik Wan, who was the brother of Tan Ik Sing. Tak Ik Wan was a handsome Chinese Indonesian who looked around thirty-five and was nearly twenty years older than that. He greeted us with pleasure and brought us some Indonesin Creme Soda with ice. The soda was a wild drink which exploded from the bottle with vigor when the cap was lifted. The ice was so welcome that we consumed bottles of the peculiar tasting soda while he watched in astonishment. I was dirty and hot and miserable. Seeing my plight, Tan Ik Wan inquired if I would like a bath. Never has anything sounded more wonderful. I fervently and gratefully accepted and was directed toward the bathroom. The thought was almost too much for me -- the bliss of soaking in warm water with sweet-smelling soap and soft towels -- There was no bathtub. There was no shower. There was no warm water. There was no soap. And there were no towels. There was the same strange contrivance that had been in the guest house in Jakarta -- a high, square, tiled container full of cold and not very clean water. Beside it was a pan with a handle. I took off my clothes, gritted my teeth, poured a dipper of cold water over myself and suppressed a scream as it hit. I dried myself on my slip, put the slip back on and got dressed. It was not quite what I had had in mind.
We had lunch at Tan Ik Wan's house. All any of us can remember is the nangka, which is an enormous fruit, green on the outside and full of orange fingerlike projections inside. Suzanne had been warned not to refuse anything, and she ate a good bit of nangka. We later discovered she thought she had to eat as much as they pressed on her. I didn't eat much as I hadn't been very hungry, but Richard liked it and ate a lot. All I have to say is that later events caused us to remember this fruit forever. Just the smell of it can make Richard's stomach heave.
After lunch Tan Ik Wan drove us in a jeep over thirty miles of what had once been a road to our destination. It was quite a trip. When we arrived one of the missionary's children greeted us with, "Praise the Lord!" It should have sounded great, but it had the uncomfortable sound of a programmed response. It struck me as strange. A lot of things seemed strange before it was over.
That night we went to bed in borrowed sleeping bags, without sheets, in an unfamiliar house with almost no furniture, where no one lived but us. It had no electricity, no gas, no running water, no heating or cooling facilities, no candles, and a lantern we were unable to operate. We closed the windows in protest against the mosquitos and went to bed with the chickens. By the welts the next morning we could see the mosquitos had feasted, but neither mosquitos nor wind nor rain nor dark of night had been able to keep us awake.
Click here for the Table of Contents
We were all sick on the plane due to the anti-malaria tablets we had taken. Oddly enough, we were sick every Monday for over a month before we grasped the reason. From then on, we took our chances with the dreaded anopheles mosquitos. But on the plane we hadn't received that revelation as yet, and the sicker I got, the more Dramamine the stewardess obligingly procured for me.
When we checked in at the hotel in Tokyo the otherwise courteous desk clerk appeared to be staring at me. It wasn't difficult to guess why when I peered into the mirror in our room: the face looking back was waxy yellow and the eyes were glassy with pinpoint pupils. I also walked with a piratical lurch. The clerk probably thought I was having a bad trip -- and in a sense I was.
In happy anticipation we had spent some time before we left the States discussing which exotic Tokyo restaurant we would favor with our presence. The airline gave us tickets for free dinners, but we tumbled into bed in the early afternoon and slept through until 1:00 AM when I sleepily muttered, "Does anyone want to eat dinner?" They both agreed that they did and we all promptly went back to sleep. The next morning we had a delightful breakfast of fried fish and Japanese melon before we departed to putter around the airport before our departure for Hong Kong. It was there we had raw fish and other interesting delicacies. Believe it or not, we heartily put our stamp of approval on raw fish.
Elmer Darnell met us at Hong Kong International Airport and we really needed him. We obviously were not seasoned enough to be trusted alone. Richard kept trying to force two American quarters on the Chinese redcap who wheeled our luggage to the taxi stand. The fellow vociferously refused to accept them and complained bitterly in both Cantonese and pidgin English to all passers-by that we were defrauding him of one dollar Hong Kong, which was approximately sixteen US cents. Fortunately Elmer arrived with a Hong Kong dollar and rescued us from what appeared to be imminent incarceration.
Elmer was a whiz. Somehow or other he stuffed the four of us and the mountain of luggage into two taxis and we were off to Waterloo Road in Kowloon, to the apartment of a Chinese minister named Edwin Lee, who had volunteered to accommodate us for five days. The apartment was comfortable by Asian standards and it was there I saw my first Oriental cockroach which impressed me deeply as it was red and sported what looked like fancy carvings on its back. Leave it to the Chinese to have everything elegant. But during the next four years, all of the other cockroaches I saw appeared to be the plain Occidental variety except that they were much more robust.
It was October, which is the season with the friendliest weather. We found everything interesting, but Elmer had some sort of compulsion to exhibit all of Hong Kong to old friends personally. After several days of it, my feet could not stand any more; so Suzy and I stayed home and loafed and sent the men to journey back and forth on the Star Ferry and see the rest of the sights without us.
Elmer had arranged a speaking engagement for me in a Chinese Pentecostal church, despite the fact that people were saying it was not very safe for Americans and Europeans to be out and about, as the Communists were exploding bombs in protest of something or other.
The church had a Chinese pastor, but the real power behind the pulpit was an elderly American missionary. After I spoke she asked me to pray with people to receive the Holy Spirit. Since she was translating for me I had to depend upon her to transmit my instructions. As no one was receiving the Holy Spirit, I realized she was not doing so. Finally I found eight Chinese who could speak a little English and who desired the Spirit. Richard and I talked to them privately and they received. Later, in her car, the missionary informed me that I didn't understand the Chinese people. She said they could not receive the Holy Spirit easily as "we do" because they have a lot of cleaning up to do -- "they lie a lot."
I pointed out that if God had forgiven these people and accepted them into His Kingdom they could receive the Holy Spirit at once as it was a gift, free and unmerited, and was not a reward for good behavior. Her nineteenth century mind could not accept this and we parted mutually unsatisfied.
The night before we left for Indonesia, we all three dreamed about chickens -- golden chickens newly hatched. We wondered if it was significant.
The trip to Jakarta was lengthy and wearisome as we had to change planes at both Singapore and Bangkok. We finally arrived in the evening and were met by a Chinese gentleman named Tan Ik Sing. He had been requested to take care of us by the missionary, who was off in the bush. He took us to spend the night as guests of the local Episcopal priest, but it developed that the priest wasn't there and had left no instructions with the servants, so our first night was spent at the Council of Churches' guest house, which was expensive. The three of us were given a long room in which were three hard beds. The accommodations seemed somewhat primitive, the heat was terrific, the mosquitos were ravenous, and we found the bathroom facilities confusing.
We strongly felt we should go to East Java as soon as possible, so we took the first train out. This was the Bima. The air-conditioned train was a delightful contrast to the oppressive heat of Jakarta. The food was difficult to eat, there was only one sheet on each bed, and the sanitary facilities lacked something; but Suzy loved the three berths in our compartment and when they welcomed us by name (somewhat garbled) over the loudspeaker, her cup was running over. We watched the scenery from the window until it was too dark to see. It was green and lush and fabulous -- the most beautiful landscape I had ever seen.
I don't want to go to hell if it's anything like Surabaya. As we alighted from the train early the next morning, the meltingly hot, humid air engulfed us. The city was dirty and noisy, and the bugs bit viciously. The few other non-Javanese had disembarked long before we arrived in Surabaya, and we were the only white faces in a mass of screaming Javanese -- all attempting to wrest our luggage from us. No one spoke English, not even the men in charge at the station. The amount of money they intimated they wanted for taking us to Malang was unbelievable. By snatching our luggage away from them and attempting to appear as though we were not dependent upon their mercies (which we really were) Richard bartered until the sum was only twice as much as it should have been. During the tedious transaction he found it necessary to draft the services of two Javanese girls who spoke a few words of English -- badly. For this boon we promised them a ride to Malang. This meant that the three of us, the two Javanese girls, the driver and one of his friends (we had adamantly resisted more friends) and the luggage were all welded into what had once been an automobile of remarkably ancient vintage, now serving as a taxicab. The windows wouldn't budge, so the heat of our bodies was added to the sticky heaviness. I really didn't think I would last the sixty some miles to Malang.
About forty-five minutes out of Malang, our vehicle came up with a flat tire. Actually it was rather remarkable that it didn't have four flat tires. The sun beat mercilessly upon us and various brands of insects gobbled at our pale flesh while the tire was painfully being repaired.
We had been told that upon arrival in Malang we should go to the house of Tan Ik Wan, who was the brother of Tan Ik Sing. Tak Ik Wan was a handsome Chinese Indonesian who looked around thirty-five and was nearly twenty years older than that. He greeted us with pleasure and brought us some Indonesin Creme Soda with ice. The soda was a wild drink which exploded from the bottle with vigor when the cap was lifted. The ice was so welcome that we consumed bottles of the peculiar tasting soda while he watched in astonishment. I was dirty and hot and miserable. Seeing my plight, Tan Ik Wan inquired if I would like a bath. Never has anything sounded more wonderful. I fervently and gratefully accepted and was directed toward the bathroom. The thought was almost too much for me -- the bliss of soaking in warm water with sweet-smelling soap and soft towels -- There was no bathtub. There was no shower. There was no warm water. There was no soap. And there were no towels. There was the same strange contrivance that had been in the guest house in Jakarta -- a high, square, tiled container full of cold and not very clean water. Beside it was a pan with a handle. I took off my clothes, gritted my teeth, poured a dipper of cold water over myself and suppressed a scream as it hit. I dried myself on my slip, put the slip back on and got dressed. It was not quite what I had had in mind.
We had lunch at Tan Ik Wan's house. All any of us can remember is the nangka, which is an enormous fruit, green on the outside and full of orange fingerlike projections inside. Suzanne had been warned not to refuse anything, and she ate a good bit of nangka. We later discovered she thought she had to eat as much as they pressed on her. I didn't eat much as I hadn't been very hungry, but Richard liked it and ate a lot. All I have to say is that later events caused us to remember this fruit forever. Just the smell of it can make Richard's stomach heave.
After lunch Tan Ik Wan drove us in a jeep over thirty miles of what had once been a road to our destination. It was quite a trip. When we arrived one of the missionary's children greeted us with, "Praise the Lord!" It should have sounded great, but it had the uncomfortable sound of a programmed response. It struck me as strange. A lot of things seemed strange before it was over.
That night we went to bed in borrowed sleeping bags, without sheets, in an unfamiliar house with almost no furniture, where no one lived but us. It had no electricity, no gas, no running water, no heating or cooling facilities, no candles, and a lantern we were unable to operate. We closed the windows in protest against the mosquitos and went to bed with the chickens. By the welts the next morning we could see the mosquitos had feasted, but neither mosquitos nor wind nor rain nor dark of night had been able to keep us awake.
Click here for the Table of Contents
# posted by LeeSun @ 2:22 pm 
