Supersonic Ojek crush

Bon.
 Je m'y prend n'importe comment. J'ai mille choses à raconter mais évidemment, je vais vous parler d'un truc complètement aléatoire et qui plus est: en anglais. C'est venu comme ça en rentrant de ma ballade en mobylette, et les mots tombaient mieux en Anglais. (Pardon Missie et Alain)

Just had SUCH a wonderful evening, wizzing around the small and broken down streets covered with tangled-up trees, zigzagging across the stuck up 4X4 (so long hummers). It felt warm and homy, chatting along in such an approximate Bahasa, learning that the ojek ( moped public transport) driver used to work in a restaurant, discussing about our experiences as waiters (He kept using his hand to speak, you know, the “Italian” gesture when you put your fingers together and brew thin air. He also also seemed like the kind of person keen for an eye contact when chatting, which made the driving a little more intense. We discussed places to visit, Indonesia’s language varieties, marriage and the difference between Indonesians and Europeans in terms of having children and at what age and more stuff. The Italian gesture puncturing every detail. Total heart crumble for this spontaneous exchange.

I’ve got to a point where I read my indonesian methodology and answer to mails on the ojek. It all feels very good. Having the wind blowing and pumping up my blouse, checking out all these shops, trying to remember good places to go to for this and that.  1$dvds, plates and stuff for a FUTURE HOME, woodcarving workshops, durian and jackfruit showcases, cool food or even just good creambath spots, all lined up in this chaotic and almost informal way).

You end-up exchanging thousands of kid-like smiles with your neighbor drivers; you nod with a smile to shop owners who all nod back happily. You witness funny scenes like this kid staring up at a guy preparing his drink like it was Disneyland in a cup, or this guy crouching in the middle of the avenue, and you never understand why; these male heads all poking through this fake building façade, smoking and looking down on the street… twice that I pass them, and both times I never really got what the hell they were doing there, looking so chilled and cozy. Passing all those inflated cats looking stoned and uninterested in the human race. There are kites flying super high above the tin roof houses, hard to believe there are kids hidden in the narrow streets flying them.

Taxis will never do the job again after such an awesome feeling. Not for anything in the world would I get trapped in those ambulant freezers.

Taxis are just deadly boring

(oui effectivement, je suis en rade d'appareil photo. Je tâche de remédier à cela prestement!)