The Tree that Eats Kites

I am in Jakarta, Indonesia.

I arrived at 1:00pm local time, which is 14 hours ahead of California. The airport is built to resemble a series of low, connected wooden pavilions, decorated with wooden panels covered in intricate carvings in dull colored sheens. I remembered that Matt said, when he arrived the first time, that between the terminal and the main building, in the hallway enclosed with wood and glass looking over the tropical palms of a courtyard, you could smell the distinct tang of clove cigarettes tinged with jet fuel. I made sure to breathe deep. He was right.

Within, armed with a small collection of brightly colored landing documents, I gave and got in turn: arrival visa coupon, arrival visa, departure card, passport stamp, stern warning about drug trafficking (this on a sign -- Welcome to Indonesia! Drug Trafficking is Punished by Death!), a yellow health card so they could find me if someone on the plane comes down with swine flu, or bird flu, or SARS, or god knows. Finally, a passport stamp. The luggage. A final x-ray screen. And then -- Matt!

Matt arranged for a driver, who was kind enough to turn on the air conditioning in the car, as I was still dressed for Berkeley. (i.e. wearing socks.) The toll road out of the airport is lined with unevenly manicured hedges and cassava trees. The traffic is medium heavy, with little regard for signals, but the cars and trucks communicate with gently tapped horns and weave securely between lanes. We passed clutches of shanty housing, lean-tos topped with corrugated metal, some had walls woven with bamboo (?). Those looked nicer. Each cluster was broken up by faded but brightly colored awnings denoting a food stand or market, displaying indistinguishable golden fried food in the window, colored juices made of mysterious fruits, newspapers, cigarettes. The outskirts of Jakarta.

The road rose to an overpass and Matt told me this would be my first "look" at Jakarta. We got to the summit and I saw it: in every direction through every window of our SUV, the haze of the city stretched to all points of the horizon. It was dotted with skyscrapers in every direction, one, two, a dozen, twenty, forty, a hundred? Some apartment buildings with concrete balconies, some in the far distance those glamorous glass and steel structures housing the Jakarta branches of global firms of commerce and law -- those that couldn't afford to be in Singapore, at least. It reminded me of climbing to the top of -- was it in Paris, or St. Petersburg? There was a bell, and at the top you could see a panorama of the city broken by the steeples of churches in all directions. Only this -- this was much bigger.

We arrived at the professor's house, who runs a bed and breakfast out of the top rooms now that his children have moved out. I showered and changed and we walked outside. A small warren of streets lined with high walls protecting the large houses within gave way to a main drag, lined with sidewalks rife with large holes revealing the drainage ditches below. Watch your step. Scooters danced between the cars, always gently speaking to each other with beeps, as we walked toward the McDonalds to get our fried chicken and fries topped with seasoning salt. My first meal in Indonesia! There we saw school children in uniforms practicing off flashcards, couples cooing over laptops taking advantage of the wi-fi, a large brood of bright blonde children belonging to the Dutch expat couple running amok in the large, clean, spacious dining room. The cashiers answered Matt in uninflected English, and wore smart black McDonalds polos that looked new. We imagined this was a good job.

After a nap we ventured out again, after dark, which falls at 6pm. 6am-6pm is the day; we are just south of the Equator. (Did I mention it is quite warm here?) In the warren of streets, barefoot children flew small square kites, constructed of a tiny bent cross of twigs and stretched with tissue. These rose quite high on the nonexistant tropical breeze -- above the walls, above the large houses, above the heavy telephone wires -- so high! They run and laugh as the men sit in front of their houses, smoking clove cigarettes and playing checkers. White cats with smudgy brown faces and half-size tails stalk the roads, looking for small handouts.

We walk to a pan-Asian restaurant that has a covered terrace (covered because of the rainy season) dotted with red chinese lanterns amidst white christmas lights. Fans are blowing from the rafters near the large TV sets that are playing Dave Brubeck at the Java Jazz Festival. We sit and receive menus for two different restaurants -- our choice. We order "lime squashes" which at Jayakarta is called a Jeruk nipis peras: lime juice, sugar syrup, and sparkling water. Over ice. Lovely. We settle on sushi because it's cool, and small, and I am not very hungry.

We walk back and I sleep all night, disturbed once only by the blaring call to prayer at 4am.

I wake up early and Matt wants to keep sleeping. Outside our room is the dining room, set with toast and jam, bananas, and instant coffee makings. I make my instant coffee and pull the wood and wicker rocking chair out on the balcony to watch the sun grow higher in the sky. The houses around are all awake with the chatter of women sweeping, men delivering things on motorbikes, and birds chirping -- one of the houses has a dozen bird cages alive with the cooing of doves and pigeons and the chirping of parakeets. I can see the neighbors' laundry hanging and hear the washing of pavements. The cats are roaming silently, and sit to meditate on the day. A particular type of tree with long leaves grows to about two stories high, there is one in front of me with a kite stuck in its branches. Matt pointed out the one down the road earlier -- about six brightly colored kites that had flown so high, so you could barely see it against the hazy clouds, had fallen prey to its branches.