It struck me last night at dinner that I’ve definitely have adopted to Indo. Why? Because the dog tasted delicious. Sucking the meat from the jagged bones and darkly curled fat, yet never really forgetting it’s origins. Knowing that it was (at one time) “man’s best friend”. And somehow that was ok with me.
***
They asked for a discothèque. A bar. Seriously?? This is Bajawa. We have neither… or so we thought.
The American film crew craved a night on the town. Drinks and dancing. How I hunger for such a night. Dreams of mouthwatering martini concoctions at Bristol, soaking in the sun with margaritas, sampling micro-brews, and dancing wherever seems fit. But alas Bajawa is void of all the above.
Perhaps because it was several of the crew’s last night on Flores, determination raged. There must be something! After their persistent questioning, a guide from one of the hotels said that indeed their was a ‘pub’. Tjeerd, Sanne, and I questioned him. Most certainly this was the ‘whore house’… not a classy establishment. No, he assured us it wasn’t. Whore house or not, an adventure awaited, so off we went… 7 Americans, 2 Dutch, and 2 Indonesians. Tucked off into a roadless corner of the town. A back entrance cluttered with rubbish. Windows covered with bamboo and sheets of dark fabric. Nothing screams shady activity (ie. prostitution) like blacked out windows… agree?
We stumbled through the dark. Turned left. Not a large space. No more than 10 big steps can get you from one end to the other. A small bar at one end and a “DJ” booth. Sandwiched by two mammoth speakers, a big screen television was mounted on the front wall, forehead level… perfect for hitting your head while dancing. Eight tables. Each respectively numbered with hand drawn signage… in case the place gets too busy? There were 4 other people. In case the waitress forgets where you are sitting? There is no waitress. Bintang beer or Bintang beer? Marlboro cigarettes or Marlboro cigarettes? Not exactly a large menu. Rp 25,000 (rupiah) for a cold. Rp 20,000 for room temp. Splurge.
Karaoke is typically code for prostitution. Found that out in Bali. However, unlike the bar we wondered into in Bali were a Rp. 400,000 drink price definitely included something more than the drink, this hole-in-the-wall was more subtle. Nevertheless, the 2 young scantily clad women looked mighty out place in conservative Bajawa were females don’t shows shoulders or knees. Moreover, their company of two older men, who not only were toothless but also less than desirable looking, was suspicious. Indifferent to our posse of fair skinned people (a serious rarity), the local men continued on singing the Indonesian love songs as the words colorfully flashed against the cheesy music videos of white women noticeably dressed in early 1990’s fashion.
Praise be. Eventually, one of our comrades seduced the DJ into ‘spinning’ something danceable. On to the dancefloor (er… empty space between tables) we crowded. Shaking it, as the prostitutes and their ‘friends’ looked on impassively, until the cold beer supply ran dry.
No comments:
Post a Comment