There's a scorpion on my wall. (25 April 2010)

Sunday morning. My only day off during the week. After 3 days of waking before dawn for various and very unnecessary reasons, I was sooo looking forward to sleeping in. But this is Indonesia.

Contrary to popular belief chickens crow way before the sun peeps above the horizon… And seemingly louder before daylight.

The motorcycles on the street loudly revved their engines starting sometime before six.

The first text message vibrates my cellphone at 6:50. The next one at 6:53. Then at 7:00.

At somepoint in the last hour a group of boys identified our street corner for a game of ‘rock-throwing’ (apparently a favorite in the absence of balls).

And now it’s 8:11. I’m staring down a scorpion that has taken up residency on the wall beside my bed. Somehow the thin mosquito net creates (perhaps false) sense of security from the curly tailed creature. What does one do with a scorpion on the wall?? Times like this I feel so ill-equipped to deal with the ‘real world’. Funny to think that most people outside of North America and Europe probably would know exactly what to do when they wake-up with a scorpion on their wall. But I’ll have to give it some thought. Nevertheless, I will soon need to leave my mozzy-free sanctuary soon… a bladder can only hold so much for so long.

But more importantly… coffee. Sunday’s are my days to forgo the familiar instant Nestcafe in lieu of a brewed filtered coffee. Apparently some of the world’s best coffee (according to an Indonesian source) is grown in the mountains on Flores. The “coffee cherries” are harvested, dried, and the skin removed. Inside each red cherry is one bean (two halves). Have you noticed the vast bins of beans at Starbucks? And have you by chance noticed the superfluity of coffee shops. That’s a hell of a lot of coffee cherries. Here it is an absurdity to buy coffee. People simply harvest from their garden, their trees… or their neighbors. The beans are dried in the sun on excess corrugated tin roofing. Then fried (often with bits of ginger) in a wok over a wood fire until they turn black. The smell is incredible. The women then pound the coffee with a stone until powdery. A heaping tablespoon of coffee powder is spooned into a juice glass… a coffee mug would be pretentious (if you could find one). Then as local custom two heaping tablespoons of unrefined sugar (it would be bad form to not have sugar as this is a sign of ‘wealth’). Boiling hot water is slung across the row of glasses, creating a sloppy mess of black ooze. Wait a few minute for the coffee to settle so as not have a mouthful of black grit and stop before you reach the black sludge in the bottom of your glass. So it might be good stuff... but seriously I still would give a kidney to be able to pop down to the corner coffee shop for a latte. Starbucks, where are you when I need you???