Home, sweet home?

Have you noticed that question "Where are you from?" has gone hopelessly obsolete these days? More often than not, the answer you get is "Well, I grew up in XXX, but studied in YYY and have been working in ZZZ for the past 5 years." We are hardly ever satisfied with that vague answer and, in search of binary black-and-white clarity so characteristic of our computer technology era, tend to dig further: "So, where is home?"

After 6 nights in two hotels in Jakarta, I was quite impatient to get ...home. In this case, my Hong Kong home. A very strange concept of a home away from home, but that was it. I was wondering again, what home was and it was pretty simple: a place where one does not live out of a suitcase, but out of a wardrobe and where the loom of packing it all up is not awfully imminent.

So what is my Hong Kong home like?

The location was chosen for me by my employer and although, generally I'm an awful control freak, this time I was much releaved to arrive, settle in and relax without having to go through a not-too-exciting exercise of apartment search. It so happens that the company rents apartments for all short-term assignees in the same place and within a couple of weeks I knew that my neigbours were mostly colleagues from other departments...

The apartment building is located in Happy Valley, a residential area of a much more relaxed pace than most other areas of Hong Kong, and certainly a major relief from the swarming with people shopping centers of Causeway Bay, where the closest subway station is.

I had been warned of the scanty space in Hong Kong's living quarters, so before my departure from home (home-home, that is), I checked the area of the apartment rented for me. It was advertized at 622 sq. feet, which I recalculated into metric measures and found the outcome of some 57 sq. meters to be comfortably comparable to my apartment back home  (home-home, that is).

Well, when I saw it for real, I started wondering if I did the math right... As my Indian colleague explained to me later on, the rented space of apartments in some parts of the world is calculated to include a proportion of the shared facilities like the lobby area, elevators, fire escapes, etc. I would guess that it may just as well include the swimming pool and parking lots, judging by what my 57 sq. m boil down to in the end. But, the way that space is managed is remarkable.

 

The little kitchenette is really only the size of two cabinets. But tell you what? It has sufficed so far! I've only been missing an oven. The bedroom is tiny, but if all you do there is sleep and exercise, why would you need it to be any bigger?

The bathroom was a surprise... Had it not been an obvious space optimizer, I would have thought it was devised for exhibitionists. But well, you roll down the blind and your bathroom is normal. However, once in a while on a beautiful sunny Saturday morning, you could easily only use the thinner transparent roller and enjoy your foam bath in full sunlight!

I would have even said you could enjoy the view outside, but as you may have already noticed, the view is fairly boring... Some could argue that a pair of binoculars could make it more entertaining, but with that diversity of choice, one would not know which window to pick. 

I remember back home (home-home, that is) I was very particular about choosing an apartment without any buildings across, just so I would not worry about others inadvertently peeking into my windows... In here, the windows across come in thousands, so I do not even care...

All in all, I must say, the place is quite comfortable. It is very convenient too: there are necessary shops nearby, a wet market, several restaurants, a few nail and massage spots, etc.

My current address could never be an answer to "So, where is home?", but for the year, the place could not have been any better!

Religious blend

Indonesia is known as a 90% Muslim country. I had first witnessed how devout Indonesian Muslims are in the Victoria Park, on my first Sunday in Hong Kong.

Shortly after my colleague had arrived from Jakarta on her assignment in Hong Kong, we decided to take her out for a welcome drink. "A drink?! I do not take alcohol", she said apologetically with that characteristic drawl. "Well, maybe a juice?", I wouldn't let go. "That would be ok, but before Friday. I start fasting then." "Oh, yeah, I forgot about the Ramadan! So it starts Friday?" "It started already, but women cannot fast during those days, you know." Come Friday, she was very fastidious about her fast, pardon the pun. She'd get up at 4 am to eat her breakfast before sunrise and go back to bed till morning. No drinks or water during the day. It must be a bit easier when others around you also observe the fast, but all of us were disappearing from the office around noon inevitably and very punctually, sometimes discussing where to go right in front of her; she’d always say it did not bother her. I am absolutely full of awe for her dedication in faith. No, she does not wear scarf.

It’s amazing how easily we tend to stereotype. Now, that I was visiting the Jakarta office, I totally expected nine in ten people to fast. But only some did. The canteen continued to operate as usual. Some wore scarves, some did not.

One afternoon, after an especially long workshop session, we got to the canteen minutes before closure. Tired and hungry, we picked up our food, hastily got down to a table and… froze with our forks ready to “attack” our food: our local colleague had just sat down, rested his fork and spoon beside the plate, closed his eyes and clasped his hands in prayer. Christian prayer.

Later in the day, I was working alone in an abandoned office room when a girl came in smiling: “Are you Irena?” An exchange of pleasantries followed. “I was told you are staying over the weekend to sightsee. I’d love to show you around, I’ll have time in the afternoon. In the morning I am seeing a priest.” “A priest?” “Yes, I’m getting ready for my wedding, my fiancé is a Catholic, and I am a Lutheran. So there’s a lot to discuss.” When we got together on Saturday, the dinner was considerately planned after sunset, so that our Muslim colleague could join us after breaking her fast.

My observations were summarizing themselves into an overall perception that various religions in Indonesia are blended very smoothly, that freedom of religion is paramount and well rooted. Nearly 90% Muslim, with world’s largest Muslim population, Indonesia also officially recognizes Protestantism, Catholicism, Hinduism, Buddhism and Confucianism. Irrespective of your religion, Ramadan Eid and Christmas are public holidays.

And just as I finalize this chapter, my ear registers a BBC headline report on the muffled TV: “Religious violence is on the rise in Indonesia. Is it threatening its democracy?”

Food

Our first exposure to the Indonesian cuisine came with the canteen for employees: soto ayam soup, steamed rice wrapped in banana leaves, spicy vegetables, deep fried tofu, gado-gado vegetable mix with peanut sause, fish or prawn crackers made of tapioca flour (krupuk), fried fermented soy bean cakes (tempeh), various meats, roasted or stewed. Surprisingly for me, the common utensils at the canteen were not chopsticks, but a very familiar shining steel fork and a... spoon, rather than knife.

The fourth night into our stay, we were all invited to a team dinner at a lovely place featuring local cuisine. Discoveries included dried squid with sesame seeds and soy sauce, fried shrimp in salted egg, stir fried long beans, mushrooms and a multitude of other dishes.

In addition to daily meals, our workshop was lavishly supplied with very tasty snacks, deserts and fresh fruit, which also reminded me of our office in Istanbul. The snack discoveries included lemper (which I attempted to eat along with the banana leaf, but was luckily stopped in time to save me from an ambulance call) and Tahu Sumedang with green chili. The deserts were so overwhelmingly tasty, that my scale at home greeted me with a scream full of pain: “Ouch, that hurts, get off!”

And on Saturday I discovered a young coconut! It is served fresh with ice, with top barely cut off before serving. You drink it through the straw, sweet and transparent, smooth and luxuriously refreshing. And as you disappointingly suck out the last drop, you gratefully discover that the spoon is served so you could scrape off the delicate white flesh from the sides. Yammy!

Smiley hospitality

The hotel is in the same complex as our office and a huge shopping mall with a multitude of restaurants, so the full work week in Jakarta turned into a hotel-office-mall-hotel-office-mall-hotel routine and I did not get to take in a breath of fresh air in 5 days.

One evening, all three of us set off on a hunt for a large suitcase. We were cruising around the mall in search of a Samsonite and eventually started turning to shop assistants for directions. Some did not understand or speak English well enough, but were very open, smiley and willing to assist. They seemed sincerely upset if unable to help and would normally start looking for a colleague who might know better. Nor did they seem irritated when my friend was explaining his very complicated size demands: the girl immediately produced a tape measure and started diligently checking the height and diagonal of the largest available suitcases, so pleased to be assisting us that a smile never left her face throughout this time-consuming and fastidious exercise.

“I’m having a déjà vu for Istanbul again”, I said, wondering what the feeling was. My colleague caught the essence of it, beaming: “It’s such a pleasure to see people here smile so generously. They don’t smile in Hong Kong. I was so thirsty for a smile, back there they are all just so serious, almost solemn!”

Geofruitography lessons

As we were leaving Jakarta airport terminal, I had a déjà vu from Istanbul… Not sure what specifically brought it up, but I had that feeling many times later during the trip.

Five drivers were trying to lure us into their cabs before we spotted our designated chauffer. When we were already next to the car, a guy on the sidewalk grabbed our bags and started loading them into the trunk, and a second later was all over us, blocking car doors and screaming that we must tip him.

As we got to the hotel, the service staff were running around smiling, taking care of the luggage, getting us seated comfortably, bringing us tea, as the reception was checking us in. We chatted a bit, then agreed to meet in a bit for a drink and went off to unpack. An hour later, I was telling my colleague:
     “Until this evening, I thought that’s what presidential suites looked like. Is your bathroom also the size of a football field or did they mess up with room types on my booking?”
     “Had you not stayed at an Asian hotel before? That’s standard”, said he, unimpressed.

I had spent the whole time running around the suite snapping away, trying to get some of that “dropped jaw” effect reflected in the lens of my camera. No, it didn’t work. I need a wider angle lens! And quite a bit more skill and practice, but that’s minute, right?

The bathroom was larger than my living room, and the bedroom was the size of my whole apartment. I was greeted by truffles and tropical fruit.



The ensemble contained at least four fruit I had not tried before. One morning we asked our local colleagues what they were, describing each fruit in detail. This proved a funny and fairly long charades game, but it helped us figure out that what we ate were passion fruit, snake fruit, mangosteen and longan. The last two are so exotic, that Microsoft spell-check refuses to recognize them.


Below sample fruit shots are courtesy of... the Internet, sorry.

Passion fruit. Slightly smaller than a pear, with hard and smooth skin that feels like plastic to the touch and, if knocked on, leaves an impression of the hollow inside. Underneath the "plastic", there's fairly thick and light inedible sponge-like layer which holds the precious seeds covered in juicy and very tasty pulp.

Mangosteen. Much like the passion fruit, it is very hard on the outside and has a thick sponge-like shell. The edible part inside is soft greyish-white, reminiscent of garlic cloves in shape. It is often sold after it's flower-like top dries off and takes on the dark color of the outer shell, so the whole fruit looks like a grenade. When you see it the first time, it is hard to imagine it to be edible, let alone that it contains such a pleasantly sweet and delicate heart.

 Snake fruit. Yet another fruit that reminds of garlic cloves. They are also pretty hard and crunchy, just like real garlic, except these are sweet and not smelly. There are always three cloves, with a black seed inside each. The shell looks like snake skin, is extremely thin, but hard; it peels off like shell off  a hard boiled egg.










Longan. These are the size of large grapes, but with a hard shell (I broke my nails on them!). The inside contains a large seed, but the pulp texture is very similar to grapes or lychee, or the earlier advertized rambutan.