my experience with indonesian bombs

The news of the terrorist bombings in Jakarta, Indonesia caught my attention this morning. The bombings were the first after several years of effort by the Indonesian government to ramp up anti-terrorist measures.

I don't remember if I mentioned it on my blog, but Mr. W and I took a quick swing down to a northern Indonesian state during the last couple days of our honeymoon.

We flew from Bangkok to Singapore a couple days earlier than we had originally planned in order to take the mini excursion. Within an hour of landing in Singapore, we were on a ferry across the Straits of Singapore to an island named Pulua Batam.

Customs was easy, quick passport scan and $10 (U.S.) for a visa. We hopped on our resort's shuttle and off we went.

The resort was beautiful. It was an old resort, but half of it had burned down within the past couple years, so one side was rebuilt with chic, modern rooms and the other still had old thatched roof huts. Luckily, we scored rooms on the new side.

(Our room.)

(Wide shot of new side of resort, from pier.)

(Pier and part of older side of the resort with thatched roof huts.)

(Lobby and Mr. W checking in.)

(Modern side.)

(Infinity pool with ocean in the background.)

(I love this picture of Mr. W. Cracks me up.)

We met Mr. W's brother and family at the resort. That night, we rented a van and ventured out into the nearest town for dinner. We ate at a fish market, located on a pier. While the resort was clearly geared toward western travelers, this fish market was clearly geared toward the locals. It was the only place in all our travels that I experienced the traditional squat toilet.*

The food was phenomenal. Shrimp, clams, grilled fish and more, all served with steamed rice and various sauces. We also had snails. To say I was not a fan is putting it lightly. Gag. Mr. W didn't mind them, but they weren't his favorite. Unfortunately, I forgot to get a picture before we plowed our way through the dishes, but I did get a picture of the aftermath.

(Fish market on pier.)

(Snail in butter sauce.)

(Aftermath.)

On the way back to the resort, we stopped at a little store for some beer. Bintang, which is Indonesian for "star", was the flavor du jour.

When we arrived back at the resort, we were stopped at the gate by guards. Mr. W and I were wondering what was going on as the guard peered inside the van and then circled the van with a weird stick that looked almost like a metal detector. As we were waved through, Mr. W's brother explained that the guard just swept the van for bombs.

Huh. OK.

I looked at Mr. W and (playing on Dorothy's words), "I don't think we're in Minnesota anymore."

Which become extremely evident as we were walking to our room and noticed this ginormous spider. It was about 3-4 inches across and probably poinsonous. It just looked mean. And gross. See?

It was also extremely evident that we were no longer in Minnesota the next morning when I got a massage at the resort's spa. As normal, she started with my back. When she asked me to flip over, I expected that she'd do the neck and shoulders as normal, and maybe the legs, too. Imagine my surprise when her hands kept going down once she finished with my shoulders. I was thinking, "Nope, couldn't be, wait, whu? ... wow, full boob." It was hard to keep from giggling. I mean, that's just not something that happens everyday. Or ever really, in a non-amorous situation. I guess when they advertise a full body massage, they really mean it. I'm glad I kept my undies on.

The only other notable occurrence during our foray to Indonesia was that we visited a shopping center in a larger town about 20 miles away. Before entering, again the car was swept for bombs. Mr. W's brother's wife, Dija, is Malay/Indian/Indonesian, so she wanted to get some local groceries before heading back to Singapore. She helped me pick out spice packets and other stuff to bring back to the U.S. It was really fun and interesting to see the differences in ingredients and packaging and marketing in an Indonesian grocery store.

Mr. W and I stuck out like a sore thumb in that store. We were ogled, and not because of our good looks. I still never once felt any danger or insecurity. But the bomb sweeping made me think that maybe I should have.

Anyway, right after the visit to the grocery store, we caught a ferry back to Singapore, where I spent the last night of my honeymoon writhing on a couch because my stomach had had enough of the all the unrecognizable stuff that I'd been asking it to digest. Mr. W was out with his brother getting hammered on Tiger beer. Dija and the kids were out at a birthday party for a cousin on Dija's side of the family.

Despite the feeling in my stomach, I was very sad to leave southeast Asia. It was fun, hot, and completely different than anything I had experienced before. I hope to make it back someday.

*I had heard terrible things about squat toilets, but I didn't think this one was that bad. If you've ever been camping, it wasn't much different than a squat in the woods, except it was over a small basin with a drain in it. I guess I didn't really think about how a #2 would work, but #1 was no problemo. Of course, there was no toilet paper, but I had been warned by other members of Mr. W's family to always carry tissues with me. So, all in all, squat toilets are OK by me.