Friends at Breakfast Its the busy main road outside the front entrance of my hotel here in Glodok, in Old Jakarta. This is no five star affair but a simple room with a window and a fan. Hot water runs out after five minutes or so. Out the back a different world persists. I suppose before plastic and palm oil, factories and office tower blocks, clogged up drains, beggars, tricksters, traffic congestion and Bajais weaving in an out just to go somewhere, a quieter village thrived. Here, long ago when the breeze blew, youd hear banana leaves clatter and the chorus of children reciting prayers from a school somewhere. Conversations would last a lot longer then the rushed greetings youd get now, friendships did not depend on your deeper foreign pockets. I am told that only 30 years ago children bathed and women washed in the river where now only the Citys rubbish float by. Behind my hotel pass the fruit market, cross the lane and youd come to a parking lot. Here in the evenings the children would play soccer, showing off their dribbling skills as only world champions can, weaving in between puddles and potholes on this gravelled pitch doing all this on the soles of their own feet. Of course a true village of a rural sort can never be complete without a few goats, crowing cockerels, dabbling ducks and my favourite to irritate and tease - grumpy geese.
Posted on: Thu, 06 Nov 2014 09:05:36 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015