| 16 March 2005 - Eric A couple nights ago after things quieted down, I heard a man pounding nails. One after another, hour after hour he pounded. A couple starter taps, a few hard and true shots that changed tone as the nail sunk in, then a couple blows for good measure. It was a loud but peaceful noise that pierced the still night and I was not surprised the neighborhood made not the smallest protest. Out front the next morning, Abdul smoked nearly an entire Sam Soe while grunting and girning to ask me if America was different than Aceh. As I contemplated the best way to answer his question, a bus rolled passed with eight goats on the roof sitting with the luggage. “Abdul,” I said. I looked around. There were the usual horns and brakes, people yelling and laughing. Diesel motors from FUSO tankers and Mercedes flatbeds hauling aid workers pinged up and down Leung Bata. A thousand motorcycles roared together except for a few on their last leg. Indonesian military vehicles, all victims of glue under the gas pedal trick, raced by giving off that scraping, blood curdling sound, which only I seem to hear. Some crazy lady was all bitching about something. Well, I guess you hear that wherever you live. In Aceh, the cars are mostly Asian with few European or American brands. There are many strange vans and pickups that can line up three wide on a singe lane. Suzuki makes a popular little van that is so cute I may just bring one home in my bag wrapped in a sorang. I see an occasional VW Bus, sometimes nice sometimes old and haggard, same as in the states, but I have learned of none destroyed. As far as I can tell they are tsunami proof. Motorcycles are the way. Everybody rides one. Honda, Suzuki, Yamaha, some Chinese Zealsuns and Italian Vespas. A becak is any cycle, usually driven by a crazy person, with a sidecar that tends to lose its brakes and flip on a hill. Buses are the size of a Honda Civic but hold the same number of people as a Greyhound. They are equipped with a rear-latching door to keep the people inside but I have yet to see one that wasn’t swinging wildly. Why, I haven’t figured out, but there is a relentless swarm of people trying to get somewhere fast. Whenever I get somewhere I find the same motorcycle people I just dodged in the street sitting around smoking and sipping coffee with their shoes off. I’m like, what’s the rush? I’ve got their traffic figured out. The key is going with the flow and keeping your eye out for mergers of different types. In-a-hurry guy gets the road because well, he’s in a hurry. Crazy guy also gets the road because he’s just plain oblivious. Pay no attention to wrong-way guy as you are allowed to hop off your motorcycle and pound him in the head if he hits you. Cars will usually honk when they get close or you’ll hear their motors screaming over your right shoulder, and left. Move over for god sakes one way or the other and let them through. Big trucks demand utmost concentration from the moment you first sense their over-weighted axles bearing down on you from behind. This is not a time to be daydreaming. Unfortunately, there is nothing you can do but hold your breath, hold her steady and hope it misses you. This is what makes that guy up front in a hurry. If someone looks to be pulling out in front of you, don’t panic. The guy probably sees a line through traffic and is going for it. Better to close your eyes, pretend to be crazy and keep on going than touch the brake. They’ll figure you out. I contemplated some strange things I had witnessed in the last week. Boats in houses and houses under water. I saw two monkeys riding a goat that was eating burning garbage. That was strange. Earthquakes of 5.3 and 5.7. At 05:00 I vividly dreamed I heard Jon Bon Jovi singing over a megaphone at the mall. 06:00 Incoming text message: “Dear Sir! i’m josip, telma friends! i’m interesting to be your guide, and as your interpreter.” (Names changed to protect me.) I saw a sign posted at the Office of Immigraci: “Due to Ongoing Implementation of Military Emergency Operation Foreigner are not allowed to visit Aceh Province.” I ate goat brains, goat nipples, sheep brains and bulbous plants not yet categorized as either fruit or vegetable. I got my neck cracked just like from a chiropractor in the states, just by paying for a haircut. I saw a big python that crawled out of a ditch and into a parked car. Through it all, midst the cacophony, I plainly heard the same man from last night pounding nails. Couple starters, a few hard and true, then a couple blows for good measure. “Abdul”, I said, “in America folks would be upset to hear that pounding at night.” Eric Lyman Banda Aceh, Sumatra |
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