THE LETTER

Dearest Friends,

We'd been in Bahrain for about two weeks when John finally came home with a letter from one of our friends back at SSFY (the fab yard in Indonesia) -- this one from Young S.  I was ecstatic to finally be hearing from one of them, but when I noticed a strange look on John's face, I suspected the news wasn't all good. When he insisted that I sit down, before handing the letter over, I realized it had to be terrible.

Apparently SSFY had held a big going-away party for someone out at the Anyer Beach restaurant, which usually meant lots of drinking.  Then again, the road back to Cilegon was so twisty and dark at night, there being no streetlights of any kind, alcohol may have had nothing to do with it at all.  It may well have been that I & I just never even saw the big truck that was pulled off to the side of the road, until they came around a corner and plowed right into it.  He did manage to get her out of the wreckage and into a passing minibus, which took them to the nearest expat's home, but without paramedics, hospitals, or even a decent doctor anywhere nearby, there wasn't much they could do for her.

I wish the letter had ended with that, for I could have come to grips with the fact that she died.  Tragic accidents are a part of life.  Unfortunately, Young S. felt the need to share a bit more with us.  She went on to say that I's final words were on the order of "Didn't I tell you...your driving would be the death of me?"  Of course, we had no way of knowing if that was even true, but just the possibility of that -- that she may have lain such a burden of guilt upon someone she supposedly loved, knowing that it may well have wrecked him for life, and consequently, their children as well?  Well, that I have never been able to deal with, and it's one of only two things that still haunt me to this day.  The second would occur some fifteen years later, just after our return to Indonesia.

COOKING LESSONS

 

 I was not a great cook when we got married, much to John's surprise.  After all, he'd married a Home Ec. major, right?  Unfortunately for him, my specialty was Clothing & Textiles, not Nutrition, which meant I had to take organic chemistry (home ec. being a B.S. degree at that time) but not any cooking classes.  I hadn't picked up much from my mother either, for though she loved to bake, when it came to putting dinner on the table night after night, let's just say, her heart wasn't really in it.  So, she used every convenience product they came up with, and we ate out.  A lot.

Well, my heart was in it, but when it came to cooking from scratch (what other choice did I have?) my only experience was when it was my turn to cook at the co-op I lived in those last two years of college.  I had collected a few good recipes there, but they were mostly stews and casseroles that served 20 or 30 people!  Soooo, my only choice was to pay very close attention to the women around me.  Whenever we were invited to someone's house for dinner, I'd take note of those things John really liked, then I'd go back later to get the recipe, and maybe even a cooking lesson.  You had to be careful with my hubby though, because he wasn't always 100% honest about what he liked and didn't.

Miss N. (right) and two of the wives from Louisiana, who all knew a thing or two about cooking!

Back when we lived at the beach, one of our neighbors was Miss N., and to welcome us, she brought over a big bowl of still-warm, home-made banana pudding.  The next time John ran into her, he thanked her and told her it was very good.  What she didn't know was that he was basing that opinion upon my report, for he wouldn't touch banana pudding with a ten-foot pole!  She brought him a big ol' bowl of it almost every week, from then on.  

Later, when we had all moved into houses, N. & L. had us over for supper one night, and she served us a very simple cucumber salad.  The salads I grew up on were always iceberg lettuce with bottled dressing, so I was shocked by how much I loved this simple country salad -- even more shocked when John took two or three helpings!  In fact, that salad might just have been the catalyst -- the thing that opened my eyes to what it meant to eat real food -- and I still use that recipe on a regular basis, to this very day.

The other thing that improved my cooking immeasurably was a book.  It was kind of like one of those Junior League or church circle cookbooks, but it was published by a chapter of the American Women's Association.  It was put together by women who were living in S.E. Asia at the time, and not only did they give you their favorite recipes, they also taught you how to substitute, improvise, or make from scratch the many, many things that weren't available locally, and, how to prepare some of the yummy local dishes that weren't going to be available once we went home -- the single best purchase I ever made!

Miss N.'s Onion and Cucumber Salad

Combine 1/2 c. white vinegar, 1/2 c. water, 2 tablespoons of sugar, and 1/4 teaspoon salt in a small bowl.  Whisk together until the sugar and salt have dissolved completely.

Slice two small or one large cucumber very thinly and place in a medium bowl.  (Peel it first if you like, or just run the tines of a fork down it, all the way around).  Add 1/2 onion, thinly sliced.  Pour dressing over the vegetables and stir to combine.  Cover and chill in refrigerator for a couple of hours before serving.

A LETTER FROM MISS P.

Princess D. and her Umbrella

Dearest Friends,

You'll never guess who I got a lovely long letter from yesterday! Remember my friend Miss P., from this earlier post?  Well, she was kind enough to share some of her memories of this time and place with me, and even a few photos, so now I'm going to share them with you.  Enjoy!

Miss P. Shops for a Broom

"Becky,
I have been enjoying so much your memories of Indonesia -  just haven't had time to comment.  It made me get out all my old photos and I even had a sharing session with (daughter) Becky when she visited.

There were a lot of new marriages among us in those days.  I agree that even though some broke under the pressure, for most of us it made us stronger.  There was no running home to mama complaining about what "he" did.  To this day there are references that only Boss B. gets - "this looks like a queue at a railroad crossing in Indonesia".

It felt a little like pioneering.  Who would guess that a house in Cilegon with a kitchen would be such a thrill?  I remember one time in Malaysia that frozen strawberries came in to Mrs. Yap's (the grocery store that catered to expats). One lady happened to be there and bought them all - boy, was her name mud when everyone else found out.  Another time in Singapore, 3 of us bought a $6.00 Georgia peach and shared it right there in the store.  I had to cook from scratch back then.  Sadly, processed foods have gradually made major inroads over the years in the States.

A Beca Ride for Miss P.

Oh yes, bowling, legs eleven, and whist.  I remember it well.  Have often wished I could remember the rules to Whist.  We had such an active social life with no TV or movies.  Volleyball and dinner parties and some really fun Christmases.  I think you left before BM set up his putt-putt golf course at the yard.

I also hated servants - one of the major reasons that Jakarta was one of my least favorite places to live, although I admit I didn't want to mop those vast marble floors.  I found a two story house helped a lot.  When they were up, I was down and vice versa. I really treasured the luxury of driving myself when I got back here.  Reminds me of when we were in Jakarta and the wives had to share a company van.  Sounds simple, but what a complicated mess.  The first plan was that each wife would get it one day, but doctor's appointments took precedence. Mysteriously some people's appointments were always on other people's days.  The next plan was the van would go to a different shopping place each day, but that failed as well.  I am sure we drove some male office manager batty.

Speaking of transportation.  You left out the narrow gauge steam train that traveled near the road way.  I remember those grass hut gas stations where everything was in cans.  When we returned to Indonesia for our second tour, all the structures were made out of cinder blocks with tile roofs.  I know it was better for the locals, but I missed the look of those woven bamboo homes.

Southern accents - when I would go home for a visit, apparently my accent got thicker.  Had one British lady say, "Pat, you don't talk like tha . . at.

Attached are a couple of photos of me in the market and my favorite of Princess D.  She didn't have access to a car and talked naive me into requesting one to go up to the natural springs in the hills.  On the way it started to rain and she showed me how to use a local umbrella.  "All you need is a large leaf."  The cart photo was when Miss F. was showing me the ropes.

Keep it coming.  You express it so beautifully.

And remember, Krakatoa is west of Java (unlike the movie).

Miss P."

P.S. Miss Becky here!  For some reason, I had no memory of that train, so I asked John about it.  He said "Yeah, I remember it!  I tried to take pictures of it several times, but every time I sent my roll of film off to be developed, it would come back with all the pictures of the train missing.  I guess the government was censoring them -- maybe they thought we were trying to steal their technology!"

THE BIG HOOP-DEE-DOO

Dearest Friends,

Neither of us can remember the exact details of this event, such as which side of the river John was on when it happened, or how he even got home that first day.  I find that rather strange, considering it was all anyone could talk about at the time.  Anyhoo, one day a giant truck went crashing through the only bridge that connected Anyer Beach to the B&R fab yard, and what I do remember is sitting on my little porch stoop, waiting for John to come home, with the growing sensation that something was terribly wrong.

By the time he did arrive, I was a sniveling mess.  Perhaps that was when they had to go way out of their way, and drive along the beach.  You know how long repairs like this take, even in the most modern of countries, so imagine what an ordeal it was, in a place with no infrastructure for that sort of thing.

All I know is that for weeks, if not months, afterwards, John got to add another hour or so to his already long commute and workday, six days a week -- driving as far as the river, parking his car, walking across that rickety little foot-bridge, then somehow being ferried the rest of the way to the fab yard.  Not everyone was upset, though.  The locals found it all to be immensely entertaining.

MY INDO-SOUNDTRACK

Dearest Friends,

I don't know how it is for you, but most all of my important memories have a soundtrack that goes along with them.  For instance, when I think of my wedding, I hear my sister and her band singing Let's Bungle in the Jungle, in honor of my heading off to Indonesia with my new hubby.  When I think of college, I hear myself singing my little heart out along with Carol King, Carly Simon and Eric Clapton. I also see John taking me to Austin honky-tonks, to hear "a new kind of country", and wishing I knew how to two-step.  But, in the background, thanks to the all-girl choir I was in and their frequent trips to entertain at military bases, there is the dark, eerie thrum of acid rock and the whop-whop-whop of chopper blades that I associate with Viet Nam.  These soundtracks, when looked back upon from a distance, are clearly divided into  eras, each with a certain aura or feel to it.  One such division occurred while we were living at Anyer Beach.  From here, it is easy to see that the year we got married, 1975, was a cusp -- a turning point -- and it would all be downhill after that.

When we stopped in Singapore on our honeymoon, John took me to a record store.  Copyright laws were different over there, and John told me to thumb through all the albums, pick out five or six that I liked, then they would record them all onto a tape that I could listen to on John's huge reel-to-reel player -- all for less than it would probably cost to buy one single album back in the states.  I forget now who all I put on that tape, perhaps some Loggins and Messina or Jerry Jeff Walker, maybe some Diana Ross or Mommas and Pappas?  But there's one I remember for certain -- Barry White.  He alone has become the soundtrack for my time at Anyer Beach. I can still remember, clear as a bell, that deep, sexy voice, wrapping itself around me, caressing me, as I sat out on my little front stoop each evening, door ajar, straining for the sound of John's tiny Honda, chugging its way home.

A few months later John brought home an issue of Time or Newsweek.  In it there was an article about a new dance craze called "The Hustle."  The article included step-by-step instructions on how to do it, including a pull-out diagram with footprints on it, which we put down on the tiny bit of floorspace we had next to our bed.  We were oblivious at the time, of course, but that was the day everything changed...the day someone lifted the needle off of the soundtrack of our courtship, and replaced it with a new one -- one called "Disco."

A BRUSH WITH DEATH

Dearest Friends,

A couple of months after I got there, our buddies S. & A. fell ill.  We thought it was just the flu at first, but after a couple of weeks of their getting worse, rather than better, we all were more than a little afraid for them. The problem was, we had no doctor there.  All we had was a guy who had spent some time as an army medic.  They must have finally loaded the boys up and driven them to the hospital in Jakarta, though I can't imagine what it was like for them to make that arduous trip, as sick as they were.

Word finally made it's way back to us -- both good and bad.  On the upside, they weren't going to die, though there were probably times when they had wished they could.  The bad news?  They had both contracted "a mild case" of Malaria, the one thing they could not immunize us against, and one which could come back to haunt them periodically, for the rest of their lives.

Everyone became much more conscientious about taking their gawd-awful quinine pills after that, rather than relying on those ever popular Gin & Tonics.  By the way, did you know that G&T's were introduced by the British East India company?  Tonic water contains quinine -- quite a bit back in the 18th century, which made it very bitter tasting.  The gin was added to make it more palatable.  The tonic water of today contains a much smaller amount, which makes it more pleasant to drink but, as it turns out, not so good at preventing Malaria.

VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY

Dearest Friends,

Looking back with the advantage of time and wisdom, I have come to realize that starting our marriage the way we did was probably one of the best things that ever happened to us.  With none of his high school or college drinking buddies around; without my sisters or girlfriends wanting my time and attention; without our parents reminding us how "our family" does things; with no one to rely on but each other, well, we were forced to merge into one unit more quickly than those who were being pulled in so many directions at once.

One of many self-made batik outfits.

This was also an important period of self-discovery for me personally, and one startling realization was that the person whose company I enjoyed more than any other was...my own! (which could have had a lot to do with my less than stellar social life in high school)  You see, I had three siblings, and had never had a bedroom to myself, nor shared a bathroom with less than three other women.  I'd worked in fabric stores every weekend and all summer long since the day I turned sixteen, and babysat several times per week, in order to save money for college.  Then, of course, there was all the schoolwork, yearbook staff, choir, chores at home, chores at the co-op where I lived on campus, various jobs on campus...So the one thing I'd never really had was time to myself, to do whatever I wanted, and you know what?  I liked it!  Unfortunately, none of the other wives seemed to feel the same way.

My "mountain" hide out.

One girl in particular, R., who was closest to my own age, and arrived not long before me, just couldn't deal with "alone time."  She was a tomboy who'd grown up in the country with brothers and horses to ride and animals to take care of.  She had no hobbies, and didn't read or sew or do any of the other things I could entertain myself with, so she and her little son K. took to coming over each day just to "hang out."  Well, I am terrible at making idle chit-chat, and would much rather have my nose in a book, so I began to sneak out of the bungalow periodically, before anyone was out and about, to hike up our little mountain and hide out with a good book.  (It wasn't really a mountain - just one huge boulder that was spit out by Krakatoa last time it erupted, and then ended up on our beach.  Scary, no?)

The Anyer Beach hill at night.

Eventually I grew weary of having to hide, so I mustered up enough gumption to say "Hey, I'm in the middle of a sewing project that I'm dying to finish, but you guys are more than welcome to chat with me while I work."  I also started telling her about all the books I was reading, trying to pique her interest.  Before long, she was devouring them as fast as I could pass them along to her, and wondered, if she got her husband to buy her a portable sewing machine next time he was in Singapore, whether I might teach her how to sew?

WHAT'S THE BIG DEAL?

Dearest Friends,

You may be wondering why so many people would make the arduous drive out to this tiny resort where we lived.  What was the big attraction?  Was it the beach?  Probably not.  Indonesia is an archipelago made up of hundreds of islands.  No matter where you are in Indonesia, you are never far from a gorgeous beach!

Anyer Beach Sunset

Well then, could it have been the five-star cuisine?  Not hardly!  The best thing we had going for us was the little sate hut down by the beach each weekend.  The high point of our week was to walk down there on Sundays (John's only day off), to feast on a few of the tiny kebabs (pronounced sah' tay) and some of the sticky rice, which had been wrapped and steamed in little gift-like banana leaf packages.  However, though they were special to us, they were hardly worth driving several hours for.  You could get them anywhere in Indonesia!

The Sate Hut

So, what was it then?  Hmmmm.  Perhaps it was the bowling alley.  Yep, you heard me.  Anyer Beach, this simple little resort out in the middle of nowhere, reached only by the most primitive of roads, boasted a state of the art bowling alley!  Go figure.

Anyer Beach Bowling Alley

LOST LIBERATION

Dearest Friends,

If you recall, I mentioned that almost all the women in my childhood neighborhood were stay-at-home moms.  The only job my mother ever had was a brief stint selling Mary Kay cosmetics.  She taught us that women should never be seen without make-up, how to get your way while letting your husband think he's the boss, and how to hide something you've bought for a while, so that when you do wear it, and hubby asks if you've bought something new, you can say "This old thing? I've had it for ages!"  I spent the whole summer before college sewing cute dresses to wear every day, and even wore stockings the first week of class, but soon traded them in for frayed jeans and sandals.  You see, I showed up at UT (the most liberal, hippie-fied school in Texas) in 1971, when SDS, ERA, Roe vs. Wade, draft-dodging and presidential impeachment were everyday topics of conversation.  By the time I graduated, I was quite proud of how very liberated I had become.  I just had no idea how hard it would be to maintain, once I'd traded life in Austin for life as an expatriate wife who couldn't get a work permit, couldn't drive, and who was completely dependent on her husband for everything!

Luncheon with Miss D. (far right)

Despite my ill-planned shipment and lack of equipment, I managed to do ok in our make-shift kitchen.  I'd even host little dinner parties for some of John's bachelor friends, as a way to make myself feel useful.  I'd fix a batch of watery spachetti or underdone fried chicken in my electric frying pan, serve it to them out on our tiny porch, and they'd treat me like I was the hostess with the mostest!  Just when I was starting to believe it, I got invited to lunch at Miss D's place.

Miss D. was one of the older wives -- the one who reminded me of Zsa Zsa Gabor, with her exotic accent and ever-elegant attire.  There was an air of mystery about her, and she would allude to a princess-like upbringing.  That all ended when "riff raff" took over her country, and they had to bury their valuables and flee their mansion in the dead of night.  Miss D's luncheon was served on beautiful Chinese dishes, lined with glossy banana leaves that she had sent her housekeeper out to pick (She needed a housekeeper? For one room?).  I prayed that she would never invite John or any of the bachelors over for dinner, for it was sure to raise the bar on their expectations!

Miss M. gives little K. a haircut.

You see those kerchiefs the women are wearing?  They were probably hiding the curlers in their hair.   It seemed I had left my campus world, where I had friends who were burning their bras, and had given up shaving their legs and pits, and had traveled back in time to one where they believed the only way to get ahead was to use one's feminine wiles.  They went around in curlers and caftans during the day, but met their hubbies at the door each evening dressed to kill, with welcoming drink in hand.  I knew I was in trouble the day I found myself leaving a card party early, because I wanted to have plenty of time to get gussied-up before John got home!

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Dearest Friends,

One thing I found most interesting about life overseas was the cast of characters -- and I do mean characters!  I'd grown up in your typical 50's suburban neighborhood, where all the hubbies went off to work each morning, most all the wives stayed home with the kiddos, and everyone went to church on Sundays.  I remember being quite shocked when a guy I liked in high school said he lived in an apartment.  I'd never known anyone who didn't live in a house.  Life as an ex-pat was going to be quite the eye-opener.

E. shows us the ropes

Life o' the party

First of all there was Princess D, who reminded me of Zsa Zsa Gabor, with her exotic accent and regal attitude.  Rumor had it that her "hubby" wasn't really her hubby, for there was one back in the states who refused to grant a divorce.  There was the beautiful young woman who's blonde cherub son was three years old before the father decided to claim them as his family.  I wish he never had, for they deserved so much more.  He got kicked out of the Pula Rita for hurling one of their employees through a plate-glass window when he was pissed about something.  He was always pissed about something.  Then there was E., who reminds me a lot of Sue Sylvestre on the TV show Glee -- all rough and tough on the outside, with a bit of marshmallow hidden underneath.  She'd give me grief about being so young and googly-eyed, then show up on my porch with some containers for me to store my leftovers in, or an offer to show me the ropes down in the market.  She was a tall, blonde American, but her hubby was a wee little black-haired Scotsman who played the accordion, and who obviously brought out the marshmallow in her.

The Irish Lads

Three Musketeers: S., A., and Dear Hubby

Last, but not least, were the bachelors.  John's boss B. wasn't much older than us, but was very quiet and reserved.  The young guys loved to tease and joke with him, but it was obvious they had a great deal of respect for him.  S. and A. were John's two best buddies.  S. , a big ol' blonde from Tennessee, is the one who keeled over at the sight of a hypodermic.  A. had been in the Peace Corps for a couple of years before coming to work for B&R.  His claim to fame was that he could roll himself up in a sarong, drop down anywhere on the ground, and be sleeping like a baby in a matter of seconds.  There were a couple of Irish guys, who were a hoot and a holler, though I could hardly understand a word they said.  And then there were the twins, who thought they were God's gift to women, and were wilder than a March hare.  With characters such as these, things were bound to get interesting, were they not?

OUR FIRST HOME

Dearest Friends,

Lounging in our back yard.

Life at Anyer Beach was a huge step up from the Pula Rita, yet still a far cry from the Singapore Hilton.  Each of those little beach bungalows you saw was a duplex, so we got half of one.  All the furniture was rattan, and there was just enough room for a double bed, a small armoire, a dresser, and a wee little fridge.  They were tight quarters, which grew tighter by the week, but at least it was just the two of us.  Imagine what it was like for those who had brought a kid or two along!  The best thing about our new home was the small porch nestled under that curved overhang.  It was a great place to curl up with a book, to entertain, to find some space from one another, or to share a breathtaking sunset.  We could sit there for hours, mesmerized by the rhythm of the waves.  The most thrilling time to be there was when a storm was brewing out over the ocean.  Soon as we heard the first rumblings of thunder, we’d wordlessly drop what we were doing, and head out to watch the show.

Our bathroom/kitchen/darkroom.

Officially, we weren’t supposed to cook in our rooms, but most everyone chose to ignore that rule.  The resort did have a restaurant, but the menu was rather limited and would have grown very old, very fast.  We saved it for special occasions, like the time they threw a luau-like shindig out by the pool, centered around a roast suckling pig with apple-stuffed mouth.  The rest of the time I made do with the electric frying pan and small toaster oven that we had received as wedding gifts, both of which had to be plugged into a big black transformer that sat in the corner of our room.  We had left most of our gifts packed up at my parents’ house, but a couple of months before the wedding John sent word that I was to pull together a small shipment consisting of whatever I thought we would need to get by for a year in a furnished apartment, should we ever get one.  Then he added, “But don’t go overboard.  B&R will only pay for so many pounds.”  I, of course, had no freaking clue what we would need, never having seen the place, and only ever having lived at home with my family, or in a dorm. 

P.S.  Know what's really funny about that picture of John washing up?  We must have sent this one home to the parents, because I wrote a note to them on the back which read "He's only posing - I don't really make him do dishes!"  Obviously I wasn't quite as "liberated" as I thought. Maybe I felt the need to compensate for the imbalance in our financial contributions --  a sign of what was to come, perhaps?

ANYER BEACH: A PLEASANT SURPRISE

Dearest Friends,

As for that soft bed and hot shower I was pining for? Well, our first night was spent in John’s bachelor quarters at the Pula Rita motel in Merak. He’d been housed in a thatched-roof bungalow with no hot water, and the bed was a goat’s hair mattress on the floor. After an icy-quick shower I climbed into bed, only to discover we had roommates. Various lizards were hanging upside down from the rafters -- some tiny and chameleon-like, others not so tiny. Periodically one would suddenly release those suction cups on its itty-bitty toes, and take a kamikaze plunge to the floor below, or onto our bed. I was probably in the middle of telling John I’d never be able to sleep like this, when exhaustion overtook me. Next thing I knew he was kissing me goodbye and heading off to work.

Bachelor quarters at the Pula Rita.

Before long though, he was back to say “We’re moving!” Though the houses, school and doctor -- which B&R had promised all those coming over on married status -- had yet to materialize, they had managed to lease a few units at Anyer Beach, a small resort that was a popular getaway spot for people from Jakarta. Fortunately for us, one unit had just become available. Not only would we have hot water and a proper bed, our bungalow faced right onto the beach, and on a clear day you could see the volcano Krakatoa in the distance, with smoke coming out its peak!

Our bungalow at Anyer Beach

The volcano Krakatoa, seen from our back porch.

The next morning, before leaving for work, John said, “Oh, by the way. Housekeeping will come by periodically with fresh towels, and they’ll pick up any clothes we have that need laundering.” “Hold on a minute, Buster! Are you telling me I won't really be doing our laundry in the river?” He just grinned. “What about shopping in that outdoor market?” Again with that grin! “It’s actually a fun place to go exploring," he replied, "as long as you avoid the stinkier parts -- which is fairly easy to do since a van comes here once a week to take all the ladies to a nice little grocery store in Cilegon. They have a few cuts of frozen meat, some canned goods and such.” “Arrgh! How could you mislead my like that, leaving me to fret and suffer all this time?”

John then told me about his friend, who’d only been married a few months when he got offered this position. This fellow’s pretty young wife made him come over ahead of her, to scope things out. He fell madly in love with the job, this place, and his life here, and sent glowing reports home to her. He told her it was an absolute paradise -- Heaven on earth! Sadly, she never even saw it in person. She got only as far as Singapore, then refused to budge an inch further. “So, you see, you should be thanking me for leading you to expect the worst (and by the way, you must reeeaaally love me), for now you get to be pleasantly surprised!” I don’t remember for certain, but I'm thinking I probably bopped him up-side the head at that point.