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Mark Moxon's Travel Writing

Indonesia: Indonesian Peace and Quiet

In compiling this travelogue, I came across a note in my 'diary summary' document – a list of one-liners that remind me what I want to write about – that read as follows:


This demonstrates how the friendliness of the locals really got to me on the day after my walk up Gunung Rinjani, though it wasn't their fault at all. To the Indonesians a foreigner is someone to be friendly to, to talk to, to be interested in, but for the foreigner it can be more wearing than brakes without pads. There is no such thing as sitting quietly in Indonesia; one of the things I used to love doing in Australia and New Zealand was sitting in a park or botanic garden, watching the world go by as I read another chapter of my book, wrote some more travelogue, planned the next stage of the trip, or whatever. This simple pleasure is just not possible here.

Local: 'Hello meester, what your name?'

Me: 'Mark.'

Local: 'Where you from, Meester Marrr?'

Me: 'England.'

Local: 'Ah, Ingran. You know Laydee Deeana?'

Me: 'Ah, Lady Diana.'

Local: 'Lady Deeana dead, meester.'

Me: 'That's right.'

Local: 'What job you do, Meester Marrr?'

Me: 'I'm a journalist.'

Local: 'Ah. You be Indonesia long?'

Me: 'Oh, about two months.'

Local: 'Your hat. Marlboro Man, ha, ha.'

Me: 'Yes. Ha, ha.'

Local: 'Yes. Ha, ha... you very funny man, Meester Marrr...'

[Conversation draws to a close. Local eventually makes a polite withdrawal when he's realised that getting further conversation from me is like getting money out of an insurance company, to be replaced by an identical conversationalist just two minutes later. As we leave this happy scene, we can hear Meester Marrr quietly screaming for peace. Poor bastard.]