Clueless expatriate gets baptism of fire

Let me set the scene for you: a westerner with virtually no idea about the Indonesian language or culture (except for what she's gleaned from her pocket-sized Lonely Planet guide) jumps on a plane and heads to Jakarta.

I mean, how hard could it be to adjust to a new country, I told myself somewhat hesitantly as the plane hit the runway.

The answer, I soon discovered, was quite hard.

My first error was my choice of dress. When leaving Sydney it was a crisp 19 degrees and even though I knew it would be warmer when I arrived in Indonesia, I failed to find out how much warmer.

I considered my attire of a long-sleeved polyester shirt and jeans to be sensibly moderate, but I was literally soaked with perspiration as I made my way gratefully to the air-conditioned car. Which brings me to the topic of traffic.

My idea of traffic previously only extended to 15-minute interludes here and there, with nothing having prepared me for a one-hour trip turning into a three-hour crawl, characterized by sporadic fits and jumps of movement to protect our place in the line of traffic.

It is only my seventh day in Jakarta and I'm already throwing the word macet (traffic jam) around with a knowing familiarity.

And my first experience on a bus can only be described as comical.

I kept thinking we were going to hit the swarm of bajaj, buses, trucks and motorcycles in front of us, so I kept raising my hands, as if by gesticulating I could prevent an accident.

For the rest of the journey I sat on my hands, realizing I was getting strange looks from fellow passengers.

My finest moment so far began with a quick bite to eat at one of the city's malls.

After lunch I went to the female toilet and with a sigh of relief made a beeline for the western toilet. In my hurry to leave and get on my way to my first day of work I just couldn't seem to find the toilet flusher. In my haste I turned what I assumed was the flusher and I let out a yelp as I was sprayed generously with water.

I soon realized my mistake and emerged red-faced and dripping to be met by a group of Indonesian ladies repressing what could only have been great mirth at my misfortune.

Appreciating their restraint, I dried myself as best I could under the hand dryer and got on my way, hoping that my wet clothes would dry before I got to work.

Finally, I have learned very quickly it is foolish to try and remain composed after you have shoveled in a mouthful of tempe (soybean cake) with a curry sauce, all the while making sure you got extra green chilies on your spoon (thinking the green stuff was a mild capsicum).

Just reach for the jug of water and through halting breaths admit, "I have a lot to learn."

-- Karen Stingemore