Accidental Express to Bogor

After several days of sweltering inactivity i decided to take the commuter train to Bogor and stroll through its world famous gardens and, if lucky, the decadent halls of Istana Bogor (the presidential palace) - home to Sukarno's extensive collection of erotic paintings.  With this seemingly simple goal i piled into a Bemo and hopped out at the nearby train station.  I bought my economy class ticket and weaved my way through the throngs of commuters, merchants and the occassional chained monkey along the platform.  Because I'd left home early i was privy to the spectacle of the north bound commuter chugging into the station.  Workers and students were packed upright so tightly that five or six people were hanging out of every door.  And up above them the more dextrous were perched nonchalently trading safety for the comparative comfort of the train's roof.  I was glad to be heading south.

A train pulled up and opened its doors, but nobody entered.  I asked a woman if the train was going to Bogor and she said "tidak, langsung" (no, express).  "But" i persisted " is it going to Bogor".  "Yes" she nodded as though to confirm i was technically correct and welcome to board if i wanted that satisfaction.  The train pulled out as i boarded and hurtled south with surprising speed, neither stopping nor slowing at stations.  Where i had been expecting heat, crowds and filth, i found only clean unoccupied seats and airconditioning.  When the conductor asked for my ticket i asked him where the train was going and he said "Bojo" and that i would have to get out at the next stop.  My spirits dropped.  With nothing else to do but to cross check my perception of the information the conductor intended to convey I asked the same question of a smartly dressed woman opposite me.  She enthusiastically said that the train was heading for Bogor and so was she.  So when the conductor reappeared i again brought up the ambiguous nature of the train's destination.  Naturally the conductor held firm to his view, but by now everyone in the carriage who wanted to go to Bogor was very interested in what he had to say.  When the train made its first stop, they all got out and the smartly dressed woman beckoned me to follow. 

Soon enough another train arrived and we boarded, but another boarding meant another conductor and more trouble.  As the conductor approached, my adopted protector looked at my ticket in dismay for here i was riding in the calm, airconditioned express with only an economy class ticket.  "Pretend you only speak English" she said.  The conductor expressed similar dismay upon citing my tickets but readily agreed to my offer to pay more (still nothing close to the full price).  However, before i could successfully locate the correct notes, my protector thrust the money into the conductors hands and he moved away.  All my attempts to repay her were cheerfully rebuffed.  Because of my mistake I arrived in Bogor more quickly and more refreshed than i would have had i boarded the correct train.

I spent many hours in the enormous botanical gardens in the heart of Bogor.  Like many things in Indonesia, the gardens unfolded rather randomly and asymetrically.  Although beautiful in parts (i particularly liked the orchids), I remember that day principally for the numerous conversations that enveloped me every time i sat on a bench or merely stalled my stride to consider which path to take.  It was my first real opportunity to start speaking Indonesian with people i could have a hope of understanding (Jakartans are notoriously difficult to understand as they speak very quickly and use a lot of slang).  No one was put off by my limited vocabulary or stumbling syntax and we discussed topics ranging from how many children we had to the war in Iraq.  On the latter topic i was showered with praise from an initially agressive duo when i agreed that George Bush and John Howard were stupid bad men.  Unfortunately the Istana Bogor was closed to the public until the conclusion of the presidential election - a process of unparallelled complexity and longevity.

My return to Jakarta was on the aptly named economy train - tickets for the hour long journey cost Rp2500 (around 40 cents).  The fatiguing qualities of one's initial exposure to the filth and fanfare that is an economy train should not be underestimated.  The carriage floor was thick with dirt and debris and all the while an endless procession of merchants, buskers, beggars and scammers make a trail through the squalor.  Barefoot boys in tattered clothes crawled along the carriage on their bellies while sweeping ineffectively at the garbage with a stick.  When these youngsters drew level with a passenger they would shoot to their knees and dramatically hold out an open palm.  Men straining under the weight of produce swayed up and down the carriage looking to unload their wares on a saturated market.  Five piece bands of dubious quality would set up in the middle of the carriage, jam, then pack away all in the time it took for the train to go between stations.  Blind beggars clutching a cane in one hand and a plastic cup in the other stumbled precariously close to the always open doors.  If they were to misplace a thong they could tumble out the doors and into the settlements 20 metres below.  But amongst all these characters i found people of boundless curiosity and keen intelligence.  I missed my stop while instructing a linguistically talented water merchant in french grammar.  He apologised profusely, heaved a metal bucket to his shoulders and went back to work.