A little Cantina like from the Westerns, Mom and Pop affair near the bridge over the river on Jalan Tubun. Squid, four or five veg., pisang for dessert—not fried, natural in its skin—totals 24,000 rupiah, perhaps for foreigners in panamas. Nevertheless, 5,000 cheaper than the average mall latte. Pop had fallen from his mount chasing bad guys in a posse. Almost not a single word of English between the friendly, homely pair. Hello, Thankyou. Yesterday on departure Pop got out something he recalled from Hollywood movies. Pop is softer; it is Mom's eyes lighting up at the register.
— I love you! for his favourite new regular.
— You're the best Pop.
A couple of days earlier at a late lunch Pop had received two pals in the room behind—unrendered, unlit, couple of laundry tubs for wash-up. One could tell how far back the pals went as soon as they rocked up on their motor-cycles, Pop limping out to greet. On re-entry to settle the bill—bench out front gave a ringside seat for the carnival of the street— the threesome were found on the floor of the second room, cardboard laid to soften the seating. That kind of Cantina.
The event of the Sunday morning in question took place at the first lane along from the hotel drive, not fifty metres distant. (Mom and Pop on the other side of the bridge.) At the head of the lane one of the young Traffic Wardens directing bikes coming onto Tubun noticed a lad footing up the rise. A couple of quick words while the Warden waved three or four bikes safely through. The fellow tall, soiled white tee, knee-length shorts and baby-blue thongs; flip-flops, what you will. The usual wear in the heel and the balls of the feet. How were the inner soles of the thongs, the flip-flops spied so particularly? Well, therein lies the tale; a two-hander, brief and straight.
The pal coming up shorter, tubby, where the other was the usual rake-thin. Darker tee and shorter length shorts, minus cap. The Traffic Warden had head-cover. Past midday, two days of rain past, sun with a vengeance. Ideally you would want head-cover, especially on point duty. Home-boy lacked both top and bottom—barefoot. Not many of the adults on Tubun went barefoot; unlike the children. Unnoticed immediately here. The fact of the matter was revealed only subsequently when the Traffic Warden loudly called after his man with some particular point. The tone told. Possibly the Warden rose to his toes in the projection. Chap hailed may have half-turned, only briefly, going up Tubun in the gutter with the flow of the traffic. He wasn't for stopping; evidently a march ahead by the looks. What the Warden called out was clarified by his action a moment later. In speaking the man kicked out his feet in front of him, releasing the thongs; the flip-flops. One foot first, then the second, flipping the footwear before him. (Thereby revealing the condition, the partial wear.) Although the other may have half-turned and heard what his friend called out, he did not see the corroborating action, the generous, considerate offer. This was seen by others; possibly more than one on the busy street that was a hive of activity even on a Sunday. Clearly and unmistakably for all with eyes in their head. You get such care and consideration, such brotherliness, in slums, real communities.
NB. The self-appointed Traffic Wardens are common both in Malaysia and Indonesia. In the case of Jakarta and its notorious traffic the lads provide an indispensable service. One young blade at his crossing on Tubun paced the bitumen like a lord of the jungle in turquoise tee and white flat-cap, the former emblazoned: WHAT THE FUCK? UNBREAKABLE. Usually a twenty slipped the boys by appreciative drivers. Recently this bottle-neck in Jakarta has been relieved after the clearing of the street stalls by the new Governor, now new President, Joko Wiwodo.
— You're the best Pop.
A couple of days earlier at a late lunch Pop had received two pals in the room behind—unrendered, unlit, couple of laundry tubs for wash-up. One could tell how far back the pals went as soon as they rocked up on their motor-cycles, Pop limping out to greet. On re-entry to settle the bill—bench out front gave a ringside seat for the carnival of the street— the threesome were found on the floor of the second room, cardboard laid to soften the seating. That kind of Cantina.
The event of the Sunday morning in question took place at the first lane along from the hotel drive, not fifty metres distant. (Mom and Pop on the other side of the bridge.) At the head of the lane one of the young Traffic Wardens directing bikes coming onto Tubun noticed a lad footing up the rise. A couple of quick words while the Warden waved three or four bikes safely through. The fellow tall, soiled white tee, knee-length shorts and baby-blue thongs; flip-flops, what you will. The usual wear in the heel and the balls of the feet. How were the inner soles of the thongs, the flip-flops spied so particularly? Well, therein lies the tale; a two-hander, brief and straight.
The pal coming up shorter, tubby, where the other was the usual rake-thin. Darker tee and shorter length shorts, minus cap. The Traffic Warden had head-cover. Past midday, two days of rain past, sun with a vengeance. Ideally you would want head-cover, especially on point duty. Home-boy lacked both top and bottom—barefoot. Not many of the adults on Tubun went barefoot; unlike the children. Unnoticed immediately here. The fact of the matter was revealed only subsequently when the Traffic Warden loudly called after his man with some particular point. The tone told. Possibly the Warden rose to his toes in the projection. Chap hailed may have half-turned, only briefly, going up Tubun in the gutter with the flow of the traffic. He wasn't for stopping; evidently a march ahead by the looks. What the Warden called out was clarified by his action a moment later. In speaking the man kicked out his feet in front of him, releasing the thongs; the flip-flops. One foot first, then the second, flipping the footwear before him. (Thereby revealing the condition, the partial wear.) Although the other may have half-turned and heard what his friend called out, he did not see the corroborating action, the generous, considerate offer. This was seen by others; possibly more than one on the busy street that was a hive of activity even on a Sunday. Clearly and unmistakably for all with eyes in their head. You get such care and consideration, such brotherliness, in slums, real communities.
NB. The self-appointed Traffic Wardens are common both in Malaysia and Indonesia. In the case of Jakarta and its notorious traffic the lads provide an indispensable service. One young blade at his crossing on Tubun paced the bitumen like a lord of the jungle in turquoise tee and white flat-cap, the former emblazoned: WHAT THE FUCK? UNBREAKABLE. Usually a twenty slipped the boys by appreciative drivers. Recently this bottle-neck in Jakarta has been relieved after the clearing of the street stalls by the new Governor, now new President, Joko Wiwodo.
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