Haisom… All of it Yum, Yum

I knew the day would eventually come when I would have to meet my maker, but I did not anticipate that it would be at the hands of a lowly sea cucumber. Tragically, I fear this may be the fate that lies before me. As with any product-oriented business, quality control is very important.  Having not grown up with the delicacy as part of my diet, I am still very much a novice in the use of sea cucumbers in the culinary arts (and definitely not losing a second of sleep about it). However, quality must be tested and I was apparently the man for the job. So it was that I found myself taking the ferry from Batam to Singapore, praying that I did not have to explain to a customs official why it appeared I was trying to smuggle six dried and intact fecal specimens into their great nation. Thankfully, turds in the hand luggage did not raise any eyebrows and the next day my friend in Singapore helped me drop my precious cargo off at a Chinese restaurant. We met with the head chef of the restaurant, who seemed satisfied with the quality of my product, and told us that in two days we could enjoy the fruits of my labor. I repeat, in two days! Two freaking days! People are so desperate for sea cucumber that they are prepared to wait two whole days for the stuff! I cannot think of a single food on earth that I would happily wait two days to consume. What is going on here? Perhaps the entire nation of China has discovered that consuming sea cucumbers is equivalent to shooting a liter of heroine into the bloodstream, and is simply holding out on the rest of the world. Speaking of narcotics, have I ever mentioned how similar the jargon is for drug traders and sea cucumber farmers? A totally unforeseen consequence of my new line of work is that I now speak metric weights fluently. A not uncommon sentence to be heard around the office: “Well if we can get $80 US for 500 grams of the poor quality stuff, let’s push that around Indonesia, and save the good quality stuff for Singapore. $300 US a dried kilo over there. I’ve heard they will buy in powder form too.” And if you are like me, and want to stay abreast of all the latest sea cucumber news, you will discover that illegal sea cucumber smuggling rings are fairly commonplace. So move over Pablo Escobar, there is a new kid in town. All I am missing now is a cool nickname to join the likes of Griselda Blanco AKA: “The Cocaine Godmother,” and Amando Carrillo Fuentes AKA: “Lord of the Skies.” All suggestions are welcome, particularly those that would add a certain je ne sais quoi to my business card. Yes, even sea cucumber farmers have business cards. In fact, when travelling to places like Singapore where I more frequently engage in this mysterious art called “networking,” I have found it exceptionally useful to keep business cards on my person. Not because I think people are desperate to contact me, but because it provides an easy out for those who need a moment to look up sea cucumber in Google. ‘Here is my business card…yes that is correct, my name is Seth AKA the Donald Trump of Sea Cucumbers. And given your perplexed look, why don’t you take a moment to look it over, or do whatever else you need to do on your phone.’ Now the major issue with allowing someone to Google sea cucumber is that it usually results in even more confusion. For example, I recently Google Image searched sea cucumber and the results were fairly disturbing. Some may be a bit borderline NSFW (Not Suitable for Work) so proceed at your own risk.  

Gollum’s little brother

A very trippy, yet patriotic American Sea Cucumber

Undoubtedly the inspiration for Ridley Scott’s Alien

It comes in capsules?!?!?

 Just what is this? Someone actually spent time making this!  

Adopt a Sea Cucumber Foundation run by Jess_Zombies@hotmail.com 

Now the last image I found particularly fascinating because I am 100% certain that someone has been eavesdropping on my conversations and stole my idea for an “Adopt a Sea Cucumber” program. I have reached out to Jess_zombies@hotmail.com for further elaboration on her adoption scheme, but have yet to hear a response. And as long as he or she has not patented the idea, I fully intend to go ahead with my own adoption scheme. For a one-time, $2 fee, you can have the privilege of naming a sea cucumber. For $5 a month, you can ensure that a sea cucumber eats all of the feces and detritus its heart desires. And should you donate $100, you will receive monthly letters, personally addressed to you from your sea cucumber, updating you on major life events, sports news and the political situation in Camp Cucumber.   And while we are on the topic of donations, I have recently discovered that there is a gaping hole in my library. If anyone is looking to buy me a late birthday present, may I suggest Rise, Ye Sea Slug a compilation of 900 haikus about sea cucumbers, translated from the original Japanese by Robin D. Gill. Available in paperback.

For the visually-inclined, here is the cover you are looking for during your next trip to the book store

At this point I can practically hear the scoffs on the other side of the computer screen.  But sea cucumbers have actually captured the imagination of many an artist.  Did you know that the first movement of French composer Erik Satie’s work Embryons desséchés, “D’Holothurnie” (from the scientific class for sea cucumber, Holothuroidea) is meant to sound like the “purring” of a sea cucumber. I have never heard a sea cucumber “purr,” but after a quick listen via YouTube, I am pretty sure Monsieur Satie was tripping on some very potent mushrooms when he went to the aquarium to compose that little ditty. I would probably describe the piece, which was composed in 1913, as more of a sea cucumber waltz. Have a listen and let your imagination just play with that image for a moment. I should also add, in another interesting plot twist, Satie dedicated the composition to one Suzanne Roux. Now if that did not make Ms. Roux let down her hair from her ivory tower, then all I can say is I am thankful I did not grow up in the early twentieth century. Tough crowd, eh Monsieur Satie. As you can see, there is a lot of material to work with when I first begin to explain my line of work. And once the initial line of questioning has subsided and all parties have been convinced that is, in fact, an animal, well then that is when the real party starts. In fact, I have heard that bringing a dried sea cucumber around in a plastic bag during a bar crawl is a great conversation starter, but I have yet to prove that theory personally. Instead, I have been preparing to become Patient Zero for a new sea cucumber borne disease that the specifically targets twenty-eight year old Caucasians males from Southern California. Now to be fair to me, I have already tried sea cucumber once before. But to be fair to you, in reality I ate a sliver that was about a quarter centimeter by a centimeter. So you can understand why I recruited as many friends as possible to join my banquet at the Peach Garden Restaurant in Singapore. I figured the more people I invited to try the sea cucumber, the less I personally would have to consume. So with a hearty group of mixed ethnic origin, seven friends and I embarked on the culinary adventure of a lifetime: farm to table sea cucumber. Deferring to the Asian contingent of our crew to initiate the ordering process, it appeared that the motto for the evening was go big or go home. Our Lazy Susan quickly filled with jellyfish, an entire Peking duck, and enough Tiger Beer to, I hoped, kill every one of my taste buds. And of course there was the pièce de résistance, Fred and his three friends looking far from sexy.

 

Before: Fred’s family portrait at time of drop off to restaurant

After: family portrait as a Chinese delicacy

Welcome to the party Mr. Duck

Tragically, I made it only slightly farther into my sea cucumber this time. After two decent sized bites I felt very comfortable saying that I had tried it. And because I am no expert, why waste the perfectly good sea cucumber on me when there were far more discerning palates at the table. And the verdict was relatively positive. The general manager of the restaurant explained that generally, in order for the marinade to really soak in, more than two days of preparation are required. Phew, so it wasn’t just me that tasted pure bike tire rubber without a hint of flavor. But honestly, these bad boys are a lot of effort! More than two days! I was simply content knowing that my technique for processing sea cucumbers seemed up to industry standards. That and how many people have ever gone to a restaurant for a BYOSC – Bring Your Own Sea Cucumber? This guy has. Update: just prior to publishing, Jess_zombies@hotmail.com responded to my email enquiry: “Hi Seth. This was a little art project I started years ago and unfortunately is no longer active.”  Perhaps fortuitously for me, it appears I now have the corner on the Adopt-a-Sea-Cucumber market. Potential adopters please enquire within.

Come Back Tomorrow, the Plane is Full

My beloved uncle, who also happens to be my boss, regularly reminds me of a particular quote from Apocalypse Now:

When I was here, I wanted to be there; when I was there, all I could think of was getting back into the jungle. I’m here a week now… waiting for a mission… getting softer. Every minute I stay in this room, I get weaker, and every minute Charlie squats in the bush, he gets stronger.

Can you say Charlie? Ignoring the racial slur for the moment, the adage does hold some relevance to my current circumstance. Every moment I spend at home in California is a moment that the nation of Indonesia perceives me as getting “softer,” and begins licking its lips at the prospect of my return. So it is generally with some trepidation that I head to LAX for the 24-hour journey to Bengkulu, waiting to see what fresh torments lie ahead. And I did not have to wait long.

If flying across the Pacific Ocean in a Hello Kitty wonderland has always been on your bucket list, I would highly recommend the service by EVA Airways from LAX to Jakarta. And should the airplane itself not be enough to sate your thirst for the feline/humanoid cartoon, the layover in Taipei International airport will provide the opportunity to gaze upon her face for several hours. For the brave souls continuing on from Jakarta to Bengkulu, the pleasure of Terminal 1B is all yours. I know I have already discussed the intricacies of air travel in Indonesia, the A&Ws that are chronically without root beer, the collisions with cows on the runway, and stewardesses who quake at the thought of giving the emergency exit row instructions in English. The reason I continue to regale you with tales of airports and plane journeys is that Indonesia has made this fairly common method of transportation into one of the most regularly insane experiences a human could wish to have. For example: should you have spent the last 18 hours on planes surrounded by Hello Kitty’s demonic face, Terminal 1B is undoubtedly the last place on earth you want to drag your weary body through. Not caring how you look or feel at that point does have its advantages, however. It is far easier to disregard the hundreds of faces that stare at you as if you just walked into the terminal in an astronaut outfit. In fact, the most essential survival tip for navigating the infamous 1B is to find someone else also carrying a boarding pass with Bengkulu as the destination and never let that person out of your sight.  When they line up behind the glass door entrance of the gangway to the airplane, you had better be right behind them. And when they groan because the boarding agents announce that the flight is delayed, you are permitted to ask yourself, “how is this a surprise to anyone?” I am fairly certain I have never had the pleasure of an on time departure from Jakarta to Bengkulu and would wager that somehow, the first domestic flight of the day departing from Soekarno-Hatta International Airport is regularly delayed. Having a flight scheduled to depart much later in the day inevitably increased the chance of a delayed departure exponentially. And this journey did not disappoint. When Lion “let-them-suffer” Air begins providing food for the delayed passengers, you know you are in for a long one. And should the customer service department of Lion Air be interested in some feedback, I do applaud the gesture, but a bread roll stuffed with guano does not exactly make up for a three hour delay.   It is standard procedure to board passengers without any regard for seat number and, left to their own devices, passengers generally act like they are in competition for the last two seats on the Ark. I never fully understood this behavior until this particular Lion Air flight. Like all the other passengers, I lined up behind the glass doors, protected my 10 square inches of space with my life, and even joined in with a subtle jostle here and there when allowed to begin the boarding process. Unaware of the reason behind our delayed flight, I boarded the plane only to find that my seat, 29A, did not exist. The final row of the plane was 26. Puzzled, I handed my ticket to the stewardess who instructed me to sit anywhere. Collapsing into a seat in the last row, a fellow passenger explained that they had changed planes. Clearly they had swapped the original plane out for one of a smaller size. Moments later the repercussion of this decision became clear as I heard the stewardess tell passengers climbing the stairway up to the plane to “come back tomorrow.” For the physical safety of all the employees at Lion Air, I am very thankful I got a seat. By the time the flight took off, the exhausted remains of my body were fast asleep. The only thing that could rouse me mid-flight was a fairly vigorous patch of turbulence. Opening my eyes, I glanced at the girl next to me, who was clearly praying for life, and decided I was far too tired to care.

Hello Kitty anything and everything

Having survived the journey back to Bengkulu, I made a belated New Year’s resolution to try and maintain some of my newfound “softness.” No Indonesia, this softness is mine, now bugger off. Phase I: admit that cold water showers are fundamentally impossible to get used to. Although I am generally sweating bullets by seven in the morning, dumping buckets of cold water over your head simply does not relax the body.  With some careful time management and a very large pot, I have discovered that within an hour I can boil enough water to make my “shower” a thoroughly enjoyable experience. Adding to the gratification is the fact that once boiled, I can be certain that I am not dumping more water-borne parasites over by already besieged body. Me 1, Indonesia 0.

Phase II: explore the possibility of reengaging in recreational activities. While I could blame the dearth of recreational opportunities on a busy work schedule, I probably should give Bengkulu the credit it is due. There is next to nothing to do here. A sloth would probably find this place a bit dull. Besides the occasional trip to the local movie theater, which almost exclusively shows Indonesian horror films with names like Rumah Gurita (Octopus House) and American sci-fi films, leaving the city is the best opportunity for recreational activity.  Thus, when a fellow bule told me that Bengkulu was hosting a Color Run, I was fairly certain it was just a rumor, like the mythical Pizza Hut that never materialized. Ps. If anyone from Pizza Hut is reading this, I can single-handedly guarantee the profitability of opening a franchise in Bengkulu…please Pizza Hut, you’re my only hope. Unlike Pizza Hut, the Color Run did materialize and was so popular that it sold out almost instantly. Fortunately, a very well connected friend was able to purchase a ticket for me on the black market (if you can dream it, they can scalp it). So it was that on a recent Sunday morning, the majority of the Caucasian community of Bengkulu gathered at 6am with three hundred Indonesian teenagers to voluntarily run 5 kilometers while onlookers pelted us with paint.

Bengkulu’s bule, trying to blend in by painting their bodies.

For the amount of excitement Bengkulu offers, the Color Run was about as exhilarating as a seven-year-old kid’s first trip to Disneyland. Of the eleven Westerners to partake in the race, ten finished in the first fifteen. In fact, as I approached the finish line there were still dozens of participants who were a mere 100 meters into the race. It would probably have been more apt to call it a Color Walk. For some reason, Indonesia’s history in the area of track and field is not a particularly strong one. Of the 22 Indonesian Olympic Athletes to attend the London 2012 games, only two were participating in the Athletics, one in the 100 meters and one in the marathon. The 5K does not seem to be Indonesia’s race. However, I would like to give thanks to the powers that be that this little speck at the end of the earth somehow miraculously attracted the attention of the good people of Color Run™ and provide me with a very enjoyable respite from an otherwise relatively bleak recreation calendar.

And as if the week could not get any more exciting, a business trip to the province of Lampung, just south of Bengkulu, provided an opportunity to visit Pizza Hut, which I know I have not discussed much about up to this point. Travelling anywhere in Indonesia on foot, particularly big cities, is to be avoided at all cost. But if you do find yourself a ten-minute walk away from a Pizza Hut, and are certain it will be the greatest food you will eat for the next month, then allow me to paint a picture of what is in store for you. Foot travel is fairly similar to a game of Oregon Trail. At each impasse you are presented with options, which will affect your journey.   When a road must be crossed you may A) choose to ford the stream of motorbikes and risk losing a member of your party, or B) try to locate a crosswalk, which you may not find until summer has become winter. Once on the correct road you may A) walk on the asphalt and risk getting hit by a car, motorbike, farm animal etc., or B) walk on what presumably once was a sidewalk, knowing full well that falling into a gutter or ditch is likely, and will almost certainly introduce a cholera epidemic to your party thanks to the plethora of sewer vermin. Although the likelihood of your entire party making it all the way to Pizza Hut alive is not great, it is most definitely worth attempting. Not only is there pizza, and I mean real pizza, but have I ever mentioned that they have a salad bar?

The salad is real! The drinks are…probably detergent infused with essence of passion fruit.

Fortunately for me, returning from Lampung to Bengkulu provided an opportunity to rekindle my relationship with the kindly people from Lion Air. The day before our departure, using the preferred method of the SMS, Lion Air informed my colleague and I that our flight would be leaving two hours earlier than scheduled. Don’t worry Lion, I would expect nothing less! Your persistence at keeping me on my toes is commendable. I have had just enough of a breather and am now prepared to get back in the ring. Let Round Two begin!