So I pulled over and sat down next to my new friend to have a chat. Sometimes it is helpful to know a few words of the local tongue. This was not one of those times so I decided to play stupid. Luckily, stupid is my middle name. I wonder how many times I repeated ‘I don’t understand’? He was edging closer and closer to writing me a ticket and I was getting progressively dumber and dumber. The idea being that the cops will get so frustrated by the language barrier that they will just say to hell with it and let you go. On this occasion I was successful. Stupid Rich: 1, Indonesian traffic police: 0.
I went to a restaurant tonight that had ‘Fried Frog’ and ‘Fried Pigeon’ on the menu. I was in the mood for neither. I skipped lunch and was really hungry so I opted for the chicken. I suck. Where the hell do the frogs and the pigeons come from? I really missed an opportunity but do not despair, I am sure I can find fried amphibian and flying rat in some other locale.
As I walked down the street this evening (searching for a cold beer) I passed a small Indonesian man who mimicked the action of grabbing my balls as he passed by. Perhaps the plumpy transvestite from the beach a few mornings ago called and told him I was on my way. Either this guy assumes that all western male tourists are gay or there is just something special about me. Maybe it’s the new haircut. If I was wearing a pink fishnet muscle shirt I might understand (I discarded it years ago).